Join me in this longform commentary on one of the most affecting games I’ve ever played: Another Code: R for the Nintendo Wii.

The best thing about renting games as a kid was looking at the screenshots and descriptions on the back of the boxes and trying to figure out what the games you were holding were about. 

Perhaps the game would have you “use your space suit to absorb valuable energy for your search to gain the user of power items” (Metroid); maybe “the storyline depends on the individual talents and quirks of the team members you select” (Maniac Mansion); or a game might implore you, “You gotta find out who you are and who iced this guy—in a hurry!” (Deja Vu). 

The breadth of experiences videogames can afford is what makes them so exciting. These days, if you go by the flavour text on game boxes, the experiences we’re able to grab off the shelf seem to be narrowing. “Mankind’s fate once again rests in the hands of Army Lt. Nathan Hale—an infected soldier who is becoming the enemy he despises” (Resistance 3); “In a desperate war for Earth’s survival, against an unrelenting alien enemy, the only way to defeat them is to become one of them” (Quake 4); “Battle your way through Afghanistan using the overwhelming force of a large, mobilized military…” (Medal of Honour). What do players looking for something different have to do to catch a break?

Give me something different
In Another Code: Two Memories (Trace Memory in the West), things are quite different. This DS game, launching alongside the original DS, was the first released title by Japanese developer Cing, Inc. It would be the first in a tragically short series of games featuring new experiences, beautiful artwork and (often) strong, capable heroines.

This first title has you playing as Ashley Robbins, a girl just a few days shy of her 14th birthday, as she heads to an island with her aunt to find her dad, who she thought was dead. This game caught a lot of flack in the games press for being slow and puzzle-heavy—which, one would think, is exactly the reason to play it, considering it’s a puzzle-centric, story-focused adventure game.

I played the Japanese release as far as my language skills could take me (which was, to my great disappointment, not far), and then went back and played it through completely in English. Around the same time, I played Cing’s other DS adventure title, Hotel Dusk, which remains my favourite game on the system, and one of my favourite titles this generation. Both games feature lots of reading, heavy story, and clever puzzle elements that make do make you think, but generally keep the flow of the narrative moving along. With both titles, I felt like I’d discovered something special. These are exactly the kinds of games I love, the kinds of games I wish there were more of, and the kinds of games I want to create.

Recently I acquired the Wii sequel to that first DS game, Another Code: R, thanks to games writer and child-scarer Phil Salgado, who picked up a copy for me from England. I soft-modded my Wii to play it (an easy enough process), and was really looking forward to revisiting Ashley’s little world, to see what was new.

After finishing the game (which took a surprisingly long seventeen-and-a-half hours), I realized I discovered one of the personal highlights in my entire history of playing games, and its affect on me has been profound.

Pure story and adventure
The game features similar adventure-puzzling as its predecessor, and uses the Wii remote in ways that made me shout with glee—even though I was just turning the Wiimote to pretend to look at a kaleidoscope, or shaking it like a test tube beaker, there is a simple connection these acts allow, and, in my mind, that justify completely the very notion of the Wii. Silent Hill: Shattered Memories used the Wiimote to bring you deeper into the game in unsettling ways, but Another Code: R gives these hands-on moments in the game’s universe by having you perform physical tasks while Ashley mimes your movements on-screen. Most of these events are just plain fun, and you catch yourself, if you can believe it, smiling, for Pete’s sake—just the way those Wii ads from 2007 promised you would.

As well, there are puzzles in the game that take the physicality of using the Wiimote and really push it to make you think; if you thought Metal Gear Solid was meta, you have no idea how clever this game can get.

But I don’t mean this to be purely a technical discussion. The reason why Another Code: R means so much to me is that it takes its unique story (more on this below) and makes you feel it, every step of the way. 

When two characters talk, they each emote, move, and mime on their half of the screen while the text plays out in a familiar text box along the bottom. I could say that the game’s writing is good (it is, most of the time), but what I really want to say is that I loved all of the characters because they all felt real to me. I empathized with everything Ashley—and I—did and said. You see her frustration and the range of her emotions through the game’s wonderfully-realized animations. Even when choosing answers to a question, you pick from different animated vignettes, showing how Ashley would emote a particular response; this extra layer surprised and delighted me the first time it happened, and I looked forward to every chance thereafter to make these choices.

The trick is, this combination of wonderful animation and smart, text-only writing makes the game much, much more powerful than if it was fully voice acted. Like older RPGs, the idea of this on-screen pantomime allows a deeper connection to the characters because as characters move, smile, frown or shy away, you’re putting your own bias, voice, insight and presumptions into the characters’ dialogue as you read it. You fill in the blanks yourself, and by extension become more emotionally invested. I, for one, was all in.

Finally, something new
Lucky for that, because you will never find another videogame with the same premise as Another Code: R, and the story itself is what really makes me love this title. Taking place two years after the first game in the series, Ashley is now 16, and is being called to a campsite to spend a weekend with her dad, who has been absent and neglectful.

That’s right: the premise of the game isn’t “save the world from space aliens” or “storm Afghanistan,” it’s go camping with your dad and try to repair your fragile relationship. This is exactly what I want from games, what I believe they’re capable of!

The game is pegged as a mystery story, and it certainly is that, featuring plot twists, leading threads and characters who all seem to know more than you do. There is a story involving companies, scientists, experiments and broken families, but the crux of the game is wholly unique and laudable: one, since Ashley’s mother died when she was only three, she has no real memory of her, and wishes she did; two, Ashley’s dad has been deeply affected by his wife’s death, and in turn has become somewhat of an absent father.

The first hours of the game, especially, really drive home all of this, and in these moments I felt truly engaged. Though the characters can occasionally exhibit some of that anime-style goofiness, for the most part the principals are all realistic and three-dimensional. Ashley knows that her dad is preoccupied and awkward, and she tries to be tough about it, but his constant screw-ups frustrate her more and more, until you get to play out a pretty genuine father-daughter argument. 

Furthermore, Ashley is such an unbelievably likeable kid, that you really root for her the whole way, and regret her losses. She’s kind, smart and very resourceful—and man, oh man, does she make you lament the actual 16-year-olds you see these days. She’s so well-written, too, that she swings from mystery-novel sleuther to rock-band-wannabe to concerned caretaker with a natural flow. I can’t say that about Marcus Fenix, Alan Wake or even most Silent Hill protagonists.

So when her chances at trying to get to know her dad better slip away, one by one, you feel a real pull, especially as the character gets more and more troubled by this. But I think it’s the other major plot thread—of Ashley trying to remember her long-dead mother—that really gets you.

As the game plays out, you realize ever more acutely that Ashley’s memories of her mother are the driving force behind it. The fact that she desperately, hopelessly wishes she knew her mom—the only person everyone ever seems to talk about—underscores every conversation, every decision, and every event. You feel less like a guiding hand and more like Ashley herself, because the situation is so well-realized and character-defining. Whenever someone brings up their own mother, you think, Oh, man, please, let’s talk about something else, this is too painful. 

By the end, there is a plot that plays out, and character arcs that are resolved, and things that happen. But for the game’s duration, you’re always keenly aware of Ashley’s personal situation, and how tough it must be—and you realize how much the game has grabbed you. And then, after a brilliant credits sequence that will, if you’re properly invested, melt your goddamn heart, you will think, Ashley, I really hope the rest of your life is better than it has been so far.

No more heroes
I’m not here to convince you to play, or even buy this game. Its developer, Cing, sadly shut its doors in 2010, which to me is a personal blow. I just want you to know about it; that this group could produce such wonderful works and not be able to continue doing so leaves me cold—and, I must admit, more than a little determined to pick up the torch however I can.

Cing’s design director, Rika Suzuki, now writes novels, and I miss her contribution to gaming immensely. She said that her goal with the Another Code games was to make something specifically story-based, gender-inclusive, and accessible to all levels of players. She also stated that the series, as sci-fi-lite as it can get, was inspired by her father’s battle with Alzheimer’s. (See more info on this Wikipedia page.)

She, and everyone else at Cing, took on a brave challenge, especially when you consider what dominates the current gaming landscape. Completing this series of games has left me a bit hollow, as if I said goodbye to characters in a book that will never be written again. At the same time, though, these games have given me hope and the inspiration that maybe, just maybe, what I consider to be a good videogame, a game I want to make, isn’t a lonely idea.

Thank you so much, Cing, for your Another Code games. I cherish them deeply, and like its protagonist, I hope these are memories I can always carry with me, and never forget.