My perfect RPG would have the visual whimsy of Miyazaki, the artistic genius of Kurosawa, the surreal depth of Burton, the irreverent wit of Monty Python, the dramatic power of Spielberg, and the creative spark of the Great Lord of the J. In fact, I'd be in charge of the whole thing. It would be a masterpiece of its generation--of any generation. It'd make me famous, just like the Famous Amos! I'd make millions! But first, of course, I'd have to produce the thing, and in pursuit of that most excellent dream, I would spare no expense on musical composition, plot development, or character design...or the catering wagon.
I'd take a long leap away from the traditional RPG formula of sending some ordinary kids up against an unspeakable evil to wage a cosmic battle for the fate of the very world itself. I'd also distance myself from the mainstream RPG morals you usually see in these sorts of games, and in their place dish out a dose of the world as seen by Josh, which ought to broaden anyone's horizons...if simply for the novelty of an uncommon point of view. And did I mention the catering wagon? We're talking cheese balls, condor eggs, and some of that vintage Dr. Pepper from a time capsule dating back to the days when they made it with prune juice.
There's an unspoken rule in television: Fit your drama inside the small screen. I see that to be somewhat true in video games, too. For reasons of profitability, the Powers that Be just don't like to give their audiences too stirring an experience all at once. I don't know if it's because most people lead sheltered lives and can't wrap their minds around something too starkly beyond the familiar, or because it makes the rest of the industry's product look rightfully cheap in comparison. But whatever the reason, I'd throw that line of thinking out the window and go for the maximum dramatic effect possible. I'd rather touch a few kindred spirits down through the generations than garner the attentions of a fleeting and fickle mass audience today. (Although if I can have both, so much the better.)
I'd run a very egalitarian development operation. Every voice would be heard, and every differing point of view honored. The entire crew would all be in this together, for a greater good than any one of them individually could hope to surpass: The production of my video game. Even the lowest copy room grunts would stand alongside the highest department heads as dutiful servants of the same cause. And speaking of my department heads, at our board meetings I would have them sit at a round, oaken table where ideas would flow equally and justly. No one would be better or higher than anyone else, or preferred in any way. I, of course, would be floating in a revolving throne above the center of the table, glowing so brightly with jewels and divine sanction that no one could possibly look at me for more than a second or two. No, scratch that! Rather than cheapening myself by revolving for my staff, I'd have the entire
studio revolve around me. There'd also be a chorus somewhere in the background chanting:
Estuans interius ira vehementi,
Estuans interius ira vehementi;
Lord J Esq! Lord J Esq!
The story of my perfect RPG would chase after epic discovery and achievement, as opposed to the more traditional RPG showdown between good and evil. Rather than setting up a tangible villain to orchestrate the progression of events, I would send the protagonists in pursuit of their own sense of destiny. The plot would turn--much like a well-oiled board room--on the axis of desire: From the depths of the mind our dreams are born. Dreams touch the light of the world and bestow desire. Desire compels us to seek the power to make our dreams come true. Many people shape the world in their lifetimes, because of their desires. A chosen few take it in their very hands, and change the course of history forever. What better story to tell a game about than humanity at its most passionate?
The graphics would combine our best emulation of photorealism to date, yet in the interest of containing the graphics budget, I would have my artists make strong use of pre-rendered graphics wherever possible, and I would always favor hand-drawn or digitally composed mattes over computer-generated textures. (And when computing power finally makes this contest less one-sided, I will reconsider.) I would forsake conventional imagery for more of a dreamscape, hoping to evoke some of the dionysian creative fundaments of the human imagination, rather than simple recognition of the mundane. In other words, depending on your temperament, I would seek to make the experience either unsettling or intriguing. Definitely I would favor curves and space over angles and lines. In keeping with the unapologetic artistry of works like
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, form and theme would govern the more pragmatic functions.
I would typically try to go for understatement in the dialogue and narrative, instead letting settings and circumstance speak for themselves. However, the game as a whole would be extremely text-heavy--or speech-heavy, if I opted for voice acting...which I probably wouldn't, but certainly might. Rather than dropping the plot in straightforward packets, however, I would write to a mature enough audience, yet with a simplistic enough style, to appeal to individual players based on their own identity and personality. Just as kids didn't need to know about Gene Kelly to laugh at Kel when he sang "Drinking Orange Rain," those who did know of it could find the experience enjoyable on a more involved level, and so too would my script speak one word in many voices. Greater emphasis would be placed on character disparity and individuality than has traditionally been striven for in RPGs. Oftentimes characterizations are diverse enough in composition, but painfully similar in style, and I would make every effort to escape that artistic flaw.
Music, as I said, would be featured prominently, on a level of importance equal to that of the art, and perhaps even superior to it. The music would as much tell the story as the script itself, and my composers would be on notice to produce the best work of their lives, lest I feed their children to the wolves. I'm talking about music without boundaries, vision without horizon, awareness without oblivion.
The catering wagon would feature everything from smoked nova lox with fresh New York bagels and whipped cream cheese with chives and red onions, to roast lamb served on a bed of wild rice with garlic broiled asparagus and truffles. For the less discriminate, there'd even be plain old peanut butter and jelly. And to complete the circle of success, the Famous Amos cookies would be, as customary with any Lord J, Esq. production,
unlimited.
