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HP Review
by Kyle Orland
Where's the game?
- Graphics: 9/10
- Sound: 10/10
- Gameplay: 1/10
- Replay Value: 4/10
- Overall: 7/10
The Short Bark:
Electroplankton may straddle the link between art and a video game, but design decisions make this less of the amalgamation it's been touted as being. Playing Electroplankton is a novel experience that will instantly appeal to a wide variety of people but stick to only a few in terms of longevity.
The Full Bite:
Nintendo's press kit for Electroplankton asks reviewers to consider whether or not video games can be art. A better question in Electroplankton's case might be whether or not video games are games.
Calling Electroplankton art is easy. Each of the ten "plankton" (as the distinct interactive experiments are called) combine music, animation and interactivity in a seamless, exquisite dance that is both unique and beautiful. The game uses an extremely simple natural aesthetic to create ten tiny, self-contained worlds, overflowing with life and just begging to be touched. It won't make you question the deeper nature of man's place in the cosmos, but it will touch you with simple beauty.
It's calling Electroplankton a game that's hard. Games usually have set goals (beat the boss, get to the next level, etc.) but Electroplankton offers little to no guidance for what to do with its set of interactive musical tools. Playing Electroplankton is more akin to playing music than playing a game - only there's no conductor or sheet music to guide you. As the Mama's and the Papa's put it, you've gotta make your own kind of music - a process that ends up being frustrating and delightful in turns.
The first time you pick up Electroplankton is a lot like the first day in an elementary school music classroom. Every tap or trace of the stylus creates a fresh new sound with the ability to shock and surprise. Everything little effect - a slowly ascending scale; a repeating loop of piano notes; a descending arpeggio of string resonant strings; the sonorous whine of an upright bass; a collection of sound effects from classic NES games; and the vibrant, colorful visual effects that go with them - is new and exciting. Just figuring out what everything does is the first goal.
Once you have a grasp of what's possible, though, using these tools to create music is significantly more trying. There is an element of controlled randomness to most of Electroplankton's "instruments," meaning that while the player is ostensibly in control, it can be hard to get those little plankton to do exactly what you want. The notes that come from your tappings create beautiful melodies, but usually in a discordant, almost random way. It is testament to the game's design that, no matter your skill, the patterns come out listenable. But those expecting to create carefully crafted works that sounds like traditional music will be out of luck.
Another frustration comes from the inability to record your worthwhile experiments for posterity. You can't save your songs and, with many of the instruments, it can be difficult to even replicate the precise effect of a single performance. I could dwell here on how this is a corollary to the impermanent, undefinable nature of art and performance, but really it's just frustrating to think that the melody I spent 30 minutes perfecting will disappear as soon as I turn the power off. Listening to the computer-controlled "audience mode," presents a more efficient work-to-listening ratio.
Once the novelty wears off, most players will probably lose their patience with Electroplankton. Some players will likely be so entranced by the mesmerizing sights and sounds that they stick with it and become masters. But just as not everyone who tries out a tambourine in elementary school becomes a world-class percussionist, not everyone who plays Electroplankton will want to become a virtuoso. In the end, Electroplanktonis something everyone should experience, but not everyone should buy.
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