New Rule

In an effort to populate this blog with a little more than just simple game ideas, I thought I’d start a freeform series of reviews and critiques of games both digital and traditional that have notably elegant or innovative concepts or solutions. I recently followed a link from Brenda’s blog to an article on Yehuda Berlinger’s blog about rejuvenating tired, old board games to appeal to an adult audience. It reminded me of many of the old games my family now has stacked in the basement, gathering dust because we have long since exhausted all they have to offer. It makes you wonder how games like these go on selling, and how companies like Parker Brothers stay in business. Surely people realize how limited these systems are? Yet they still buy them. I warrant that goes to show how attractive the experience of play, of gaming is to the human mind. We are willing to endure the tedium and triviality of awkward game design for that rare moment of cognitive bliss–the mental leap achieved when a system is “grokked.” But with the hundreds of new games entering the traditional space every year, people remain blind to this vibrant world of alternative play spaces and persist in their repetition of the two-dozen-or-so old games they remember from their childhoods. Whether this is a failure of the market to penetrate the mainstream consciousness, or a form of collective nostalgia for the carefree days of youth wistfully remembered, the games Americans tend to remember are a pathetic underrepresentation of the wealth of board games available.

Case in point: today’s review subject–a game I remember for its uncommon art style and strategic challenges–the aMAZEing Labyrinth. This gem holds a special place in my heart from when I was a small child. To quote the description from BoardGameGeek:

The board is covered with fixed tiles, leaving rows and columns filled by more tiles which can then slide in either direction. The tiles are marked with the walls of the labyrinth, making passages and junctions. The players have one spare tile which they push in from some point, forcing another tile out. This shifts all the tiles in that line, changing the passages in the labyrinth. Each player has a set of cards showing fantastical things: ghosts, witches, creatures, treasures, and the same symbols are all across the tiles. The player draws their first card and moves their marker freely through the labyrinth. When they reach their target, they place their card to the side and draw the next. Having reached all your goals, return to your start to win. An interesting but somewhat random path-making game which has successfully spawned further editions and a whole line of Labyrinth games.

This game neatly addresses probably the biggest flaw in all those “classic” board games: replayability. From Candyland to Sorry! to Parcheesi, so many are so static that once through is enough to grok the pattern and master the system–resulting in instantaneous boredom, according to Raph Koster. Few, if any, games from this group offer enough randomness or player choice to facilitate real tactical play, and without the capacity for both these to alter the outcome, the game becomes what I like to call “a math solution in slow motion:” given enough time, one could calculate the outcome from the first turn. What Labyrinth does differently is employ a mechanic common to lesser-known games like Carcassonne–random map generation. The fixed tiles only occupy a third of the board: all others are placed during setup. Already, we are setting a stage for a unique experience. No amount of player skill can change the way the tiles are first laid. No player necessarily has an advantage or disadvantage based on previous experience or play order. Labyrinth takes it a step further, however, and seals the deal by tying player choice and action to the evolution of the map. Now, not only is the map random from the outset, but it mutates every turn, defying player attempts to predict or stabilize it. The only choice a player has on their turn is where to insert the one loose tile and shift a row of corridors. This makes for an incredibly complex series of mental processes, as players attempt to plan for changes in the maze, making moves and placing their pieces to pursue objectives in an order that minimizes risk for disruption. The game thwarts this effort again by preventing the player from knowing in advance what symbols they have to track down–only when they acquire their current objective and reveal it to all the players is the next goal revealed to them.

As all players are blind to all but their own current goal, the game itself becomes the primary adversary, but in a way that makes it difficult to blame. Since each player is responsible for moving tiles and changing the maze, player naturally fixate their frustration on the player that moves to disrupt their path. Yet due to the high level of randomness, players can hardly be held responsible for making conscious tactical decisions to hamper their opponents–at least until the endgame, where all but a few cards are revealed and a canny player can infer which of the remaining symbols their opponents are trying to reach. It highlights an important distinction between actual consequence and perceived consequence. In reality, on every turn each player has a wide variety of possible moves within the single shift-a-row mechanic. Their decisions affect all the players, but in hidden ways. Thus, the perceived consequence of each move is much greater than the actual. If a player played against three robot opponents who moved the board randomly every turn, the actual effect on the player’s options and chances for success would be much the same–the game is too random to support long-term planning. However, because each player makes a move that is of tactical significance to themselves every turn, the perceived consequence of each move is that of a cunning, shrewd mind actively exploiting the board and countering its opponents. As long as the players think this is going on, the game is endlessly fascinating–and thus endlessly repeatable. It’s really quite beautiful–and plenty of fun

Tags: Game Criticism //