Recently Played: Persona 5

Well, after roughly 117 hours, I have finally conquered Persona 5. My initial impression still stands: this is one of the most thematically rich video games I have ever encountered. Everything you do—everything—revolves around some variation on the idea of "changing hearts," from supernaturally forcing corrupt authority figures to confess their crimes to swaying the opinion of the fickle/indifferent/apathetic public to inspiring a handful of downtrodden souls to seize control of their destinies.

Despite the inherent darkness of its setting—in which people either become sadistic oppressors or surrender their free will entirely in order to escape the crushing expectations of society—Persona 5 remains staunchly optimistic. No matter how dire their situation becomes, the Phantom Thieves continue to fight against injustice and adversity. After all, each of them managed to change his or her own heart; the very fact that they overcame their fear and self-doubt gives them the power to change the world. And that’s a power they share with every human being on Earth. Including you, the player. Especially you.  

Add a dash of truly addictive gameplay (proving that turn-based combat is still alive and well) and a few pinches of blood-pumping music to this delectable narrative stew, and you’ve got one of the finest RPGs currently available on the PS4—or any console, ever, for that matter.

Random Thought Before Bed: My Informal Pitch for a Suicide Squad Video Game

It’s the government’s dirty little secret: a rehabilitation program for super-powered criminals, offering reduced prison sentences in exchange for their participation in missions too dangerous or controversial for conventional military forces. The villains consider it a joke, yet another revolving door to freedom in an already porous penal system. The superheroes consider it a mockery of every ideal they fight to uphold. Its founders dubbed it “Task Force X.” The current members came up with a more appropriate name: THE SUICIDE SQUAD.

And you’ve just been named the team’s new field commander. Amanda Waller may be in charge on paper, but you’ll be the one calling the shots on the ground. Choose your friends and rivals carefully, manage your resources wisely, keep a cool head in the heat of battle, and you just might survive long enough to enjoy the freedom that Uncle Sam has promised you… or at least last longer than your predecessor did.

FEATURES

"On behalf of the Task Force X support staff, I would like to personally wish you the best of luck and express my sincere hope that you fare better than the last fellow. Yes, we know this is a hazardous job. That’s what we call the price of freedom."

—A. Waller, Director

Random Thought Before Bed: My Informal Pitch for a Zatoichi Video Game

You are Ichi—blind masseur, lonesome wanderer, deadly swordsman. You long for a life of peace, but wherever you go, you inevitably find yourself drawn into violent conflict. Will you pursue justice, defending the oppressed and downtrodden from corrupt politicians and ruthless yakuza? Or will you follow the path of the mercenary, selling you blade to the highest bidder at the expense of your soul? The choice is yours.

The darkness is your ally. On this long, winding, lawless road, a man is free to choose his own path. Choose yours wisely, wanderer.

Pre-order now to unlock a special day-one DLC package: Tournament Mode (battle every one of the game’s ronin back-to-back), an additional Hidden Boss (Takeshi Kitano’s bleached-blond interpretation of the blind swordsman), and alternate skins (including one for the female version of the character seen in the 2008 film Ichi).

Ultima IV Blues

Origin Systems' groundbreaking CRPG Ultima IV (originally released in 1985) introduced an early--and, in many ways, much more rich and complex--version of the now-popular (see: Mass Effect, Dragon Age) "morality" mechanic, constructed around eight core Virtues: Honesty, Compassion, Valor, Justice, Sacrifice, Honor, Spirituality, and Humility.

It's a good thing that Patience didn't make the list, because otherwise, I'd "lose an eighth" every time the game's iPad re-release inexplicably crashed upon initiating combat.

Random Thought Before Bed: Naughty Dog, Morality, and Interactive Storytelling

I just finished playing The Last of Us, and I, for one, applaud developer Naughty Dog for confronting players with such morally-complex, challenging material. Do the needs of the many really outweigh the needs of the few? Should they? Are such questions even relevant when one considers how ugly, unjust, and obviously doomed the game's post-apocalyptic world is? The answers don't come easily, and I'm still digesting the ethical implications of the ending; that's what makes The Last of Us a true work of art, the ideal to which the entire medium/industry should aspire.

Recently Played: 007 Legends, Skyfall DLC

A while back, I reviewed 007 Legends, a video game released to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of James Bond's illustrious career on the silver screen. While I found the derivative gameplay a bit... lacking (serviceable at best), I quite liked the idea of revisiting some of 007's most famous cases; it seemed like the perfect opportunity to whittle the character down to his core traits and examine why he still resonates with audiences after all these years. The experience began promisingly enough, distilling Goldfinger, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, and Licence to Kill into three key unifying themes: pain, loss, and revenge. Unfortunately, the final two levels--adaptations of Die Another Day and Moonraker, the suave super-spy's least dignified adventures--abandoned this premise in favor of poorly-coded car chases and infuriatingly sluggish zero-gravity laser fights. I was disappointed, but I held out hope that developer Eurocom would correct its mistakes with the free Skyfall downloadable mission pack. After all, "Pain, Loss, and Revenge" could easily have been a tagline for the film that inspired it; surely this shiny new content would emphasize Bond the icon, rather than Bond the self-parody.

A few days ago, I finally played through the DLC, and I can honestly say... I would have preferred the self-parody. 007 Legends' interpretation of Sam Mendes' contribution to the mythos is rubbish, plain and simple. Eurocom omits nearly every plot thread that would have made the two (pitifully brief) stages a fitting conclusion to the game's loose storyline. Silva: absent (replaced as primary antagonist by his henchman, Patrice). Bond's need to prove his relevance following his apparent demise: nowhere to be found. The heartbreaking final scene (which gives OHMSS a run for its money in the tearjerking department): neutered. By stripping away every last shred of emotional context, the developer robs players of a truly satisfying climax; instead of the definitive portrait of a cinematic titan, we're left with a cobbled-together mishmash of half-formed ideas glued together with shoddily-designed maps, stiff steering controls, and a punishingly inconsistent difficulty curve.

Recently Viewed: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)

Disney has a talent for spinning existential despair into heartwarming, hilarious adventures; like the company's best output (Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Mulan), Wreck-It Ralph stars an outsider dissatisfied with his place in the world, hungry for something more.

From Ralph's perspective, terrorizing the denizens of his 8-bit home is merely a nine-to-five job, but because he's programmed to destroy everything he lays his oversized hands on, he finds himself shunned by his neighbors, forced to spend his nights at the local garbage dump. On the eve of his game's thirtieth anniversary, Ralph, finally fed up with all the abuse, vows to prove once and for all that he's more than just another Bad Guy--even if he has to leave his own machine to do so. Along the way, he encounters a spunky glitch named Vanellope von Schweetz, whose determination to prove her worth on the racetracks of Sugar Rush (sort of a candy-themed spin on Mario Kart) teaches him that there's much more to being a Hero than winning medals.

From the inspired casting (John C. Reilly, Sarah Silverman, and Jane Lynch are all pitch-perfect) to the imaginative world-building (Game Central Station, where various familiar faces--Bowser, Sonic, Q*bert, and many more--gather after the arcade closes, is gorgeously realized), Wreck-It Ralph is a truly delightful experience from "Insert Coin" to "Game Over." If there's one flaw, it's that the plot gets cluttered near the climax; as much as I adore the tough-as-nails Sgt. Calhoun, her sole narrative function--hunting down an escaped "Cy-Bug" before it devours every bit of data in its path--feels like an unnecessary attempt to raise the already hefty stakes (if Ralph fails to return to Fix-It Felix, Jr. within twenty-four hours, the owner will pull the plug; 'nuff said). But when discussing such a beautifully-constructed tale of redemption and self-discovery, complaining about "too much conflict" seems a bit silly.

In one pivotal scene, Ralph, facing an almost certain demise, repeats his support group's affirmation, realizing the full significance of the words for the first time:

If you're not weeping by the time he's finished, I doubt that even Fix-It Felix's magic hammer could repair your cold, hard heart.

Recently Played: 007 Legends (2012)

Comfort food. That's the best way to describe 007 Legends, at least in terms of gameplay. It won't win any awards for innovation--it shamelessly rips off the ultra-linear, set piece-driven Call of Duty formula--but it's simple and familiar enough to serve its purpose.

That purpose is to guide players through slightly condensed re-tellings of five of James Bond's most famous adventures (one for each pre-Craig performer, though Craig is treated as the sole 007 here)--in commemoration, one assumes, of the fiftieth anniversary of the franchise's big screen debut.

I qualify the above statement only because--initially, at least--the Mission Select screen left me questioning the developers' cinematic tastes. Generally speaking, there's a certain logic behind the material they chose to adapt. It's hard to argue with Goldfinger, a perennial fan favorite and codifier of many of the series' rules and conventions (I personally prefer From Russia with Love, but that already inspired a disappointing video game). What Lazenby's turn as the suave super-spy may have lacked in quantity, it more than makes up for in quality; no tribute to Bond's career would be complete without the tragic On Her Majesty's Secret Service--if for nothing else, then for its inclusion of arch-nemesis Ernst Stavro Blofeld (evoking both Donald Pleasence and Telly Savalas in this particular incarnation) at his most diabolical. I even understand the reasoning behind Die Another Day: it's the only Brosnan film that never made the leap to a home console (the beloved Goldeneye 64 was even recently remade for the current generation). But Moonraker? Why not The Spy Who Loved Me, which is widely considered Moore's least obnoxious outing? Dr. No's fiftieth anniversary only rolls around once; don't waste this opportunity on a movie that's only slightly more dignified than A View to a Kill! And Licence to Kill? I know Dalton's sophomore effort has its supporters, but its limited budget makes it look like a Cannon Production; wouldn't The Living Daylights better fit the interactive medium?

As the narrative began to unfold, however, the pieces gradually fell into place. The game opens with the recent Skyfall trailer's most striking moment: Bond, accidentally shot by an ally, plunges into an icy blue abyss. As he slowly sinks, frigid water filling his lungs, his life flashes before his eyes--a life defined by trauma, regret, failure. The very first image players see upon gaining control is the gold-painted corpse of Jill Masterson, slain for her association with 007. As in the original version of the tale, this sets the tone for the ensuing action: "This time, it's personal." Following Goldfinger with the one-two punch of OHMSS (the death of Tracy) and Licence to Kill (the maiming of Felix Leiter) only reinforces the themes of loss and revenge. "So," I said to myself, "they're re-examining the mythos, finding the deeper emotional truths that make these stories resonate."

And then the developers wrap up the experience with Die Another Day and Moonraker, two silly, embarrassing romps that feel no less silly or embarrassing when you're the one steering the action. There is no greater significance to be discovered here, no hidden meaning that  will cause longtime Bond enthusiasts to view their hero in a new light. The previous character development is abandoned in favor of poorly-designed car chases and frustrating zero-gravity combat, leaving behind little more than yet another generic shooter liberally seasoned with nostalgia that will only appeal to the most diehard 007 fanatics.

Pure comfort food.

[My third post celebrating Movie Bond's fiftieth birthday.]

Post 1: My Top 5 Bond Films

Post 2: Dr. No (Novel)

From Comic-Con 2012: Quantic Dream

In presenting the upcoming Beyond: Two Souls to attendees of the San Diego Comic-Con, Quantic Dream's David Cage made the risky decision to forego showing off new gameplay footage. I can't speak for the hardcore gamers packed into 25ABC, but I admired that move--and how elegantly it communicated the renowned company's core philosophy.  While he considers himself a game designer first and foremost, Cage made it clear that his priority is to craft a compelling interactive storytelling experience--a policy he hopes will help legitimize video games as an art form. Many recent games, he noted, slap a gun into players' hands and toss them into a series of set pieces, contriving a plot to justify the action. Cage, on the other hand, always begins with the story (often quite personal in nature: he wrote Heavy Rain as a father, and the idea for Beyond came to him in the wake of a loved one's death)--and how player participation will shape it.  This creates a more engaging, meaningful narrative experience, dissolving the boundary between player and character and encouraging "honest" choices--Cage giddily recalled a fan who, on a second play-through of Indigo Prophecy, could not bring himself to follow the "mean" dialogue path in a conversation with Sgt. Miles' wife. In fact, despite the obvious effort he puts into his branching narratives, Cage urged the Comic-Con audience to play his games only once, accepting the consequences of their choices and mistakes.  "Because," he said, grinning, "that's life."

Silly Metal Gear Bosses: Dr. Drago Pettrovich Madnar

I find it educational to occasionally disregard the long-held tradition of Gameplay and Story Segregation—to remove player input from the equation and evaluate in-game actions as character choices.

This thought experiment makes Drago Pettrovich Madnar’s sub-boss fight in Metal Gear 2: Solid Snake a whole lot more entertaining.

In the first Metal Gear, Madnar is little more than a plot device: he provides a vital piece of information exactly once and, his purpose in life fulfilled, proceeds to sit on his behind for the remainder of the game.

Like everyone else who migrates over to the sequel, Madnar develops just enough as a character to stab you in the back. Growing pacifistic sentiments in the West have rendered his field of study obsolete, so he defects to Big Boss’ mercenary paradise, where he finds the political freedom he needs to complete his pet project: Metal Gear D.

Now, let’s examine the stunning revelation of Madnar’s treachery from Snake’s perspective. While the hero of Outer Heaven is busy talking to his lady friend on the radio, this seventy-year-old nerd latches onto his back like a man-sized leech and tries to strangle/bite/dry hump him to death.

Naturally, our favorite legendary soldier responds by pelting the crazed Einstein lookalike with remote-controlled missiles. Yes, you read that correctly: Snake fires upon Madnar—the man currently doing his best impersonation of a backpack, the man who is close enough to rub his mustache up and down Snake’s neck—with remote-controlled explosives. Picture that image flickering across the silver screen at twenty-four frames per second. It would be absolutely ridiculous—the most epic thing committed to celluloid since D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance, perhaps, but ridiculous nevertheless. We would question the protagonist’s sanity.

Of course, at that point, we would have to ask ourselves, “Why in God’s name did I do that?”

Dr. Drago Pettrovich Madnar, you force players to abandon rational thought and shoot rockets at themselves. I think that deserves an enthusiastic salute!

Silly Metal Gear Bosses: Running Man

The boss characters in Metal Gear 2: Solid Snake include a space ninja, a wall-crawling grenadier, and two guerilla warfare experts transparently (ha!) inspired by Predator. If nothing else, they’re a lot more interesting than their predecessors—a guy with a shotgun, a guy with a machinegun, a guy with a flamethrower, etc.

Then there’s Running Man…

Poor, pitiful Running Man. His comrades get cool, practical combat skills. Black Ninja can teleport. Night Fright can blend seamlessly into his surroundings.

Running Man can run.

Run very, very fast.

Away from the enemy.

The fight against Running Man is really more of a fight against time. The object of the battle is to deplete his health before the flood of poison gas depletes yours. But he refuses to show himself outside of cutscenes; all you see of him is a white dot zipping across your radar every time you advance a screen.

The solution is simple (and obvious, considering you passed through a minefield twice to get this far): lay a trail of land mines as you jog laps around the room. Running Man, desperate to avoid (gulp) direct confrontation, will blindly dash into every single one until he finally burns to a crisp, allowing Snake to crack jokes over his mangled carcass.

This is an example of a gameplay mechanic dictating the story, rather than serving it. In the first Metal Gear, each screen loaded individually; therefore, enemies and items would respawn every time you returned a particular part of the map (exploiting this was the quickest and safest way to stock up on rations). In Metal Gear 2, however, patrolling guards are able to freely pass between screens (just look at the blip on your radar!); likewise, any mines you lay won’t simply vanish when you exit the screen. And so, for the sake of showing off this shiny new multi-screen map system, Kojima contrived the least dignified soldier of fortune in the history of armed warfare.

For existing solely to flaunt the improved game engine, I salute Running Man, Zanzibar’s wimpiest warrior! 

Adaptation Blues - Mass Effect: Deception

As an aspiring writer, I found this whole debacle fascinating.

When loyal fans of the blockbuster video game series Mass Effect picked up their copy of the latest tie-in novel, Deception, they were outraged to find within its pages a number of glaring continuity errors. And, according to this webpage, these are not insignificant oversights:

Gillian and Nick are 18 years old in Deception—They were both twelve-going-on-thirteen in Ascension, set a bit less than three years prior to Deception; in Retribution, which takes place mere months prior to the events of Deception, Nick was just fifteen.

Gillian’s autism is never mentioned—The closest the book gets is noting that she was an “unstable twelve-year-old” and a passing reference to her having a “temper.” This is not presented as a disability, but rather an adolescent phase she has largely "gotten over."

Hendel Mitra is described as ogling asari strippers, a very heterosexual reaction—Hendel was established as homosexual in Ascension.

Kai Leng enjoys watching an asari dancer, going as far as to wink at her—Kai Leng is physically repulsed by aliens. In Retribution, he is completely uninterested in Liselle’s nudity, thinks of asari as “whorish,” and finds the sights of Afterlife disgusting.

To be honest, none of that really surprises me. When a writer is hired to dip his toes into the expanded universe of a beloved franchise he had no part in creating, mistakes are inevitable.

What did surprise me was the apology issued by BioWare and Del Rey Books:

The teams at Del Rey and BioWare would like to extend our sincerest apologies to the Mass Effect fans for any errors and oversights made in the recent novel Mass Effect: Deception. We are currently working on a number of changes that will appear in future editions of the novel.

So they allowed a flawed product to be released in order to meet a deadline, but promise they'll fix it later? Who do they think they are—Bethesda? 

Silly Metal Gear Bosses: Dirty Duck

I feel sorry for the boss characters in the first Metal Gear game. The technological limitations of the MSX2 didn’t leave them much room to develop… personalities. All they could do was shout their names, run from side-to-side along the very top of the screen, and spray bullets at random until their health was depleted. Compared to the rogue FOXOUND operatives in Solid, the Cobras in Snake Eater, and even the ragtag band of Zanzibar mercenaries in Solid Snake, the masterminds of the Outer Heaven uprising aren’t terribly memorable. Let’s be honest: Shotmaker, Machinegun Kid, Fire Trooper—these guys are just regular guards with more hit points and bigger guns.

Then, about twenty minutes from the end, you battle Dirty Duck, one of the franchise’s first legitimately interesting—and truly bizarre—antagonists. Not only does he have the least dignified codename of the game’s rogues gallery, his pre-fight taunting suggests he’s proud of it (though it’s a step up from “Coward Duck,” his name in the original NES translation). Considering he apparently called his terrorist organization “Egg Plant” (according to the wiki, anyway), this seems to be his core character trait. But Dirty Duck endures for reasons beyond having some semblance of a personality; he’s also the first foe that forces the player to formulate a strategy other than “find a safe zone and pelt him with remote-controlled rockets.”

Granted, he does this by (true to his name) cheating: he hides himself behind three hostages (who you really can’t afford to kill at this point), tosses multiple boomerangs that fly in near-unpredictable patterns, and severely restricts your movement by opening a trap door in the center of the room. And that “strategy” boils down to standing in one spot (either the far left or far right side of the screen, where he can’t dodge your shots) and praying your health bar outlasts his (hope you saved up some rations).

Still, he represents a huge step forward: he provides a unique gameplay challenge, behaves in a way that suggests “characterization,” and foreshadows the proud tradition of colorful villains to follow. Dirty Duck, I salute you. 

Adaptation Blues: Resident Evil 5

So I just saw the trailer for Resident Evil: Retribution, the upcoming fifth installment of Paul W.S. Anderson’s cinematic interpretation of Capcom’s cash cow. I find this particular film franchise remarkable: it manages to be more over-the-top than a video game series infamous for its needlessly convoluted storyline and goofy voice acting.

In all honesty, I love these movies. The first Resident Evil had moments of legitimate tension and some tight direction, while Resident Evil: Afterlife (the fourth film) was a roller coaster ride of hilariously incompetent storytelling (the swift demise of Alice’s clone army demonstrates why a writer should never try to sequel bait without considering the payoff). I got excited when I read that Anderson would be providing aspiring screenwriters with yet another model of how not to adapt a beloved franchise and how not to structure a film series.

But nothing could have prepared me for what that trailer revealed.

It starts off innocently enough—like any other Resident Evil teaser, really. It masquerades as one of the Umbrella Corporation’s advertisements before dissolving to apocalyptic imagery (how ironic! Umbrella talks about how technology will improve the world, but then we see it’s caused global devastation). From there, it promises a typical Paul W.S. Anderson production: his godlike Mary Sue upstaging cardboard cutouts named after characters from the games.

Then she shows up, ending the trailer with twenty seconds remaining. If anything interesting or important occurred after her appearance, I missed it; I was too busy shouting, “No. No! No, no, no, no, no!” (My reaction to the Dark Knight Rises trailer wasn’t that strong.)

Michelle Rodriguez is returning—despite the fact that her character, Rain, died at the end of the first movie (the result of zombification and subsequent bullet-induced cranial trauma). And we’re not talking about an insignificant cameo, a brief flashback. No, it seems she will be battling Milla Jovovich as an evil clone of Rain.

Why?

Look, I loved Rodriguez’s work in the first Resident Evil. She brought the right blend of toughness, vulnerability, and humor (“When I get outta here… think I’m gonna get laid”) to the role—her performance was credible enough to make me care when she died, which is more than I can say for the rest of the cast. I understand the appeal of bringing her (and Colin Salmon and Oded Fehr) back from the dead. But it’s still a terrible storytelling decision, for two very important reasons:

1. It makes no sense. Yes, cloning is possible in the Resident Evil universe, as evidenced by Umbrella’s army of Alice clones. But that possibility does not justify cloning just anybody. Umbrella needed to clone Alice to get her superhero blood. Why do they need to clone one of their mercenaries?

2. Even if the clone issue is narratively justified, it still sends a harmful message: nothing matters. Anderson has already demonstrated a willingness to slam his fist down on the reset button when he writes himself into a corner (the clone army, Alice’s super powers, the dried up oceans). This “bad-Rain” development is the straw that breaks the camel’s back—now, even death carries no weight in this series.

Again, how not to adapt a beloved franchise and how not to structure a film series.

"I Play for the Story..."

In order to tell a great story, an artist must know his medium intimately—and utilize every tool it provides. A strong screenplay is merely the blueprint for a classic film. Great cinematic storytellers—the Scorseses, the Kurosawas, the Ozus, the Spielbergs, the Chaplins—know how to frame each shot, how to move the camera, how to edit a series of images to present the narrative and convey the theme as clearly as possible. Likewise, great comic book artists—Kirby, Perez, Sakai, Toriyama—carefully use every line to guide the reader’s eye not only through the image, but from panel to panel.

And then there are video games.

Gaming presents a unique storytelling challenge—which any good writer should be able to turn into an opportunity. The interactive nature of this young medium creates nearly limitless narrative possibilities—an idea that companies like BioWare (Mass Effect, Dragon Age) and Quantic Dream (Heavy Rain, Indigo Prophecy) have milked relentlessly. But this quality isn’t limited to branching, “choice-driven” experiences; it can be glimpsed, for example, in the sprawling sandbox of Grand Theft Auto IV. Despite the “open world,” GTA IV’s story is relatively linear—except when it comes to the “Stranger Missions.” By completing one of these random encounters (“Marnie Allen”) after the final level (“Out of Commission”), I transformed the game’s bleak ending into a tale of mutual redemption—creating a my own personal gaming experience.

Crafting a truly compelling interactive narrative means harnessing this immersive power to create an experience in which the player’s actions and emotional responses are indistinguishable from the protagonist’s. Once again, this requires an intimate knowledge of the tools of the medium. Films convey narrative through a series of moving shots edited into a continuous sequence. Comic books juxtapose a series of static images to create a sense of movement and meaning.

Video games rely on gameplay.

A game’s quality doesn’t depend on story or gameplay; it depends on both elements working together to draw the player into the fictional world. In my opinion, even good games have only taken baby steps toward this ideal. Resident Evil 4, for instance, uses the (now reviled) device of quick time events to generate tension; since players never know when that dreaded button prompt will pop up, they share Leon’s feelings of anxiety and trepidation. The sliding block puzzles in Catherine provide a more recent example. While some players felt that the story and gameplay were leagues apart, I believe the playable segments serve two vital functions. First, they perfectly capture the sensations of a stress dream (being pursued, running without making any progress). Second, they encapsulate Vincent’s central flaw: by scaling the crumbling tower of blocks, Vincent (and the player) is trying to escaping his personal problems (commitment, fatherhood, responsibility). A simple puzzle makes the hero’s symbolic struggles the player’s literal struggles.

The Nintendo DS remake of Dragon Quest V contains a particularly effective use of gameplay as a storytelling element. The death of the hero’s father takes place on the familiar RPG battle screen; the player, unable to even issue commands—and thus, as helpless as the child protagonist—is forced to watch as this noble character’s HP dwindles to nothing. Despite the handheld system’s comparatively limited graphics, the emotional resonance of this scene dwarfs the fantastic set pieces of many HD blockbusters. As I got choked up over the loss of a collection of pixels smaller than my pinkie finger, a thought suddenly popped into my head:

“Wow, this really is art.”