Agoraphobia

And so once again that time of year has come. Fairy lights lining the streets, nights closing in ever earlier, and bugger me if it isn't freezing cold outside. Dark in the morning and dark when I leave work, daytime sunshine outside is a tease, taunting me with its warm glow as I sit at my desk hammering away at an icy keyboard as my fingers slowly seize up from the cold.

In the evening, why would I want to go outside? Keep inside and warm, and a whole world of entertainment is at my fingertips. And so it's a marathon of art films, new albums (via Amazon and iTunes, natch) and, for the first time in a while, video games.

I'd forgotten this simple pleasure. The worries of the world dissolve when you can hold, in your sweaty palms, the ability to take a small yellow rat, summon the power of lightning and use it to explode a Giant Evil Robot. Cackle in glee as you mercilessly plug poorly-realised archetypal villains in the face with an excessively loud blast of hot lead. Squirm around in fear as you bat the fat zombie woman off your neck long enough to take a swing with that fire axe you found lying around in the preposterously outdated water well round the corner. Smile as you see her head pop off and rather more than eight pints of blood come flying out of her neck.

Video games invariably get a lot of hate thrown at them. As with cinema and rock 'n' roll before it, the fantasy provided by these simple games proves an easy scapegoat for explaining away societies' problems. Rising unemployment, a domineering drinking culture and an increasingly disenfranchised populous are, of course, minor factors in catalysing the spread of violent crime when compared to a teenager unloading his stress by shooting a few badly pixellated zombies in the face in front of his television. Or a child imagining he can race around a cartoon world on his little kart, flinging bananas and storm clouds as heralds of simple and impermanent death.

Violent video games are the new video nasty, and in many cases the publishers of these games couldn't be more pleased. As the exile to VHS allowed the development of a truly independent film industry spawning classics such as the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Cannibal Holocaust, The Evil Dead etc., as well as establishing a proving ground for future mainstream directors such as Peter Jackson and Guillermo del Toro, who started with schlock zombie horror and ended up directing Lord of The Rings and Pan's Labyrinth respectively, so too have studios such as Rockstar games, makers of the Grand Theft Auto series, flourished under their initial classification as outsiders.

The truth of the matter is these games are no more dangerous in precipitating violent culture than the many generations of equivalent controversies that went before them. In no way is this more in evidence than a consideration of the one of the most passive and frankly boring computer games ever created.

Microsoft's Flight Simulator was a flagship application for many years, and remains probably the least offensive computer game ever created. Yet it is also the most closely linked game to the single most violent and despicable act of terrorism of the 21st Century. In the same way that it would be preposterous to accuse Microsoft of training al Qaeda, so too would it be completely inappropriate to fling accusations of encouraging youth violence at what is, at it's core, a fledgling creative industry.

Ultimately video games should be treated as what they are - games. They do not encourage political doctrine, they do not promote violent lifestyles. They are the homeground of the geek and the techie, and they open their arms to those with a desire for a winning combination of fun and sloth. If we really want to deal with the rising problem of violence in society, we need to look to the root cause of the problem, not what is at worst an unfortunate offspring.

Anyway I must be off. The bloodlust is rising and there are banks to rob, police to kill and zombies to mutilate...

Maps

As mentioned previously, I'm off to Florida on holiday this Thursday. This of course means that I should be readying swimming trunks and sunblock for packing. What it actually means is that I'm wasting my time between lounging in the sun trying to build a base tan (in the hope that I don't spend the entire first week looking like a pickled beetroot) and exploring my destination on Google Earth.

I'm firmly of the mind that this innovative programme is probably the best idea since Calvin the Caveman decided that, rather than attempting to scare pigs to death with girlish screaming and waving of the arms, it would be best to throw a pointy stick at its flabby flanks. Of course, all great ideas have terrible side effects, in the one case the most horrible, awful idea for a meal imaginable, and in the other the production of yet another fantastically compulsive, complete and utter total waste of time.

The problem with Google Earth is that it has the appearance of genuine utility, whilst actually hiding a shamefully simple concept under dazzling implementation. There is actually very little you can do with the programme. It can produce from-here-to-there directions, but without the simple interface of various equivalent websites this is less useful than it seems. Links to hundreds of websites and Wikipedia articles are present, but you're unlikely to find yourself reading about anything you're not already familiar with. The ability to type in any location and 'fly' there and view squillions of uploaded photos of famous landmarks is not useful; the same function is done far more effectively by Google's own Image Search. Fly to the top of the central pyramid at Giza and you'll find a photo of some random guy in sunglasses. This is not education.

Ultimately, the appeal of the programme is its "wow" factor, and it is here that it scores most points. It really is cool to look at the grand canyon, zoom into the three-dimensional topography and wander around a bit. Or to go to Tokyo and let the skyline fill up with skyscrapers as it streams the content in. I took the above photo in Grindelwald, Switzerland. It would take those of you with Google Earth only a couple of minutes to fly there, zoom in, level the camera and shuffle around to recreate my picture.

But herein lies the problem. You won't be there. To be nauseatingly sentimental, you won't feel the cool wind of the Swiss Alps, or the warm heat from the summer sun. You'll just see an albeit impressive, blocky representation of a real place. You gain nothing from the experience, and that is extremely frustrating.

Hammer Horror

Finally got round to buying Resident Evil 4 for my Wii today, after reading various claims of it being the "best game ever". I realise this happens a lot more than it should really, but after only an hour, I have had to shuffle off to the relative nirvana of my blog. Not through terror. In fact quite the opposite.

I was hoping to have my skin merrily crawling off my bones. I was expecting every appearing zombie would have me running for the door. I was certain I would at least let out the odd childish yelp of fear. Instead, I was presented with a sequence of decidedly mundane events.

The game opens with an interminably long opening cutscene, scream-free. Fact: driving is not particularly scary. Its okay, I think, as soon as I get control of this fella there'll be nasties hiding round every corner, desperate to jump out and give me the proverbial heebie-jeebies. But that would be too obvious. No adrenaline pumping opening chapter, no stonking mission statement of terror that tells me that anything could happen here. Instead, I get a nice wander through a little "European" village. Surely packed with terrifying beasts though? No. Packed with slow moving villagers with pitchforks. And spades. Terrifying I'm sure you'll agree.

Well maybe I'm supposed to talk to them? Build a sense of dread? Isn't that what The Wicker Man is about? Maybe not; still on my to-see list.

Well anyway, no I can't talk to them. All they do is shuffle grumpily forwards, like children going to ask the teacher for more paper, muttering in some incomprehensible dialect of - I assume - Spanish. They sound Bulgarian. They provide little more than target practice for me as I just stand there and dispense with one after another by shooting them two or three times in the head. As fun as this is (because I aim by pointing my Wiimote), it all feels a bit empty and "training level"-esque. And not the least bit terrifying. I suppose it is quite funny when their heads fly off.

I've never played a Resident Evil game before, so maybe I should be grateful that Capcom have thrown me a gentle introduction. I'm sure I progress I will no doubt become hooked, and will have to eat this post. But frankly, I bought this game to be scared, and won't be satisfied until I become little more than a quivering pile of jelly in the corner, screaming for my mummy. Or soil myself.