Games With Grey

As experience, Pokémon Y – and by extension Pokémon X – fiercely and desperately clings to the long-established series formula, relying upon longstanding tropes and design philosophies; in many ways, originality is minimized. This total adherence to convention only results in an overall safe construction, as if the developers were afraid of novelty – very few are the innovations and departures here, save for presentation and world-building improvements, wherein innovation occupies a prominent position, and from whence spring the game’s true specialness. But reflecting the general lack of innovation seen elsewhere is the central narrative, essentially a two-pronged construction, fragmented just as the narratives of previous generations were fragmented. The first narrative branch revolves around the Pokédex’s completion, the player character tasked with fleshing out that object, seemingly for good of science and for all of Kalos’s population, the entire narrative transpiring in that region heavily influenced by French trappings – artsiness, architecture, and the like. This precise thread, Pokédex expansion, is again a near mimicry of what came before – iteration thrives. Completing the Pokédex involves catching all manner of different Pokémon species, for upon catching these creatures vital information is communicated to the player, some information serving a gameplay function – providing insight into Pokémon typing, for instance – other information simply serving a world-building purpose; Pokédex entries truly breathe life into the captured monsters, while these entries are penned in a playful and charming language, the entire narrative displaying a fair amount of such charm. This core mechanic of Pokémon catching is as thrilling as ever, even with its occasional slowness in encounters, and stumbling upon an unknown or especially elusive species is an inherently exhilarating affair – the mechanics’ preservation, even if mostly unaltered, is certainly understandable, the catching systems being foundationally sound, excellent. The joys accompanying capture are bolstered further still by the excellent models and visual design of the newly introduced Pokémon. This precise narrative, this emphasis on capturing and eventually training the Pokémon, is a success, even as it involves retreading the same path trodden by all predecessors.  

Complementing Pokédex fulfillment is a secondary narrative thread which revolves around Kalos’s villainous organization, in this instance the enigmatic Team Flare, led by an equally enigmatic – and especially charismatic – Lysandre, who has a prominent presence from the first. As villain, he is rather dynamic, as he goes from being essentially a nonentity with very little character depth through towards a somewhat profound character. Somewhat – his motivations are cliched, even as his disarming charisma soars. Driving Lysandre – and by extension his organization – is his knowledge of a mythical Pokémon, supposedly endowed with immense power, power which can be exploited for good or for ill. Rather corrupt Lysandre seeks to harness the legendary Pokémon’s power for the latter end, indifferent to any destruction his actions might cause. And Lysandre is indifferent, animated also by ample frustration and disappointment as to humankind’s present direction. If humanity’s villainy and coldness persist or expand, damning are the consequences, for people and Pokémon both. Lysandre does seek to remake the world in his own image, and while this suggests a certain hubris, simultaneously his actions seem almost altruistic – some narrative depth does exist, but only just. Failures arise when considering Team Flare’s more scattershot presence. The organization is introduced early on, though their reemergence is rather scarce, erratic, unpredictable; they cannot exert their menace because they are mostly neglected, and the end result is underdevelopment. Connected to this precise failing is the nature of this thread’s conclusion, Team Flare’s ultimate situation and circumstances. As the ending is approached, about a two hour aside is exclusively dedicated to the group, as Lysandre voices his intentions and perceptions; it is a massive exposition dump and feels greatly out of place. This protracted sequence greatly disrupts the pacing, and this sudden emphasis upon Team Flare sidetracks the narrative; the organization’s inclusion seems forced, as if Game Freak were merely clinging to series convention when implementing the organization.

Further efforts to inject life into the narrative are present, certainly; consider only the strange, elusive, hulking AZ, an individual with a special connection with Pokémon of various species, a connection which endows him with a certain power, uniqueness – even while mostly glum and silent, he is immensely likable; were his narrative better developed, the larger narrative would see substantial improvement. Instead, AZ’s existence is underutilized. In the figure of AZ and in the narrative broadly, then, missed potential reigns supreme; the narrative suffers by its restrained ambitions. The developers sought to add some depth and novelty into the narrative by introducing the Mega Evolution phenomenon, true, this introduction morphing the narrative from two-pronged to three-pronged, while the expected gym gauntlet – a series trademark – adds a fourth core motivation. The process of mega evolution, also, is shrouded in mystery, a mystery Kalos’s reigning professor, Sycamore, seeks to dispel, animated by his love of science and knowledge, aware of knowledge’s empowering nature. But this one grasping for novelty still shows missed potential – the thread was not pursued sufficiently vigorously, appearing periodically only to disappear just as quickly – in this manner, mega evolution is linked to Team Flare’s presence, whose emergence is unpredictable. Still, almost no player familiar with the Pokémon series plays specifically for the narrative, for series’ narratives have always been lacking; here are no expectations for greatness. Given the state of things, then, these critiques and complaints of narrative are immaterial indeed. But a bit more innovation and ambition, greater narrative heft, would improve the overall experience dramatically, increasing the game’s appeal, reaching players always fascinated with narrative profoundness. For Game Freak, gameplay comes before narrative, absolutely. Some will be alienated by this focus, others charmed by it.

While its narrative is defined by safe conservatism, Pokémon Y’s presentation represents a marked evolution over its predecessors – it represents innovation. The differences are discernible from the first, the developers making the transition from 2D graphics through towards the three-dimensional. This shift fundamentally alters the exploration experience, and Game Freak were able to fully exploit the potentialities inherent to the new hardware; the experimentation first undertaken in Black and White were subject to further, greater experimentations and advancements; the 3DS’s greater capabilities were utilized. Still, even as sprites are displaced by fully rendered models, and even as grid-based movement has been displaced by freer movement, Game Freak continued to exert restraint with Pokémon Y, in that an over-the-shoulder camera is noticeably absent, the developers instead clinging to the more isometric perspective present from the series’ infancy. But while an isometric presentation predominates, many cinematic attributes periodically emerge, as the camera pulls back at predetermined intervals, greatly conveying the Kalos region’s scale, its expansiveness; the vacillation in perspective is very impactful and striking. Consider only the region’s crowning jewel, Lumiose City, a location heavily influenced by the French city of Paris. Paris having inspired Lumiose City, it follows that the developers would insert aesthetics and atmospheres inherent to that city. And so they do, a stylized version of the Eiffel Tower seeing inclusion. Gazing at this towering object necessarily inspires a sense of player smallness. Such smallness is exacerbated by the camera shift, as it pulls back considerably, allowing the player to gaze upon the clashing scale, the player character impossibly tiny relative to that towering and majestic structure. Indeed, the entire Lumiose City relies upon these more stylized sequences, as an over-the-shoulder camera is a constancy. This perspective’s relative prominence in the city only makes one yearn for more of such sequences, which are somewhat infrequent outside of that grand capital, a place cleverly steeped in atmosphere, with an abundance of cafes lining the city streets, with many enterable restaurants and a fair number of NPCs moving about, travelling this way and that. Lumiose City is encounterable quite early on, and its aesthetic and atmospheric greatness establishes ample excitement and anticipation – will additional visitable locations boast the stylized complexity present here? Very few locations do match the beautiful city, though this is not to suggest that Lumiose City is anomalous in its beauty – beauty thrives elsewhere, though not in the scope seem here, where the wonders of three-dimensional graphics are most readily observable. Lumiose City may eclipse all other cities in grandeur, though as objects these smaller cities still manage to achieve their own distinct identity, greatly charged by the French influences, though sometimes taking those influences in clever directions.   

A wonderful sense of vibrancy is achieved, the routes connecting the various cities featuring rich coloration, much stemming from flowers’ generous distribution throughout the landscapes. A dynamic day / night cycle serves an additionally immersive function, while such immersion is complemented further still by variable weather systems, heavy rains and shining sunlight each exerting their presence, one dominating one moment, another the next. Impossibly beautiful dungeons, too, add greater diversity to the environments. Consider only a crystalline cave, gleaming gems on the wall. Navigating this precise location is especially rewarding in that more cinematic qualities are here seized upon; this dungeon’s aesthetics and ambitions neatly algin with Lumiose City’s ambitions, as stylization is abundant. It is difficult to overstate the presentation advancements undertaken here, advancements which also manifest themselves in the battle screens, where 3D models completely predominate. Here also are cinematic attributes, and while the models can be frustratingly inanimate most of the time, moving only when a move is executed, constantly shifting camera angles communicate more dynamic sensations. Battle backgrounds, meanwhile, change in response to player position within the overworld; some battles will be fought amongst forests of verdant green, others fought in snowier, more hostile environments; while rainy weather is reflected within the battle screen, too. This subtle environmental shift helps advance Kalos’s great diversity, while also grounding the battle sequences. In Pokémon Y, then, Game Freak sought modernization, sought to adopt and then exploit the new technologies previously barred them; they were constrained by the DS hardware. While the advancements are remarkable, by industry standards presentation was lacking; Pokémon Y could not possibly compete with other titles published in 2013, the year of its release; the graphics were far eclipsed on other platforms of the day, those with far greater technical heft. Eclipsed or no, Pokémon Y’s presentation is still a masterful achievement, greatly embracing vibrancy and an overall more inviting and tranquil tone; creativity soars, even as technical excellency is comparatively lacking; charm and whimsicality best graphical limitation.   

If presentation represents innovation, and if narrative represents mimicry, then gameplay represents a total replication of everything which came before, as the formula first established in Red and Blue is adopted totally. In this precise instance, formulaicness does not equate to failure, for the formula depended upon is foundationally sound, excellent. Combat can be easily described as a rock-paper-scissors construction, each individual Pokémon having a type (or two) which partially influences the amount of damage received and that inflicted; certain types are more effective against others, other types vulnerable. Similarly, each move has its own typing, which when considered alongside Pokémon statistics – see attack values, special attack values, defense and so on – most sharply influences inflicted damage. The gameplay is deceptively complex, depth existing beneath the simplistic veneer. At the opening, though, the gameplay is painfully slow, as the player is provided with very few flexibilities in combat scenarios. It is not until the party swells in size that such flexibility emerges – that enjoyability emerges. In many respects, the gameplay is a clever interplay of strategy and tactics, in that victory in combat is largely determined even before combat erupts; team composition matters considerably. If the team is lazily composed, lacking in type and move diversity, then the overall challenge level becomes intense; the game becomes frustrating. The opening game, then, is defined by frustration, as the player is provided one Pokémon and one only, meaning greater flexibility is denied the player. With the passage of time comes access to new Pokémon and also access to new moves.  

By the late game, the wise player will have crafted a synergetic team, one capable of dealing with almost all presented scenarios and type combinations. The mastery achieved here, the party’s adaptability, is like a validation of the player’s efforts, suggesting that their efforts at team building were productive, rewarding indeed when considering training can be a sometimes laborious endeavor; grinding certainly has its place. Clever tweaks to the experience system minimize somewhat grinding’s necessity, making it more optional and more streamlined, though these alterations do not vanquish the mechanic outright. Spending an hour or two raising a low level Pokémon is traditionally very mundane. But after that sequence has been concluded, and after that new Pokémon displays its great capabilities, exhilaration emerges. In many ways, then, the late game is decidedly more enjoyable than the early game, in that counters for essentially all engagements are on hand. First obtaining that counter – say when a flying move is desired precisely when the team composition direly needs a flying move for coverage purposes – is similarly rewarding, though with move distribution the developers were sometimes stingy; it is not uncommon to rely upon relatively low BP moves for a protracted span, more powerful moves – replacements – often not unlockable until the late game; Pokémon power and statistics see expansion, though still the same Pokémon are constrained by a fairly limited move pool. Still, discoverable and purchaseable TMs with infinite use further provide player flexibilities, and with team composition the player is empowered in a singular manner – they are provided with total freedom. With freedom comes potential failure, or at least greater challenge. With freedom also comes gameplay trivialization. Besting challenge becomes a guiding motivation, and while steamrolling the opponent superficially suggests boredom, in actuality it inspires excitement.

Gameplay’s more minute, micro-level concerns prompt further player engagement; even if perfect counters are present, decision-making still has its place. The player is necessarily provided with many options (dependent upon party composition, available moves). Should the opponent be debuffed, lowering its statistics and accordingly making future offensive actions against it more powerful, or lessening its damage output? Should the currently-fighting Pokémon increase its attack value, its defense value? Is an all-out assault the correct answer? These questions are a constancy, though their direness does diminish somewhat when fighting mundane, non-boss opponents, those who typically have lower level Pokémon and consequently somewhat weaker ones. Alongside low levels and Pokémon weakness comes less cerebral engagement; the need for careful tactics are mostly lacking in these engagements, which cannot be said when tackling one of the Kalos region’s eight gym leaders. Also, the newly introduced Pokémon were quite excellent aesthetically and generally, some designs being especially impactful and creative, though inevitably some designs fall flat. Even before starting the title I was determined to exclusively choose newly introduced Pokémon, and I mostly adhered to this desire, derived ample pleasure and satisfaction from that adherence. Still, feeling nostalgic I kept the Kanto starter, Bulbasaur, in my party through towards the narrative’s conclusion, evolving it to its final form, Venusaur. Quantitatively, these new Pokémon are lacking relative to earlier generations, some of which featured well over one-hundred new Pokémon, Black and White being especially generous in introducing new creatures. Even if this new roster is constrained, the developers complemented these new creatures by inserting older ones, and the balance struck here is flawless; old and new unite harmoniously.

But no matter player ambitions and cautiousness in team building, some hard counters inevitably persist, such counters again being particularly numerous in the early game, the player still bound in shackles, denied greater flexibility. The newly introduced fairy type – filled with imaginative Pokémon old and new – posed such an obstacle; I had a steel type Pokémon, Doublade, on my team though for the vast majority of the narrative I had no access to any viable STAB super effective steel moves, making Fairy types problematic, problems exacerbated by limited access to powerful poison moves. Actually unlocking a powerful steel move which neatly aligned with Doublade’s statistics is another useful illustration of gameplay’s more exhilarating sensations; that one added move, seemingly insignificant, provides great empowerment; the fairy types’ menacing nature is minimized somewhat. In somewhat of a failing, though, player choice becomes less viable; if a player dedicated themselves to raising one individual Pokémon for a fair span of time, grinding levels and levels, then they are essentially bound to that Pokémon; discarding it or depositing it in the PC is like throwing away time. This is somewhat less true given grinding’s accessibility, the experience system tweaks, and the surprisingly high level of random encounters throughout the narrative, their elevated level meaning experience is generous, while simultaneously making viable pivots to new Pokémon, though even with these advancements and refinements grinding – a slow process – still suffers from fair tedium. But concluding a long grinding session and instantly seeing the fruitfulness of that session is, again, rewarding in a singular fashion, even as the session proper is unengaging and mundane.      

Pokémon Y may be defined more by iteration than innovation, the most dramatic alterations observable within presentation, though still the title abounds in enjoyability; I was more engaged with this title than with any other core title in the entire series. Much enjoyment has nothing to do with the gameplay, fairly robust though it is. Instead, enjoyability stems from the game’s swelling heart, charm being a constancy, manifest in the game world and in the NPCs major and minor; the attention to detail present elevates their depictions, as even enemy trainers, essentially nonentities with little narrative influence, boast excellent illustrations observable at a battle’s opening, at its conclusion. Pokémon Y, then, is a very earnest title, with no pretentious aspects, no mature themes; everything is light-hearted, light heartedness especially noticeable in the quartet of NPCs introduced alongside the player character, these NPCs periodically emerging for exposition’s sake or less frequently for battle. Their characterizations are – perhaps expectantly – lacking in any real depth, though the emotional Shauna sometimes expresses frustration at her failings as trainer, also given to outbursts of emotion – sorrow, happiness, and the like, though gayness is most dominant. The character Trevor is defined by his bookish shyness, always keeping to himself or speaking hesitantly. His companion Tierno is motivated solely by his love for dance, he roaming Kalos seemingly in search of insight into dance’s complexities, diversities of style. Serena, meanwhile, fills the role of conventional rival, and is accordingly the most frequent combatant. No poignancy ever arises – not with these characters, not with the Professor or gym leaders, and even not with Lysandre and the organization he commands.  AZ suggests depth, though his presence is infrequent, minimizing his possible influence. But not all games need be dark and brooding, need not engage players emotionally, inspire distress. But even if Pokémon Y, with all its swelling heart and clearly swelling earnestness, fails in evoking stirring emotion, the gameplay does maintain many cerebral attributes, the combat systems marking a perfect refinement over everything which came before.

The presentation and world-building, meanwhile, are remarkable, the navigable environments almost magical in nature, with their crisp vibrancy, the diversity they display – Kalos is a true achievement, defined by one cohesive vision even with vibrancy’s prominent presence. Within the realm of presentation, Game Freak displayed their greatest ambition, observable also in the increasingly elaborate gyms. No longer are gyms mere corridors, or corridors with stylized scenery and rudimentary puzzles. The gym experimentations conducted in the past few generations were seized upon and exploited to magnificent effect, meaning the act of navigating a gym, of defeating its correspondent puzzle, becomes just as important and involved as besting the gym trainers and ultimately the gym leader. Climbable rock walls are present in one gym, for instance, while a handful startingly feature basic and intuitive platforming sequences. Furthering this thought is the Elite Four’s composition – the free-form design of the connecting corridors which lead from one leader to the next suggests depth and ambition; they are highly stylized, and reflecting freedom the leaders can be challenged in any order. After careful level management, I entered this trainer gauntlet with a full party of six all level sixty. After a brutal battle with one leader, the remaining opponents – even the champion – were defeated with fair ease; validation again arises, as this victory and how easily it was won suggest my team composition and leveling regiment as a trainer were both excellent: my efforts were rewarded. The complex nature of difficulty must again be mentioned here, some players only being alienated by this easiness. For my part, the relatively restrained difficulty level resulted in an overall brisker pacing, which was admittedly disrupted occasionally, specifically whenever embarking on a longer grinding session. But the pacing is mostly consistent, even as Team Flare – Lysandre – derail the narrative, stealing the focus from gym battling, Pokédex completion, and the general impulse to learn more about the mega evolution mechanic.  

An additional source of my satisfaction is attributable to the Pokémon themselves, their excellent designs. Seeing the fire fox Fennekin grow and develop into its second stage, before ending its journey as Delphox; evolving my Helioptile with an evolutionary stone after finding said stone; making the difficult decision as to evolving Doublade by way of stone or leaving it alone; levelling up my Sliggoo in the rain, the end result of that evolution being the very tanky Goodraa – these were all spectacular moments, memorable moments. While the narrative – Team Flare, Lysandre, AZ, even Professor Sycamore – will be forgotten and quickly, the general exploratory nature, the bond forged with the chosen Pokémon in the party, is enduring indeed. These enduring sensations, the experiences which inspire them, have widespread appeal, owing to the overall inviting nature. Assessing the aesthetics and examining the invitingness, one might conclude that Pokémon Y is an overall juvenile construction. While this is partially true – playful juvenility does have its place – fair depth and cerebral engagement exist in abundance; here is a singularly rich and rewarding experience, one which incentivizes careful strategy and tactics both. Player expectation matters, too. Many are thirsting for profounder narratives, desirous of poignancy over gameplay soundness, engagement. Pokémon Y’s narrative does again lack poignancy, is a very inoffensive construction, but the sincerity and heart running through it serve an elevating function. The title’s length, also, was ideal, the entire narrative completable in roughly forty hours; the exhaustiveness characterizing many contemporary and recent RPG titles is rejected outright, the length another manifestation of the turn towards inviting accessibility – the experience is manageable rather than overwhelming, though a plethora of optional content exists for the particularly dedicated player, though seized by the impulse to complete the Pokédex or to hunt various shiny Pokémon. Fiercely linear, too, it is essentially impossible to enter into a confused and disoriented state for any protracted span of time, and this heavy directedness again heightens accessibility, expanding the title’s overall appeal, its potential playerbase. Seized by the colorful aesthetics, the playful and optimistic narrative, and by the deceptively complex battle systems – the emphasis upon training and team composition in addition to micro level concerns – my time with Pokémon Y was far more rewarding and far more fruitful than with any other title in the series; it is a triumph.