We thought we'd be done by now.

Today we are.

In our first exchange we both praised the game, but I went off on my feelings about gamer guilt and why so many games make me feel guilty for playing all or even just select parts of them.

In N'Gai's e-mail below he explains the the three types of video game imperfections, complains about the game's grind and suggests a few ways to "Patapon" better.

And then I defend grinding in games. Really, I do.

So when we last left off I asked N'Gai: "Do you ever feel any of that gamer guilt?" He answers below...

(As always, Vs. Mode appears both on MTV Multiplayer and on N’Gai’s “Level Up” blog.)

To: Stephen Totilo
Fr: N'Gai Croal
Date: March 30, 2008
RE: Simple Input, Complex Output

Stephen,

I don't know about you, but my taste in games is so impeccable that I never have to apologize for recommending them. Seriously, though, when I suggest a game to someone, it's either because a) the recomendee is a non-gamer who needs both accessibility and a strong hook to pull them in ("Rock Band"); b) the game is exemplary ("Rez"); c) there's something specific about the game that I think they should check out (the circuit courses in "The Club"); or d) I know that the game will suit their particular tastes (insert fanboy-specific genre here).

That doesn't mean they'll like it—there's a certain creative director of high-octane racing games who will never forgive my recommendation of "Every Extend Extra" and "Everyday Shooter"--but I make no apologies for their lack of discernment. (Just kidding…or am I?) Similarly, people suggest games to me all the time, but I don't always take them up on it. I can remember someone insisting that I play a "Legend of Zelda game -- any "Legend of Zelda" game -- before deciding that he'd himself had enough of the franchise. Maybe if I wait long enough, all recommendations become invalid.

Your point about imperfections in games is worth considering, though. At what point do we decide whether an imperfection is a bug or a feature—or personal taste? The shooting and targeting controls in the PS2-era "Grand Theft Auto" games? Bug. Organizing spreadsheets Managing your party, items and spells in "Final Fantasy XII"? Feature. Getting together with 100 of your closest friends for a raid in "World of Warcraft"? Personal taste—and not my own.

Many games—even some of the best—simulate certain things well and others not so well. They simulate some aspects plausibly and others abstractly or not at all. Is it better or worse, for instance, that the old "GTA" games had floating, spinning pickups for weapons, health and money, while "Grand Theft Auto IV" will integrate them into the world more plausibly? The gap between simulation and reality—or between simulation and shared fantasy—is where the individual's ability to suspend disbelief and give himself or herself over to the simulation comes into play.

Back to "Patapon": is the grind an imperfection? I say yes. It seems like an easy way to pad out a game that otherwise, as designed, isn't very long. Now, it's true that I could go back to any open area to mine it for the resources I needed, but it was still grinding nonetheless. And I'm not as forgiving as you on this point because while the songs are pleasant and memorable, they weren't so good that I would let it slide. Here's how commenter Ginger Yellow described it in response to Round 1 of our exchange:

The grinding is a real pain. It takes a game that should be a joy, and turns into a chore at times. It wouldn't be so bad if stone/ore etc. drops were more frequent, or if the tunes in the mini games changed. I still love the game, I always groan when I come up against an overpowered boss because I know I'm going to have to spend the next few hours replaying the same levels.

A much better solution would have been to let me "sell" my warriors back recover part or all of the ka-ching that I spent on them so that I could use spend it on a better warrior. But in fairness to the designers -- and to return to the suspension of disbelief point I just raised -- they seem to want to make a point about the value of your individual troops. Each class of warrior can only contain so many troops; when you get the ingredients to make a better soldier, you first have to clear a slot in its respective class. And when you clear that slot, the "Patapon" warrior in it dies, in a manner suggesting that the air was removed from its body. (Not to mention that with the death of your warrior goes all the ka-ching and experience points you put into it.) I don't want to oversell its emotional effectiveness, because I certainly cleared slots when I needed to, but doing so was always a bit sad, and I was generally reluctant to do so, as if I were facing an unpleasant task.

So which came first, the annoying design choice or the emotional engineering to support it? Which values should I favor, the gameplay values of the narrative values? At the end of the day, "Patapon" is a game, so if the designers are going to make a choice that leads to something as contentious-yet-omnipresent as grinding, they need to better support that choice so that players focus on something else besides the grind, besides the end that will justify those tedious means. More tunes and better tunes, as Ginger Yellow suggests, would have helped.

You asked me what I think of rhythm as control. I'm surprised that you've yet to mention "Donkey Kong Jungle Beat," a game that you made play a few years back. That game was a rhythm-platformer, so it was necessarily more freeform than "Patapon." "Donkey Kong Jungle Beat" was exceedingly well-executed, but I prefer "Patapon" because I feel as though its RTS gameplay better suits rhythm controls than does a platformer. As to rhythm-"Sims" or Rhythm-"Madden," I don't think that it's an accident that both "Patapon" and "Donkey Kong Jungle Beat" are side-scrollers. I'm not sure that this control mechanism would work as well on a traditional 3-D game.

I disagree with your characterization of "Patapon," when you write of the player's role "[Y]ou are a composer of a soundtrack or you are a preacher or you are a weather pattern above a civilization. You create mood that compels reaction." Well, actually, the preacher part is right, so I'll say that you got one out of three correct. Most rhythm games are variations of Simon Says, in which you're matching a pattern that the game sets out for you. In the battles in "Patapon," you are Simon. It's a call-and-response game: you tap out a beat, and your Patapon army obeys in both song and action. This is what the creators of "The Bourne Conspiracy" game call simple input, complex output, and I think it may be one of the keys to making videogames more accessible to a wider range of potential players.

As gamers, we learn to love inputs of medium to high complexity. But that shuts out anyone who isn't willing to devote the time to learn complex inputs. "SingStar," "Guitar Hero," "Wii Sports," "Rock Band" -- all of these games have radically simplified the inputs, but the output is complex, whether it's hitting a note or knocking down a set of bowling pins. My editor stopped by my office on Friday as I was playing "Rock Band;" he'd heard about it, but never played it. Forty-five minutes later -- having played guitar, drums and vocals on easy for Boston's "More Than A Feeling" and Hole's "Celebrity Skin" -- he was making plans to buy a PS3 and the "Rock Band" bundle. "Patapon" is more abstract than that, so it might take a bit more work to get someone like my editor to step up to the plate. But that said, the controls are accessible enough that he could get into it. It's something more developers and publishers will have to consider moving forward.

I'm going to conclude our exchange with one last complaint about "Patapon." The trailer suggested that there were going to be all kinds of large-scale weapons at my disposal, like catapults and rolling forts. It turned out that there was only one mission that I encountered where there was a catapult. I wanted more. I wanted massive machines that I could unleash on my enemies. I wanted to capture giant beasts and turn them to my side. I wanted to be able to have the tempo of my call affect the tempo of my "Patapon" army's response—or better yet, the tempo of the entire battle. We've talked before about how some games are a rough draft for the sequel, while others spring forth fully perfected. "Patapon" is an original idea, terrifically-executed, with on sizable flaw (the grind), a few imperfections, and large swaths of its possibility space that have yet to be explored. Here's hoping that they get a chance to tackle all of this and more in another game.

Cheers,

N'Gai

***

To: N'Gai Croal
Fr: Stephen Totilo
Date: April 1, 2008
RE: In Defense Of The Grind

N'Gai,

I've news for you: you're not "concluding our exchange." I am. And first up, I'm going to answer all the questions you asked me. Okay. Done.

Now I am free to contend with your criticism of "Patapon," particularly of the game's grinding. I felt the same pain you and your reader Ginger Yellow felt. The grind in "Patapon" did occasionally get me down. I'm certain I silently cursed the game's designers for requiring me to repeatedly grind through a few of the game's levels in order to gain the resources needed to improve my army.

Let's consider what a "grind" in a video game is, why we hate them and what it would take not to hate. When we curse a grind, we're cursing a game for forcing repetitive gameplay, to block advancement without this repetition. But aren't all games, by their very nature, rife with repetition? Isn't "Super Mario Bros." just a lot of repeated hops. Isn't "Halo" just a few specific styles of engagement repeated and remixed for hours on end? Sure. The grind, however, earns scorn because it forces too much repetition. It crosses a line. It registers an excess. The repetition often becomes too much and turns into a grind once the game has forced the gamer to go backward, to perpetrate the game's initially un-offensively repetitive gameplay in levels they've already run through. Gameplay repetition is changed to gameplay grinding. And that's when it's time to get angry.

Except: it's all subjective, isn't it? Where is that line between fun repetition and grinding? Why don't "God of War" games get accused of forcing a grind? Because they don't? Oh, surely, they do. They require collecting orbs to get powers, some of which you need to advance. Does 'God of War" get off because they just don't do it forcefully enough that it's bothersome?

I sense that you and Ginger Yellow may actually know these things about grinds. You may know that they're not all bad. Perhaps it's because you know people who happily grind away in "World of Warcraft" with no complaint. Either nine million people are deluding themselves or grinding isn't all bad. Perhaps the hint to your ultimate softness on grinds can be glimpsed in your mutual desire for more musical variation during the game's grinds -- a request that suggests grinding would be more fun for you two not if the gameplay was more interesting but if said grind was accompanied by a more interesting soundtrack; simple inputs with more interesting outputs.

So admit it. Secretly you love grinds in games.

No?

Overstatement?

I'm picking on you and G. Yellow not because I think you don't know what you want, but because I think it's useful to identify both what it is that annoys gamers about grinds and what gamers believe would make grinding more tolerable. If a grind is really defined by and reviled for its requirement of overly repetitive gameplay, I think all of us hardcore gamers need face the fact that our thresholds for repetitive gameplay are already higher than the average person's. Shock: what we don't see as grinds are probably considered to be grinds by more casual gamers. So if you or I or Ginger Yellow think "Patapon" is a grind, what do you think casual gamers make of "Zelda" or "Half-Life"? Maybe they think it's ridiculous that you have to kill this guy and this guy and this guy and this guy and this guy with the same three swords or guns. Maybe they think that's a grind. And maybe, like you and Ginger on "Patapon," these casual players they think the grind would be made tolerable with a better soundtrack. Or fewer tedious actions. Less repetition? More gameplay variety? Prettier graphical distractions?

[Let's pause a second: Are casual gamers more tolerant of a grind with a better soundtrack? By asking that, did I just describe "Guitar Hero"/"Rock Band" in a backwards way?]

Can grinds in gaming be ground out? I doubt it. Games can't be made to exclude repetition. So we're really just talking about degrees. How much is too much? How much repetitive gameplay should be required vs. being left optional? The better soundtrack solution is one viable remedy because it distracts a gamer from the tedium of doing the same thing again and again. Another distraction, seen in "World of Warcraft" is the presence of friends, often working on that same chain gang grind that you are. "Brain Age" suggests another solution to the grind "problem," two solutions in fact: 1) encouraging short sessions, so that what would be maddening if played eight hours straight is pleasant when spread across 365 days and 2) convincing the player, like a good exercise coach, that high-volume repetition is healthy. The grind will make you a better person. Imagine!

I've heard some "Final Fantasy" fans claim that they consider that series' lavish cut scenes as rewards for tolerating the game's grinding gameplay. That's a "solution" to the grind problem I can't endorse. I doubt you would either.

Let's re-consider whether these grinds we hate can really be excised or if we'd be perfectly happy gamers if they were just accompanied with more pleasantness. You suggested that the grind issue in "Patapon" could have been remedied if the player could sell back soldiers. Maybe. But I prefer your other ideas -- the more varied music; the matching of more of "Pataon"'s hypnotic tap-tap-tap gameplay to levels with vehicles and trainable beasts.

So let's not hate the grind. Let's consider that it might be a necessary part of games. Or, if not, let's drill down on a more fundamental level. If we're going to point fingers at "Patapon," then let's point fingers at "Rock Band" world tour and "Devil May Cry" and a whole lot of other games too -- anything that requires lots of repeated gameplay to progress. Have we tolerated repetition too long? Is that what we all need to apologize for? Or is that the very core of gaming? Is everything a grind, just prettied up to varying degrees of success?

N'Gai, let's get on with a new Vs Mode soon. These letters are always good for getting the wheels turning. But next time, let's talk about a game we really don't agree on. "Burnout" and "Patapon" have made things too cordial, no?

-Stephen

Slight problem: we both really liked this game.

Never fear, however. I think we've got some stuff in here that will provoke you.

• N'Gai lays out the three things that make the game special for him: The Power of Indirect Control, The Importance of Feel, And The Thrill of Iconic Design. And he wonders what it means that he was obsessed with the game for 21 days in the winter but doesn't think about it at all anymore.
• I proclaim that "Patapon" is nifty and doesn't make me feel guilty, stating that "Devil May Cry 4," "Pursuit Force 2" and most other games I've played do make me feel guilt. "Patapon," sweet "Patapon," does not.

Did you say you want criticism of video games, something meaty, something that isn't just a graphics/audio/gameplay review. With Vs. Mode we try to give you that.

Here's a quote from my letter for everyone to chew on:

How many games do we not have to apologize for when recommending them to others? How often do we have to say not to mind the character design or the dialogue or the music or the controls or something else? How many did we in some way suffer? Is the high tolerance for imperfection not unique to gamers, at least to the extent we have to suck it up and try not to be bothered by the bad parts -- or, if you're like me, feel guilty that we spent time with things so full of bad parts?

What follows is Round One of Vs Mode: "Patapon"... (You can read it below or on N'Gai's "Level Up" blog. Round two follows late this week)

To: Stephen Totilo
Fr: N'Gai Croal
Date: March 21, 2008
RE: Pon-Pata-Pon-Pata

Stephen,

What is the best way to prepare for an exchange about a game that we played nearly three months ago? The game in question is "Patapon"--Sony Computer Entertainment's side-scrolling rhythm-based real-time strategy game for the PSP--and for three weeks or so spanning December and January, you and I were both obsessed with it. (Perhaps this is a holiday thing; the year before, I'd been similarly taken with "Metal Gear Solid: Portable Ops," breaking out my PSP at every possible opportunity to recruit soldiers via Wi-Fi with Gotta Catch 'Em All dedication.) So apart from a few marathon "Rock Band" sessions here and there, all I was doing was playing "Patapon." I suppose its possible that had I spent the holidays at home in Brooklyn rather with friends in San Francisco or L.A., I might have indulged in my backlog of console games, but I rather doubt it. "Patapon" got its hooks into me deeply enough that I'd have continued to forsake my 360, PS3 or Wii with nary a trace of guilt.

That was then. Today, I don't really think too much about "Patapon," other than this residual obligation of Vs. Mode and a bit of guilt over never having done the Q&A I planned with the game's creators. How is it possible that a game that so thoroughly consumed me for 21 days and change--that burned through me like a fever--now appears to have barely left a trace, other than a vaguely physical disquiet, an almost muscle memory of when it held my thumbs in grip of an obsession?

That's why I'm wondering how I should prepare for this post, seeing as I didn't take notes during my original playthrough. Should I start over from the beginning? Resume where I left off, frustrated both at my inability to unlock the "stews" that power up my "Patapon" as well as the difficulty of the final boss? Or just search my memory and trust that whatever I remember three months after the fact will in fact be the most salient topics of discussion?

I'll take door #3, and throw out three subjects for us to consider.

1. The Power of Indirect Control

"Patapon" was one of those games that I didn't bother spending much hands on time with at the couple of press events where it was available for play. Not because I wasn't interested; the moment Sony's 2007 E3 press conference was over, I sought out the PR team to inquire about two games: "Echochrome" and "Patapon," so intrigued was I by both games' unique art direction and gameplay. But there are certain games that I feel would almost be a waste of time for me to play during a limited session; that I'd rather wait for a preview build or the finished game so that I can really delve into the mechanics. "Patapon" was one of those games.

When I did finally play it, I wondered whether I'd like the indirect nature of the controls: the fact that while I gave my Patapons their, um, marching orders by way of the various drum patterns, it's not the same kind of precision that you have in a platformer or a shooter. And while it was occasionally frustrating, in the sense of, "Damn, I wish I could have moved them to exactly /that/ spot," I quickly got accustomed to it, and it became part of the game's charm. Truth be told, it was also necessary, much like the games drumbeat controls, because they add just the right amount of complexity to what is at its core a very simple game.

2. The Importance of Feel

Part of what got me thinking of indirect controls and feel was my experience playing "flOw" on the PSP. In the original PS3 version, the controls are inverted, and there seems to be a barely perceptible delay between your gesture and your creature's response. The end result is that you sort of end up feeling that you are the creature moving in fluid rather than controlling some pixels on a screen--the controls give the game its feel. On the PSP, the controls aren't inverted, making it more of a direct control game, and it threw me off completely. It didn't feel like "flOw" at all, and not in a good way, either. It was only when I was killing time in my hotel during South by Southwest that I realized that the delay was in the PSP version, and it started to feel more like the original. But I'd much rather play it on the PS3, where it feels just right.

With "Patapon" once I mastered the controls, they faded into the background in an interesting way. I stopped thinking about the buttons, and that was good, because thinking about what buttons to press was a sure-fire way to lose the beat. Instead, I looked at the screen, listened to the rhythm of the music, tapped out the desired beat, and watched my Patapons respond. (Should we even be describing "Patapon" as a rhythm game, or is it in fact a call-and-response game?) Actually, I didn't so much watch my Patapons respond, because I was already busy planning my next move--Pon-Pon-Pata-Pon? Chaka-Chaka-Pata-Pon? Pon-Pata-Pon-Pata?--while admiring my previous handiwork.

All games exist in the empty space between your thumbs, your eyes and your mind, but for some reason it feels even more so in "Patapon." I tried to locate my role in the experience --was I the Pantheistic God of the Patapons; an Actor playing the part of the flag bearer; or simply my self, the Player--and I found that I was generally myself. I wasn't playing a role inside the experience so much as I was guiding my Patapons to victory from without. Yet at the same time, I felt thoroughly immersed. And I think the reason that occurs has to do with...

3. The Thrill of Iconic Design

There's a mistaken belief that permeates much of the industry, which is that "realistic" graphics will enable videogames to break on through to truly mainstream audiences. But when we consider the success of "Bejewelled," "Peggle," "Guitar Hero," "Rock Band" and "Wii Sports," it's clearly not the case. As graphics technology improves, the exploration of non-photorealistic rendering techniques should go hand in hand with the quest for verisimilitude. Unfortunately, too many developers and publishers would rather focus on the latter, even on the PSP, a platform whose titles could use a complete deign rethink. Thank goodness Sony, at least, is motivated to do so, with games like "Loco Roco" and the forthcoming "Echochrome." Just because it's roughly the power of a PS2 in a handheld doesn't mean that we should be playing PS2 games on the go.

Back to "Patapon:" its art direction cleverly evokes a tribal, hunter-gatherer-warrior vibe in a charming, graceful manner without ever verging into offensive stereotype, which it could have easily done. In our "Portal" exchange, I wrote about the importance of games that leave room for the player to imagine, and not only do "Patapon"'s iconic visuals do this very nicely, the same can be said of its other design elements. The way that the Patapons greeted my return from combat with a campfire celebration for every victory, and with their silent absence when I lost. The overworld menu, which steadily opened up leftward as I progressed through the game, subtly reinforcing the side-scrolling nature of the game. The various battle cries and ululations of the Patapons. It all felt unique, of a piece, and--as I reflect on how much of it I've actually retained--indelible.

It's not perfect, however, which I'll get into more in my next post. But I'm curious as to how much of the "Patapon" experience has stayed with you. Did you like grinding your way to progress like the Clipse on a Virgina street corner, or did you wish you could sell your troops back for the Ka-ching you needed to obtain better warriors?

Cheers,

N'Gai

***

To: N'Gai Croal
Fr: Stephen Totilo
Date: March 23, 2008
RE: Guilt-Free Gaming

N'Gai,

If I reviewed games for a living and had to include in my reviews numerically scored classifications of elements like graphics and sound, I would include one category that would ideally get a low number. That category would be the ability of the game to instill guilt.

And on that criterion, "Patapon" would score as well as any game I have ever played. I recall it fondly. I recall it, unlike so many other games, without guilt.

Guilt? Yes, N'Gai, I was raised Catholic. But I don't think that is why games so often make me feel guilty. Sometimes a game gives guilt because it keeps me indoors when I should be outside (justified guilt). Sometimes I get game guilt because I choose to play a game on a Thursday night rather than perform some more socially approved act, like going to an after-work party (unjustified guilt). Sometimes the guilt I get is caught from the game, a contagious byproduct of the inferiority complex exhibited in games that are trying to be like movies or TV or some other non-game form and are falling short. Such a game makes me feel that if I truly wanted, say, a compelling narrative experience I should have just rented a Hollywood classic or cracked open a book. And sometimes the gaming guilt I feel -- surely you've felt this way too -- is due to the surrendering hours of my life to some level-grind or unforgiving save system or some other junk game design element that hides a lack of true nutritional value.

I don't feel guilt over the beautiful things in life, nor over stuff that's fun in a way -- how does one distinguish these things? -- that's not worth feeling guilty about. Forgive the tautology. Here are come examples:

• "Super Mario Galaxy," refreshingly fun and original in design at every minute I've played of it so far -- no guilt there.

• "Tetris," as pure and perfect a play experience as ever has been made, just a shade harder to put down than it is to pick-up -- minimal guilt there.

• "Devil May Cry 4," enjoyed much of it and finished it a week ago, thought some of it was pretty cool, but now I feel a bit guilty about it. I feel like some of my time was wasted by uninteresting puzzles and repeated levels (beware the backtracking).

• I feel guilt over "Dragon Quest VIII," sensing it was a mistake to spend hours on gameplay and story that did not entertain me, challenge me or surprise me.

• I felt some guilt -- not a ton, but some -- as I neared the end of "Pursuit Force 2: Extreme Justice,," subconsciously calculating that two full games of "Pursuit Force" gameplay more than exceeded my personal bi-annual quota for that sort of thing. Wasn't there something better I could have doing in life than Missions 10-15 or whatever? Some sonnet I could have been reading? Some new episode of Frontline that I could have watched?

There are many possible triggers for my gaming guilt. "Patapon" pulls none of them.

You asked how I remember the game? I recall it fondly. I recall it guilt-free. I recall it the way I wish I recalled more video games: as something altogether fun, captivating, distinctly beautiful, unencumbered by significant flaws. I recall it as a very specific entity, a game that is related to others but sprouted its own new branch. I recall it as the rare game I spent 19 hours playing to completion that didn't feel like it was wasting my time. Like I said, I recall it guilt-free.

How many games do we not have to apologize for when recommending them to others? How often do we have to say not to mind the character design or the dialogue or the music or the controls or something else? How many did we in some way suffer? Is the high tolerance for imperfection not unique to gamers, at least to the extent we have to suck it up and try not to be bothered by the bad parts -- or, if you're like me, feel guilty that we spent time with things so full of bad parts?

There's just one thing I didn't like in "Patapon," one thing to possibly feel bad about even though I never did. That was the need, occasionally, to grind, to send my army of little soldiers through one mission multiple times to earn enough money and materials to forge a warrior who could propel my forces through their next trial in victory. But even this aggravation was ameliorated by "Patapon"'s best quality, its rhythms. To grind a level in "Patapon" is to re-play a favorite song, to re-indulge in a four-minute experience of specific rhythm and flow. A grind in other games is often the repetition of chore; grind in "Patapon is a return to a pleasant ditty.

Let me tell you my favorite memory of playing "Patapon." I was on the subway, my troops marching to the right, throwing spears and slashing swords against their enemies of war. I kept them fighting by tapping out a rhythm that I could hear in my headphones. I tapped it consistently and repeatedly enough that they became super-charged with "fever." A complex, lovely mix of drums and whistles swirled as I stamped my fingers. I kept tapping the rhythm. They kept fighting. And my subway screeched into my home station. Without breaking the rhythm of my button taps, I stood up. I took my eyes off the game and I walked onto the subway platform. I looked down on the game again, but for just a few seconds, maybe two loops of the four-note Patapon rhythm, my little troops were fighting without me seeing them. I had given them charge, swept them up with music. They acted away from me.

The subway moment demonstrated how special this game is. Like you pointed out, we players of "Patapon" are not characters in the game. We are outside orchestrators. We are ourselves. To extend that idea, I believe that we use the game both to order artificial intelligence but to entertain ourselves. In my brief moment of playing but not watching "Patapon," that moment on the threshold between subway and subway platform, I was indulging in both aspects, giving the game's characters commands to do something without me, and giving myself some audio enjoyment by keeping a riff going. One means: two ends. An unusual video game experience. What did it mean? I think it means that playing "Patapon" isn't really like playing many other games. You're not so much a puppeteer, deriving pleasure in how the strings you pull affect something else. Instead, you are a composer of a soundtrack or you are a preacher or you are a weather pattern above a civilization. You create mood that compels reaction.

Consider a version of "Super Mario Galaxy" in which you don't tell Mario when to backflip, when to shoot stars, when to dive underwater, and so forth. Or a version of "The Sims" in which you don't have to manage appetite, bladder, romance and professional aspiration. Imagine versions of these games in which your only influence is your orchestration of the soundtrack. Playing happy music makes good things happen. Playing dissonant, poorly constructed music lets things go awry. These would be games of emotion and mood, evocative and less direct. This is how I remember "Patapon" working, all operating on a more removed level than even the standard god-game. And this is why I don't feel guilt over it: It let me set a mood, enjoy the reaction and in the process drum some lovely music. The game satisfied three senses -- touch, sight and hearing -- beautifully.

For three months it has been over. It's an album I don't feel the need to go back and play again. Not yet. But I recall it like a god, complete book or movie. It used my time well when I was with it, and left me with a good impression.

So I wonder, N'Gai, what do you make of its music? What do you make of the experience of rhythm as control? Does "Patapon" present a lesson of how to extend rhythm game as a control device for any and all other gameplay genres? I know you're about to tell me what's wrong with "Patapon." Let's hear it. But also, tell me, now that you've played a rhythm RTS, would you play a rhythm-"Sims"? A rhythm-"Madden"? Any other game in which "all" you do is make the music that compels the players on the stage.

Oh, and do you ever feel any of that gamer guilt?

-Stephen

N'Gai gets to answer this when Vs. Mode continues later this week (Wednesday, we hope)....