@ Dave Exclamation Mark Yognaut
LOL.

[Wall of Text Alert...]
Well, I dunno enough about 'anime' to be able to knowledgably comment on the genre then. All I can refer to are things I've seen in-passing before I switched channels: pokemon, power rangers, dragon ball z (or whatever the heck it was called), final fantasy, etc: that sort of assorted drivel. Those are the kinds of things that I think of when I think of anime. I'm not japanese, nor am I remotely interested in japanese arts, so I have no idea what the difference between anime and manga and other japanese artforms might be. And to be clear: I would equally be upset if the cartoonish art style used was 'Disney-esqe'. It's not that it's japanese, it's that it's cartoonish.
All I do know is that I like pseudorealistic CGI over 'cartoonish' styles, and that I want heroic fantasy worlds to pay more than lipservice to mass and inertia when asking me to suspend disbelief with respect to magic.
I do not live in a universe where magic is real, so I have no frame of reference for what is or isn't possible for magic in-world, but I do live in one where physics is real and I already know how they're supposed to work. You simply cannot leap 15 feet in the air while wearing plate armor. Nor can you swing a heavy DH sword like they weigh nothing. Style be-damned! If I demonstrably can't trust the devs to reliably model the parts of the world that I know well-enough to critique, how the heck can I trust their modeling of the aspects of the world I'm unfamiliar with?
By deliberately shattering the veil of illusion for aspects of the game world that are familiar elements from our own world the developers make it much harder for me to become immersed in their game world, or to trust them to make magic systems believable. And if you do not do what is necessary to make even the basics seem plausible, then you're just not trying, and then why in the heck should you expect anytone to take your creative work seriously?
This undermines the very concept of story-driven games where choice and consequence are supposed to matter. How can you be emotionally invested in consequences for characters when the game world itself practically screams that it's 'just a game' every time some skinny plonker leaps across the room in full plate armor to detonate another hurlock blood-balloon?
I believe that fantasy games and stories can be important as legitimate forms of literary expression. Guy Gavriel Kay is one of my favorite authors and he has written about this with respect to fantasy novels. I think it applies equally for story-driven fantasy games.
From: http://www.brightwea.../ggkorillia.htm
Fantasy is usually seen as 'escapist' fiction and that is usually said as a criticism. Fantasy readers escape from the responsibility of reality, critics of the genre say, hiding from the real world amid dragons and magic. The criticism ignores some obvious truths: all good storytelling is escapist in a very basic way ... as we are drawn into the lives of the people in the book, we forget for a time (if the writer is skillful) the stresses and details of our own lives. We immerse ourselves deeply in the tale. We are emotionally moved and intellectually engaged by what happens to the invented, imaginary people in a novel.
Sometimes, too, there's a kind of book that doesn't intend to be important, profound, or thought-provoking. It wants only to amuse and distract in an undemanding way ... much as most television and most films do. The steadily growing market for fantasy - and science fiction - over the last twenty-five years means, in the normal way of things, that there will be more and more of this sort of commercially-driven book - just as there is in other forms of popular culture. It makes about as much sense to teach or study these books as it does to critically analyze Robert Ludlum or Jackie Collins as literature, outside the context of some sort of study of the contemporary zeitgeist.
But for me it is a mistake - and a serious one - to assume that because many or most works in a given field are unambitious that the field, the genre itself, must be deemed to be trivial. We do not ever diminish the achievement of Margaret Laurence or Saul Bellow by noting that Robin Cook and Tom Clancy also write 'contemporary' fiction.
Fantasy literature has the capacity to be as ambitious, as important, as moving or thought-provoking as any other form of literature we have. Indeed, in some ways, the journeys and quests and motifs of the purest fantasy works can come closer to mirroring the inner journey of the human spirit than anything else. The patterns of myth, folklore, archetype and fairy tale that can be embedded in fantasy are ancient and immensely powerful, and the genre can tap more directly into these ancient wells than just about anything else. I'm not saying something new here: psychologists and those who have made a study of myths and legends have been noting this for years.
And let us pause to note how much all of this has to do with labels and optics. If we call a work 'magical realism' and not 'fantasy' we immediately imbue it with the aura of Marquez and Borges and can admit it into the canon forthwith. When The Handmaid's Tale was nominated for science fiction's Hugo Award some years ago, Margaret Atwood expressed amusement in print at the notion that it could be seen as a genre book, but in truth there are no criteria for defining science fiction that could possibly not include that futuristic dystopia. I have argued for years that overfocusing on labels and categories is destructive to the individual assessment of the books themselves. Square pegs and round holes are not what reading - or teaching - ought to be about.
But to return to these notes on fantasy, there's another strength of the genre that's quite different and much less discussed. Fantasy is not just about magic and myths. It is also a way of dealing with history, with elements of the past -- and this has fascinated me more and more over the past decade.
In raising this idea, an obvious question emerges: why would someone write fantasy about the past, why not historical fiction? What can fantasy do that historical fiction cannot, or, putting it another way, what traps and moral dilemmas can fantasy avoid that historical fiction cannot?
First of all, I'll argue, fantasy allows the universalizing of a story. It takes the incidents and characters out of a very specific time and place and allows the writer - and the reader - the possibility of seeing the themes, the elements of that story, as applying to a wider range of times and places. It detaches the narrative from a narrow context and permits those aspects of it that engage the writer to be considered by the reader as broadly based. In this way, paradoxically, because the story is a fantasy it may actually be seen to apply more to a reader's own life and world, not less. The fairy tale quality of fantasy brings the story home to a reader's experience of the world, offering truths about the human condition. In reading or hearing the Grimm Brothers' folktales we are all, in a very real sense, the daughter of the fisherman or the third son of the woodcutter. Folktales happen nowhere, and so they happen everywhere, and to us.
There's another element to this, and one that has particular relevance today as more and more countries go through their emergence from totalitarian tyrannies. Let me explain. In 1990 I had an extraordinary late night talk with a Polish science fiction magazine editor at a conference in The Hague. He told me that he expected, in the next year, to lose about half his writers and readers. Why? Because with the demise of communist control and censorship, many writers who had used science fiction and fantasy to write disguised stories about modern Poland would no longer have to disguise their stories. They wouldn't need the screen of the genre to get around the censors. They would set their stories in the 'real' world.
Now, I suppose one could quarrel with the notion that it is inherently 'better' to do that and I do disagree with such an assumption. But what interests me for our present purposes is simply this, the very fact that these Eastern European writers were using fantasy in this way underscores something too little realized in the west: that the genre need not only be escapist, that it can deliver core truths about our existence. That the fantasy setting allows and may expand the possibility of such things.
Many years ago the Canadian poet and scholar, Douglas Barbour of the University of Alberta, described a fantasy novel he admired as, 'The kind of escape that brings you home.' I realized, reading these words, that this was how I'd always seen the potential of the genre.
I hold DA to the higher standard because that was how it was originally promoted: a dark, mature fantasy. It was not characterized as light entertainment, or trivial genre-dross. Bioware purports to make games that purpose to get the players emotionally invested, and to deal with serious themes. I interpret that to mean stories that
matter, stories that should 'bring us home'.
Fine then. I am 100% in favor of that. I
hunger for more of that. But if that's the goal, then stop sacrificing believability in the world be deliberately prioritizing style over substance. These are mutually exclusive goals IMO. And worse than foregoing the opportunity to make emotionally powerful and awe-inspiring stories, by turning the DA franchise into a silly action-driven cartoon IP, Bioware perpetuates the idea that fantasy games can only ever be frothy lightweight dross.
Can you imagine how well the HBO Game of Thrones series would have been received if it featured Ned Stark as a ninja-leaping superhero? Or if the LOTR movies if they had taken a similarly avant-garde attitude to the plausibility or believability of their world? I would argue that some of the worst moments from those movies were when they flirted with permitting the action sequences to become too extreme (Legolas killing the oliphant in ROTK, for instance).
I just think Bioware have chosen a path that cuts the heart out of their ability to emotionally engage the gamer by electing to use a cartoonish and over-the-top action style, and it makes me sad.