Beacons of Hope is a quaint-sounding name for a game, especially for something as ostensibly esoteric and experimental as this one, but it resonates meaningfully with the gameplay experience.

The short version of how it works is this: you stumble around in complete darkness with a dozen or so similarly hapless participants, tripping on makeshift barriers and groping helplessly. Meanwhile, motion-triggered flashes of red light from PlayStation Move controllers held by “monsters” briefly illuminate the space as they stalk and eliminate other players from the game by grabbing them. The players’ goal is to find three hidden “beacons”, (also PS Move controllers) which can shine a bright white light at the press of a button.

If all three beacons are found and triggered together, the monsters are defeated and the players win the round. If all players are eliminated, or they don’t discover the beacons in time, they lose. Any motion registered by the different controllers results in a cacophony of melodic and dissonant sounds, allowing players to get an idea of the current game situation by listening closely.

The game is creepy, confounding, occasionally thrilling, and like much of Doug’s work, social.

Doug is a doctoral candidate at the Center for Computer Games Research at the IT University of Copenhagen, a co-founder of the Copenhagen Game Collective and partner of his new games studio Die Gute Fabrik. He’s known for his studies on so-called abusive, broken, and self-effacing games, and their theoretical realization in Dark Room Sex Game, B.U.T.T.O.N., and Johann Sebastian Joust.

I had a chance to play J.S. Joust last summer, and its ingenious to say the least. It takes a reference point in traditional folk games, and repurposes modern game technology – objects we’re familiar with as game players – to tap into those more fundamental, more ancestral tropes of play. There is no screen for the game system to communicate feedback – communication from system to player only takes place through controller vibration, light, and music. However, the game encourages players to focus not on the system itself but rather on the social experience of actively negotiating it.

J.S. Joust does away with conventional video game tools while appropriating and “disenchanting” the minimum remainder required to still approach play from a digital perspective. It examines play in its most fundamental forms – play as in mammalian play, play that sits deep in our genetic memory, next to our experience of music and other primal-feeling phenomenon. This kind of play de-emphasizes game systems in favor of the physical, social, confrontational, and creative.

J.S. Joust subverts modern game apparatuses, in this case PlayStation Move controllers, in order to position them within a new/old context. It also seems to both reject and embrace some of the contemporary discourse on computing. It approaches technology democratically and adopts what it deems useful, but ultimately turns us away from screens and towards each other, “remind(ing) us that play is, above all, something personal”.

Beacons of Hope continues this dialogue. Mainstream game hardware lights our way in the darkness as we play what in some ways is a very old-fashioned kind of game.

Once in Shanghai I ate at a “blind” restaurant. This meant that the dining area was in complete darkness, as in 1,000-feet-under-the-earth pitch-black. We were led to our seats by blind waiters, hands on each others’ shoulders, then sat down to fumble with our utensils. We would invariably end up eating with our hands before finally being led out again.

That restaurant didn’t survive more than a year or two, which is telling – in any case I never felt the need to return. Despite its gimmicky angle, it was still worthwhile to experience the sensation of being completely blinded, especially while taking in the smells, touches and tastes of an otherwise ordinary dining experience. We were temporarily forced to interact with the food and each other in ways that were entirely dependent and incapable.

During the playtest of Beacons of Hope, I was incapacitated in similar ways. I fumbled on the floor, bumped into rows of folding chairs and other players; I felt defenseless and exposed. The knowledge that someone was out there hunting for us was eerie, despite the fact that they were, for the most part, as blind as we were.

Doug and his colleagues describe “abusive” game design as “refram(ing) gameplay as a dialogic relation between player and designer – a kind of conversation that presents itself in the form of a dare.” Beacons of Hope is “abusive” in the sense that we were taken abruptly out of our comfort zone in a distinctly physical way. It was designed to disrupt, yet enthrall.

I started at the sound of footsteps, I huddled behind what seemed to be an obstacle that would protect me; I hid in the corner, flattening myself against the wall. A light would flash from across the room, the sound of the monsters’ controllers would intensify, and I would scramble away. This experience was about helplessness, and how it caused us to react to sudden visceral stimuli.

Then something amazing happened – I actually stumbled across one of the beacons in my blindness, and immediately felt a surge of adrenaline. The helplessness I felt was transformed to a sense of clear, weighty potential. After a moment’s hesitation, I held it over my head, and pressed the button. A penetrating note as from a bell sounded as the controller vibrated in my hand. I could see everything in a 15 foot radius. Two other players, groping on their hands and knees, looked up at me, startled. So did the nearest monster, who came for me immediately. Oops.

In a later game, other players were smarter and illuminated their beacon only for an instant, immediately moving away. I heard one, and then two melodies intertwining over the sound system, indicating as many beacons had been found. Two players cautiously and intermittently flashed their controllers, then suddenly the third was found. The beacon-bearers realized they had nearly won and ran to each other, lights flashing, and the round was over. We applauded. You probably had to be there, but it was a dramatic moment, heroic even.

We played a few rounds, discussing alterations of the rules as well as possibilities for the playing-space. The game wasn’t complete, and many fundamental rules were open to discussion.

Though we seemed to be striving for an ideal “completed” Beacons of Hope, the uncertainty of it all invited comparisons to Doug and co.’s ideas on “broken” or self-effacing games – games that invite “physical and subversive play, hinting to and even telling the players that the terms of the game are up for debate.” Though its hard to imagine much player creativity manifesting in complete darkness, some intentional ambiguity seemed to allow for potentially interesting possibilities. For example, monsters could “buzz” each other’s controller by pressing a button, though we weren’t sure what that could ultimately mean for the game.

Meaningful player creativity in this case may mean being able to tweak the code for controller sensitivity or determine new standard methods of tagging out players – whereas lighting a match you find on the floor, or hiding the beacons in inaccessible areas would be obviously inappropriate. This wasn’t exactly the kind of subversive play that B.U.T.T.O.N. invited.

The game was far from perfect. Monsters had the ability to light their path by moving their controllers – though they were supposed to strive for stealth. In practice, the benefits gained by sacrificing stealthiness for sight far outweighed any drawbacks. Players could see a revealed, moving threat, true – but the lit area wouldn’t reach far enough for the player to move effectively in the direction that mattered: away from it. Meanwhile the monster could easily advance to eliminate a player unhindered. This meant that monsters had to agree to “not cheat” – which in essence meant that they were facilitating the game for the players’ benefit, rather than participating fully. This was the most striking systemic issue.

In any case, its hard to imagine a universally perfected version of Beacons of Hope. Some dissonance seems inevitable, and even central to the experience of the game – based on the limitations or features of the space, numbers of players, potential real-life hazards, or through other constraints. In a way, most minor conflicts felt enriching, though occasionally frustrating. It seemed like even a finished, well-tested version would need to tailor some of the rules for each play experience – and the game was inspiring enough to engender constant speculation on gameplay alterations.

It wasn’t a comfortable playing experience, per se. In the end, we spent ten minutes at a time bumping into chairs and groping around on the floor on our knees. Though cultivating discomfort is certainly intentional, a “finished” version will need to find a sweet spot of “This is uncomfortable, but I want to play again!” I should want to go back to the blind restaurant again and again, as it were – but not for the sake of novelty alone.

I’m not sure the game is at that point yet, but it was close. I have a feeling that the emotions I felt as I grasped the beacon in the dark is something that will remain with me for a very long time.

Final physical work was done about a week or two ago. The Brothers Ma and R3 in the space.

We had our fair share of hurdles to overcome – second-hand PC not turning on, motherboard needs replacing, electronics are loose, mouse not working, database not connecting, Winnitron login not working, Great Firewall of China interference…

Once we got the electronics working, we threw on some temporary games to test the reliability of our installed controls.

Tonight, finally…

… We finished coordinating with the Bit Collective gang to get us fully online and good to go. The games are all synced to our local machine and we are in. The Winnitron games are now up and ready to play for the first time in Shanghai, China, and Asia.

We had a chance to mess around with the Winnitron 1000 at GDC earlier this year. The Winnitron project captures perfectly both what is most fun and nostalgic about bygone eras of arcade games and also the independent, artistic, creative spirit of independent game developers. We instantly knew we had to make one for Shanghai.

We started planning in the spring along with our colleague Han Ling Quan. Shortly afterwards we decided to collaborate with R3 as the bar he was opening sounded like it was created with the Winnitron in mind. In short, perfect timing.

The Winnitron SH started coming together mid-summer and we’re putting the finishing touches on it now, with the help of the bar’s designers and contractors, and of course the Bit Collective guys, especially Kert Gartner, who has been supporting us every step of the way.

We’re almost finished! The cabinet is in the space now, LEDs and monitor in place, and the PC and electronics are just waiting for the final panel.

R3 at bat. Ignore the fact that the controls haven’t been installed yet. He is. The monitor is covered, the control panel hasn’t come in, a panel needs to be cut out of the back… but its just a bit more work.

One of the Brothers Ma and a mirrored view of the space. Arcade is be a weird/perfect realization of a classy Japanese/NYC cocktail bar and lounge with an indie/arcade/geeky twist.

R3 can hardly contain himself – this is normal. Arcade collaborators look on approvingly.

The control panel still needs a bit of work and will have a metal casing. The marquee is coming soon, and the electronics are more or less good to go and are just waiting for the panel to be ready.

The design was largely based on the work of the guys putting together the Winnitron AU… Thanks again to them and to all the Bit Collective folks.

Coconut Island is odd for a homegrown studio – they target the international market almost exclusively, avoiding the Chinese market wherever they can. Is this the only way to have a “creative” independent studio in China?

Kill Screen posted my article and interview with Wesley here.

With a language based on characters rather than a phonetic alphabet, you can generally communicate much more information in much less space. For example, Chinese tweets can carry much more complexity, and nuance than we can in English.

Though there’s something to be said for the original English translation remaining in all-caps compared to the more comfortably legible lower-case of the new translation/interpretation, Glitterberri’s interpretation is undoubtedly more subtle and human, relying less on imperatives and incorporating more suggestion. Compare “YOU KNOW ALL I CAN TEACH YOU. GO.” with “I don’t have anything more to tell you. Go, and take care of yourself.”

Still, “IT’S DANGEROUS TO GO ALONE” retains its own sort of poetic, yet robotic quality.

For some reason, just like the lo-fi art and sound, it seems there are certain spaces left by poorly translated (by necessity or accident) or otherwise minimal text of that era that allowed our adolescent imaginations the room to more easily fill the gaps.

These spaces made playing these games an imaginative exercise – an experience of assisted make-believe – rather than being something that explicitly communicated a vision of another reality.

Via Game Set Watch.

Now that the praise is out of the way, I was surprised and somewhat appalled at the inclusion of a Team Fortress 2-like microtransaction store within the game.   That is, the Portal 2 store allows players to pay real money (usually $1 to $5) for arguably meaningless aesthetic changes to the two robots used in the co-op campaign.   These changes include skins, hats, gestures (unique animations used by the robots in-game), and so on.

At first I brushed off the addition of the store as Valve giving players an opportunity to “donate” additional money to the developer if they were so inclined (with a minor incentive).   However upon some reflection, this simple answer doesn’t seem to make much sense.  Would enough players really be willing to pay real money to customize an avatar in a game that lasts under 5 hours (which also has relatively low replayability) to justify the effort of including a store system?  Is Valve banking on the gaming community’s love of Portal 2 to simply make some extra revenue?

Valve is known to be very business savvy while still greatly respecting their players. The only way I could picture the store being appreciated (and not scorned) by a large percentage of players is if Valve intends to add additional playable content… and lots of it.  Is the store a foundation for a turning Portal 2 into a platform of frequently updated, free content similar to Team Fortress 2?   By having the store built into the core of the game from launch, they are securing a slow-burning income model that could fund a team to consistently deliver content and support, the same model that has been proven to work with TF2.

These conclusions could simply be my respect for Valve obfuscating a very clear money-grab, but I remain hopeful.