I remember nothing of my life aged five.
Which is a little sad, because five was the last full year of my life spent in Australia. I should have a clutch of memories unfuzzied by the fronds of infancy and unsullied by the sordid fetters of adolescence. Memories of gum trees and ice cream and other fine th’angs.
Alas. Leave that to the boring, normal kids. When I was five my life was made up of 16 bit pixels. Five was the year I discovered video games.
Or more accurately, five was the year I discovered video games from over my brother’s shoulder. He controlled the consoles like a benevolent dictator. I was the gratefully oppressed citizen. I loved Big Brother.
But I loved the games more.
And aged five, the apex of my love was The Secret of Monkey Island.
The Secret of Monkey Island is a point ‘n’ click adventure game. Point ‘n’ click adventure games, you’ll be pleased to hear, mainly involve a lot of pointing and clicking. Already the genre is expressing a refreshing honesty about its content that distinguishes it from its peers, such as the ‘football spreadsheet’ game and the ‘build-an-armory-and-drag-a-box-to-highlight-the-20-little-men-that-come-out-then-click-on-someone-elses-armory-and-watch-as-they-have-all-the-fun-instead’ game, which tend to go by other, more elusive names.
In practice, they are games where you play as a person stranded in some sort of strange land. The ‘playing’ part involves walking around clicking on the scenery. And picking things up. And clicking these things onto other things. And desperately praying something will happen. Very occasionally, something does.
An example; you might walk into a dungeon and find a skeleton. Clicking on the skeleton means you pick up a bone. Later on, a large dog blocks your path. At which point, recognising the puzzle you click the bone on the dog, and are allowed to proceed. Simple.
We played Monkey Island for six months and we never got past the first island.
Let me put that into context; to get off the first island you have to complete ‘The Three Tasks’ set to you by a gang of Important-Looking Pirates. We never completed a single task.
In retrospect, it’s hard to see why it was our favourite game.
Although maybe it was because you played as a character called Guybrush Threepwood. And maybe it was because characters like the important-looking pirates were called the Important-Looking Pirates. And maybe it was because you always got several optional sentences to say when you spoke, and at least one of which would have you rolling around on the floor with Icy-pole juice coming out your nose. And maybe it was because sword-fighting involved trading hilarious insults with other pirates, and victory would depend on how good you were (answer; never as good as the game). And maybe it was because one of the pirates in the bar had a badge that said ‘Ask Me About LOOM’ and would do nothing other than delivering an extended sales pitch for the company’s previous point ‘n’ click game, LOOM. And maybe it was because the bad-guy was a ghost pirate named Le Chuck. And maybe it was because the town sherriff was called Fester Shinetop. And maybe it was because you could speak to the dog by woofing. And maybe it was because you could get shot through cannon with a pot on your head. And maybe because it deserved to be loved.
Later on in life, when the internet stopped being the deformed, genetically deficient child of the house and became a fully-fledged member of the family, I discovered walkthroughs and was finally able to see the 97% of the game I hadn't seen before. My pre-pubescent heart-fluttering matured into a oak-y, fermented love that I harbour to this day. They deserve more recognition.
I can understand their slow slide into obscurity. The games industry has changed so much in the last 20 years that they don't even look like games anymore. For one thing, they are startlingly slow to modern eyes. In an age where you can be on another planet in 2 seconds with a casual flick of an 'A' button, taking at least half-a-minute to get from one side of the screen to the other can seem a difficult transition to make. A bit like graduating to a 750 page modernist novel after an easter spent reading nothing but your Facebook wall and any comical graffiti left on the inside of pub toilets (which might go a little way to explaining the current state of my grades).
And they are quite staggeringly hard. I can't really underestimate it. I'd say about half of you reading this have played video games before, and you probably think you've experienced hard. At the risk of sounding like a swaggering tool, I'm going to say it. You haven't seen anything yet.
An example, from the game King's Quest VI. You have to solve the puzzle of the Cliffs of Logic. You aren't told why. Solving it involves diligently working out clues buried in the game's manual and clicking on each individual foothold, in order. If you've lost the manual, you'll never finish the game. If you click the wrong, or even around the right foothold, you fall to your death. Arriving at the top of the cliff, you're thrown almost immediately into a labyrinth and told to vanquish a minotaur. There's no way out of the labyrinth unless by reverting to an earlier save game. The labyrinth is full of traps. You avoid them, literally, by just guessing. In order to progress, you'll have to make, in all, forty-eight correct directional guesses in a row. You'll also need a lamp, a brick, and a red rag, in order to solve further puzzles. These are items placed casually all over the rest of the game. There is no one telling you to find them. There is no one telling you you need them. If you want to get them, you have to revert to an earlier save, solve the cliffs again and find your way back through the labyrinth. If you're missing even one of them, you'll never leave the labyrinth. Inside the labyrinth there are also three more items you need later in the game. There is no one telling you to find them. There is no one telling you you need them. If you're missing even one of them, you'll never finish the game.
Incidentally, the target market was 8-15 year olds.
But you should still play them,despite all of this. Because they are some of the most lovingly designed, detailed, immersive, challenging, rewarding and just plain bloody spectacular things ever to have existed. So next time you're thinking of going for some exercise or having a bit of sex, say, no: today I shall play video games. But for God's sake, pack a walkthrough.
And thank you to anyone still indulging me in these little digressions. For fans of the 'early, funny ones' I've got some more lowbrow subject matter for you next time - a 750 page modernist novel. Yes I am that much of a tool.
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