On October 26, 2000, the Sony PlayStation 2 was launched, delivering not only one of the single best software libraries to the world, but also cementing a slew of features as commonplace items in every system hence: backwards compatibility, online gaming, multimedia functionality. That none of these was originated by Sony itself is a testament to the console’s legacy.

To commemorate the occasion, TotalPlayStation has gathered some of the best and most influential journalists, from either in-house or outside publications, to discuss one of their most cherished games from the PS2’s long lifecycle.

Ten authors and ten years in ten days. Let the celebration conclude.

Author: Marc N. Kleinhenz [TotalPlayStation Features Editor]
Game: Onimusha: Warlords
Release date: March 13, 2001

To me, the hallmark of a good story has been clear and irrefutable and singular since childhood: atmosphere. Those narratives that truly and deeply create another world, whether it be the grassy plains of Naboo or the Mafioso streets of Jersey, and let the audience convincingly inhabit them, playing and exploring and enjoying, are the ones that not only resonate the most strongly with peoples the world over, but also stand the test of time for generations – even centuries – to come. And although the recent advent of the found footage sub-genre in filmdom is particularly well-suited to such atmospheric conduciveness, as the woods of The Blair Witch Project or, even, the bedroom in Paranormal Activity will easily attest to, it is videogames, by virtue of their inherent nature, that are most potently able to transport individuals to a world far, far away.

Anything Miyamoto-sama touches, for example, has a transformative or transportive effect. The simplistic question mark blocks of Super Mario Bros. intimate an entire, complete reality, particularly to a fervent eight-year-old’s mind; the fully realized Hyrule witnessed – in 3D for the very first time – in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time is among the closest experiences to gaming moksha a player can ever hope to attain. Mikami-san is another world-building maestro, helping to construct the Spencer Mansion and Raccoon City Police Department of Resident Evil and RE2, respectively, as well as Devil May Cry’s marionette monstrosities.

But his most deft strokes of the atmospheric paintbrush come in the form and substance of Onimusha. The layout of its Azuchi-Momoyama castle, the gorgeous composition of its pre-rendered backgrounds, the melody of its (Japanese) voice acting, the smoothness of its character animations, the cumulative effect of its enemy designs and creepy soundtrack and sucking-souls gameplay – all coalesce to softly, gently undulate an expansive environment around the player in such a forcefully intimate way and to such a painstakingly deliberate effect. The fact that the game is steeped in Japanese history only reinforces its ability to so fully and thoroughly erect another place in another time (literally). The daimyo period has rarely been so immediate or vivid.

And neither has a survival-horror (of sorts) title been so action-heavy. Rather than detracting from the experience, as can sometimes happen with the Silent Hill series – another heavyweight in the atmospherics department – it instead creates a delicate tension between fearful-to-open-the-next-door-to-the-next-haunted-chamber and impatiently-waiting-to-get-back-into-the-fight-and-flay-some-demon-ass. It is a similar balancing act between the traditional RPG components of leveling up weaponry and spells and the action genre’s fast-paced gameplay, between exploration and storytelling, between grotesque visuals and majestic vistas. Much like an automobile’s engine, it is an unwieldy and improbable design on paper but magical and seamless in execution – the very definition of gaming gold. (And all this within six months of the PS2’s launch!)

It may not be too much of a stretch to say, when one looks back at the annals of pop culture storytelling at some distant point hence, that theater has Macbeth’s castle, cinema has Kane’s Xanadu, and gaming has Samanosuke’s castle. And even if it is, it does nothing to dispel the underlying reality: although Onimusha: Warlords may not be the most perfect game, it is among the most perfectly conjured realities to grace our collective minds, interactive or not.

On October 26, 2000, the Sony PlayStation 2 was launched, delivering not only one of the single best software libraries to the world, but also cementing a slew of features as commonplace items in every system hence: backwards compatibility, online gaming, multimedia functionality. That none of these was originated by Sony itself is a testament to the console’s legacy.

To commemorate the occasion, TotalPlayStation has gathered some of the best and most influential journalists, from either in-house or outside publications, to discuss one of their most cherished games from the PS2’s long lifecycle.

Ten authors and ten years in ten days. Let the celebration begin.

Author: Micah Seff [GameXplain Co-founder]
Game: Ico
Release date: September 24, 2001

Editor’s note: due to several factors beyond our control, Mr. Seff’s article has been postponed to a later date.

Please forgive the delay.

On October 26, 2000, the Sony PlayStation 2 was launched, delivering not only one of the single best software libraries to the world, but also cementing a slew of features as commonplace items in every system hence: backwards compatibility, online gaming, multimedia functionality. That none of these was originated by Sony itself is a testament to the console’s legacy.

To commemorate the occasion, TotalPlayStation has gathered some of the best and most influential journalists, from either in-house or outside publications, to discuss one of their most cherished games from the PS2’s long lifecycle.

Ten authors and ten years in ten days. Let the celebration begin.

Author: Carrie Butcher [TotalPlayStation Staff Writer]
Game: Katamari Damacy
Release date: September 22, 2004

I’m a sucker for atmosphere. I want to be drawn into these virtual worlds through emotion and kept there by mood. I want a fully fleshed-out, thought-out reality that isn’t going to disrupt my suspension of disbelief. Shadow of the Colossus is, of course, a prime example of what I’m talking about, but emotion doesn’t have to mean depressing, and mood doesn’t have to be melancholic. Something that is light-hearted and comedic can work just as well, which is why I absolutely love Katamari Damacy.

What first drew me in was the cover. The jumble of bright colors and simply shaped objects piqued my interest. I can still picture the juxtaposition of the cow, Ferris wheel, and rainbow. The world was full of crap, and I loved it. It was fun to roll around and suction random objects off the floor, and I would have been okay with just that, but I was utterly impressed and delighted when I realized that just about everything in view could be picked up. I was able to interact with objects that, in most games, merely act as part of the background. Because of this, I appreciated what I normally wouldn’t have even noticed. (How many games are there where you look forward to interacting with a fence?) The gameplay was, overall, a lot of fun, and although there were some definite problems with the camera and controls, the flaws were overshadowed by the newness and pure fun of the experience.

In any form of art, interest is created through detail. In Katamari, humor permeates everything – from the placement of objects to the noises they make, from the descriptions in the collection screens to the different things the player can do on the overworld map. Of course, Katamari wouldn’t be what it is without the royal family: the Prince, cousins, and King (especially the King). His use of the ubiquitous “We” and his odd prattling on about himself and the Prince’s inadequacies are hilarious. These cutscenes provide an interesting contrast to those with the people on Earth, who look like toys and talk like two-year-olds. In fact, humans are the most simplified part of the game, yet even this is done in a way that adds humor.

Finally, there’s the music. I don’t generally notice music in videogames (Zelda and LittleBigPlanet are a couple of exceptions), but the lounge music/dog chorus/J-popish songs set the tone perfectly. They seem to take themselves seriously yet be tongue-in-cheek at the same time, and I would often find myself humming them long after I was done playing.

So, although it never made me cry or feel sympathy for the characters, the interactivity, detailed humor, and music in Katamari Damacy all create a world that, though odd, is complete. This, in turn, creates a game that is believable and engulfing. I never found the task of completing my collection to be tedious – I wanted to explore every corner of the Katamari universe. I wanted to know all the quirky things said by the King, and to know every description of every object, and every word (or animal sound) to every song. Katamari is one of those few games whose replayability is extremely high – something only achieved by a fully realized world, atmosphere and all.

On October 26, 2000, the Sony PlayStation 2 was launched, delivering not only one of the single best software libraries to the world, but also cementing a slew of features as commonplace items in every system hence: backwards compatibility, online gaming, multimedia functionality. That none of these was originated by Sony itself is a testament to the console’s legacy.

To commemorate the occasion, TotalPlayStation has gathered some of the best and most influential journalists, from either in-house or outside publications, to discuss one of their most cherished games from the PS2’s long lifecycle.

Ten authors and ten years in ten days. Let the celebration begin.

Author: Jeff Haynes [Gaming Guru]
Game: Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater
Release date: November 17, 2004

It’s no secret that I’m a huge Metal Gear Solid fan. I played the original on the PSX over and over again for about three days straight, but I’ll admit that I was on the fence when it came to MGS2. It wasn’t because I didn’t like the stealth action, which was improved by the squad-based AI that forced additional care when infiltrating the tanker and plant within the game. It also wasn’t because of the expansion of the MGS mythology, which veered into complex conspiracy theory, abstract philosophical memes, and other complicated storytelling scenes. No, it was because of Raiden – the whiny, annoying character that effectively hijacked the game and, compared to Snake, was a mere shadow of a super soldier.

So I was apprehensive when I found out that 2004’s Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater wouldn’t scrub the unpleasant memories of Raiden from my mind or address most of the questions raised by 2001’s MGS2. Kojima and his team intentionally chose to leave these issues to linger as they returned to the roots of the franchise. Snake Eater would explore the origin of Naked Snake, better known as Big Boss. It didn’t matter if you were an old-school NES player or had only discovered the series on Sony’s consoles; the fact that you would be given the opportunity to play as this influential character, discovering who he was and what shaped his tale, was incredible.

What was also stunning was the inclusion of game mechanics that evolved the stealth action genre in ways no one had ever seen before. The concept of melee combat had been completely redesigned into the close-quarters combat battle system, or CQC. In many ways, you felt more like a warrior trained in hand-to-hand combat, as you could choke or threaten enemies. The first time that you leapt onto an unsuspecting soldier and took him out felt much more powerful than previous games in the series.

Thanks to the jungle environments that dominate a large portion of the game, sneaking and stealth took on a completely new dynamic through the camouflage index. As you acquired different face paints and camo patterns, Snake became much more invisible to the naked eye. If you planned your disguise just right, guards would blindly walk past your position, allowing you to get the drop on them without a sound or a shot fired, which was awesome. Besides, how many games would allow you to use a crocodile head as an effective means of hiding? The addition of camo boosted the realism of the game.

Snake Eater also changed the way we look at game heroes, thanks to the injury and stamina systems. Typically, when we play games, we think of our characters as indestructible dynamos that can’t be harmed regardless of the heights they fall from or the wounds they receive; as long as they eat food or grab a bandage, they’re fine. Snake Eater changed all of that. Snake could receive significant damage from a fall, breaking a rib or a leg. If he waded into water, he could emerge with leeches on his skin that drained his blood. Getting into gunfights with guards could result in a series of nasty wounds that poured blood with each step. Each ailment had to be fixed, or Snake would suffer from different effects, such as not being able to fully heal himself with rations. You were alone in the field with limited equipment and healing supplies, and you had to save yourself or risk endangering your mission with your weakened skills. The first time that I had to operate on Snake to remove a bullet, followed by wrapping the wound, I was blown away. Outside of a Trauma Center game (which, while fun, is unrealistic at best), this wasn’t something that I expected to see. I have to admit that since Snake Eater delved into the philosophy of warfare, fighting, and the cost to the soldier, I don’t expect to see it repeated in other games in the future, either.

Stamina was also handled in a unique way thanks to the food system. Since Snake was essentially out in the field for days, he had to find a way to feed himself to keep his energy up. Killing and eating snakes, frogs, and other animals provided a burst of energy, allowing him to focus when he needed to aim at enemies or run through the jungle. Different kinds of animals provided different amounts of energy, so figuring out how to hunt became a skill you acquired. It was a matter of pride to say that you could stab a snake as soon as you saw it, take down a croc without damage, or nail a rabbit with one shot. But you also had to watch your stores, because they would quickly turn bad if you weren’t careful. I hated going into a boss battle, thinking that I had plenty of rations and food, only to discover that half of the items had gone bad.

Apart from the mechanics of Snake Eater, the characters of the game were extremely vivid. The Metal Gear Solid games have always had striking characters, many of whom have boasted about launching nukes from Metal Gears. Volgin uses a nuclear warhead to cover his getaway at the very start of the game. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore. This shocking development draws you into the game like few other titles will, and from the supernatural battles with the Sorrow to the surreal fights with the End (complete with the multiple ways that he could be killed), each character seemed more fleshed out and unique than the others. By the time you eventually face off with your mentor, the Boss, you’re witnessing a showdown between two titans. And while you already know what the outcome has to be, the battle is no less incredible or striking. Snake Eater also introduces characters that play significant roles in other MGS games, like recurring villain Ocelot.

Another thing that’s impressive about Snake Eater is the story itself – as a prequel, MGS3 answers a large number of questions that have surrounded the series since its days on the NES. What is Outer Heaven? How did Big Boss become Big Boss? Questions like these and others are answered over the course of the game in an intelligent way that makes sense. I finished the game feeling like I understood more about the earlier beginnings of the franchise than ever before, which is quite a feat.

The original game was incredible, but when you also consider that Snake Eater was “remade” two years later as Subsistence, the importance of the game for the series was undeniable. Given the story implications of Snake Eater, the addition of the first two Metal Gear games allowed players to experience the roots of the franchise in chronological order for the first time. The inclusion of Metal Gear Online was merely a precursor for what was included in MGS4, and the extras, videos, and an enhanced camera rounded out the overall package. The lucky few that managed to get the limited edition even got an expanded movie created from all of the game’s cutscenes, which ran almost four hours in length. Needless to say, the package by itself was phenomenal, but the remake only served to highlight just how vital the original game was.

Looking back, all of my concerns about Snake Eater as an origin story of an established and respected franchise were completely unfounded. The addition of the camouflage, stamina, and healing systems placed an indelible stamp on the stealth action genre, which hasn’t been touched since. Besides, I eventually got all the MGS2 answers that I was hoping for out of MGS4 (and Raiden eventually made up for sucking). Kojima’s decision to return to the roots of the series was ambitious, but completely awesome.

On October 26, 2000, the Sony PlayStation 2 was launched, delivering not only one of the single best software libraries to the world, but also cementing a slew of features as commonplace items in every system hence: backwards compatibility, online gaming, multimedia functionality. That none of these was originated by Sony itself is a testament to the console’s legacy.

To commemorate the occasion, TotalPlayStation has gathered some of the best and most influential journalists, from either in-house or outside publications, to discuss one of their most cherished games from the PS2’s long lifecycle.

Ten authors and ten years in ten days. Let the celebration begin.

Author: Andy Curtiss [TotalPlayStation Staff Writer]
Game: Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3
Release date: August 14, 2007

I love a game that makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger. If the writers have done a good job, then there’s usually that moment (in my kind of game, at least) where you survey your troops… or your kingdom… or your allies… and realize the grand scope of what you’ve accomplished. I love that feeling, and this is probably why I’m such a fan of RPGs; there’s just something about that chance to fit into the role of someone else who can become more epic then I could ever aspire to be. And the RPG that made a bigger impact on me than any other is Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3.

When it was released in 2007, Persona 3 was a surprise for many reasons. While the series was successful in Japan, the first two games didn’t do quite so well here in the USA, making the release of the third installment Stateside a surprise in and of itself. An even bigger surprise was when the game turned out to be good – and not just “good,” but “holy shit – this is amazing!” Developer Atlus had given the series a total makeover, and it worked superbly: the art was amazing, with bright, believable, and animated sprites that were accompanied by detailed character portraits. The soundtrack was simply amazing. No boring instrumental music that faded into the background here; instead, each song was well-placed and evocative, and the vocals were expertly mixed in. (It was so good that I, who never splurge for special editions, made it a point to buy a copy of the game that came bundled with the soundtrack.)

But there is one element that shines through more brightly than all the others: the games’ ongoing concept of what a “Persona” is. All of the main characters in the (sub) series have the ability to summon a Persona, which appears to be a ghost or spirit of some kind – an ethereal being that possesses great power. It is explained several times throughout the games that these Personas are other aspects of the characters, channeled from deep within themselves. They are the different masks we as individuals wear, reflecting the different roles we play in day-to-day life. And we’re not just talking random spirits here; for some characters, their Personas take on the form of actual historical or mythological figures, such as gods and legends from Indian, Greek, Norse, and Japanese lore, among many others.

The Personas are the only tie that binds the series together – in total honesty, there really isn’t anything similar from the first game to the third beyond this one concept – but they aren’t the only component to take center stage in Persona 3: the Dark Hour is introduced here, and it plays a major role in the story. At midnight, when one day ends and the next begins, the Dark Hour cometh, a period of time in between time. Most humans sense absolutely nothing; the clock ticks from 12:00 to 12:01, like it always does. But for a select few, the world becomes dark, everything stops moving, and the shadows come out to hunt. And these aren’t just shadows – they’re personified darkness, manifested absence. They come to feed on the unlucky souls who, for some mysterious reason, do not freeze like every other normal person during the Dark Hour. And while many of these individuals can summon a Persona from the “sea of their soul” to defend themselves, there are those who cannot. They are completely helpless and are targeted by the shadows and, when the Dark Hour ends and the next day begins, they are left comatose and delirious – mere husks of their former selves.

This is where Gekkoukan High School comes in. During the day, it is a normal school, replete with two floors, a gym, music and art rooms, etc. During the Dark Hour, however, the building contorts and grows, metastasizing into a dark, foreboding tower called Tartarus – the place where, it seems, the shadows are coming from. Noticing this, a group of students band together to research the Dark Hour and fight the shadows. They call themselves SEES (the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad), and they plumb the depths of Tartarus each and every night. They soon discover that, for some reason, the shadows become stronger and much more agitated every full moon, including one particularly large and nasty shadow.

The story may be convoluted, but it grabs your attention and really hooks you in. And as if all the night-time theatrics weren’t enough, you still play the part of a high school junior during the day. You attend classes, where you decide to sharpen your skills or sleep through the lesson. When those are over, you decide what to do and where to go next, but you only have so much time. Should you go check out that bookstore in town? The elderly couple who runs it is quite friendly. Or should you go join the kendo team? Perhaps you could go home and play that new, hot MMO, Innocent Sin? Regardless of what you do, each action forges Social Links. You see, each Persona corresponds with a category called Arcana, and each Arcana corresponds with a particular Social Link. If you become better friends with a Social Link, it increases the power of his coupled Arcana. For example, the elderly couple at the bookstore is linked with the Hierophant Arcana; by befriending and visiting them, all of your Hierophant Personas will become stronger. As one of the characters in the game explains, your power lies within your ability to form these friendships.

And let me assure you: if the story hasn’t sufficiently drawn you in up ‘til now, it will once you start developing your Social Links. You don’t simply visit Bunkinchi and Mitsuko, the infamous elderly couple. It may start like that, yes, but you eventually become friends with them, learning that they’ve recently endured the death of their son, who taught at Gekkoukan High. You find yourself with the opportunity to affect these kind people in a benign way, should you continue to spend your days with them. And so this goes with all the Social Links; you form bonds stronger than mere friendship. Without spoiling anything, let’s just say that, at the end of the game, you find yourself reaping the benefits of these relationships with several tear-inducing moments.

As the game plays out, you discover (of course) more secrets as to why the Dark Hour exists and where everything is heading. Then you inevitably discover (of course) that you have the unique position to prevent a disaster of apocalyptic proportions. The excitement and pressure are well-built as the game goes on, coming to a fever pitch on New Year’s Eve. By this time, you and your friend have been through the emotional wringer – betrayed, consoled, loved, and hated; Persona 3 really takes you on an epic rollercoaster ride. And at the end, you have that moment where you look back and see what you’ve accomplished – the good things you’ve done, the people you’ve helped. And somehow… even though the ending usually makes most players angry, I feel it’s the only thing that fits.

I love Persona 3 because it’s a game that grips you and pulls you in. You find yourself pushing it. “Just one more day, then I’ll save and quit.” Or, “Just one more floor in Tartarus, then I’m done.” And during the whole last 10 minutes of the game, I found myself short of breath. It was one of those corny moments where I’d been holding my breath and not aware of it – that’s the kind of effect that Persona 3 has on you.

If you just want to go beat shit up or kill stuff, you can have your Mortal Kombats and your Halos. When you decide you want the whole immersive experience, come try Shin Megami Tensei: Persona 3.