In Canabalt, you jump or you die. It’s that simple. When you think about it.

But Canabalt doesn’t give you much time to think. You have no control over your avatar’s movements in the game besides jumping. He is already running. Your responsibility as the player is to make sure he jumps. There is one button in this game. It can be picked up by anyone. The only difficulty curve is learning to overcome your own lack of patience to wait until that perfect second to execute the jump. There are no pretenses of depth that only end up disappointing.

The game starts in what appears to be an office building. Your avatar is wearing a suit. He starts to run. The window you jump through accents the beginning of what will most certainly be a daring escape.

The entire time you are playing Canabalt, you are gripped with fear of the unknown. Will you make the next jump? Will you escape destruction? And where is it you are escaping to? But there isn’t enough time to contemplate the incongruities of this game. You have to run. You have to jump. Freedom awaits. Or more buildings.

I could say I had visions of Out of this World (Another World) and Flashback while playing this game. The simple, yet effective artwork and smooth animations bear enough of a resemblance. But in truth I couldn’t stop thinking about F-Zero GX ^[1], and the billboards throughout the game that tell you to “GO FAST”. The obnoxious guitar-laced techno always thumping in the background, constantly pressing you forward.

Canabalt is the same. Like some other iPhone/iPod Touch games, it allows you to listen to your own music while playing. But to do that would be a mistake. Before the game starts, Semi-Secret advises players that headphones supply the best experience for their game. They’re right about that.

There is only one piece of music in this game^[2] . It starts off quiet, then develops into the same abrasive techno from F-Zero GX. You can’t help but feel prodded by the music, letting it affect your decisions. A high, long jump when it gets loud seems only fitting. Then it gets quiet again. But you don’t want to slow down; you can’t slow down.

The more you run, the more momentum builds up. The soundtrack complements everything that happens on screen. It is essential to the experience. Every single footstep can be heard. Stone, metal, and then glass breaking as you leap through a window across another gap between buildings.

Semi-Secret Software didn’t really have to do that, you know. There is no purpose to breaking through windows or the delectable tinkling sound of falling glass that results. It is the only thing in Canabalt that feels gratuitous; It’s embellishment for the urgency of your escape. Clearly you will stop at nothing – not even a full-story pane of glass – to get away.

Then there are other obtacles. Sometimes you have to hit them to slow down for a short jump before a long one. Sometimes undetonated bombs fall from the sky. You have to jump over them, or they explode when you hit them. Despite the urgency to keep moving at all costs, Canabalt makes you think ahead. You dread what’s coming. You don’t want to ruin a good run.

The buildings are random. Sometimes the gaps seem like they are getting bigger. You learn that holding on to a jump even for a split second more extends the airtime.

The whole time you are running, there is a war going on in the distance. More likely it’s an invasion. You never find out. It brings to mind the tripods from War of the Worlds and Half Life 2. These silhouettes are purposefully placed out of focus, so you can never pay full attention to what is happening. There is a more important task at hand: survival.

The most revealing feature of this game is the lack of a pause button^[3]. You are running for your life, away from some unknown force that will surely kill you if your death-defying stunts don’t. The only thing left is your life. This is an all-or-nothing gamble. There are no breaks. There is no stopping. You either make the next jump, or you die.

I’ve seen Canabalt labelled as one of 2009’s “indie darlings.” The criticism that naturally follows such attention has focused on its lack of producing an experience of any significance; it’s too short. Aside from the initial novelty, there is no reason a person needs to pick this game up more than once. They would be wrong. There is a reason.

Canabalt is a game of the simplest philosophy, hearkening back to the days where “High Score” actually meant something^[4]. Success is easily quantified. There is no secret there: to go farther, you must get better at the game. Anyone can grasp this concept. The failure condition is equally simple: you die. But even here the game has something to say, because you don’t just fall into a chasm. You hit the brick wall of your skill level. Canabalt wants you to do better.

With enough patience, Canabalt can last forever. And you want it to last forever. As long as that character is running across the screen, you are alive. You go on because you must.

Or you die.

With Borderlands, a game described as a “role-playing shooter”, developers Gearbox hope to capture the audience that spends many sleepless nights wandering through forgotten strongholds while pillaging corpses and undefended treasure chests. They want to make the grind of the modern Fantasy role-playing game appealing to those repulsed by the thought of more swords and sorcery and Siberian tiger mounts. Gearbox is going post-apocalyptic wasteland on this formula. They’re going to make this grind cool.

Borderlands is influenced by games that are second jobs thinly veiled as “entertainment.” There are enough trappings in most that the player does not immediately recognize it until they are separated from the system. Maybe the rewards are frequent enough; the increase in character abilities more steady and immediately gratifying. But Gearbox fails to dress up Borderlands to hide from the player the laborious byproduct of the genre. As a result, Borderlands merely resembles a mechanical facsimile of its influences.

Read the rest of this entry »