Seeing the development of the whole “friend-zone” concept is, in fact, enlightening about the pervasive misogyny that’s still culturally foundational in America despite decades of progress.

It started as an observation that once someone had placed you in the “friend zone” of their mind, it was difficult for them to consider a romantic relationship with you.

It then picked up negative connotations when it was applied to women who flirtatiously imply the potential of a future relationship in order to have men perform favors for them that they would not do for normal friends. This sort of thing probably wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for the pervasive cultural assumption that it’s the man’s role in society to earn money and, therefore, the way to woo a female mate is to throw money at her in the form of gifts and so forth. But up to this point the term was at least describing an actual thing that actually happens.

But then the wheels come off the bus, because in the lightning-fast memetic chamber of the internet the term continued to expand: Now it was any woman who politely said “no” when you asked her out on a date. But, of course, the negative ethical connotations stuck to the term — so now the entire concept of “friend-zoning” implies that any woman who says “no” to a man’s sexual advances is doing something ethically wrong.

This also simultaneously expands the other side of the term: It now applies to any man who is friends with a woman. But here, too, the negative connotations stuck to the term. As a result, it implies that “just” being friends with a woman is somehow a punishment or a failure.

This rapid progression from useful concept to misogynist ideology is all built around the lingering cultural scaffolding in which women are objects of desire which are pursued like treasure. Although this scaffolding is slowly being demolished, it’s both interesting and depressing to note (from the sufficiently safe distance of being a white male) that, like any construction site, this transitional period can actually be more vile and misogynistic in some ways than what came before: Leave intact the “pursuit of the virgin” but strip away the idea of “no sex before marriage” and you replace Lord Wessex from Shakespeare in Love with pick-up artists who treat women like Super Mario Bros. power-ups and their sexual resumes like a Call of Duty leaderboard. Leave intact the idea of “no sex before marriage” as a moral imperative, on the other hand, and you end up with all women being “whores”. The jagged edges of these half-forgotten cultural memes can be dangerous. (Which doesn’t mean, of course, that we shouldn’t be getting rid of them. That would be like arguing that the slaves shouldn’t have been emancipated because they were more vulnerable to lynchings without the protection of their owners. It just means that you have to anticipate that it will be hard work and a tough slog before the light at the end of the tunnel completely banishes the darkness behind.)

A fellow named Caleb asked me in an e-mail recently why I’m not a fan of the way GUMSHOE handles clues. In writing a reply to him, I think I’ve found a better way of expressing my personal distaste for GUMSHOE’s approach than I have in the past.

Start by considering a scenario with locations A, B, and C.

First, let’s assume that each of these locations contains a clue which points to the next location. GUMSHOE says, “Oh no! What if they don’t find a clue? Then the adventure can’t continue!” And in order to solve this problem, GUMSHOE says, “It’s OK. We’ll just remove the resolution mechanic and we’ll simply assume that the PCs succeed.”

Investigative scenarios have been done wrong since the early days of roleplaying games. As a consequence, they’re hard to run and prone to grind to a halt. (…) You have to search for the clue that takes you to the next scene. If you roll well, you get the clue. If not, you don’t — and the story grinds to a halt. (…) GUMSHOE, therefore, makes the finding of clues all but automatic, as long as you get to the right place in the story and have the right ability. (Esoterrorists, pg. 26-27)

In other words, we’ll remove the chokepoint of failure by simply removing the possibility of failure.

So what’s the problem?

Well, now let’s assume that each of these locations contains a monster which you have to fight before you move to the next location.

Presented with this problem, we would expect GUMSHOE to say something like, “Oh no! What if they don’t defeat the monster? Then the adventure can’t continue!”

And in order to solve this problem, GUMSHOE would then say, “Well, that’s OK. We’ll just remove the combat system and we’ll simply assume that the PCs always defeat their foes.”

To be fair, GUMSHOE is right: If you make it so that the PCs automatically win, then they will never lose. It’s tautological and everything. And is there anything wrong with that?

Not necessarily: If the game wasn’t actually about fighting people, there might be little harm in skipping past the fights. But if the game was about combat, then you might have a problem.

And, in my opinion, the actual act of investigation is, in fact, a relatively major component of what a mystery story is about. GUMSHOE says it isn’t because you never see a fictional detective miss a clue. (But if they did miss a clue completely and entirely, how would the reader or viewer ever know? And, in point of fact, there are many mystery stories in which the detective does miss a clue and later goes back to find it or realizes that they missed it only after the crime has already been solved.)

In addition to this, as I’ve discussed in the past, GUMSHOE’s “solution” doesn’t actually solve the problem it claims to be solving: Failing to find a clue is only ONE of the ways in which the clue can fail. Since the problem hasn’t actually been solved, you still need to implement the ACTUAL solution to the problem (which is to not design your adventure around chokepoints in the first place). And once you’ve implemented the actual solution, you’ll discover that characters failing to find any particular clue is no longer any sort of problem… which means that the GUMSHOE “solution” isn’t required at all.

Tagline: Another excellent, if not so cheap, Cheapass Game.

Cheapass Games has created quite a reputation for itself. Producing games from the cheapest materials possible, they create highly affordable games with highly original premises. Almost all of their games have catchy titles and/or taglines, and their concepts are usually intriguing and amusing enough in their own right so that, even if the gameplay doesn’t catch your fancy, the product is still well worth the cost of entry.

And I say that as if their gameplay is usually poor. Quite the opposite is true – Cheapass Games doesn’t just have a reputation for their cheapness, they have a reputation for the high quality and playability of their game concepts. In short, Cheapass has ushered in a breath of fresh air to game design. Because they can produce games with such a low overhead they can experiment in many different directions very quickly, and with comparatively low risk. As a result you can see Cheapass play with and discard innovative game mechanics that other companies would be forced to milk for years, if they ever tried them in the first place.

Which brings us to Falling, an innovative and relatively unique card game. As with all of Cheapass Games’ products the first thing I heard about it was the tagline: “Everyone is falling, and the object is to hit the ground first. It’s not much of a goal, but it’s all you could think of on the way down.”

Instantly intrigued I surfed over to the Cheapass Games website and went digging around for more information. I came across an article written by James Ernest, the game’s designer and the driving force behind Cheapass Games, discussing some advanced tactics he had recently discovered… long after releasing the game.

I knew right then and there that I had to possess a copy of Falling. Most games, you understand, are like Sorry or Candyland — what little strategy and tactics there are in such games was known by the designers before the first playtest. It is the games which take on a life of their own, which have hidden complexities and dynamic interactions between their components which result in strategies and tactics which the designer never dreamed of, which are the very best games. Games like Chess and Diplomacy. If Falling was truly that type of game, and it contained the same type of powerful innovation found in other Cheapass Games, it was definitely packed with potential.

Unfortunately I couldn’t find Falling anywhere. I scanned the Cheapass racks (with their distinctive white envelopes) in, literally, half a dozen stores without any luck.

Why not? Because Falling is sold as a card pack, in one of those little cardboard boxes, on playing-card stock, for a price of $9.95. From Cheapass Games? What the heck?

Well, after playing the game it has become quickly apparent why this is the case. The cards simply have to be of a higher stock than your typical Cheapass game because, as the box says, Falling is a “frenetic” card game. Without the durability of an actual playing card, anyone owning Falling would quickly find themselves in need of a new deck.

So is this Cheapass Game worth a not-so-cheap price tag?

Hell, yeah.

THE RULES

Falling reminds me of another favorite game of mine, Twitch (from Wizards of the Coast and reviewed elsewhere on RPGNet). They’re both copyrighted for 1998 and therefore I won’t engage in pointless speculation as to which came first – it is far more likely a case of simultaneous inspiration (or drawing from some primal source with which I am wholly not familiar).

I say they remind me of each other, because both of them are “turn-less cardgames” – instead of following a set play order, like your typical card game, both Twitch and Falling feature simultaneous play by all the players at the table. No lazy downtime from these games (I actually managed to work up a hefty sweat while dealing for Falling).

In Twitch, simultaneity is accomplished because the basic mechanic of the game is determining the play order – the card one person plays determines who goes next, and if anyone else can play before that person can, then that person has to pick up the discard stack.

Falling, on the other hand, does it in a completely different fashion. One player is the dealer. Throughout the game all that the dealer does is deal cards, he doesn’t play at all. In fact, the dealer is dealing cards continuously throughout the game, proceeding sequentially from one player to the next. While the dealer deals, the players are all playing cards on themselves and against each other all at the same time.

Cool, huh?

In an unmodified situation (such as the very beginning of the game), each player starts with a single “stack” of cards. The dealer will deal one card to each player’s stack, and then move onto the next player (remember, once he starts dealing, he deals continuously). As the players receive cards, they can pick up one card at a time (and only the card on the top of a stack), which they can play on themselves or on another player.

As cards are played, however, things will change very quickly. The main mechanic in Falling are cards known as “riders”. Essentially, a rider informs the dealer how to deal to a player. There are three types of riders:

Split. A split card tells the dealer to start a new stack for the player (so he would deal one card to the existing stack, and then deal a second card to start a second stack). On subsequent turns, the dealer will deal one card to each stack (however, a player can get rid of a stack if he can play through all the cards in that stack before the dealer returns to him – a dealer only has to deal to stacks he can “see”, unless there are no stacks present in which case he automatically creates one).

Hit. A hit card tells the dealer to deal an additional card to each of the player’s stacks.

Skip. A skip card tells the dealer not to deal to that player this time around.

A player can only have one rider on them at a time. The dealer picks up the rider when he finishes its instruction (so a rider is only in effect for one turn).

In addition to the riders there are also “action” cards, which can be used to manipulate the riders in various ways:

Stop. A stop card destroys the rider. Put the rider in the discard pile, along with the stop pile.

Push. A push card takes a rider which has been played on you, and “pushes” it onto another player.

Grab. A grab card takes a rider which has been played on someone else, and “grabs” it – applying the rider to yourself.

Finally there are the Ground cards, which are placed at the bottom of the deck before the deal begins. If you are dealt a ground card you have hit the ground and are out of the game. The only way to avoid this is to “Stop” the ground card as soon as it is played (in which case it is placed back in the deck by the dealer). Because the ground cards are all grouped together once they start coming out it is generally useful to “Skip” your turn and to “Hit” other people (since having them dealt more cards makes it less likely that they can avoid the ground cards or stop them effectively).

There are a couple of extras (including, ironically, the “Extra” cards) – but that’s the core of the game.

DOES IT WORK?

Yes. Absolutely, positively. We had a rough start-up, since we had several neophytes who couldn’t quite get their heads around the “simultaneous play” portions of the game, but after a few trial runs (during which the dealer dealt very slowly and stopped often so that people could ponder how the game worked) we were able to quickly vamp things up to speed.

And at that point the game rocked. Just like Twitch people became speed demons around that table.

One thing we found of particular interest, though, was the differences in gameplay based on the speed of the dealer. We had a couple of very methodical dealers, who would deal at a steady, even pace. This allowed a bit more of personal reserve and tactical consideration. On the other hand, the speed demon dealers – who would race around the table as quickly as possible – inspired a rapid-response style of play in which you did your best to disadvantage the other players while keeping your disadvantage as limited as possible.

IS IT FUN?

You’re kidding, right?

I have a very large shelf of games (which, coincidentally, is coming to be dominated more and more by Cheapass Games). However, there is a small, select handful which get played time and time again. After one short evening of play, Falling has joined that select list. It is fun, it is engaging, and it is captivating. We were playing at a sizeable family gathering, and our initially small group had soon maxed out my deck many times over. Falling was drawing people to it from across the room.

So get out there. Scour your store for it (it may very well be in the last place you look, as it was for me). Buy it. You won’t regret it.

Style: 5
Substance: 5

Author: James Ernest
Company/Publisher: Cheapass Games
Cost: $9.95
Page Count: n/a
ISBN: n/a

Originally Posted: 1999/08/16

I absolutely adore real-time card games. They are so much fun! Unfortunately, most of the people in my immediate circle of gamers are completely disinterested and I almost never get to play them any more. They also seem to have fallen out of fashion. It makes me all frowny-faced.

It should be noted that Paizo reissued this game. I don’t own the new version, but my understanding is that the rules have not been changed and the only difference is that the game has been re-themed to feature Paizo’s crazy goblins.

For an explanation of where these reviews came from and why you can no longer find them at RPGNet, click here.

Here’s a common misunderstanding I often see voiced on messageboards: Choosing which direction you’re going to go in a dungeon isn’t a meaningful choice because the players have no way of distinguishing between the choices.

While this can be true, the reality is that it generally shouldn’t be true. And if you’re consistently finding it to be true, there’s probably something wrong with the way you’re either designing your dungeon or running your dungeon.

TWO TYPES OF CHOICE

Before we begin, I think it’s useful to remember that there are two types of meaningful geographic choice that can happen in a dungeon.

First, there’s the type most people talk about: Selecting which encounter you’re going to face next. (In other words, if you go left you’ll encounter the goblins and if you go right you’ll encounter the vampires.)

In many cases, this sort of choice is, in fact, a random number generator: If you have nothing to distinguish between the choice of going right or the choice of going left, you might as well flip a coin. With that being said, however, there are several ways you can deal with that it’s probably a good idea to explore them in your dungeons:

• Foreshadowing. The path to the left has tracks showing that it’s heavily traversed by small humanoids. The path to the right has been surrounded with crude goblin holy symbols and anyone familiar with goblin runes can read the word “NOSFERATU” spelled out in crude syllables.
• Interrogation. Either friendly or otherwise. For example, you revive the goblin scout you knocked out in this room and you force him to tell you that his tribe lives down the left path and that there are vampires living down the path to the right. But his people also pay tribute to the vampires, leaving them totally impoverished but suggesting that the vampires probably have a huge hoard of treasure. (He might be lying about that last bit.)
• Rumor Tables. Or similar rumor-gathering mechanics. The PCs end up with potentially valuable navigation information about the dungeon before they ever go into it.
• Arnesonian Megadungeon. In the Arnesonian megadungeon, lower levels are always more difficult. Which means that PCs always have a meaningful choice when confronted with the option of going down or continuing to explore their current level.

And so forth. The choice only needs to be blind if the GM and/or the players choose to leave it blind.

SECOND VERSE, COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE FIRST

With all that being said, it can be difficult to consistently avoid the “random number generator” with that first type of choice. And, in my opinion, that’s OK because that’s not the most interesting type of meaningful geographic choice in a dungeon environment. THAT choice happens when you revisit known terrain.

See, the first pass through a given chunk of dungeon is like the legwork in Shadowrun: You’re gathering information. You may not know how this information is going to be useful yet, but the more you can learn the better off you’ll be when it comes time to run the “heist”.

The heist, in this case, can take a lot of different forms.

For example, it’ll probably start small: “I think if we go this way, we’ll hook back up to these rooms we explored earlier. Or we can go down these stairs and go into completely virgin territory. Whaddya think?”

But it can escalate fast:

“Oh shit! We’ve pissed off the dark elves! Do we make a straight race for the surface? Do we try to lead them into an ambush amidst the grotto of dinosaur bones? Or do we try to hide out in that secret crypt we found?”

“Doubling back you discover a warband of ogres and orcs have moved into the cavern. It sounds like they’re heading for the surface. Do you try to sneak around through those side passages and warn your friends? Or just stay here where you’ll be safe?”

“Okay, we’ve made an alliance with the goblins. They’re saying they can help us secure the eastern stairs so that we’ll have a secure line of retreat when we fight those feral vampires down on level 3, but we’d need to pay them some sort of tribute.”

One of the key aspects to this second type of choice is to break away from the idea of “room = encounter”. In fact, it’s most useful to break away from the “encounter” mindset almost entirely. The dungeon has to be a strategic landscape and not just a collection of disconnected tactical challenges.

What can really emphasize this sort of thing is any dungeon complex large enough that the PCs will be visiting it multiple times. (Assuming, of course, that the situation in the dungeon changes and grows organically between visits.)

“Well, it looks like they’ve built barricades in the main hall. Do we send a magical missive to our goblin allies and try to coordinate a simultaneous assault on their flank? Or do we try to slip through the fungal arboretum and just circle around them?”

It’s in this second level of meaningful choice that xandering the dungeon becomes particularly useful. Without the tapestry of interconnections it provides it becomes much more difficult (or impossible) for these kinds of choices to evolve: In a linear dungeon, the bad guys have fortified the main hall and… well, that’s it. You can’t sneak around. And they must have trashed your goblin allies when they came through them. It reduces a rich strategic choice into a boring tactical one.

The challenge: Take three movies that aren’t actually related to each other and pretend that they’re a trilogy.

The outcome:

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off –> Fight Club –> Incredible Hulk

In the first movie, we see Cameron’s adolescent fantasies played out through his imaginary friend Ferris. In the second movie, Cameron is older and jaded and his new imaginary friend is a terrorist. In the third movie, Cameron is exposed to gamma radiation and periodically transforms into the “Other Guy” (who is, in fact, just the latest manifestation of his imaginary friend).