Confused by what critics saw in this over a decade ago that led them to unanimously praise its static, abrasive protagonists on their quest to deliver uninspired social satire in a sandbox full of chores-- I mean, "missions." It's a beautiful sandbox, don't get me wrong, just one that facilitates a clunky expression of the game's ideas and characters. Rockstar isn't subtle, and I wouldn't expect nor want them to be subtle, it's just that their commentary on Americana used to have some bite. In the case of Red Dead Redemption, it even had heart! Nico Bellic's tragic immigrant story, Max Payne's furious mid-life crisis, or John Marston's spectral presence in a changing world are so much richer than what Grand Theft Auto V delivers through its unruly, psychotic leading men. Franklin gets the closest thing to a character arc in this whole endeavor. Despite being the least corruptible jackass in the crew, he also has the least personality and agency in the narrative. Michael almost reaches some form of interesting development when his family abandons him (rightly) for being a serial criminal, but then they just flock back into his good graces after he... continues being a serial criminal. And Trevor? Trevor is Grand Theft Auto's id made manifest. Every impulse from every 13-year-old that ever chuckled at the idea of murdering virtual prostitutes. How does that sustain narratively? It doesn't. He's just obnoxious to watch and drives whatever pathos you might have for the motley gang into the ground as they're all forced by gameplay conceit to keep him around. We get it, Rockstar, Los Angeles is a vapid, celebrity-obsessed wasteland that incentivizes avarice, malice, and backstabbing tendencies, but what does that have to do with extrajudicial torture and why is it a minigame?

Supermassive Games' breakout foray into the world of kitschy teen horror via this gorgeously-rendered and performed CYOA game is still the studio's highest watermark after all these years. It's difficult not to compare Until Dawn to its successors, The Dark Pictures Anthology, in which the cinematic formatting, star-studded casts, and consequential decision-making rarely hold a candle to their implementation here. The naturalism of the characters in concert with the tropes and subversions inherent in slasher media form a palpably honest experience laden with the gory glory of 1990s schlock-busters and contemporary torture porn. I just get the biggest kick out of Rami Malek's turn as the unassuming, grieving faux-serial killer, the off-kilter energy of his portrayal cementing him as the rising star he was then and the commanding presence he is now. All this beating around the bush when the point I really want to communicate is that fixed-camera horror is still the best format in games, and I sincerely hope they don't diminish the experience with the upcoming remake. Oh, those fancy performance captures are aging, all right. Guess Supermassive is ready to join the hyper-realism arms race with Naughty Dog, Guerrilla, and KojiPro.