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[Sequels often get penalized if they don't change enough, but Gamasutra news director Leigh Alexander examines BioShock 2 to find an interesting challenge -- and opportunity -- in keeping some things the same.]

The main reservation critics and fans seem to have about the largely-acclaimed BioShock 2 is that it doesn't bring much new to the table, a conservative sequel to a game that didn't really need a sequel.

Wired's Chris Kohler said the game was "stamping on well-trod ground," and Game Informer's Andrew Reiner said the dystopia of Rapture had developed "the familiarity of a local shopping mall." The innovation of Rapture as a setting was part of what made the original BioShock so exciting, and now that players are used to it, the game loses something, some say.

Another recent release, No More Heroes 2, was also said to have been unnecessary -- director Suda51 himself has said he hadn't planned on tacking a sequel on to the story of Travis Touchdown.

Why do games that "don't need sequels" get them? The answer's obvious: the game industry's more hit-driven than ever, and it's no longer enough to make a successful game -- publishers need successful franchises. This leaves two options: conceive every game as open-ended, always setting up for a sequel, or attach sequels to games that "don't need them."

Neither sounds very appealing at first blush. But the major rush to sequelize even those titles that make solid self-contained experiences could create, by necessity, a promising shift in the way developers build worlds and innovate in them.

Although fans were quick to note that that BioShock 2 didn't feel much different from its predecessor, 2K was wise with it. The original title was so strongly received that to significantly change much about it could have been disastrous. Fans loved BioShock for its unique and deeply-realized world and the signatures that populated it: Madness, decay, philosophical frenzy, and the strange energy system governed by the eerie Little Sisters and their hulking protectors.

There's even very little room to improve on the game mechanics. They can be iterated upon, as with the welcome tweak to the hacking minigame, but BioShock's gameplay is well-established and part of its appeal. So much about the game identifies it distinctly that there isn't much that can be changed in a sequel -- there are too many elements without which it wouldn't be itself. But that's not a problem: That's a success and an opportunity.

BioShock is not just a stand-alone narrative. It's a framework. Rapture isn't the story, it's the story's housing. The lamp-eyed Little Sisters and lumbering Big Daddies aren't characters, they're elements of the visual language. Thinking about a sequel for a game with such a strong signature, it becomes clear that its key elements are signposts for the experience, and not the entirety of the experience itself.

And with the framework so distinctive and so firmly-established, there's a unique chance to evolve the expectations of gamers. Where BioShock presented one character of an only loosely-known identity with an objectivist despot as adversary, BioShock 2 presents the same sort of character and an enemy adherent to a different philosophy.

What can BioShock 3 do? It can't change Rapture's look, its citizenry, its rules or even meaningfully change the experience of interacting with the world. But it can present a new quest for self and a new philosophy to test within Rapture's mad power vacuum. In other words, it has no choice but to iterate on story and theme, and this fashion of approaching game franchises will only make gaming richer as developers get better and better at it.

It will be interesting if games start to become franchises by building a strong universe and desirable mechanics first, and then yield sequels that don't overhaul those things, rewrite the design mechanics or tack on new features where none are really needed just so gamers won't complain there's nothing new.

The result will be a new kind of sequelization. BioShock 2 returned us to Rapture in the best way possible: By simply creating a new adventure therein and a new way to look at familiar things. It's perplexing to see critics penalize a game for declining to change what they best loved about it.

Dragon Quest's "Overture" is instantly recognizable to almost anyone with any familiarity with the franchise, as it's used prominently in dozens of main series games and spin-offs starting with the very first release. There's even a Dragon Quest Best Dance Mix album that you can grab with a Trance remix version of the music!

In a recent interview with Famitsu translated by 1UP, Dragon Quest composer Koichi Sugiyama, who was already a celebrity in Japan for his TV/film work long before he began working on video games, reflected on his 24-year history with the series and revealed that he came up with the melody for the iconic overture in just five minutes.

"It took about five minutes between getting struck with the idea and coming up with the melody [for the overture]," Sugiyama said. "People get surprised when I say I did it in five minutes, but I'd like to think I did it because I had fifty-odd years of living experience up to that point. You could say it really took me fifty years and five minutes."

The veteran composer also shared an interesting story on how Enix initially sought him out to work on its game soundtracks:

"I've always liked video games, and long ago I played a game called Morita Shogi which Enix released on the PC-8801. I wrote down my impressions of it in the little questionnaire postcard in the box, and my family sent it back to them without me realizing it.

Whoever received the note recognized my name and gave me a phone call asking if I could compose some music for them. I said yes, and that was how I began making game music."

See? There really was a point to filling out those silly questionnaire cards that came with your games. You could've been a renown video game composer if only you'd sent yours in!

Some people really dig genre pieces, works that stick to convention and don't really deviate from the norm. You experience them because you enjoy the tropes of the genre and the familiarity of it all. This game is a standard hop-and-bop platformer, but if you have a platformer fetish like I do you'll most likely squeeze some enjoyment from it. Obake takes elements from Mario and Kirby and mixes them in a not-too-radical fashion, but does it with a decent amount of polish and a fair amount of charm.

You play as the titular Obake (Japanese for 'thing that changes') and take him through a six-world romp. The aesthetic is slightly off-kilter retro, and should appeal to fans of the 16-bit era. In your normal ghost-like form you can only move and jump, but if you press the down arrow you can possess an enemy. When you do so you gain their mobility and attack patterns, each of varying strength. The game takes Kirby's absorption motif a step further by also giving you that enemy's health. This coupled with generally low difficulty makes the game fairly easy, but it's fun to mess around with the various forms and explore the levels. The six worlds go a long way as well, so if you're into this sort of thing there's a lot of content to be played.

Nothing revolutionary, but a nice way to kill a couple hours.

And because I like you guys so much, here's an extra game at no additional charge: http://mogera.jp/gameplay?gid=gm0000000345
You play an albino deer,tripping on some psychedelic, that throws rocks at police. Enjoy.

[In this opinion piece, originally published in Gamasutra sister publication Game Developer magazine, EIC Brandon Sheffield takes on a common industry ailment, and reminds game developers to take the time to sit down and play some video games now and then.]

In a previous column published in Game Developer magazine, I mentioned that it would be beneficial for developers to look outside games for inspiration. This is something I believe strongly, but on top of that, how many of you out there actually have the time to even play games, let alone consume other media?

It seems that nine times out of ten, when I ask a working developer what games he’s played recently, he’ll honestly admit he doesn’t have the time to play any games but his own.

Those who say they have played contemporary titles, if pressed, often admit only a cursory familiarity with the recent games they’ve tried. Some actually seem to be proud of the fact they don't actively play games but their own. This is a worldwide phenomenon, and not a particularly awesome one.

The Exception That Proves The Rule

I recently heard a story from a friend who used to be a producer on the publishing side. He played a lot of games on his own time, and talked about it vocally with others in the office, as watercooler discussion.

Over time, he became known as a guy who plays a lot of new releases -- even by his higher ups. His bosses would start to come around, asking for opinions on competing titles, and he’d be able to give solid answers.

As a result of being known as the guy who knows about games, he got promoted to an executive-level position dealing with third parties.

This guy is competent and intelligent, so those traits are contributing factors to his rise as well, but even to hear him tell it, his being a developer who actually played contemporary games was so unique and valuable that it warranted a promotion.

Knowing Me, Knowing You, A-ha

Games are, like most entertainment media, very strongly influenced by past successes. If you make an FPS, you’re not just referencing the Call of Duty series, you’re riding on the shoulders of Doom, Wolfenstein 3D, and even Advanced Dungeons & Dragons: Treasure of Tarmin for the Intellivision.

No product exists in a vacuum, and in this world of iterative improvements, those games which are made with an awareness of the past are less likely to repeat mistakes, and more likely to push forward.

I’ve heard some folks say they don’t want to be accused of being influenced by other games, but theoretically if your design is solid and well-implemented, it should stand on its own. And as I mentioned, what game isn’t influenced by a host of others?

Leads at the very least should be paying attention to the work going on in other studios, or should be playing those studios’ games. After all, what director doesn’t watch movies, and what novelist doesn’t read books? Certainly only the outliers.

The Usual Caveat

Time is every game developer’s nemesis. A 60-hour work week is not unusual, and if you’ve got a family, how can you justify playing games at home (other than perhaps with your child or spouse)?

There is a lot of institutional pressure keeping developers from playing competing products, and some of them may not be solvable in the short term. If people could stop working 60 hour weeks, they would.

In the film industry, the whole team works ridiculous hours for the duration of the project, but they are compensated well enough that they can actually take a bit of a break in between projects.

A potential solution might be to have mandatory scheduled playtime for leads and key creatives during work hours. Of course, when the pedal’s to the metal, that looks like an attractive cut, but building it into company culture would likely be beneficial.

I personally have been trying out the first hour of any game I get, rather than filing it away for the day when I’ll “really have time to sit down with it.” You can glean a lot from that first hour, and if it’s engaging, you might go for another.

Reading reviews and gathering popular opinion on a title just isn’t enough. No judgment is more sound than our own, yes? In some cases it may be impossible to work games into your life more than they already are—but it seems like something worth doing.