A Collection of Thoughts

We've all done it. In Super Mario Bros 3 for the Nintendo Entertainment System, we scoured tirelessly for the Tanooki Suit, even though it was merely an alternate version of the Super Leaf with the nearly useless added ability of becoming an immobile stone statue for roughly eight seconds. In Sonic The Hedgehog 2 for the Sega Genesis, we endured seemingly endless iterations of that maddening "3D" bonus stage in an attempt to collect the otherwise inconsequential Chaos Emeralds, all just for the chance to briefly become "Super Sonic" before the end of the game. In The Legend Of Zelda: Ocarina Of Time for the N64, successfully collecting shards of Heart Containers meant either being completely prepared or woefully vulnerable when it came to your final encounter with Ganandorf. Collectibles have been present for nearly as long as video gaming has existed, and up until recently there has been little to no reason to question their inclusion.

Since the advent of the achievement/trophy system within this current generation of consoles, in-game collectibles have started to take a worrisome turn and follow a potentially dangerous trajectory: in some titles they're clearly being used as a crutch to extend replayability in lieu of extending existing or adding additional story content or gameplay mechanics. In some cases the collectibles are cleverly disguised as interactive challenges, a la successfully landing 50 different vehicle stunt jumps in Grand Theft Auto 4, or meeting the various criteria necessary to open all the Demon Doors in Fable 3. But an increasing number of these activities in modern games are lackluster (and frankly mind-numbing) search-and-collect missions, such as shooting 200 pigeons in my former example and finding 30 difficult-to-spot randomly scattered books in the latter.

This talking "door" refuses to open until I bring it my adolescent child.
I'm suddenly very uncomfortable.

Historically, other than die hard title devotees and 100% in-game statistic enthusiasts, most of us would skip these tedious tasks and the game would be over once the story was complete. These days, however, as a new breed of completionists are crawling out of their fledgling infancy and the term 100% is no longer commonly used to denote an in-game statistic, but rather an external badge of honor in the form of a full set of achievements or trophies, game developers seem to have gotten hip to the shift in priorities and are capitalizing on the relatively new mindset that gamers have developed.

Ideally the implementation of collectibles, especially in open-world sandbox games, would be used to enhance a narrative or power up your character. When you're tasked with collecting an entire outfit, piece by piece, in order to appear disguised and gain entry to an otherwise inaccessible location, it doesn't feel like a chore because it's a necessary step that fits within the story. The notion of spending an hour away from progressing a game's plot while seeking out a remote location to get your hands on a more powerful weapon very likely wouldn't deter you, because there is a purpose, nay, a benefit to be reaped from your efforts. But when you take the reigns of the world's greatest superhero in Superman Returns and you find yourself spending multiple hours tediously "saving" 100 kittens, the vast majority of which are just standing on sidewalks and not in any peril whatsoever... it feels like a poorly veiled attempt to compensate for a subpar gaming experience that the publisher is neither confident in or proud of. (Of course that last example is rhetorical; I didn't spend hours collecting kittens in that turd of a game. Honest. I didn't.)

Really? I'm the Man of effing Steel and THIS is what we're doing?

Occasionally a developer will include a set of collectibles that bucks the trend of the monotonous find-and-grab; in Mafia II, 2K Czech decided to licence retro images from Playboy, resulting in the collectibles being actual Playboy magazines from the 1960's. Upon your character picking up the magazine, the screen would fill with the uncensored centerfold image that corresponded with the cover of the magazine you found. Now I realize that on the surface it sounds like I'm advocating "add boobs to collectibles and everything'll be great!" - and on behalf of all heterosexual male 15 year old gamers who are spending their Friday nights playing their Xbox alone: sure, it certainly doesn't hurt. But in all seriousness, although nude images are far too risque to be incorporated into a widely accepted and used business model, these old pictures from yesteryear are hardly sexual by today's standards, in fact most of the women look like extras from I Love Lucy episodes. The intrigue comes from the glimpse into the past and the fact that the historical items you're collecting are not only very close to period appropriate within the game setting, but also have a fascinating, intrinsic real-world value to them.

Adversely, Mafia II lost any credibility it may have gained with its Playboy magazines by implementing another type of collectible. In an apparent attempt to be cute and/or clever, they rendered the faces of all the developers who worked on the game onto Wanted Posters and scattered them throughout the game's environment. Sounds harmless? Consider this: there are 50 Playboy magazines to find versus 159 Wanted Posters to track down. I'll let you do the math on which collectible the average gamer is going to enjoy collecting and which will feel like laborious gruntwork. And once you're done postulating we can discuss what a bizarre strategy it is to include more than 300% of the boring collectibles than the interesting ones.

Finally, a game that gets it.

Rockstar's L.A. Noire, a period-specific game akin to Mafia II, implemented something similar to the Playboys in their golden Film Reel collectibles, all of which were real films released between the 1930's-1950's. In keeping with the game's title and theme, most of the films you collect are today qualified as "noir" and as a result, running around and collecting these reels isn't nearly as insipid an errand as, say, finding and collecting inexplicable floating circular "4" logos during your quest to topple Doctor Doom in 2k Games' 2007 release, Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer.

Because achievements, trophies and gamerscore appear to be here to stay, attaching collectibles to said rewards is likely a trend we'll see continue over the coming years. However, I implore developers and publishers to incorporate these menial tasks into their games in creative and compelling ways, and to avoid using them as cheap tools to apologize for a shitty product.

Or at the very least, throw in a pair of tits every so often, will ya?