Here's my impression of David Cage brainstorming ideas before making a game:
In December 2007, Microsoft launched the Xbox Originals platform. Part of Xbox Live Marketplace, it allows you to download Xbox 1 games for 1200 Microsoft Points (GBP 10.20 / EUR 12.00) apiece, with the likes of Halo, Psychonauts and Fahrenheit among the launch titles.
In a week that's seen Hilly Bandwagon Clinton roaring sanctimoniously about the horrors of a bit of poorly animated rough-and-tumble in Grand Theft Auto, it's interesting that we've spent parts of the weekend wrapped up in a game that demonstrates better than any other that life experience as a whole holds a magnet to your moral compass, not the patterns of behaviour bred in the average gamer.
Yesterday we heard Quantic Dream CEO and founder David Cage discussing his goals for Fahrenheit and the difficulty in convincing publishers to take an interest in his unusual idea. Continuing our chat today, Cage reflects on the importance of choice and how to include it, his inspirations on the big screen and in the world of gaming, and how he came to wind up as a character in his own game.
In the me-too, sequel, licensed fodder-obsessed era that we're currently stuck in, a game as ambitiously forward-looking as Fahrenheit is like a breath of cool fresh air. Abandoning the current trends and pursuing ideas that have long since been foolishly discarded by others, Quantic Dream's latest labour of love could well be the first narrative-driven title in years to reawaken the public's long dormant thirst for adventuring.
You know how it is. You've just attempted to eat a dodgy Steak and Eggs in your local diner. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the upshot is that you're sitting in a rarely cleaned cubicle out back surveying the graffiti and wishing you'd lain toilet tissue around the seat before you sat down on it. The floor's slick with carelessly dispensed urine, half the lights don't work, the barred window's open and it's snowing outside. And then an innocent regular enters to remove the cheap coffee from his system and you try to put your senses on standby for a few more seconds before making your exit. An everyday, unremarkable scene of urban squalor the world over.