Sidetrack: A New Rating System
So one thing I used to do in past game reviews was a little rating at the bottom of each review. Eventually, I got lazy and stopped. This was probably poor practice (despite the position of the editors of Play magazine), so I am re-instituting my rating system. But before I do, I’m going to define my terms, for once. Here we go:
Narrative Theme (how well does it tell a story). I am borrowing this category, and the next, from Mark Johnson, over at the Board Games to Go podcast (boardgamestogo.com), and specifically from Episode 104. Some games, particularly Role Playing Games and simulation-type wargames, are all about telling a story. Others (abstract strategy games, traditional card games) could care less. Many European-style games pretend on the outside of the box to be about X story, but are actually abstract strategy games in disguise. Many American-style games try to tell a story, but that story makes no sense. A high rating in narrative theme reflects a well-told, consistent story.
Mechanical Theme (theme as metaphor for explaining rules). When someone says that a game is “dripping with theme,” they are usually referring to Narrative Theme. But when someone says “…but this rule doesn’t make any sense! If I’m a miner, why can I carry a pick-axe and a shovel, but not 2 pickaxes or two shovels?” they are having difficulties with the mechanical theme. If I can use the theme of a game to help me remember and explain the rules, its Mechanical Theme is high. However, if someone clearly came up with an abstract game first, and then decided that it would be better if all the art for their auction game (so often, it’s an auction game) was Pirate/Viking/Egyptian/Renaissance-themed (the 4 seemingly most popular choices), the Mechanical Theme is low. Perhaps most jarringly, some games have high Mechanical Theme in most places, and then a few rules clearly thrown in for game-play/balance purposes that make no sense thematically.
Price of Game vs. Quality of Components. This one is simple. When I open the box, does my jaw drop in amazement at how much cool stuff they packed in there, or does it drop in amazement that I was dumb enough to pay $75-$100 for a few decks of cards and a lot of empty space? Some games have crap components, but a price to match (anything from Cheapass Games), and I’m OK with that. Some games are incredibly gorgeous, but priced to match (e.g. most “huge box” games from Fantasy Flight). It’s the games where there’s a mis-match, either for the good (most things from Days of Wonder) or the bad (most things from Steve Jackson Games) that will earn particularly low/high scores.
Rule Complexity (how easy is it to teach). How many minutes does it take me to explain the game? How many wacky exceptions are there to each rule? How well written is the rulebook? Does the game come with player aids? You claim to be “simple to learn, but a lifetime to master.” Do you lie?
Game Depth and Replayability (how hard is it to master, how much is there to explore). There are games you really can devote a lifetime to mastering, and many people do (I tend to call these “lifestyle games”). Others are so simple or scripted that 1 play-through is enough. (Candyland, anyone?) There are certain wargames that are notorious for their Rules Complexity, but after 2-3 plays you realize that the number of important, game-changing decisions you have to make are tiny, and that one side is always going to win. Certain abstract games have famously been “solved,” as if they were a puzzle, and the optimum strategy is so well known as to make them not worth playing. For me, high replayability and game depth is an extremely important factor.
Mechanical Elegance (well thought out, well play-tested, well balanced?) Some games run like well-oiled machines, and have clearly were played and massaged thousands of times before their release (e.g. Dominion). Others are completely broken and hardly deserve the name game (see my recent review of Harry Potter and the Game That Shall Not Be Named). The most insidious games feel well-constructed and balanced, but after 10 plays or so you realize that the first player always just happens to win.
Game Length vs. Enjoyment (is it 15 minutes of fun in a 4 hour game, or an hour’s-worth of fun in a 20 minute game?) Every game can be boiled down to a few discrete actions that are fun. The question is: how much of your valuable game-playing is spent doing fun things, and how much is spent doing something else? Just as importantly: for how long, or for how many repetitions, does the fun thing remain fun? Great games leave you craving more. Bad games significantly over-stay they welcome.
Other indefinables (toy factor, uniqueness, a favorite theme, etc.). Some games are just cool, for reasons that have little to do with the actual game-play. For me, this usually boils down to some unique new game mechanic that I find fascinating from a game design standpoint (e.g. the “cube tower” from Wallenstein/Shogun), or a super-high “toy” factor that makes the game fun to fiddle around with (the classic example: Mousetrap). Other people I know love any game that involves Star Wars, regardless of quality. Your particular weakness is no doubt different, and just as silly.
What sort of group/situation is it ideal for? There is a podcast I often listen to called The Spiel (thespiel.net), and they have a segment called The Game Sommelier. The idea behind the segment is that every game is perfect for a certain group at a certain time. (There is another, seemingly defunct, podcast called Into the Gamescape [thegamescape.co.uk] that has a similar segment). Even with games I hate, I will freely acknowledge that there is an appropriate person, place and situation for them (even if that person/place/situation happens to be a drunken boy scout who really needs some extra tinder to get a fire started).
Anyway, hopefully this is well more than enough analysis/explanation of what my new game summary system means.
Narrative Theme (how well does it tell a story). I am borrowing this category, and the next, from Mark Johnson, over at the Board Games to Go podcast (boardgamestogo.com), and specifically from Episode 104. Some games, particularly Role Playing Games and simulation-type wargames, are all about telling a story. Others (abstract strategy games, traditional card games) could care less. Many European-style games pretend on the outside of the box to be about X story, but are actually abstract strategy games in disguise. Many American-style games try to tell a story, but that story makes no sense. A high rating in narrative theme reflects a well-told, consistent story.
Mechanical Theme (theme as metaphor for explaining rules). When someone says that a game is “dripping with theme,” they are usually referring to Narrative Theme. But when someone says “…but this rule doesn’t make any sense! If I’m a miner, why can I carry a pick-axe and a shovel, but not 2 pickaxes or two shovels?” they are having difficulties with the mechanical theme. If I can use the theme of a game to help me remember and explain the rules, its Mechanical Theme is high. However, if someone clearly came up with an abstract game first, and then decided that it would be better if all the art for their auction game (so often, it’s an auction game) was Pirate/Viking/Egyptian/Renaissance-themed (the 4 seemingly most popular choices), the Mechanical Theme is low. Perhaps most jarringly, some games have high Mechanical Theme in most places, and then a few rules clearly thrown in for game-play/balance purposes that make no sense thematically.
Price of Game vs. Quality of Components. This one is simple. When I open the box, does my jaw drop in amazement at how much cool stuff they packed in there, or does it drop in amazement that I was dumb enough to pay $75-$100 for a few decks of cards and a lot of empty space? Some games have crap components, but a price to match (anything from Cheapass Games), and I’m OK with that. Some games are incredibly gorgeous, but priced to match (e.g. most “huge box” games from Fantasy Flight). It’s the games where there’s a mis-match, either for the good (most things from Days of Wonder) or the bad (most things from Steve Jackson Games) that will earn particularly low/high scores.
Rule Complexity (how easy is it to teach). How many minutes does it take me to explain the game? How many wacky exceptions are there to each rule? How well written is the rulebook? Does the game come with player aids? You claim to be “simple to learn, but a lifetime to master.” Do you lie?
Game Depth and Replayability (how hard is it to master, how much is there to explore). There are games you really can devote a lifetime to mastering, and many people do (I tend to call these “lifestyle games”). Others are so simple or scripted that 1 play-through is enough. (Candyland, anyone?) There are certain wargames that are notorious for their Rules Complexity, but after 2-3 plays you realize that the number of important, game-changing decisions you have to make are tiny, and that one side is always going to win. Certain abstract games have famously been “solved,” as if they were a puzzle, and the optimum strategy is so well known as to make them not worth playing. For me, high replayability and game depth is an extremely important factor.
Mechanical Elegance (well thought out, well play-tested, well balanced?) Some games run like well-oiled machines, and have clearly were played and massaged thousands of times before their release (e.g. Dominion). Others are completely broken and hardly deserve the name game (see my recent review of Harry Potter and the Game That Shall Not Be Named). The most insidious games feel well-constructed and balanced, but after 10 plays or so you realize that the first player always just happens to win.
Game Length vs. Enjoyment (is it 15 minutes of fun in a 4 hour game, or an hour’s-worth of fun in a 20 minute game?) Every game can be boiled down to a few discrete actions that are fun. The question is: how much of your valuable game-playing is spent doing fun things, and how much is spent doing something else? Just as importantly: for how long, or for how many repetitions, does the fun thing remain fun? Great games leave you craving more. Bad games significantly over-stay they welcome.
Other indefinables (toy factor, uniqueness, a favorite theme, etc.). Some games are just cool, for reasons that have little to do with the actual game-play. For me, this usually boils down to some unique new game mechanic that I find fascinating from a game design standpoint (e.g. the “cube tower” from Wallenstein/Shogun), or a super-high “toy” factor that makes the game fun to fiddle around with (the classic example: Mousetrap). Other people I know love any game that involves Star Wars, regardless of quality. Your particular weakness is no doubt different, and just as silly.
What sort of group/situation is it ideal for? There is a podcast I often listen to called The Spiel (thespiel.net), and they have a segment called The Game Sommelier. The idea behind the segment is that every game is perfect for a certain group at a certain time. (There is another, seemingly defunct, podcast called Into the Gamescape [thegamescape.co.uk] that has a similar segment). Even with games I hate, I will freely acknowledge that there is an appropriate person, place and situation for them (even if that person/place/situation happens to be a drunken boy scout who really needs some extra tinder to get a fire started).
Anyway, hopefully this is well more than enough analysis/explanation of what my new game summary system means.