What's the deal with menu screens?

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Oh, is he going to write an entire blog just talking about Main menus? Yes, yes I am; because the art of the menu screen goes so often unsung and unloved in the grand tapestry of game creation. I mean, who even stops to think about what the menu that stands between you and the gameplay actually looks and feels like? Despite the fact it is most usually the first thing that you'll see everytime you load the game and it should be the last thing too, but I'm pretty sure there's not a living person on this planet that doesn't skip past the 'exit to menu' option whenever they're playing a game. When I want out, I'm getting out; ain't nobody getting in the way of me and the desktop! Oh, and I'm talking pure visuals here; not about the options provided within those menus. As cool as being able to edit all the graphical options I want is; I don't care that much.

I've actually had this topic bouncing around in my head ever since I played Prototype 2 back in the day. For anyone who has played that game, they'll probably know exactly why that game's menu stood out to me. The menu is actually very simple the first time you log in, just your bare basic options; it in the proceeding visits where the menu gets interesting. Whenever you log into the game the next time around, the background of the menu screen will be a shot of the ambient world going about relative to where you last were when you logged out. Which could mean you'll see citizens going about their day in the non-violent city, or maybe a war between infected monsters and military helicopters firing rockets in the war-torn part of the city, depending on where you quite out last time. The really interesting part, however, comes when you press 'continue'. Then that very same scene in the background pans back a little to reveal the player character, waiting there, and the game immediately starts. That's right, the menu screen loads you into the gameplay before you've even started; how cool is that? That always stuck with me and I think back about it's wizardry all these years later, even if my tastes in cool visuals and presentation have 'matured' in the time since.

On it's face, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt has a very straightforward, if intensely atmospheric and cinematic, main menu. It's just Geralt of Rivia meditating in a field during the events directly before the game picks off, about to mount the search for Yennefer. It's direct, it bring you into the moment and world immediately and it allows us to see CDPR's lovingly rendered Geralt model, which deserves showing off. But when you get the DLC, the menu changes accordingly. Hearts of Stone has Geralt meditating just outside the grounds of the Von Everec estate, a location intensely linked to the narrative of that expansion. But my favourite, Blood and Wine, has Geralt meditating on the outskirts of Toussaint outside of a dilapidated farm-house within which a shadow of a woman can be seen fleeting in and out of view, softly singing 'Lullaby of woes'. A reference to the best Witcher 3 advertisement featuring the very same concept; hauntingly marvellous and memorable.

For such an evocative franchise, the various games of FromSoftware's Souls series menus are surprisingly tame and to-the-point. Typically they're formatted exactly the same to one another, with Bloodborne perhaps being the loudest, featuring the visage of 'The Hunter' in it's background. What I think stands out as memorable for the Souls games is actually the use of music employed in their, otherwise stark, menu displays. Any familiarity with the franchise will impart that music has something of an important storytelling role in this franchise, and the creators grew more synergistic with their music as another arm of the narrative as their craft evolved. Still, Dark Souls 1's main menu theme is perhaps my favourite in it's iconic peacefulness. Utilising everything from harmonising choirs to ringing bells and harps, it sounds like the relief-stricken notes you'd expect from Resident Evil's safe zones. It's almost deceptively peaceful given the relentless nature of the game it vanguards, but this is intentionally so as it represents the peace before the storm of enduring the depressive and decomposing world of Dark Souls once again. 

Spec Ops The Line is a famous example from a game that I haven't played myself, but have heard more than enough about over the years. The way that Spec Ops' menu works is simple, you'll overlook a sniper perched over the desert tomb of the game's setting and he'll be your stop-in point throughout the process of the game. As you return the Sniper will change his routine, maybe he'll go back in for the night, or take out his binoculars to go sight-seeing during the day, but you'll remain at the same vantage looking over the same land everytime you log in. Later on in the game you'll see the towers in the background start to catch aflame, matching the progression of the story and then, suddenly, you'll find the sniper's dead body being picked on by crows. The final shot is a washed out scene of the same perch, a fallen and tattered American flag and the desiccated husks of skyscrapers behind that. A mirror to the moral and emotional degradation of the game behind the menu screen.

Going back to something a bit more simple, the Main Menu for Metal Gear Solid 3 Snake Eater is actually very straightforward but oddly featured, in a manner fitting Kojima's design style. On it's face it's just a silhouette of Naked Snake performing one of signature CQC takedown throwns on an enemy solider in slow motion as a camo print rolls like a filter over the scene. But for some utterly inane reason, the analog sticks on your controller can be fiddled around with in order to change the colour of the camo pattern or the type of camo being scrolled. It's an utterly bizarre functionality that absolutely didn't need to be considered and ultimately adds nothing to the core game itself, but that's just the way that the big man makes his games. He and his team pursue any odd fancy they think of and if they can make it, it typically stays in the final product! 

And finally, the game which made me revisit this idea I had so very long ago; there is the Persona 5 menu screen. (Yes, I've finally gotten my hands on the game after falling for it seven years ago. Thank you ATLUS for torturing me.) For a game dripping in style and passion, it only makes sense for the menu screen to be slick and jazzy, and of course it absolutely is. We see the Phantom Thieves dotted around the streets of Tokyo in their three-scale white, red and black colour schemes, all posing like this is a Jojo poster. As you flitter between options, you'll dart around to different perch's across the city square and the Thieves will relocate appropriately. It's dynamic as well, meaning that whichever option you approach a certain option from (above or below) the animation of the Thieves relocating dynamically changes; a simple switch of shoulder will become a full cartwheel. Now that is the definition of putting way too much effort into a aesthetic, but I love the overachieving all the same.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with going the bare basic route for a menu screen that really effects nothing of the game's overall experience; but at the same time, wouldn't you want to go that extra step to put the most amount of effort in everything you can? With all the work that goes into nailing the intricacies of gameplay design and visual flair, what's wrong with doing something a bit more interesting and pretty with your menu designs? Even if it's ultimately insignificant, people do come away thinking about the menus whether they expect to or not; and I consider menu reveals for new games to be their own kind of special. Isn't it that last special mark of a masterpiece to ensure that every last inch of the product sparkles to it's utmost? At least that's the way I look at menus, don't know how you see it...

I guess they get tired too...

It's been a hard day's night.

Have you ever had that moment when you just can't stand to get up in the morning? When you wish that you could just hit the off button and come back tomorrow? I'm not just talking about feeling reluctant, I'm talking about feeling drained. Feeling fatigued. Of course you have, everyone has. It's a universal feeling that everyone can relate to, which is why it can be powerful tool in story telling. "What? Having the main character be tired?" Yes, indeed. How many fight scenes have you seen in movies where the hero dusts up with a room chock-full of bad guys and tears through them without breaking a sweat? Did you relate to him? Did you worry for his safety? Now think of that scene in episode 2 of Netflix's 'Daredevil' wherein Matt Murdock takes down that entire hallway of thugs. (A must-watch scene if you haven't!) Think about how tired he gets, how they tired they get, and how it looks like he barely takes that last one down. Did he look like he was getting hurt?

Pain and fatigue are inexorable elements of our everyday lives, (Or at least they are until those Transhumanists get their way.) and so when we see these feelings represented in our fiction it makes it easier to realise that fictional world in our minds. Storytellers must always nail the fundamentals of their worlds before they can establish any of the fantastical elements, no matter how wild and imaginative that world is. When the story fails to make you believe in the world, you don't feel the need to care about it's inhabitants. That is why something as simple as showing your focal character stop to take a breather can build a whole depth onto your story.

Video games have also had their hand in demonstrating fatigue through one of the longest running traits in gaming: Stamina bars. This is the bar that is usually present in the Hub and will drain as you get damaged; once it is depleted, you character falls down dead. or just defeated, depending on your game's rating. (I know I likely don't need to explain the basics of a health bar to you, but remember, I'm a narcissist. So I will anyway.) Health bars were born out of the need to solve one of the most universal questions of game design: What is the player's motivation? When high scores don't matter anymore and the game has no sports-like win/lose conditions, the last carrot that developers have to dangle over our heads is the most potent one of all: Our very lives! And so the most enduring and widespread system in gaming was born.

Over the years, as development technology has become more and more robust, game developers have found all different ways to demonstrate the remaining health of the player. Some games have even gone so far as to remove the health bar altogether. (The monsters!) One of my personal favourite methods is the way in which player's wellness can be linked to that character's animations. In some third person games, as your character becomes more poorly (That's British slang for 'infirm' by-the-by.) they'll start to show it in their stature and gait; meaning that they'll start slumping over and hobbling about. You'll notice this in games like Resident Evil 2, Tomb Raider (2013), Red Dead Redemption, Uncharted: Drakes Fortune, Max Payne 3, Final Fantasy 7, Yakuza, Assassins Creed, oh and every single modern third person action adventure game ever made. It is a little silly how these characters can usually be seen clutching their sides after being riddled with enough lead to make them float, but I guess that the characters need to look like they can shake off their injuries. If they were going around vomiting up blood it might start giving players pause.

Of course, that isn't the only alternative that Video game companies have come up with for representing the health bar. Afterall, how would first-person games pull it off, considering they are the games that started shedding traditional 'health bars' first? Well, Call of Duty started off something of a trend when they created the 'damage effects' that are now widespread in first-person games. This includes 'hit markers' (A small on screen indicator telling you from which direction you got hurt), blurred screen effects, and reddish overlays onto your vision. As your character is dragged ever closer to death your screen become more and more red until you die. This is supposed to represent an immersive way to display health without the use of ugly, HUD adorning, health bars. However, the side effect is that now players can recover from their injuries by merely waiting around and not being hit. You win some immersion and then you lose some.

Some games have very unique ways of showing of the players health that doesn't clutter up a HUD but is still built around the health bar formula. One of the most famous examples I can think of is the spine bar from Visceral's Dead Space. Dead Space was a horror game that was intent on integrating HUD elements into the world of the game, thus ensuring that players would never cut themselves off from the immersion by going into a menu. Inventory screens were handled through holographic projections emanating from the player's environment suit, ammo counts were shown through holographic displays on the guns themselves, and the health bar was prominently visible on the protagonist's back. One thing you instantly notice when you play Dead Space is the glowing blue tube up the players spine, and that is essentially your in-universe health bar which depletes as your take damage. Ingenious! Another game that tried a similar trick of integrating the HUD would be 1998's 'Trespasser'. A first-person Jurassic Park game that figured the best way to keep the audience aware of the main character's health was to feature a heart shaped tattoo on her left breast that would deplete with damage. Classy.

So far I've been following a very narrow subset of fatigue mechanics in how they pertain to gameplay, but there is another aspect to consider which is very important to crafting a memorable experience, how fatigue can relate to the story. I've already mentioned the way in which characters feel more real when they are pervious, but what I'm referring to here is more the way in which the character wears the strain of the adventure they've just been through. There's nothing quite as satisfying as seing your hero come through it all at the end of day covered in the bruises and scratches that represent the chaos that they just endured. A great example of this would be the Arkham games. (Which you might remember me mentioning a bit about not so long ago. Something about playing the demo for Arkham Asylum until it was seared into by subconscious.) We all know Batman. And we've all seen Batman roughed up; with the torn suit and the cuts and scratches. The Arkham took this one step further in that you lived through every bruise that Batman acquired throughout that night. That isn't to say that every counter you missed would result in a nasty welt a couple hours down the line, but rather that there were scripted encounters and sections which would result in 'wear and tear' for poor old Bruce Wayne. Moments like; the first air duct collapsing at the beginning of Arkham Asylum, deflecting Deathstroke's katana barrage at the end of his boss fight in Arkham Origins and surviving lungs full of potent fear toxin in Arkham Knight. All of these incidents left a 'scar' that last on your virtual avatar for the rest of the game; trophies of the battles that you fought.

Similar 'wear and tear' systems can be found in a few of the modern action adventure games of recent years. 2013's Tomb Raider had a system very similar to the Arkham games. As Lara travelled across Yamatai, she would go through scripted scenes in which she would go through some sort of trauma and come out with a fresh scratch. Yager Development's 'Spec Ops: The Line' had a more involved 'wear and tear' mechanic in which the protagonist would grow more and more haggard as the psychological toil of the player's actions began to weigh on him with increasing severity. And Lionhead's 'Fable 3' had a literal 'scarring system' wherein the Hero had the possibility of attaining a scar every time that they got defeated by an enemy. Some of those examples are more transformative to the narrative than others, but they all serve to reflect the mortality of their subjects.

Storytelling is a multifaceted beast that can be tackled in so many hundreds of ways. The grounding of characters is just one step on a long road to crafting a clear and cohesive narrative, but it can be an important one depending on the tale you are trying to tell. I'm willing to bet that at least one the examples I mentioned today went almost completely ignored by some gamers out there; but as Mister Plinkett likes to say "You might not have noticed it, but your brain did." Personally I'm a sucker for all these little details, just as I'm a sucker for the big 'showstopper' features. Maybe I'm a just a huge nerd who can't see the forest for the trees or maybe I'm subconsciously taking note of all these little things in hope that I can write my own story/game one day. Or maybe I just enjoy seeing something that I feel daily mirrored by the coolest characters in fiction: The need to take a break.