by george daniel lea
It's not outside the realms of possibility to speculate that the shift to FMV might well have precipiated a crash in the video games industry. Whilst that didn't transpire, certainly not to the same extent as that which buried the North American video games industry in the 1980s, thus allowing Japanese companies Nintendo and Sega to dominate, it certainly buried a number of studios that, up until that point, held significant spots in the annals of video game history.
Perhaps most notable of these dissolutions was Gremlin, a company that had sustained since the earliest days of home video gaming and computing, and which had distinguished itself with a number of iconic and inspired titles in those eras.
Unlike most that still sustained during those tumultuous days of technological advancement and cultural upheavel -the shift from 2D to 3D proving one that many iconic companies of the 16-bit era could not handle-, Gremlin took each new development in stride, adapting to new technologies, formats and cultural evolutions with relative ease, whereas arguably more successful companies, such as Psygnosis, gradually fell into decline.
Unlike most that dabbled in the highly experimental FMV format, Gremlin had some notable success, producing games that were, whilst not ground breaking or genre-defining, at least playable efforts, with more to their interactive elements than simply pressing the right direction or key at the right moment and which also boasted some engaging myth-building to boot.
Arguably the most successful of this breed, and one of the most successful FMV affairs in existence, is the sprawling, 4-disc epic, Realms of the Haunting. Unlike most FMV games, Realms -as it is affectionately known by its enduring fanbase- combines first-person RPG, shooting and exploration elements with FMV sequences, its gameplay highly redolent of Doom, the original System Shock and, perhaps most notably, Ultima Underworld, whose engine it apes almost to the letter.
A UK based production, Realms of the Haunting is one of the ambitious FMV productions outside of the previously explored Phantasmagoria titles, but is more successful on a gameplay front, in that it isn't limited to what can be achieved in the FMV format: whilst the game incorporates any number of FMV sequences in which live actors are captured in front of putative green screen environments, the vast majority of it is far more traditional: a first-person affair in which protagonist Adam Randall navigates a crumbling manor house in the Cornish village of Helston, attempting to unravel the mystery of his estranged Father's cryptic communications before his untimely death.
Perhaps most notable of these dissolutions was Gremlin, a company that had sustained since the earliest days of home video gaming and computing, and which had distinguished itself with a number of iconic and inspired titles in those eras.
Unlike most that still sustained during those tumultuous days of technological advancement and cultural upheavel -the shift from 2D to 3D proving one that many iconic companies of the 16-bit era could not handle-, Gremlin took each new development in stride, adapting to new technologies, formats and cultural evolutions with relative ease, whereas arguably more successful companies, such as Psygnosis, gradually fell into decline.
Unlike most that dabbled in the highly experimental FMV format, Gremlin had some notable success, producing games that were, whilst not ground breaking or genre-defining, at least playable efforts, with more to their interactive elements than simply pressing the right direction or key at the right moment and which also boasted some engaging myth-building to boot.
Arguably the most successful of this breed, and one of the most successful FMV affairs in existence, is the sprawling, 4-disc epic, Realms of the Haunting. Unlike most FMV games, Realms -as it is affectionately known by its enduring fanbase- combines first-person RPG, shooting and exploration elements with FMV sequences, its gameplay highly redolent of Doom, the original System Shock and, perhaps most notably, Ultima Underworld, whose engine it apes almost to the letter.
A UK based production, Realms of the Haunting is one of the ambitious FMV productions outside of the previously explored Phantasmagoria titles, but is more successful on a gameplay front, in that it isn't limited to what can be achieved in the FMV format: whilst the game incorporates any number of FMV sequences in which live actors are captured in front of putative green screen environments, the vast majority of it is far more traditional: a first-person affair in which protagonist Adam Randall navigates a crumbling manor house in the Cornish village of Helston, attempting to unravel the mystery of his estranged Father's cryptic communications before his untimely death.
The game itself is a fittingly creepy and atmospheric affair, the house, whilst crudely rendered, boasting a particularly oppressive atmosphere, its shadows and rambling corridors, unlit rooms and peculiar decorations suggesting a supernatural horror that doesn't take very long to manifest.
Unlike many horror games of its era, the key here is suspense, the game taking time to establish mystery and suggest the eventual revelations to come. Whilst there are plenty of jump scares and somewhat corny moments, the game also boasts some significant sophistication in terms of its set pieces:
Early on, the player will be drawn down a particular corridor by the familiar tack, tack, tack of a type-writer, only to find the device seemingly operating on its own, with no ink ribbon to produce its script. Nevertheless, writing is produced, a single page which, in a clear homage to Stephen King's The Shining, reads:
“We live, we live, we live, we live...if you believe in a soul and you have a God, pray to him.”
Unlike many horror games of its era, the key here is suspense, the game taking time to establish mystery and suggest the eventual revelations to come. Whilst there are plenty of jump scares and somewhat corny moments, the game also boasts some significant sophistication in terms of its set pieces:
Early on, the player will be drawn down a particular corridor by the familiar tack, tack, tack of a type-writer, only to find the device seemingly operating on its own, with no ink ribbon to produce its script. Nevertheless, writing is produced, a single page which, in a clear homage to Stephen King's The Shining, reads:
“We live, we live, we live, we live...if you believe in a soul and you have a God, pray to him.”
This is just the beginning of the disturbia that Adam will encounter, the house saturated with negative energies, hauntings of various sorts, occult devices and black magic. After an FMV sequence in which Adam encounters the soul of his dead Father, the game begins in earnest, the house open to Adam's exploration, barring those doors that are locked with occult and arcane markings that can be dispersed by certain key items.
The game maintains an air of mystery throughout, the plot and back mythology gradually unfolding through written journals, conversations with other characters, visions and revelations. Whilst the game itself can be clunky, crude and frustratingly oblique, the story and back mythology are intricate and beautifully layered, deriving influence from Lovecraft, Wheatley, King and Poe, as well as paying reference to actual history, occultism and religion. To get the most out of it, the player must immerse themselves in the story and mythology, which helps to dilute some of the cornier moments or the innate problems of its FMV elements.
Whilst certainly one of the most successful FMV titles in existence, Realms also emphasises some of the core problems of FMV as a format: one of the key issues of the game is the enormous contrast between its video game elements and live action sequences. Because the game elements are separate from the FMV actors and story, they are free to descend into depths of absurdity in terms of their design and nature, which they do with startling frequency. Whilst the initial “haunted house” setting is sufficiently realistic as not to jar with the live action sequences, it isn't long before the player descends into Hellish dungeons, unholy temples, demon-infested caverns and entirely other realms of being. Whilst those environments are all intriguingly designed and generally well rendered (given the technological limitations of the era), a HUGE problem that serves to dilute verisimilitude is that: the characters rarely respond with the awe or horror that is required. A momentary line from Adam -and/or his on/off again companion, Rebecca Trevisard- would have helped to convince the player that these environments are indeed part of the same universe, that Adam isn't only an entity that exists in the FMV cut scenes.
The game maintains an air of mystery throughout, the plot and back mythology gradually unfolding through written journals, conversations with other characters, visions and revelations. Whilst the game itself can be clunky, crude and frustratingly oblique, the story and back mythology are intricate and beautifully layered, deriving influence from Lovecraft, Wheatley, King and Poe, as well as paying reference to actual history, occultism and religion. To get the most out of it, the player must immerse themselves in the story and mythology, which helps to dilute some of the cornier moments or the innate problems of its FMV elements.
Whilst certainly one of the most successful FMV titles in existence, Realms also emphasises some of the core problems of FMV as a format: one of the key issues of the game is the enormous contrast between its video game elements and live action sequences. Because the game elements are separate from the FMV actors and story, they are free to descend into depths of absurdity in terms of their design and nature, which they do with startling frequency. Whilst the initial “haunted house” setting is sufficiently realistic as not to jar with the live action sequences, it isn't long before the player descends into Hellish dungeons, unholy temples, demon-infested caverns and entirely other realms of being. Whilst those environments are all intriguingly designed and generally well rendered (given the technological limitations of the era), a HUGE problem that serves to dilute verisimilitude is that: the characters rarely respond with the awe or horror that is required. A momentary line from Adam -and/or his on/off again companion, Rebecca Trevisard- would have helped to convince the player that these environments are indeed part of the same universe, that Adam isn't only an entity that exists in the FMV cut scenes.
This problem also extends to the cut scenes themselves: whilst they are undoubtedly some of the better that one will find amongst FMV titles, because the actors are operating against green screen and cannot see the virtual environments that will be projected on them later, they rarely react appropriately to some of the truly bizarre situations in which they find themselves (one notable sequence has the characters traversing various circles of Hell itself, yet they barely remark on the variously surreal and horrific sights that greet them). This serves to dilute immersion and wrench the player out of the narrative by reminding them that this is, indeed, a video game: a confection rather than a reality, which, in turn, dilutes and diminishes the horror that might otherwise have been far more pungent and pervasive.
Nevertheless, the game does boast some impressively inventive sequences, including a random room which appears to have been set up for some occult purpose, candles set in a pattern around the floor that, when lit, will trigger an optional -and highly distressing- cut scene in which whispers and voices can be heard in the shadows, something summoned into the room which manifests as a grotesque demonic entity when we cut back to the gaming environment. Another sequence involves navigating a highly fantastical tower complex in which the demon lord Raziel slumbers, the player having to take all pains not to make noise and thereby wake the demon, which results in an automatic and immediate game over.
Whilst the game might appear excessively crude and clunky compared to later titles such as the incredible Amnesia: The Dark Descent or even science fiction horror efforts such as BioShock, it is still worthy of a look for those interested in obscure horror titles and the history of the genre in video game culture.
It would, however, sadly be the last Gremlin ever produced, the game proving so costly to make (as did many FMV titles) and garnering so little in the way of sales, it effectively buried the company, making it the last gasp of an institution that had sustained since the early days of the Sinclair Spectrum and Commodore systems.
Another notable specimen from the FMV era is one that has garnered some significant notoriety in recent years owing to a penchant for YouTube “Let's Players” to feature it on their channels:
The horror point and click adventure Ripper is generally fondly remembered by those who originally played it but has also developed something of a cult following amongst younger audiences.
Like many FMV titles, the game is a point and click, puzzle adventure affair which combines elements of role playing with horror set pieces, dialogue interactions and some of the most obscure, oblique and hair-tearingly frustrating puzzles ever to grace a video game. An unusual take on “Jack the Ripper” mythos, Ripper takes the essential elements of the serial killer's lore and transplants them into a hokey, pseudo Bladerunner cyberpunk setting. Whilst the relative success of this fusion largely relies upon the player's willingness to forgive certain absurdities (apparently, in the future, the devices with which we connect to the internet will become bigger, cruder and far uglier), not to mention the fact that this game was created in the very, very early days of the internet, long before it saw easy access and popular use from home systems. As such, not only is the various terminology eye-rollingly dated and often meaningless, but the puzzles are largely nightmarish in their obliqueness, requiring the player to interpret abstract symbols and metaphors to engage with puzzles that themselves are poorly programmed or conceived (one such specimen requires the player to reassemble a broken mug to gain a vital clue. However, the mug cannot be rotated through the X or Y axis; it must be assembled piece by piece on a single plain, which artificially enhances the difficulty of the puzzle to absurd degrees).
Nevertheless, the game does boast some impressively inventive sequences, including a random room which appears to have been set up for some occult purpose, candles set in a pattern around the floor that, when lit, will trigger an optional -and highly distressing- cut scene in which whispers and voices can be heard in the shadows, something summoned into the room which manifests as a grotesque demonic entity when we cut back to the gaming environment. Another sequence involves navigating a highly fantastical tower complex in which the demon lord Raziel slumbers, the player having to take all pains not to make noise and thereby wake the demon, which results in an automatic and immediate game over.
Whilst the game might appear excessively crude and clunky compared to later titles such as the incredible Amnesia: The Dark Descent or even science fiction horror efforts such as BioShock, it is still worthy of a look for those interested in obscure horror titles and the history of the genre in video game culture.
It would, however, sadly be the last Gremlin ever produced, the game proving so costly to make (as did many FMV titles) and garnering so little in the way of sales, it effectively buried the company, making it the last gasp of an institution that had sustained since the early days of the Sinclair Spectrum and Commodore systems.
Another notable specimen from the FMV era is one that has garnered some significant notoriety in recent years owing to a penchant for YouTube “Let's Players” to feature it on their channels:
The horror point and click adventure Ripper is generally fondly remembered by those who originally played it but has also developed something of a cult following amongst younger audiences.
Like many FMV titles, the game is a point and click, puzzle adventure affair which combines elements of role playing with horror set pieces, dialogue interactions and some of the most obscure, oblique and hair-tearingly frustrating puzzles ever to grace a video game. An unusual take on “Jack the Ripper” mythos, Ripper takes the essential elements of the serial killer's lore and transplants them into a hokey, pseudo Bladerunner cyberpunk setting. Whilst the relative success of this fusion largely relies upon the player's willingness to forgive certain absurdities (apparently, in the future, the devices with which we connect to the internet will become bigger, cruder and far uglier), not to mention the fact that this game was created in the very, very early days of the internet, long before it saw easy access and popular use from home systems. As such, not only is the various terminology eye-rollingly dated and often meaningless, but the puzzles are largely nightmarish in their obliqueness, requiring the player to interpret abstract symbols and metaphors to engage with puzzles that themselves are poorly programmed or conceived (one such specimen requires the player to reassemble a broken mug to gain a vital clue. However, the mug cannot be rotated through the X or Y axis; it must be assembled piece by piece on a single plain, which artificially enhances the difficulty of the puzzle to absurd degrees).
However, unlike many FMV titles, the game does boast some degree of charm, largely owing to a stellar cast who, despite clearly being uncomfortable and uncertain with the subject matter, put in some wonderfully exaggerated and comic performances. Most notable in this regard has to be the cigar-chomping, growling Chief Detective Magnata, who is both a font of information and an antagonist to the player throughout. Played by Christopher Walken, the character exudes a species of greasy violence and imminent threat that is difficult to ignore, whilst delivering lines in a characteristically off-kilter and arrhythmic manner that enhances the impression of a man on the very edge of lunacy. Providing competition for Walken in the triple-glazed ham awards is Burgess Meredith, better known as The Penguin from the 1960s Batman TV show, who plays an ailing computer expert who alternately warbles and growls every line, spouting comic-book “computer speak” that would have been out of date in the man's own heyday, but which here comes across as ludicrous to the point of hilarious.
Ripper is a rare FMV game that has enough in the way of raw charm and intrigue for its flaws to be generally overlooked, the notion of a serial killer that emulates Jack the Ripper's crimes from within cyberspace a sufficiently engaging one, if not entirely successful in its conception or rendering.
In terms of its horror, the game relies almost exclusively on mystery and atmosphere: not the type of game where jump scares and horror set pieces are easy to produce, it instead allows the pervasive threat of the eponymous Ripper to do its work. The fact that the killer seems able to strike from anywhere, at any one at any time one that the game utilises with a certain degree of skill, not to mention the incredibly lurid descriptions provided of what the killer actually does to his victims.
Ripper is a rare FMV game that has enough in the way of raw charm and intrigue for its flaws to be generally overlooked, the notion of a serial killer that emulates Jack the Ripper's crimes from within cyberspace a sufficiently engaging one, if not entirely successful in its conception or rendering.
In terms of its horror, the game relies almost exclusively on mystery and atmosphere: not the type of game where jump scares and horror set pieces are easy to produce, it instead allows the pervasive threat of the eponymous Ripper to do its work. The fact that the killer seems able to strike from anywhere, at any one at any time one that the game utilises with a certain degree of skill, not to mention the incredibly lurid descriptions provided of what the killer actually does to his victims.
Whilst difficult to recommend as a play experience these days (superceded by eminently more sophisticated titles such as Heavy Rain, which owes a great deal to its legacy), Ripper stands as a fun and diverting curio of video game horror and of the latter day FMV era. Like Realms of the Haunting, it clearly boasts an enormous budget (much of which went on its cast) as well as a fairly coherent (if not entirely satisfying) story line and back mythology. Whilst its science fiction elements are almost negligible (and so ham fisted, even the most casual internet entity will find themselves rolling their eyes throughout), it maintains a certain degree of intrigue because of its characters, their interactions and relationships, the escalating story of the Ripper eventually revealing that he (or she) is one of a cast of characters that the player encounters throughout the game, all of whom have the potential to be the killer, come its conclusion.
Sadly, whilst the game's box boasts that it has a mutable ending, the truth is that it's almost entirely random: the game sets itself up such that it doesn't necessarily matter which of the potential candidates actually is the Ripper. Also, there's hardly any deviation in the conclusion depending on which it transpires to be, barring a slight shift in narration. This is an enormous shame, as, despite the hammy acting, the cartoonish characters and the frustrating puzzles, the game still has the potential to be an interesting and clever murder mystery. Instead, it ultimately cops out, providing a conclusion that is far too safe and general, and that, in the case of certain characters, doesn't make an enormous amount of sense.
That said, the game does maintain a certain degree of atmosphere, particularly in its latter portions, when the Ripper becomes increasingly aware that you are closing in. Throughout the game, he (or she) sends holographic communications to the player, providing clues as to their identity, threatening them to back off or taunting them about the next kill. These are without doubt some of the most fraught and frightening moments in the game, as the killer masks their voice with an eerie distorting effect and also ensures that the projected image of their face is fittingly monstrous.
Beyond that, the game is one that is difficult to recommend to a present day audience: its crudity, its archaisms and its obliqueness is likely to result in smashed keyboards and fractured monitors rather than any degree of satisfaction. But, if you can find a fittingly entertaining “let's play” on YouTube, it might be worthy of your time.
The FMV era is generally regarded as a lamentable mess by most video game fans, a time of the most ridiculous presumption and poor decisions that resulted in the total collapse of certain companies and studios. However, for all of its problems, the era also marked certain revolutions in the medium, technically, culturally and in terms of storytelling, that sustain to this day.
Without the FMV era, it's arguable that the soon-following survival horror renaissance might never have occurred, the likes of Resident Evil and Silent Hill borrowing heavily from it, combining sequences of FMV with 3D gameplay, resulting in a format that would sustain for a number of generations to come.
Whilst there are numerous other titles we could explore -the seminal Gabriel Knight series not least amongst them-, when next we return, we'll be vaulting forward again to the era following survival horror's dissolution, and the consequent efflorescence of entirely different -and arguably more sophisticated- species of horror, starting with Amnesia: The Dark Descent.
Until then, folks.
Sadly, whilst the game's box boasts that it has a mutable ending, the truth is that it's almost entirely random: the game sets itself up such that it doesn't necessarily matter which of the potential candidates actually is the Ripper. Also, there's hardly any deviation in the conclusion depending on which it transpires to be, barring a slight shift in narration. This is an enormous shame, as, despite the hammy acting, the cartoonish characters and the frustrating puzzles, the game still has the potential to be an interesting and clever murder mystery. Instead, it ultimately cops out, providing a conclusion that is far too safe and general, and that, in the case of certain characters, doesn't make an enormous amount of sense.
That said, the game does maintain a certain degree of atmosphere, particularly in its latter portions, when the Ripper becomes increasingly aware that you are closing in. Throughout the game, he (or she) sends holographic communications to the player, providing clues as to their identity, threatening them to back off or taunting them about the next kill. These are without doubt some of the most fraught and frightening moments in the game, as the killer masks their voice with an eerie distorting effect and also ensures that the projected image of their face is fittingly monstrous.
Beyond that, the game is one that is difficult to recommend to a present day audience: its crudity, its archaisms and its obliqueness is likely to result in smashed keyboards and fractured monitors rather than any degree of satisfaction. But, if you can find a fittingly entertaining “let's play” on YouTube, it might be worthy of your time.
The FMV era is generally regarded as a lamentable mess by most video game fans, a time of the most ridiculous presumption and poor decisions that resulted in the total collapse of certain companies and studios. However, for all of its problems, the era also marked certain revolutions in the medium, technically, culturally and in terms of storytelling, that sustain to this day.
Without the FMV era, it's arguable that the soon-following survival horror renaissance might never have occurred, the likes of Resident Evil and Silent Hill borrowing heavily from it, combining sequences of FMV with 3D gameplay, resulting in a format that would sustain for a number of generations to come.
Whilst there are numerous other titles we could explore -the seminal Gabriel Knight series not least amongst them-, when next we return, we'll be vaulting forward again to the era following survival horror's dissolution, and the consequent efflorescence of entirely different -and arguably more sophisticated- species of horror, starting with Amnesia: The Dark Descent.
Until then, folks.
