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[In this in-depth analysis, Gamasutra's Christian Nutt, fresh from Apple's high-profile iPad unveiling in San Francisco, takes time to ponder the future of the versatile tablet device as a gaming platform.]

In San Francisco this morning, I attended the unveiling of Apple's iPad device. It's funny. Eavesdropping on the crowd and conversing with other journalists led me to believe that everybody who wasn't excessively excited about the announcement before it even came was already a bit bored with the idea of an Apple tablet. The hype cycle with which everybody in the video game industry is already very familiar was demonstrated perfectly by 9:30 AM.

During the presentation, Steve Jobs, Apple's CEO, made great hay of the fact that Apple is now primarily a mobile devices company. "By revenue, Apple is the largest mobile devices company in the world. Apple is a mobile devices company. That's what we do," he said. Most of the computers it sells are laptops, the iPhone is tremendously popular, and the iPod is a continuing success for the company.

He boasted that the company is now a bigger mobile devices company than Sony, Samsung, or Nokia. And the iPad slots into Apple's continuing emphasis on this transformation of the marketplace -- and may even help drive it.

The iPad, to oversimplify, is an extremely large iPod Touch, equipped with a 9.7-inch screen at 1024x768 resolution. It seems easy to believe that it will be a great web device and a nice e-book reader -- two of its primary functions -- and do well with photos and video. Like all of Apple's devices, it feels nice in your hands and looks nice in a shop window.

The Games Question

But how will it be for games? Well, there are two angles to consider here.

One is the platform's capabilities. The Apple A4 processor in the device runs at 1 GHz, up from the reported 600 MHz processor in the iPod 3GS, the fastest device in Apple's mobile device family until now. It has a big, beautiful screen, which is also a multitouch surface. And although Apple's official specs page simply lists "accelerometer," an Apple representative at the event told me the device's accelerometer will be able to detect tilting on both the X and Y axes, unlike the iPhone, unlocking true 3D control as a possibility, but this capability was not demonstrated.

There is no question that this will be a more satisfying and possibly much more capable device for gaming than the iPhone and iPod Touch. You can see much more, and with a bigger multitouch window and increased accelerometer capabilities, you can control it much more easily. As demoed by Gameloft, which showed off a work-in-progress iPad version of its shooter N.O.V.A., the increased screen size will allow for increased configurability. Gameloft has added a mini-map to its game, and the position of on-screen controls was configurable in a way that likely wouldn't be worth the bother on iPhone.

The other angle, of course, is that the iPad is as closed a platform as the iPhone is. Inevitable jailbreaking aside -- and what developer benefits from that? -- it's worth remembering that you'll be limited to Apple's SDK and iTunes delivery mechanism, as with its other mobile devices. A touch-based Mac this is not. In this sense, it really is a big iPod.

This seems peculiar on a device that's so close to an actual computer -- Apple demoed iWork, including its Pages word processing software, on the device this morning. You can output to a monitor or hook up a keyboard. But the user ultimately doesn't have control over his or her device in the same way he or she would with a laptop, and everything will flow through iTunes when it comes to syncing with a PC or Mac.

So now you know where you stand, developers: the same place you already were, more or less. As always, Apple is the gatekeeper.

What Will Happen with the Software Market?

It's obvious that, at least at launch, most developers are going to worry about making iPad-native versions of existing apps. Sure, "most" iPhone apps are compatible with the device out of the box, but while they're totally playable, they don't benefit much from being blown up to two times their native resolution. The benefit here is that the Apple fanatics who buy this thing at launch will already have access to their existing software libraries on their new device, which may reassure some purchase decisions.

But the retrofit mania will happen mostly because it won't make sense for many developers, particularly cash-strapped indies, to pour resources into iPad-native games when its future is less obviously bright than the iPhone's was. And indies won't be the only ones doing this. After demoing a version of iPhone Need for Speed Shift, quickly retrofitted for iPad, EA's Travis Boatman said, "We're going to be able to bring all of our other EA games from the App Store to this device in no time."

Much more so than at the original App Store launch, it's going to be exceedingly difficult to stand out from day one -- unless you can come up with a tremendously original idea, execute on it well, and market it aggressively.

If you do come up with that great new idea, "we're going to put it front and center" on the App Store, promises Apple's SVP of iPhone software, Scott Forstall. That's a promise you can rely on. Apple routinely features strong software on the App Store and, more importantly, makes the choices itself, based on quality, without ad buys coming into the picture.

But the slots are so limited and the process so opaque that you can't rely on it happening to you. The iPad will be as big a crap shoot for developers as the iPhone is. Forstall promised "another goldrush" when the iPad launches. But that promise, rather than exciting them, might make most developers a little queasy.

Who's Going to Be There?

Jobs calls iPad "a truly magical and revolutionary product." The realists, or the cynical, call it an overgrown iPod Touch. Whatever it is, the audience -- its size and its makeup -- will be integral to its appeal as a game platform. The capabilities are obviously there, and with such a big screen that's so easy to control, the ability to deliver rich and robust game experiences becomes immediately obvious. There's Unity and even Unreal Engine for the device, let's not forget, among other technologies that can help deliver high-quality experiences.

But will those who buy the iPad do so to read the New York Times during their frequent business trips -- people who want a Kindle, but better? Or will they be the same kind of diverse crowd that has the iPhone?

There seems to be a possibility that this is a device that can simplify computing, making it less confusing, more accessible, and more appealing to a wide audience. It's certainly going to be a great device for browsing Facebook, particularly as it's hard to imagine that the company won't launch a custom iPad app day one. (Still, Facebook games might not benefit -- the demo device, like iPhone, didn't do Flash.)

If that happens, this might appeal to entirely new consumers: people who just want the web and a bit more, delivered in the most convenient way possible. Who can't stand a soft keyboard for only 140 characters? After all, it's been reported that the iPhone is already gaining traction as a primary internet device for many, as surprising as that might sound to anyone who's seated in front of a PC right now.

Thanks to the iPhone and iPod Touch, says Jobs, "There are over 75 million people that already know how to use the iPad." That may be true, but will they want to use the iPad? Can they afford the iPad? For many, gaming is still incidental to the primary telephony and browsing functions of the iPhone. What's the primary function of the iPad? When that gets defined -- and marketing is part of that, so Apple's got to take point here -- that will help us know whether gaming will have a big place on this new device.

It's hard to suggest to developers to take a "wait and see" approach when the clock is always ticking on time and money, particularly for indies. There's no doubt that there's a killer app to be made, and a ton of competition out there who will be trying to make it.

At the same time, the device's future seems a lot murkier than the iPhone or iPod. The iPhone made smartphones essential to a huge number of people, and gaming came along for the ride -- and got so compelling Apple realized it would help drive the device into more hands. It's hard to think of the iPad as "essential" to anybody right now. But there's a chance it may catch the wave of a new audience that doesn't want a full-fledged PC. If ever a device had that chance, it may be this one. And those people, like any, will certainly want a chance to play games.

[Gamasutra features director Christian Nutt jumps into the debate over the aesthetics of Platinum Games' Bayonetta, exploring context for "taste" in the history of popular culture.]

Late last year I read a fascinating book (thanks, Randy) called Let's Talk About Love: A Journey To The End of Taste. Written by music critic Carl Wilson, it's a part of the 33 1/3 series -- book-length examinations of albums.

In the series, there are books -- unsurprisingly -- on albums such as Radiohead's OK Computer, The Beatles' Let it Be, My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, and Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited, among many others. This is stuff that rock critics and serious music fans think are classics.

Wilson's book, in contrast, stands alone: it's about Celine Dion's Let's Talk About Love, her 1997 album -- the one with the Titanic theme, My Heart Will Go On. There are two important facts that make the book as fascinating as it is. For one, Let's Talk About Love is one of the most popular albums of all time, having sold over 31 million copies worldwide; conversely, nobody who professes to be a fan of music would be caught dead listening to Celine Dion.

Wilson's book, then, is not a book-length celebration of the album; instead, as the title implies, Wilson spends it trying to understand who likes and, as importantly, who does not like Celine Dion, and why.

As Wilson puts it, "This book is an experiment in taste, in stepping deliberately outside one's own aesthetics. It has to do with social affinities and rancors and what art and its appreciation can do to mediate or exacerbate them... Primarily... the question is whether anyone's tastes stand on solid ground, starting with mine."

Why I Didn't Get There Sooner

Wilson was interested in investigating whether the critics are wrong -- not so much whether Celine Dion's music is actually excellent, but whether the premise of criticism is wrong. Wilson doesn't just listen to the CD and write his thoughts; he delves into Dion's biography, the makeup of her audience, the very nature of taste as a social construct. It's an astonishing read.

I first tried to write an editorial about the book, and how its concepts relate to our appreciation of games, in early December. The problem is that I didn't, in the end, have something to hang the article around. I found that thing last week, on Wired's Game|Life blog, in the form of an editorial by Gus Mastrapa, called Bayonetta's Gaudy Style Smothers The Substance.

In the editorial, Mastrapa describes the game as "an aesthetic mess".

He's not alone in that assessment. The game has also taken charges of being deeply sexist -- an issue explored by Gamasutra news director Leigh Alexander elsewhere.

I've been playing and have come to love Bayonetta, though, and Mastrapa's piece rankled. It's also a good example of the sort of general criticism the game is taking, so it's his piece on which I will concentrate.

What He Thinks

Says Mastrapa, "Take each element on its own: Bayonetta's skimpy black outfit, the ornate gold and feather construction of enemy angels, the baroque architecture of Vigrid. They're all handsomely crafted. But pile them together as they're presented in Bayonetta and they clash, creating an unappealing visual cacophony, like a yard sale at Neverland. Slather that gaudiness with stilted dialogue, corny music and silly plot and you've got a game that's nothing less than an affront to good taste."

His premise established, Mastrapa proceeds to demolish Bayonetta on every aesthetic front.
Its director is capable of more, says Mastrapa. "[Hideki] Kamiya did, after all, nail the look and feel of ancient Japanese art in Okami and the two-dimensional energy of anime in Viewtiful Joe. His earlier games have a visual and tonal purposefulness that seems lost in Bayonetta."

Even if you can stomach the idea Bayonetta represents an intentional stylistic choice, the execution is terrible, he says. He describes an early cutscene as "clumsily staged, terribly acted and dull as dirt."

Even so, Bayonetta is a fine exemplar of craft, Mastrapa is forced to admit, but it's artless. "There's no elegance to Bayonetta's visuals. The imagery is all clutter. When you're embroiled in a fight, the screen fills up with glistening latex, fluttering wings and whipping hair. It reminds me of the crowded screens of the Star Wars prequel trilogy."

Even worse, says Mastrapa, though Kamiya has been original in the past, that originality is missing from Bayonetta, which takes its cues from pop culture that was once hip but is now passe. "...the song 'Fly Me To The Moon' played during the first battle scene... most geeks now know the 1954 standard as 'the song from Evangelion'... it just reminded me of the '90s when The Matrix was the end-all-be-all of geekiness and Gainax was the thinking nerd's anime [studio]. There's a lot of water under that bridge, thank God."

Some have suggested, predictably, that the gameplay's so good that you are forced to forgive how awful everything else is -- it's a typical argument for a medium bursting with thin stories and strong mechanics. Mastrapa dismisses this with a cliche of his own: "I don't care how brilliant Bayonetta's button mashing is," he says. Bayonetta? It's good at something that's not even worth being good at.

And now, the finishing move -- or, in Bayonetta's sexualized parlance, the climax -- "The tired biblical allusions, the feigned trench coat cool and the towering, but ultimately hollow architectural wonder didn't just bore me to tears -- they offended me," says Mastrapa.

What I Think

Well, what I think about Bayonetta is a bit different. Writing on my personal blog in response to Mastrapa's piece, I said, "Bayonetta is fucking rocking my socks on every level." My personal opinion of Bayonetta is that it's one of the best games I've played in longer than I can remember.

In the comments section discussion that followed the article, I professed my love for the game -- which Mastrapa interprets through the lens of his disdain. "You're not wrong for liking Bayonetta or forgiving its faults for its obvious strengths," he says. "I'd like to think that we can use opinion in this way to have interesting disagreements that help us learn more about what we like (story vs gameplay or style vs substance) and why we like it."

It's not that I don't get where Mastrapa is coming from. Bayonetta is easily seen as a tacky disaster. The title character is an amoral, belligerent cipher who kills angels -- Christian angels, more or less, though the game's mythology is an ambiguous hodgepodge.

And given her impossible physique, skin-tight catsuit, and plot-necessitated nakedness, the character of Bayonetta has been derided as a sexist caricature since she first appeared. I call her an "aesthetic construct" -- which is really the other side of the same coin. In appearance, motion, intent, and deed, she's not a person -- she's a personification of concepts, or even ideals.

All games are artificial, but many strive for realism, to greater or lesser effect. Bayonetta does not care. It draws from European architecture, Christian cosmology, the human body, Hollywood, and the creator's previous work -- to name a few sources -- but offers up nothing but obvious artifice.

I find it to be a pleasurable artifice. I adore the go-for-brokeness of the whole endeavor. I find the aesthetics not a cacophony but an appealing jumble. And the gameplay is exquisitely tuned, of course. But that's the linchpin, not the whole.

Welcome to Camp

Of course, there's another interpretation. We don't have to take Bayonetta at face value. We can appreciate Bayonetta as camp.

In her 1964 essay Notes on Camp, Susan Sontag defined camp in a variety of ways -- many of which apply very obviously to Bayonetta. "Indeed the essence of Camp is its love of the unnatural: of artifice and exaggeration," wrote Sontag.

As pointed out on my blog by commenter 33mhz, Sontag's essay seems particularly apt when discussing Bayonetta: "Camp is a vision of the world in terms of style -- but a particular kind of style. It is the love of the exaggerated, the 'off,' of things-being-what-they-are-not."

Almost everywhere you see a quote in the essay, it fits -- "As a taste in persons, Camp responds particularly to the markedly attenuated and to the strongly exaggerated," or "Camp is the attempt to do something extraordinary. But extraordinary in the sense, often, of being special, glamorous," or "Camp is the glorification of 'character.' The statement is of no importance, except, of course, to the person... who makes it," or "Camp is the consistently aesthetic experience of the world. It incarnates a victory of 'style' over 'content,' 'aesthetics' over 'morality,' of irony over tragedy."

I can pinpoint a sensibility or a moment in Bayonetta for every statement I just quoted. As a character, Bayonetta is completely self-absorbed, and her dialogue is comprised only of thoughtless irrelevancies; she out-glamorizes runway models with her impossibly leggy figure while outfighting everybody, including angels as big as buildings. Bayonetta is as stylish and amoral and ironic as a game character has ever been.

Says Sontag, "Camp taste turns its back on the good-bad axis of ordinary aesthetic judgment. Camp doesn't reverse things. It doesn't argue that the good is bad, or the bad is good. What it does is to offer for art (and life) a different -- a supplementary -- set of standards." And I think that's precisely where I deviate from Mastrapa in my appreciation of Bayonetta.

I like it because it just goes for it -- something I don't see much outside of Japan. There's no hesitation, no stopping to think about whether something makes literal sense or if it is even remotely possible. In one cutscene, Bayonetta surfs on lava on the back of an angel.

Camp is both how we like things that are tacky or bad -- though all bad, tacky things aren't camp -- and also how creators get away with making creative choices they know are bad or tacky. Even so, I don't think that liking (or creating) campy things (like Bayonetta) is dishonest.

Of course, Sontag also writes, "When something is just bad (rather than Camp), it's often because it is too mediocre in its ambition," which I think is the obvious counterargument to Bayonetta being a camp masterpiece, if one is to be made. Certainly, without saying anything about camp explicitly or implicitly, it's the argument Mastrapa makes against the game.

The Japan Question

Part of the problem with parsing Bayonetta's intent comes from its origin -- it's a Japanese game. Even in this era of international collaboration, it's hard to parse Japanese stuff and figure out what's straight-faced and what's not.

I've been consuming Japanese culture for years and one reason I like it so much is its earnestness in the face of ridiculous situations and stylistic extremes. This is easily exemplified by Final Fantasy. The series has more of a sense of humor than it gets credit for, but it's also a handy example of work that is self-serious yet stylistically extreme.

On the other hand, mainstream Japanese humor is extremely campy. There's the incredibly obvious example of Hard Gay, of course, but think about Tingle, from The Legend of Zelda series. His inclusion in such lighthearted all-ages games is indicative of how much camp has infiltrated mainstream Japanese humor.

Japan is popularly conceived of being oblivious to the effect its peculiarities have on its media -- either the Japanese don't get it or don't care, is the assumption most make. At the extreme end of both Japanese camp and obliviousness there's the blackface Obama segment from Japanese TV, so it's not an invalid criticism.

But I think Bayonetta is largely a self-aware and intentional work. That's not to say that every element is equally self-aware, or up to my personal standard. The game frequently references The Matrix for its action sequences.

This is both tired, because movies and games have been doing so for the 10-plus years since the first Matrix film was released -- and lame, because The Matrix is at the nadir of its cultural relevance and has yet to be reclaimed as something anybody who purports to have taste would admit to liking. Sure, your friend liking The Matrix is okay. However, we like to think that directors, like Kamiya, are too culturally literate to avoid this sort of faux pas.

On Taste

In Wilson's book, he quotes sociologist and critic Simon Frith as saying that Celine Dion is "probably the most loathed superstar I can remember, at least by everyone I know, not just critics but even my mother-in-law. I doubt if she will ever be redeemed, ABBA-style, and what seems to concern everyone is that she is just naff." ("Naff" is British slang for bad or tacky.)

Wilson goes into great depths to examine the cultural structures and psychological origins of taste -- which I won't. Coolness, however, is central to Wilson's concept of taste. What you find cool implies a lot about who you are; but Wilson also recognizes that (for the most part) people also mostly legitimately enjoy what they enjoy. When it comes to how you shape your own tastes, writes Wilson, "At worst I am conning myself, but to what I feel is my advantage."

I think these distinctions get a little flipped when we take a look at the game industry and its fans, rather than pop music, however. I think that we're obviously going through growing pains, as both Bayonetta itself, and the discussion of Bayonetta, so clearly imply.

Here's a sample from a very smart blog post about Bayonetta. Please note it's one that recommends the game. "Bayonetta is an embarrassment waiting to happen. To play this game in front of any human being over the age of 12 -- indeed, just to play it in front of yourself -- is to develop a sense that something has gone horribly wrong with your recreation."

Bayonetta has become the symbol of the anti-cool -- gaming's Celine Dion.

The Fine Line

At the same time we're gasping for maturity -- to produce games that are more meaningful and have more social merit -- we have two problems. The game industry has been built on a rocky bed of the geekiest of geek culture, and as a commercial enterprise it routinely panders to the basest of male adolescent fantasy.

The game industry, in its current form, encompasses the hip and the nerdy, the mature and immature, in equal measure -- often in the same people.

"Bayonetta is the game better hidden from view, much as a college dorm dweller would urge his roommate to hide the Eva wall scrolls in the closet when female suitors come calling," says Mastrapa, in his editorial. A lot of gamers may be geeks, but they're also increasingly socially literate geeks, in other words.

When you're struggling to establish your legitimacy, though, anything that threatens it -- anything as crass as Bayonetta -- is more dangerous. In that quote, Mastrapa is very concrete with his example, but it's really a metaphor; extrapolate the thinking behind it and you're dealing with the conundrum of contemporary gamer culture. We revel in otaku garbage, but we're aware that this is a problem. We're adults, and it's our job to fix it -- or if we're not in a position to fix it, to at least publicly devalue it.

Writes Wilson, about critics and their relationship with pop culture, "in the present tense, submerged social antagonisms and the risk of being taken for one of the 'tacky' dullards makes it less attractive to be so all-embracing..." of embarrassing pop culture like Celine Dion.

But Wilson argues that distinctions in culture have fallen apart. "By the early twenty-first century," he writes, "almost no one believes in them." According to a study, Wilson reports, "by the 1990s, the upper class taste model had changed from a 'snob' to an 'omnivore' ideal, in which the coolest thing for a well-off and well-educated person to do is to consume some high culture along with heaps of popular culture."

The only things people in this survey of musical taste didn't want to admit to liking was that favored by the uneducated -- separating themselves from "white trash" through their taste choices. (The study in question was entitled "Anything But Heavy Metal.")

We're not so worried about being "white trash" when we like Bayonetta. We're worried about being perceived as gamers and only gamers -- arrested adolescents. We're worried about seeing our medium's cultural currency frittered away, rewarding the mindset that produced a game so base and sexist and game-like, with no higher ideal.

If You Liked It...

Here, I think about Wilson's cherished medium -- pop music.

As Wilson writes, at the turn of the decade into the 2000s, critics increasingly gained an appreciation for the pop music of the times. ABBA, as Frith said, had to be "reclaimed"; it was loathed by critics. It is now revered.

Not so today. Pop music is seen as a valid space to work in and its fruits, like Beyonce's massive hit Single Ladies, are enjoyed by all. Sure, critics and serious fans are expected to like bands like Animal Collective or Grizzly Bear, but they're simultaneously expected to appreciate Single Ladies and Lady Gaga. Despite its patently commercial aims and mainstream appeal, Single Ladies is widely (and rightly, I'd say) regarded, and was a pop cultural touchstone from the moment it was released.

This applied to everyone, including indie musicians. A band called Pomplamoose even made its name by releasing a brilliant cover of the song on YouTube. Singer Nataly Dawn briefly abandons Beyonce's lyrics, however, singing, "Don't make sing this part of the song / the lyrics are so bad / so we're going to skip ahead to the Single Ladies part instead."

This is an assertion built on confidence. Dawn's saying, "You and I both know that Single Ladies is an incredible song, so we'll forgive the lyrics and get back to that amazing chorus without delay." But when I say something like "I love Gears of War 2... yeah, they screwed up the whole 'Dom's wife' thing, but..." I'm doing pretty much the opposite. I am admitting I don't have the same confidence about the medium. I'm trying to deflect criticism.

Let's rewind two decades from Single Ladies and look at the music industry for a clue about what might be going on with games.

It Is Now My Duty to Completely Drain You

In the late '80s, mainstream rock was a stale and ridiculous thing: incredibly trite, with bloated budgets, ludicrous visuals, idiotic characters -- and I'm just talking about Poison. Hair metal held sway, and it was increasingly a cultural embarrassment. In 1991, Nirvana released Nevermind, and quite suddenly, rawness, emotionality, and authenticity became mainstream rock virtues.

Games are still in their pre-Nevermind.

Just as Nevermind wasn't Nirvana's first album -- that was 1989's Bleach, which stayed underground -- Bayonetta isn't Kamiya's first game. With Okami, Kamiya made his Bleach -- a critical darling that promised a breakthrough. But instead of following it up with a Nevermind, he released his Dr. Feelgood.

We might forgive him if we had the confidence that comes from having our own Nirvana, but we're not there yet. Even Half-Life 2, as genius as it might be, is gaming's Guns 'n Roses -- there's immense talent and craft, but... it's still hair metal.

We're worried we won't get our landscape-refiguring Nevermind unless someone like Kamiya delivers it.

Years before Nevermind, there were plenty of literate modern rock acts, as they were known in the '80s, who didn't break through -- or, like R.E.M., couldn't quite make it until Kurt Cobain broke down the door. Sure, we have Flower and Braid. But if we get our Nevermind, might thatgamecompany become the next R.E.M.?

Mastrapa essentially lays this challenge right at Kamiya's feet: "Where Okami and Viewtiful Joe may be fine evidence for the games-as-art argument, Bayonetta is the game better hidden from view..." You're letting us down, Kamiya, he says. Get your head together and get back to making art.

I disagree with the sentiment at a fundamental philosophical level -- people should create what they want to create. Perhaps Mastrapa thinks Kamiya didn't want to make something like Bayonetta, but was pressured by Sega or market realities. After all, Okami wasn't a hit. Okami was Bleach. We now know that Nirvana made Nevermind hoping for a hit, but they didn't compromise themselves. Did Kamiya just overcompensate?

I Can't Argue

As much as I like Bayonetta, I often find myself expressing sentiments much like Mastrapa's. Given the shameless way in which Bayonetta cribs some of its action sequences from The Matrix, there's a particular irony in my own recent comment, written at the same time I was playing Bayonetta, that is winkingly "brought to you in part by The Society To Stop Game Developers Remaking The Matrix, Aliens, Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars."

I think all of us who have a vested cultural interest in games are struggling with this right now. Chris Hecker recently said it better than I can, after all, particularly since he's a developer himself.

To my mind, no game better encapsulates this painful sort of contrast than EA's upcoming Dante's Inferno. It takes a 700-year old poem that's a foundational classic of Western Literature and, as far as I can tell, urinates on it.

All the while, the creators -- who are obviously mature and talented enough to push themselves through the grueling production process required to produce a triple-A console game -- continuously make, to my ears, culturally tone deaf assertions that the game is true to the poem whenever someone puts a microphone in front of them.

This cover image of the tie-in edition Del Rey is publishing of the original poem is the ultimate example of the line-straddling of Dante's Inferno. For one, the cover's got the aesthetically boring but painstakingly crafted aesthetic so common in mainstream games; contrast another edition. It's translated by a poet who died in 1882 but features an intro by the game's executive producer.

Most hilariously, it assumes that the target audience of an adrenaline-soaked hack 'n' slash game will want to read an incredibly difficult classical poem. This belief is belied by the sweeping and deliberate changes the developers have made to its content to turn it into a video game.

This is where our industry is right now: not sure what the hell we're doing, or why, or for whom -- but we're doing it with all of our technical skill and artistic talent and conviction. This is what pushes people like Gus Mastrapa, and me, to write editorials.

Having said that, despite my love of Bayonetta, I must admit that you can read his critique as completely valid. In games, we have a strange tendency to eschew the concept of taste. Not "good taste" versus "bad taste" -- that's where Bayonetta's being judged -- but personal taste. We don't really seem to believe in the possibility that different people might like different things for equally valid reasons that we hate them.

Says Mastrapa, in the comments section of his article -- clearly aware from its high Metacritic that, as a gamer, he's supposed to like Bayonetta -- "I just find it interesting to explore what we're willing to forgive in gaming, because sometimes story must be traded for play or style for substance. We rarely get the complete package -- so to me finding out what people are willing to forgive (or wind up genuinely liking -- maybe they're the same thing?) is worth exploring."

But I love Bayonetta and reject compromise. It's a terrible, tacky, campy, irresistible feast for all of my senses. I enjoy every aspect of the game -- while recognizing that some are questionable, of course. The fact that I enjoy questioning what I like and why it's entertaining to me in and of itself, after all, is probably why I'm a critic.

But I think the idea that we can't like bad things because they're bad, not despite the fact, is a limiting perspective that is one more barrier we're going to have to break through if we understand why we like -- and make! -- the games we do, and move forward.

The Taste Of Shame

In confronting Celine Dion's album, Wilson was forced to listen to it, repeatedly, at full volume -- but was embarrassed that his neighbors would overhear him listening to Celine Dion. Of the experience, he writes, "Shame has a way of throwing you back upon your own existence, on the unbearable truth that you are identical with you, that you are your limits... It's the reverse of the self extension that having likes and dislikes usually provides. It is humbling."

This is the same emotional response felt by those rejecting Bayonetta. It's not just a bad game -- it's an embarrassment. And it's an embarrassment for our entire industry, by extension, because we're still fighting for respect in a way that music is not. Celine Dion can't erase Nirvana, but Bayonetta might erase Okami.

My alternative suggestion is to embrace Bayonetta. Learn why Bayonetta is lovable. Enjoy the pure and unmatched virtuosity of its action gameplay, but also laugh along with the corny Grindhouse aesthetics, the Evangelion-inspired blasphemies, the Matrix moves, and the excessively complicated Resident Evil-style text back story. It's all there for you to enjoy -- or, when you get bored, to ignore.

After all, as Wilson argues, in the 21st century, we're cultural omnivores. Any other way of looking at pop culture is dated. Forget the Nirvana moment. It may not even be possible. Bayonetta has more in common with Lady Gaga -- a confusing and electrifying clash of art, kitsch, and camp with a great beat. You can hate her, but you can't stop her.

[Gamasutra features director Christian Nutt predicts Final Fantasy XIII will be one of the most polarizing games of 2010 -- in this column, he explores what's left when "RPG elements" are removed from an RPG.]

It's an established tenet of game development these days that you can add "RPG elements" to a game to bring extra depth and stickiness. In fact, you could call it a cliche.

"RPG elements" are a big part of what separated and elevated Castlevania: Symphony of the Night from its predecessors in 1997. On the other hand, cinematic presentation is what attracted a huge number of gamers to Final Fantasy VII that same year -- gamers who would never have dreamed of playing an RPG otherwise.

But when you start subtracting RPG elements from a game that people think of as an RPG, what does that get you? That's the question that Final Fantasy XIII raises, and is likely to be why it's one of the most polarizing games of 2010 when it's released in the Western market.

There's a perfect storm of circumstances. The last game in the series, FFXII, was beloved by critics and fans but, for better or worse, is an evolutionary dead end -- it was made by a different team than XIII, one unlikely to be reassembled. Of course, this is the first current-generation entry into the series, and it's arriving more than a little late.

And, perhaps most importantly, this is the first console generation where the PC RPG ideals of the West have really been allowed to flower -- role playing, freedom and nonlinearity have finally been brought to consoles.

Final Fantasy XIII, even more so than its predecessors, doesn't hold truck with any of that stuff. The designers, instead, have applied control to every aspect of the experience. Recently, I appeared on 1UP's RPG podcast, Active Time Babble, to discuss just what an "RPG" is. The consensus we arrived at is that the question doesn't really matter, because all of the things it can, could, should, or will be are represented by different games. But Final Fantasy XIII can't sidestep that question as easily as we did.

Several years ago, I had dinner with a group of developers -- guys with a PC background. The subject of Final Fantasy came up. A developer said, truly bewildered, "I just don't get those games." His bafflement puzzled me. A longtime fan of the series, and a lifelong console gamer, I didn't think the appeal was that hard to understand.

The games are engrossing -- they have interesting and complicated stories and characters, are incredibly gorgeous, and have addictive gameplay systems. Others, however, see a lack of freedom, style over substance, and, probably most critically, can locate no "role playing" in what's called an RPG, and back away confused and frustrated.

Some Context

Square Enix released Final Fantasy XIII in Japan on December 17, 2009. I've played the game for a little over 10 hours so far -- at most a quarter of its critical-path game content -- and aside from simply taking my own pleasure in the experience, I've been thinking a lot about what the developers are attempting.

The release hasn't been met with universal adulation. While Famitsu gave the game three 10/10s and a 9/10 (for a total score of 39/40, or one point from the top, and one point lower than FFXII), user reviews on Amazon.co.jp -- quickly becoming the most popular way to know what real Japanese gamers think about a title -- are more split. The game, as of this writing, has 1,392 user reviews and an aggregate score of three out of five stars. The spread is almost even -- 353 are five star reviews, 259 are one star reviews, and four, three, and two number 283, 229, and 268 respectively.

The series has always been more highly variable than others, I'd argue. Long before Infinity Ward and Treyarch traded off development duties between Call of Duty titles, Square was forced to take the same approach.

Final Fantasy IV (SNES, 1991) introduced the Active Time Battle realtime/turn-based hybrid battle system -- and shifted the series' focus to character-based melodrama, just as importantly. But Final Fantasy V (SNES, 1992) toned down the story and focused on the meaty gameplay of the class-switching Job System. Final Fantasy VIII (PlayStation, 1999) featured the bizarre Junction system and unparalleled concentration on time-shifting melodrama. But Final Fantasy IX (PlayStation, 2000) was a fanboy-baiting throwback to older days.

I've been a fan of the series for years, but I've skipped out on entire entries; I count some as my favorite games of all time while actively disliking others. Other fans feel the exact opposite way about the games I hate and venerate. This time, however, everybody who thinks they care is going to have their eyes on Final Fantasy XIII because of the circumstances of its release.

So what did the developers put together this time?

The Essence of Final Fantasy

The design of Final Fantasy XIII is already gaining notoriety on the net -- something it deserves. Kotaku posted a story that got some attention shortly after the game was released. Entitled "Just How Straight Are FFXIII's First Five~Six Hours?", it was a report on a Japanese blog which put together a map of the first few hours of the game, showing that it was more or less a literal, straight path to walk down. The internet may not actually be a series of tubes, but Final Fantasy XIII might as well be.

What is Final Fantasy? Let's really think about this. When people talk about the series they generally talk about characters -- say, Cloud and Sephiroth (Final Fantasy VII). They talk about story events -- say, going on the summoner's journey with Yuna to expunge Sin from Spira (Final Fantasy X). They talk about the battle and character growth systems -- Gambits (Final Fantasy XII), the Sphere Grid (Final Fantasy X), and Materia (Final Fantasy VII.) And they talk about the beautiful visuals -- memorable locations like Midgar (FFVII), the summoned monsters (all the games since VII), and of course the state-of-the-art cutscenes.

After having played Final Fantasy XIII for over 10 hours, I think the developers sat down and made some very deliberate decisions about what the series is, and what it is not, and is not going to be -- and honed in directly on their, and the series', strengths. The result is a highly linear, paced, and controlled experience that is very enjoyable but is another step forward from the series' top-down, 2D heritage, and also finally and fully jettisons the "role playing" implied by the acronym RPG.

What It Does

Unsurprisingly, then, Final Fantasy XIII hews to the strengths of the series I identified above. The characters look great, are well-defined, and empathetic. Each seems to slot into both a story function while being carefully designed to appeal to a specific segment of the audience. For example, cynical, older players can identify with quippy Sazh, while younger, more naive players will probably latch onto Vanille, who narrates the game's story with gentle foreboding.

The game plays them as foils.
Of particular note, I think, is the relationship between Snow and Lightning via the vector of Sera, who's the former's fiance and the latter's sister. This creates obvious and understandable tension and adds humanity to a fantastical story of a theocratic techno-utopia and missions (and curses) handed down by strange gods. While it's a little hard to understand some of the concepts in a Final Fantasy story at first blush, the way the characters react sells it -- this is where many games stumble.

The story is paced a lot more deliberately than pretty much every RPG I've played, sharing more with action games -- a gate-and-trigger system, with tripwires for events and set enemy placement. This time around, story is delivered in-line as you explore, both through spoken asides (which don't interrupt your exploration) and through lots of short cutscenes.
In fact, the dungeon / boss / cutscene paradigm has been shattered into bits; regular battles are tougher, more engaging, and less frequent -- though there are still bosses -- and cutscenes come much more frequently but are typically much shorter than in the past, spreading out the three core concepts behind the FFXIII gameplay more evenly.

This is a nuance worth stopping and exploring: it seems designed to address gamer complaints about cutscene length, but still deliver the level of story Final Fantasy is known for. It's a subtle change but a shrewd one.

The battle system has also very much been pushed into a new shape -- to address the "just push X" criticisms the series has fielded for years, I think, and the result is very engaging.

If you ever stop and think about it, you inevitably realize, while playing an RPG, that the gameplay is repetitive and you're just following a ruleset. To stop you from having time to think about that, the developers have ratcheted the combat speed way up. Things fall into a kind of call-and-response; rather than formulate a strategy for each encounter, you've got an overarching strategy you're always pursuing (force the enemies into a "break" status, where they become more vulnerable to attacks) while dealing with what's happening from moment to moment.

Character growth and class systems feed into this -- you shift your entire party build on the fly by pushing the L1 button, a "Paradigm Shift" which changes the entire party's classes at once -- the Job System on speed. Managing growth outside of battle, of course, is slow, and is saved for when you have time to breathe.

And of course, visuals play a huge role. I think in some ways, enjoying the art direction for Final Fantasy is pretty much requisite to being a fan of the series (I'd be interested to hear if others agree.) The environments are both more gorgeous and wantonly unrealistic than they have ever been.

What It Doesn't

That's all great -- it's worth pointing out, but the series' strengths being represented is exactly what we expect from sequels. The more interesting question, when it comes to Final Fantasy XIII is, what doesn't it do, and why not?

There are plenty of things the game doesn't do -- and while these are rather deliberately chosen, weighing how important they are to the core experience is what counts in an analysis.

Most notably, Final Fantasy XIII does not have towns. These have long been an accepted reality of the RPG. Every prior game in the series has had them. As of 10 hours, I have not seen one. The game is a series of dungeons interlinked by transitional cutscenes -- for example, your party will reach the end of a dungeon, discover an aircraft, steal it, and then crash it and continue on foot. The only respite is the story. Save points handle shopping and equipment upgrades.

My question is: do I miss them? As a JRPG veteran, the answer is a surprising no, I think. It's a move I anticipated after playing the streamlined Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII on the PSP, though I did expect a hub (and I think it's forthcoming.)

Towns have been a huge weakness of the genre; while they helped with pacing, they were also deadly dull to explore, particularly as games scaled up. Creating the assets for a town believable in the context of a current generation cast of characters is not a small undertaking. I'm sure that had a lot to do with the fact they're not here.

But just as importantly, I'm thinking towns were jettisoned because they get in the way of the designers' control of the narrative and pace of the game: and their removal is a symbolic lifting of the curtain. Final Fantasy XIII is surprisingly open about its control of the player's experience.

The Question of Player Control

This goes pretty much against the grain of conventional wisdom: player agency is reduced in favor of enhancing the game's story. At some point there was a very large decision made by the team. It is this: finely controlling player progression -- given a consistent walking speed, linear dungeons, and average battle length -- will provide a more cinematic and seamlessly story-driven game, and a more accessible one.

With dungeons lengthened, towns removed, and cutscenes scattered throughout the game rather than clumped up, suddenly you've got a smooth and consistent experience -- have I mentioned how polished this game is yet? But what has been traded is agency, and that's a faux pas in many current schools of thought for game design (though, notably, the Call of Duty series is big on controlling the player, so it's hardly a one-sided argument.)

The game also slowly and deliberately introduces new gameplay mechanics over its first several hours. The limiting factor in most RPGs, when it comes to gameplay, is the leveling system: you have highly basic versions of the sorts of abilities you'll have access to by the end of the game. In FFXIII, you can't even earn experience points for the first two or three hours, because the leveling system has yet to be introduced.

While that sounds awful, I know that I liked playing a game that gradually introduced new gameplay concepts over its first several hours for several reasons. The dreaded infodump tutorial was completely avoided. Instead, I retained the information that I learned gradually, and I felt like I was learning something new fairly often -- and I think learning is a strong motivator to keep playing games, even if the info is only useful within the context of the game itself.

The thing is, you never earn something new in the game. You're handed it at the point the developers think you're ready. It's pretty transparent. Would it be better if there was something -- maybe a point system -- covering that up? All designers decide when content is appropriate for players. Sometimes the games just bludgeon you to death (if you stumble on a dungeon that you're not ready for).

Sometimes content is locked behind broken bridges that coincidentally get repaired by the king when you've run out of quests in the town you're visiting. And sometimes, in Final Fantasy XIII, a text box will pop up when you cross an invisible line and tell you: it's time for something new.

But when the developers yank members in and out of your party based on the story's needs -- logical in a cinematic context, frustrating from a gameplay one -- this designer control may be too fine. This isn't a new move for JRPGs (characters leave and join all the time in other games) but Final Fantasy XIII found ways to play with my patience. The gamer must, in the end, get with the program: give up that agency. The reward is enjoying the experience.

The Breaking Point

The level of control the developers exert over the player is transparent to anyone who's paying attention. The question is whether this fine level of control is at odds with the game's core mission, or its enjoyability. For some -- maybe many, possibly most -- the answer is "yes".

I'm pretty sure that a big reason the developers structured the game this way is because the team is well aware that gamers who haven't touched the series in a long time will be back for this installment, and that new gamers who hadn't considered it before will be sucked in by the hype. FFXIII doesn't assume genre literacy. But for fans, it can be surprising -- and not always pleasant.

It's worth noting, again, that these impressions are birthed from just 10 hours of play. Every Final Fantasy inevitably reaches what I call "the breaking point" -- the juncture at which the game goes nonlinear and allows you to take it how you like it. Exactly when this happens varies wildly depending on which game in the series you're talking about. When it happens in FFXIII could go a long way toward mitigating the control thing.

On the other hand, developers all know most gamers don't finish the games they buy. Will Final Fantasy XIII's early design be a fatal turnoff, or a slick romp?

There's a gamble the developers continuously make with this series, and which backs away from something I think is becoming fairly well accepted in Western design: shy away from artifice. Final Fantasy XIII is a tower of artifice. It's a monument to polish, and maybe a bit to hubris. On the other hand, each game released, in any series, defines its own genre as much as the genre defines it. If Final Fantasy XIII is judged to not be RPG, it can be, instead, an SCS -- strolling, combat, and story.

My experience so far with it compels me to start all over again with the U.S. version in March; it also gives me respect for a team that has an eye toward addressing common complaints with the genre, the game's predecessors, and expanding its audience. The story is less chunky. The gameplay is better integrated and balanced further toward speed and interaction. The years of development delays weren't just the kinks of working out new technologies; there's a tremendous level of polish (near-flawless partner AI, for one notable example) on display.
But gearing an RPG toward simplicity and speed to some extent spits in the face of a genre more known for slow-paced complexity, and that is where Final Fantasy XIII will find its test.

[As game packaging becomes more complex and the audience more diverse, its design becomes more difficult -- in a neat piece, our own Christian Nutt talks to Justin Carroll, who worked on Modern Warfare 2's box, to find out about the art of game boxes.]

Game packaging is becoming increasingly elaborate. As Collectors Editions and limited steelbook cases become more and more prevalent -- in an effort to make games stand out on the shelves and lure in hardcore collectors -- the art of designing packaging becomes incredibly complicated.

So what exactly goes into the process? What makes a good game package, and how do you handle the restrictions of working with marketing departments, and working within the templates the console companies lay out?

To find out more, Gamasutra spoke to Justin Carroll, partner and creative director of Hamagami/Carroll. The company recently completed the packaging of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, including the frankly insane Prestige Edition, complete with night vision goggles.

Does packaging matter in creating buzz with gamers?

JC: Absolutely. But for a number of reasons, the balance of power in marketing communications is shifting away from the package. The package is one of the important touch points in connecting with consumers -- there's still that wow factor when a new shooter product hits the shelf, (or an awww factor for something cute like the Littlest Pet Shop games).

Also, the question presupposes a core game audience. As the market expands with casual games and new platforms, "buzz" takes on a different meaning -- what buzzes a 35+ female consumer is a lot different than what jolts a World of Warcraft junkie.

As elaborate packaging becomes more prevalent, does it still stand out?

JC: I think so. But like what happened with the music industry in the '70s, the package keeps shrinking, which makes it increasingly difficult to differentiate in a meaningful way. We always compare game packaging to a billboard -- you have about three seconds to grab someone's attention and deliver a message -- but in this case it's a walk-by rather than a drive-by.

More elaborate packaging communicates a deeper story about the game, and also connects to the passion the gamers and developers share about the game. To me it's about authenticity. We created the collectors edition packaging for Warhammer Online: Age of Reckoning. The Mythic/EA teams sweated over every tiny detail of that package with us, and that really shows in the final results. You can't bullshit a core audience.

Also, the majority of packaging on the shelf is still in the 1st party templates, so the elaborate Collectors packs grab your attention. If you had a hundred Collectors Editions sitting on the same shelf it would be a different story.

Does that create an arms race, in effect, where packaging becomes more elaborate? Some things we've seen in limited editions are a bit ridiculous.

JC: I guess it does start an arms race but still, if it's an authentic experience it adds value. There comes a point though where the economics will stop supporting it. We used to do a lot of packaging for educational software.

Those old-school PC boxes got more and more elaborate just to communicate the benefits, with multiple flaps, varnishes, inserts -- it became like packing a CD inside an illustrated encyclopedia. Eventually the market became oversaturated and the price point crashed. I think most ed software is a direct download now.

But with the killer AAA titles it will always make sense. Look at Infinity Ward's "unboxing" video for Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2: Prestige Edition on YouTube (we did the packaging). Over three million views to date. Obviously someone thinks that over-the-top package offers something valuable.

How much input do you have and how much comes from the marketing team at the companies? For that matter, how much input comes directly from the game developers?

JC: Every company is a little different, and it often depends on how powerful the developer is. We just created the packaging program and print identity for Modern Warfare 2 with Activision and Infinity Ward. That was the coolest, truest collaboration we've ever been involved with. As you can imagine, expectations were huge and both developer and publisher were intimately involved at the highest levels, with every minute detail.

But it's always collaborative to some degree. Developers are always immersed in the game and have their steadfast beliefs and marketing departments are always looking at the retail shelf and thinking big picture.

Our job is to listen to both parties, add our own insights, cook everyone's passions into a viable visual strategy and give them back a powerful solution. They're looking to us to add the visual magic -- otherwise you would throw a screen shot on the front and call it a day.

When it comes to series, how can you make sure each stands out, yet also fits in with its predecessors?

JC: I wish I had a quick formula for that. Obviously there's a lot of up front research involved, and everyone involved with the process is constantly gut-checking every concept against what's been done before. It's really about identifying the essence of that brand, and coming up with exciting new ways to visually express that essence.

How much marketing and psychology goes into it versus artistry?

JC: The marketing is something you have to lock in your head, then you forget it and do something as cool as possible, then circle back to make sure you still haven't gone off the reservation. For example, I've always loved the Mario Kart Wii package (which we didn't do). That pack front hits on so many levels, but I doubt that the designers went down a checklist when they were in the process of designing it.

Some of the Japanese casual game packaging cracks me up too, when they throw some awesomely weird non sequitur image on the front and it sells millions. Luckily I'm not too sensitive or it would invalidate my whole existence.

How many treatments and revisions can a package typically go through?

JC: It can be painful. I think we worked on Enemy Territory: Quake Wars for almost two years, and we must have done 300 concepts. I'm sure there are others that we knocked out in the first shot over a weekend but I can't remember one. I'd say the projects tend to fill the time you have.

What about the backs -- they're so crowded with information in multiple languages, specifications, etc -- how can you manage to make an impact these days?

JC: You're right, with the first party templates there's increasingly less space to do anything. A lot of it just comes down to dedicating as much thought and effort to the back of pack communication as you devote to the front. Simple and effective is extremely hard to do. You just have to learn to work within the limitations.

[Our own Christian Nutt talks to Level-5 (Professor Layton, Dragon Quest IX) manager Yoshiaki Kusuda on the dev's PS3 debut, designing RPGs in Japan, and the benefits of game creation outside of Tokyo. ]

What's up with the difference between Western and Japanese RPGs -- and their audiences -- anyway? Professor Layton and Dragon Quest IX creator Level-5 might be in a position to know.

The developer is finally planning to release its first current-gen game, White Knight Chronicles, for the PlayStation 3 in Europe and North America early next year, with Sony publishing.

White Knight Chronicles, which launched on PS3 in Japan on Christmas Day, 2008, has been through a long localization and improvement process -- what was primarily an offline RPG at launch has had its online mode boosted in quality and features and expanded through patches. The overseas version will include all changes made to the Japanese version over the last year.

The game has a uniquely Japanese conceit -- the player creates his or her own character who is not the hero of the story in the single-player mode, but, instead, is just a member of the hero's party -- the hero being a pre-set character, Leonard -- a typically brash, young Japanese RPG protagonist. However, when the player goes online, it's to form a party of these neglected create-a-heroes and play with others.

It's all a bit weird, isn't it? We spoke to Level-5 development manager Yoshiaki Kusuda about distinctly different RPG styles, the process of addressing two kinds of audiences, and the benefits of developing outside of Tokyo.

It's been a long time since the Japanese release of White Knight Chronicles, and you've since added what seems like a lot of content and made some changes. Can you talk about the thinking behind delaying the title and adding this content for the Western release?

Yoshiaki Kusuda: This is partly because we really value the international market and the users outside of Japan and we would like to focus on it. In addition to that, White Knight Chronicles has features of an online game, and it has been easier for us to receive feedback from users, and based on that user feedback we have made a lot of improvements and additions by way of patching.

Above that, the Dark Cloud series has become very popular in the overseas market or international market, so therefore, in releasing White Knight Chronicles in the international market, we really wanted to make it in the form of the second wave of features, which are currently available in the Japanese market today.

This game is the first Level-5 game, I think, that has had really a strong online component, which means that suddenly you're running a service; it's not the same as just releasing a game. What kind of challenges has that presented, and what kind of lessons have you learned since you released the game in Japan?

YK: In reference to the operation or the administration of the online side, Level-5 is working closely with Sony Computer Entertainment. In fact, this game is a first for Level-5 in many ways: it's the first PS3 title; it's the first RPG with online elements, and it's the first time for us to provide services in the form of online gaming support.

It's been really challenging for us, but at the same time we have been learning a lot because, with the online element, we have been able to receive feedback from the users real-time compared to the other games that we have launched in the past.

What is really interesting and surprising to us now is that the players would find very different ways of playing the game. They wouldn't follow the ways of playing anticipated by us before the release, so we find that there are many different ways of playing the game, which is a very good experience for us.

When you say "different ways of playing the game," do you mean in terms of how they progress through the quests, or enjoying activities outside of the stated goals? What is that teaching you about user behavior and how you should design future titles?

YK: Yes, exactly. Some players wouldn't proceed with the quests in a linear way from the start one to the goal and so forth. In White Knight Chronicles, we decided to give a high degree of freedom in terms both of the character creation, appearance, or skill set up of combos and so forth, but because of the high degree of freedom we find that some users have a lot of discussions of what kind of playstyle is ideal in the game and so forth. We find it very interesting, and we learn a lot from this.

Some Western users have been perhaps frustrated with the lack of freedom in Japanese RPGs compared to some of the Western RPGs -- obviously also many enjoy the Japanese style, so it's not one or the other. Is this feedback teaching you something about that the audience expectations, even inside Japan, may be different than you anticipated?

YK: I would say that different users have different tastes in different areas of interest because, as an RPG, White Knight Chronicles has a story -- of course -- but at the same time it has online elements. On top of that, we provide online communication elements with, for example, Geonet or Georama and so forth; so I would say that the options would be a lot more for the users to choose from, but different users may have different areas of focus or interest.

Some people say that they are only interested in proceeding with the story, or there may be some others who are really devoted into Georama, or there may be some others who only use the blog feature of the game, and so forth. So I think that there should be a lot of different areas of interest among users.

It's interesting the game has two lead characters; the story mode has Leonard, and then the online mode has your own player avatar. It would be more typical, I think, at least for a Western-developed game, to just have the creatable character across the whole game -- why did you proceed the way you did?

YK: Sorry I'm giving a lengthy answer, but in fact in order to answer your question, I need to talk about one basic concept for White Knight Chronicles. When we decided to create a PS3 title, we decided that one of the basic concepts of the game should be an online introduction RPG because, among the PC users, many have already been accustomed to online games; however, among the PS3 and other console users, there are many people who say that they don't like online games.

So one of the challenges or the theme for us at the time was to see how smoothly we could draw these people into the realm of online games. In order to do so, we could include many features. In playing an ordinary online game, you have to log onto the lobby, look for people who might be interested in partying up with you, discuss what kind of quests you are going on, and so forth, which might be quite troublesome for some people who haven't played any online games before.

In White Knight Chronicles, you can play the story mode, and then maybe between some events you might want to go on for just a couple small quests; and then for these people, we provide the matching system with which you can gather together and meet up with other players and set off on the quest. So, from the world map, you can easily go into the online mode to go for a quest; and then, after completing the quest, you can go back to the world map in a casual manner.

It's not just an online game solely with avatars, so for many players it would be interesting for them to proceed with the story where Leonard, the protagonist, rescues the abducted princess, but at the same time, by lowering the barrier for these people to the online game, we thought that we would draw many people into the online game and make sure that these two worlds are combined with a linked world to each other.

So your own avatar, which is created for the online mode, also participates in the adventure with Leonard in the story mode; and then this avatar -- your avatar -- would leave the team for awhile to set off on online quests.

Did you ever consider making the main character of the story being the player character rather than Leonard, who is a defined character?

YK: It would be very interesting if we could do it successfully, but, as the story unfolds, the characters -- especially the main character, the protagonist -- would be very important. In fact, in story mode, your avatar hardly speaks because, if the avatar speaks in a totally different way than you would conceive, you would find it very difficult to sympathize with the avatar, although it's supposed to be pretty much you.

So if the protagonist is not a set-up character but you could create the protagonist, it would happen the same way, because as the story unfolds you might think that the other character you created would not say this thing or would not behave this way and so forth, which might ruin the story; so for the story, we thought that it's better to give a specific name with a specific kind of characteristic to the protagonist, rather than allow players to create their own characters to play the hero.

Some games let you pick and choose what you want to say, and it's like a role-playing game with the emphasis on the role-playing; whereas some games -- obviously like this -- have a well-defined character, and it's more like a film or something where you can enjoy a story.

There's a lot of debate, I think, inside the industry of which is the better tactic to go with. Is the story-driven approach, the defined character approach, the creative approach that Level-5 finds best, or is it something that is defined by user expectations? That's what I'm curious about; what inspires Level-5 to make the decisions they make creatively on a game like this?

YK: Basically, in creating a scenario, we think what kind of character would be the most appropriate for the story, and then we have a lot of discussions within Level-5 to decide on one character.

And to change track completely, what's it like to be based in Fukuoka? There are not many studios there compared to Tokyo.

YK: In fact, the city of Fukuoka is an ideal mixture of an urban city and countryside; living in Fukuoka, you don't feel the stress of commuting everyday on a crowded train, but when you want to do shopping or dining out, it is also convenient, with a lot of shops and restaurants in the neighborhood. It's a town where you feel the least stress, I would say, which is very important for creative types of jobs, and we believe that it's really essential to provide an environment that wouldn't pose a lot of stress on creators so that they can make the most of their talents.

[In the latest in big sister site Gamasutra's look back at 2009, Christian Nutt presents a list of the top companies in the business -- and what got them there this year Previously: Top 5 Biz Trends, Top 5 iPhone Games, Top 5 Controversies, Top 5 PC Games, Top 5 Handheld Games Of 2009, Top 5 Console Downloadable Games, Top 5 Major Industry Events, Top 5 Developers, Top 10 Indie Games, and Top 5 Disappointments.]

We've already covered the top five developers of 2009 -- and a fine crop of studios it is. But there's more to the world of games than development skill, and there's more to Gamasutra than recognizing it.

No, in a challenging year and a splintering market, there are several companies that stood out as companies. Some are developers, and some are not -- but the point is that just as studios deserve to be recognized for their fantastic games, so do industry companies that do exceptionally well.

Here's our pick for a list of the top companies influencing the game biz this year, and what made them so vital:

Top 5 Game Companies of 2009 (listed alphabetically)

Apple

Apple has done tremendous things for the game industry this year. While we all now recognize that the iPhone has not been the faultless goldmine that developers hoped for in late 2008, the platform is still empowering real developers to make really interesting games and make real money in the process.

Apple isn't a passive participant in this process, either. While the workings of the App Store can be oblique to the inexperienced, and the approvals process for apps is opaque, the company supports developers by promoting apps not based on budget or ad buys, but quality and buzz. Big hits can come from indies, not just major publishers. And someone at Apple is knowingly promoting games like Tiger Style's Spider: The Secret of Bryce Manor and Firemint's Real Racing as "best of 2009" games over shinier, better-marketed titles from bigger companies.

The company also chose 2009 as the year to truly take gaming seriously from a marketing perspective: it started advertising the iPod Touch as a gaming device on TV, in print, and on billboards. Apple spokespeople have also continuously talked tough about the company's competition in the mainstream handheld gaming space -- Nintendo and Sony. And it has introduced improvements to the hardware and to the market, including new versions of the iPod Touch and iPhone, and enabling transactions in free apps, something many had been asking for.

While its approvals and other processes could stand to become more transparent, Apple has opened up a huge new market for games and shaken up the stagnant mobile gaming space completely.

Epic Games

Epic Games continued its dominance in current generation engine licensing -- no surprise, that, as the house that built Gears of War has had no trouble signing up licensees for its popular tech since the start of the Xbox 360's reign as the top console for hardcore gamers. In the face of increased competition coming to market, the firm has held strong.

And to increase its market share, and in the face of free toolsets being distributed by its competition, Epic this year made the intelligent decision to offer Unreal Engine 3 for free. While you can't release a commercial product built under these licensing terms, this move doesn't just get indies working with Unreal. It also ensures that Unreal will continue to march into schools -- training the next generation on its tech.

And though the acquisition took place last year, this year is when it paid its dividends: Chair Entertainment's Shadow Complex came out to massive acclaim and sales, proving conclusively not only that the right developers and game can make a tremendous success of Xbox Live Arcade, but that Unreal Engine 3 is the right tool for that job: a double win for Epic.

Its Epic Games China subsidiary's Titan Studios also launched Fat Princess for Sony's PlayStation Network, showing that Epic knows how to play both sides of the hardcore console audience. Also, as the name implies, it shows that the company is not ignoring Asia but, instead, embracing it -- with localized versions of its tools that specifically incorporate enhancements aimed at genres, such as MMOs, popular in Asian markets.

Unity

From an academic project to an engine contender -- Unity has become a major player in the market as of 2009, and there's more to come. Like Epic, Unity moved to launch a free version of its toolset, which is more flexible than Epic's implementation -- the free version of Unity can be used commercially. In the wake of that, the company reached 33,500 registered developers in November.

Important, too, was Unity's announcement that it's moving into the Xbox 360 market. XBLA, as we said above, is a tremendous market for developers to tap into, and while Unity might be considered lightweight for a full-fledged Xbox game, its tech fits into the downloadable space well.

Of course, that's proved by its success on the iPhone -- where Unity is one of the leading engine solutions. And while there was a brief, serious hiccup for Unity on the platform this year, it was quickly fixed by the Unity team.

And the company opened up a new UK office under the stewardship of former Criterion man Graham Dunnett -- expanding its capabilities beyond its San Francisco and Copenhagen locations. 2009 has been a majorly up year for Unity, and as the web and iPhone continue to rise in importance, and as Unity's support for Wii and Xbox 360 help bolster it, the engine becomes a more and more major player in the market.

Valve

Valve, the only company to cross over between the Top 5 Developers and Top 5 Game Companies, is one that many admire greatly. Writing about why Valve is so great is frankly getting kind of boring. But it's still worth exploring it -- and also exploring precisely why the company is the only one to make both lists, because that's key to its success.

Nobody doubts that Steam is an excellent platform. Some developers are less thrilled than others, but with indie titles like Zeno Clash getting their due thanks in no small part to the seamless digital distribution of the Steam platform, it's hard to argue that it is not a net positive. In addition, the service's cloud features, including game-saves, are innovative and value-additive. Its popularization of frequent discounts and has created a positive disruption to the PC business model, and the service's overall popularity with its user base has hastened the move toward digital distribution.

Notable, too, is the release of Left 4 Dead 2 -- not just because it's a great and highly successful game, but because the company adapted beautifully from its notoriously slow release model to one much more in line with today's market. It also rolled with the punch of a boycott -- turning the ire of fans into a major marketing coup by flying in the organizers of an online petition against the game's release, and turning them back to the community full of praise for the title.

And, of course, the whole reason that L4D2 thing blew up in the first place is because of Valve's peerless reputation for running its games as services. Its users have gotten so used to meaningful downloadable content and post-release support that their main complaint about L4D2 was that the first game's support would be truncated. Take, for example, Team Fortress 2 -- two years old, it's still getting major updates.

Valve's reputation as an excellent developer and a great service provider are intertwined. The company's success at producing amazing games like Portal feeds its reputation with gamers, driving them toward its Steam service; its success as a service provider builds confidence in its game releases. Other developers can't parlay their goodwill into other revenue streams -- but Valve can, and that makes it a savvy contender.

Zynga

Of course, the shining star of performance this year has been Zynga -- the company which rode the social gaming trend to the top of the revenue heap, creating the most popular games on Facebook and reaping the microtransaction-based rewards.

Sure, plenty of people don't like to hear it. There's the obvious and disheartening question of the fact that the company's games are largely unoriginal from both a design and theme perspective. So goes the trope: Harvest Moon begat Happy Farm begat Farm Town became FarmVille -- a copy of a copy of a copy. And there's no doubt that the company's strength in marketing is what has drawn players to its particular executions of popular social gaming themes.

But execution is not to be underestimated, says Zynga VP Hugh de Loayza: "Our games are pretty distinctively different from the traditional Asian farm games. A shooter is a shooter, so a harvest mechanic is a harvest mechanic. But the story you wrap around it is different. The other thing to pay attention to is that you've got a service that you're running." It's obvious the company is doing something right with its generic-seeming games. And there's more to the service than strongarm user acquisition tactics -- though they're indubitably a key part of the strategy.

And there's no doubt that this rapid growth has caused some growing pains -- unethical offers got FishVille banned from Facebook, though the game did come back.

But the company has managed to attract great talent from the traditional games space, and secure secure significant funding, no small feat in today's economic climate.

Yes, people love to hate Zynga and the social games market (check the comments on that last link.) And that hate is comprehensible. But Zynga proves that, in the short time since the phenomenon has emerged, a business can be built on it. While we can never say "yes, this one will be a long-term success," Zynga is the power player in the market and the absolute company to watch out for, and is also one of the most meaningful and disruptive success stories of 2009.

Honorable Mentions

Zenimax, parent of Bethesda, deserves a shout-out for its acquisition of id Software. The lawsuit with Interplay is a bit of a black mark, though, and so were Wet and Rogue Warrior (it's time to sort out your non-internally developed games efforts, guys).

Also worthy is Square Enix -- not only did the Japanese company successfully acquire Eidos this year, it also shipped the most popular game in its massive Dragon Quest series and instantly became the PS3's record-holder for units sold in Japan with Final Fantasy XIII.

[Apple image taken from Wikimedia; uploaded by user Nurmib. Used under Creative Commons licens

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