Curiousity Killed the Cat; Not This Cat, Jack

Leading on from the last rant, nothing destroys suspension of disbelief like constantly being sent back to the "Game Over" screen.

Keep the player in the game as often as possible. He didn't buy this game to regularly watch a "Loading ..." progress bar.

Constant death was a necessity in the days of video arcades; it kept the baseball-cap-wearing laboratory rodents filling the change slot for an 8-bit feeding pellet. Now, in the comfort of our lounges or offices, what reason is there to keep dumping us out of the game we bought with our hard earned cash?

Here's a few examples of games that have turned this dilemma on its head:

• Lucasarts Adventure Games:

  2D Graphic Adventure games were once notorious for their ability to gleefully execute the player for deviating from the script. Games such as the "Monkey Island" series, "Day of the Tentacle" and "Sam 'n Max" broke this trend simply by tightly designing the game to avoid any instance of player death, and never put the player in a "gotcha" situation where he can no longer access a crucial item that he should have picked up earlier. The result: More exploration, more interaction with the environment, and less player frustration.

• "Planescape: Torment":

  Playing the role of a nameless amnesiac immortal, the player traveled through various planes of reality in search of the secret of his nature and a cure for his condition. Death was little more than a temporary inconvenience, and was often necessary to solve puzzles or advance the plot. Even the Nameless One's mortal companions were only a resurrection spell away from rebirth. Though in theory this should lead to inevitable hack 'n slash, "Planescape: Torment" was an extremely cerebral game, showcasing excellent storytelling and a dark and original setting, which rewarded thoughtful interaction with its inhabitants.

• The "Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver" series:

  The "Soul Reaver" games not only excused the player from dying, but wove this premise into the mythology of their rich setting. As Raziel, the wraith spirit of a slain vampire (a dead undead who's not quite dead yet), the player is effectively already beyond the irritance of death. Death results in the destruction of Raziel's ephemeral corporeal form, and he is returned harmlessly to his native domain, the shadow world of the Spectral Realm. Here, he can quickly renew his strength by consuming the souls of the dead, and return to the Material Realm to wreak vengeance upon his aggressors.

  Like "Planescape: Torment", it was also occasionally necessary for Raziel to deliberately "die" for gameplay purposes. He could willingly discard his material form and return to the Spectral Realm, where few enemies can follow, architecture can warp into new forms (allowing access to areas unreachable in "life"), water has no buoyancy, time has no meaning, and he can phase through gates.

• "Grand Theft Auto III", "Grand Theft Auto: Vice City":

  These games took a very relaxed view of player failure. It simply wasn't possible to encounter a "game over". Being "wasted" or "busted" simply meant a deduction of cash (which is in plentiful supply) to cover police bribe or hospital costs, respawn at the nearest hospital or police station (getting about was easy enough), losing all carried weapons (not critical, but it did hurt), and failing any currently active mission (this hurt the most, but no big deal, the player could go right back and accept it again, no harm no foul).

  Admittedly, this mechanic was stricter than it needed to be. I still found myself reloading on occasion, particularly in the early stages, as an alternative to running around town attempting to reclaim my lost arsenal. But it's certainly a step closer to using the saved game system purely as a means of safely picking up where you left off, instead of a trial-and-error replay system.

  Incidentally, either "Grand Theft Auto" is an ideal game for the man on a time budget. If you only have a few free minutes, you can cruise the streets, pull off a few stunts, rob a convenience store. All of it will ultimately help your bank balance or status screen. Or if you have some more time, you can take a crack at one of the missions. And if you do fail a mission, you can always replay it without penalty. The great sense of non-linearity (a vast, detailed game world to explore, various linear mission trees that can be pursued at the player's discretion) contributes well to a feeling of "go where I want, do it on my time, my way" freedom.

  It's unfortunate that the player can't save and pull out of the game at any time (sometimes I'd have to keep playing even when real life beckoned so that progress was not lost), but it makes up for that by not requiring frantic save and quick-load.

• "Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time":

  Though a very attractive game, with a wide variety of acrobatic moves and sleek animation (making it a worthy homage to its predecessor), the ability to manipulate time and undo the player's mistakes took the experience to a whole new level. All the annoyances of platform gaming -- leaps of faith, save points, and so on -- still remained, but by rewinding time, a simple misstep can be removed in seconds, instead of requiring tedious and frustrating replay from the last save. Best of all, this feature encouraged the player to take risks -- dodging traps, running along walls, slickly swinging from beam to beam above ludicrous precipices -- rather than carefully inching around like a paranoid geriatric fearing death and reload.

  Intriguingly, the final stages of "Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time", while certainly the most frustrating, also offered the greatest sense of elation. At this point, the Dagger of Time is taken away from the player, and he must complete the remaining scenes without the rewind ability, in traditional "Prince of Persia" style. The player has honed his skills to perfection during the course of the game, and now the training wheels are off. It's quite astonishing to realize the feats the player is pulling off, quite fearlessly.

  If "Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time" has one fault for the wage slave gamer, it is its use of save points. Sure, he can rewind his mistakes, and if he dies (sand -- which powers the Dagger -- and the rewind buffer aren't an unlimited resource), the player is returned to the last scene waypoint rather than his last save point.

  Unfortunately, this progress is lost if the player has to leave the game, so I was forced to continue so that my time wasn't wasted, even if it wasn't convenient.

  This seems to be the typical situation for games with a console origin (also applying to both titles above). Even worse, "Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time" invariably set a lengthy combat stage prior to granting access to the next save point, an utter inconvenience when real life is already crying for immediate attention. If I had a wife, she would have divorced me long before I finished this game.

Minimizing player death does have its disadvantages, of course. The fear of death, backed up with the right setting and atmosphere, does create suspense. I fondly recall playing through an unpatched "Aliens versus Predator", an FPS with no saved games except between levels. Even the rapidly released patch limited the player to a finite number of saves per level (drastically reducing in number with each choice of difficulty level).

It was enormously frustrating, but also immensely terrifying. I was no superhuman, immortal demigod that could always miraculously rematerialize at the press of a button. I was a single, vulnerable marine, alone, and outgunned, trying to survive long enough to escape my vastly superior alien foes..

Damnit Jim, I'm a Gamer, Not an Accountant