Pangburn
2017
it feels somewhat rare that an indie game really captures a retro style in a way that does more than pay lip-service to its predecessors. shovel knight was one of those games: a pitch-perfect recreation of NES-style action challenges stripped away of the mechanical uncertainty of the actual games of that era. cuphead captures that for the run-and-gun in a way that makes it not only a loving tribute but a legitimate cornerstone in the genre.
cuphead feels borne by a rigorous design methodology that demonstrates a deep understanding of the fundamentals of boss design in a 2D space. each fight is undergirded by the movement and platform features; this is generally the unifying trait. plenty of fights take place on a featureless flat ground, but very quickly wrinkles such as scrolling, conveyors, limited platforms, or combinations of these are introduced. a great late-game example is the ghost train stage that features of a platform that can and must be moved between left, center, and right using parry controls. these establish for the player the laws of their dominion so to speak: what space can the player leverage? what options exist at any given time to dodge a certain obstacle?
with each phase then comes the primary attack. bosses generally lack dynamic reactive capabilities unlike a human, so they are incapable of mindgames generally speaking. thus, in virtually all boss fights the boss cycles between random attacks that the player must apply a counterstrategy against. in modern games the design parlance is as such: windup animation begets the attack proper begets an opening for a player to either 1) rest if their counterstrategy is not efficient enough to yield a counterattack or 2) counterattack. too unthreatening and the player barely needs to muster a counterattack, and too overpowered and the player will have no time to respond. cuphead weaves in a truly surprising variety of primaries to challenge the player: the enemy may momentarily remove the player's control of the space, such as with the cat at the end of the rat tank fight batting its paws to swat the right and left sides of the screen, or perhaps the enemy creates antagonistic autonomous elements that force the player to utilize their spatial reasoning and pattern recognition to deduce a projectile's movement habits and shift their position accordingly, such as in the bee queen's middle phase where she incorporates stochaistically-drifting geometric projectiles as well as bullets that move in a linear back-and-forth climb on either side of the screen.
primary attacks on their own are only a lock-and-key design principle: find the counterstrategy that works against a particular move and apply it when needed. what creates true tension in the fight are the auxillary attacks. virtually all bosses are able to separately cycle through auxillary attacks that generally involve an entirely separate on-screen entity attacking on their own accord out of sync with the primary opponent. auxillary attacks on their own already heighten the experience by creating a space-constraint intersection that forces the player to adapt their key to more than just a single lock. certain intersections of attacks may prevent successful counterattacks or force the player to fall back on safer strategies, thus making the risk-and-reward judgment more critical and ever mutating. where cuphead really succeeds is having the auxillary attacks cycle as well. it's much like having three basic collared shirts and three basic ties: the combinations they present give you nine outfits, yielding an multiplicative amount of potential attack intersections. phase one of the sea medusa fight is a great example of this: three primary attacks (either summoning ghost projectiles or bringing one of two different fish out of the water with their own projectiles) with three auxillary attacks (staggered puffer fish projectiles, a water jet that forces a positive y velocity, and bombs that explode with a octagonal bullet pattern). each on their own is manageable, but combined there is an additional level of fluidity demanded of the player with adapting on the fly to intersections they may have never seen before.
of course cuphead doesn't simply hew to these elements in every fight; it expands on them and plays with the potential they possess. take the pirate ship fight: this begins with both a small primary attack (pellets fired by the captain one by one) with an auxillary component (a barrel that moves back and forth at the top of the screen, attempting to crush the player when they pass underneath). within time the captain will begin preempting his own pellet attack with a cycle of attacks from different sources, each with their own tell: a shark that consumes the left half of the screen, small bulldog fish(?) that slide across the ground, and a squid that both creates a fountain of bullets and can turn the screen dark if not defeated in time. on its own this is a perfectly interesting fight: manage the primary and auxillary attacks while being cognizant of primary attacks from external components via tells. however, in the second phase, the ship itself begins shooting cannonballs on a timer. at this point the player must not only manage transient attacks from the captain but also track the separate rhythms of the barrel and the ship's cannonballs. these intersect in a truly polyrhythmic fashion that pushes the fight into truly challenging territory that feels immensely rewarding to lock in with.
this is also boosted by cuphead having a stellar kit and smooth controls that feel sharp without being too abrupt or linear. his ability to parry specific objects (which are colored pink to distinguish them) adds a scale of mastery of many bullet patterns, with basic familiarity only yielding the ability to dodge while a complete understanding allows navigation to specific bullets for a parry and the reward of extra super meter. the super meter attacks are all rather useful and feel well balanced, though for the full-meter arts I can't really imagine someone using anything other than invincibility. however, I found myself legitimately switching out his shots and charms for different fights, which is not to say I found all of the variety useful (I mainly stuck to chaser and spread along with the smoke dodge and one extra heart depending on the fight), but to require a level of specificity in strategy for each fight encourages me to experiment more than I may otherwise. there are virtually no points of frustration I can attribute to a failure in the controls or a lack of a specific tool; almost every time I was stumped on a particular counterstrategy I always eventually worked something out even if it wasn't optimal.
I would really go as far as to say I don't think cuphead has any particular failings or even elements of unfair frustration that I can think of. while an immensely challenging experience, the primary and auxillary attacks are synergistic in such a way that a given intersection can't truly render an attack undodgeable or debilitating. never did I feel like a particular portion was just inserted because it felt cool or to fill space; rather, every bit of the game feels handled with care and finesse. the dragon fight was the peak of this for me... that particular fight walled me and put me off the game quite a bit. while the exasperation I felt was valid, I could never pinpoint a particular aspect that really felt unfair to me. at the end of the day, those projectiles that explode into smaller projectiles when hit really preyed on my spray-and-pray instincts in a way that punished me (and many others I assume) far more than most games are willing to muster. if I had to name one little thing that did feel off to me, it was the platforms during the bee queen fight. the scrolling part and random gaps don't bother me, but their collision box doesn't feel quite lined up with the art, which sometimes led to me falling randomly in confusing ways.
I do wish the flying stages had the same level of customization as the ground stages, but understandably that's a scope issue and not something I would expect from a small production. the non-boss levels also feel a bit perfunctory, but they are all still fun and only necessary for collecting coins for purchasing items in the shop. both of these won't get in the way of anyone looking to experience this: the core of the gameplay is still the tremendous boss fights. this has given me a a nice little kick in the pants to go back and dive into the early 16-bit fundamental works that helped mold this into the genius showpiece that it is.
cuphead feels borne by a rigorous design methodology that demonstrates a deep understanding of the fundamentals of boss design in a 2D space. each fight is undergirded by the movement and platform features; this is generally the unifying trait. plenty of fights take place on a featureless flat ground, but very quickly wrinkles such as scrolling, conveyors, limited platforms, or combinations of these are introduced. a great late-game example is the ghost train stage that features of a platform that can and must be moved between left, center, and right using parry controls. these establish for the player the laws of their dominion so to speak: what space can the player leverage? what options exist at any given time to dodge a certain obstacle?
with each phase then comes the primary attack. bosses generally lack dynamic reactive capabilities unlike a human, so they are incapable of mindgames generally speaking. thus, in virtually all boss fights the boss cycles between random attacks that the player must apply a counterstrategy against. in modern games the design parlance is as such: windup animation begets the attack proper begets an opening for a player to either 1) rest if their counterstrategy is not efficient enough to yield a counterattack or 2) counterattack. too unthreatening and the player barely needs to muster a counterattack, and too overpowered and the player will have no time to respond. cuphead weaves in a truly surprising variety of primaries to challenge the player: the enemy may momentarily remove the player's control of the space, such as with the cat at the end of the rat tank fight batting its paws to swat the right and left sides of the screen, or perhaps the enemy creates antagonistic autonomous elements that force the player to utilize their spatial reasoning and pattern recognition to deduce a projectile's movement habits and shift their position accordingly, such as in the bee queen's middle phase where she incorporates stochaistically-drifting geometric projectiles as well as bullets that move in a linear back-and-forth climb on either side of the screen.
primary attacks on their own are only a lock-and-key design principle: find the counterstrategy that works against a particular move and apply it when needed. what creates true tension in the fight are the auxillary attacks. virtually all bosses are able to separately cycle through auxillary attacks that generally involve an entirely separate on-screen entity attacking on their own accord out of sync with the primary opponent. auxillary attacks on their own already heighten the experience by creating a space-constraint intersection that forces the player to adapt their key to more than just a single lock. certain intersections of attacks may prevent successful counterattacks or force the player to fall back on safer strategies, thus making the risk-and-reward judgment more critical and ever mutating. where cuphead really succeeds is having the auxillary attacks cycle as well. it's much like having three basic collared shirts and three basic ties: the combinations they present give you nine outfits, yielding an multiplicative amount of potential attack intersections. phase one of the sea medusa fight is a great example of this: three primary attacks (either summoning ghost projectiles or bringing one of two different fish out of the water with their own projectiles) with three auxillary attacks (staggered puffer fish projectiles, a water jet that forces a positive y velocity, and bombs that explode with a octagonal bullet pattern). each on their own is manageable, but combined there is an additional level of fluidity demanded of the player with adapting on the fly to intersections they may have never seen before.
of course cuphead doesn't simply hew to these elements in every fight; it expands on them and plays with the potential they possess. take the pirate ship fight: this begins with both a small primary attack (pellets fired by the captain one by one) with an auxillary component (a barrel that moves back and forth at the top of the screen, attempting to crush the player when they pass underneath). within time the captain will begin preempting his own pellet attack with a cycle of attacks from different sources, each with their own tell: a shark that consumes the left half of the screen, small bulldog fish(?) that slide across the ground, and a squid that both creates a fountain of bullets and can turn the screen dark if not defeated in time. on its own this is a perfectly interesting fight: manage the primary and auxillary attacks while being cognizant of primary attacks from external components via tells. however, in the second phase, the ship itself begins shooting cannonballs on a timer. at this point the player must not only manage transient attacks from the captain but also track the separate rhythms of the barrel and the ship's cannonballs. these intersect in a truly polyrhythmic fashion that pushes the fight into truly challenging territory that feels immensely rewarding to lock in with.
this is also boosted by cuphead having a stellar kit and smooth controls that feel sharp without being too abrupt or linear. his ability to parry specific objects (which are colored pink to distinguish them) adds a scale of mastery of many bullet patterns, with basic familiarity only yielding the ability to dodge while a complete understanding allows navigation to specific bullets for a parry and the reward of extra super meter. the super meter attacks are all rather useful and feel well balanced, though for the full-meter arts I can't really imagine someone using anything other than invincibility. however, I found myself legitimately switching out his shots and charms for different fights, which is not to say I found all of the variety useful (I mainly stuck to chaser and spread along with the smoke dodge and one extra heart depending on the fight), but to require a level of specificity in strategy for each fight encourages me to experiment more than I may otherwise. there are virtually no points of frustration I can attribute to a failure in the controls or a lack of a specific tool; almost every time I was stumped on a particular counterstrategy I always eventually worked something out even if it wasn't optimal.
I would really go as far as to say I don't think cuphead has any particular failings or even elements of unfair frustration that I can think of. while an immensely challenging experience, the primary and auxillary attacks are synergistic in such a way that a given intersection can't truly render an attack undodgeable or debilitating. never did I feel like a particular portion was just inserted because it felt cool or to fill space; rather, every bit of the game feels handled with care and finesse. the dragon fight was the peak of this for me... that particular fight walled me and put me off the game quite a bit. while the exasperation I felt was valid, I could never pinpoint a particular aspect that really felt unfair to me. at the end of the day, those projectiles that explode into smaller projectiles when hit really preyed on my spray-and-pray instincts in a way that punished me (and many others I assume) far more than most games are willing to muster. if I had to name one little thing that did feel off to me, it was the platforms during the bee queen fight. the scrolling part and random gaps don't bother me, but their collision box doesn't feel quite lined up with the art, which sometimes led to me falling randomly in confusing ways.
I do wish the flying stages had the same level of customization as the ground stages, but understandably that's a scope issue and not something I would expect from a small production. the non-boss levels also feel a bit perfunctory, but they are all still fun and only necessary for collecting coins for purchasing items in the shop. both of these won't get in the way of anyone looking to experience this: the core of the gameplay is still the tremendous boss fights. this has given me a a nice little kick in the pants to go back and dive into the early 16-bit fundamental works that helped mold this into the genius showpiece that it is.
dmc3 lies in the center of a hinge point in action game design, wedding the linear structures and rigid scenarios of before to a novel, thrillingly expressive combat system. much in the way the original dmc opened the door for nuanced and free-flowing aggression divorced from the three-hit combos of the past, so too did dmc3 give birth to staggering flexibility in combo composition and approach. the buttery smooth interruptible frames on each attack, the instantaneous weapon switching mid-combo, and the subtle additions of so many cute pieces of kit (the crazy combos! riding enemies! swinging on the pole!) comprise just the basics for how rich dmc3's combat can get.
of the updates to the first two games, the most innovative is the style system, which undergirds much of that aforementioned flexibility. this mechanic lets the player select a set of contextual actions to bind to the circle button, where each set fundamentally upheaves dante's capabilities. while the early-game toolkit for each style is restrictive, the fully-upgraded variants of each of the core styles offers a wealth of fresh options to those willing to dig. of these the most interesting are swordmaster and royalguard, the former of which gives dante a full secondary button of attacks (including aerial raves, blessedly rescued from dmc2) while the latter imbues dante with a powerful parry and rage mechanic. what separates dante's parry from many modern implementations is the stricter timing for successful parries versus blocks with chip damage, as well as the ability to release all stored rage at once with strict timing in an extremely potent "just release." the trickster and gunslinger abilities are also equally interesting, although I personally did not invest a lot of time in gunslinger, while trickster mainly serves as additional evasion for those who want to supplant dante's built-in dodge roll and jumping i-frames (which is not to say I didn't use it! I used it plenty, and air trick is cool af).
however, dmc3 still resides within the classic character action structure of item puzzles, interconnected areas, and hidden secrets strewn throughout the demon tower central to the game's narrative. like I mentioned in last year's ninja gaiden black review, this structure still dominated the burgeoning character action genre up through the end of the ps2 era. this essential contradiction between stiff scenarios and loose gameplay systems both makes dmc3 a fascinating relic of its era as well as a harder sell for someone first exposed to the genre through metal gear rising revengeance or one of the bayonettas.
the first place this becomes apparent is in the enemy design. dmc3's main popcorn enemies (the hells) help buoy the game's reputation as a combo showcase while also being formidable foes in their own right, especially the lusts with their hectic pace and dashing slices as well as the teleporting, lumbering sloths. however, the remaining foes veer into requiring stricter strategies for their defeat. the blood-goyles, for instance, mandate that the player shoot their intangible forms repeatedly until calcifying into a hardened form that dante can damage. the soul eaters are another good example of this, where they exist in an gaseous mist until dante turns his back to them, allowing them to gel into a demonic squid and charge at dante from behind. these enemies change the combat from being very player-driven to rather enemy-driven when they appear. the encounters themselves also often avoid being pure combat arenas in favor of including specific objectives, such as fighting on the runaway temperance wagon while enigmas take potshots at you from a separate rail, or the late-game hourglass fight that reverses the flow of time if you fail to clear the room in time. these areas further predicate the player's success on their ability to adapt to a specific context rather than twist the pace of the fight to match their preferences.
this is not necessarily an appealing proposition to those hoping to spend the entire game freestyling to their heart's content, and I sympathize with this point of view. however, because dante is restricted to two guns, two weapons, and a single style, the ordering of fixed encounters with predictable enemy arrangements and locations creates an interesting dilemma for the player when selecting a loadout. the desire to use comfortable tools clashes with the need to select optimal arrangements to deal with these more puzzle-like enemies, but with the vast variety of options at dante's disposal, the choices rarely feel prescribed. the soul eaters may be quickly dispatched by the handguns' backwards shot in the gunslinger style, but the player could also find spots in the environment to trap them in order to combo off of (such as the balcony railing in the altar of evil room), or they can use a few of their devil trigger orbs for a powerful devil trigger explosion. exploiting the environment and synergizing a build to match whatever encounters you're struggling with adds a mindfulness to the otherwise-impulsive combat.
exploring different loadouts for different scenarios becomes even more important when it comes to the game's many bosses. each of the bosses runs the gamut in terms of what skills they require from the player, and with that comes exploring the separate tools that work best with each. beowulf, for example, has a three-hit combo in his first phase that can easily be air parried to store up a massive just release, taking off an excessive amount of health (nearly a third on DMD difficulty!). alternatively, I found that beowulf's powerful phase 2 attacks frequently crushed my guarding, and thus found myself using trickster more often to evade the frequent wooden cages he brings crashing from the sky. cerberus at first glance seemed apt for switch canceling between the rifle and the handguns, but I also found merit in maximizing DPS with the swordmaster style, alternating rebellion and agni & rudra in the air to take out each head as quickly as possible. admittedly these are two of the more robust bosses; fights like nevan and vergil err more on the side of call-and-response, where the player can use basically any tactic as long as they can respond to the movesets of each, while the late-game doppleganger centers environmental interaction with lights on the field that are used to stun the boss. while these bosses rely less on loadout experimentation, they still require attention to detail by the player in order to maximize damage output, locate weak positions, and learn proper spacings.
dante must die, the final difficulty mode, pushes the element of loadout creation and room routing to both its highest and lowest points. unquestionably DMD's balancing is far too skewed in favor of buffing up enemy health to pure sponge levels. when it comes to rooms primarily consisting of the hells, this gives the player some room to breathe in terms of constructing more elaborate combos, but at the same time the length of these encounters and the diminished stagger on enemies that have entered their devil trigger makes repeated jump-canceled moves a safer option. enemies such as the fallen go from tests of aerial mastery to slogging through the same repeated inputs in between waiting for their sword spin to finish. the tedium approaches agony in the latter half of the game, where a boss like geryon with an interesting multi-phase moveset and time-slow traps transforms into a claustrophic nightmare where the only reasonable way to approach it itemless is by stunlocking it in a loop. the chessboard scenario late in the game takes the awesome concept of fighting off a full set of chess pieces (including pawns that respawn as other units if you let them reach the board's end) to an obnoxiously long war of attrition repeatedly spamming killer bee on the king. dmd heightens the contradiction between rigid scenario and expressive gameplay to such an extent that I don't necessarily think it's worth pursuing for most people.
by comparison, very hard was incredibly enjoyable and allowed total flexibility in approach, and its status as the american hard mode and lack of enemy DT made decision-making and routing less of an issue. that's totally fine! the game bursts to its seams with combat features that getting to freestyle more often isn't a detriment in the slightest. however, it must be said that getting to fight for my life through dmd, balancing issues aside, did satisfy that unique sense of routing and pre-planning that few others in the genre can attest to. the sheer difficulty and bulky enemies led me to incorporate techniques I would otherwise ignored, from guard-canceling reverb shocks with nevan to experimenting with artemis' upgrades in the gunslinger style; I still have so much to learn in terms of experimenting with each aspect of dante's toolkit. managing devil trigger as a resource also becomes so much more essential on dmd given the massive power of the DTE and its usefulness both for quick health and as a shield of sorts when mitigating an unavoidable attack. reading and watching the sheer variety of strategies across the game has become a meta-feature of the game's depth that has enraptured me since I began delving more into the game myself over the last few months. even the chessboard has a reasonable quicksilver strat, though to say this makes the fight significantly more interesting may be overselling it. dmc3's status as the harbringer of player-driven combat expression while still remaining entrenched in enemy-driven scenario solutions gives it a unique mechanical blend that cements it as an iconic pillar of the genre.
I certainly wouldn't hold it over anyone if they wanted to try the switch port and how it allows the player to use their entire arsenal simultaneously; the mayhem you can get up to is astonishing. hell, if I play dmd again it might be on that port just to see how it fundamentally changes the experience (I've heard that it evens out much of the annoying shit, especially regarding bosses). there certainly is something worth investigating here in its original form though that hasn't been replicated since; newer titles like astral chain that lean into the adventure elements are doing so having absorbed over a decade of AAA tropes since dmc3's release, and fresh titles like bayonetta 3 compartmentalize their setpieces while dmc3 makes them part and parcel with the combat. although the contradictory nature of this particular flavor of 3D action has unsurprisingly gone out of style, I still feel affectionate to the way it ushered in our modern conception of stylish combat while paying tribute to the RE-derived scenario design all these games owe so much to.
of the updates to the first two games, the most innovative is the style system, which undergirds much of that aforementioned flexibility. this mechanic lets the player select a set of contextual actions to bind to the circle button, where each set fundamentally upheaves dante's capabilities. while the early-game toolkit for each style is restrictive, the fully-upgraded variants of each of the core styles offers a wealth of fresh options to those willing to dig. of these the most interesting are swordmaster and royalguard, the former of which gives dante a full secondary button of attacks (including aerial raves, blessedly rescued from dmc2) while the latter imbues dante with a powerful parry and rage mechanic. what separates dante's parry from many modern implementations is the stricter timing for successful parries versus blocks with chip damage, as well as the ability to release all stored rage at once with strict timing in an extremely potent "just release." the trickster and gunslinger abilities are also equally interesting, although I personally did not invest a lot of time in gunslinger, while trickster mainly serves as additional evasion for those who want to supplant dante's built-in dodge roll and jumping i-frames (which is not to say I didn't use it! I used it plenty, and air trick is cool af).
however, dmc3 still resides within the classic character action structure of item puzzles, interconnected areas, and hidden secrets strewn throughout the demon tower central to the game's narrative. like I mentioned in last year's ninja gaiden black review, this structure still dominated the burgeoning character action genre up through the end of the ps2 era. this essential contradiction between stiff scenarios and loose gameplay systems both makes dmc3 a fascinating relic of its era as well as a harder sell for someone first exposed to the genre through metal gear rising revengeance or one of the bayonettas.
the first place this becomes apparent is in the enemy design. dmc3's main popcorn enemies (the hells) help buoy the game's reputation as a combo showcase while also being formidable foes in their own right, especially the lusts with their hectic pace and dashing slices as well as the teleporting, lumbering sloths. however, the remaining foes veer into requiring stricter strategies for their defeat. the blood-goyles, for instance, mandate that the player shoot their intangible forms repeatedly until calcifying into a hardened form that dante can damage. the soul eaters are another good example of this, where they exist in an gaseous mist until dante turns his back to them, allowing them to gel into a demonic squid and charge at dante from behind. these enemies change the combat from being very player-driven to rather enemy-driven when they appear. the encounters themselves also often avoid being pure combat arenas in favor of including specific objectives, such as fighting on the runaway temperance wagon while enigmas take potshots at you from a separate rail, or the late-game hourglass fight that reverses the flow of time if you fail to clear the room in time. these areas further predicate the player's success on their ability to adapt to a specific context rather than twist the pace of the fight to match their preferences.
this is not necessarily an appealing proposition to those hoping to spend the entire game freestyling to their heart's content, and I sympathize with this point of view. however, because dante is restricted to two guns, two weapons, and a single style, the ordering of fixed encounters with predictable enemy arrangements and locations creates an interesting dilemma for the player when selecting a loadout. the desire to use comfortable tools clashes with the need to select optimal arrangements to deal with these more puzzle-like enemies, but with the vast variety of options at dante's disposal, the choices rarely feel prescribed. the soul eaters may be quickly dispatched by the handguns' backwards shot in the gunslinger style, but the player could also find spots in the environment to trap them in order to combo off of (such as the balcony railing in the altar of evil room), or they can use a few of their devil trigger orbs for a powerful devil trigger explosion. exploiting the environment and synergizing a build to match whatever encounters you're struggling with adds a mindfulness to the otherwise-impulsive combat.
exploring different loadouts for different scenarios becomes even more important when it comes to the game's many bosses. each of the bosses runs the gamut in terms of what skills they require from the player, and with that comes exploring the separate tools that work best with each. beowulf, for example, has a three-hit combo in his first phase that can easily be air parried to store up a massive just release, taking off an excessive amount of health (nearly a third on DMD difficulty!). alternatively, I found that beowulf's powerful phase 2 attacks frequently crushed my guarding, and thus found myself using trickster more often to evade the frequent wooden cages he brings crashing from the sky. cerberus at first glance seemed apt for switch canceling between the rifle and the handguns, but I also found merit in maximizing DPS with the swordmaster style, alternating rebellion and agni & rudra in the air to take out each head as quickly as possible. admittedly these are two of the more robust bosses; fights like nevan and vergil err more on the side of call-and-response, where the player can use basically any tactic as long as they can respond to the movesets of each, while the late-game doppleganger centers environmental interaction with lights on the field that are used to stun the boss. while these bosses rely less on loadout experimentation, they still require attention to detail by the player in order to maximize damage output, locate weak positions, and learn proper spacings.
dante must die, the final difficulty mode, pushes the element of loadout creation and room routing to both its highest and lowest points. unquestionably DMD's balancing is far too skewed in favor of buffing up enemy health to pure sponge levels. when it comes to rooms primarily consisting of the hells, this gives the player some room to breathe in terms of constructing more elaborate combos, but at the same time the length of these encounters and the diminished stagger on enemies that have entered their devil trigger makes repeated jump-canceled moves a safer option. enemies such as the fallen go from tests of aerial mastery to slogging through the same repeated inputs in between waiting for their sword spin to finish. the tedium approaches agony in the latter half of the game, where a boss like geryon with an interesting multi-phase moveset and time-slow traps transforms into a claustrophic nightmare where the only reasonable way to approach it itemless is by stunlocking it in a loop. the chessboard scenario late in the game takes the awesome concept of fighting off a full set of chess pieces (including pawns that respawn as other units if you let them reach the board's end) to an obnoxiously long war of attrition repeatedly spamming killer bee on the king. dmd heightens the contradiction between rigid scenario and expressive gameplay to such an extent that I don't necessarily think it's worth pursuing for most people.
by comparison, very hard was incredibly enjoyable and allowed total flexibility in approach, and its status as the american hard mode and lack of enemy DT made decision-making and routing less of an issue. that's totally fine! the game bursts to its seams with combat features that getting to freestyle more often isn't a detriment in the slightest. however, it must be said that getting to fight for my life through dmd, balancing issues aside, did satisfy that unique sense of routing and pre-planning that few others in the genre can attest to. the sheer difficulty and bulky enemies led me to incorporate techniques I would otherwise ignored, from guard-canceling reverb shocks with nevan to experimenting with artemis' upgrades in the gunslinger style; I still have so much to learn in terms of experimenting with each aspect of dante's toolkit. managing devil trigger as a resource also becomes so much more essential on dmd given the massive power of the DTE and its usefulness both for quick health and as a shield of sorts when mitigating an unavoidable attack. reading and watching the sheer variety of strategies across the game has become a meta-feature of the game's depth that has enraptured me since I began delving more into the game myself over the last few months. even the chessboard has a reasonable quicksilver strat, though to say this makes the fight significantly more interesting may be overselling it. dmc3's status as the harbringer of player-driven combat expression while still remaining entrenched in enemy-driven scenario solutions gives it a unique mechanical blend that cements it as an iconic pillar of the genre.
I certainly wouldn't hold it over anyone if they wanted to try the switch port and how it allows the player to use their entire arsenal simultaneously; the mayhem you can get up to is astonishing. hell, if I play dmd again it might be on that port just to see how it fundamentally changes the experience (I've heard that it evens out much of the annoying shit, especially regarding bosses). there certainly is something worth investigating here in its original form though that hasn't been replicated since; newer titles like astral chain that lean into the adventure elements are doing so having absorbed over a decade of AAA tropes since dmc3's release, and fresh titles like bayonetta 3 compartmentalize their setpieces while dmc3 makes them part and parcel with the combat. although the contradictory nature of this particular flavor of 3D action has unsurprisingly gone out of style, I still feel affectionate to the way it ushered in our modern conception of stylish combat while paying tribute to the RE-derived scenario design all these games owe so much to.
2004
nintendo salvaging the american gaming market with the release of the NES was the modern inflection point for our industry, in some ways that are less obvious than others. the console enshrined gaming as a medium with legitimacy beyond the original fad-like relevance of the atari VCS, but the centralization of this success around nintendo gave the company an uncomfortable amount of leverage. this immediately portended poorly with the simultaneous release of the console's killer app: super mario bros., which gestured to a sinister rejection of the console's original intent. look to the japanese launch line-up and you'll see arcade staples such as donkey kong and popeye; games that lauded precise, restricted play with definitive rules and short runtimes. super mario bros. was a refutation of this design philosophy in favor of the loosey-goosey variable jump heights, frequent health restoration items, and long hallways of copy-paste content replacing the tightly paced experiences that defined the era before. the NES still featured arguably the greatest console expressions of the rigorous arcade action experiences that defined the '80s - castlevania, ninja gaiden, and the early mega mans all come to mind - but the seeds super mario bros. planted would presage a shift into more and more experiences that coddled the player rather than testing their fortitude. in some ways, super mario bros. lit the match that would leave our gaming landscape in the smoldering ruins of the AAA design philosophy.
the '90s only deepened nintendo's exploration of trends that would further attempt to curb the arcade philosophy, which still floated on thanks to the valiant efforts of their competitors at sega, capcom, konami, and others. super mario world kicked off nintendo's 16-bit era with an explicitly non-linear world map that favored the illusion of charting unknown lands over the concrete reality of learning play fundamentals, and its pseudo-sequel yoshi's island would further de-emphasize actual platforming chops by giving the player a generous hover and grading them on their ability to pixel hunt for collectables rather than play well, but the most stunning example of nintendo's decadence in this era is undoubtedly donkey kong '94. the original donkey kong had four levels tightly wound around a fixed jump arc and limited ability for mario to deal with obstacles; its ostensible "remake" shat all over its legacy by infusing mario's toolkit with such ridiculous pablum such as exaggerated flip jumps, handstands, and other such acrobatics. by this point nintendo was engaging in blatant historical revisionism, turning this cornerstone of the genre into a bug-eyed circus romp, stuffed with dozens of new puzzle-centric levels that completely jettisoned any semblance of toolkit-oriented level design from the original game. and yet, this was the final fissure before the dam fully burst in 1996.
with the release of the nintendo 64 came the death knell of the industry: the analog stick. nintendo's most cunning engineers and depraved designers had cooked up a new way to hand unprecedented control to the player and tear down all obstacles standing in the way of the paternalistic head-pat of a "job well done" that came with finishing a game. with it also came this demonic interloper's physical vessel, super mario 64; the refined, sneering coalescence of all of nintendo's design tendencies up to this point. see here a game with enormous, previously unfathomable player expression, with virtually every objective solvable in myriad different ways to accommodate those who refuse to engage with the essential challenges the game offers. too lazy to even attempt some challenges at all? feel free to skip over a third of the game's "star" objectives on your way to the final boss; you can almost see the designers snickering as they copy-pasted objectives left and right, knowing that the majority of their player base would never even catch them in the act due to their zombie-like waddle to the atrociously easy finish line. even as arcade games stood proud at the apex of the early 3D era, super mario 64 pulled the ground out underneath them, leaving millions of gamers flocking to similar experiences bereft of the true game design fundamentals that had existed since the origination of the medium.
this context is long but hopefully sobering to you, the reader, likely a gamer so inoculated by the drip-feed of modern AAA slop that you likely have regarded super mario 64 as a milestone in 3D design up to now. yet, it also serves as a stark contrast to super mario 64 ds, a revelation and admission of guilt by nintendo a decade after their donkey kong remake plunged modern platformers into oblivion.
the d-pad alone is cool water against the brow of one in the throes of a desert of permissive design techniques. tightening up the input space from the shallow dazzle of an analog surface to the limitations of eight directions instantly reframes the way one looks at the open environments of the original super mario 64. sure, there's a touch screen option, but the awkward translation of a stick to the literal flat surface of the screen seems to be intentionally hobbled in order to encourage use of the d-pad. while moving in a straight line may still be simple, any sort of other action now begets a pause for reflection over the exact way one should proceed. is the sharp 45 or 90 degree turn to one side "good enough", or will I need to make a camera adjustment in-place? for this bridge, what combination of angles should I concoct in order to work through this section? the removal of analog control also forces the addition of an extra button to differentiate between running and walking, slapping the player on the wrist if they try to gently segue between the two states as in the original. the precision rewards those who aim to learn their way around the rapid shifts in speed while punishing those who hope they can squeak by with the same sloppy handling that the original game allowed.
on its own this change is crucial, but it still doesn't cure the ills of the original's permissive objective structure. however, the remake wisely adds a new character selection system that subtly injects routing fundamentals into the game's core. for starters: each of the characters has a separate moveset, and while some characters such as yoshi and luigi regrettably have the floaty hover and scuttle that I disdained in yoshi's island, it's at least balanced here by removing other key aspects of their kit such as wall jumps and punches. the addition of wario gives the game a proper "hard mode," with wario's lumbering speed and poor jump characteristics putting much-needed limiters on the game's handling. for objectives that now explicitly require wario to complete, the game is effectively barring you from abusing the superior movement of the original game by forcing you into a much more limited toolkit with rigid d-pad controls, the kind of limitations this game absolutely needed in order to shine.
that last point about objectives that specifically require a given character is key: the remake segments its objectives based on which characters are viable to use to complete them. however, while in some cases the game may telegraph which specific characters are required for a particular task, in many cases the "correct" solution is actually to bounce between the characters in real time. this is done by strategically placing hats for each of the characters throughout the map - some attached to enemies and some free-floating - which allow the player to switch on the fly. this adds new detours to the otherwise simple objectives that vastly increases their complexity: which toolkit is best suited for which part of each mission? how should my route be planned around the level to accommodate hats I need to pick up? will I be able to defeat an enemy that's guarding the hat if I had to? this decision-making fleshes out what was previously a mindless experience.
there's one additional element to this system that truly elevates it to something resembling the arcade experiences of yore. while you can enter a level as any character, entering as yoshi allows you to preemptively don the cap of any other character as you spawn in, preventing the player from having to back-track to switch characters. on the surface this seems like another ill-advised QoL feature, but some subtle features reveal something more fascinating. yoshi has no cap associated with him, so to play as him, one must enter the level with him. however, you often need to switch to another character in the middle of a level. how do you switch back? by taking damage. to solve the ridiculously overstuffed eight piece health bar of the original, this remake transforms it into a resource you expend in order to undergo transformation. sure, one could theoretically collect coins in order to replenish this resource, but this adds a new layer onto the routing that simply didn't exist in the original game, where there were so many ways to circumvent obstacles with the permissive controls that getting hit in the first place was often harder than completing the objective. by reframing the way that the player looks at their heath gauge, the game is calling to mind classic beat 'em ups, where the health gauge often doubled as a resource to expend for powerful AoE supers.
the game still suffers from much of the rotten design at the core of its forebear; these above changes are phenomenal additions, but they're grafted onto a framework that's crumbling as you delve into it. regardless, the effort is admirable. for a brief moment, nintendo offered an apology to all of those hurt by their curbstomping of the design philosophies that springboarded them into juggernaut status in the first place, and they revitalized classic design perspectives for many millions more who first entered the world of gaming after it had already been tainted by nintendo's misdeeds. the galaxy duology, released a few years after this game, attempted to rework the series from the ground up with a new appreciation for arcade design by limiting the bloated toolkit of previous games and linearizing levels, but the damage had already been done. the modern switch era has magnified nintendo's worst tendencies, putting proper execution and mechanical comprehension to the wayside as they accelerate the disturbing "the player is always right" principles that have infested their games since that original super mario bros. by looking at super mario 64 ds in this context, we at least get a glimpse of what a better world could have looked like had nintendo listened to their elders all along.
the '90s only deepened nintendo's exploration of trends that would further attempt to curb the arcade philosophy, which still floated on thanks to the valiant efforts of their competitors at sega, capcom, konami, and others. super mario world kicked off nintendo's 16-bit era with an explicitly non-linear world map that favored the illusion of charting unknown lands over the concrete reality of learning play fundamentals, and its pseudo-sequel yoshi's island would further de-emphasize actual platforming chops by giving the player a generous hover and grading them on their ability to pixel hunt for collectables rather than play well, but the most stunning example of nintendo's decadence in this era is undoubtedly donkey kong '94. the original donkey kong had four levels tightly wound around a fixed jump arc and limited ability for mario to deal with obstacles; its ostensible "remake" shat all over its legacy by infusing mario's toolkit with such ridiculous pablum such as exaggerated flip jumps, handstands, and other such acrobatics. by this point nintendo was engaging in blatant historical revisionism, turning this cornerstone of the genre into a bug-eyed circus romp, stuffed with dozens of new puzzle-centric levels that completely jettisoned any semblance of toolkit-oriented level design from the original game. and yet, this was the final fissure before the dam fully burst in 1996.
with the release of the nintendo 64 came the death knell of the industry: the analog stick. nintendo's most cunning engineers and depraved designers had cooked up a new way to hand unprecedented control to the player and tear down all obstacles standing in the way of the paternalistic head-pat of a "job well done" that came with finishing a game. with it also came this demonic interloper's physical vessel, super mario 64; the refined, sneering coalescence of all of nintendo's design tendencies up to this point. see here a game with enormous, previously unfathomable player expression, with virtually every objective solvable in myriad different ways to accommodate those who refuse to engage with the essential challenges the game offers. too lazy to even attempt some challenges at all? feel free to skip over a third of the game's "star" objectives on your way to the final boss; you can almost see the designers snickering as they copy-pasted objectives left and right, knowing that the majority of their player base would never even catch them in the act due to their zombie-like waddle to the atrociously easy finish line. even as arcade games stood proud at the apex of the early 3D era, super mario 64 pulled the ground out underneath them, leaving millions of gamers flocking to similar experiences bereft of the true game design fundamentals that had existed since the origination of the medium.
this context is long but hopefully sobering to you, the reader, likely a gamer so inoculated by the drip-feed of modern AAA slop that you likely have regarded super mario 64 as a milestone in 3D design up to now. yet, it also serves as a stark contrast to super mario 64 ds, a revelation and admission of guilt by nintendo a decade after their donkey kong remake plunged modern platformers into oblivion.
the d-pad alone is cool water against the brow of one in the throes of a desert of permissive design techniques. tightening up the input space from the shallow dazzle of an analog surface to the limitations of eight directions instantly reframes the way one looks at the open environments of the original super mario 64. sure, there's a touch screen option, but the awkward translation of a stick to the literal flat surface of the screen seems to be intentionally hobbled in order to encourage use of the d-pad. while moving in a straight line may still be simple, any sort of other action now begets a pause for reflection over the exact way one should proceed. is the sharp 45 or 90 degree turn to one side "good enough", or will I need to make a camera adjustment in-place? for this bridge, what combination of angles should I concoct in order to work through this section? the removal of analog control also forces the addition of an extra button to differentiate between running and walking, slapping the player on the wrist if they try to gently segue between the two states as in the original. the precision rewards those who aim to learn their way around the rapid shifts in speed while punishing those who hope they can squeak by with the same sloppy handling that the original game allowed.
on its own this change is crucial, but it still doesn't cure the ills of the original's permissive objective structure. however, the remake wisely adds a new character selection system that subtly injects routing fundamentals into the game's core. for starters: each of the characters has a separate moveset, and while some characters such as yoshi and luigi regrettably have the floaty hover and scuttle that I disdained in yoshi's island, it's at least balanced here by removing other key aspects of their kit such as wall jumps and punches. the addition of wario gives the game a proper "hard mode," with wario's lumbering speed and poor jump characteristics putting much-needed limiters on the game's handling. for objectives that now explicitly require wario to complete, the game is effectively barring you from abusing the superior movement of the original game by forcing you into a much more limited toolkit with rigid d-pad controls, the kind of limitations this game absolutely needed in order to shine.
that last point about objectives that specifically require a given character is key: the remake segments its objectives based on which characters are viable to use to complete them. however, while in some cases the game may telegraph which specific characters are required for a particular task, in many cases the "correct" solution is actually to bounce between the characters in real time. this is done by strategically placing hats for each of the characters throughout the map - some attached to enemies and some free-floating - which allow the player to switch on the fly. this adds new detours to the otherwise simple objectives that vastly increases their complexity: which toolkit is best suited for which part of each mission? how should my route be planned around the level to accommodate hats I need to pick up? will I be able to defeat an enemy that's guarding the hat if I had to? this decision-making fleshes out what was previously a mindless experience.
there's one additional element to this system that truly elevates it to something resembling the arcade experiences of yore. while you can enter a level as any character, entering as yoshi allows you to preemptively don the cap of any other character as you spawn in, preventing the player from having to back-track to switch characters. on the surface this seems like another ill-advised QoL feature, but some subtle features reveal something more fascinating. yoshi has no cap associated with him, so to play as him, one must enter the level with him. however, you often need to switch to another character in the middle of a level. how do you switch back? by taking damage. to solve the ridiculously overstuffed eight piece health bar of the original, this remake transforms it into a resource you expend in order to undergo transformation. sure, one could theoretically collect coins in order to replenish this resource, but this adds a new layer onto the routing that simply didn't exist in the original game, where there were so many ways to circumvent obstacles with the permissive controls that getting hit in the first place was often harder than completing the objective. by reframing the way that the player looks at their heath gauge, the game is calling to mind classic beat 'em ups, where the health gauge often doubled as a resource to expend for powerful AoE supers.
the game still suffers from much of the rotten design at the core of its forebear; these above changes are phenomenal additions, but they're grafted onto a framework that's crumbling as you delve into it. regardless, the effort is admirable. for a brief moment, nintendo offered an apology to all of those hurt by their curbstomping of the design philosophies that springboarded them into juggernaut status in the first place, and they revitalized classic design perspectives for many millions more who first entered the world of gaming after it had already been tainted by nintendo's misdeeds. the galaxy duology, released a few years after this game, attempted to rework the series from the ground up with a new appreciation for arcade design by limiting the bloated toolkit of previous games and linearizing levels, but the damage had already been done. the modern switch era has magnified nintendo's worst tendencies, putting proper execution and mechanical comprehension to the wayside as they accelerate the disturbing "the player is always right" principles that have infested their games since that original super mario bros. by looking at super mario 64 ds in this context, we at least get a glimpse of what a better world could have looked like had nintendo listened to their elders all along.
today marks the 20th anniversary of metal gear solid 2's release, and hideo kojima tweeted a bit in memory of developing the game so long ago. one tweet in particular stuck out to me though:
"LIBERTY and FREEDOM have different meanings, and MGS2 is not about singularity, but about the 'norms' of society having a will of their own."
the year before the release of mgs2, the norms that maintain the social fabric of the United States briefly reared their head to the public. the 2000 presidential election resulted in a contested florida count; a week-long war where the soldiers were lawyers and county election officials. the supreme court eventually stepped in and settled the matter out of the hands of the voters who supposedly drove the process in the first place, and the culture managed to digest this aberration of electoral procedure cleanly. when a much sillier repeat of this strategy took place 20 years later, there was little discourse about its relation to a time when a party actually did manage to steal an election openly with no consequence.
the point of the above is not to bemoan the "unfairness" of the situation (the choice did not really matter to the american people) but to observe how the american ideological ship rights itself even when it openly contradicts itself. much of our "freedom" yields from america's supposedly democratic structure allowing citizens to exert themselves politically, even as voting is shown to be vapid ritual and direct action is suppressed at every opportunity. yet even when these truths are so plainly evident, the shadow of american capital obscures or supplants the truth as necessary to keep the citizenry proud of the "liberty" they hold. kojima rationalizes this the work of artificial intelligence; a neural network kept fat off of the endless drip of online content, and trained to filter information for the benefit for international capitalist hegemony. the economic engine of the west's security far exceeds the abilities of any group of humans to protect, and must be handled by some sort of higher power; an omniscient american consciousness whether as a group of AIs inside an underwater fortress or a commmon understanding woven into us by the superstructure we exist in.
of course, I don't want to imply that all of the above came directly out of kojima's mind onto the page, especially since I find praises of games such as these to be inherently "anti-capitalist" to be cope in a lot of ways; the text simply does not have any coherent critique of capitalism itself. kojima has stated (paraphrased by tim rogers) that the plot here is "merely a jumble of things inspired by current events," and not a "postmodern literary statement." the thematic undercurrent of this game sometimes struggles to poke its head through all of the mess of plot elements at play: otacon cuckolding his father, the peter stillman false injury subplot, rose's desperate attempts to crack raiden's hardened exterior, the vampire who is lovers with a marine commander and then moves on his daughter who may or may not be able to deflect bullets, and revolver ocelot having liquid snake's personality inside his arm for some reason. what's unquestionable though is that kojima has a keen mind for rooting out legitimately disturbing facets of US hegemony and exposing them within his work both narratively and through the game mechanics.
much of this relies on raiden, or jack, the hapless operator commanded to infilitrate the big shell and rescue the president. his mission: to play in a role in a cataclysmic test that will prove that the patriots (the aforementioned norms, the ideological backbone of america) can organically influence the actions of people via tight control of the information given to them. part of this game's infamous obtuseness revolves around the fact that not only has raiden been misled by his supervisors, but the people he interacts with friend or foe also are acting on false information different than what raiden has. there are instances where raiden will parrot off the plot up to a given point and will be met with incredulous looks by whoever he's talking to that never remotely get resolved, and piecing together the real plot from this can be difficult. his main enemy: solidus snake, a man who has upheld the status quo of america both abroad in brutal secret military actions in africa as well as domestically as president of the united states. this is a man who has seen the superstructure and seeks to gain true liberty in transcending it; he's a man who has seen the true face of God and must be killed. even as raiden struggles to sort through his thoughts regarding all of this, he's pushed to duel solidus to the death to fulfill the patriots orders, and he has no choice in the matter. the patriots have organized the game for him and he (as the player's proxy) must participate. raiden has no alternate options, as his future is bound to the player's performance within the scope of the game, and he cannot disobey his direct inputs.
perhaps the best illustration of raiden's construction of consciousness over the course of the game is in the arsenal gear section. raiden up to now has been chasing the identity of snake for some time, both literally as he trails behind snake's actions within the game and conceptually as the patriots program the environment around him to resemble the shadow moses incident. after being tortured within the bowels of arsenal gear, raiden is released fully nude and must evade capture as he undergoes a sort of peristalis within AG's intestines. as he proves himself competent after shedding his loadout (mechanically inherited from snake), the real snake bestows upon him an identity of his own: a katana that becomes raiden's primary combat weapon for the final sections of the game. raiden's literal play mechanics develop beyond the idea of snake in this moment thanks to a clever design choice by the developers: the katana uses the previously unused right stick to control its slashes and actions. up to now players are unconsciously playing as snake to some extent, as raiden's control layout has matched snake's MGS1 layout. it is now that players learn how to play as raiden and how he functions as a character beyond the shadow of snake, as he self-actualizes both narratively and within the scope of the game's mechanics.
I don't know if the critical gaming institution was ready to accept the confidence mgs2 brought when it came out, however. obviously the character bait-and-switch turned off those who played solely to become snake; perhaps raiden was an ugly reflection in some ways, as an awkward and lithe protagonist with only virtual combat experience to speak of. the sheer complexity and inexplicable loose ends of the story turned off many more who were willing to explore what kojima has created, including the translator herself: Agness Kaku. even though I disagree with her critique of the script, I do not envy the draconian word count requirements that konami held her to or the strict 1:1 localization requirements kojima enforced after jeremy blaustein's creative liberties in the excellent translation of the first game. the result here is a script that is stilted and cumbersome compared to the snappy script of the original, which I'm sure turned off even more people than mentioned before. it's taken many years to truly cleanse mgs2's mixed reputation for those who originally experienced it: as an example, while I tend to like jeremy parish's work, his writing on mgs2 captures a snide attitude towards this game that has not aged well, whereas his more recent analysis of the game on retronauts has begun praising its prescience of modern american political life as he's reexamined the game, a move I applaud him for as a prominent games critic and historian.
in fact, it's parish's criticism of mgs2's gameplay that I want to use as a launching point to discuss the game's amazing stealth action, which really cements this title as one of the best games ever made in my eyes. mgs2 falls in a difficult spot between mgs1, arguably the first modern AAA game, and mgs3, a game with remarkably few restraints on player expression and another GOAT contender. it's hard for me to argue that mgs2 is better than mgs3; mgs2 is a leaner experience while mgs3 is a much more convoluted web of systems to memorize and clunky controls, but mgs3 is a pure stealth experience in terms of environment and scenario design in a way that mgs2 cannot approach. what mgs2 is not, however, is a rehash of mgs1, as parish's writing (linked below) accuses it of. while there are certainly similar aspects between events in mgs2 and mgs1, mgs2 builds upon these ideas to present something completely new for the genre. mechanically mgs2 is a perfect midpoint between 1 and 3 that rewards player ingenuity and quick decision-making within the bounds of the top-down format and segmented area structure of the original title.
mgs2 brings two major innovations to the series: first-person aiming and the AI squad system. guns in mgs1 are functionally useless outside of the many annoying action setpieces throughout the game, as the aiming is non-existent and there's no way to quickly take down guards with weapons. in that game this flaw is papered over by the fact that guards lack much any critical thinking beyond looking at anything directly within their cone of vision, and thus the game encourages sneaking behind enemies. in mgs2, you now have the ability to headshot or crotchshot enemies for quick takedowns, and with this power comes a slew of challenges that force the player to use this tool effectively. the game stations guards in locations that often actively keep you from slipping past them as a casual player, either from having other guards watch their back, or from patrolling areas that make your footsteps clearly audible, or by putting mission objectives in positions where guards block you at every turn from accessing them. to make matters more complicated, tranquilizing or killing a soldier leaves their body behind, which if seen by another soldier can quickly reveal your presence even if you are on the other end of the map. body disposal becomes an essential and nerve-racking endeavor that is further exacerbated by the fact that dragging bodies is slow, and stunned enemies will eventually wake again. rooms become a matter of determining which soldiers risk mission integrity the most when active, how to best deal with them, and how to hide them in such a way that you have just enough time to achieve your objective before the body is found.
further complicating matters, the squad in each room now does routine check-ups on one another to ensure the team has not been comprimised, as well as calling into HQ regularly to provide status updates. making an incorrect decision can have an extremely costly result if the squad becomes suspicious and calls in a search team to sniff you out; the most frightening parts of this game come from hiding in lockers or under cabinets praying that a search team will get lazy when they reach your location and leave you be. this also implements a hidden timer after you eliminate a guard, where your next objective must be finished before the rest of the squad catches wind of the fact that one of their own is missing. even worse is eliminating a squad leader, which could result in HQ realizing that no regular status report was radioed in and thus sending in a team to determine the status in person. it's a delicate interplay between all these mechanics, as any advantage you can gain over the forces against you can be lost just as quickly if you have not planned further movements in advance. taking out guards one by one linearly is simply not an option: you must consider the totality of your environment, plan accordingly, and then execute said plan correctly, often with elements you didn't consider interfering and forcing you into hiding mere meters away from your objective. it is endlessly claustrophobic on first attempts of this game, and truly imposes a sense of dread upon being discovered that I don't think other entries in this series ever capitalized on in the same way. of course, as you grow more experienced, you begin to find ways to push against these restrictions, and to the game's credit it offers a bounty of built-in ways to exploit the guards. shooting a soldier's radio or throwing a chaff grenade jams their tether to HQ and keeps them from calling for reinforcements even in the event that they encounter you, for instance, and you can hold up guards for free takedowns and to lead them away from other guards in the vicinity. steam pipes can be broken to scald guards, cameras can be shot to free up your traversal options, fire extinguishers can serve as makeshift smoke grenades, and you can even drop onto unsuspecting soldiers from a ledge in order to get an instant knockout. what makes this game different is no matter how far you push, the game will still find ways to punish you if you choose to lollygag given the ever-watchful eye of HQ upon you. your job is to catalog your available tools in your mind, use them when appropriate, and plan out your goals in advance as to avoid wasting time once you've begun interacting with the environment.
in terms of macro-design mgs2 also leapfrogs mgs1 to provide area layouts that take advantage of the new tools as well as encourage more exploration. mgs1 lays out its areas in straight lines in both discs of the game, making backtracking a bore, especially during sections such as retrieving the sniper rifle or using the temperature-controlled key cards. mgs2 areas are still heavily enclosed, but feature a greater amount of interconnectivity that allows the player to choose their routes, or for different difficulties to change which routes are accessible to the player when. in the two main open hubs in the game - the tanker area as well as Strut A of big shell - the player can freely travel between areas for the most part while still being naturally led to the next objectives. it helps that each area is roughly symmetrical, and as such the player need not struggle with understanding a complicated interconnected map. after the harrier fight, the game linearizes and begins focusing on more setpieces rather than full stealth sections, but after a more freeform first ~60% of the game this doesn't bother me much.
the environments themselves strike a radically different vibe than mgs1, which focused on snake clawing through the darkness of alaska juxtaposed against the glittering snow blanketing the island of shadow moses. big shell instead feels sterile, with its position far out into the hudson bay removing it from any spatial context as it sits above the water surrounded by mist. I sympathize with those who don't like this setting and its palette, as shadow moses is unquestionably the more memorable area. my interpretation of big shell is that its built purposefully as a "game-y," flat area; a training ground of sorts for raiden. the interiors ignore the oppressive chill of shadow moses in order to present an lifeless area that illustrates the banality of the villainy involved, and the clean order that the patriots impose. it's only as the game continues and the pageant the patriots have created begins to decompose that the aseptic facade collapses and raiden must overcome flooded hallways full of bloated bodies, flaming remannts of catwalks, and the blaring sirens of arsenal gear as he cleaves bodies in two and struggles against the framework imposed upon him.
one aspect where mgs2 is notably rushed is the boss selection: the main enemy organization Dead Cell has multiple members that evidently were cut in development even though they get brief mentions in the lore. unlike mgs1 where many of the fights are based in specific gimmicks, the bosses in mgs2 are spaced out much more and generally have multiple methods for how to take them down. the fatman fight always sticks out to me, both in sheer ridiculousness and in how it balances defusing the bombs fatman puts down with actually damaging him. balancing those two mechanics makes the fight more than just dodge-and-shoot, which is a fine design for a mgs fight but not always the most interesting. other fights such as olga and vamp sort of fall into the latter category, and then the rest feel a bit more gimmicky, generally leaning on some sort of non-standard weaponry. they're all good, but I wouldn't call them as memorable as the two games that sandwich it in the series, especially mgs3.
of course, there is much I haven't touched on in this review that I could continue to offer my thoughts on, such as the way the game begins violently rejecting the player from even playing it as they attempt to bend against the will of the patriots, or the way the game uses parallel events between mgs2 and mgs1 to confuse the player rather than give them some cynical "I get the reference" moment. perhaps this game's status as a "postmodern" masterpiece is simply because no other game has ever achieved this level of ludonarrative coherence, where the act of playing the game itself is relevant to the plot and subtextually reinforces the themes presented in the text. it's one thing to have fourth wall breaks, especially after the twists in this game were subsumed by gaming mass media and diluted into sillier configurations, but this game refuses to use them only as parlor tricks and instead weaves them into a broader narrative about the control of information and individual agency that resonates at a time when people are hyperaware of the context of their era and yet absolutely powerless to influence it. it's a game where even multiple legendary soldiers are unable to buck machinations of a country that are entirely beyond them, and where they must live with this doomed knowledge whether they choose to feebly resist it or not. in many ways, this is a game that was far ahead of its time and lacks an inheritor of its legacy as both one of the most fantastic action games ever created and one of the few titles that capitalizes on video game's unique traits as an equal form of art and sport.
"LIBERTY and FREEDOM have different meanings, and MGS2 is not about singularity, but about the 'norms' of society having a will of their own."
the year before the release of mgs2, the norms that maintain the social fabric of the United States briefly reared their head to the public. the 2000 presidential election resulted in a contested florida count; a week-long war where the soldiers were lawyers and county election officials. the supreme court eventually stepped in and settled the matter out of the hands of the voters who supposedly drove the process in the first place, and the culture managed to digest this aberration of electoral procedure cleanly. when a much sillier repeat of this strategy took place 20 years later, there was little discourse about its relation to a time when a party actually did manage to steal an election openly with no consequence.
the point of the above is not to bemoan the "unfairness" of the situation (the choice did not really matter to the american people) but to observe how the american ideological ship rights itself even when it openly contradicts itself. much of our "freedom" yields from america's supposedly democratic structure allowing citizens to exert themselves politically, even as voting is shown to be vapid ritual and direct action is suppressed at every opportunity. yet even when these truths are so plainly evident, the shadow of american capital obscures or supplants the truth as necessary to keep the citizenry proud of the "liberty" they hold. kojima rationalizes this the work of artificial intelligence; a neural network kept fat off of the endless drip of online content, and trained to filter information for the benefit for international capitalist hegemony. the economic engine of the west's security far exceeds the abilities of any group of humans to protect, and must be handled by some sort of higher power; an omniscient american consciousness whether as a group of AIs inside an underwater fortress or a commmon understanding woven into us by the superstructure we exist in.
of course, I don't want to imply that all of the above came directly out of kojima's mind onto the page, especially since I find praises of games such as these to be inherently "anti-capitalist" to be cope in a lot of ways; the text simply does not have any coherent critique of capitalism itself. kojima has stated (paraphrased by tim rogers) that the plot here is "merely a jumble of things inspired by current events," and not a "postmodern literary statement." the thematic undercurrent of this game sometimes struggles to poke its head through all of the mess of plot elements at play: otacon cuckolding his father, the peter stillman false injury subplot, rose's desperate attempts to crack raiden's hardened exterior, the vampire who is lovers with a marine commander and then moves on his daughter who may or may not be able to deflect bullets, and revolver ocelot having liquid snake's personality inside his arm for some reason. what's unquestionable though is that kojima has a keen mind for rooting out legitimately disturbing facets of US hegemony and exposing them within his work both narratively and through the game mechanics.
much of this relies on raiden, or jack, the hapless operator commanded to infilitrate the big shell and rescue the president. his mission: to play in a role in a cataclysmic test that will prove that the patriots (the aforementioned norms, the ideological backbone of america) can organically influence the actions of people via tight control of the information given to them. part of this game's infamous obtuseness revolves around the fact that not only has raiden been misled by his supervisors, but the people he interacts with friend or foe also are acting on false information different than what raiden has. there are instances where raiden will parrot off the plot up to a given point and will be met with incredulous looks by whoever he's talking to that never remotely get resolved, and piecing together the real plot from this can be difficult. his main enemy: solidus snake, a man who has upheld the status quo of america both abroad in brutal secret military actions in africa as well as domestically as president of the united states. this is a man who has seen the superstructure and seeks to gain true liberty in transcending it; he's a man who has seen the true face of God and must be killed. even as raiden struggles to sort through his thoughts regarding all of this, he's pushed to duel solidus to the death to fulfill the patriots orders, and he has no choice in the matter. the patriots have organized the game for him and he (as the player's proxy) must participate. raiden has no alternate options, as his future is bound to the player's performance within the scope of the game, and he cannot disobey his direct inputs.
perhaps the best illustration of raiden's construction of consciousness over the course of the game is in the arsenal gear section. raiden up to now has been chasing the identity of snake for some time, both literally as he trails behind snake's actions within the game and conceptually as the patriots program the environment around him to resemble the shadow moses incident. after being tortured within the bowels of arsenal gear, raiden is released fully nude and must evade capture as he undergoes a sort of peristalis within AG's intestines. as he proves himself competent after shedding his loadout (mechanically inherited from snake), the real snake bestows upon him an identity of his own: a katana that becomes raiden's primary combat weapon for the final sections of the game. raiden's literal play mechanics develop beyond the idea of snake in this moment thanks to a clever design choice by the developers: the katana uses the previously unused right stick to control its slashes and actions. up to now players are unconsciously playing as snake to some extent, as raiden's control layout has matched snake's MGS1 layout. it is now that players learn how to play as raiden and how he functions as a character beyond the shadow of snake, as he self-actualizes both narratively and within the scope of the game's mechanics.
I don't know if the critical gaming institution was ready to accept the confidence mgs2 brought when it came out, however. obviously the character bait-and-switch turned off those who played solely to become snake; perhaps raiden was an ugly reflection in some ways, as an awkward and lithe protagonist with only virtual combat experience to speak of. the sheer complexity and inexplicable loose ends of the story turned off many more who were willing to explore what kojima has created, including the translator herself: Agness Kaku. even though I disagree with her critique of the script, I do not envy the draconian word count requirements that konami held her to or the strict 1:1 localization requirements kojima enforced after jeremy blaustein's creative liberties in the excellent translation of the first game. the result here is a script that is stilted and cumbersome compared to the snappy script of the original, which I'm sure turned off even more people than mentioned before. it's taken many years to truly cleanse mgs2's mixed reputation for those who originally experienced it: as an example, while I tend to like jeremy parish's work, his writing on mgs2 captures a snide attitude towards this game that has not aged well, whereas his more recent analysis of the game on retronauts has begun praising its prescience of modern american political life as he's reexamined the game, a move I applaud him for as a prominent games critic and historian.
in fact, it's parish's criticism of mgs2's gameplay that I want to use as a launching point to discuss the game's amazing stealth action, which really cements this title as one of the best games ever made in my eyes. mgs2 falls in a difficult spot between mgs1, arguably the first modern AAA game, and mgs3, a game with remarkably few restraints on player expression and another GOAT contender. it's hard for me to argue that mgs2 is better than mgs3; mgs2 is a leaner experience while mgs3 is a much more convoluted web of systems to memorize and clunky controls, but mgs3 is a pure stealth experience in terms of environment and scenario design in a way that mgs2 cannot approach. what mgs2 is not, however, is a rehash of mgs1, as parish's writing (linked below) accuses it of. while there are certainly similar aspects between events in mgs2 and mgs1, mgs2 builds upon these ideas to present something completely new for the genre. mechanically mgs2 is a perfect midpoint between 1 and 3 that rewards player ingenuity and quick decision-making within the bounds of the top-down format and segmented area structure of the original title.
mgs2 brings two major innovations to the series: first-person aiming and the AI squad system. guns in mgs1 are functionally useless outside of the many annoying action setpieces throughout the game, as the aiming is non-existent and there's no way to quickly take down guards with weapons. in that game this flaw is papered over by the fact that guards lack much any critical thinking beyond looking at anything directly within their cone of vision, and thus the game encourages sneaking behind enemies. in mgs2, you now have the ability to headshot or crotchshot enemies for quick takedowns, and with this power comes a slew of challenges that force the player to use this tool effectively. the game stations guards in locations that often actively keep you from slipping past them as a casual player, either from having other guards watch their back, or from patrolling areas that make your footsteps clearly audible, or by putting mission objectives in positions where guards block you at every turn from accessing them. to make matters more complicated, tranquilizing or killing a soldier leaves their body behind, which if seen by another soldier can quickly reveal your presence even if you are on the other end of the map. body disposal becomes an essential and nerve-racking endeavor that is further exacerbated by the fact that dragging bodies is slow, and stunned enemies will eventually wake again. rooms become a matter of determining which soldiers risk mission integrity the most when active, how to best deal with them, and how to hide them in such a way that you have just enough time to achieve your objective before the body is found.
further complicating matters, the squad in each room now does routine check-ups on one another to ensure the team has not been comprimised, as well as calling into HQ regularly to provide status updates. making an incorrect decision can have an extremely costly result if the squad becomes suspicious and calls in a search team to sniff you out; the most frightening parts of this game come from hiding in lockers or under cabinets praying that a search team will get lazy when they reach your location and leave you be. this also implements a hidden timer after you eliminate a guard, where your next objective must be finished before the rest of the squad catches wind of the fact that one of their own is missing. even worse is eliminating a squad leader, which could result in HQ realizing that no regular status report was radioed in and thus sending in a team to determine the status in person. it's a delicate interplay between all these mechanics, as any advantage you can gain over the forces against you can be lost just as quickly if you have not planned further movements in advance. taking out guards one by one linearly is simply not an option: you must consider the totality of your environment, plan accordingly, and then execute said plan correctly, often with elements you didn't consider interfering and forcing you into hiding mere meters away from your objective. it is endlessly claustrophobic on first attempts of this game, and truly imposes a sense of dread upon being discovered that I don't think other entries in this series ever capitalized on in the same way. of course, as you grow more experienced, you begin to find ways to push against these restrictions, and to the game's credit it offers a bounty of built-in ways to exploit the guards. shooting a soldier's radio or throwing a chaff grenade jams their tether to HQ and keeps them from calling for reinforcements even in the event that they encounter you, for instance, and you can hold up guards for free takedowns and to lead them away from other guards in the vicinity. steam pipes can be broken to scald guards, cameras can be shot to free up your traversal options, fire extinguishers can serve as makeshift smoke grenades, and you can even drop onto unsuspecting soldiers from a ledge in order to get an instant knockout. what makes this game different is no matter how far you push, the game will still find ways to punish you if you choose to lollygag given the ever-watchful eye of HQ upon you. your job is to catalog your available tools in your mind, use them when appropriate, and plan out your goals in advance as to avoid wasting time once you've begun interacting with the environment.
in terms of macro-design mgs2 also leapfrogs mgs1 to provide area layouts that take advantage of the new tools as well as encourage more exploration. mgs1 lays out its areas in straight lines in both discs of the game, making backtracking a bore, especially during sections such as retrieving the sniper rifle or using the temperature-controlled key cards. mgs2 areas are still heavily enclosed, but feature a greater amount of interconnectivity that allows the player to choose their routes, or for different difficulties to change which routes are accessible to the player when. in the two main open hubs in the game - the tanker area as well as Strut A of big shell - the player can freely travel between areas for the most part while still being naturally led to the next objectives. it helps that each area is roughly symmetrical, and as such the player need not struggle with understanding a complicated interconnected map. after the harrier fight, the game linearizes and begins focusing on more setpieces rather than full stealth sections, but after a more freeform first ~60% of the game this doesn't bother me much.
the environments themselves strike a radically different vibe than mgs1, which focused on snake clawing through the darkness of alaska juxtaposed against the glittering snow blanketing the island of shadow moses. big shell instead feels sterile, with its position far out into the hudson bay removing it from any spatial context as it sits above the water surrounded by mist. I sympathize with those who don't like this setting and its palette, as shadow moses is unquestionably the more memorable area. my interpretation of big shell is that its built purposefully as a "game-y," flat area; a training ground of sorts for raiden. the interiors ignore the oppressive chill of shadow moses in order to present an lifeless area that illustrates the banality of the villainy involved, and the clean order that the patriots impose. it's only as the game continues and the pageant the patriots have created begins to decompose that the aseptic facade collapses and raiden must overcome flooded hallways full of bloated bodies, flaming remannts of catwalks, and the blaring sirens of arsenal gear as he cleaves bodies in two and struggles against the framework imposed upon him.
one aspect where mgs2 is notably rushed is the boss selection: the main enemy organization Dead Cell has multiple members that evidently were cut in development even though they get brief mentions in the lore. unlike mgs1 where many of the fights are based in specific gimmicks, the bosses in mgs2 are spaced out much more and generally have multiple methods for how to take them down. the fatman fight always sticks out to me, both in sheer ridiculousness and in how it balances defusing the bombs fatman puts down with actually damaging him. balancing those two mechanics makes the fight more than just dodge-and-shoot, which is a fine design for a mgs fight but not always the most interesting. other fights such as olga and vamp sort of fall into the latter category, and then the rest feel a bit more gimmicky, generally leaning on some sort of non-standard weaponry. they're all good, but I wouldn't call them as memorable as the two games that sandwich it in the series, especially mgs3.
of course, there is much I haven't touched on in this review that I could continue to offer my thoughts on, such as the way the game begins violently rejecting the player from even playing it as they attempt to bend against the will of the patriots, or the way the game uses parallel events between mgs2 and mgs1 to confuse the player rather than give them some cynical "I get the reference" moment. perhaps this game's status as a "postmodern" masterpiece is simply because no other game has ever achieved this level of ludonarrative coherence, where the act of playing the game itself is relevant to the plot and subtextually reinforces the themes presented in the text. it's one thing to have fourth wall breaks, especially after the twists in this game were subsumed by gaming mass media and diluted into sillier configurations, but this game refuses to use them only as parlor tricks and instead weaves them into a broader narrative about the control of information and individual agency that resonates at a time when people are hyperaware of the context of their era and yet absolutely powerless to influence it. it's a game where even multiple legendary soldiers are unable to buck machinations of a country that are entirely beyond them, and where they must live with this doomed knowledge whether they choose to feebly resist it or not. in many ways, this is a game that was far ahead of its time and lacks an inheritor of its legacy as both one of the most fantastic action games ever created and one of the few titles that capitalizes on video game's unique traits as an equal form of art and sport.
part of the reason I love old-school sega games is because I just love the way their games feel. games designed by sega straddle the line between nuanced, logical physics and exaggerated, arcade-y physics with aplomb. the sega rally series captures this perfectly, where the terrain material and topography are intimately factored into the performance of your car while at the same time you can perfectly drift around corners and fly over hills with a bit of squash-and-stretch going on. the tightrope here is between making the player feel like they're in total control of the car (with the consequences that result) while simultaneously hand-waving the internal mechanisms that limit player expression. the early monkey ball games are the same way: the level design is punishing yet it's addicting because any strategy you devise can probably work thanks to how controllable the ball is. it's why I've stuck with this series so long: from barely making it past beginner as a young child, to learning the extra levels as a high schooler, to finally conquering master and master extra in both games as I whittled away time during a global lockdown.
that being said, I didn't want to go into this game with unrealistic hopes. I knew the original engine was not being used here, so I figured it probably would be a bit stiffer and maybe a little hand-holdy. after all, this remake is partially meant to introduce new players and give them leverage to actually succeed in comparison to the original games, where over half of the levels were tucked behind some serious execution barriers. when I popped it in for the first time this mostly held true: I ran smb1 beginner (newly christened as "casual") without much issue. it wasn't until I touched smb1 expert immediately after...
167 deaths. 167 deaths without including expert extra no less, which I accidentally voided myself out of thanks to misreading the helper option menu that pops up automatically (protip to UI designers: don't make both your selected and unselected options bright colors!!!). these levels are no cakewalk, let's be clear, but I know these levels by the back of my hand. I've 1cc'd expert + expert extra in the original many many times, and even now out of practice I can manage 10 - 15 deaths. it just shocked me that this game felt so different, and so much less precise. in a lot of ways it felt like the original levels popped into Unity with a basic sphere physics plugin, and the results were not pretty. my roommates (also long-time monkey ball fans) also immediately wrote off the game after playing it. even though we had been so hype about finally getting an HD monkey ball - a monkey ball game that wasn't garbage and didn't require us to pull out our CRT - all of our energy immediately dissapated once we got our hands on the game.
so what exactly is the issue here? basically everyone agrees that the physics in this game are noticably different from that of the original, but I want to delve into why. after playing this game for quite a bit (all of story mode, up through master mode in smb1, all the deluxe levels, and poking around into other stuff here and there) I think I've narrowed it down to frictional differences between the two games. for those of you who haven't taken high school physics in some time, let me present the equation f = μN, where f is the frictional force applied parallel to surface we are moving upon (usually horizontally), μ is the coefficient of friction, and N is the normal force applied perpendicular to the surface (hence the name "normal"). before your eyes glaze over, let me connect these to some intangible game-feel statements:
coefficient of friction: this refers to how difficult it is to move over a material; for example, it accounts for why it's more difficult to slide your coffee table when it's on a shaggy carpet versus a finished wood floor. as it relates to the how it feels in this game, I'll borrow a quote from my roommate when he was playing the game: "it feels like every single floor is made out of glass"
normal force: this refers to how hard the object is pushing down on the surface, which in this case mainly refers to the gravitational force the object exerts. this scales with the mass, so we can think of it as how much the object weighs; a cardboard box is a lot easier to move than a full wardrobe. this affects the game-feel, as my girlfriend eloquently put: "it's like there's no monkey at all, and you're just rolling around a hollow ball"
so tldr: there's a severe lack of friction in this game in comparison to the original. in the original game, the ball was weighty, and the friction on the goal posts or ledges allows you to grip them easily (and a bit unrealistically for that matter). these things are boons to the player that go a long way towards making impossible looking courses just barely doable with practice. here the stages refuse to budge when you try to force them to, and you end up without a lot of the gravity-defying tricks you could initially pull off. I'll give some examples of situations that pop up that break under the new physics:
stopping the ball: this took a lot of adjustment for me, and while it's just a matter of relearning muscle memory it very noticeably makes some stages harder. in the original game you could stop pretty much on a dime (unless you were rolling to the point of sparks flying), whereas here the ball will sliiiiiiiide all over the place unless you very deliberately deccelerate. this is more of a general issue but a good example of where this becomes frustrating is Twin Cross, where you're expected to roll across a series of 1x1 tiles in diagonal lines. you need to keep a certain level of speed up to avoid falling off when crossing the corners of two tiles, but then also must deccelerate at the right moment to keep your ball from flying off at the end of a line (which itself is just a 1x1 tile floating in space). Edge Master also becomes more annoying than its prior appearances thanks to this issue, as staying within the bounds of the upward face of the first rotation becomes very precise given how much speed you gain when the stage rotates.
narrow lines: approach a ledge in this game and you'll notice that the bottom of your ball will just be barely close to the ledge when your character starts trembling and attempting to balance themself. compare that to the original, where the characters won't start said animation until their feet are literally touching the ledge, far closer to the center of mass for the ball. you basically have a lot less wiggle room on the edge, and it can become very apparent in certain levels that depend on this. kudos to the dev team for adjust Catwalk to accommodate, but on the flipside look at Invasion. I'd say this level was middle of the road in terms of its original difficulty, but here it's fucking brutal towards the end, where you're expected to navigate in a curve on a ledge around staggered bumpers. comments I've read on early gameplay capture on youtube were quick to point to this stage as one of the biggest difficulty bumps for a remade stage.
slopes: friction is the reason why we don't instantly slide down slopes in real life, hence why we use snowboards and skis instead of just standing on mountains waiting to gain speed. however, in monkey ball the goal is usually not to slide down slopes unless you're explicitly supposed to, and many levels depend on you being able to balance yourself on slopes either while waiting for a cycle or when speeding through before you have a chance to fall off. Drum and Twister back-to-back in smb1's ice world were originally breather stages, where you simply had to keep yourself balanced in brief intervals before reaching the goal. here they became much more precise than I feel was intended, as even slightly moving from the narrow top of the curve on either of these levels will send you careening to your death with no recourse. from smb2 I can absolutely not forget to mention Warp... oh my god Warp. this level was already surprisingly difficult in smb2, given that the flatter part of the curves here are covered with bumpers and maintaing yourself on a slope is already a trickier technique to learn (I see a lot of more casual players get stuck on Floor Bent from smb1 for this reason). here it's nigh impossible to do thanks to how little grip you have. Cross Floors is another smb2 example that requires a lot of practice in the original and here feels terrible to attempt.
centripedal force: some of you may have seen charity donation recepticles shaped like curved funnels (I've seen them in american malls at least), where you can put a coin into a slot and it will spiral around the funnel down and down until falling through a hole at the bottom, much like water spinning in a drain. there are multiple areas in the original monkey ball games that utilize this phenomenon to great effect, and it relies on the friction of the slope or wall that the ball is on to keep it from dropping out. however, when I first played Spiral Hard in this game, I was very surprised to find that I could not simply drop in as I was accustomed to, as even with a decent amount of speed the ball does not grab onto the slope and instead falls off. it took me several tries to successfully drop in, where I had to come in with an exceptional amount of speed, heavily tilt against the slope to avoid falling off, try to balance out before I lost the speed I needed to stay in, and then continue on my way. this level is already difficult enough as is, with a path that narrows the further it spirals down and a goal that is difficult to aim for, so I don't see why dropping in needs to also require a lot of set up when it didn't originally. the end of Stamina Master is also much more difficult than before thanks to this, as the spiral towards the end becomes nearly vertical, and I would often drop out of it completely before I reached the goal. the pipe stages also seem to struggle with keeping you moving, such as the smb1 expert extra stage Curl Pipe, where the second hill virtually always stopped me dead in my tracks (though I've had this happen occasionally in the original as well).
this would be a good time for me to also mention how the camera has changed significantly from the original games. the camera used to rather aggressively stick to the ball's back, whereas here the camera will follow your stick without really staying glued to a particular orientation on the ball. to solve this there is now camera control on the right-stick... this sort of defeats the purpose of the original one-giant-banana-joystick control scheme, but I'm sure plenty of players will feel more comfortable with it there. the big issue here comes when trying to line up straight lines: in the original game it was very doable to turn in place with the camera lining up directly with the center of the monkey's back. here it's already hard enough to turn in place given that you slide around with so little provocation, and now you must center the camera manually using... non-analog controls? yes, the right stick does not seem to have a real gradient of turning from my time playing with it, giving it little more functionality than d-pad camera controls. you can at least adjust camera sensitivity, but I feel like you're forced to sometimes go in and change it per stage, ie high sensitivity for when you need to turn quickly or steadily on fast stages, and low sensitivity when you line up precise shots. the latter was a necessity on Exam-C (a particularly infamous stage) and the aforementioned Twin Cross, as well as Checker, and it made all three of these stages much more tedious than I would've liked. sometimes the camera just breaks entirely, most notably on Centrifugal from smb2, where the speed of rotation in the giant wheel of death causes the camera to get stuck outside the level geometry, or flip in front of you to mess up the angle you're tilting the stage in.
I wanted to include this diatribe about the physics in here just to have some sort of document with the issues I've noticed with this game, and as to provide a detailed summary of why and where the physics are different without just saying they are. players who know the levels above might have noticed that they're virtually all pulled from expert and master: this is because the beginner and advanced difficulties (casual and normal) are totally playable regardless of the changes. that is not to say they aren't still difficult (I still have not beaten Polar Large in this game and, much to my consternation, can not even figure out a good route through it for some reason) but if you're coming in just to fuck around a bit, play through part of story mode, enjoy the cameos, and play minigames with friends, you're not going to notice the different game-feel to the extent of it being overbearing. on the flipside, I do feel justified in presenting my opinions on this in pedantic detail because beginner and advanced only make up 108 stages out of the 258 total stages between the non-DX games, which is to say that for over half of the game you will likely notice what I mentioned above unless you have never played the originals.
regardless of everything listed above, I've actually rated this one a bit higher than super monkey ball deluxe, a collection that still has the original physics intact. my rationale: banana mania is an amazing package overall. what honestly frustrates me more than anything about this game is that it perfectly captures the features and content I'd want in a remake of these games without the tight gameplay I originally adored in the originals. whereas deluxe (on ps2 mind you) was a poorly performing mess with overly-long course structure and a lack of improvements over smb2, this game is packed to the brim with extra modes, great cameo characters, and accesibility features. not everything really hits, but I appreciate how much effort and material there is here with so little development time.
the main game specifically deliminates between the first two games for its courses, unlike deluxe where stages from both games were interleaved. each course is 1:1 with their original set of stages, with extra stages now being unlocked if all the regular stages were completed without the helper functions active. master mode for smb1 is now accessible just by completing expert without the 1cc requirement or even extra stages being finished. there are also marathon modes for each, which while not as wild as the ultimate course from deluxe, still are great additions. stages in both have been rebalanced, with the original layouts being included in a special purchaseable game mode. overall the rebalances were really well done: probably the most notable for me was Arthopod, a stage from smb2 that was complete bullshit originally and has now been made less annoying to deal with by far by removing gaps. virtually all of smb1 master was rebalanced as well, with Stamina Master getting a much-needed nerf to its infamous middle 1x1 moving tile balancing section (which balances out the more difficult first and last sections a bit). the other master changes honestly make some of the stages like Dodge Master and Dance Master trivial, but I don't really mind considering that the requirements for obtaining master are less restrictive now. other changes are more subtle, such as adding curved inlets to the titular launchers in Launchers (which honestly don't help very much) or an extra 30 seconds for the timer in Exam-C (which helps an insane amount).
there's a story mode identical to that of smb2, with truncated cutscenes in mime retelling the lovably bizarre plot of the original. personally I don't mind this change, as the story isn't really that important or complicated. I'm a little puzzled at why they didn't use the expanded worlds of deluxe's story mode, but it's not a big difference either way. as I mentioned prior stages that were changed have their original versions present in a standalone mode, and all of the deluxe-exclusive levels have a mode as well. playing through them all back to back, I have to say I still like them for the most part, as there's a lot of great ideas present (maybe one too many maze stages tho). there are also a few modes that remix the levels. golden banana mode is probably the best of these, where you need to collect every banana in a stage in order to clear it. this actually changes how the stages need to be approached quite a bit. the opposite of this is dark banana mode, where any banana touched instantly causes a game over. while the idea is good in concept, they're designed for a level of precision I just don't think exists in this game. finally there's reverse mode, where certain levels start you at the goal and make you work your way back to the starting point. the best level of these is Free Throw, where they make you throw yourself backwards onto the starting platform in a cool twist. the others mainly just require you to tread the same path as whatever the hardest goal is, so they come across as rather redundant.
minigames are also back in full force, with all of the features from deluxe retained to my knowledge. the big thing that turned me off here was the lack of alternating multiplayer, which even in a patch could be such a trivial addition. I bought this on ps4, where I don't really have extra controllers to work with, and it's frustrating that my roommates and I can't play monkey target or billiards by passing the controller around. overall the minigames seem to be pretty much as I remember them from the old games, with all the customization you could want to boot. I can't really pretend something like monkey race isn't scuffed as fuck, but they were in the originals as well so it's pretty faithful. all that I played other than monkey target look very solid... monkey target is honestly a "Made in Dreams"-ass game here, but it's so annoying in its original form that I'll let it slide here. most of the other games here I can just experience via yakuza or really don't care that much about, beyond perhaps trying to go for completion later down the line.
I also wanted to briefly mention the art design for both the menus and the levels, which are absolutely phenomenal. beyond some UI nitpicks I mentioned earlier I think the interface is very clear and clean, and feels like an accurate translation from the older games to a modern style. the world designs are really gorgeous, and blew me away with their accuracy. I really would not have thought a quickie project for RGG would capture the style and detail of the original worlds so well in HD, but they absolutely nailed it here. the banana blitz-era monkey designs I'm not crazy about but they do the job fine, and the cutesy redesigns of kiryu and beat are so fun; I still can't believe they're in the game!! the music has all been remixed as well, though I personally think they're pretty middling overall. the original soundtracks are legendary so I definitely didn't expect them to live up here, but they really veer into tacky EDM territory more often than I would like.
finally, I wanted to bring up the accessibility options, which are much-needed additions for newer fans looking to try the series out. you can use helper functions in each level to double the timer as well as open up a very useful slow motion mode for the cost of receiving no points upon clearing the level and disabling the extra stages for the course. I messed around with these a bit and I think they do a good job of covering the bases for someone learning a given stage. if stage is too taxing, you can also pay 2000 banana coins to mark it as cleared. which is a hefty toll but honestly worth it when poking around in the special modes to skip annoying levels that would take a lot of practice. finally, the jump from banana blitz has been added in as a purchaseable item, and surprisingly it doesn't void trophies/extra stuff like the helper functions (though it can't be used in ranking mode). when watching trailers I thought I wouldn't touch this at all but I decided to try it out when struggling on Warp and wow did it really save my ass. because the jump wasn't present in the original games, it opens up a lot of ways to break previously challenging level design, and honestly that became the most fun part of the game for me at points. skipping all of the tiring maze levels from smb2 feels so great, and I even managed to pull off a strat equivalent to the speedrun route for Stamina Master by jumping at the peak of the first ramp. it honestly made the final worlds of story mode a lot more enjoyable given how many frustrating and gimmicky levels are contained within it (they were bad in the original too, not just this game). when I eventually get around to smb2 master and master extra, I'm sure I'll have fun finding ways to break levels that originally took me dozens of lives to beat.
I think I've exhaustively covered every aspect of this game that I've played so far... and now that I've finished this giant wall of text I can finally move onto some other games. I don't think I've wasted my time with this game at all, and I'm glad this package exists, but man does it really not scratch that itch that the original games do. perhaps an engine on par with the original simply isn't capable of happening without the original source code available... but at the end of the day I'll still have the original games to return to when I really want to experience monkey ball as it originally felt.
that being said, I didn't want to go into this game with unrealistic hopes. I knew the original engine was not being used here, so I figured it probably would be a bit stiffer and maybe a little hand-holdy. after all, this remake is partially meant to introduce new players and give them leverage to actually succeed in comparison to the original games, where over half of the levels were tucked behind some serious execution barriers. when I popped it in for the first time this mostly held true: I ran smb1 beginner (newly christened as "casual") without much issue. it wasn't until I touched smb1 expert immediately after...
167 deaths. 167 deaths without including expert extra no less, which I accidentally voided myself out of thanks to misreading the helper option menu that pops up automatically (protip to UI designers: don't make both your selected and unselected options bright colors!!!). these levels are no cakewalk, let's be clear, but I know these levels by the back of my hand. I've 1cc'd expert + expert extra in the original many many times, and even now out of practice I can manage 10 - 15 deaths. it just shocked me that this game felt so different, and so much less precise. in a lot of ways it felt like the original levels popped into Unity with a basic sphere physics plugin, and the results were not pretty. my roommates (also long-time monkey ball fans) also immediately wrote off the game after playing it. even though we had been so hype about finally getting an HD monkey ball - a monkey ball game that wasn't garbage and didn't require us to pull out our CRT - all of our energy immediately dissapated once we got our hands on the game.
so what exactly is the issue here? basically everyone agrees that the physics in this game are noticably different from that of the original, but I want to delve into why. after playing this game for quite a bit (all of story mode, up through master mode in smb1, all the deluxe levels, and poking around into other stuff here and there) I think I've narrowed it down to frictional differences between the two games. for those of you who haven't taken high school physics in some time, let me present the equation f = μN, where f is the frictional force applied parallel to surface we are moving upon (usually horizontally), μ is the coefficient of friction, and N is the normal force applied perpendicular to the surface (hence the name "normal"). before your eyes glaze over, let me connect these to some intangible game-feel statements:
coefficient of friction: this refers to how difficult it is to move over a material; for example, it accounts for why it's more difficult to slide your coffee table when it's on a shaggy carpet versus a finished wood floor. as it relates to the how it feels in this game, I'll borrow a quote from my roommate when he was playing the game: "it feels like every single floor is made out of glass"
normal force: this refers to how hard the object is pushing down on the surface, which in this case mainly refers to the gravitational force the object exerts. this scales with the mass, so we can think of it as how much the object weighs; a cardboard box is a lot easier to move than a full wardrobe. this affects the game-feel, as my girlfriend eloquently put: "it's like there's no monkey at all, and you're just rolling around a hollow ball"
so tldr: there's a severe lack of friction in this game in comparison to the original. in the original game, the ball was weighty, and the friction on the goal posts or ledges allows you to grip them easily (and a bit unrealistically for that matter). these things are boons to the player that go a long way towards making impossible looking courses just barely doable with practice. here the stages refuse to budge when you try to force them to, and you end up without a lot of the gravity-defying tricks you could initially pull off. I'll give some examples of situations that pop up that break under the new physics:
stopping the ball: this took a lot of adjustment for me, and while it's just a matter of relearning muscle memory it very noticeably makes some stages harder. in the original game you could stop pretty much on a dime (unless you were rolling to the point of sparks flying), whereas here the ball will sliiiiiiiide all over the place unless you very deliberately deccelerate. this is more of a general issue but a good example of where this becomes frustrating is Twin Cross, where you're expected to roll across a series of 1x1 tiles in diagonal lines. you need to keep a certain level of speed up to avoid falling off when crossing the corners of two tiles, but then also must deccelerate at the right moment to keep your ball from flying off at the end of a line (which itself is just a 1x1 tile floating in space). Edge Master also becomes more annoying than its prior appearances thanks to this issue, as staying within the bounds of the upward face of the first rotation becomes very precise given how much speed you gain when the stage rotates.
narrow lines: approach a ledge in this game and you'll notice that the bottom of your ball will just be barely close to the ledge when your character starts trembling and attempting to balance themself. compare that to the original, where the characters won't start said animation until their feet are literally touching the ledge, far closer to the center of mass for the ball. you basically have a lot less wiggle room on the edge, and it can become very apparent in certain levels that depend on this. kudos to the dev team for adjust Catwalk to accommodate, but on the flipside look at Invasion. I'd say this level was middle of the road in terms of its original difficulty, but here it's fucking brutal towards the end, where you're expected to navigate in a curve on a ledge around staggered bumpers. comments I've read on early gameplay capture on youtube were quick to point to this stage as one of the biggest difficulty bumps for a remade stage.
slopes: friction is the reason why we don't instantly slide down slopes in real life, hence why we use snowboards and skis instead of just standing on mountains waiting to gain speed. however, in monkey ball the goal is usually not to slide down slopes unless you're explicitly supposed to, and many levels depend on you being able to balance yourself on slopes either while waiting for a cycle or when speeding through before you have a chance to fall off. Drum and Twister back-to-back in smb1's ice world were originally breather stages, where you simply had to keep yourself balanced in brief intervals before reaching the goal. here they became much more precise than I feel was intended, as even slightly moving from the narrow top of the curve on either of these levels will send you careening to your death with no recourse. from smb2 I can absolutely not forget to mention Warp... oh my god Warp. this level was already surprisingly difficult in smb2, given that the flatter part of the curves here are covered with bumpers and maintaing yourself on a slope is already a trickier technique to learn (I see a lot of more casual players get stuck on Floor Bent from smb1 for this reason). here it's nigh impossible to do thanks to how little grip you have. Cross Floors is another smb2 example that requires a lot of practice in the original and here feels terrible to attempt.
centripedal force: some of you may have seen charity donation recepticles shaped like curved funnels (I've seen them in american malls at least), where you can put a coin into a slot and it will spiral around the funnel down and down until falling through a hole at the bottom, much like water spinning in a drain. there are multiple areas in the original monkey ball games that utilize this phenomenon to great effect, and it relies on the friction of the slope or wall that the ball is on to keep it from dropping out. however, when I first played Spiral Hard in this game, I was very surprised to find that I could not simply drop in as I was accustomed to, as even with a decent amount of speed the ball does not grab onto the slope and instead falls off. it took me several tries to successfully drop in, where I had to come in with an exceptional amount of speed, heavily tilt against the slope to avoid falling off, try to balance out before I lost the speed I needed to stay in, and then continue on my way. this level is already difficult enough as is, with a path that narrows the further it spirals down and a goal that is difficult to aim for, so I don't see why dropping in needs to also require a lot of set up when it didn't originally. the end of Stamina Master is also much more difficult than before thanks to this, as the spiral towards the end becomes nearly vertical, and I would often drop out of it completely before I reached the goal. the pipe stages also seem to struggle with keeping you moving, such as the smb1 expert extra stage Curl Pipe, where the second hill virtually always stopped me dead in my tracks (though I've had this happen occasionally in the original as well).
this would be a good time for me to also mention how the camera has changed significantly from the original games. the camera used to rather aggressively stick to the ball's back, whereas here the camera will follow your stick without really staying glued to a particular orientation on the ball. to solve this there is now camera control on the right-stick... this sort of defeats the purpose of the original one-giant-banana-joystick control scheme, but I'm sure plenty of players will feel more comfortable with it there. the big issue here comes when trying to line up straight lines: in the original game it was very doable to turn in place with the camera lining up directly with the center of the monkey's back. here it's already hard enough to turn in place given that you slide around with so little provocation, and now you must center the camera manually using... non-analog controls? yes, the right stick does not seem to have a real gradient of turning from my time playing with it, giving it little more functionality than d-pad camera controls. you can at least adjust camera sensitivity, but I feel like you're forced to sometimes go in and change it per stage, ie high sensitivity for when you need to turn quickly or steadily on fast stages, and low sensitivity when you line up precise shots. the latter was a necessity on Exam-C (a particularly infamous stage) and the aforementioned Twin Cross, as well as Checker, and it made all three of these stages much more tedious than I would've liked. sometimes the camera just breaks entirely, most notably on Centrifugal from smb2, where the speed of rotation in the giant wheel of death causes the camera to get stuck outside the level geometry, or flip in front of you to mess up the angle you're tilting the stage in.
I wanted to include this diatribe about the physics in here just to have some sort of document with the issues I've noticed with this game, and as to provide a detailed summary of why and where the physics are different without just saying they are. players who know the levels above might have noticed that they're virtually all pulled from expert and master: this is because the beginner and advanced difficulties (casual and normal) are totally playable regardless of the changes. that is not to say they aren't still difficult (I still have not beaten Polar Large in this game and, much to my consternation, can not even figure out a good route through it for some reason) but if you're coming in just to fuck around a bit, play through part of story mode, enjoy the cameos, and play minigames with friends, you're not going to notice the different game-feel to the extent of it being overbearing. on the flipside, I do feel justified in presenting my opinions on this in pedantic detail because beginner and advanced only make up 108 stages out of the 258 total stages between the non-DX games, which is to say that for over half of the game you will likely notice what I mentioned above unless you have never played the originals.
regardless of everything listed above, I've actually rated this one a bit higher than super monkey ball deluxe, a collection that still has the original physics intact. my rationale: banana mania is an amazing package overall. what honestly frustrates me more than anything about this game is that it perfectly captures the features and content I'd want in a remake of these games without the tight gameplay I originally adored in the originals. whereas deluxe (on ps2 mind you) was a poorly performing mess with overly-long course structure and a lack of improvements over smb2, this game is packed to the brim with extra modes, great cameo characters, and accesibility features. not everything really hits, but I appreciate how much effort and material there is here with so little development time.
the main game specifically deliminates between the first two games for its courses, unlike deluxe where stages from both games were interleaved. each course is 1:1 with their original set of stages, with extra stages now being unlocked if all the regular stages were completed without the helper functions active. master mode for smb1 is now accessible just by completing expert without the 1cc requirement or even extra stages being finished. there are also marathon modes for each, which while not as wild as the ultimate course from deluxe, still are great additions. stages in both have been rebalanced, with the original layouts being included in a special purchaseable game mode. overall the rebalances were really well done: probably the most notable for me was Arthopod, a stage from smb2 that was complete bullshit originally and has now been made less annoying to deal with by far by removing gaps. virtually all of smb1 master was rebalanced as well, with Stamina Master getting a much-needed nerf to its infamous middle 1x1 moving tile balancing section (which balances out the more difficult first and last sections a bit). the other master changes honestly make some of the stages like Dodge Master and Dance Master trivial, but I don't really mind considering that the requirements for obtaining master are less restrictive now. other changes are more subtle, such as adding curved inlets to the titular launchers in Launchers (which honestly don't help very much) or an extra 30 seconds for the timer in Exam-C (which helps an insane amount).
there's a story mode identical to that of smb2, with truncated cutscenes in mime retelling the lovably bizarre plot of the original. personally I don't mind this change, as the story isn't really that important or complicated. I'm a little puzzled at why they didn't use the expanded worlds of deluxe's story mode, but it's not a big difference either way. as I mentioned prior stages that were changed have their original versions present in a standalone mode, and all of the deluxe-exclusive levels have a mode as well. playing through them all back to back, I have to say I still like them for the most part, as there's a lot of great ideas present (maybe one too many maze stages tho). there are also a few modes that remix the levels. golden banana mode is probably the best of these, where you need to collect every banana in a stage in order to clear it. this actually changes how the stages need to be approached quite a bit. the opposite of this is dark banana mode, where any banana touched instantly causes a game over. while the idea is good in concept, they're designed for a level of precision I just don't think exists in this game. finally there's reverse mode, where certain levels start you at the goal and make you work your way back to the starting point. the best level of these is Free Throw, where they make you throw yourself backwards onto the starting platform in a cool twist. the others mainly just require you to tread the same path as whatever the hardest goal is, so they come across as rather redundant.
minigames are also back in full force, with all of the features from deluxe retained to my knowledge. the big thing that turned me off here was the lack of alternating multiplayer, which even in a patch could be such a trivial addition. I bought this on ps4, where I don't really have extra controllers to work with, and it's frustrating that my roommates and I can't play monkey target or billiards by passing the controller around. overall the minigames seem to be pretty much as I remember them from the old games, with all the customization you could want to boot. I can't really pretend something like monkey race isn't scuffed as fuck, but they were in the originals as well so it's pretty faithful. all that I played other than monkey target look very solid... monkey target is honestly a "Made in Dreams"-ass game here, but it's so annoying in its original form that I'll let it slide here. most of the other games here I can just experience via yakuza or really don't care that much about, beyond perhaps trying to go for completion later down the line.
I also wanted to briefly mention the art design for both the menus and the levels, which are absolutely phenomenal. beyond some UI nitpicks I mentioned earlier I think the interface is very clear and clean, and feels like an accurate translation from the older games to a modern style. the world designs are really gorgeous, and blew me away with their accuracy. I really would not have thought a quickie project for RGG would capture the style and detail of the original worlds so well in HD, but they absolutely nailed it here. the banana blitz-era monkey designs I'm not crazy about but they do the job fine, and the cutesy redesigns of kiryu and beat are so fun; I still can't believe they're in the game!! the music has all been remixed as well, though I personally think they're pretty middling overall. the original soundtracks are legendary so I definitely didn't expect them to live up here, but they really veer into tacky EDM territory more often than I would like.
finally, I wanted to bring up the accessibility options, which are much-needed additions for newer fans looking to try the series out. you can use helper functions in each level to double the timer as well as open up a very useful slow motion mode for the cost of receiving no points upon clearing the level and disabling the extra stages for the course. I messed around with these a bit and I think they do a good job of covering the bases for someone learning a given stage. if stage is too taxing, you can also pay 2000 banana coins to mark it as cleared. which is a hefty toll but honestly worth it when poking around in the special modes to skip annoying levels that would take a lot of practice. finally, the jump from banana blitz has been added in as a purchaseable item, and surprisingly it doesn't void trophies/extra stuff like the helper functions (though it can't be used in ranking mode). when watching trailers I thought I wouldn't touch this at all but I decided to try it out when struggling on Warp and wow did it really save my ass. because the jump wasn't present in the original games, it opens up a lot of ways to break previously challenging level design, and honestly that became the most fun part of the game for me at points. skipping all of the tiring maze levels from smb2 feels so great, and I even managed to pull off a strat equivalent to the speedrun route for Stamina Master by jumping at the peak of the first ramp. it honestly made the final worlds of story mode a lot more enjoyable given how many frustrating and gimmicky levels are contained within it (they were bad in the original too, not just this game). when I eventually get around to smb2 master and master extra, I'm sure I'll have fun finding ways to break levels that originally took me dozens of lives to beat.
I think I've exhaustively covered every aspect of this game that I've played so far... and now that I've finished this giant wall of text I can finally move onto some other games. I don't think I've wasted my time with this game at all, and I'm glad this package exists, but man does it really not scratch that itch that the original games do. perhaps an engine on par with the original simply isn't capable of happening without the original source code available... but at the end of the day I'll still have the original games to return to when I really want to experience monkey ball as it originally felt.
2002
to the best of my knowledge, character movement exists within giant state machines dictated by the player input and the properties of any current collision. if you touch a slope, transition to sliding state; if you press the jump button, transition to a jump state unless you're sliding or etc. etc.. in those behind-the-scenes tales of miyamoto meticulously testing mario's movement in low-poly sandboxes during sm64's development, these state transitions and their corresponding kinematics values were the real meat of the tweaks on the programmers' end. "let's make the flip jump transition available even before the turn animation begins, also if mario jumps onto a slope less steep than X degrees maybe we could try giving him a few frames standing or moving to give the player some time to jump again, also if you collide in the air with a slope steeper than X degrees make sure you don't add horizontal momentum when you transition to a slide" these are just ideas off the top of my head and don't represent the actual code, but this is how I conceive of it. the character is a tightly tuned system that functions as a simulacrum of real movement, realistic where our brain wants it and exaggerated where our hands desire it. code with the model ingrained into its logic teeters the line between pretty and messy, and sm64 perhaps got the closest in its era to actually getting somewhere with this system.
sunshine unfortunately lacks this level of polish. mario's main movement feels tighter and more responsive than in the game's predecessor, but at the same time the introduction of fludd and of dynamic object geometry strains whatever was in the previous character state table. accordingly mario feels at his most chaotic in this entry. floating into a slope could result in him suddenly sliding away with no ability for the player to break out of his helplessness, or a rotating platform could cause mario to stutter as the line between "flat" and "slope" becomes blurred. mario will legitimately phase through objects on the rare occasion he doesn't clip in and out or plummet out of the sky having lost his jump. this distinct lack of polish (likely due to the game's rushed development) pervades each aspect of the game.
second-to-second these movement quirks will likely be the most apparent issue to the player, but zooming out reveals level design and structure indicative of the game's troubled history. immediately out of the gate: no star (or rather "shine sprite") requirements, with the first seven shines of each main area now mandatory and the rest completely optional and pointless outside of bragging rights. the seventh shine of each is a brief shadow mario chase that varies little from location-to-location, leaving just the first six of each area as notable challenges. so how do these stack up?
many of these (at least one per world) are obnoxious "secret" stages that steal mario from the sunkissed vista of isle delfino and drop him into gussied-up debug rooms. the level design here mainly consists of a few half-hearted platforming challenges made from hastily-assembled generic blocks slapped together with a smattering of coins and 1UPs, and none of them are very fun. the rotating objects that mario must ride in a few of these especially aggravate that previously-mentioned unstable character state table, and mastering them requires a frustrating level of practice given how unnatural the physics of these sections are. of special note is the infamous chuckster level, which involves having mario awkwardly thrown from platform to platform over death pits with restricted influence from the player. talking to each chuckster at a slight offset will result in getting thrown at angles that will often result in certain demise, and learning how to best exploit them again requires more frustrating practice in a stage that should be otherwise brief. all of this is exacerbated by the fact that you have no access to fludd, leaving mario with solely the sideflip and the spin jump. these are good moves in their own right, but I can't help but miss a low-and-long movement option like the long jump, or potentially a high vertical option that doesn't require the control stick shenanigans the sideflip/spin jump necessitate.
removing all of the secret stages (of which there are ten) and all of the shadow mario (of which there are seven) yields just 32 unique shines as part of the main game. some more categories of stages quickly become apparent:
sunshine is often criticized for its number of red coin stages, and while the postgame adds one to each secret stage along with a couple other optional ones, the main game itself features just five. the windmill village and pirate ship ones are more traditional platforming challenges, and I'd say the windmill village one is a solid exploration of the titular area in bianco hills. the pirate ship one is frustrating given the difficulty of staying put on the actual pirate ships, but the majority of the red coins are on climbable grating and are much more straight-forward to obtain. the coral reef red coin challenge revolves around sunshine's spotty swimming mechanics (questionable for a game with such a focus on watery environments) and ultimately boils down to a game of I Spy with a fiddly camera. there is also one using the rideable bloopers in ricco harbor (I often failed this one after collecting all the coins by crashing into the pier with the shine on it, which surprisingly enough didn't kill me playing on the 3DAS version), and one that takes place with the underwater scuba controls within a large bottle, which I can't really say is particularly interesting given how few obstacles there are in your way.
boss stages appear frequently throughout each world to little surprise from players of sm64 prior. bianco hills features petey pirahna, whose mouth must be filled with water before he spits sludge at you. his first fight is pretty on-par for what I'd expect from a first boss fight, and his refight is pretty similar with a couple little additions, such as flying about the main area and creating tornados (?). gooper blooper appears no less than three times throughout the game and severely wears out his welcome by his noki bay appearance, although this is proceeded by a legitimate platforming challenge that makes up for it. of note is that his first two ricco harbor appearances are virtually identical except for that one fight requires one extra spin jump in order to reach the arena. wiggler, mecha-bowser (who you fight with rockets from a rollercoaster car), the manta, king boo, and eely-mouth all have singular fights throughout the other worlds that generally are the better shines of their respective worlds. they fall about on the level I would expect from a 3D platformer: not necessarily enthralling, but decent diversions from the actual platforming.
there are also three il piantissimo races akin to koopa the quick from sm64. I would say some of the latter's races are somewhat challenging, whereas the former's chosen routes leave a lot to be desired and thus can easily be thwarted by anyone with a reasonable understanding of the controls. they unfortunately feel like 30-second throwaway shines. there is also a time attack on the rideable bloopers with a couple minor obstacle that seem pulled right out of the secret stages.
all of the above shines removed from the total, we now have 13 shines left. in theory these are the "interesting" objectives, the ones that would hopefully pop up when reminiscing about what made this game special. when I look at this list, the first one that pops out to me is sand bird... the infamous filter for many new players, including myself when I first finished this game. this stage actually involves collecting red coins, although this objective is somewhat auxillary considering the first seven can be scooped up in less than 15 seconds and the final one can't be reached until the bird that you stand upon finally reaches the top of the tower in the middle of the area. rather, the main obstacle is simply that the bird rolls 90 degrees, releasing you into the ether if you don't scramble over onto the bird's side before it completely rotates. learning to correctly time mario's walk over the edge between the different faces of one of the bird's many cubes (I usually do it at the tail) is entirely unintuitive and unforgiving. once it clicks, the stage becomes an auto-scroller without any point or challenge, as it has the last couple times I've played it. there is no sweet spot in the middle where the shine feels obtainable with some effort; it either feels insurmountable when you're first trying it and then rote on each subsequent playthrough.
this describes a lot of these remaining shines unfortunately, especially when it comes to the proper platforming challenges in each stage. the caged shine sprite in ricco harbor atop a large structure of steel girders caused me to tear my hair out initially with the wind sprites that assault you, requiring a full tower reclimb; on this attempt I forgot the intended path and instead skipped about 60% of the area with a well-timed spin jump. the runaway ferris wheel stage in pinna park had the same result for me: on my original playthrough I struggled greatly with the electrified koopas and their unpredictable movement cycles, whereas on this playthrough I skipped past the entire top half of the climbable grating with another spin jump, making the challenge moot. simply knowing the movement tech completely obliterates the challenge, and yet I feel obligated to do it because without using it I'm thrust into the jank. the same goes for those who know how to use the spam spray: timed slime-clearing levels such as the one in sirena beach are incessently precise without knowing how to shotgun your water blasts, but once you do they become pointlessly easy. simply knowing discrete strategies or moves renders the game moot, and thus there is no linear difficulty curve. between my first playthrough and now there is simply a void where a fun game should be; never has sunshine felt like a accessible trial to be overcome. there is simply a gulf between aggravation and tedium.
this is to say nothing of the hub, the optional content, the one-of-a-kind environmental throughline, hell, even fludd itself. it just all feels... slight in its rushed nature and uneven scope. levels are expansive but exploration is heavily discouraged given how scripted many of the individual shines are, and on this playthrough I felt like I missed entire swaths of each level. new fludd abilities or yoshi aren't given bespoke unlock levels such as in sm64, and instead simply are dropped from even more shadow mario chases. the plaza hub does come to life more and more as the game continues, but compared to peach's castle it lacks progression even as it opens up new challenges (among which are the particularly infamous sunshine levels everyone discusses like pachinko or the lilypad death river). the one thing that keeps me going is that sense of locality that few other games of this era can point to, that feeling of seeing the ferris wheel far off in the background of another stage, or the hotel delfino off in the distance. no other game I can think of attempts something so drastically removed from typical delineation of themes between areas like sunshine, and it's a shame that it jettisons a lot of its potential by flooding the shine list with these dripless special stages in a floating void.
in many ways I don't see sunshine as truly mechanically paired with 64 as the "collectathon" mario games. in fact, I don't think 64 was even intended as a collectathon as we understand them today; instead its explorable areas feel more like opportunity seized from technical restraints preventing true linear platforming challenges from really succeeding. sunshine attempts to move more in the latter direction, without the same sense of non-linearity or potentiality that arose from 64's seeming vastness at the time. in this regard it feels more like an ancestor to galaxy; galaxy is hatched from the egg of sunshine, something with the same genes as 64 but woven within a new form and flesh. it may have even been genius in its own right had it not been hastily released in an attempt to bolster the gamecube's faltering performance. in another way it's the reverse of much of nintendo's modern "meh"-tier output: full of soul but completely unpolished.
sunshine unfortunately lacks this level of polish. mario's main movement feels tighter and more responsive than in the game's predecessor, but at the same time the introduction of fludd and of dynamic object geometry strains whatever was in the previous character state table. accordingly mario feels at his most chaotic in this entry. floating into a slope could result in him suddenly sliding away with no ability for the player to break out of his helplessness, or a rotating platform could cause mario to stutter as the line between "flat" and "slope" becomes blurred. mario will legitimately phase through objects on the rare occasion he doesn't clip in and out or plummet out of the sky having lost his jump. this distinct lack of polish (likely due to the game's rushed development) pervades each aspect of the game.
second-to-second these movement quirks will likely be the most apparent issue to the player, but zooming out reveals level design and structure indicative of the game's troubled history. immediately out of the gate: no star (or rather "shine sprite") requirements, with the first seven shines of each main area now mandatory and the rest completely optional and pointless outside of bragging rights. the seventh shine of each is a brief shadow mario chase that varies little from location-to-location, leaving just the first six of each area as notable challenges. so how do these stack up?
many of these (at least one per world) are obnoxious "secret" stages that steal mario from the sunkissed vista of isle delfino and drop him into gussied-up debug rooms. the level design here mainly consists of a few half-hearted platforming challenges made from hastily-assembled generic blocks slapped together with a smattering of coins and 1UPs, and none of them are very fun. the rotating objects that mario must ride in a few of these especially aggravate that previously-mentioned unstable character state table, and mastering them requires a frustrating level of practice given how unnatural the physics of these sections are. of special note is the infamous chuckster level, which involves having mario awkwardly thrown from platform to platform over death pits with restricted influence from the player. talking to each chuckster at a slight offset will result in getting thrown at angles that will often result in certain demise, and learning how to best exploit them again requires more frustrating practice in a stage that should be otherwise brief. all of this is exacerbated by the fact that you have no access to fludd, leaving mario with solely the sideflip and the spin jump. these are good moves in their own right, but I can't help but miss a low-and-long movement option like the long jump, or potentially a high vertical option that doesn't require the control stick shenanigans the sideflip/spin jump necessitate.
removing all of the secret stages (of which there are ten) and all of the shadow mario (of which there are seven) yields just 32 unique shines as part of the main game. some more categories of stages quickly become apparent:
sunshine is often criticized for its number of red coin stages, and while the postgame adds one to each secret stage along with a couple other optional ones, the main game itself features just five. the windmill village and pirate ship ones are more traditional platforming challenges, and I'd say the windmill village one is a solid exploration of the titular area in bianco hills. the pirate ship one is frustrating given the difficulty of staying put on the actual pirate ships, but the majority of the red coins are on climbable grating and are much more straight-forward to obtain. the coral reef red coin challenge revolves around sunshine's spotty swimming mechanics (questionable for a game with such a focus on watery environments) and ultimately boils down to a game of I Spy with a fiddly camera. there is also one using the rideable bloopers in ricco harbor (I often failed this one after collecting all the coins by crashing into the pier with the shine on it, which surprisingly enough didn't kill me playing on the 3DAS version), and one that takes place with the underwater scuba controls within a large bottle, which I can't really say is particularly interesting given how few obstacles there are in your way.
boss stages appear frequently throughout each world to little surprise from players of sm64 prior. bianco hills features petey pirahna, whose mouth must be filled with water before he spits sludge at you. his first fight is pretty on-par for what I'd expect from a first boss fight, and his refight is pretty similar with a couple little additions, such as flying about the main area and creating tornados (?). gooper blooper appears no less than three times throughout the game and severely wears out his welcome by his noki bay appearance, although this is proceeded by a legitimate platforming challenge that makes up for it. of note is that his first two ricco harbor appearances are virtually identical except for that one fight requires one extra spin jump in order to reach the arena. wiggler, mecha-bowser (who you fight with rockets from a rollercoaster car), the manta, king boo, and eely-mouth all have singular fights throughout the other worlds that generally are the better shines of their respective worlds. they fall about on the level I would expect from a 3D platformer: not necessarily enthralling, but decent diversions from the actual platforming.
there are also three il piantissimo races akin to koopa the quick from sm64. I would say some of the latter's races are somewhat challenging, whereas the former's chosen routes leave a lot to be desired and thus can easily be thwarted by anyone with a reasonable understanding of the controls. they unfortunately feel like 30-second throwaway shines. there is also a time attack on the rideable bloopers with a couple minor obstacle that seem pulled right out of the secret stages.
all of the above shines removed from the total, we now have 13 shines left. in theory these are the "interesting" objectives, the ones that would hopefully pop up when reminiscing about what made this game special. when I look at this list, the first one that pops out to me is sand bird... the infamous filter for many new players, including myself when I first finished this game. this stage actually involves collecting red coins, although this objective is somewhat auxillary considering the first seven can be scooped up in less than 15 seconds and the final one can't be reached until the bird that you stand upon finally reaches the top of the tower in the middle of the area. rather, the main obstacle is simply that the bird rolls 90 degrees, releasing you into the ether if you don't scramble over onto the bird's side before it completely rotates. learning to correctly time mario's walk over the edge between the different faces of one of the bird's many cubes (I usually do it at the tail) is entirely unintuitive and unforgiving. once it clicks, the stage becomes an auto-scroller without any point or challenge, as it has the last couple times I've played it. there is no sweet spot in the middle where the shine feels obtainable with some effort; it either feels insurmountable when you're first trying it and then rote on each subsequent playthrough.
this describes a lot of these remaining shines unfortunately, especially when it comes to the proper platforming challenges in each stage. the caged shine sprite in ricco harbor atop a large structure of steel girders caused me to tear my hair out initially with the wind sprites that assault you, requiring a full tower reclimb; on this attempt I forgot the intended path and instead skipped about 60% of the area with a well-timed spin jump. the runaway ferris wheel stage in pinna park had the same result for me: on my original playthrough I struggled greatly with the electrified koopas and their unpredictable movement cycles, whereas on this playthrough I skipped past the entire top half of the climbable grating with another spin jump, making the challenge moot. simply knowing the movement tech completely obliterates the challenge, and yet I feel obligated to do it because without using it I'm thrust into the jank. the same goes for those who know how to use the spam spray: timed slime-clearing levels such as the one in sirena beach are incessently precise without knowing how to shotgun your water blasts, but once you do they become pointlessly easy. simply knowing discrete strategies or moves renders the game moot, and thus there is no linear difficulty curve. between my first playthrough and now there is simply a void where a fun game should be; never has sunshine felt like a accessible trial to be overcome. there is simply a gulf between aggravation and tedium.
this is to say nothing of the hub, the optional content, the one-of-a-kind environmental throughline, hell, even fludd itself. it just all feels... slight in its rushed nature and uneven scope. levels are expansive but exploration is heavily discouraged given how scripted many of the individual shines are, and on this playthrough I felt like I missed entire swaths of each level. new fludd abilities or yoshi aren't given bespoke unlock levels such as in sm64, and instead simply are dropped from even more shadow mario chases. the plaza hub does come to life more and more as the game continues, but compared to peach's castle it lacks progression even as it opens up new challenges (among which are the particularly infamous sunshine levels everyone discusses like pachinko or the lilypad death river). the one thing that keeps me going is that sense of locality that few other games of this era can point to, that feeling of seeing the ferris wheel far off in the background of another stage, or the hotel delfino off in the distance. no other game I can think of attempts something so drastically removed from typical delineation of themes between areas like sunshine, and it's a shame that it jettisons a lot of its potential by flooding the shine list with these dripless special stages in a floating void.
in many ways I don't see sunshine as truly mechanically paired with 64 as the "collectathon" mario games. in fact, I don't think 64 was even intended as a collectathon as we understand them today; instead its explorable areas feel more like opportunity seized from technical restraints preventing true linear platforming challenges from really succeeding. sunshine attempts to move more in the latter direction, without the same sense of non-linearity or potentiality that arose from 64's seeming vastness at the time. in this regard it feels more like an ancestor to galaxy; galaxy is hatched from the egg of sunshine, something with the same genes as 64 but woven within a new form and flesh. it may have even been genius in its own right had it not been hastily released in an attempt to bolster the gamecube's faltering performance. in another way it's the reverse of much of nintendo's modern "meh"-tier output: full of soul but completely unpolished.
2012
unquestionably one of my favorite games ever, and it will likely always be given how its outlasted my other adolescent favorites. I still love to pop this on at least once a year and just let it wash over me. I'll roll around the free roam levels a bit, play a couple levels at wherever I'm at in the main story, or even clean up 100% on an old file if I've really got time to kill. this is probably the most fortuitous ps+ freebie I've ever been exposed to (on vita originally of all platforms) and one I'll continue playing as long as I continue to game.
at the same time, this game is a jagged, snarling representation of the sea change in technology moving from the fifth gen to the sixth. 3D action games on playstation and saturn were heavily constrained by low draw distances, blocky characters, and sparse level geometry, all of which limited developers looking to make truly immersive 3D spaces and mechanics. with the dreamcast this all changed: sonic adventure exploded with color and variety and speed beyond what competitors could hope to achieve, and a year later shenmue brought a fleshed-out look at suburban japan that emphasized the physicality of the area with a depth that had simply not been achieved up until that point. sega's games charted a course for what true 3D gaming could be in the 21st century with typical fearlessness, and with this fearlessness arose a lot of jank. sega's design chops lie first and foremost in arcade-style experiences that provide rewarding yet highly-challenging gameplay, and they often stumbled when translating these experiences to the home console market. the often bizarre mechanics that resulted from this transition created some of the most enduring early japanese jank, and jet set radio may be the absolute peak of this set; an unbelievably unique and frictional experience that interleaves many disparate gameplay elements with a loving recreation of tokyo.
jet set radio is a platformer.... sort of? where many fall afoul of the controls is with the slippery momentum-based movement that scans as imprecise to a crowd raised on pro skater (remember that this game came out before pro skater 2!). the player character can grind on rails, jump, wall-slide on specific surfaces, and perform context-sensitive tricks; no other real "skating" mechanics exist. with precise handling the player can flip around and begin skating backwards (including out of a mid-air trick), but the practicality of this maneuver is debatable. players also have access to a boost that both gives additional speed as well as rendering the player immune to hazards. using this boost effectively is not explained very well, and given that it is limited and the base speed is not very fast it can feel sluggish. my usual tactic: boost for four strides and then jump, as you'll retain much of your speed in the air and upon landing your boost will be replenished. maintaining the momentum on rails is a different story altogether, as once attached to an edge the player is likely to lose speed if they cannot find a downward slope. jumping is also an option here to retain speed, though its arc can be hard to manage given that past a certain speed threshold a trick is performed in mid-air, drastically increasing the air time. jumping is overall used differently in this game than in a traditional platformer, as while it's a movement technique on its own, it also needs to be strategically used with elements in the environment and the boost in order to smoothly navigate the world. few other games present such an deliberate and weighty toolkit that at the same time can produce such speed and grace when pulled off correctly. the only thing I can't forgive the game for is automatic rail attachment. while it's coyly explained in the lore as "magnetic skates" (which I guess makes more sense than sonic's soap shoes), this game really could've used a grind button; attaching onto rails is far too touchy.
the gameplay loop is unorthodox as well, combining collectathon elements in a constrained area with arcade-style scoring and timing. players must find targets in an open level and spray paint over them, which involves a quick QTE minigame involving analog stick rotation. while skating from spot to spot, a wide variety of ludicrously militaristic police forces (and later privately-hired assassins) assail players, generally with no way to fight back beyond a select group of enemies that can be sprayed - causing a chopper to spiral out by spraying the cockpit is easily the biggest flex you can pull off in this game. successively more difficult waves of enemies arrive at preset times based on how many targets have been graffiti'd, with pre-defined spawn points as well. with this in mind, players are encouraged to plan optimal routes from target to target to frontload areas that will be under heavy surveillance later on in the level. spray paint cans themselves are a limited resource, and the largest graffiti points can take up to 14 cans to finish, which must be factored into the route as well. all of this must be completed under a generally-forgiving time limit that pushes the player towards more precise play.
what is unappealing to many about this game is that you must learn the ins-and-outs of each level to complete a first playthrough. this will likely require plenty of retries; I know I sure went through a few on my first time around. this is not to say jsr is a masochistic game - far from it - but this is not simply a "vibes machine" to muddle through and then discard after enjoying the tremendous audiovisual elements. careful attention to enemy patterns yields fruitful results: even once deployed enemies often won't leave certain zones, leaving some targets completely open no matter how far the mission has progressed. knowing where caches of spray paint cans and health pickups exist eases the difficulty as well. all of this results in a game with a surprisingly nuanced macro and micro strategy. on a macro level, the player must consider their primary path from target to target, along with backup diversions if the enemy AI doesn't play nice and side jaunts to refuel on resources when necessary. on a micro level, players must know the terrain well enough to build up speed and take advantage of rails when possible while also navigating around or away from enemies. there's a lot of flexibility built in as well - the game isn't that demanding - but at the same time the game mechanics intersect in such a way that you're penalized for not considering the totality of your actions. incorrect planning could result in unwanted excursions into dangerous territory to restock health and paint, while indecision and overly-cautious play will cost valuable time. it's undeniably jank at points, but at the same time this is one of the few "platformers" that manages to incorporate arcade elements in a way that isn't totally alienating.
much of this is helped by the level design, which for the most part I think is rather strong. the first chapter of the game focuses on up-and-coming gang the GG's engaging in a tagging turf war with idiosyncratically-themed rival groups in the various areas of tokyo-to. each area retains a unique mood with a surprising amount of detail thrown into the levels. shibuya-cho features the daytime bustle of the scramble and a busy bus terminal, benten-cho switches to a smooth nighttime atmosphere punctuated by blinding neon lights and throbbing kicks and claps, and kogane-cho highlights the yawning twilight of a fishing hub under renovation, with homely shacks put into juxtaposition with looming highways and the daunting concrete of the massive sewer system. these early levels are certainly not small, but they corral the player into an area with enough restrictions that they (hopefully) can learn the intricacies without being overwhelmed. there is a brief middle section with two unique American-inspired stages; personally I can stomach the Roosevelt Avenue-inspired bantam street stage but I have to agree with the consensus that grind square (based off of Times Square) long overstays its welcome with the staggering verticality and frustrating electrified rails. in the final chapter, each subarea within each region combines into large maps now swarmed with flamboyant private corp assassins, leaving the player to tackle each area in one fell swoop. each subarea organically bleeds into the others, and discovering links between areas is rather exciting, especially when the player stumbles into an area not present in the first chapter. for example, kogane-cho has a rooftop run section sandwiched between the construction area and the sea-level village with its own power lines to grind on and tight corridors at street level. thankfully each of these full areas can be roamed freely and safely via persistently available side missions meant for score attack. there are many spots you may never come across in the main campaign without poking around, and often these areas feature collectables that unlock new graffiti designs.
the score attack isn't just a side activity either, as there are scoring mechanics baked into the main campaign as well. pulling off tricks, taking down enemies (when possible), succeeding at the graffiti QTEs, maintaining high health, and finishing quickly all contribute to a stage-end score and rank. out of all of these graffiti will generally make up the biggest chunk, especially for final strokes on the larger graffiti spots. interrupting a graffiti QTE chain by failing a QTE, running out of paint cans, or taking a hit from an enemy will force you to start over again, keeping you from accessing the highest scoring QTEs, making proper enemy avoidance and paint can routing even more essential when aiming for top ranks on a level (known as "jet rank"). this is made more complicated by the fact that there are actually multiple different types of graffiti with varying difficulties that correspond to how much score they offer. accessing the highest-scoring graffiti requires using a graffiti-type character... and now we dig into a criticism I often see of the game: the character selection system.
the selection of characters on offer is relatively vast even without unlocking those hidden behind ranking requirements, and I have seen repeated complaints about how unbalanced the characters are. graffiti-type characters such as gum yield many more points when spraying but actually have a lower paint can carrying capacity, and they often have either poor handling or low health to further compensate. power-type characters have high health but generally poor handling or graffiti skills, and technique-type characters tend to have comfortable handling and can carry many paint cans, making them the characters of choice for new fans. with this in mind, I encourage thinking of character selection as a difficulty system. technique characters should be chosen by new players to acclimate themselves to the game's unique physics and make paint can collecting less of a chore. however, expect low ranks, as the graffiti QTEs will be easier and will thus score less. if the player is interested in unlocking secret characters and achieving jet ranks on each stage, they can then choose a character with a higher graffiti skill while sacrificing talent in one of the other areas. with the quantity of characters, it should be easy to find one that matches the player's preference - I won't lie though, I don't think I've ever had a reason to choose a power-type character. I still play technique characters all the time though, mainly mew... I used to use her as a pfp on forums when I was younger.
of course, you can obtain jet rank without using a graffiti-type character, but you may have a much more difficult time doing it. there are loops in each region where you can grind infinitely and rack up tricks, which requires practice and a good eye but can come in handy. the full-region levels at the end of the game are the perfect playground for these, as their time limit is relatively lax (once you already know the graffiti layout anyway) and each of them has an accessible loop. I find it easier to use this strategy to jet rank these final chapter stages personally, though I'm not sure I enjoy going in a loop for three minutes straight and then bumrushing the rest of the level quite as much the more thoughtful gameplay required for the earlier levels. I also wanted to bring up a major sin this game commits for stage rankings: you can't free-play missions that you've previously played. the campaign loops perpetually, forcing the player to beat and replay the game whenever they want to retry early levels. while in context this choice makes sense (the order in which you do missions slightly changes the story + is used for the final unlockable character), it's not remotely elegant even though the modern versions have a retry option upon finishing a stage. playing the original version where there isn't even a retry is criminal; have fun power cycling your dreamcast to keep it from saving non-jet ranks when going for 100% completion.
while the above content comprises the majority of the game, there's also a variety of other missions to tackle both within and adjacent to the campaign missions. periodically rivals will approach your hideout, prompting you to either take on certain skating challenges or race them. chump astutely noted in their review that these encounters reveal shortcuts, secrets, and techniques that the player may not have considered otherwise. it serves as a nice barometer on the player's abilities, and sets the bar for where the sophistication of their technique should lie in order to succeed against upcoming obstacles. the races can be a bit fiddly however until routes and AI quirks are learned, though thankfully the most frustrating ones are completely optional. there are also chase missions that occur periodically throughout the campaign, in which the player must tag members of an opposing gang in order to knock them out. keeping pace with your rivals here is not difficult, but carefully sliding behind someone, getting close enough to tag them, mashing the tag button, and then sliding out without bumping into their overly generous hitbox simply does not function well in this engine. this is especially obvious given that the tag button also jarringly snaps the camera behind the player, a limitation imposed by the dreamcast's unfortunate lack of a right analog stick. these missions generally won't set back the player too much time, but still are frustrating. there's also a final boss encounter that is not particularly taxing and ends the game on a suitably visually exciting note. very few other games allow you to spin around on a giant turntable dodging beams of fire...
for a sega game in this era, jet set radio is remarkably content-rich. the main campaign lasts seven to eight hours on a relaxed playthrough when characters are still being unlocked, and less than two hours on replays for jet ranks (not counting retrying stages of course). each region has multiple side missions covering graffiti, tricks, and races, and beyond the structured content there are the aforementioned "soul" colletables that unlock hidden graffiti. many of these souls lie in novel places that require ingenuity in order to reach, and some have their own little sections that are never touched in the mission requirements. all of the graffiti in the game was designed by authentic street artists with a wide range of styles and sizes, all of which are cool to scroll through from time to time. you can even design your own tags via a limited editor, which is novel to tool around with a couple of times. between all of these, achieving full completion is a satisfying task for those invested in the mechanics the game has to offer, and the final unlockable characters more than make up for the significant effort required to unlock them.
I also wanted to briefly rave about the soundtrack for this game, and the way it's incorporated into the story. songs in-game play via the fictional jet set radio pirate station, and thus they are properly mixed as if an actual DJ were working the deck. each stage has a unique playlist with prerecorded cuts between tracks, seamlessly blending multiple songs together as if playing to an actual crowd. there are even radio stingers with their own jingle and bellowing title drop, and in-between levels the host professor k will update the player with current news, jovial side storylines, and commentary. it's simply not the same to hear the songs standalone; the game offers an unparalleled and authentic aural link into its world. everyone who contributed did an outstanding job, from sega's in-house team (including lead composer hideki naganuma) to the wide array of off-beat licensed choices. even the american choices put a smile on my face, from rob zombie's deranged classic dragula to the awkward post-grunge of cold and professional murder music to the surprisingly chill hip-hop from mix master mike. there's a lot of bizarre and lovely vocal performances throughout the game, whether quickly laid down by little-known talent or sliced and served via inventive sample use. cruising through a level and hearing a song I forgot about come on will often stop me in place so I can hear a bit before moving on, and there are so few games that grab me as such.
it is unquestionable that this game is singular both in its artistic vision and in its game mechanics. rarely does a game release that so clearly articulates its own form of play; such an unorthodox design palette with radically deemphasized combat, elements of both platformers and extreme sports, nuanced and intersecting elements to track with meaningful tradeoffs and strategizing, and anti-establishment aesthetic and rhetoric has possibly never come into fruition beyond this. it has no true follow-up in terms of design, as jet set radio future opts to compartmentalize its gameplay components and move away from rapid arcade-style scenarios to a grander adventure structure. many formative adolescent gaming memories lie wrapped up in tokyo-to's streets, with not only the same frustrations I see many others post about but also perseverence through the game's steep learning curve, awe at the many sights and spectacles, and satisfaction at mastery. like all japanese jank, it's an acquired taste, but given that much of this team would later explore a different avenue in tokyo's underground in the beloved yakuza series, this origin point sets the context for a lineage of truly stellar and experimental gaming.
at the same time, this game is a jagged, snarling representation of the sea change in technology moving from the fifth gen to the sixth. 3D action games on playstation and saturn were heavily constrained by low draw distances, blocky characters, and sparse level geometry, all of which limited developers looking to make truly immersive 3D spaces and mechanics. with the dreamcast this all changed: sonic adventure exploded with color and variety and speed beyond what competitors could hope to achieve, and a year later shenmue brought a fleshed-out look at suburban japan that emphasized the physicality of the area with a depth that had simply not been achieved up until that point. sega's games charted a course for what true 3D gaming could be in the 21st century with typical fearlessness, and with this fearlessness arose a lot of jank. sega's design chops lie first and foremost in arcade-style experiences that provide rewarding yet highly-challenging gameplay, and they often stumbled when translating these experiences to the home console market. the often bizarre mechanics that resulted from this transition created some of the most enduring early japanese jank, and jet set radio may be the absolute peak of this set; an unbelievably unique and frictional experience that interleaves many disparate gameplay elements with a loving recreation of tokyo.
jet set radio is a platformer.... sort of? where many fall afoul of the controls is with the slippery momentum-based movement that scans as imprecise to a crowd raised on pro skater (remember that this game came out before pro skater 2!). the player character can grind on rails, jump, wall-slide on specific surfaces, and perform context-sensitive tricks; no other real "skating" mechanics exist. with precise handling the player can flip around and begin skating backwards (including out of a mid-air trick), but the practicality of this maneuver is debatable. players also have access to a boost that both gives additional speed as well as rendering the player immune to hazards. using this boost effectively is not explained very well, and given that it is limited and the base speed is not very fast it can feel sluggish. my usual tactic: boost for four strides and then jump, as you'll retain much of your speed in the air and upon landing your boost will be replenished. maintaining the momentum on rails is a different story altogether, as once attached to an edge the player is likely to lose speed if they cannot find a downward slope. jumping is also an option here to retain speed, though its arc can be hard to manage given that past a certain speed threshold a trick is performed in mid-air, drastically increasing the air time. jumping is overall used differently in this game than in a traditional platformer, as while it's a movement technique on its own, it also needs to be strategically used with elements in the environment and the boost in order to smoothly navigate the world. few other games present such an deliberate and weighty toolkit that at the same time can produce such speed and grace when pulled off correctly. the only thing I can't forgive the game for is automatic rail attachment. while it's coyly explained in the lore as "magnetic skates" (which I guess makes more sense than sonic's soap shoes), this game really could've used a grind button; attaching onto rails is far too touchy.
the gameplay loop is unorthodox as well, combining collectathon elements in a constrained area with arcade-style scoring and timing. players must find targets in an open level and spray paint over them, which involves a quick QTE minigame involving analog stick rotation. while skating from spot to spot, a wide variety of ludicrously militaristic police forces (and later privately-hired assassins) assail players, generally with no way to fight back beyond a select group of enemies that can be sprayed - causing a chopper to spiral out by spraying the cockpit is easily the biggest flex you can pull off in this game. successively more difficult waves of enemies arrive at preset times based on how many targets have been graffiti'd, with pre-defined spawn points as well. with this in mind, players are encouraged to plan optimal routes from target to target to frontload areas that will be under heavy surveillance later on in the level. spray paint cans themselves are a limited resource, and the largest graffiti points can take up to 14 cans to finish, which must be factored into the route as well. all of this must be completed under a generally-forgiving time limit that pushes the player towards more precise play.
what is unappealing to many about this game is that you must learn the ins-and-outs of each level to complete a first playthrough. this will likely require plenty of retries; I know I sure went through a few on my first time around. this is not to say jsr is a masochistic game - far from it - but this is not simply a "vibes machine" to muddle through and then discard after enjoying the tremendous audiovisual elements. careful attention to enemy patterns yields fruitful results: even once deployed enemies often won't leave certain zones, leaving some targets completely open no matter how far the mission has progressed. knowing where caches of spray paint cans and health pickups exist eases the difficulty as well. all of this results in a game with a surprisingly nuanced macro and micro strategy. on a macro level, the player must consider their primary path from target to target, along with backup diversions if the enemy AI doesn't play nice and side jaunts to refuel on resources when necessary. on a micro level, players must know the terrain well enough to build up speed and take advantage of rails when possible while also navigating around or away from enemies. there's a lot of flexibility built in as well - the game isn't that demanding - but at the same time the game mechanics intersect in such a way that you're penalized for not considering the totality of your actions. incorrect planning could result in unwanted excursions into dangerous territory to restock health and paint, while indecision and overly-cautious play will cost valuable time. it's undeniably jank at points, but at the same time this is one of the few "platformers" that manages to incorporate arcade elements in a way that isn't totally alienating.
much of this is helped by the level design, which for the most part I think is rather strong. the first chapter of the game focuses on up-and-coming gang the GG's engaging in a tagging turf war with idiosyncratically-themed rival groups in the various areas of tokyo-to. each area retains a unique mood with a surprising amount of detail thrown into the levels. shibuya-cho features the daytime bustle of the scramble and a busy bus terminal, benten-cho switches to a smooth nighttime atmosphere punctuated by blinding neon lights and throbbing kicks and claps, and kogane-cho highlights the yawning twilight of a fishing hub under renovation, with homely shacks put into juxtaposition with looming highways and the daunting concrete of the massive sewer system. these early levels are certainly not small, but they corral the player into an area with enough restrictions that they (hopefully) can learn the intricacies without being overwhelmed. there is a brief middle section with two unique American-inspired stages; personally I can stomach the Roosevelt Avenue-inspired bantam street stage but I have to agree with the consensus that grind square (based off of Times Square) long overstays its welcome with the staggering verticality and frustrating electrified rails. in the final chapter, each subarea within each region combines into large maps now swarmed with flamboyant private corp assassins, leaving the player to tackle each area in one fell swoop. each subarea organically bleeds into the others, and discovering links between areas is rather exciting, especially when the player stumbles into an area not present in the first chapter. for example, kogane-cho has a rooftop run section sandwiched between the construction area and the sea-level village with its own power lines to grind on and tight corridors at street level. thankfully each of these full areas can be roamed freely and safely via persistently available side missions meant for score attack. there are many spots you may never come across in the main campaign without poking around, and often these areas feature collectables that unlock new graffiti designs.
the score attack isn't just a side activity either, as there are scoring mechanics baked into the main campaign as well. pulling off tricks, taking down enemies (when possible), succeeding at the graffiti QTEs, maintaining high health, and finishing quickly all contribute to a stage-end score and rank. out of all of these graffiti will generally make up the biggest chunk, especially for final strokes on the larger graffiti spots. interrupting a graffiti QTE chain by failing a QTE, running out of paint cans, or taking a hit from an enemy will force you to start over again, keeping you from accessing the highest scoring QTEs, making proper enemy avoidance and paint can routing even more essential when aiming for top ranks on a level (known as "jet rank"). this is made more complicated by the fact that there are actually multiple different types of graffiti with varying difficulties that correspond to how much score they offer. accessing the highest-scoring graffiti requires using a graffiti-type character... and now we dig into a criticism I often see of the game: the character selection system.
the selection of characters on offer is relatively vast even without unlocking those hidden behind ranking requirements, and I have seen repeated complaints about how unbalanced the characters are. graffiti-type characters such as gum yield many more points when spraying but actually have a lower paint can carrying capacity, and they often have either poor handling or low health to further compensate. power-type characters have high health but generally poor handling or graffiti skills, and technique-type characters tend to have comfortable handling and can carry many paint cans, making them the characters of choice for new fans. with this in mind, I encourage thinking of character selection as a difficulty system. technique characters should be chosen by new players to acclimate themselves to the game's unique physics and make paint can collecting less of a chore. however, expect low ranks, as the graffiti QTEs will be easier and will thus score less. if the player is interested in unlocking secret characters and achieving jet ranks on each stage, they can then choose a character with a higher graffiti skill while sacrificing talent in one of the other areas. with the quantity of characters, it should be easy to find one that matches the player's preference - I won't lie though, I don't think I've ever had a reason to choose a power-type character. I still play technique characters all the time though, mainly mew... I used to use her as a pfp on forums when I was younger.
of course, you can obtain jet rank without using a graffiti-type character, but you may have a much more difficult time doing it. there are loops in each region where you can grind infinitely and rack up tricks, which requires practice and a good eye but can come in handy. the full-region levels at the end of the game are the perfect playground for these, as their time limit is relatively lax (once you already know the graffiti layout anyway) and each of them has an accessible loop. I find it easier to use this strategy to jet rank these final chapter stages personally, though I'm not sure I enjoy going in a loop for three minutes straight and then bumrushing the rest of the level quite as much the more thoughtful gameplay required for the earlier levels. I also wanted to bring up a major sin this game commits for stage rankings: you can't free-play missions that you've previously played. the campaign loops perpetually, forcing the player to beat and replay the game whenever they want to retry early levels. while in context this choice makes sense (the order in which you do missions slightly changes the story + is used for the final unlockable character), it's not remotely elegant even though the modern versions have a retry option upon finishing a stage. playing the original version where there isn't even a retry is criminal; have fun power cycling your dreamcast to keep it from saving non-jet ranks when going for 100% completion.
while the above content comprises the majority of the game, there's also a variety of other missions to tackle both within and adjacent to the campaign missions. periodically rivals will approach your hideout, prompting you to either take on certain skating challenges or race them. chump astutely noted in their review that these encounters reveal shortcuts, secrets, and techniques that the player may not have considered otherwise. it serves as a nice barometer on the player's abilities, and sets the bar for where the sophistication of their technique should lie in order to succeed against upcoming obstacles. the races can be a bit fiddly however until routes and AI quirks are learned, though thankfully the most frustrating ones are completely optional. there are also chase missions that occur periodically throughout the campaign, in which the player must tag members of an opposing gang in order to knock them out. keeping pace with your rivals here is not difficult, but carefully sliding behind someone, getting close enough to tag them, mashing the tag button, and then sliding out without bumping into their overly generous hitbox simply does not function well in this engine. this is especially obvious given that the tag button also jarringly snaps the camera behind the player, a limitation imposed by the dreamcast's unfortunate lack of a right analog stick. these missions generally won't set back the player too much time, but still are frustrating. there's also a final boss encounter that is not particularly taxing and ends the game on a suitably visually exciting note. very few other games allow you to spin around on a giant turntable dodging beams of fire...
for a sega game in this era, jet set radio is remarkably content-rich. the main campaign lasts seven to eight hours on a relaxed playthrough when characters are still being unlocked, and less than two hours on replays for jet ranks (not counting retrying stages of course). each region has multiple side missions covering graffiti, tricks, and races, and beyond the structured content there are the aforementioned "soul" colletables that unlock hidden graffiti. many of these souls lie in novel places that require ingenuity in order to reach, and some have their own little sections that are never touched in the mission requirements. all of the graffiti in the game was designed by authentic street artists with a wide range of styles and sizes, all of which are cool to scroll through from time to time. you can even design your own tags via a limited editor, which is novel to tool around with a couple of times. between all of these, achieving full completion is a satisfying task for those invested in the mechanics the game has to offer, and the final unlockable characters more than make up for the significant effort required to unlock them.
I also wanted to briefly rave about the soundtrack for this game, and the way it's incorporated into the story. songs in-game play via the fictional jet set radio pirate station, and thus they are properly mixed as if an actual DJ were working the deck. each stage has a unique playlist with prerecorded cuts between tracks, seamlessly blending multiple songs together as if playing to an actual crowd. there are even radio stingers with their own jingle and bellowing title drop, and in-between levels the host professor k will update the player with current news, jovial side storylines, and commentary. it's simply not the same to hear the songs standalone; the game offers an unparalleled and authentic aural link into its world. everyone who contributed did an outstanding job, from sega's in-house team (including lead composer hideki naganuma) to the wide array of off-beat licensed choices. even the american choices put a smile on my face, from rob zombie's deranged classic dragula to the awkward post-grunge of cold and professional murder music to the surprisingly chill hip-hop from mix master mike. there's a lot of bizarre and lovely vocal performances throughout the game, whether quickly laid down by little-known talent or sliced and served via inventive sample use. cruising through a level and hearing a song I forgot about come on will often stop me in place so I can hear a bit before moving on, and there are so few games that grab me as such.
it is unquestionable that this game is singular both in its artistic vision and in its game mechanics. rarely does a game release that so clearly articulates its own form of play; such an unorthodox design palette with radically deemphasized combat, elements of both platformers and extreme sports, nuanced and intersecting elements to track with meaningful tradeoffs and strategizing, and anti-establishment aesthetic and rhetoric has possibly never come into fruition beyond this. it has no true follow-up in terms of design, as jet set radio future opts to compartmentalize its gameplay components and move away from rapid arcade-style scenarios to a grander adventure structure. many formative adolescent gaming memories lie wrapped up in tokyo-to's streets, with not only the same frustrations I see many others post about but also perseverence through the game's steep learning curve, awe at the many sights and spectacles, and satisfaction at mastery. like all japanese jank, it's an acquired taste, but given that much of this team would later explore a different avenue in tokyo's underground in the beloved yakuza series, this origin point sets the context for a lineage of truly stellar and experimental gaming.
2000
a triumph for scenario design aficionados. hour after hour of slices of the real world perfectly aligned into a playground of roving militants and hapless civilians. rarely does a game ever make its missions feel properly explorable while keeping it taut and linear at the same time, and yet deus ex routinely weaves both together. for every point A to point B underground lair with traps laid out in sequence there is a completely open venue, such as the suffocating catacombs and their dimly lit hallways giving way to the Champs-Élysées avenue of paris, with a bakery to pilfer contraband drugs from, a hostel with full bar access, and an arms dealer's loaded apartment, all off the beaten path from your main objective. military bases and science labs retain the layout you'd expect had you ever toured one, and you'll find that locker rooms, rows of cubicles, and break rooms feature just as prominently in the dungeon crawling as warehouses with guards patrolling or tightly wound mazes of laser tripwires and turrets. the authenticity and legibility of these areas comes first, and yet more often than not the designers still manage to weave in appropriate challenges without violating each location's fidelity in the process.
and really, dungeon crawling is the name of the game here, more or less. at least half of the game takes place in some sort of complex with a destination and a set of non-linear gates along the way, all of which serve as hinge points for the player to choose which resources to expend. the "immsim" label comes from just how many resources have all gotten slammed together in your control: lockpicks and "multitools" for bypassing security, ammo for many different varieties of firearms, bio-energy for utilizing your augmented abilities, and a slew of consumable items meant for tanking bullets, running past enemies undetected, or breathing under water for long periods of time. at its most taut, the game generally puts some sort of barrier up in your way and then a way around it, with the direct option being something like combat or picking a lock and the indirect option being finding a vent or waterway to circumvent the barrier. with enough of these situations back to back, the game hopes that you'll avoid sticking to one gameplay style in order to preserve your resources in that area for later when they seem more necessary; you can't crack every door with lockpicks, so you'll probably have to get your hands dirty or crawl on your belly here and there if you want to keep your picks for when the alternative is, say, running through a irradiated area. the nice part of this is that it truly does work: I explored, snuck around, and fought off enemies all in equal measure throughout the game through entirely organic response to each of the situations. the downside is by endgame the resource economy has completely turned in your favor assuming you've been rotating all of your options, making decisions on resource expenditure past a certain point much more about cleaning out your inventory rather than rationing.
when the game is firing on all cylinders, you'll get something like bunker III from the aforementioned catacombs. the area is two large rooms with a camera and turret tracking you at the back of the first room right in front of a cell full of hostages, multiple floors connected by stairs with archways for cover in the second room, and a back hallway swarming with rocket-strapped operatives where the camera/turret controls and a key to the next reside; a waterway additionally connects the front of the first room with the back of the second room. here you have actual tradeoffs to deal with: just grabbing the key and skipping the whole area by going through the waterway works, but the coverage in the back hallway can be intense depending on the AI's behavior, and your direct path to the key is blocked by strategically placed crates as soon as you leave the waterway. gunning for the security controls instead is feasible, and you can leverage the fact that hacking computers (sometimes?) pauses enemies for a bit to quickly run out, disable everything, and hop back in the waterway. you could also sneak in from the front and use an augmentation that hides you from cameras to avoid triggering the turret, and if you rescue the hostages with lockpicks instead of locating the cell key and leave the area early, you'll get the next area's key from their camp leader anyway. when the game constructs situations like these, they not only make the discrete tradeoffs impactful on the flow of a given level, they also weave it into the actual second-to-second movement, stealth, and combat as well.
at its worst it's the opposite: individual rooms with a guard or two and maybe a computer system or locked door stitched together by long hallways that inoculate each scenario from one another. in these sections the main appeal is exploration, either through finding nooks and crannies hidden from view or by reading the many "data cubes" with flavor text strewn around. it can still be exciting, especially earlier on when you don't have tools to detect enemies through walls and the suspense of moving around still persists. later in the game when one has more abilities at their disposal, breaking apart puzzles or barriers by jumping over them with enhanced height, moving large crates to use as stairs with enhanced strength, or shooting down doors with a mastered rifle ability can potentially make the monotony less apparent. some of the barriers don't fare quite as well due to a lackluster implementation: the hacking, for instance, is more or less free even with minimal upgrades, and for every camera you have to actually maneuver around there's at least four you'll disable without thinking just because the security terminals are easy to access. if the mission locations didn't adhere to the small details of real environments or didn't have cute little secrets in vents and lock-boxes, these issues would likely overcome the holistic experience and result in tedium.
the tiny details extend further than objects in the world as well. from early on when one of your augmented colleagues begins spontaneously complaining about getting the wrong can of soda from a vending machine, I had hoped that the scripting for the NPCs would stay high quality, and it absolutely persisted to the final moments of the game, when a civilian mechanic distraught by my actions pulled a gun on me behind my back. the tight pacing of the levels compared to a full open world experience allows for many of the individual NPCs to have unique dialogue, behavior, and even inventory when subdued. of these the most fascinating to me may have been a conversation with a chinese bartender in hong kong, who extolled the CCP's commitment to capitalist enterprise outside the purview of the new world order by emphasizing authoritarian nationalism against main character denton's idealized western democratic order. it's something you wouldn't see now in the xi jinping era and weirdly reflective of the game's almost non-ideological view of politics: people-facing organizations controlled by layers upon layers of shadowy organizations, each manipulating social behavior in a top-down way compared to the bottom-up class struggle and ideological superstructure of reality. not really a thought-provoking work unless you're particularly animated by vague gesturing towards "control" and "liberty," but at least you can tell the developers didn't take it too seriously either. there's roswell-style gray aliens running around for christ's sake.
and really, dungeon crawling is the name of the game here, more or less. at least half of the game takes place in some sort of complex with a destination and a set of non-linear gates along the way, all of which serve as hinge points for the player to choose which resources to expend. the "immsim" label comes from just how many resources have all gotten slammed together in your control: lockpicks and "multitools" for bypassing security, ammo for many different varieties of firearms, bio-energy for utilizing your augmented abilities, and a slew of consumable items meant for tanking bullets, running past enemies undetected, or breathing under water for long periods of time. at its most taut, the game generally puts some sort of barrier up in your way and then a way around it, with the direct option being something like combat or picking a lock and the indirect option being finding a vent or waterway to circumvent the barrier. with enough of these situations back to back, the game hopes that you'll avoid sticking to one gameplay style in order to preserve your resources in that area for later when they seem more necessary; you can't crack every door with lockpicks, so you'll probably have to get your hands dirty or crawl on your belly here and there if you want to keep your picks for when the alternative is, say, running through a irradiated area. the nice part of this is that it truly does work: I explored, snuck around, and fought off enemies all in equal measure throughout the game through entirely organic response to each of the situations. the downside is by endgame the resource economy has completely turned in your favor assuming you've been rotating all of your options, making decisions on resource expenditure past a certain point much more about cleaning out your inventory rather than rationing.
when the game is firing on all cylinders, you'll get something like bunker III from the aforementioned catacombs. the area is two large rooms with a camera and turret tracking you at the back of the first room right in front of a cell full of hostages, multiple floors connected by stairs with archways for cover in the second room, and a back hallway swarming with rocket-strapped operatives where the camera/turret controls and a key to the next reside; a waterway additionally connects the front of the first room with the back of the second room. here you have actual tradeoffs to deal with: just grabbing the key and skipping the whole area by going through the waterway works, but the coverage in the back hallway can be intense depending on the AI's behavior, and your direct path to the key is blocked by strategically placed crates as soon as you leave the waterway. gunning for the security controls instead is feasible, and you can leverage the fact that hacking computers (sometimes?) pauses enemies for a bit to quickly run out, disable everything, and hop back in the waterway. you could also sneak in from the front and use an augmentation that hides you from cameras to avoid triggering the turret, and if you rescue the hostages with lockpicks instead of locating the cell key and leave the area early, you'll get the next area's key from their camp leader anyway. when the game constructs situations like these, they not only make the discrete tradeoffs impactful on the flow of a given level, they also weave it into the actual second-to-second movement, stealth, and combat as well.
at its worst it's the opposite: individual rooms with a guard or two and maybe a computer system or locked door stitched together by long hallways that inoculate each scenario from one another. in these sections the main appeal is exploration, either through finding nooks and crannies hidden from view or by reading the many "data cubes" with flavor text strewn around. it can still be exciting, especially earlier on when you don't have tools to detect enemies through walls and the suspense of moving around still persists. later in the game when one has more abilities at their disposal, breaking apart puzzles or barriers by jumping over them with enhanced height, moving large crates to use as stairs with enhanced strength, or shooting down doors with a mastered rifle ability can potentially make the monotony less apparent. some of the barriers don't fare quite as well due to a lackluster implementation: the hacking, for instance, is more or less free even with minimal upgrades, and for every camera you have to actually maneuver around there's at least four you'll disable without thinking just because the security terminals are easy to access. if the mission locations didn't adhere to the small details of real environments or didn't have cute little secrets in vents and lock-boxes, these issues would likely overcome the holistic experience and result in tedium.
the tiny details extend further than objects in the world as well. from early on when one of your augmented colleagues begins spontaneously complaining about getting the wrong can of soda from a vending machine, I had hoped that the scripting for the NPCs would stay high quality, and it absolutely persisted to the final moments of the game, when a civilian mechanic distraught by my actions pulled a gun on me behind my back. the tight pacing of the levels compared to a full open world experience allows for many of the individual NPCs to have unique dialogue, behavior, and even inventory when subdued. of these the most fascinating to me may have been a conversation with a chinese bartender in hong kong, who extolled the CCP's commitment to capitalist enterprise outside the purview of the new world order by emphasizing authoritarian nationalism against main character denton's idealized western democratic order. it's something you wouldn't see now in the xi jinping era and weirdly reflective of the game's almost non-ideological view of politics: people-facing organizations controlled by layers upon layers of shadowy organizations, each manipulating social behavior in a top-down way compared to the bottom-up class struggle and ideological superstructure of reality. not really a thought-provoking work unless you're particularly animated by vague gesturing towards "control" and "liberty," but at least you can tell the developers didn't take it too seriously either. there's roswell-style gray aliens running around for christ's sake.
1999
"harry mason introduced the everyman to survival horror" "as an ordinary man harry mason can't take many hits and struggles with firearms" my man is standing here nailing headshots with hunting rifles like it's nothing. he's getting pounced on by flesh gorillas, mauled, and then crawling out like he just took a scratch. he's surviving electrocution and then nailing noscopes like it's easy. and there's no question he's been doing his cardio as well, sprinting across an entire town while barely breaking a sweat. barely loses his composure until a lady literally turns into a blood demon in front of him. even then he takes a second to sit with it and then starts running around literal bizarro world again as if nothing happened. what does chris redfield have that harry doesn't?
when I played silent hill 2 I managed to self-impose the dread and anxiety required to fully immerse myself in the dilapidated corridors and alleys of the titular town. not so much this time. my friends/roommates were really into watching this one so I rarely played this one alone in the dark like I did its sequel, and I played the game accordingly. lots of riffing and plenty of laughs at the stilted dialogue, creepy setpieces, and oddball puzzles. when I got to the lighthouse I was really having to strain my tank controls prowess to run up the spiral staircase, and as a bit I made a couple other people try it to prove I wasn't crazy; I'll always remember that shit.
but I can't deny that when I played this alone for a bit in the otherworld version of the school, even as I worried that I couldn't remember how to envelope myself in that fear, I could feel those telltale signs occurring. the tightening of the chest, and that prickle in the throat letting me know that the imagery of strung-up bodies and rusty grating were starting to make me anxious. even with few prior antecedents that managed to capture this disgust and visceral psychological torment within the digital world they managed to perfectly envision it on such limited hardware. scenes like the rows of windmills placed in the middle of nowhere after the caterpillar fight or something as simple as covered corpses on beds in the hospital convey sickness and decay without hesitation. the lighting as well, from the muggy daytime streets to the narrow beam of the flashlight control the player's gaze so perfectly, unsettling them as they dare to peek into a corner or open yet another door.
what perhaps surprised me the most was the game's structure. from back to front the game isn't particularly long, and unlike its sequel the actual dungeon sections are much less heavily emphasized. these locations in silent hill 2 contain heavy story significance and a much stronger sense of relevance to james' history and mental state in comparison to the school and the hospital, which serve more functional purposes to harry than thematic ones. the rooms as well feel much more cookie-cutter by comparison, with fewer key areas of interest and more vessels to contain keys of various shapes. where this game succeeds in disorienting the player most is in the ever-shifting locality of the places you visit. building floors that disappear, bathrooms that exit on different floors than you entered on, and entire city streets melting away before your very eyes; all of this culminates in the nowhere, where previous areas are stitched together into a dizzying maze detached from any semblance of reality.
silent hill also has significantly better puzzle design than its follow-up thanks to the lack of any sort of item combination feature. keys are keys, no need to weld multiple random items together to get to the next area. instead the progression feels much more directly drawn from resident evil, with a mixture of fun little brainteasers and lock-and-key matching. surprisingly these appear very little in the second half of the game, assuming that you totally skip the kaufmann side quest as I did (thought I looked around a good deal and yet totally missed the bar, and as soon as you walk down the street on the boardwalk you're completely locked out of this whole section unfortunately). past the hospital there's quite a while of just running past hordes of enemies completely incapable of keeping up with you: in the town center, the sewers, the dock on the way to the lighthouse, and then the sewers again. not really an issue considering you still get to take in the sights regardless, but I would've preferred a little more "dungeon-crawling" so to speak.
when I first tried this game years ago the clunky combat and controls threw me off, and if you feel like you're in this boat take some time to get used to it and explore. items are ridiculously common and taking damage usually yields little risk provided you keep tabs on your health. although I didn't use the strafe at all and barely touched the backjump, overall these are some super tight controls. would not blame anyone for trying the second game first and then coming back to this one like I did.
when I played silent hill 2 I managed to self-impose the dread and anxiety required to fully immerse myself in the dilapidated corridors and alleys of the titular town. not so much this time. my friends/roommates were really into watching this one so I rarely played this one alone in the dark like I did its sequel, and I played the game accordingly. lots of riffing and plenty of laughs at the stilted dialogue, creepy setpieces, and oddball puzzles. when I got to the lighthouse I was really having to strain my tank controls prowess to run up the spiral staircase, and as a bit I made a couple other people try it to prove I wasn't crazy; I'll always remember that shit.
but I can't deny that when I played this alone for a bit in the otherworld version of the school, even as I worried that I couldn't remember how to envelope myself in that fear, I could feel those telltale signs occurring. the tightening of the chest, and that prickle in the throat letting me know that the imagery of strung-up bodies and rusty grating were starting to make me anxious. even with few prior antecedents that managed to capture this disgust and visceral psychological torment within the digital world they managed to perfectly envision it on such limited hardware. scenes like the rows of windmills placed in the middle of nowhere after the caterpillar fight or something as simple as covered corpses on beds in the hospital convey sickness and decay without hesitation. the lighting as well, from the muggy daytime streets to the narrow beam of the flashlight control the player's gaze so perfectly, unsettling them as they dare to peek into a corner or open yet another door.
what perhaps surprised me the most was the game's structure. from back to front the game isn't particularly long, and unlike its sequel the actual dungeon sections are much less heavily emphasized. these locations in silent hill 2 contain heavy story significance and a much stronger sense of relevance to james' history and mental state in comparison to the school and the hospital, which serve more functional purposes to harry than thematic ones. the rooms as well feel much more cookie-cutter by comparison, with fewer key areas of interest and more vessels to contain keys of various shapes. where this game succeeds in disorienting the player most is in the ever-shifting locality of the places you visit. building floors that disappear, bathrooms that exit on different floors than you entered on, and entire city streets melting away before your very eyes; all of this culminates in the nowhere, where previous areas are stitched together into a dizzying maze detached from any semblance of reality.
silent hill also has significantly better puzzle design than its follow-up thanks to the lack of any sort of item combination feature. keys are keys, no need to weld multiple random items together to get to the next area. instead the progression feels much more directly drawn from resident evil, with a mixture of fun little brainteasers and lock-and-key matching. surprisingly these appear very little in the second half of the game, assuming that you totally skip the kaufmann side quest as I did (thought I looked around a good deal and yet totally missed the bar, and as soon as you walk down the street on the boardwalk you're completely locked out of this whole section unfortunately). past the hospital there's quite a while of just running past hordes of enemies completely incapable of keeping up with you: in the town center, the sewers, the dock on the way to the lighthouse, and then the sewers again. not really an issue considering you still get to take in the sights regardless, but I would've preferred a little more "dungeon-crawling" so to speak.
when I first tried this game years ago the clunky combat and controls threw me off, and if you feel like you're in this boat take some time to get used to it and explore. items are ridiculously common and taking damage usually yields little risk provided you keep tabs on your health. although I didn't use the strafe at all and barely touched the backjump, overall these are some super tight controls. would not blame anyone for trying the second game first and then coming back to this one like I did.
1999
rather than place movement on the analog stick, am2 took an unorthodox approach and mapped it to ryo's gaze. through this, the player interacts with shenmue's painstaking representation of urban japan primarily through the act of sight. ryo is a natural observer, of signs, of people, of animals, of forklifts moving to and fro and waves undulating below. when ryo focuses on an object in the world, the player gently melts into his head to embody him. you take his perspective to roll a gacha toy between your fingers, or check your watch, or browse the shelves of a convenience store. this is certainly an ADV of sorts with sprinkles of what would become "open world" gameplay, but first and foremost it is a game of sight and perception. succinctly, it is eyes entertainment.
the meticulous attention to detail and passive nature of play fosters an undeniable sense of atomization. the game does not explicitly critique capitalism, but by creating this diorama-like visage of it, the game uncovers the listlessness at the heart of this era in history. ryo's hero's journey is constantly undermined by his delinquent status, loose social bonds, and overall impotence against forces with greater means than him. outside of the sanctuary of the hazuki dojo, ryo plunges into a world where he can do little but observe those around him. crowds of people, each with unique ways to spurn ryo's questions. when ryo isn't dutifully gathering scraps of information in his notebook, he can do little else other than window shop in a market district enclosed in the influence of former US navy occupation. what can he do other than pour money into pointless tasks and have stilted conversations with his acquaintances? at best he can convert a parking lot into a makeshift practice space for martial arts. in other instances I found myself staring at my phone waiting for buses to arrive or shops to open; would ryo not have done the same to suck up his time had the option existed? there are sparks of life to find, but virtually every point of contact is transactional, every activity is gated by money, every part of ryo's life wilting from his isolation after his father's death.
it makes sense then that disc 3 represents a significant change for ryo as he shifts into employment at the harbor. his absence of purpose morphs into routine living, and he begins to form bonds with his coworkers. ryo's lack of community ties pushes him into the workforce as a sole reluctant method of social engagement, his ulterior motive to investigate the mad angels aside. at the same time, his time in dobuita becomes severely limited, and the fragments of relationships he formed previously become even more distant. one gets the sense that his lunch break camaraderie and daily forklift races fill part of this void. his primary action becomes moving the forklift and fighting gang members after prior weeks spent primarily with the action of sight, signaling the shift from eyes to hands. the inability of ryo to settle in outside of labor is telling, and the eventual termination of his employment closes this chapter before he quietly sets off on his nomadic quest to find lan di. these were the only solid bonds he had, after all.
where the game inevitably stumbles is in where it artificially blocks these bonds. limited conversations are expected (although frankly these are astonishing for the era), but to lock characterization for a person like nozomi behind phone conversations when she's so easily accessible in the world feels awkward. the game occasionally expects this kind of unusual logic in order to get the most out of its world, with missable, timed events slipping through new players' fingers. however, it's unquestionable that the novelty present at the game's release has persisted thanks to the dearth of those willing to be as daring in its recreation of life. just wish there was one more motorcycle section...
the meticulous attention to detail and passive nature of play fosters an undeniable sense of atomization. the game does not explicitly critique capitalism, but by creating this diorama-like visage of it, the game uncovers the listlessness at the heart of this era in history. ryo's hero's journey is constantly undermined by his delinquent status, loose social bonds, and overall impotence against forces with greater means than him. outside of the sanctuary of the hazuki dojo, ryo plunges into a world where he can do little but observe those around him. crowds of people, each with unique ways to spurn ryo's questions. when ryo isn't dutifully gathering scraps of information in his notebook, he can do little else other than window shop in a market district enclosed in the influence of former US navy occupation. what can he do other than pour money into pointless tasks and have stilted conversations with his acquaintances? at best he can convert a parking lot into a makeshift practice space for martial arts. in other instances I found myself staring at my phone waiting for buses to arrive or shops to open; would ryo not have done the same to suck up his time had the option existed? there are sparks of life to find, but virtually every point of contact is transactional, every activity is gated by money, every part of ryo's life wilting from his isolation after his father's death.
it makes sense then that disc 3 represents a significant change for ryo as he shifts into employment at the harbor. his absence of purpose morphs into routine living, and he begins to form bonds with his coworkers. ryo's lack of community ties pushes him into the workforce as a sole reluctant method of social engagement, his ulterior motive to investigate the mad angels aside. at the same time, his time in dobuita becomes severely limited, and the fragments of relationships he formed previously become even more distant. one gets the sense that his lunch break camaraderie and daily forklift races fill part of this void. his primary action becomes moving the forklift and fighting gang members after prior weeks spent primarily with the action of sight, signaling the shift from eyes to hands. the inability of ryo to settle in outside of labor is telling, and the eventual termination of his employment closes this chapter before he quietly sets off on his nomadic quest to find lan di. these were the only solid bonds he had, after all.
where the game inevitably stumbles is in where it artificially blocks these bonds. limited conversations are expected (although frankly these are astonishing for the era), but to lock characterization for a person like nozomi behind phone conversations when she's so easily accessible in the world feels awkward. the game occasionally expects this kind of unusual logic in order to get the most out of its world, with missable, timed events slipping through new players' fingers. however, it's unquestionable that the novelty present at the game's release has persisted thanks to the dearth of those willing to be as daring in its recreation of life. just wish there was one more motorcycle section...
2013
andy blunden writes the following in Stalinism: Its Origin and Its Future:
"The bureaucracy, owing to its conditions of life, aspired to ownership of the means of production, but was excluded from this by Soviet law. Nevertheless, like all bureaucracies, they used their position to gain the greatest possible freedom from the control from the population."
blunden identifies the bureaucracy of a stalinist system as wielding the instruments of political violence on behalf of the proletariat (who won said instruments via revolutionary upheaval of a capitalist social order) while simultaneously negotiating greater and greater autonomy to conduct the state away from proletariat desires. this is specifically attributed to the isolation of the soviet state and the failure of international socialism in the wake of the russian revolution. when operating in a capitalist global economy and with the need to establish industrialized productive forces in a relatively undeveloped country, the bureaucracy organized markets and rigid economic control in order to create competitive parity with its neighbors.
these threads are woven tightly throughout your days as immigration officer in arstotzka. it presents the material contradiction at the heart of socialist bureaucratic rule cleanly: the regulatory actions of the bureaucracy can themselves be twisted into commodities. the ideal value of the officer's choice to accept or deny an immigrant's paperwork lies in its judgment on the fitness of a person to enter or exit a country; a binary moral evaluation of someone as a refugee, traveler, or potential productive labor vs an ideological dissident, terrorist, or purveyor of bourgeoisie exploitation. when this receives an exchange valuation in the form of "credits," a dialectic relation emerges. the need to keep one's family afloat in the face of daily expenses turns the throughput of the line into the driver of decision-making while the just impetus behind the officer's duty becomes less and less relevant. the game counterweighs this somewhat by instantly scoring you on your decisions, but it's only able to do so in terms of factual, unnuanced contradictions. forged seals on entry permits and stolen visas are smashed into the same category as those with minor typos in their region of origin and identification cards just a day or two expired. any means of quantifying the ideal behind the action of immigration squashes it into a degenerated new interpretation.
with this transformation of the action of immigration approval into a commodity, the state and its handlers are able to leverage it as such. when asian-expy country impor imposes trade sanctions on arstotzka, the latter fires back by cutting off access to its borders, withholding a service identical to its rival's cessation of the trade of physical goods. a fellow guard gets kickbacks off of detainments and cuts you into his share, giving the player the opportunity to reap rewards from detaining immigrants for virtually any small paperwork infraction. even terrorist attacks become easy paydays for the player, changing from unfortunate interruptions in your commission-based salary to a sigh of relief as a suicide bomber rushing the outpost is surgically eliminated by your hand. in all of these instances, the meaning behind these bureaucratic, theoretically necessary actions are gamified through their transformation into commodities. even the physical passports themselves are commodified by the end of the game, where surreptitiously confiscating above-board foreign passports gives your family the opportunity to create forgeries and emigrate into a different country.
in this way, the game forces the player's hand by accelerating a bureaucratization of the mind. I denied entry to a woman because she lacked an ID card even with a valid domestic visa; I immediately rationalized this because her excuse ("I left the country before ID cards were distributed") seemed incongruent with a supposed history that I had literally no basis for. at the same time, I applauded myself for making "morally correct" choices to weigh out my perpetuation of injustice, such as letting a woman join her husband even when missing her entry permit or denying entry to a pimp trafficking women through your checkpoint. in essence, the existence of the service I provided as a commodity gave the illusion of perpetual justice when I made discrete choices that defied the imposed exchange value, buoying the contradiction between moral ideal and commodified existence in the process. any sense of personal gratification off of these actions stemmed entirely from the fact that I wielded complete control over these people's lives, even if I occasionally offered benevolence. it succinctly shows the inability for meaningful revolutionary action by a single actor when perpetuating a regressive mode of a production. rather, only organized methods can viably allow for a true, international struggle for a classless society.
mechanically the game perfectly conjures the claustrophobic doldrums of work giving way to dull bouts of relief at the absence of any citation. chump sums it up rather tidily in their own review. virtually never a possible contradiction that doesn't appear during regular play at least once or twice, encouraging thorough play while simultaneously rushing you along.
"The bureaucracy, owing to its conditions of life, aspired to ownership of the means of production, but was excluded from this by Soviet law. Nevertheless, like all bureaucracies, they used their position to gain the greatest possible freedom from the control from the population."
blunden identifies the bureaucracy of a stalinist system as wielding the instruments of political violence on behalf of the proletariat (who won said instruments via revolutionary upheaval of a capitalist social order) while simultaneously negotiating greater and greater autonomy to conduct the state away from proletariat desires. this is specifically attributed to the isolation of the soviet state and the failure of international socialism in the wake of the russian revolution. when operating in a capitalist global economy and with the need to establish industrialized productive forces in a relatively undeveloped country, the bureaucracy organized markets and rigid economic control in order to create competitive parity with its neighbors.
these threads are woven tightly throughout your days as immigration officer in arstotzka. it presents the material contradiction at the heart of socialist bureaucratic rule cleanly: the regulatory actions of the bureaucracy can themselves be twisted into commodities. the ideal value of the officer's choice to accept or deny an immigrant's paperwork lies in its judgment on the fitness of a person to enter or exit a country; a binary moral evaluation of someone as a refugee, traveler, or potential productive labor vs an ideological dissident, terrorist, or purveyor of bourgeoisie exploitation. when this receives an exchange valuation in the form of "credits," a dialectic relation emerges. the need to keep one's family afloat in the face of daily expenses turns the throughput of the line into the driver of decision-making while the just impetus behind the officer's duty becomes less and less relevant. the game counterweighs this somewhat by instantly scoring you on your decisions, but it's only able to do so in terms of factual, unnuanced contradictions. forged seals on entry permits and stolen visas are smashed into the same category as those with minor typos in their region of origin and identification cards just a day or two expired. any means of quantifying the ideal behind the action of immigration squashes it into a degenerated new interpretation.
with this transformation of the action of immigration approval into a commodity, the state and its handlers are able to leverage it as such. when asian-expy country impor imposes trade sanctions on arstotzka, the latter fires back by cutting off access to its borders, withholding a service identical to its rival's cessation of the trade of physical goods. a fellow guard gets kickbacks off of detainments and cuts you into his share, giving the player the opportunity to reap rewards from detaining immigrants for virtually any small paperwork infraction. even terrorist attacks become easy paydays for the player, changing from unfortunate interruptions in your commission-based salary to a sigh of relief as a suicide bomber rushing the outpost is surgically eliminated by your hand. in all of these instances, the meaning behind these bureaucratic, theoretically necessary actions are gamified through their transformation into commodities. even the physical passports themselves are commodified by the end of the game, where surreptitiously confiscating above-board foreign passports gives your family the opportunity to create forgeries and emigrate into a different country.
in this way, the game forces the player's hand by accelerating a bureaucratization of the mind. I denied entry to a woman because she lacked an ID card even with a valid domestic visa; I immediately rationalized this because her excuse ("I left the country before ID cards were distributed") seemed incongruent with a supposed history that I had literally no basis for. at the same time, I applauded myself for making "morally correct" choices to weigh out my perpetuation of injustice, such as letting a woman join her husband even when missing her entry permit or denying entry to a pimp trafficking women through your checkpoint. in essence, the existence of the service I provided as a commodity gave the illusion of perpetual justice when I made discrete choices that defied the imposed exchange value, buoying the contradiction between moral ideal and commodified existence in the process. any sense of personal gratification off of these actions stemmed entirely from the fact that I wielded complete control over these people's lives, even if I occasionally offered benevolence. it succinctly shows the inability for meaningful revolutionary action by a single actor when perpetuating a regressive mode of a production. rather, only organized methods can viably allow for a true, international struggle for a classless society.
mechanically the game perfectly conjures the claustrophobic doldrums of work giving way to dull bouts of relief at the absence of any citation. chump sums it up rather tidily in their own review. virtually never a possible contradiction that doesn't appear during regular play at least once or twice, encouraging thorough play while simultaneously rushing you along.
2022
I've been ruminating on a previous review for this game. the miasma around it contains a lot of current ambient thought patterns of the affectionately-named "nintendrone" crowd, specifically around topics that have arose in the Switch Era. I think for many of us zoomers in the age range for backloggd (and the broader sphere of gaming culture online in general), the beginning of the switch's life cycle was a special moment. for me personally, the switch released a week before my 18th birthday, and after eventaully snagging one during its inital availability drought, it was my first real console that I owned. not just a shoddily-maintained handheld or a hand-me-down sixth/seventh gen console for me to fiddle around with, but something with brand-new games releasing for it that I could hook up to a TV! the bounty was particularly rich that year too; botw day 1, rereleases of several standout wii u titles, a brand-new collectathon mario game, a long-awaited "true" sequel to xenoblade, and splatoon 2, a multiplayer shooter tuned specifically for the zoomer crowd. the original splatoon presaged our modern neon-color, trend-focused, "what's cool with the kids?" mass-culture shooter wave that awoke from the decline of the tacticool brown-and-grey military shooters of the late 00s and early 10s. it's only natural that nintendo would ride the wave onto their big launch for the switch, and at just the right time as well, lest we forget that fortnite released in early access within the same month that splatoon 2 hit shelves.
five years later, it's inarguable that our perceptions would have shifted. the pangburn who had not started college yet grinding out turf wars on the couch is now halfway through grad school. I've now seen the many ups and downs of the switch as nintendo has consistently reprised their role as the clueless corporate granddaddy of gaming, prone to making jarring business and PR decisions more often than they can spit out decent games. I've witnessed the internet at the same time fall out of the honeymoon period many of us had with nintendo during 2017. putting so many great titles in the launch window left 2018 particularly dry other than the excellent smash ultimate late in the year, and when the release train revved up again in 2019 the quality was much more uneven. wrapped up in 2017 specifically was a revitalization of japanese gaming that brought attention back to the kind of games I'm primarily interested in -- the aforementioned nintendo titles, yakuza 0, nier automata, persona 5, resident evil 7 -- but those good times weren't going to last, right?
hence my interest in the aforementioned review. its main thrust is that nintendo is leveraging FOMO in order to sell everyone on a new copy of splatoon; which is true in the sense that this is how every new game is sold at retail price. it's also an accusation that nintendo has been rightfully accused of exploiting for their limited-time mario 3DAS and shadow dragon rereleases, or their underproduced amiibo lines and retro plug-and-play consoles. there's also a significant portion of this review extolling nintendo's countercultural original splatoon aesthetic that has been dampened in subsequent releases. personally I don't find any of these games particularly against the grain unless we're discussing it through the lens of the prior onslaught of modern warfare-era titles, which is a shaky ground to stand on considering in that case splatoon set the new standard and now suffers the proliferation of its copycats. punk? maybe pop punk... lord knows I had a steady diet of blink 182, alkaline trio, jeff rosenstock, pup, and screeching weasel back when I was playing splatoon 2 regularly. and isn't it more punk to deface clean hotels and malls in the name of artistic anarchy?
meeting those points at face-value means I'm getting lost in the smokescreen though, I need to dig deeper. because there are multiple valid mentions of this new entry lacking innovation, but they're nonsubstantial and swallowed by the rest of the remarks. this is understandable: it's hard to elaborate on features that don't exist. these are buoyed with remembrances of the earlier titles and how fresh they felt at release, contrasted with the stale aura of this new title. there's a general sense that something is wrong with this new game, right? it must be something new... but there's so little here that's actually new that it's hard to pinpoint. could it be the locker cosmetics and their associated "catalog" score, which scans as a battlepass in a post-fortnite world, or the new gachapon machine set up in the lobby? the former is entirely passive and totally free, so its only sin is just being cribbed from contemporaries, and the similar daily gacha is just an extension of that pernicious old ability chunk grind. what could possibly be that missing piece, that absent little bit of soul that the game lost between splatoon 2 and 3?
to me that answer is nothing. I think that line of inquiry is a dead end. my actual opinion? splatoon 3 feel bleh because splatoon 2 (and probably by extension splatoon 1) felt bleh. they're the same game!! I have returned to the well of squid kid bliss and instead am left wondering how eight years into this franchise I am still left without a way to alter my loadout, or play on more than two maps in a given mode at a time, or properly choose which ranked mode I want to play without having to wait for the choices to rotate every two hours! there are reasons these restrictions were originally set up, such as a limited initial set of stages for splatoon 1 or the need to make sure that ranked has a short matchmaking time, but there are other avenues to pursuing these aims that don't come at the expense of player choice and freedom of expression. I just want to use aerospray without getting trapped with these goddamn fizzy bombs, these fucking things that not only need to be cooked to make any impact but even then stil pale in comparison to virtually every other subweapon. could I please get a special that isn't reefslider as well? could I perhaps at least get to avoid playing on a stage that doesn't have walls that make reefslider glitch out near them? or at least could I not have to play on mahi mahi resort like five times in a row?
which is not to say there aren't minor QoL additions that perhaps alone make splatoon 3 marginally more playable than splatoon 2. the addition of a physical lobby where you can practice between rounds feels more engaging than the menus of the prior games, and thank god that I can finally make a room for my friends rather than messing with the awkward drop-in system. at the same time however, nintendo seems to be floundering a bit in terms of actually making substantial improvements to the game. in their stead, many changes have been made that seem to exist purely to justify the sequel status. sheldon, for instance, takes tickets now for weapons instead of money, which more closely ties his selection to your level progression I suppose? at the same time you still cannot truly skip his obnoxious spiel every time you set foot in his shop, so it might as well not have not been a change at all. the way that ranks for ranked mode are maintained now consist of a universal rank instead of individual ranks for each mode with the tradeoff of individual losses counting much less. perhaps there was a calculated reason for this change, but it ultimately makes me favor avoiding ranked modes which I'm particularly bad at such as tower control due to retaining my overall rank from my preferred modes such as splat zones. these are all side-steps to existing mechanics without being solutions to issues, and they hurt my impression of the game.
I must stress that I do like the overall design of splatoon, regardless of the nitpicks above. the way that refilling ink encourages traversal and the way that turf war flips typical PvP interactions on their head (running is often a viable option!) makes the flow of each match visceral as you continually move from area to area in a mad dash for territory. this is why I sunk so many hours into splatoon 2 back when this concept was still so novel for me. however, this style of play also creates very momentum-heavy matches where the outcome of a match can feel certain only halfway through. walking through endless puddles of your opponents' ink, especially the closer it is to your home base, makes me feel dejected even if I manage to get a kill I'm happy with or make a substantial endgame push towards the opponents' lines. this is amplified by the meager rewards from a match loss; seeing those progression bars get a few sparing drops towards a new level after trying your hardest in a match makes me feel like I almost wasted my time playing. when not playing competitively and thrown in with random team members into a game that seems to tacitly encourage communication, I feel pushed away from participating for more than a few matches at a time, just like I did towards the end of splatoon 2's life.
this is something that really felt noticable for me after I recently tried out modern warfare 2's online beta on the advice of a friend. having not played CoD since middle school, I was shocked at how different the atmosphere was. unlike splatoon, modern CoD is enraptured by the current trends in shooters with its season-based structure and mountains of progression bars, but at the other end of it there's something still very personal and intimately fun waiting in store. getting a double or triple kill at all could keep me going through multiple fruitless deaths afterwards just from the giddiness of succeeding in a split-second interaction. overall team scores just didn't matter, as my personal performance and growth felt rewarded by the systems of the game. who has time to worry about teammate behavior when you're succeeding on your own terms? splatoon 3 makes efforts to rectify this issue with its per-match rewards to each player highlighting their strengths and weaknesses, but these seem to confer little outside of maybe influencing the rewards in an anarchy series. perhaps nintendo is trying to highlight competition and community, but in a game where you have absolutely no way to engage with your teammates before and after matches, the effort seems wasted. splatoon could potentially learn some tricks towards crafting a more efficient timewaster from its contemporaries instead of half-heartedly incorporating their progression systems.
this bears mentioning though: just how much of my enjoyment with CoD came with not engaging with the game for over a decade? has my critical perception been inadvertedly weighted towards the novelty of it in a way that I've lost with splatoon? and again, how much of my degredation of splatoon 3 comes from releasing after a shoddy couple of years for nintendo's public-facing wing? splatoon 3 sits in the middle of a pretty good lineup of switch titles, but in the time since the original hype has died down it's much easier to feel and hear the nervous whispers of those wondering what the hell is going on with tears of the kingdom's rollout rather than the basking in the glory of breath of the wild still fresh in everyone's minds. of course, even breath of the wild cribbed much from its open-world contemporaries, and even though I loved it at the time I can see the criticisms from those who weren't too dazzled to see through the brand recognition on top of it. so perhaps then, splatoon has just been another multiplayer shooter all along, and the light is just harsh enough now for us to call it what it is.
------------------
there is something behind that $60 price tag, and it's.... tableturf battle. this might have been the case if nintendo had bothered rolling out online multiplayer for it, but leave it to them to surprise in the oddest of ways. instead we get a brand new single-player mode that seems to derive more from octo expansion (note: I have not played it) than its direct predecessors for better or for worse. I played about sixty total levels including the three mid-game bosses but not including the crater or rocket levels.
splatoon 3 opts for more focused, puzzle-like level design over its predecessors, which were built around every potential loadout being used in every level. this entry opts for bespoke loadouts for each stage to maximize the amount of encounters it can build around those particular weapons. in a few cases this results in some really clever stage design (I'm thinking of the curling bomb stage towards the end of the game that focuses on tightly-aimed ricochets) but in most cases falls surprisingly flat. much of this is due to carrying over many enemies from the prior games with few updates. these octopi foes generally have extremely poor mobility options compared to the protagonist and generally wield highly-telegraphed projectiles that can be easily evaded, and this game in particular really struggles to emphasize its intended stage routes with how useless most of these enemies are. this is particularly noticable with how many basic cover configurations you'll fight enemies from that seem almost copy-pasted throughout the game. splatoon 2 has its own foibles (overly long, unfocused level design) but generally designed more interesting arenas with better escalation of conflict than 3 does. splatoon 3 has a tendency to lock down level progression into very pre-defined, "solvable" encounters that do not surprise the player when completed "correctly" and feel broken when subverted by obvious means. this could still be elevated if that escalation of conflict was engaging, but splatoon 3 tends to favor overloading each level with rote expressions of the player's toolkit before hinting at more thoughtful level designing past the final checkpoint. the curling bomb stage perfectly showcases what could have been the case for these levels, where initial simple ricochets build up into longer areas with movable walls, platformers, and adversarial inkers to navigate and plan around; it helps that for this level the solution space is purposefully wide and more daring solutions yield rewards.
the more explicit puzzle stages have a couple bangers as well (the pac-man level is particularly cool), but too many fall into common level design traps like long obstacle cycles to listlessly wait through or boring auto-scroller sections. I could understand trying to make these easily solvable to make sure everyone has access to the final areas, but in this mode virtually every level is optional, and I would've enjoyed seeing some more out-of-the-box puzzle ideas beyond just shooting targets with a particular weapon on an ink rail or simple rube goldberg contraptions. some of these are particularly frustrating; the one I have to highlight is the tennis level, where the angle of the player's camera behind the "net" sort of kills my depth perception in the void beyond where the targets are shot from, and the level ends with a block that taps the net and never makes it into your play area as some sort of sophomoric joke to force you to replay another minute of scripted tennis target shots. bleh. just less than what I would expect from nintendo in terms of design finesse.
bosses are fine, but the standout is definitely the area six one. probably the most explicit reference we've seen yet to another game that dealt with cleaning up someone else's ink...
five years later, it's inarguable that our perceptions would have shifted. the pangburn who had not started college yet grinding out turf wars on the couch is now halfway through grad school. I've now seen the many ups and downs of the switch as nintendo has consistently reprised their role as the clueless corporate granddaddy of gaming, prone to making jarring business and PR decisions more often than they can spit out decent games. I've witnessed the internet at the same time fall out of the honeymoon period many of us had with nintendo during 2017. putting so many great titles in the launch window left 2018 particularly dry other than the excellent smash ultimate late in the year, and when the release train revved up again in 2019 the quality was much more uneven. wrapped up in 2017 specifically was a revitalization of japanese gaming that brought attention back to the kind of games I'm primarily interested in -- the aforementioned nintendo titles, yakuza 0, nier automata, persona 5, resident evil 7 -- but those good times weren't going to last, right?
hence my interest in the aforementioned review. its main thrust is that nintendo is leveraging FOMO in order to sell everyone on a new copy of splatoon; which is true in the sense that this is how every new game is sold at retail price. it's also an accusation that nintendo has been rightfully accused of exploiting for their limited-time mario 3DAS and shadow dragon rereleases, or their underproduced amiibo lines and retro plug-and-play consoles. there's also a significant portion of this review extolling nintendo's countercultural original splatoon aesthetic that has been dampened in subsequent releases. personally I don't find any of these games particularly against the grain unless we're discussing it through the lens of the prior onslaught of modern warfare-era titles, which is a shaky ground to stand on considering in that case splatoon set the new standard and now suffers the proliferation of its copycats. punk? maybe pop punk... lord knows I had a steady diet of blink 182, alkaline trio, jeff rosenstock, pup, and screeching weasel back when I was playing splatoon 2 regularly. and isn't it more punk to deface clean hotels and malls in the name of artistic anarchy?
meeting those points at face-value means I'm getting lost in the smokescreen though, I need to dig deeper. because there are multiple valid mentions of this new entry lacking innovation, but they're nonsubstantial and swallowed by the rest of the remarks. this is understandable: it's hard to elaborate on features that don't exist. these are buoyed with remembrances of the earlier titles and how fresh they felt at release, contrasted with the stale aura of this new title. there's a general sense that something is wrong with this new game, right? it must be something new... but there's so little here that's actually new that it's hard to pinpoint. could it be the locker cosmetics and their associated "catalog" score, which scans as a battlepass in a post-fortnite world, or the new gachapon machine set up in the lobby? the former is entirely passive and totally free, so its only sin is just being cribbed from contemporaries, and the similar daily gacha is just an extension of that pernicious old ability chunk grind. what could possibly be that missing piece, that absent little bit of soul that the game lost between splatoon 2 and 3?
to me that answer is nothing. I think that line of inquiry is a dead end. my actual opinion? splatoon 3 feel bleh because splatoon 2 (and probably by extension splatoon 1) felt bleh. they're the same game!! I have returned to the well of squid kid bliss and instead am left wondering how eight years into this franchise I am still left without a way to alter my loadout, or play on more than two maps in a given mode at a time, or properly choose which ranked mode I want to play without having to wait for the choices to rotate every two hours! there are reasons these restrictions were originally set up, such as a limited initial set of stages for splatoon 1 or the need to make sure that ranked has a short matchmaking time, but there are other avenues to pursuing these aims that don't come at the expense of player choice and freedom of expression. I just want to use aerospray without getting trapped with these goddamn fizzy bombs, these fucking things that not only need to be cooked to make any impact but even then stil pale in comparison to virtually every other subweapon. could I please get a special that isn't reefslider as well? could I perhaps at least get to avoid playing on a stage that doesn't have walls that make reefslider glitch out near them? or at least could I not have to play on mahi mahi resort like five times in a row?
which is not to say there aren't minor QoL additions that perhaps alone make splatoon 3 marginally more playable than splatoon 2. the addition of a physical lobby where you can practice between rounds feels more engaging than the menus of the prior games, and thank god that I can finally make a room for my friends rather than messing with the awkward drop-in system. at the same time however, nintendo seems to be floundering a bit in terms of actually making substantial improvements to the game. in their stead, many changes have been made that seem to exist purely to justify the sequel status. sheldon, for instance, takes tickets now for weapons instead of money, which more closely ties his selection to your level progression I suppose? at the same time you still cannot truly skip his obnoxious spiel every time you set foot in his shop, so it might as well not have not been a change at all. the way that ranks for ranked mode are maintained now consist of a universal rank instead of individual ranks for each mode with the tradeoff of individual losses counting much less. perhaps there was a calculated reason for this change, but it ultimately makes me favor avoiding ranked modes which I'm particularly bad at such as tower control due to retaining my overall rank from my preferred modes such as splat zones. these are all side-steps to existing mechanics without being solutions to issues, and they hurt my impression of the game.
I must stress that I do like the overall design of splatoon, regardless of the nitpicks above. the way that refilling ink encourages traversal and the way that turf war flips typical PvP interactions on their head (running is often a viable option!) makes the flow of each match visceral as you continually move from area to area in a mad dash for territory. this is why I sunk so many hours into splatoon 2 back when this concept was still so novel for me. however, this style of play also creates very momentum-heavy matches where the outcome of a match can feel certain only halfway through. walking through endless puddles of your opponents' ink, especially the closer it is to your home base, makes me feel dejected even if I manage to get a kill I'm happy with or make a substantial endgame push towards the opponents' lines. this is amplified by the meager rewards from a match loss; seeing those progression bars get a few sparing drops towards a new level after trying your hardest in a match makes me feel like I almost wasted my time playing. when not playing competitively and thrown in with random team members into a game that seems to tacitly encourage communication, I feel pushed away from participating for more than a few matches at a time, just like I did towards the end of splatoon 2's life.
this is something that really felt noticable for me after I recently tried out modern warfare 2's online beta on the advice of a friend. having not played CoD since middle school, I was shocked at how different the atmosphere was. unlike splatoon, modern CoD is enraptured by the current trends in shooters with its season-based structure and mountains of progression bars, but at the other end of it there's something still very personal and intimately fun waiting in store. getting a double or triple kill at all could keep me going through multiple fruitless deaths afterwards just from the giddiness of succeeding in a split-second interaction. overall team scores just didn't matter, as my personal performance and growth felt rewarded by the systems of the game. who has time to worry about teammate behavior when you're succeeding on your own terms? splatoon 3 makes efforts to rectify this issue with its per-match rewards to each player highlighting their strengths and weaknesses, but these seem to confer little outside of maybe influencing the rewards in an anarchy series. perhaps nintendo is trying to highlight competition and community, but in a game where you have absolutely no way to engage with your teammates before and after matches, the effort seems wasted. splatoon could potentially learn some tricks towards crafting a more efficient timewaster from its contemporaries instead of half-heartedly incorporating their progression systems.
this bears mentioning though: just how much of my enjoyment with CoD came with not engaging with the game for over a decade? has my critical perception been inadvertedly weighted towards the novelty of it in a way that I've lost with splatoon? and again, how much of my degredation of splatoon 3 comes from releasing after a shoddy couple of years for nintendo's public-facing wing? splatoon 3 sits in the middle of a pretty good lineup of switch titles, but in the time since the original hype has died down it's much easier to feel and hear the nervous whispers of those wondering what the hell is going on with tears of the kingdom's rollout rather than the basking in the glory of breath of the wild still fresh in everyone's minds. of course, even breath of the wild cribbed much from its open-world contemporaries, and even though I loved it at the time I can see the criticisms from those who weren't too dazzled to see through the brand recognition on top of it. so perhaps then, splatoon has just been another multiplayer shooter all along, and the light is just harsh enough now for us to call it what it is.
------------------
there is something behind that $60 price tag, and it's.... tableturf battle. this might have been the case if nintendo had bothered rolling out online multiplayer for it, but leave it to them to surprise in the oddest of ways. instead we get a brand new single-player mode that seems to derive more from octo expansion (note: I have not played it) than its direct predecessors for better or for worse. I played about sixty total levels including the three mid-game bosses but not including the crater or rocket levels.
splatoon 3 opts for more focused, puzzle-like level design over its predecessors, which were built around every potential loadout being used in every level. this entry opts for bespoke loadouts for each stage to maximize the amount of encounters it can build around those particular weapons. in a few cases this results in some really clever stage design (I'm thinking of the curling bomb stage towards the end of the game that focuses on tightly-aimed ricochets) but in most cases falls surprisingly flat. much of this is due to carrying over many enemies from the prior games with few updates. these octopi foes generally have extremely poor mobility options compared to the protagonist and generally wield highly-telegraphed projectiles that can be easily evaded, and this game in particular really struggles to emphasize its intended stage routes with how useless most of these enemies are. this is particularly noticable with how many basic cover configurations you'll fight enemies from that seem almost copy-pasted throughout the game. splatoon 2 has its own foibles (overly long, unfocused level design) but generally designed more interesting arenas with better escalation of conflict than 3 does. splatoon 3 has a tendency to lock down level progression into very pre-defined, "solvable" encounters that do not surprise the player when completed "correctly" and feel broken when subverted by obvious means. this could still be elevated if that escalation of conflict was engaging, but splatoon 3 tends to favor overloading each level with rote expressions of the player's toolkit before hinting at more thoughtful level designing past the final checkpoint. the curling bomb stage perfectly showcases what could have been the case for these levels, where initial simple ricochets build up into longer areas with movable walls, platformers, and adversarial inkers to navigate and plan around; it helps that for this level the solution space is purposefully wide and more daring solutions yield rewards.
the more explicit puzzle stages have a couple bangers as well (the pac-man level is particularly cool), but too many fall into common level design traps like long obstacle cycles to listlessly wait through or boring auto-scroller sections. I could understand trying to make these easily solvable to make sure everyone has access to the final areas, but in this mode virtually every level is optional, and I would've enjoyed seeing some more out-of-the-box puzzle ideas beyond just shooting targets with a particular weapon on an ink rail or simple rube goldberg contraptions. some of these are particularly frustrating; the one I have to highlight is the tennis level, where the angle of the player's camera behind the "net" sort of kills my depth perception in the void beyond where the targets are shot from, and the level ends with a block that taps the net and never makes it into your play area as some sort of sophomoric joke to force you to replay another minute of scripted tennis target shots. bleh. just less than what I would expect from nintendo in terms of design finesse.
bosses are fine, but the standout is definitely the area six one. probably the most explicit reference we've seen yet to another game that dealt with cleaning up someone else's ink...
2004
the swinging package here is sewn up by three mechanics: the boost, the web zip, and the charge jump. in a modern design, the boost would inevitably be restrained by some kind of resource like a meter or a cooldown thanks to the idle nodding of designers seeing a chance to add an explicit limitation to the system. spider-man 2 doesn't need that; the boost's only mechanical restriction is that it can be used once per swing with no other catch. simply obtaining the speed that it comes with using it adds enough danger to traversal to avoid any need for an artificial check on its power. the web zip (once obtained) defrays this by opening up an escape hatch when you need to bail out. its ability to quickly change your angle and briefly cap your speed reins in runaway or unexpected swings. the charge jump overlays all of this with the ability to influence height out of the swing and weave in ground movement without losing momentum. it gives the player a variable amount of impulse based on how long it's been buffered, and it sits completely independent of the other moves, making it chargeable in the background while simultaneously swinging. these three beg not only multilayered decision-making, with fingers working independently to control different systems, but also robust split-second decision-making that keeps the player constantly juggling the three as the micropositioning constantly evolves.
that's primarily because the micropositioning (partially) controls where spidey's webs go, and it's nuanced to such an extent that you'll often have no idea what exactly it'll attach to or how you'll swing around its fulcrum. watch this quick speedrun of the pizza missions and you'll see even a world record holder overshoot objectives, muddle with awkward climbing angles, and get stuck inside a fire escape. this chaos persists even at lower speeds, so there's no point to holding yourself back; boost as often as you can and be prepared for disaster. the game's challenges accept this fact and run with it by featuring generously sized rings to run through without many "tricks" involved. in fact, most of the challenges would feel like filler if not for the volatility of the swinging system giving much-needed variety to what otherwise are checkpoints slapped inside city blocks. you're never expected to plan intricate routes through these because accepting inconsistency and learning to work around it is the core of the game's unique movement system. even simple additions to a challenge such as mandating wallrunning, loop-de-loops, or landing on the ground inside particular checkpoints wrinkle the necessary traversal in such a way that you'll remember one-off challenges days after you originally played them. these nuances are the crux of the game's appeal.
whether this sounds appealing to you in the long run depends on how much intrinsic enjoyment you can get out of this system without much structure surrounding it. its these challenges and the pizza missions providing most of your sustenance, and luckily they're available from mere minutes into the game. however, to further upgrade your base speed, expect to pay the piper by sleepwalking through ~4-5 hours of story-driven setpieces. it shockingly does little to play with your swinging chops and instead alternates extremely lax "get to the objective" segments with dull beat-em-up combat that rarely escalates beyond spamming the air combo and the contextual dodge. it luckily rarely veers into true frustration, but the fact that you have to engage with it all was a rather sore point to me. having to eat my veggies to enjoy my traversal dessert doesn't hit quite as hard when the dessert itself is a bit of an acquired taste, riddled with its own frustrations and inconsistencies. holistically the experience feels often more like something I enjoy dissecting in theory and less so in practice.
the similarities to gravity rush occurred to me while playing, as I outlined in my review of that game that it was also a bare-bones open world experience buoyed by its exciting traversal yet limited by rarely leaning into it outside of optional challenges. spider-man 2 is an even purer expression of that sentiment, with a washed-out, flat version of manhattan replacing the anachronistically rich hekseville and an even more wild and disorienting swinging system replacing the comparatively straight-forward gravity control. a game I see myself continuing to pop in to pick away at the remaining challenges, but not necessarily one that kept me enthralled.
that's primarily because the micropositioning (partially) controls where spidey's webs go, and it's nuanced to such an extent that you'll often have no idea what exactly it'll attach to or how you'll swing around its fulcrum. watch this quick speedrun of the pizza missions and you'll see even a world record holder overshoot objectives, muddle with awkward climbing angles, and get stuck inside a fire escape. this chaos persists even at lower speeds, so there's no point to holding yourself back; boost as often as you can and be prepared for disaster. the game's challenges accept this fact and run with it by featuring generously sized rings to run through without many "tricks" involved. in fact, most of the challenges would feel like filler if not for the volatility of the swinging system giving much-needed variety to what otherwise are checkpoints slapped inside city blocks. you're never expected to plan intricate routes through these because accepting inconsistency and learning to work around it is the core of the game's unique movement system. even simple additions to a challenge such as mandating wallrunning, loop-de-loops, or landing on the ground inside particular checkpoints wrinkle the necessary traversal in such a way that you'll remember one-off challenges days after you originally played them. these nuances are the crux of the game's appeal.
whether this sounds appealing to you in the long run depends on how much intrinsic enjoyment you can get out of this system without much structure surrounding it. its these challenges and the pizza missions providing most of your sustenance, and luckily they're available from mere minutes into the game. however, to further upgrade your base speed, expect to pay the piper by sleepwalking through ~4-5 hours of story-driven setpieces. it shockingly does little to play with your swinging chops and instead alternates extremely lax "get to the objective" segments with dull beat-em-up combat that rarely escalates beyond spamming the air combo and the contextual dodge. it luckily rarely veers into true frustration, but the fact that you have to engage with it all was a rather sore point to me. having to eat my veggies to enjoy my traversal dessert doesn't hit quite as hard when the dessert itself is a bit of an acquired taste, riddled with its own frustrations and inconsistencies. holistically the experience feels often more like something I enjoy dissecting in theory and less so in practice.
the similarities to gravity rush occurred to me while playing, as I outlined in my review of that game that it was also a bare-bones open world experience buoyed by its exciting traversal yet limited by rarely leaning into it outside of optional challenges. spider-man 2 is an even purer expression of that sentiment, with a washed-out, flat version of manhattan replacing the anachronistically rich hekseville and an even more wild and disorienting swinging system replacing the comparatively straight-forward gravity control. a game I see myself continuing to pop in to pick away at the remaining challenges, but not necessarily one that kept me enthralled.
I'm tired and didn't expect to finish this tonight so I'm going to stay terse. naughty dog is obsessed with filmic avenues for games as art. game design is entirely secondary and liberally cribbed from contemporaries. consider literally any jak game (standard collectathon for first game, same engine grafted to eyebrow-raising drab GTA world for second game) or uncharted (bog-standard cover shooter + ico-lite platforming + half-hearted turn towards horror in the back quarter). naughty dog only believes in conglomerates of design. interwoven webs of market-proven mechanics where the connective tissue is the graphical fidelity and storytelling.
this is not what I like in games. I like games that create internal logics that interact with each other in novel ways. this doesn't have to be complex. arcade-style games form tiny cores of necessary mechanics and grow their universes from exploring the facets of each element in further and further detail. surprisingly, the last of us is naughty dog's attempt at making such a game. it is meant to be a rich tapestry of survival, horror, grounded shooter, et cetera. its individual elements are evidently meant to pulsate and reprise in waves across the experience. approaches to encounters are meant to run the gamut of stealth, guns blazing, trap-oriented, and any combination of these you can conceive.
naughty dog is not a studio that has the design chops to make such a game though. instead, the end product is The third-person shooter. the third-person shooter monolith if you will. a pastiche of nearly a decade of design patterns evolving shoved into a single casserole. when in tightly constrained areas, cover is conspicuously placed for you to camp behind while you clear the room. other areas feature hidden routes to quietly crouch-walk through under the auspicious of "tense" play. others feature onslaughts of infected waves meant to be gunned down. these are discrete and easy to recognize. what makes it interconnected is that the options are bare enough to make transitioning styles required. getting caught during stealth just makes the game a cover shooter. running away from clickers far enough transitions back into stealth. remaining in cover long enough will eventually force the enemies to push and let you react aggressively. no one system ever has enough juice to invigorate the experience on its own. walking up behind someone to shiv them rarely changes outcomes over just shooting them with an arrow or walking past. shotguns sometimes barely stagger opponents so what pleasure do I attain from experimenting with the weapon when a point-blank headshot doesn't even cause them to explode into gibs. I could just use any of the multiple other weapons that have the same effect.
all you're doing at the end of the day is eliminating individual enemies with one of the options off of the a la carte weapons menu. no need to manipulate their search AI or clump them into groups or anything beyond just rotating weapons and picking off every enemy one by one. only thing that changes is if you're supposed to be playing gears-style cover tactics or far cry-style "clear the base by pressing the takedown button behind everyone" or resident evil-style horde extermination. which is potentially enough to satisfy anyone who wanted a third-person shooter buffet. none of the styles are really entertaining enough on their own to justify the whole. the universe the game design resides in is disjointed.
the rest is pushed forward by walking forward through pretty corridors pressing triangle whenever the game asks you to. none of the aforementioned mechanics lend themselves to puzzle-solving, so virtually every instance of one in the world is just moving a ladder or letting ellie float on a wood pallet. in keeping with the crash bandicoot crate methodology ie provide minute interaction between the actual tests of competancy, the game litters materials all throughout the world for you to mindlessly pick up. any semblence of creating fragments of life in these environments is shattered by this. joel and ellie's banter is mumbled as backdrop for me rumaging through lockers and piles of trash for extra bandages or ammo. representations of life pre-apocalypse decaying are bastardized as I sift through drawers looking for those telltale item symbols to pop up for me to view. this is not an insignificant portion of the game mind you. some of these segments of nothingness reach the 15-20 minute range. if they were so concerned with letting me appreciate the views, maybe they wouldn't have felt the need to breadcrumb trail me around, pointing my camera at the ground constantly in the process. which does not even begin to highlight the inauthenticity of every supposed residential area with conviently placed rubble or cars or such to create cover-based combat arenas.
with this said, its adaptability is its greatest strength as much as it is its downfall. the general workbench design and locked doors are lifted from dead space and rendered more enjoyable here thanks to a streamlined tech tree and relatively-common shivs being used as keys rather than expensive power nodes. the actual gunplay is medicore since it never matches one modality, but at the same time it is at least a better murder sim than uncharted and its sanitized pg-13 firefights. enemy AI is not exactly robust and is easy to exploit thanks to the overeemphasived distraction item mechanic (bricks and bottles are yet another endlessly available item to collect), but it is complex enough to surprise the player and force more reactive play.
there's a particular moment I really liked. in the basement of the hotel there's waterlogged storage rooms with an elevator to reach the main floors that is disabled. enabling this requires turning on a generator located on the opposite side of the area, which will attract many waves of infected along with a dangerous bloater enemy. there are many approaches to this section, including simply beelining to the exit with the keycard for the elevator, setting traps in places where the spawns become most congested, or simply fighting it out amongst the onslaught of opponents. this is identical to the style-switching I discussed earlier. however, this particular encounter is totally open-ended in a way where a particular approach isn't necessarily prescribed. in my first attempt I played cat and mouse with the bloater before I knew the keycard location because I had unwittingly turned the generator on upon seeing it. my second attempt I tried to fight back more proactively, and on my third attempt I laid down traps and planned an escape route beforehand. none of these were intended strategies to the extent that the developers felt pressed to include copious hints towards one style or another (blatant cover, passageways to crouch-walk through, etc.). the area is relatively large as well, and thus the actual tactical evaluation feels less limiting. if only more encounters in the game had attempted something higher-level like this instead of pulling from canned ideas.
all of this is in service of delivering the story. I would call it a children of men rip-off if I had ever actually watched that movie. I appreciate that joel is the anti-nathan drake. the deluge of quips is replaced by generic gruff guy behavior (not to mention ellie handles most quip duties when appropriate), but at the very least the game does a better job presenting him as a total psychopath and justifies the insane bodycount he racks up. the ending in particular I enjoyed; the "actually he did all this terrible shit because he's a terrible person!" throughline is not novel nor was it in 2013, but I rarely see a game attempt such a purposeful lack of closure. the rest is marginal. various character sketches dedicated in each chapter with predictably dour results for each. the repeated "people do terrible things under pressure" motif is wrung far too dry. makes each character's arc slight since the outcome is always known in advance. perhaps this is why I liked the ending: did not necessarily expect it given most games' predilection for riding off into a sunset.
the latter section is sort of damning because I actually played the majority of this game while dogsitting for my girlfriend months ago, and finally finished today to add another game to the halloween roster. I frankly don't remember much about the story other than the broad strokes. I at least remember more than a dozen or so particular enemy encounters, which is pretty great for a game that runs about 15 hours. what's less reassuring is how scattered my responses to said encounters were: I often remember routes I took but what guns or tactics I favored are completely absent from my memory.
a smorgasbord of opportunites for you to throw a brick somewhere and make everyone around you go "huh? what was that" and allow you to walk behind them. speaking of which: the clickers. the perfect synthesis of "scary enemy that actually is so trivial to circumvent that it's not scary" and "scary enemy that awkwardly OHKOs you and becomes more frustrating than scary". having your primary horror encounters be based around an enemy that cannot see you renders virtually every situation with them one that rewards just walking really slowly. that is when you don't have a brick, which you nearly always will because they're generously located near all clickers. finally building up the firepower to kill them more efficiently would be great if not for the OHKO, and so just walking around them still feels like the dominant strategy up through the final area. other than using the flamethrower that is, which I frankly underused outside of the final areas. also this review is more terse than my usual shit which thankfully meant I knocked it out in about an hour but still is way too long. oh well. better than my original draft from when I was more actively playing it that tried to wade into the lukewarm "games as art" discourse.
this is not what I like in games. I like games that create internal logics that interact with each other in novel ways. this doesn't have to be complex. arcade-style games form tiny cores of necessary mechanics and grow their universes from exploring the facets of each element in further and further detail. surprisingly, the last of us is naughty dog's attempt at making such a game. it is meant to be a rich tapestry of survival, horror, grounded shooter, et cetera. its individual elements are evidently meant to pulsate and reprise in waves across the experience. approaches to encounters are meant to run the gamut of stealth, guns blazing, trap-oriented, and any combination of these you can conceive.
naughty dog is not a studio that has the design chops to make such a game though. instead, the end product is The third-person shooter. the third-person shooter monolith if you will. a pastiche of nearly a decade of design patterns evolving shoved into a single casserole. when in tightly constrained areas, cover is conspicuously placed for you to camp behind while you clear the room. other areas feature hidden routes to quietly crouch-walk through under the auspicious of "tense" play. others feature onslaughts of infected waves meant to be gunned down. these are discrete and easy to recognize. what makes it interconnected is that the options are bare enough to make transitioning styles required. getting caught during stealth just makes the game a cover shooter. running away from clickers far enough transitions back into stealth. remaining in cover long enough will eventually force the enemies to push and let you react aggressively. no one system ever has enough juice to invigorate the experience on its own. walking up behind someone to shiv them rarely changes outcomes over just shooting them with an arrow or walking past. shotguns sometimes barely stagger opponents so what pleasure do I attain from experimenting with the weapon when a point-blank headshot doesn't even cause them to explode into gibs. I could just use any of the multiple other weapons that have the same effect.
all you're doing at the end of the day is eliminating individual enemies with one of the options off of the a la carte weapons menu. no need to manipulate their search AI or clump them into groups or anything beyond just rotating weapons and picking off every enemy one by one. only thing that changes is if you're supposed to be playing gears-style cover tactics or far cry-style "clear the base by pressing the takedown button behind everyone" or resident evil-style horde extermination. which is potentially enough to satisfy anyone who wanted a third-person shooter buffet. none of the styles are really entertaining enough on their own to justify the whole. the universe the game design resides in is disjointed.
the rest is pushed forward by walking forward through pretty corridors pressing triangle whenever the game asks you to. none of the aforementioned mechanics lend themselves to puzzle-solving, so virtually every instance of one in the world is just moving a ladder or letting ellie float on a wood pallet. in keeping with the crash bandicoot crate methodology ie provide minute interaction between the actual tests of competancy, the game litters materials all throughout the world for you to mindlessly pick up. any semblence of creating fragments of life in these environments is shattered by this. joel and ellie's banter is mumbled as backdrop for me rumaging through lockers and piles of trash for extra bandages or ammo. representations of life pre-apocalypse decaying are bastardized as I sift through drawers looking for those telltale item symbols to pop up for me to view. this is not an insignificant portion of the game mind you. some of these segments of nothingness reach the 15-20 minute range. if they were so concerned with letting me appreciate the views, maybe they wouldn't have felt the need to breadcrumb trail me around, pointing my camera at the ground constantly in the process. which does not even begin to highlight the inauthenticity of every supposed residential area with conviently placed rubble or cars or such to create cover-based combat arenas.
with this said, its adaptability is its greatest strength as much as it is its downfall. the general workbench design and locked doors are lifted from dead space and rendered more enjoyable here thanks to a streamlined tech tree and relatively-common shivs being used as keys rather than expensive power nodes. the actual gunplay is medicore since it never matches one modality, but at the same time it is at least a better murder sim than uncharted and its sanitized pg-13 firefights. enemy AI is not exactly robust and is easy to exploit thanks to the overeemphasived distraction item mechanic (bricks and bottles are yet another endlessly available item to collect), but it is complex enough to surprise the player and force more reactive play.
there's a particular moment I really liked. in the basement of the hotel there's waterlogged storage rooms with an elevator to reach the main floors that is disabled. enabling this requires turning on a generator located on the opposite side of the area, which will attract many waves of infected along with a dangerous bloater enemy. there are many approaches to this section, including simply beelining to the exit with the keycard for the elevator, setting traps in places where the spawns become most congested, or simply fighting it out amongst the onslaught of opponents. this is identical to the style-switching I discussed earlier. however, this particular encounter is totally open-ended in a way where a particular approach isn't necessarily prescribed. in my first attempt I played cat and mouse with the bloater before I knew the keycard location because I had unwittingly turned the generator on upon seeing it. my second attempt I tried to fight back more proactively, and on my third attempt I laid down traps and planned an escape route beforehand. none of these were intended strategies to the extent that the developers felt pressed to include copious hints towards one style or another (blatant cover, passageways to crouch-walk through, etc.). the area is relatively large as well, and thus the actual tactical evaluation feels less limiting. if only more encounters in the game had attempted something higher-level like this instead of pulling from canned ideas.
all of this is in service of delivering the story. I would call it a children of men rip-off if I had ever actually watched that movie. I appreciate that joel is the anti-nathan drake. the deluge of quips is replaced by generic gruff guy behavior (not to mention ellie handles most quip duties when appropriate), but at the very least the game does a better job presenting him as a total psychopath and justifies the insane bodycount he racks up. the ending in particular I enjoyed; the "actually he did all this terrible shit because he's a terrible person!" throughline is not novel nor was it in 2013, but I rarely see a game attempt such a purposeful lack of closure. the rest is marginal. various character sketches dedicated in each chapter with predictably dour results for each. the repeated "people do terrible things under pressure" motif is wrung far too dry. makes each character's arc slight since the outcome is always known in advance. perhaps this is why I liked the ending: did not necessarily expect it given most games' predilection for riding off into a sunset.
the latter section is sort of damning because I actually played the majority of this game while dogsitting for my girlfriend months ago, and finally finished today to add another game to the halloween roster. I frankly don't remember much about the story other than the broad strokes. I at least remember more than a dozen or so particular enemy encounters, which is pretty great for a game that runs about 15 hours. what's less reassuring is how scattered my responses to said encounters were: I often remember routes I took but what guns or tactics I favored are completely absent from my memory.
a smorgasbord of opportunites for you to throw a brick somewhere and make everyone around you go "huh? what was that" and allow you to walk behind them. speaking of which: the clickers. the perfect synthesis of "scary enemy that actually is so trivial to circumvent that it's not scary" and "scary enemy that awkwardly OHKOs you and becomes more frustrating than scary". having your primary horror encounters be based around an enemy that cannot see you renders virtually every situation with them one that rewards just walking really slowly. that is when you don't have a brick, which you nearly always will because they're generously located near all clickers. finally building up the firepower to kill them more efficiently would be great if not for the OHKO, and so just walking around them still feels like the dominant strategy up through the final area. other than using the flamethrower that is, which I frankly underused outside of the final areas. also this review is more terse than my usual shit which thankfully meant I knocked it out in about an hour but still is way too long. oh well. better than my original draft from when I was more actively playing it that tried to wade into the lukewarm "games as art" discourse.
2006
the suburban pastiche of earthbound (and mother) was comforting thanks to its familiarity. it's a game where you can point at the screen and say "look, that's like my life!" pulling money from an ATM, stopping by the mall to grab a burger, or wandering around the natural history museum, these aesthetic choices work precisely because of how the expected unreality of the game world becomes subverted into a representation of reality. it's novel in its presentation, and enhanced by the quirky charm of the townspeople along with the tangents into both goofy myth and unsettling sci-fi horror.
which makes your first moments walking into a similar world after a between-chapters skip of multiple years in mother 3 such a slap in the face. our protagonist lucas, one of the few remaining denizens attempting to reject a new capitalist order, now glumly walks through these same suburban streets. former stalwart geezers contributing to the town's safety have been all but locked away in a dilapitated nursing home, while lucas's peers scarcely older than he work for wages in the nearby clay mines. the cheerful dialogue from the townspeople now solely consists of those chiding lucas for not getting with the times in between questioning why virtually every other defector's house has gone up in flames. it's the same carefree music of adolescence, the same bright thin-line artstyle, the same casual strolls around town, but tainted by your knowledge of the utopia of the society that came before and the decadence of the modernization that has come in its wake. it is, in essence, a loss of innocence. the unfair and early death of lucas's mother at the start of the game shattered it, and post timeskip you get a close glimpse of its proverbial corpse.
it is indeed somewhat funny the lengths that itoi went to establish the despair of modern civilization; endearingly awkward as his writing is, occasionally it gets into simply awkward territory the more it moralizes. yes, there is a token native american stereotype, and yes, his tipi gets blown to smithereens by artificial lightning post-timeskip. the magypsies as well, in attempt to enforce their alien nature given their status as immortal standardbearers of the world as it stands, are othered via their gender representation... which ends up being rather distasteful "okama" cariactures. my reason for pointing these out is not to discredit the rest of the work, but more to note that itoi bit off more than he could chew with some of the themes. he really wanted to demonstrate how fucked modernization is, man! so in the process some of the imagery gets a little hamfisted or straight-up ???... but that first time you walk into the modernized tazmily it hit me so hard.
likewise when you finally arrive at new pork city late in the game, the ghoulish tackiness of it all is so evident. the bizarre international mishmashes and cardboard cutout buildings, like toy props in a set of figurines (or buildings without polygons in the rear like a video game with fixed perspective) they illustrate gestures towards culture generation with vapid facsimile in place of rich tradition. it's a childlike conception of urban life: video games in walking distance and 24/7 screenings of heroes from another world. the idyllic norman rockwell landscape of earthbound has been grafted onto the communal tazmily like metal plates welded to biological creatures. all of it enforced by heiling stormtroopers in sneering pig masks... ok again, the imagery is really hamfisted. let itoi cook!
somehow even with this ideological shift in the people of tazmily, itoi still goes out of his way to illustrate the cruelty that lurks under the otherwise flawless exterior of their transactionless lifestyle. duster's bum leg, a physical reminder of his abuse at the hands of wess, is openly acknowledged, and yet the weight is silently borne by duster himself. his plain looks and questionable hygiene belie his thief tool mastery and serious upright bass chops, regardless of the verbal degredatation his father puts him through. likewise flint, stoic in his initial voiceless protagonist role, suffers a truly heartbreaking outburst of rage late in his campaign, indicating the dam about to burst on the societal shift to come. even lucas and claus play-act fighting with the local dragos at the very beginning of the game; the language of violence is still engrained in the minds of those living outside of capitalism.
the first three chapters are dedicated primarily to this plot, with the old rpg elements streamlined and the party limited. admittedly I'm not a big fan of the parts of earthbound where you're limited to a one or two person party; I just don't think you can come up with strategies that interesting when there's only a couple of moves to work with each turn. likewise, mother 3 provides different perspectives across each chapter with small parties carefully paced around the relative strength of the bosses they'll face. each character at this point can use special attacks and debuffs for free, removing the resource-management usually inherent in jrpgs. this isn't entirely bad, as it allows the player to experiment with various special abilities, but it would've gotten rather tedious after the six or seven hours it lasted. the point at which I got tired of this setup was in the lucas/boney fight against the jealous bass, which virtually necessitates using explosive items in order to outpace the devastating jam sessions they lay on you.
thankfully after this mother 3 wants to remind you that it's a real-ass jrpg, and thus the party is assembled... lucas, black mage kumatora, duster with his thief tools, and boney the dog. out of these mechanically boney is unfortunately undercooked; his only special move is "sniff" which senses the enemy's weaknesses, and his stats are gimped by being unable to use most equipment. thus most of the interesting fighting relies on the other three characters. I love how the mother series crystallizes the heroism of their heroes through making them healing mages, and lucas is no exception. while he has excellent attack, he's also equipped with a bevy of abilities such as setting up shields, buffing stats, and giving full revives to anyone or everyone in the party. kumatora handles all of the debuffs and attack magic, while duster is able to also apply free debuffs in exchange for a middling activation rate.
in turn the bosses get significantly more powerful, especially in the lengthy chapter 7. this whole section serves as a truncated redo of the same kind of "find the macguffin in each area" structure from earthbound, and with each needle pulled at the end of each area comes a more fiendlishly difficult boss. high base defense, extremely strong full-party attacks, switching between physical and PSI attacks, and even being able to destroy your shields at will all make character death frequent, and without smart planning and exploitation of the series's distinctive health counter system, it will be difficult to overcome some of the late-game fights. to my surprise other than the infamous barrier trio fight I didn't find that most of the fights revolved around simple weakness matching either; there's legitimately challenging turn-based slugfests balanced just right not to require grinding as long as you don't mind taking detours for items here and there.
complimenting the basics here are rhythm game elements which require the player to click the attack button in time with the backing beat to create a combo of up to 16 attacks in a row for a notable damage increase. while conceptually simple, the expansively eclectic soundtrack makes following the rhythm often require a significant amount of concentration. beats are dropped occasionally or sections will have tempos that vary, forcing the player to keep track of when they start attacking to ensure they don't get interrupted and lose valuable damage. following the beat itself rarely varies outside of simply tapping the backbeat however, which is a bit disappointing outside of a couple outliers like the 15/8 timpani-led Strong One. other songs occasionally try off-beat rhythms or more complex bass patterns, but unfortunately all of this is held back by the game's inconsistent timing windows. I played this on 3ds through rom injection which is generally considered to be extremely close to hardware-accurate, and yet I consistently noticed that the windows on certain songs required me to be a touch late. anything with eighth notes is a total crapshoot unfortunately, and thus I can see why they limited the songs that contained these pretty significantly. surprisingly enough the final chapter of the game features few difficult songs, making most of the encounters relatively easy to finish with only regular attacks, and I was hoping to hear the really bizarre tunes come out during the final mobs and bosses. however it's obvious the system was meant to be more of a bonus damage system, and thankfully the whole game can be managed without it if you're crafty enough with your PSI and thieves tool use.
without a doubt when compared to its meandering predecessor mother 3 focuses its satire on actually tearing apart the origins of the americana it draws from. at the same time it's a perfectly enjoyable jrpg with a neat rhythm mechanic and the same counter mechanism from earthbound to make timing your actions carefully utterly important; a rarity for turn-based games. as the game comes to a close those who played earthbound will receive an unsettling reminder of the artifacts from those games and the influence they played upon the creation of the world our heroes exist in, and the ending is cataclysmic and only partially resolved. for a game infused with so much levity, it's remarkably grim at the same time. I can only assume this juxtaposition of tones is what itoi was trying to summon all along.
which makes your first moments walking into a similar world after a between-chapters skip of multiple years in mother 3 such a slap in the face. our protagonist lucas, one of the few remaining denizens attempting to reject a new capitalist order, now glumly walks through these same suburban streets. former stalwart geezers contributing to the town's safety have been all but locked away in a dilapitated nursing home, while lucas's peers scarcely older than he work for wages in the nearby clay mines. the cheerful dialogue from the townspeople now solely consists of those chiding lucas for not getting with the times in between questioning why virtually every other defector's house has gone up in flames. it's the same carefree music of adolescence, the same bright thin-line artstyle, the same casual strolls around town, but tainted by your knowledge of the utopia of the society that came before and the decadence of the modernization that has come in its wake. it is, in essence, a loss of innocence. the unfair and early death of lucas's mother at the start of the game shattered it, and post timeskip you get a close glimpse of its proverbial corpse.
it is indeed somewhat funny the lengths that itoi went to establish the despair of modern civilization; endearingly awkward as his writing is, occasionally it gets into simply awkward territory the more it moralizes. yes, there is a token native american stereotype, and yes, his tipi gets blown to smithereens by artificial lightning post-timeskip. the magypsies as well, in attempt to enforce their alien nature given their status as immortal standardbearers of the world as it stands, are othered via their gender representation... which ends up being rather distasteful "okama" cariactures. my reason for pointing these out is not to discredit the rest of the work, but more to note that itoi bit off more than he could chew with some of the themes. he really wanted to demonstrate how fucked modernization is, man! so in the process some of the imagery gets a little hamfisted or straight-up ???... but that first time you walk into the modernized tazmily it hit me so hard.
likewise when you finally arrive at new pork city late in the game, the ghoulish tackiness of it all is so evident. the bizarre international mishmashes and cardboard cutout buildings, like toy props in a set of figurines (or buildings without polygons in the rear like a video game with fixed perspective) they illustrate gestures towards culture generation with vapid facsimile in place of rich tradition. it's a childlike conception of urban life: video games in walking distance and 24/7 screenings of heroes from another world. the idyllic norman rockwell landscape of earthbound has been grafted onto the communal tazmily like metal plates welded to biological creatures. all of it enforced by heiling stormtroopers in sneering pig masks... ok again, the imagery is really hamfisted. let itoi cook!
somehow even with this ideological shift in the people of tazmily, itoi still goes out of his way to illustrate the cruelty that lurks under the otherwise flawless exterior of their transactionless lifestyle. duster's bum leg, a physical reminder of his abuse at the hands of wess, is openly acknowledged, and yet the weight is silently borne by duster himself. his plain looks and questionable hygiene belie his thief tool mastery and serious upright bass chops, regardless of the verbal degredatation his father puts him through. likewise flint, stoic in his initial voiceless protagonist role, suffers a truly heartbreaking outburst of rage late in his campaign, indicating the dam about to burst on the societal shift to come. even lucas and claus play-act fighting with the local dragos at the very beginning of the game; the language of violence is still engrained in the minds of those living outside of capitalism.
the first three chapters are dedicated primarily to this plot, with the old rpg elements streamlined and the party limited. admittedly I'm not a big fan of the parts of earthbound where you're limited to a one or two person party; I just don't think you can come up with strategies that interesting when there's only a couple of moves to work with each turn. likewise, mother 3 provides different perspectives across each chapter with small parties carefully paced around the relative strength of the bosses they'll face. each character at this point can use special attacks and debuffs for free, removing the resource-management usually inherent in jrpgs. this isn't entirely bad, as it allows the player to experiment with various special abilities, but it would've gotten rather tedious after the six or seven hours it lasted. the point at which I got tired of this setup was in the lucas/boney fight against the jealous bass, which virtually necessitates using explosive items in order to outpace the devastating jam sessions they lay on you.
thankfully after this mother 3 wants to remind you that it's a real-ass jrpg, and thus the party is assembled... lucas, black mage kumatora, duster with his thief tools, and boney the dog. out of these mechanically boney is unfortunately undercooked; his only special move is "sniff" which senses the enemy's weaknesses, and his stats are gimped by being unable to use most equipment. thus most of the interesting fighting relies on the other three characters. I love how the mother series crystallizes the heroism of their heroes through making them healing mages, and lucas is no exception. while he has excellent attack, he's also equipped with a bevy of abilities such as setting up shields, buffing stats, and giving full revives to anyone or everyone in the party. kumatora handles all of the debuffs and attack magic, while duster is able to also apply free debuffs in exchange for a middling activation rate.
in turn the bosses get significantly more powerful, especially in the lengthy chapter 7. this whole section serves as a truncated redo of the same kind of "find the macguffin in each area" structure from earthbound, and with each needle pulled at the end of each area comes a more fiendlishly difficult boss. high base defense, extremely strong full-party attacks, switching between physical and PSI attacks, and even being able to destroy your shields at will all make character death frequent, and without smart planning and exploitation of the series's distinctive health counter system, it will be difficult to overcome some of the late-game fights. to my surprise other than the infamous barrier trio fight I didn't find that most of the fights revolved around simple weakness matching either; there's legitimately challenging turn-based slugfests balanced just right not to require grinding as long as you don't mind taking detours for items here and there.
complimenting the basics here are rhythm game elements which require the player to click the attack button in time with the backing beat to create a combo of up to 16 attacks in a row for a notable damage increase. while conceptually simple, the expansively eclectic soundtrack makes following the rhythm often require a significant amount of concentration. beats are dropped occasionally or sections will have tempos that vary, forcing the player to keep track of when they start attacking to ensure they don't get interrupted and lose valuable damage. following the beat itself rarely varies outside of simply tapping the backbeat however, which is a bit disappointing outside of a couple outliers like the 15/8 timpani-led Strong One. other songs occasionally try off-beat rhythms or more complex bass patterns, but unfortunately all of this is held back by the game's inconsistent timing windows. I played this on 3ds through rom injection which is generally considered to be extremely close to hardware-accurate, and yet I consistently noticed that the windows on certain songs required me to be a touch late. anything with eighth notes is a total crapshoot unfortunately, and thus I can see why they limited the songs that contained these pretty significantly. surprisingly enough the final chapter of the game features few difficult songs, making most of the encounters relatively easy to finish with only regular attacks, and I was hoping to hear the really bizarre tunes come out during the final mobs and bosses. however it's obvious the system was meant to be more of a bonus damage system, and thankfully the whole game can be managed without it if you're crafty enough with your PSI and thieves tool use.
without a doubt when compared to its meandering predecessor mother 3 focuses its satire on actually tearing apart the origins of the americana it draws from. at the same time it's a perfectly enjoyable jrpg with a neat rhythm mechanic and the same counter mechanism from earthbound to make timing your actions carefully utterly important; a rarity for turn-based games. as the game comes to a close those who played earthbound will receive an unsettling reminder of the artifacts from those games and the influence they played upon the creation of the world our heroes exist in, and the ending is cataclysmic and only partially resolved. for a game infused with so much levity, it's remarkably grim at the same time. I can only assume this juxtaposition of tones is what itoi was trying to summon all along.