Why the latest PS4 and Xbox 720 rumours are wide of the mark

 

There have been a lot of rumours over the past couple of days about the hardware that's going to be used inside the PS4 and  Xbox 720, and the brilliant Lee Bradley pointed me towards the two sets of figures that are causing plenty of debate.

VG247 is reporting that the PS4 will have 1.84 Teraflops of computing power thanks to an AMD A10-based APU, and that the next Xbox will have 1.23 Teraflops of grunt thanks to an AMD Radeon HD 8770 graphics chip.

NowGamer reckons the next PlayStation will have "an APU with a fast GPU" that'll have 3.2 Teraflops of power, but the Xbox will outstrip it with 4.2 Teraflops delivered by three System On Chip units working together.

VG247's story sounds plausible, but NowGamer's is wide of the mark. Here's why.

PS4

It's long been rumoured that the PS4 will be built on an APU, and it's easy to see why Sony wants to go down this route. AMD's APUs, or Accellerated Processing Units, combine a processor and a graphics core onto the same chip, and I've previously praised them for offering reasonable application power and good gaming ability at low cost.

AMD's current top-end APU is the A10-5800K, which includes a Radeon HD 7660D GPU. The graphics core uses the same naming convention as AMD's current discrete cards, but it's based on the architecture behind the older Radeon HD 6900-series. The HD 7660D has 614.4 Gigaflops of power, while the whole chip has 736 Gigaflops.

That's a country mile behind the 3.2 Teraflop figure that's doing the rounds.

AMD has announced the successor to the A10-5800K, so it's plausible that Sony might use hardware based on the A10-6800K in its next console. The new part's GPU will apparently be based on the forthcoming Radeon HD 8000-series graphics cards.

Bear in mind that the HD 7660D GPU was based on the HD 6900-series, and then look at this chart: several high-end 8000-series GPUs, apparently designed for OEMs, bear the Tahiti codename, which debuted in the HD 7970 and HD 7950. It's hardly a stretch to see AMD recycling last year's discrete graphics cards into this year's APUs.

Plenty more evidence suggests the 3.2 Teraflop figure simply isn't anywhere close to reality. If true, it'd put the PS4's graphics core smack between the outputs of the recently-leaked Radeon HD 8870 and 8850. However, those two cards have TDPs - Thermal Design Power, or the maximum power draw of a chip - of 160W and 130W on their own. That figure doesn't take into account the power needed by the processor, and reports have said that the A10-6800K as a whole will have a TDP of just 100W - the same as the A10-5800K.

AMD has traditionally cut down its GPUs in order to fit them inside APUs. The HD 7660D inside the A10-5800K may have been based on 6900-series cards, but it included just 384 stream processors. Even the most modest of those discrete chips, the Radeon HD 6930, included 1,280 stream processors and had a 186W TDP. The HD 6970 had 1,536 and a 250W TDP.

There's no way an APU could contain a graphics core of that power while also packing in a processing module too: the power requirements don't add up, and the heat generated would be too much for a console to bear. There's a reason discrete cards, with more than 1,000 stream processors, are sometimes nearly a foot long, while the 384-stream processor APU can be contained in a single die alongside a CPU.

Another major concern is cost. The A10-5800K launched at £100, and there's no reason for AMD to deviate from this blueprint for the A10-6800K - low cost is one of an APU's big advantages. To find a discrete AMD card that launches for that price, you've got to go a long way down the range. The HD 7850 cost £190 new, the HD 7870 was £275, the HD 7950 was £340 and the HD 7970 was £432. Even now, they're not much cheaper: around £150, £200, £250 and £320 respectively.

Sony might price the PS4 highly for the console market, but that level of GPU is way out of its league. Sony would be able to buy the cores for cheaper than retail prices, sure, but it's also got to factor in the rest of the APU, memory, storage, a motherboard, a Blu-ray drive and a high-end case - as well as its profit margin.

Conventional desktop PCs that use the A10-5800K rarely cost less than £400, so it makes sense that Sony - saving money using its own manufacturing facilities as well as its buying power - would build its next console around one of these more modest parts. Last year's APUs are good enough for console-level gaming; I've no doubt that next year's APUs would get the job done, too.

It's arguable that producing the world's best APU and giving Sony exclusivity would be an awful economic move for AMD - a company that's not having the best of times when it comes to finances. And it's not as if Sony's got the cash to buy AMD's exclusivity, either.

After all, why should customers buy any of its forthcoming discrete GPUs if Sony is selling an entire console that's just as quick for little more than the card alone would cost, and how would customers react if its best APU wasn't available to build inside PCs?

AMD's hardware partners would be up in arms about it, too - they'd presumably want to stuff the chip inside laptops and desktop machines. Its graphics card partners would want to know why AMD was ruining their sales for the sake of a console, too.

Xbox 720

The 4.2 Teraflop figure for the Xbox 720 is similarly silly. NowGamer says the next Microsoft console will be based on three SOC modules, with one based on the Radeon HD 8850 GPU and two using HD 8900-series cores.

Even downclocked, the combined power could be enough to hit that mythical 4.2 Teraflop figure, but I still don't reckon it's plausible - again because of heat and cost.

These high-end cards are traditionally some of the largest around, and leaked information suggests that 8900-series OEM parts will have TDPs of more than 200W, with the HD 8850 coming in at 130W. NowGamer's article reckons that Microsoft's cut-down cores will see the machine having a 300W power brick, which trumps the 175W brick included with the Xbox 360.

If these rumours are true, that's one power-hungry console. And then there's the price: last year's HD 7950 cost £340 when new and, while there's no way Microsoft would pay that for each GPU, consider that it's allegedly putting three graphics cores into its next console. Then consider the cost of every other component, and Microsoft's slice of profit margin.

That would make the Xbox 720 one of the most expensive and power-hungry consoles ever made and, given the hardware that's allegedly being used, it'd be one of the biggest and loudest ever, too. Considering the Xbox 360's reputation, I'm not sure that's what Microsoft wants to do.

Are any rumours right?

VG247's figures might be less exciting, but they're far more realistic. It's hardly a stretch to imagine the PS4 using a modified A10-6800K APU and, again, it's reasonable to speculate that the GPU inside will be a tweaked version of an HD 7900-series core. The discrete chips in that range run at between 2.8 and 3.7 Teraflops, so a low-power version running at 1.8 Teraflops - in order to fit inside one chip, and to remain cool inside a console - makes more sense.

It's also worth remembering that consoles use processing power more efficiently than PCs, so clever coding will make up the shortfall between theoretical power and actual visual output.

VG247 says the next Xbox is based on the Radeon HD 8770, which is a forthcoming mid-range part. No power figures have leaked for this chip but the corresponding part in last year's range, the HD 7770, hit between 1.2 Teraflops and 1.4 Teraflops, and it had a reasonable TDP of 80W.

Microsoft can take the HD 8770 and cut it down to size to hit its rumoured 1.23 Teraflop figure, which is a move that seems sensible. The HD 7770 has enough power to play most games at 1080p already, and the HD 8770 will be better still. Why do more?

End-game

It's easy to get caught up in speculation when talking about new consoles, but it's worth tempering rumours with a healthy dose of reality. AMD cramming a graphics core that's faster than its best discrete cards into an APU that's cheap enough, frugal enough and cool enough to run inside a console is a flight of fancy.

Similarly for Microsoft: producing three SOC products, each with its own high-end GPU, makes little sense when an extremely capable single graphics core would do the job just as well and for a lot less cash.

Star Wars: Rebel Assault 2, the best awful game I've ever played

When I was young, my gaming revolved around my dad's old Atari 2600 - I loved Mario, Combat and Space Invaders - and the MegaDrive, which got plenty of use thanks to games like Sonic, Road Rash, Golden Axe and FIFA.

They're all great titles, some even classics. Then I got a PlayStation.

On that fateful Christmas morning in 1997 – a few years after the PlayStation’s release - I was stunned by a pair of games given to me and my Brother. I sat agog at The Lost World: Jurassic Park, a side-scrolling platformer than seemed as realistic as the movie, and my brother was stunned by Bubsy 3D. After all, who wouldn’t be? It was the first time we’d seen a game truly in three dimensions, even if there were no textures to be spoken of – just shape-covered levels that looked like the insides of a jester's jockstrap.

Several months after I got my PlayStation, I picked up an old copy of 1995’s Star Wars: Rebel Assault 2. The mid-nineties were heady, innocent times, before prequels and the systematic destruction of a once-great franchise, so my discovery of a new addition to the Star Wars canon was there to be enjoyed rather than instinctively feared.

Combine my love of Star Wars with my ignorance of what makes a good game and I was blown away. LucasArts had created Rebel Assault 2's lengthy - well, lengthy at the time - cutscenes by employing real actors (Rookie One was Jamison Jones, who acted alongside Harrison Ford in Hollywood Homicide, and his partner Ru Murleen was played by Julie Eccles, who actually had a part with Ford in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade) and used real props from the actual, genuine, non-CG movies. The Skywalker-lite lead character, the props, the sounds, the names and the places were all there, and it felt like it rightfully belonged to the franchise.

What I didn’t realise at the time, of course, was that Rebel Assault 2 was dire. Properly, genuinely dire. For starters, it wasn’t exactly a long game: after a couple of playthroughs, I’d routinely finish the two-disc title in less than an hour.

Levels were built around a handful of repetitive tropes. If you were inside a space station, you'd duck between a handful of cover spots and aim at bobbing Storm Troopers who flopped to the floor if you shot vaguely towards them. In other levels, you wiggled a reticule around a blanket of low-res stars, popping off TIE fighters and watching them explode with the same low-res animation. There really wasn't much to it.

It was buggy, too. On one level you were tasked with learning how to pilot a TIE fighter; with the promise of enemy infiltration beyond and winding canyon ahead, it's got the makings of an entertaining mission.

Except that, about half-way through, the background slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped. The game was still running - my lively little craft weaved horizontally across the static screen as fast as it ever did, and the jumpy music still played. I'd sit and count frames-per-minute, pick up a magazine and flick through reviews of games that put Rebel Assault 2 to shame, perhaps make a sandwich or two. Eventually, the static background with twitch and lurch back into life, and it’d let me finish the level.

Other stages were similarly fraught. A tight, twisting underground tunnel was marred by Didier Drogba-like collision detection, and one area towards the end of the game - a level where you'd have to fly through the enemy space station, eliminating shield engines one-by-one until your fellow Rebels could stage a full-scale assault - simply looped until you'd hit all the targets. You could even spot the moment where it reset itself, like a bad .GIF animation.

Oh, and did I mention that this game, that came on two discs, could be easily completed in less than an hour?

Even so, I must have played through about 10 times, admiring its actors and real-life movies, becoming immersed in the story and loving how the game's levels almost looked real - helped along, of course, by sprite versions of the game's cast. There were two endings, although one - where Rookie One bags a victorious kiss from Ru Murleen - I only actually saw once, as I didn't know which victory condition triggered it.

A terrible game, but I didn't care - and I certainly played it more than Star Wars: Starfighter, which came out on PS2, lasted more than 60 minutes and wasn’t riddled with more bugs than Dagobah. It just goes to show, again, that gameplay isn't the most important aspect of a game.

And, of course, that kids will play anything.

Graphics, atmosphere, and how bad gameplay sometimes doesn't matter

I love Red Dead Redemption, but the more I think about it the more flaws I find - and, as soon as I find them, I realise that most don't matter. That's what happens when a game's environment, ethos and aesthetic are strong enough to mask gameplay that, in a lesser title, would be accused of lacking innovation and excitement.

I loved spending time in New Austin. From Marston's groggy, cattle-herding days at McFarlane Ranch to his lazy, relaxed ride back to the family farmstead after Dutch chucked himself off a cliff, eaten away, beaten by the march of time, I enjoyed New Austin more than I have virtually any game world previously.

Who couldn't enjoy a game that served up so many memorable moments? I stepped off the train into Armadillo, halting as two locals stumbled out of the local saloon. One stood swaying on the pub's porch, while another cascaded down the stairs and face-planted into the dirt. Brilliant.

Armadillo's sleepy townsfolk were occasionally interrupted by gangs rampaging through the town, guns in the air and, on one memorable occasion, an drunk assaulting a local woman. I drew my rifle and pulled the trigger just as my horse wandered into view. My second bullet dispatched the criminal; I sold my horse's skin and meat.

As New Austin gave way to Nuevo Paraiso, Red Dead kept delivering. My first tentative steps south of the border were soundtracked by the stunning Jose Gonzalez track Far Away, and I dived into the revolution, aided by aged gunslinger Landon Ricketts, with gusto.

The third portion of the game - when you return to America, and the Great Plains area dubbed West Elizabeth - was possibly my favourite. I found the landscape especially evocative; Blackwater is the largest and most developed town in the game and a poignant illustration of the game's central culture clash - cars and modernity encroaching on the West's traditional values - and the hilly, dangerous terrain of Tall Trees and Nekoti Rock provided a welcome change of pace from the parched deserts elsewhere.

These environments are designed and crafted impeccably, and they're filled with things that, when compared to script, plot, graphics, sit on the periphery of the game. The soundtrack is subtle but perfectly in tune with the environment, which is crammed with more wildlife than I care to mention; throughout my time in the game I'd constantly find new creatures making new noises.

And the hundreds of NPCs, most of whom aren't anything to do with quests, are textbook Western characters who spout textbook Western lines. Not that it's a particularly bad thing; as a huge Western fan, I have no problem with Rockstar adhering to these particular stereotypes.

Take all of this away, though, and much of Red Dead's gameplay really isn't all that. If any other game - Fable 3, which I've been playing but haven't really connected with, springs to mind - had asked me to spend several hours galloping around its countryside harvesting dozens of plants then I'd most likely ignore that and crack on with the story, because it'd be dull.

Or take the numerous tasks you're asked to complete in order to unlock Marston's full wardrobe. One asked me to win a poker game in Blackwater, so I sat down at the table and concentrated, for the best part of an hour, on a game that would never, ever win me any money. And other criteria for clothing just seemed broken: you're unable to buy relevant clothing from tailors because the only options are blanked out. I'm lead to believe that's because of different gang loyalties, so to tick those particular boxes I'd have to kill numerous NPCs until I was in favour with the right people.

Other minigames would have left similarly bad tastes if they were in other titles. Horseshoes were imprecise with no real on-screen way of gauging the shoe you were about to throw, and crime fighting missions tasked you with following a dog and apprehending the world's worst burglars, over and over again.

Some of the story missions wouldn't have passed muster in a lesser game, either. So many times I was told to ride with a character from one end of the map to another. The only thing that kept me going was riding through that scenery, hearing those characters talk, watching the train storm past or finding bandits along the way.

It just goes to show, I think, the importance of aesthetics - and how a polished, appealing and engrossing environment can mask mediocre gameplay, and make players stick with a game far longer than the gameplay would ordinarily hold their attention. After all, had I not been so wrapped up in John Marston's story, there's absolutely no way I would have tramped across the desert, searching for flowers, trinkets and side-missions.

Strangely enough, I thought of another game that had a similar affect on me, albeit more than a decade ago - Star Wars: Rebel Assault 2. Looking back, it's one of the worst titles I've ever owned, but I still played through it several times. Why? Because it was Star Wars. And I think, now that I've finished Red Dead Redemption - which incidentally, I still adore - I might get stuck into that again.

Virtual Hollywood: remembering The Movies

Emily Dredge is Curling One Out. That's the first thing that pops into my head when I think of The Movies, Peter Molyneux's movie-making business sim, even though it's got a respectable Metacritic score of 84, sold enough copies to justify an expansion pack, and still boasts a thriving community on the game's official website.

And yet I immediately think of movie stars pooing whenever it's mentioned.

That's because The Movies - and, I reckon, Molyneux too - rarely takes the film industry too seriously. Hollywood's hottest star feeling the squeeze? Fine, send her to the Portaloo. She's hungry? Watch her demolish a burger in three bites. Angry? Let her take frustrations out on her pair of PAs, and dump a trio of paparrazi in front of them so she'll get to the front page and improve her star rating while having a tantrum.

This cheeky streak sits front and centre of The Movies, but that's not the only thing that attracted me way back in 2005. For starters, there's the bright, breezy and detailed graphics, and the pretty fine management sim that lurks beneath its Hollywood glitz and humour.

Bricks, mortar and celluloid

At the beginning of each game you're given a walled tract of land and told to change the (movie) world. You need to construct several buildings straight away - a Stage School to hire actors and directors, a Script Office, a Crew Facility, and a Casting Office where you'll take scripts and assign them directors, stars and crew - before you can begin producing films.

You'll also have to build sets. Initially, only a few are available - there's a basic stage, a sci-fi bridge, a western bar and a desert landscape - but more are periodically unlocked. They soon increase in size, too, with bombed out streets, western towns and creepy forests all taking up plenty of space on your lot, and they’re packed with detail which can be spotted by double-clicking to take a ride around each location.

Other buildings are unlocked as you progress, with bars, restaurants, rehab clinics, trailers and surgeons available to keep your stars in tabloid-toting condition and research centres and PR offices available to improve your studio’s output.

The interface is great, too. Buildings are found under a trio of icons in the bottom-left hand corner of the screen, with employees and movies listed down the sides. Hover over each to open up more information, and then literally drag your movie or star to the relevant building to make stuff happen. It’s simple, but it just works, and quickly becomes as second nature as explosions are to Michael Bay.

The management portion of The Movies straddles a fine line between busy and rushed. While there's always something to do - even in your down-time while movies are shooting, there's always an area of your lot that needs beautifying, a set that needs repairing or a star to placate. It’s a pleasure to guide your movie through the production process, too, from the Scriptwriting and PR departments to the Casting Office, through filming and Post Production, and finally to the Production Office where you can assign a marketing budget and unleash your movie on the (hopefully) eager public.

Personal problems

It's in the personnel department, though, where The Movies hits a couple of bricks. Initially, eager hopefuls line up outside of your buildings, some with pretentions of global stardom and others just yearning to clean up burger boxes. You're told that more will line up outside of your gates as your studio grows, and so you snap up what talent you need early on and wait for better prospects to appear.

Eventually, you'll hire everyone in the queue. Some will go on to be stars, others will remain mere extras, but all of them get old. Behind the cutesy image, The Movies is an extremely clever game, with a litany of conditions contributing to your film’s eventual success: your crew experience, set condition, public hunger for genre flicks and the relationships between actors all play a part. One of the chief factors, understandably, is how well the members of your cast suit the type of film you’re producing.

In the first twenty or thirty years, it's not really a problem. Your actors are young enough to become major stars and find success in most types of movies and, when hairlines go north and other lines plummet south, it's easy enough to rush them in for some nipping and tucking. Eventually, though, your stars will outgrow botox, and their Hollywood stock will fall.
And there's no-one to replace them.

Occasionally, you'll be visited by a rival star who's willing to defect from another studio, but most of them are too old, too. So you’ve suddenly got no-one who’s suitable to take up, say, the action hero mantle, and it becomes increasingly difficult to keep producing chart-topping movies with these ageing stars through no real fault of your own.

This brain drain makes itself felt in other areas, too. New scientists and crew members don't turn up, and the lack of fresh maintenance staff makes it difficult to keep your lot in good condition once you’ve got a few dozen sets and buildings to maintain. As your stars become more famous they demand an entourage, and I find myself often stealing folk away to become PAs, which further puts the squeeze on other departments.

When your studio’s success depends on its employees, the lack of fresh blood seriously inhibits your potential. At least the game’s community has come to the rescue, making a mod available that can increase the number of new applicants who can stand in lines.

Grinding to a halt

The march of time makes itself felt elsewhere, too. Towards the end of the twentieth century, the supply of new sets, technologies and buildings dries up – it finally grinds to a halt after the millennium - and your studio regresses to a mere production line. Of course, it’s always been this way when it comes to churning out films, but the constant stream of new goodies previously kept things interesting.

That production line soon becomes more convoluted, too. As films get longer and more demands are placed on your actors, their stress levels rise and they’ll need more looking after. They regular swan off to their trailers to relax, or hit the booze, and require a fair amount of coaxing to return to the set. Couple this with the increased number of people required to shoot movies, and creating a masterpiece begins to require much more time and money – like, I suppose, in real life.

In the end, you’ll spend more time just fighting to get your movies finished than improving and managing your studio, and some of the early carefree feeling is certainly lost as you try to pamper your spoilt stars and wait years for films to be finished. Again, I suppose that’s just like Hollywood, but the constant grind detracts from the sense of fun felt in the early years.

There's always the distraction of the game's various movie-making tools, which are ideal for staving off boredom, especially when you've unlocked a wider range of effects and technologies. For a cute, cartoon-style game where your leading lady is gleefully described when taking a dump, the movie-making tools included are surprisingly powerful and have even led to the development of a healthy machinima community around the game.

It helps, of course, that there are tens of thousands of movie-making combinations available. You can create scripts by choosing from the hundreds of different scenes that can be used across the dozens of different sets, and then personalise those sets with different backdrops. When you're filming, every last detailed of a scene can be altered, and you can even record your own lines of dialogue and lip-sync your in-game stars.

While you're able to tweak everything about your movie, I confess that I’ve never really delved ino this side of the game despite the increased longevity it undoubtedly provides. Instead, I've always played The Movies like a straight management title, concentrating on improving my studio, ensuring that I've got the top stars, movies and studio possible, albeit with just the AI putting those films together.

The early years

That sounds like an awful lot of complaining, and perhaps it's out of proportion. For at least seventy or eighty years, The Movies is great fun. Your actors rise to the top of the Tinseltown tree, and your studio grows in size and stature. Your films improve, you win awards, and the gravy train keeps on rolling - in the early years, at least, The Movies isn't a particularly difficult game to play; rather, it's just a joy to watch. The regular stream of new goodies and awards ceremonies keeps the game and your studio lot feeling fresh and interesting, too.

It's just that, in the style of the most disappointing MMORPGs, there's no end-game content. Hurtle beyond the turn of the century, when some of the world's most exciting films were being made with envelope-pushing technology, and the game's stready stream of rewards slows to a trickle. My interest in my studio, inevitably, wanes, although that’s partly due to my hands-off approach to movie making.

For those first exciting decades, though, The Movies is one of the best management titles that I've played, and I'm convinced that the combination of slick, refined gameplay and cheeky comedic atmosphere convinced me to initially sink dozens of hours into the game. It’s also made me, years later, dig it out of the garage for another go.

If you've got it lying around at home, I suggest you do the same - you, or your inner Spielberg, won't regret it.

Heavy Rain: doing more with less?

I've not long finished Heavy Rain - steady play at the start followed by a mad rush to get it finished as I found it more and more engrossing - and it's got me thinking.

Obviously, it's a pretty unique proposition in 2010's gaming landscape, even if its design does hark back to to mostly dreadful interactive movie games that flourished when CD-ROMs began to shine.

That obvious parallel, though, isn't what interests me. Instead, it's the relationship between control and design; specifically, the amount of control offered to a player and the impact this has on the type of game that can be designed around this necessary restriction.

Take Batman: Arkham Asylum. It's a great game, one of the best superhero titles around, but it's as straight as third-person action adventure gets, and that means that design decisions have been taken that simultaneously give the player more control but somewhat neuter the game's narrative.

Take a typical scene: Batman dispatches a group of enemies to save some poor sap from certain doom, and he expresses his gratitude. The ensuring conversation is either presented as the player runs around the world, at the same volume even if the caped crusader is running away, or through obvious, cliched camera angles that wouldn't even find a home in the shoddiest of crime dramas.

Red Dead Redemption often suffers from the same problem. As an experience, it's excellent, and affords the player huge levels of control, but this has a detrimental affect on the way its plot is relayed: I've lost count of the number of times that I've listened to important details from the back of my horse as I've followed Marshall Johnson or as I've driven West Dickens's wagon across some pretty, but featureless, terrain, idly flicking the right-hand stick to move the camera myself. Rockstar is a fantastic production house that, on numerous occasions, has demonstrated a flair for the cinematic, but this often seems hamstrung by the free-form nature of its games.

Contrast this with Heavy Rain which, by comparison, is a hugely restrictive experience. The player's options are limited to perhaps a dozen in each scene and, more often than not, you can't leave the room before you've completed a set number of tasks.
Each of these options is unlocked by a pre-determined set of conditions and results in a pre-programmed outcome. While I've no doubt that Quantic Dreams' design documents are frighteningly complex, the finite number of scenes and options in its game surely means that more time can be spent getting these scenes right. It shows.

Whereas most games have to trade off player control for artistic, stylish exposition, Heavy Rain takes the opposite approach. By robbing the player of a certain degree of control, David Cage can ensure that every scene is littered with the kinds of cinematic touches that became his game's trademark without being hamstrung by worrying about what the player could, potentially, do with his characters.

The result? Constant cuts to inventive, surprising camera angles, writing that's sharper than almost every other game out there, motion-capped actors who move and talk that's only matched by the likes of Uncharted 2, and one of the most intriguing and absorbing experiences of 2010.

The player doesn't have constant contact with the DualShock 3's array of buttons, either; instead movements are sparse, relatively rare, and normally relate to what's happening on screen. Few other games make you frantically lunge your pad in one direction to avoid a fight, or slowly press buttons are you build up the courage to use the hot branding iron, saw or cleaver on your finger.

When Heavy Rain asks you to choose which medication to pick from the cupboard with upward and downward sweeps, or directs you to look around your car with the analogue stick, it somehow feels more significant than an arbitrary blast on the right trigger to accelerate or fire.

Heavy Rain, then, simultaneously grants the player more meaningful control while removing most of what would be considered traditional video game interaction. This means that David Cage has been able to spend more time on directing his virtual actors and less time worrying about permutations for every possible scenario and, in the process, created a game that's less "game-like" than most rival titles but all the better for it.

While I'm not advocating this approach for every time of game, it's certainly interesting - and I can't wait for what Quantic Dream does next. As long as it doesn't involve PlayStation Move, anyway. I think that's a control revolution I could do without.

Why hasn't there been more Western games?

The Western is one of the classic genres. It probably saw its peak in the world of film, where the likes of John Wayne popularised the classic Western from the 1960's onwards, but the Western is a pervasive influence throughout literature, television, art and beyond - show me a theme park without a "Wild West" section, for instance, and I'll eat my Stetson.

The Wild West, though, has never really found a foothold in games. I find this incredibly strange, because the games industry has never shied away from popular genres: the number of World War 2 games must number in the hundreds, with titles set in cliched science fiction universes not far behind. Think about the number of spooky mansions and fantasy worlds that you've trudged around in games. Classic genres are ripe for the picking, and developers never seem shy about relying on stereotypes.

Except the Western. Successful titles based in this most evocative of settings number in the dozens rather than the hundreds. In the early days crude titles like the infamous Custer's Revenge were about as good as it got, and only now does it feel like the Western is getting its dues when it comes to gaming.

Red Dead Revolver and Call of Juarez were predecessors to the excellent Red Dead Redemption and Call of Juarez: Bound in Blood, and Lead and Gold: Gangs of the Wild West aped the squad-based gameplay of Team Fortress 2 - which itself has a somewhat Western theme throughout - to decent effect.

One of my favourites is the under-appreciated Gun, which was released to critical acclaim back in 2005, and its combination of open-world gameplay and high production values was critical to its success. After all, Kris Kristofferson, Ron Perlman and Brad Dourif lent voices to the game, and main character Colton White was voiced by Thomas Jane, who's previously starred in The Punisher, Deep Blue Sea and The Mist, and its currently taking centre stage in HBO comedy series Hung.

Crucially, this, classy, sleek title was also built around an open world.

Like almost no other genre, the Western needs an open world to flourish. It's a big part of why developers may have steered clear in the past, and an equally compelling reason as to why they're engaging more with the genre now.

After all, the real star of the Western genre isn't the Cowboy or the Indian, it's the terrain; stories of civilisation taking on nature are prevalent, and the endless vistas and plateaus create some of the most evocative and striking landscapes in all of film. If a game can't replicate this, serving up a landscape through which to roam, then it might as well not bother.

Other genres don't need open worlds to success. Games set in war zones can easily shoehorn players through linear environments: Medal of Honor's pivotal Omaha Beach level was, at its core, one beach, and countless levels funnel squads of troops through bombed-out cities. Science fiction designers can also find solace in relatively small levels set on different planets, or in the claustrophobic corridors of space stations.That won't work in the Wild West, though; it'd be the equivalent of a John Wayne movie set entirely in the local saloon and sheriff's office.

Gun was the first Wild West open-world game, and it's no coincidence that it took until the PS2 era for a game like this to appear. The previous generation of consoles was the first to offer the sort of power needed for convincing and absorbing open worlds - before then only the PC could hope to offer that sort of experience and, years before, titles like The Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall promised open worlds but only delivered by serving up soulless, randomly-generated maps.

Gun, though, was different. A great-looking and deftly-crafted world that fleshed out its exciting, El Dorado-inspired plot with side-missions, NPCs and dozens of places to explore - all of the traits expected of successful open-world games. Looking back, Gun seems small, almost a particularly wide corridor between two large settlements rather than the sprawling settings we've come to know, but Neversoft's ambition was clear and the game set an important precedent.

Which brings us to Red Dead Redemption. It's one of the best open world games ever made and probably the best Western game ever thanks to the combination of Rockstar's development skills and the hardware that can be employed to turn ideas into reality. The fictitious land of New Austin is everything that an open world should be: dauntingly huge, flashed out with detail, packed with things to do.

It also bodes well for the future. The number of big-budget Western games has increased by a relatively huge amount over the past years, and I hope that it'll continue.

The Western may have been neglected in the world of games, but it looks like developers and publishers are finally waking up to the amount of untapped potential that lurks within this classic genre - and are finally able to build the worlds that the genre deserves.

And if it means that less WW2 games clog up the shelves, that can't be bad, right?

Does Red Dead Redemption need more choice?

Red Dead Redemption is rootin' tootin' brilliant right from its audacious initial train journey. The carriage rumbles through the dying embers of the Old West, clearly mimicking Half Life's opening moments but going one step beyond in every way: Marston may be travelling on his own, but this time he's surrounded by lifelike, talking NPCs who begin to paint a picture of New Austin. And, while Half Life served up claustraphobic corridors and brief glimpses of Black Mesa, RockStar turns up with its trump card: New Austin itself.

Your first glimpse of New Austin is the small town of Armarillo, and mine was superb. I turned right off the train and clambered up a small tower, trying to reacquaint myself with the controls, and then pushed a bloke off the side of the tower. Luckily he fell down, brushed himself off and carried on with his day.

I then stumbled through the train station and out into the street, and was told to head to the local bar. Before I could even swing the doors open, a patron stumbled outside and lurched across the decking before he lost his footing on the steps and tumbled down into the dirt. Hauling himself up on one knee, he muttered that he'd been "drinking way too damn much" before he stumbled off into the street.

I initially debated if that was a scripted event, but I'm pretty sure it's not. I loved it. I spent a bit of time in the bar, knocked back a shot of whiskey and lost a game of poker, before I heard shooting outside.

You know that scene in every Western movie where the gang of bad guys rides through town, leaping around on their horses and whooping while shooting pistols into the air? Yeah, that.

So anyway, off I go, carrying on with the game's storyline. I've met Bonnie and West Dickens, gone rampaging through mines with Irish, kneecapped pensioners to steal their land and even tamed the odd horse at the behest of Bonnie's old dad. I've helped the sheriff storm a farmhouse to rescue the local women, and even accidentally stolen a stagecoach. I outran the cops and found a prospector panicking because his daughter had been kidnapped; we travelled to the farmstead where she was being held and almost rescued her, too.

All of this happens in a spectacular world. It falls into the same category as Fallout 3 and Oblivion: it's just as much fun to wander off the beaten, bandit-filled track and explore as it is to complete missions and side quests. Indeed, in all three games, side-quests are often found just by exploring and, with the two Bethesda games especially, I felt that the world was crammed full of places to explore and people to have a natter with.

It's here, I feel, that minor problems begin to appear.

The world, while stunning, lifelike and incredibly absorbing, feels a little empty. This may improve later on - god knows I've hardly scratched the surface - but, at the moment, several hours in, I feel that I'm only likely to find interesting things to do if I've been told to ride there myself or have followed someone to a new destination. It lacks the spark of spontaneity and, while that might be because the game is still holding my hand, I don't reckon it should still be doing that after ten hours of play.

Some of the core gameplay concepts that partner RockStar's engrossing world also feel a little outdated. I know that Red Dead is an open world action game as opposed to an RPG but, having been spoilt with the likes of Fallout, Oblivion and Dragon Age, the linearity grates. (I should also point out that I do enjoy much of the Red Dead's gameplay, from the horse riding to the shooting to the sometimes-annoying cover system and the guns which, more often than not, aim themselves – and that's before the quick draw bullet-time slowdowns).

Take the average introduction to a mission in Red Dead. You'll sit through a cut-scene, listen to a dilemma, and Marston will agree to help. Of course, you have the choice to just ignore the mission, but that's almost a game-breaking gesture and just doesn't feel right, and your choice boils down to story mission or side-quest or mini-game.

Conversely, Dragon Age litters the average conversation with a variety of options, giving your character the choice to turn down quests, antagonise NPCs or even influence how the quest goes through your responses. Oblivion and Fallout served up similar conversation systems, and the former included an mini-game that determined how you'd influence other people.

The result is that you, as Marston, are robbed of a certain degree of choice. Like other successful open-world games - and other RockStar titles - you can choose from a selection of quests but, with no input on conversations or your character himself - you're given Marston and that's that - I can't help but feel a little detached. I had the same problem with GTA IV, not able to project any of myself and my experiences onto Niko, and my interest waned a little as a result.

Nevertheless, Red Dead Redemption is still brilliant in a multitude of other ways, so I find myself asking if these criticisms are valid. Sure, I don't get choice in conversations, but does this allow Rockstar more control over its writing, its voice acting and the plot of its game? Of course. If you've got to record one cut scene and one set of lines, then you get the slickly produced, smoothly animated and near movie-level production that's prevalent throughout Red Dead as opposed to the single viewpoint and no voice acting of the Oblivions, Dragon Ages and Fallouts of this world. When it comes to telling a story, that's obviously important, although successful RPG writers may beg to differ.

This seems less relevant when it comes to Marston himself. There are, of course, nods to RPG behaviour - you can earn money, fame and respect depending on how you behave, but there's not the wealth of stat upgrades, item choices and clothing and armor options that you'll get in the average RPG.

Perhaps it's no coincidence that my favourite GTA game is San Andreas, probably the most RPG-like of the series, which served up a wide open world packed with plenty to do and influence. Some called it derivative and accused it of distracting from the game's main focus; I say that it gave the game an air of realism and helped fill it out beyond the main plot and associated tasks. It felt like a genuine world rather than a very large level.

Perhaps, too, I just like RPGs. The wide, varied worlds packed with possibilities attract me, and these often prove more attractive than the oppressive linearity offered by action games, even if that scenario results in a tighter, more controlled and more cinematic experience.

Red Dead Redemption does bring a cinema all of its own thanks to New Austin's absorbing vistas and Rockstar's classic Western world. I'm not denying its status as a stunning place to explore and take in but I hope that, as I progress, it becomes even busier and more absorbing. I want to have my own influence on the world beyond what Rockstar has already written, programmed and planned.

Nevertheless, if Rockstar has eschewed RPG-style choices in some areas of its game and instead chosen for a more linear, dramatic and cinematic experience amid its open world, then it could turn out to be just about perfect - because introducing the choices typical of RPG games into a Rockstar title might ruin the experience. I'm in two minds about it. So, if you'll excuse me, there's a poker table with my name on it.

Metro's headlines: sensationalist, unethical and simply not true

My morning routine is, like most people, the same every day: get up, watch Neighbours, eat toast, get dressed and go to work. I don't normally read the free Metro; instead, I'm usually working, playing games or watching a DVD.

The paper - which is distributed to almost three million people daily - is still visible over countless shoulders. That made yesterday's front page headline, "Video gaming leads to surge in rickets", hard to ignore.

It is, of course, sensationalist bullshit in the finest Daily Mail/Express tradition.

Take the study where the story came from: conducted by two scientists from Newcastle University and published in the British Medical Journal, its conclusion was that sedentary lifestyles and a change in diet means that kids aren't getting enough Vitamin D which, in turn, has resulted in an upswing in the number of rickets cases. Simon Pearce, Professor of Endocrinology, went on to recommend that the Government combat this by putting more Vitamin D into common foods, like milk.

I know that it's bullshit because a colleague of mine, Joe Martin, spoke to Professor Pearce, and found out that he "didn't do any research to link video games to rickets".

Furthermore, the study was conducted exclusively on children under 20 months old - far too young to play even the most basic of Wii titles, let alone game for long enough to cause rickets. "Our intended message", he said, was that "vitamin drops and food supplementation might...ensure children don't get rickets". Very different, and Joe's very illuminating article can be read over on Bit-Tech.

It's classic sensationalism, and something that gamers are used to. Despite the UK games industry being bigger than the nation's movie industry, games are regularly held up to the kind of negative scrutiny that rarely befalls movies, TV or literature, all of which are seen as "proper" cultural fields in the face of gaming's incorrect image as childish and immature.

Never mind, though; that kind if blind, harmful ignorance will disappear with time, as it did when movies and television were feared as the technological innovation that would ruin children.

What is disturbing, though, is how the story came to be. rather than reporting on real issues - the tragedy of Haiti, or the Chilcot war inquiry - Metro has taken a mundane press release and manipulated it beyond all recognition in the search for a headline. Grip people with an exciting headline and more people read your paper; more readers means that you can charge advertisers more. Advertising is how Metro makes its money. In the midst of this ad-driven process, they've also taken a cheap and unwarranted shot at one of the nation's most popular hobbies.

So, who was it? An eager young reporter, trying to impress his superiors and convinced that yesterday's work represented "real" journalism? A jaded editor, searching for headlines amid the dozens of faceless press releases that clog his inbox on a daily basis? A cynical sub-editor, writing attention-grabbing headlines to spice up a mundane story?

No matter who's responsible, it's still reprehensible, and it certainly isn't news. It is, instead, a cheap headline-grabbing tactic designed to provoke outrage rather than inform, and it's at the expense of facts, integrity and real news. It also makes me glad that I never read the Metro.

Why Microsoft's marketing is cynical, cheap - and brilliant

Microsoft is, increasingly, an awful lot like Apple when it comes to marketing.

A couple of years ago Redmond seemed comfortable to sit in its nerdy niche but, ever since the arrival of advertising guru Steve Ballmer as CEO, the firm has paid plenty of attention – and spent plenty of money – on revamping its image.

It’s arguable that only the crucial Windows group has more of a marketing focus than the Xbox division but, whereas adverts for the new OS have concentrated on being open and honest, Microsoft’s gaming efforts seem to focus on pulling the wool over customer’s eyes – especially when it comes to so-called “exclusive” titles.

Take Left 4 Dead 2, for instance. One of this Winter’s blockbuster releases, it’s developed by PC gaming icons Valve – as was the first after the studio was bought mid-way through the game’s creation – and is a co-operative FPS that’s best played on the PC.

Except the average gamer might not know that: every TV advert shows the game’s frenetic action before cutting to an Xbox 360 ident that, to the average Modern Warfare 2 and FIFA-playing console fan, makes the game appear as an exclusive.

Of course, Microsoft avoids legal issues by never using the “E” word, but it’s not needed – the Xbox 360 branding at the end of the advert will, I’m sure, make enough gamers assume that the game is only available on Microsoft’s platform.

It’s not only Left 4 Dead 2 that has fallen prey to Microsoft’s sneaky tactics. Most of the Rock Band series has been adorned with the branding despite it being available for PlayStation 3 simultaneously, and a new advert shows all manner of music games – including Guitar Hero 5 and DJ Hero – being played on a 360, with voice of “real” music Jo Whiley providing a suitable voiceover. Zane Lowe has done the same sort of thing in the past, too.

This strategy – which presents many of the world’s most alluring games as exclusive titles, even if they’re not – is arrogant, smug and misleading. Very few tech companies, with the exception of the cult-like Apple, have been able to get away with something along these lines.

Perhaps I’m feeling wounded as an unashamed Sony fan: after all, it only really advertises real exclusives rather than pretending that multi-format releases are only available on one platform.

Unfortunately for Sony, it seems to be working. Reports from the launch of Modern Warfare 2 suggested that Xbox 360 copies were flying off the shelves in comparison to the PlayStation 3 version, even if the gap between the two consoles is closing: Activision reported that 360 sales outnumbered PS3 sales two to one, even though PS3 sales have surged over the past few months.

And, perhaps, Microsoft should be applauded for its aggressive advertising. Sony has its own endorsements – many of which, including the Champions League and WRC – it’s stood by for years, but it just doesn’t promote its console as aggressively as Microsoft does in the mainstream, with adverts touting many of the same services, such as movie streaming and media capabilities, that the PS3 offers for free.

With only a handful of exclusive games between platforms and most big titles appearing on both machines, I’d wager that Microsoft’s early lead of the PS3 was the result of an earlier launch and plenty of adverts rather than it being borne out of a genuinely superior machine.

After all, thanks to Microsoft’s sneaky marketing, thousands of people are fooled in thinking that certain games are only available on a console that’s noisy, ugly and far more expensive, when it comes to total cost of ownership, than its main competitor.

There's no doubt that Microsoft's aggressive and effective marketing strategy should be applauded. It’s just a shame that the battle between the world’s two best consoles might be won by whoever is willing to stump up the biggest advertising budget.

Aion and MMOs - a delicate balancing act

The past few weeks of playing in Aion have, at least for me, illustrated that getting the balance right, especially when it comes to MMOs, is vitally important.

Take my tenure as a Ranger - while I thought that running around with superb blade and arrow skills would be awesome, I found that my weak armour (I couldn't use chain or plate, for instance) and lack of actual melee weapon proficiency was my downfall.

When attacking, I was always on the back foot, and had to rely on kiting to defeat difficult mobs - that is, fire arrows and lay traps, all the while retreating, so that you can kill them without them hitting you and doing damage. I found myself always playing on the defensive and struggling to kill mobs that were at my level, possibly because I'm just not a very good kiter.

This, obviously, sucked.

I gave up at level 19 and started a new character. This time, I'm a Gladiator, and I can wear plate and chain armour. I can also wield a polearm, which is a 10ft tall stick with a god-damned HUGE blade on the end.

This, obviously, means I can wade into battle, hit higher-level mobs around the head and watch them cower in fear.

Which means that I can play much more aggressively.

It's amazing the progress I've made - in less time I'm at a higher level and I'm enjoying it much, much more.

I do feel that, perhaps, the Ranger class could be better balanced - while my blade skills were sufficient to take down lower level enemies, as I approached levels 19 and 20 I found everything far more difficult. Looking up guides for kiting revealed that the best way to progress was to exploit a small animation but that, essentially, allowed you to fire arrows sooner than you really should have done. In my opinion, getting ahead this way is just not right, and illustrates that, however small it may be, there's a small unbalance in the force.

But, now that I'm Gladiator, it's all good - stuff that's my level falls easily because I've managed to acquire some pretty good equipment, but quests around my level still offer a good mix of difficulties - some are simple and easy grinding whereas others are too difficult because of the sheer number of mobs. Others, such as those in the Krall settlements near to Verteron Fortress, require groups, and ranging around with a group of people picking off high-level mobs is some of the most fun I've yet had in Aion.

On the other end of the scale, I was challenged to a dual by a Chancer a couple of days ago. Not having encountered one before, I accepted, and he cut me down with a few simple spells, and I couldn't get near him.

Either I'm not very good or that particular class of character is too powerful for its own good.

Ho-hum.

It's the little details that count

Games are huge. From the sprawling expanse of Oblivion to the high concepts of Half Life, modern games – and I’m talking the big ones, those with budgets that run into the millions – are pretty damned massive and, often, all the better for it.

Of course, taking a keen interest in the big picture means that plenty of games miss the finer details, letting incidental information slip by the wayside and forgetting the little snippets of life that make a big sandbox seem like a living, breathing environment.

My adventures in Aion have highlighted this fact very nicely. Once you’ve reached level 10 and ascend to the ranks of the Daeva, who come with a very nice pair of wings, your character is allowed to begin exploring the wider world.

First stop is the region of Verteron, which is governed from the impressive-sounding Verteron Citadel. It looks suitably lavish, too, with a huge tower rising from the exterior walls and building towards a glistening gate to the Abyss.

It’s busy, too, with both players and NPC characters. Several staff shops, selling weapons, shields, potions and manastones, and plenty mill around, sweeping streets and talking amongst themselves. A small group of children weave through the legs of full-grown Daevas, laughing and playing games.

But they can’t possibly live in Verteron Citadel, as there isn’t anywhere for them to live.

You see, for all of its charm and magnificence – because, so far, it’s one of the biggest settlements I’ve come across – the only buildings in the Verteron Citadel are shops, military installations or temples. Yet NPC characters talk about living in the Citadel, how it’s safer than the world outside, and how happy they are.

See what I mean? That little detail, not relevant to the game at all, still manages to prevent my imagination from being suspended and still robs Verteron of a chunk of its humanity. It’s a little detail, sure, but it definitely matters.

Aion isn’t the only game guilty of this, either.

As a sports simulation, FIFA 10 relies on its depiction of real life being as perfect as possible – and, by and large, it’s one of the best out there thanks to fantastic graphics, realistic gameplay and fluid animation. It’s obvious that EA’s motion-capture budget has been well spent.

However, a couple of little things instantly bring the illusion of reality crashing back down to earth - even if they're the tiniest of tiny details.

Take goal celebrations, for instance. If you score, your player will run off to celebrate - that's a given. However, more often than not, they'll run into the goal itself. The camera will then cut to images of the scorer and his teammates celebrating on a different part of the pitch.

Also, intercepting opponents' free kicks is simple: stand in front of the nearest player, and their kick taker will more than likely pass to them. A real footballer will notice this and won't let the ball go anywhere near you.

Both of these things are obvious, and I've noticed both of them after around a dozen matches on FIFA 10. They can't have gone unnoticed during development and testing, and fixing them can't be too difficult.

The rest of FIFA 10 is superb and, as I stated yesterday, Aion's world is lush and fantastically realised. But, when you're committed to providing experiences like these, the little details are crucial - and, more often than not, it's the little details that let the games down.