brief

Create an alternate title sequence for a piece of media that credits important people involved in production.

timespan

Six weeks (Oct—Dec. 2016)

commentary

I decided to create an alternate title sequence for the computer game, The Last of Us. The original can be found here. The sequence plays right after an unexpected and startling in-game film. The title sequence’s job is to give the player a minute to reflect on the previous events before continuing the game. The title sequence is followed by another in-game film that contains important exposition about the post-apocalyptic world.

A globule of ink drops onto blotting paper. The title reveals. The ink disperses, making the title unreadable.

Multiple globules of ink drop onto blotting paper revealing a scene. An element in the scene animates. The title reveals. Another set of ink globules drop onto the scene. The frame fills with ink.

Slime mould springs from the title. Mould consumes the title and exits the frame.

Typography animates to a speech. A word spawns slime mould. Slime mould distorts the typography.

The title reacts to adjusting water. Ink drops into the water, distorting the title. Ink fills the frame.

Random characters animate in. The title reveals, then distorts. Ink enters, inverting the title. Cut to a previous frame. Cut to a future frame. Cut to an extreme close-up of the title.

Using ink dispersal test footage as a means to reveal text and images in an effort to practice and experiment with compositing techniques.

Further experimentation using the finalised typeface and copy to learn how the various ink footage distorts text. The test concludes that ink dispersing on paper is the ideal method for distorting and revealing the type.

A 100mm macro lens captures ink dispersing on blotting paper. A pipette allows for a single globule of ink to drop at a time, making framing the subject easier.

The same macro lens captures ink spreading in water. A clear fish tank holds the water.

The Last of Us includes an in-game camera with which the player can take stills of any part of the game that he is in control of. The player can pan, tilt, zoom and roll the camera—as well as move it through three dimensional space in a restrictive area relative to the player character. The player can also change the aperture value of the in-game camera lens and position the point of focus. (The player can choose to show or hide the in-game characters and user interface.) Again, the camera is designed to be a stills camera (as it stops time when used), allowing motion only as a means to frame the subject.

After searching for a location in-game that I think is visually interesting, framing it using my best compositional judgment, and experimenting with zooming and horizontal tracking to identify which camera motion suits the subject best. I begin to move the camera very slowly to afford smooth shaping of the motion speed in post-production.

The footage will look choppy if I increase the speed at which the camera moves whilst using a similar motion curve (as fewer frames are available for “slowing down” the footage). This would be a lesser issue if I could record at a higher frame-rate—however—the capture device can only record in 30fps (frames per second) at a 1080pixel resolution.

This is the extent that the player is able to move laterally whilst using the in-game camera. The footage is sped up significantly.

This displays the difference between the maximum and minimum focal lengths that the game permits. Again, the footage is significantly sped up.

Using the ink dispersing on paper footage as a means to reveal test shots (utilising footage from the first three hours of the game), as well as a means to reveal and distort the typography. This rough cut establishes the dark-blue-and-white colour grade and the decision to time each reveal to defined beats in the music.

Reducing the size of the type and using finalised in-game footage, this cut closely resembles the final product. The copy reveals too slowly at times which hampers legibility.

This cut closely resembles the look and feel of the original due to the exclusive use of ink dispersal footage and identical soundtrack choice. Needless to say, development ceases after just one concept.

The typography now sits inside the in-game world (instead of on top of it). Selectively colouring objects within the scene both draws the viewer’s eye and frames the title. This idea’s development stops as the final is a stronger piece.

After analysing the original title sequence at the time, I felt that I could improve upon it—the original seemed to have too much energy. The music was loud and fast paced, and the cuts were quick. A little odd after such an intimate and harrowing moment, I thought.

In Cordyceps, I wanted to give the player a minute to reflect on the moment. I chose a calmer piece of music and slowed the pace of image transition.

I also wished to excite the player, so I teased him with locations that he would later explore. I wanted to display the awe-inspiring beauty of the world, and allow anticipation to bubble and writhe beneath his skin moments before he entered the post-apocalypse. With care, I explicitly sequenced the locations non-chronologically (except the shot following the title). I wished not to spoil the ludotography’s trajectory.

In hindsight, I have spotted an obvious flaw in my intention. Sure, I did not spoil the locations’ importance to the narrative—however I did rob some players’ enjoyment in regard to discovering the locations for themselves. For instance, including the giraffe shot (at 00:53) diminishes the wonderful and surprising scene that includes giraffes. After consuming the title sequence, the player now anticipates the giraffe appearance before playthrough.

Keen-eyed players will notice the alternate clothing for the characters that are displayed in the sequence. This may sully narrative tension as the attentive player knows that these characters will survive until the change in garb. (To clarify, character clothing is dictated by the narrative, the player has no input.) One character included in the sequence is not established at the current point in-game. The player now anticipates the introduction of this character which may be detrimental to her introduction through the narrative. 

Furthermore, Cordyceps is not intended to be promotional/marketing material for The Last of Us. Its redundant purpose is to build anticipation for exploration. The player has already purchased (or otherwise gotten a hold of) the game—it is presumed that he is willing to explore the world, narrative, characters and so on.

Both Cordyceps and the original strive to combat the same problem in different ways. Again, the player needs time to reflect on the harrowing in-game film, before consuming important exposition in the following in-game film. The original uses auditory news snippets to describe the events that occur within the twenty-year hiatus between the two in-game films. This quiets the player’s wonder for the events in between those years. One may question this approach, as it requires the player to absorb abstract information in—what is supposed to be—a period of reflection. The news snippets redirect the player’s thoughts from the intimate first in-game film to the broader state of the world. Cordyceps can be seen as no different, diverting the player’s attention away from the intimate film and toward the anticipation of play. 

Cordyceps and the original title sequence are both strong yet flawed. The energetic music in the original may come across as jarring; however, the abstract photography is striking in its visceral portrayal of the infection. Cordyceps, despite intent, spoils parts of the narrative and player exploration through the unthoughtful exposure of in-game locations and characters. However, the alternate sequence elegantly communicates the correlation between the infection and the fall of civilisation by placing constricting ink-dispersal footage atop derelict architectural iconography. Also, the choice of a slow, somber soundtrack fits the desired reflective atmosphere.

I am proud of my technical skill presented in Cordyceps—however, looking back, I do see some areas that would benefit from improvement. I would shoot more footage of the ink spreading on blotting paper, allowing for more variation in the transitions. I would also light the spreading ink more evenly to produce a cleaner image to work with in the compositing phase. 

In relation to the editing, I would transition some of the shots to syncopated beats rather than having all of them strictly on defined beats. This would make the piece less predictable and elongate some shots that are shorter than ideal.

Upon reflection, I found Cordyceps to be an incredibly satisfying project to work on as I strengthened existing skills and experimented with mediums that I was previously unfamiliar with. I learned how to edit footage to the defined beats in music, which I struggled with before. I taught myself how to light small subjects for macro photography. I diversified my skill set in After Effects; I taught myself how to ready footage for compositing use. To top it all off, I greatly enjoyed every step in the production of this piece.

In case one wonders, I named this piece Cordyceps after the fungal infection that controls the infected enemies in game. Cordyceps does exist in the real world, although its influence is infinitesimal compared to its fictional depiction—restrained to mutating the minds of ants, not humans.