Video Game Difficulty: The Challenge of Challenge: The Problems with Video Game Difficulty Examined

You knew by the time I got to writing for my blog again, it'd be long-winded. So let's hope I get on a more regular writing schedule again so as not to store all this up...

Trials HD. Demon's Souls. The Etrian Odyssey series. Getting through New Super Mario Bros with four players and not strangling the person next to you.

Despite complaints along the lines of, "Video Games Today are Too Easy," there is still a consistent flow of releases earmarked specifically for their notable challenge. (Not counting the mental duress of trying to play through much of the Wii and DS shovel-ware.)

On the other hand, its now almost standard that a game ship with easier difficulties, and recently the concept of a player's avatar's death may be removed entirely.

No two recent games may represent this disparity better than Kirby's Epic Yarn and Super Meat Boy. Released only days apart, both titles are highly praised platformers with light puzzle solving and exploratory elements, and each sport bold or unique visual styles. Considering both of these games remove the traditional life count or continuing at a setback routine, on the surface both these games would appear to target the same audience.

In truth the design philosophy is radically different. While Super Meat Boy expects hundreds or even thousands of constant failures (read: avatar deaths) to happen in the course of learning how to overcoming tough yet fair levels, in Kirby's Epic Yarn death of the avatar isn't even an option.

Kirby's Epic Yarn can certainly be challenging, mainly due to the mechanic of loosing items upon mistakes such as touching an enemy, and those items are used to unlock other elements of the game. However, the main game itself can be simply played through to completion without any real fear of lost progress.

The distinct design philosophies of these two very different yet critically loved gameplay experiences show how difficulty in gaming can be used in a myriad of functional ways. Super Meat Boy is designed around the 'I can do this, just one more try' hook that develops into a frustrating but skill-developing addiction. Kirby's Epic Yarn celebrates the oft-used Nintendo approach of a game anyone can play, with extra challenges for those hungry for more.

The popular lament of a lack of gameplay challenge does have relevance. Demon's Souls, a recent PS3 release largely noted for its difficulty and what is often now referred to as an 'old school challenge', cleanly divided player interest because of such. Many critics and players lauded a game unafraid to require absolute precision, memorization, and expensive experimentation. Just as many people refused to pour the needed time into a game that had no options to play nice. Demon's Souls, like more current spiritual precursors Ninja Gaiden and Devil May Cry 3, made some gamers wax nostalgic for a time when options were limited, timing had to be exact, and progress only came about through pure effort and occasional luck. Others bemoaned the lack of now-expected easy settings, the unforgiving small timing windows of interaction, and frequent loss of progress.

Designing a game with the opposite intention creates not only division, but derision. 2008's Prince of Persia was highly praised over beautiful art direction, fluid animation, exceptional writing, and even great voice acting. Yet there was a persistent complaint often heard from critics and players alike: the player couldn't really 'die' in the traditional sense. Fall off a cliff or to an enemy, and the avatar 'magically' reappears, set back just a few steps before the misstep. This lead to a common gripe that the player couldn't really lose, and so any sense of challenge was completely void.

This latter response was quite surprising to me. While Demon's Souls tends to earn a begrudging respect even from its detractors, I rarely hear Prince of Persia defenders, instead of long-time gamers grumbling about their beloved Sands of Time trilogy being neutered. The 2008 version culled much of what annoys fans of platformers: having to reload lost progress. Mess up too much in the classic Sands of Time trilogy and you may get aggravatingly dumped to the last checkpoint or worse, the beginning of that story chapter, but never are you forced to stare at the title screen, with no recourse but to slog through the entire game up to where you lost. (Unless you just started, of course.) The 2008 variant simply removed the extra time lost in frustration, and dropped the player back in place to get correct what was just failed. By trimming out the downtime between failures and allowing the player to simply focus on overcoming the obstacle, ideally the player could better immerse themselves in the experience. Perhaps Prince of Persia suffered from trying to change too much at once; a play control timing more akin to a rhythm game, a story disconnected from the beloved series it continued, and gameplay with story mechanics surrounding a, AI co-operative relationship may have compiled too many changes to gamers who had since moved to Sony's less whimsical and more brutal God of War and its sequel.

Maybe I'm reaching, but the highly praised Super Meat Boy also features a continue system of respawning immediately after death and I've yet to read a complaint about said mechanic. (To be fair, life restrictions do factor in bonus levels, but not for necessary progress.) Now, the platforming in Super Meat Boy is inarguably more challenging than Prince of Persia, but the argument still holds: you only 'lose' when you turn the game off, since the only thing hindering your progress is giving up.

Which, of course, could be said of most video games. We may run out of 'lives' or chances to continue from our previous point of progress, but out of all of the video games ever made, only fewer than a dozen games out of tens of thousands do we lose the ability to simply start over and try again by design. The fun, the friction between an obstacle and our ability to overcome it, is where the greatest hook lies; for some of us, its Super Meat Boy's infuriating precision that we're convinced we can master. For Prince of Persia, its more about telling a fantastical story in which we play a simple, interactive part. One is like a sculpture, shaped from countless little cuts of avatar deaths until perfection is realized. The other, an interactive storybook whose greatest friction lies between the imagination of the player who's along for the ride and the game that's playing the narrator.

It's this latter field whose development often makes us 'traditionalists' feel as though aliens have invaded our turf, strange things like Farmville, Angry Birds, and Flower fighting to share space under the same umbrella of entertainment as Final Fantasy, Super Mario, and Starcraft. We often want to pretend that these 'casual' things aren't really games at all.

You know who I like to watch play games? The "Casual Gamer". Now there is a person who can enjoy the hobby. Unfettered by the expectation of new, better, harder, faster, the casual gamer goofs off, has fun, and gets on with life. They can spend $200+ on a Wii just for Wii Sports, and still get their money's worth because they don't really need anything else. For us 'hardcore', why would we be offended from someone else enjoying themselves? Maybe Bejeweled or Peggle will be the gateway, opening them up to the joys of LAN parties, Demon's Souls, Monster Hunter, and slipping in the verbal venom of online play. But if not, why should that bother us?

I stopped trying to convince my mom she needed surround sound because she was just as happy with a tinny radio speaker. It may hurt my technophile heart, but she's just so darn happy with what she already has. The Bilbos out there will bravely and nervously venture out unto the wild frontier of gaming, but there are thousands more hobbits just as content to live out their lives in simpler pleasures.

These folks don't have to 'earn' our respect. They don't have to grow up and into 'hardcore'. We're all in it to have fun, or should be. That'll be a different experience for all of us. Besides, spending more time with gaming and even with a game in particular doesn't mean we earned any more stature. I've been playing Battletoads off and on for literally two decades and I still can't finish it. I can't blame my mom for not being the type for that challenge. But Kirby? She can have a blast with a well designed game, and I can even play co-op with her and go for the real challenge of trying to gain more unlockables by not getting hit.

Then I can go home and play I Wanna Be The Guy. You know, to unwind.