Gameplay in the Wright games is very straightforward, and divided into two basic flavors – court and investigation. In the court sections, you are presented with testimony from various witnesses, which is given in a series of statements. You have the option to further question this statement, at no risk, or present evidence contradicting the statement, at risk of a penalty. Too many penalties will cause you to lose (and your client to be declared Guilty), but you usually have a fairly generous amount, and the system ends up feeling more guiding than punitive. The investigation sections, on the other hand, have you wandering about from location to location, trying to put together clues to help you with the trial. Each location can be examined for clues, and locations often contain a character that you can converse with and present evidence to, hopefully unlocking more dialogue options. Once you’ve gathered all the clues and information, the segment is complete.

Let’s talk about the downsides – things aren’t always as elegant as they should be. When wandering through the investigation sections it’s occasionally unclear how to move things forward, and sometimes you’ll have something you really want to discuss or prove, but the dialogue options forbid it. Adventure game buffs might be OK just trying as many permutations as they can think of, but it can feel a bit frustrating – the only saving grace is that you’re not timed or penalized for any mistakes. Also, choosing the correct actions in court can be tricky, as you must present the correct item to the correct testimony statement. As in these sections failure carries a penalty, you’ll want to tread carefully.

In all of the Wright titles you may save at any time, allowing you some measure of safety against these hazards. Also, some features were introduced in games past the first to try and address these concerns. The allowable number of penalties was replaced by a health bar, and the more difficult questions will cost you less health in case you make a mistake. The “Psy-Lock” system allows you to use evidence to get the truth out of people during investigation sections, although risking your health in the process.

One of the things that really stands out about the Wright series is the amount of care and love lavished upon it by the localization team. The game is 99% text, and not only that, it’s a script riddled with puns, cultural references, and Japanese humor. Translating that effectively is no small feat, and while for many games a poor translation can be easily overlooked, or adds to the charm, for a game that’s more like a book it is crucial that the audience enjoy what it’s reading. The sad part is that seeing localization done so well leaves me scratching my head, wondering why other games get such poor treatment.

Discussing Phoenix Wright as a game is an interesting task, since when it comes down to it, there’s not much gameplay to evaluate. If I had to place it in a genre, I’d describe the game as a member of the purportedly dead “adventure game” category. However, in many ways Wright is even more static than most adventure games, and definitely a lot less interactive than the Lite-RPGs that have taken up the adventure game mantle. When it comes down to it, the discussion is subjective – since I enjoy the story, I enjoy the game, and I would bet that someone who disliked the story would have a much more negative opinion.

What’s interesting, however, is that for all designers like to talk about “story in game” and “narrative” and all that, Phoenix Wright just keeps its mouth shut and quietly accomplishes it quite handily. It eschews the difficulties and conflicts that come from player freedom and nonlinear gameplay, and instead just drags the player straight along with its plot. While this definitely means that a player who isn’t satisfied by the tale offered will end up displeased with the game, this rather uncompromising approach has terrific results with those who find the adventure delightful.

You can tell from the get-go that the single player campaign really, reeeeeally wants to be a movie.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, the game has a very high production value and is, from a technical standpoint, very well executed.  The storyline takes you through a tale of rebellion and terrorism throughout Russia and the middle-east, through the eyes of a few different people involved in the conflict.  Lengthy cutscenes set up each mission, and some in-game sequences are used to advance the story.  These are universally well-done, and definitely get the job done in terms of setting the stage for the game.

While the presentation is sure in its direction, the gameplay itself seems to flail about in uncertainty.  I started play at the default difficulty level, and found that for all my squadmates shouted and fussed about keeping one’s head down, I was much better off just running forward and flushing the enemies out myself while they stayed in “cover,” whatever that was.  It’s not too tough when you can easily absorb several clips worth of bullets without breaking a sweat, while your opponents drop after one or two well-placed shots.  Myself and my constantly-shouting compatriots were an easily victorious band of supermen, running roughshod over whatever foreign-language-speaking fools decided to bar our way.  I’m not even sure what they were shouting about exactly, I mean it didn’t feel challenging, or even interesting…it was just a lot of running and yelling and murdering everybody not in the same uniform.  Indeed, something just didn’t feel right about playing this, especially given current world events, so I decided to crank the difficulty up to maximum and see what kind of difference it made.

In truth, it was pretty much stepping into a different game altogether.  Suddenly that mystical “cover” stuff became my new best friend, or it would have, had they bothered putting any sort of cover system in the game.  It’s been mentioned before, but the fact that every NPC in the game is shown actively using and moving between positions of cover, while the player is totally unable to, is almost insulting.  Either way I learned to keep my head as down as possible, and put a lot more thought into how I moved and where I aimed.  Now we were starting to get a bit closer to that “modern warfare” the title was mentioning, and my interest in pressing onwards was rekindled.

However, in this moment of clarity on the battlefield, a few more things were revealed.  Firstly, the enemies spawn infinitely.  No matter how many times you gun down everybody in that house across the street, enemy soldiers will continuously reappear in it.  There is no such thing as “clearing” a building or area, which means there’s no way to approach a particular level or challenge with thought or strategy.  You just have to push forward and hope that you make it to the magic trigger point that shuts off the flow of baddies.  Likewise, your comrades will keep spawning as well, no matter how many times they get themselves killed.  It all ended up feeling pretty futile, really.  I can’t formulate or execute much of any strategy for success, but it’s alright because it doesn’t matter if I fail either.  In fact, if I just sat where I was the “war” would continue raging on endlessly about me, neither advancing nor retreating, but staying endlessly in stasis.

Call of Duty 4 doesn’t try to be a game as much as it tries to be an experience, some sort of digital theme park, but when it comes down to it I’m not too enthralled by what it has to offer.  There’s been more than a glut of war porn going around lately, and another story about manly men in their manly military leaves me cold.  I’m tired of being expected to cheer over how badass our grizzled heroes must obviously be, and I’m doubly tired of games that are more spectacle than content.  A game is, in some (few) ways, like a movie – the authors have absolute ability and authority over what is presented to the viewer.  Cramming your game (or movie) full of “Oh shit, look at that!” moments just isn’t impressive anymore, after all we both know that you can make anything you’d like happen onscreen.

But, on the other hand, let’s be fair.  CoD4 does include a level that demands both attention and praise – the nuclear holocaust sequence.  No, that’s not a joke, the level takes place immediately after (and rather near) a nuclear blast.  You drag yourself around the wasteland for about one minute, and then you die.  That’s it.  It’s a moment of shocking realism and honesty in the midst of the spectacle.  While it made me happy to see any sort of “maybe war is bad” message presented, not to mention one done so artfully, it saddened me that that level of criticism and horror is reserved only for things that are “obviously” awful.

I saddled up again, however, in an attempt to try out the multiplayer, which has been universally lauded by critics as the best and deepest multiplayer experience since just about anything, ever.  I’m not sure how players, long confirmed in their hatred of game unlock systems, have failed to realize that most persistent level systems in multiplayer games are really just unlock systems rebranded.  As a starting player, you cannot play most of the game modes, or use most of the weapons or equipment.  You also can’t create custom classes, and don’t have access to most of their abilities.  It is only through playing, playing and playing more that these things become available to you.  The game isn’t so stingy in handing out XP that the level obsticles feel insurmountable, but it’s definitely a chore.

I honestly don’t see anything to be too excited by in the leveling system, it’s basically just a timer that tracks how much you’ve played.  Play more and gain more XP, win more and gain slightly more than that.  Given that every character I encountered was at the maximum level, the leveling system doesn’t seem to have any real use in differentiating between differing player skills.  Instead it just serves to encourage you to play more with the same basic time/reward tricks that many MMOs use.  I suppose with WoW as a role model it’s hard to turn away from such obviously profitable mechanisms.

I started out with what was pretty much the only mode available to me – Team Deathmatch.  It was a deathmatch, with teams.  Everybody ran around and shot at people who weren’t the same color as them.  Sometimes I killed and sometimes I got killed, but overall it was pretty much the same experience as people have had online since Quake.  The lack of a cover system (coupled with the fact that the game allows players to shoot straight through most walls) really drove that feeling home, as the act of play felt so familiar – and not in a good way.  The maps were large enough that it was difficult to move or act as a team, each player just ran about shooting everybody who looked hostile.  Death is Counterstrike-quick, but without the benefits of coordinated movement and cover, it ended up as a guessing game as to who would get the drop on who, and when.  It’s possible the other game modes held more promise, but Team Deathmatch was by far the most popular numerically.  Also, the basic gameplay elements didn’t seem to lend themselves to anything more complicated or interesting than the aforementioned Counterstrike.  And also, I didn’t have the stomach to sit and play for the days it would take to finally convince the game that I was worthy of playing these different and exciting modes.

Call of Duty 4 is a brightly-polished dud.  Though it definitely has some positive aspects, the utter lack of compelling gameplay in either singleplayer or multiplayer modes cuts its legs right out from under it.  Even while surrounded by other games that have tried to innovate within the shooter genre, such as Rainbow Six: Vegas and Gears of War, Call of Duty 4 has managed to provide the most basic and generic gameplay experience possible.  Perhaps this is the Halo-esque path to victory, but it’s definitely not enough to hold my interest.

The game opened beautifully and then dropped me right into combat. Right about then, I started feeling some unease; down the corner of the screen were written my old nemeses…”Attack,” “Skill,” “Item,” “Defend” and so on. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t going to be experiencing some sort of new or engaging battle system. Despite a very thick and admirable layer of visuals, Lost Odyssey is inexplicably shackled to a highly traditional JRPG combat system. Turn based battles, group-on-group battles are the order of the day, with little to no interesting systems to liven things up. There is a timing-based input for basic attacks that will result in marginally more damage, but even this feels more tedious than engaging.

To add insult to injury, encounters are random with no enemies displayed on the field, although the encounter rate is low enough that it’s not as offensive as it could be. The entire combat mechanism of the game feels out of place, overlooked or abandoned. It’s some strange musty closet full of dust and cobwebs, and the rest of the game seems to look almost apologetic as it repeatedly and unexpectedly shoves you inside.

As a main character, Kaim is actually rather engaging. Although he initially exhibits some symptoms of being the stereotypical JRPG “sullen, loner hero,” instead of being force-fed a deluge of “…”-themed dialog, we are instead treated to glimpses into Kaim’s memory. This really deserves special mention – as you wander through the game world, Kaim will see and experience things that remind him of incidents throughout his past. The triggers can be as varied as a boy trying to bring his father home from a bar, a happy young couple, or walking head-on into a nearly overpowering wind, and the memory sequences themselves are excellently written and beautifully animated. Being given this insight into Kaim’s values and history really fleshes him out as a person, and ensures that he’s not seen as the typical JRPG jerk.

The other characters, however, feel pretty forced. True to classic RPG form, we are given an annoying loudmouth girl, an obvious Evil Minister and a comic-relief wiseguy seemingly ripped from just about any Disney movie. The plot itself is so straightforward and transparent that I was almost excited about it…but only because I assumed it was impossible for it to actually be as it appeared. After all they just couldn’t make the bad guy apparent at the very beginning of the game, could they? Sadly, the plot starts off with a whimper and maintains its fairly uninspired plod from there on. Although I found myself highly interested in exploring Kaim’s background and history, I had just about zero interest in any of the other characters and even less interest in muddling through the plot.

When it comes down to it, I think that I’d assess Lost Odyssey as a wildly missed opportunity. While the production value was top-notch, and the music and visuals were truly beautiful, the game at the core is rather lacking. The concept of an RPG that covers 1000 years of history is staggering in its potential. Finally, a way to make our choices and actions matter without forcing the player into “do or the world dies” situations. Imagine being able to play through segments with 100 years time between them, learning who lived and who died, what deeds had an impact and what didn’t? In fact I often found myself wishing I could play through Kaim’s memories, exploring the origins and fates of the people and places he’d seen. I might even have been willing to tolerate the nigh-mummified combat system if I felt that the world and characters were worth following. Instead, I’m left with the impression of a game that almost made a real leap of faith, but decided not to at the last minute. By sticking to tried-and-true JRPG mechanisms and cliches, Lost Odyssey has ended up as a beautifully gilded icon of mediocrity, as opposed to the defining game of its generation it had the potential to be.

• Battery Life – I get about double the battery life playing off the memory stick.  Being able to play for 8 hours as opposed to 4 (or 12, with a larger battery), is pretty awesome.
• Load Times – Everyone knows load times off the memory stick are infinitely better, not too much more I can say about that.
• UMD Fragility – This might be a legacy issue, but the first wave of UMDs I bought had a severe tendency to come apart and break under pretty mild stress (I’m always very careful with my media).  When I called Sony support to ask if it was possible to replace damaged UMDs, I was told that they could not be replaced, as opened UMDs indicated a piracy attempt.  WTF?!?  I’m not spending $30-40 on a game only to have the disc break a month or two later! (Admittedly, this could have been an issue that I just got the short end of the stick on, newer UMDs could be much more sturdy)
• Not having to change/carry discs – Mostly a convenience, not the biggest deal
• I’m not buying a PS3 – I guess buying a PSP just wasn’t enough for Sony…if I want to take advantage of the PS1 emulation, I have to plunk down for a PS3.  Who thought that was a good way to introduce the feature?  Not to mention the limited library is kinda stupid, since everyone knows that about 95% of PS1 games play fine on the PSP anyway.

When it comes down to it, playing games off the memory stick is superior to UMD in every measurable way (load times, battery life, etc.).  What Sony has to understand (but never does, and maybe never will) is that some people will ALWAYS hack devices.  Instead of running around after them, accomplishing nothing, they need to provide the consumer with more value for their money.  I didn’t buy my PSP because I was interested in new and exciting ways to give more of my money to Sony, I bought it because I like the hardware and what it can do.  If Sony can provide me with useful services and good software experiences, I’ll gladly pay for them.  Right now, though, the hacked way is superior by every metric that matters to me.

What would make me happy enough to give up my hacked PSP?  I’m going to imagine a Steam-like system where I can buy games for reasonable prices and have them loaded straight onto my USB-connected PSP.  The software could also smoothly handle video/audio conversion and placement on the unit.  Games can cost from $5 to $30, depending…and the PS1 library needs to be available and HIGHLY fleshed out.

Continuing along the Steam route, let third parties easily develop PSP software and make a nice SDK they can use that exposes useful functionality while avoiding all the kernel-mode stuff you don’t want people doing.  Sure, you won’t stop every exploit, but you’d be creating a useful community that there would be value in being a part of.  I’d happily keep my PSP legit if it left me with easy access to all my games downloadable from wherever I am and a bounty of third-party software I could buy and easily install.  When you let your community work FOR you (because they LIKE you and the way you treat them, and don’t feel like you’re just trying to wring each and every last dollar you can out of them) instead of fighting against them every step of the way, it might even be profitable!