Art Director

Artwork by Rob Mayo

Artwork by Rob Mayo

The role of Art Director in any visual media is very important. The Art Director is responsible for designing the look and feel of a film (or in this case, game) and conducting relevant research to ensure that all contextual details of the film match the screenplay. Having completed Film Art and Production at the Arts University College at Bournemouth, I had a reasonable amount of experience either as Art Director, or working with very talented Art Directors in my teams. However, unlike in Film, the concept of Auteur Theory (roughly speaking: where the Art Directors vision is the primary driving force behind a film, instead of a collaborative vision of the writer and producer) could not apply here, in an educational group effort where every opinion had to count.

As a consumer, I like old things. Granted, I love sci fi and futuristic visuals as much as the next geek, but for this project I really wanted to instill a sense of old world grandeur, twisted and deformed into a majestic menace. When writing the narrative for the game, the structure remained the same, but the contextual details changed several times until we settled on latter-revolutionary France.

Choosing the correct period in an Historically themed game is essential. Looking at the trend of horror/psychological games, the vast majority of them are set in the victorian era; it’s visuals are distant enough from our own to be interesting, yet the societal values and conventions are similar enough to our own to be relatable – thanks to the work of prolific authors like Charles Dickens, Robert Louis Stevenson and George Elliot, the Victorian period is very well documented, meaning that developers and filmmakers have a rich supply of materiel with which to plunder for inspiration. This has led to countless film and television adaptations, successful for their portrayal and recreation of Victorian life as much as for their writing. Audiences enjoy stories, either in games or in films, that they believe in, and a key part of that is creating an immersive environment.

In the original pitch, the game was set in the Black Forest of southwestern Germany. However, we decided to move it from there owing to the fact that many games, including our inspiration/arch-nemesis “Amnesia: The Dark Descent” were set in dark, mountainous Prussian woodland. In retrospect, the game could have worked very successfully had we set it there, but we were, at the time, perhaps overly concerned with choosing an original location, and so we vetoed the location.

Then we thought of setting it in heartland Russia in the depths of the infamous Russian Winter, but our cultural knowledge of Russia was definitely lacking (you can only learn so much from watching Dr Zhivago and Anna Karenina over and over again). Also, unlike France and Germany, British and American audiences do not such a latent understanding of Russian culture; even out cultural stereotypes are extremely dated, or negative. I still believe the game could have worked extremely well there, and when we get a chance to remake the game, I’d personally love to see a run-down, post-revolution spooky russian mansion…

Some of the Writing of Babel

“Babel” Diary Page Monologues

 15th October 1829 

The mood in Paris is grim; as grim as I’ve ever seen it. On any other day I would have been devastated at being forced to resign my commission, but if it means I am released from my post at the city, I’ll gladly accept it. There is an ugly cast to the people that is all too reminiscent of those blood-soaked days of 1790. I have little desire to have my head chopped off, and being an “artisto” officer in a city of revolutionary sentiment is not wise. Caroline is thrilled, of course. We celebrated her 25th Birthday only a week ago, but she’s already anxious to leave. To see her distressed so, unsettles me; she always loved the vitality of the city in the days of Napoleon, but now she fears it. And so do I.

 29th October 1829

 We arrived this evening at the House in the mountains. The Estate hasn’t been inhabited for nearly 30 years, but it seems remarkably unchanged by time but I’ve sent for additional servants to open up the house. I confess I am still unnerved by it’s dark spaces and quiet menace – ever since I was a child, I have disliked this house with an intensity that surprises me. But one can’t live in the past; this house is all that I have left to my name, and I am now, whether I like it or not, it’s master.

 1^st November 1829

 Unlike many of my contemporaries, at least I’m not short of work to occupy myself with. Ever since I designed a sighted musket for the Imperial Guards’ Voltigeurs, I have received four commissions from an collection of gunsmiths and military requisition officers. They pay well, and allow me to continue my study of clockwork automation. Retirement…is not as bad as I had feared it would be.

 12th November 1829

 We found it quite by accident. Grantaire, my new head of household, was cleaning the clock in the Library when he discovered a secret entrance-way hidden in the walls. In a recessed alcove, there is a ladder, which leads up to the most bizarre space, somewhere between a carpenter’s workshop a machine-smiths laboratory. I’ve sworn Grantaire to secrecy – it shall make the perfect little hiding place where I can work on my designs in peace. And if what they say about another Revolution is true, then having a hiding place may prove to be unexpectedly useful.

 1st December 1829

 If I had known what life in the countryside would be like, I would have resigned my commission years ago. The life of a country aristocrat suits Caroline well, though I suspect the glow that she gives off isn’t just the mountain air. The staff adore her, and even the villagers seem to have overcome their distrust of the nobility, and have warmed to her kind heart. Were that they would do the same for me. I admit to feeling a pang of guilt; here I am enjoying a life of privilege while France teeters on the brink of Revolution yet again. I hear that Paris is in turmoil; there is talk of uprising, men and women parade the streets wearing Red, White and Blue in open defiance of our King, Charles the 10th. We should be safe here until the embers of revolution burn out.

 28th May 1830

 A girl! A beautiful baby girl! By heaven, I never thought I could be so happy. Caroline is exhausted, but well. We have decided upon the name Madeleine. She has her mother’s eyes.

 3rd September 1830 

The townsfolk say it was brought into the valley by people fleeing the turmoil in the cities. The entire town has been struck down by a terrible illness, almost as virulent as the infections I saw run rampant through the Grande Armee. Thankfully, most of the staff have remained immune, but Caroline has not been so lucky. Her little sojourns into the town must have exposed her to the flu, for she is now suffering a high fever, and what is worse, so is Madeleine. The local doctor is clearly overwhelmed, so I have sent for a Monsieur Villeneuve, a physician who served my family back in the Paris. But if rumor is to be believed, the Capital is in open revolt, so he may be some time in coming, if he is able to at all.

 1^ST October 1830. 

Madeleine passed died last night, and our world is cold and gray. Poor Caroline has been hit far harder than I; her grief-wracked sobs fill the house, and break what is left of my heart. Her condition grows worse with each passing day. Villeneuve was unable to attend, and the doctors he sent in his stead have no answer; one says warmer climes, the other recommends a medicinal tea made form ingredients unobtainable on the continent. There must be an alternative I have overlooked, some remedy. Anything. There is a gypsy camp in the woods in the valley, they may know of some cure-all. As a god fearing man, I have already refused to stoop to common witchcraft, and I do not intend to do so, but time is not on my side. 

Case Study: Working in the Shadow of Amnesia

When making an Indie 19th Century Supernatural Horror game in the 21st Century, one name will  loom over your project. Amnesia.

Designed under the working title of “Lux Tenebras” by Frictional Games,  the Psychological Horror “Amnesia: The Dark Descent” exploded onto the Indie-Gaming scene in late 2010, growing a cult following and earning a reputation for gripping plot, immersive and genuinely tense and frightening gameplay. The internet became swamped with “reaction videos,” reviews and frightened playthroughs. Thanks to an eerie soundtrack, nausea-inducing visual cues, psychological tricks and a helpless, extremely vulnerable player character whose fear of the dark leads to interesting and innovative gameplay elements, the game was a huge success, drawing in players of all types wishing to test their mettle against one of the most frightening games of the past 5 years.

Amnesia received almost universal critical acclaim, winning several awards including “Excellence In Audio” and “Technical Excellence” at the 2011 Independent Games Festival. Featuring excellent voice acting, lush if slightly crude environments, rich historical context and a tense atmosphere, it was everything I love in video games, albeit on a budget. Had Frictional had more capital to spend, one can only imagine how the game would have looked.

When designing our game, we had to contend with being developers  in a “Post-Amnesia” age. The art style, period setting, and desired gameplay style (puzzles, no combat, diary logs etc.) instantly squared us up against Amnesia. Initial attempts to deliberately avoid elements used in Amnesia simply proved to the detriment of our own production, so instead of consciously working toward or away form it, we simply acknowledged it’s existence without worrying too much.

Of course, you can’t blame us for our concerns. Our vision for our game; a 19th century Castle/Manor set in a dark, mountainous forested region, full of dark spaces, strange artifacts and frightening occurrences, has much in common with Frictional’s Amnesia. Our choice of setting and period gave us a chance to study and analyse Amnesia- not to do so would be foolish indeed.

As an indie-developer, Frictional budget was fairly limited to much higher profile games, but 21 months after it’s release, it had sold 1.36 million copies through multiple retailers (source: http://www.bit-tech.net/news/gaming/2012/09/12/amnesia-reaps-production-costs-tenfold/1), earning more than ten times it’s original budget of $360,000. Much of it’s success can be attributed to a combination of it’s immediate online following, and the critical acclaim levelled by both professional and amateur critics.

Following my study of its gameplay and design, two things that stood out were the attention to detail  and simplicity of the design. As 3D Modeller on the Babel Project, it was my job to try and produce the game to a high standard, without producing overly complicated models that would compromise the performance of the game on lower end machines. Amnesia’s main selling point is a frightening, tense and immersive environment, which it pulls off with a surprisingly basic skeleton; many of the models are very simple, with texture mapping conveying a level of detail not present on the model itself. Lighting is sparse and moody, casting much of the game in shadow, while ambient sounds and discordant growls and thrumming bass notes maintain a sense of unease throughout the game, broken only by calming orchestral strings when reaching a “safe zone” or completing a puzzle. Looking at this, we realised that we could rely heavily upon textures to get away with the period detail and believable setting, allowing us to focus on gameplay elements and interactivity (sadly a focus we were unable to maintain during the project).

Additionally, as Art Director, I was able to examine the accuracy and detail implemented into Amnesia; everything in the game “fits” especially as the castle the game is set in is designed to varying degrees, incorporating 17th century stonework and architecture, and 19th century furniture and scientific equipment. Everything in the art department enriched the game and helped make it feel rich  and believable  which was a huge part of the games appeal, and helped contribute to the genuinely frightening atmosphere the game generated.

It’s Amazing What Christmas Can Do.

December 2012. In a warm classroom; festive beverages in hand, we plotted and planned. Ideas for a sweeping first person puzzle adventure game set on a sinking, post apocalyptic island emerged from our collected ideas. Head Lecturer Phil Beards agreed to act as our client. We were excited – we were champing at the bit. We went our separate ways for Christmas, ready to hit the ground running upon our return.

January 2013. Tired and suffering from post-Christmas malaise, we assembled again in a cold classroom and realised, to our horror, that we had no idea what we wanted to do, and worse, if we even wanted to. Jonti left us to work on a kinetic-typography music video, and in a moment of inactivity between trying to salvage ideas, I fell back on the only thing I wanted to do at the time: make something. Seeing as we needed a setting for our game, as the island idea had quite literally sunk, I built a room.

It wasn’t anything special; four walls, five large windows, a staircase and a balcony. Dissatisfied with the unrealistic quality of the renders I was producing, I discovered a particular render setting, unobtrusively named “Physical Sun and Sky.” The results, as seen below, gave my model an almost photorealistic quality, far superior to even the black & white “occlusion layer” I had come to depend upon. I was blown away, as was Dan. Even Jonti came back to the project, feeling there might be a chance that we could pull it off. Rolling of the accidental inspiration of a manor house’s grand entrance hall, we worked on the premise of a haunted house game.

 

 

As soon as we started idea-generating, we couldn’t stop. Being a fan of 19th Century Architecture, fashion and setting, I proposed setting the game in Pre-Victorian era Europe. Jonti, being a fan of Puzzle-Platformers and Nintendo games, proposed including a series of puzzles stagger the progression of the game. Gradually we began to combine our influences and generate new ideas, but even then it was obvious we were dreaming far too big, far too quickly. In the weeks and months that followed, our idea changed many times, ideas were put forth and shot down, tempers frayed, hope mingled with despair, but at least  it’s all character building…right?

“Oh, so you think making Video Games is easy huh? Then why don’t YOU MAKE ONE?”

No doubt, up in Bethesda, Irrational or Infinity Ward, there’s a poor games developer, sleep deprived and emotional, who, reading a scathing review of a game they’ve put weeks of their life into making, has barked those exact words in a furious outburst, tears at the corners of their eyes.

It’s certainly true that many gamers, having played video games “for most of my life”, believe their veteran consumer status gives them the innate ability to judge a video game’s worth, and the right to criticise a developers methodology.  Many has been the time that I have been told I’m “wrong” for believing Single Player is wrong, or I’ve had to listen to an uninformed prat hold forth on the subject of Battlefield vs Modern Warfare, and the god-awful subject of “balancing” and weapons being “OP as F*ck”. Now, that’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good game debate, but when it’s an obnoxious pratt who’s only trying to entertain the gamer-girls enthralled by his “passionate” opinions, I feel the urge to vomit. Sure, I’ve opined myself many times, and if I encounter a better founded or more reasonable opinion, I’ve been known to conceded defeat. However, unless asked I generally try to leave the critical reviews to the experts.

Having developed this opinion, I always had a temptation to get stuck in and have a go at making a game, partially to see, completely seriously, “How Hard Can It Be?” So, when coursemate and good friend Dan Lambeth nudged me and asked if I’d be interested in making a game with him, it only took me two seconds before I said “Yes!” Dan and I have a similar taste in games, and it sounded like a great opportunity to “get involved” and explore an industry I’ve always admired, but never really understood.

So began one of the most enjoyable, maddening, trying and fulfilling projects of my academic life thus far. We assembled a team of myself, Dan and mutual friend and coursemate Jonti Rudd. We brainstormed. We argued, and at times fought. And boy, were we unprepared…