so much of re4 comes down to the tension of its moment-to-moment play, and i bear this in mind as i consider the possibilities of the remake and the crucial matter of how the action feels if the pacing and your maneuverability is significantly increased or 'improved' — as we expect it to be.

looking back at the original game (and its various ports), especially having now played the re2 remake and a number of similar modern tps games, there's a vaguely king's field-like sluggishness to re4 and its tank controls and slower forward movement. combined with its wild action setpieces and a synesthetic style resembling an arcade game (especially apparent in the character models, their faces and the particular expressiveness of their voices, the scope and flair of the boss fights, the button-mashing qte stuff, etc), this very deliberate and yet very flexible approach to action in balance with tension is something which continues to set re4 apart from the rest. in praise of games which offer interesting friction to your mobility, rather than endlessly seek ways of reducing it. amen.

Uneeded remake that fortunately it's actually a pretty neat game.
It can't compete with the original and it knows it but takes a lot of things expands, remixes and improves on them that even with the weaker gameplay loop still is pretty rad and fundamentally more RE4. I can't commend enough the work they did on playing with your expectations of the original, sometimes it feels even meta imo. My biggest issue is with the performances of the characters, they made plenty of memorable characters into very forgetable ones.

After playing the Streets of Rage series, I decided I needed to try more beat em ups. And whaddya know, Nintendo's crappy online subscription had this for free for a week! A buddy and I played through the game in two sittings, and despite some problems, I rather enjoyed it.

First off, this game is actually non-linear and has a lot of RPG-style elements, which I thought was pretty neat. While the moveset felt a little restrictive at first, it doesn't take long to unlock a wider moveset that keeps things fresh. At the same time, I also had an overabundance of moves near the end of the game. Early on you unlock moves by leveling, but eventually you just have to pay for them at a dojo. This is fine, but dang, there's a lot of them. At the very least, I'm glad that the game eases you into the movesets of the characters as you progress, but I'm still not really sure if half the moves I had are even that different. There's also the fact that due to long stagger times for enemies, the game is extremely easy unless you're swarmed by several opponents, which is most of the time after a certain point, but still. Regardless, comboing enemies was fun, and as I said, I played the game with a friend, which always makes a game a little more fun.

The story is pretty hit and miss, as well as the humour. Either way, the story is a bit repetitive. It's just...

Main characters: 'Uh-oh, our boyfriends have been kidnapped! This boss must know where they are!' beat the boss up

Boss: 'Dang, you're strong. I don't know where your boyfriends are, but maybe the next boss does!'

Main Characters: 'Cool, let's go find said next boss!' leaves

It's fine. I don't expect much out of these games storywise, and this game did the job I guess. Humourwise... I dunno, I didn't hate it as much as many seemed to. Anime-isms annoy me just as much as the next guy, but some of the dialogue is still mildly entertaining. Also, every cutscene can be skipped, which is appreciated in general.

The biggest story complaint I, and seemingly everyone else has is the ending. I used to be fairly tolerant of the whole 'true ending' trend that's been popping up recently, but it's been grating me more and more, and River City Girls is no exception. I shouldn't have to do a whole side quest to get an ending that doesn't suck. Honestly, I would've even been fine with the bad ending if it was developed throughout the story. In this sense, we kind of got the worst of both worlds.

Audiovisually, the game is quite good. My main complaint is that the visual presentation can feel weirdly inconsistent. Some cutscenes are animated while others are manga-styled. Considering this is a gender-bender retro revival, I probably would've preferred to just have the manga cutscenes with either a 90s shounen or shoujo artstyle. Still, the game looks and sounds great either way.

The point is, despite some issues, I did rather enjoy this game. I'll give it a 6/10, but I may make it a 7. If there are other games with a similar structure to this, please tell me. In the meantime, I'm definitely gonna check out the other River City games.

Alright, I'll start with the good stuff. Obviously, the audiovisuals are great. In particular, the way that chunks of meat fall off of demons as you hurt them is genius. The controls are good, all the guns are fun and varied too.

Okay, now I get to talk about why this game doesn't really work for me. First is that there is an excess of moves, weapons, and progression systems. By the end of the game, you have seven normal weapons. Each of these weapons also has two mods, which can in themselves be upgraded and switched between mid-battle, and many of these mods completely change the function of the gun. You also have glory kills, the chainsaw, and the flame belch. Each of these can be used against enemies to gain health, ammo, and shield respectively. Next is the grenade. There's a normal one and an ice one. Next is the dash, which gives you a quick burst of speed. Don't forget the two superweapons. One is obviously the BFG, a massive damaging attack. The next is a sword which has tamer animations than the glory kill despite being built up massively throughout the story. There's also the blood punch, which is built up through glorykills. Aside from your moves and weapons there's also multiple progression systems, each of which uses a different currency. There's one for your guns, one for your suit, one for new abilities, and one for stats. Look, I get wanting to add new stuff, but isn't this a little too much?

Of course, excess isn't always a killer. In fact, it often feels like Doom is trying to be a Spectacle Action game similar to Devil May Cry. However, one thing that separates Devil May Cry and DOOM Eternal is that DMC often gives the player much more freedom in what it lets the player use. However, DOOM Eternal feels so deadset on forcing the player to play the way the developer intended. The cacodemons is a good example. You could fight it the normal way, or you could just throw a grenade at it and glory kill. The latter is extremely easy and efficient, so obviously it's what you want to do. A lot of enemies have similar weaknesses, some of which I do think work. The pinkies are vulnerable on the tail, so freezing them with the ice bomb is the logical course of action. Hitting a group of enemies with the flame belch is also very intuitive and logical. Honestly, looking at some of these weaknesses separately, it all seems good. However, when you put them all together, the entire game is just "Use the specific weapon or hit the specific part". It's also annoying that the game points all of these weaknesses out, so there's really never a need to experiment using different weapons or anything. As such, there's a clear lack of expression in using your weapons.

All of this is brought to a head with the marauder. With these guys, you have to stand at a specific range, wait for them to lower their guard, hit them with a burst weapon, and repeat until it dies. And my gosh, the discussion around this enemy is so stupid. I've seen so many people be like, "This enemy isn't that hard to beat." This is true. As long as it's one-on-one, these encounters aren't that difficult. However, they just aren't fun to fight.

As such, gameplay wise, DOOM Eternal is less than the sum of its parts. Many ideas seem good, but when put together, they just don't fit, even if the weapons are cool and satisfying to use.

Alright, now the story. I've made it known that with these kinds of games, I don't expect much storywise. DOOM Eternal mostly does the job. It contextualizes everything well enough, and I'm glad that most of it is kept to datalogs that I don't have to read. Still I do have complaints. First, the game really wants you to know how cool the Doomslayer is. This is strange, because Doomslayer/Doomguy is usually just... well, a guy in most games, including the game preceding Eternal. Aside from this tonal shift, it just annoys me in general. I probably would've enjoyed this angle more if the infamy of the Slayer grew as you played, but it seems all of that took place in between 2016 and Eternal. The other thing is that the cultists' dialogue, which appears occasionally all throughout the game, is really dumb and not funny. Once again, none of this is a big deal and it doesn't change my opinion that much at all, but I thought I might as well discuss it.

Overall, DOOM Eternal is fine. It's occasionally fun, but too many systems simultaneously overwhelm and restrict the player. It could change to a 6 later, but I'm giving it a 5/10 for now.

Over these past few years, Bethesda has managed to make "rip and tear" synonymous with Doom, but even that slogan's misleading at this point. The original (uh, original reboot, not original original) Doom embraced this mantra more faithfully- while it did suffer from some seriously misplaced modernization, most of it was pretty ignorable and the action, propped up by the smart new glory kill mechanic, more than made up for it. It also had our hero in a Gordon Freeman-esque scenario, in the midst of a world-altering catastrophe with his only goal survival and escape by any means necessary. Now we're galaxy trotting, forgoing the natural sense of progression that comes with just moving from place to place in favor of teleporting in from a hub world with the help of an omniscient AI as we retrieve MacGuffin after MacGuffin. There's an expanded codex filled with fresh word salad if you want to learn the significance of any of what you're doing, there's also a flamethrower now, there's an ice bomb, there's monkey bars, there's a huge glowing sword, there's about two dozen new upgrade systems. The big question is, do any of these additions make it a better action game than its predecessor? My answer is no.

I've come to realize that what I liked most about Doom 2016's encounters is that they felt like endurance tests. They were long and drawn out but truly felt like they forced you to use all of your resources to come out successfully. Eternal's feel shorter by comparison, and a lot of the time I found myself finishing one only having used a few of my weapons. 2016 had me constantly creating new strategies- I remember always saving my rockets for Cacodemons and plasma for Revenants- but I didn't really find myself choosing my weapon based on which demon I was fighting in Eternal. It also feels too easy to make a clean getaway. You'll never catch me calling additional movement options a flaw, but the demons don't really have any way to deal with the fact that you have two dashes and consistent ways to get tons of airtime. What's probably my biggest gripe is that the newly added abilities never ended up flowing. Throughout my playthrough the only time I'd ever use the Flame Belch or the Blood Punch was when I mentally reminded myself to. It never felt natural or instinctual, and on top of this I could never remember which of my abilities were on a cooldown or which recharged with glory kills. At first I just chalked this up to me being pretty lousy at shooters but the copious amount of tips the game throws at you began to make me think otherwise. It feels like you're reminded to check the automap, to use a specific weapon on a specific enemy, or to spend your upgrade tokens at such a constant rate that at some point you have to wonder if this increased complexity is really worth it. I'd still rather replay Doom 1993 than any of its sequels or reboots, and its simplicity is largely to thank for that. But then again, are you truly ripping and tearing if you're not logged into your Bethesda.net account?

Third Final Fantasy I've played, and this one was a pretty big mixed bag for me, unfortunately. When it's on, it's really on. Although it doesn't attempt anything remotely as interesting as 6's prolific fusion of story and battle mechanics or 7's distinct, offbeat humor and interactive fiction elements, it's hard to deny that most of its story is anything less than a resounding success. What the game excels at most are character interactions. They're used expertly for both comedic and dramatic purposes- the naive Vivi being lectured by the just-as-naive-but-slightly-more-emotionally-intelligent Eiko on the other party members' relationships and the quiet bombshell question that Dagger drops on Zidane in Maiden Sari regarding his personal motivation were the respective standouts from my perspective. A bold decision that might not seem significant is the game's consistent willingness to cut characters out for hours at a time when they're not important to what's currently going on. Steiner, for example, is just gone for huge chunks of the story after being introduced, which really works well with the stage play motif that surrounds the game. Adding to this, the story also starts off as a briskly paced, wonderfully small scale sequence of events that mostly has the party traveling from interesting location to interesting location. The game's initially focused on having the characters learn about themselves, each other, and the conflict that they're currently involved in rather than learning how to defeat some intergalactic being.

But, in the end, despite how good the game is at getting your hopes up, it has Final Fantasy in the title. I don't care about Kuja's plan to merge the planets and kidnap the Sandy Claws or whatever. Despite eating up so much of the storyline it's simply not interesting, and it also takes what should be a quiet, personal narrative and regresses it into standard sci-fantasy schlock. This disappointing third act turn of events and also some weird, seemingly unfinished details like certain side characters being built up with zero payoff mean that the narrative isn't perfect, and therefore it has to lean on its gameplay to at least some degree. And man, maybe it's just me, but this game is just so unenthusiastic about being an RPG. What feels like the vast majority of fights, at least in the first half of the game, are scripted, mid-cutscene bouts that you're not really supposed to lose. The amount of time spent in areas containing random encounters is purposefully minimized. Trance is the only unique part of the battle system but it's not well thought out at all and it adds absolutely nothing. The bosses are uninspired, usually being some nondescript creature being plopped in front of the party with no buildup- gone are the days of Jenova, of Shinra higher-ups, of ghost trains. There's nothing to their fights mechanically, either. I can think of only one boss in the entire game that isn't just one target that you can attack, and likewise only one that even reacts to your actions. The sole semblance of a saving grace, gameplay wise, is the abilities system. It's clever in more ways than one, as it encourages you to actually think about which equipment you put on and also gives you a nice feeling of growing your collection of abilities, but it's not enough to really affect anything in a major way. The game's also extremely easy. Final Fantasy 7's low level of difficulty gets a pass because of how enjoyable it is to mess around with the Materia system (although that has its own issues that I won't get into here), 9 does not, especially considering it's heralded as a throwback to the older games in the franchise. The story clashes, and the gameplay clashes. No matter how much I wanted to love it, Final Fantasy 9 has less to offer than either of the other games in its series that I've played before it.

Action games are getting bigger, but they're also getting smaller. Titanic bosses and dizzyingly intricate movesets are the natural residue of progressing technology, but their weight isn't fully felt if spamming air dashes becomes a dominant strategy or a well-timed dodge roll is your best option in every scenario. Although Streets of Rage 4 is an old-school throwback, it represents to me what the wider genre would be better off evolving towards. Constantly deciding when to end a combo, when to shift your focus, when to pick up an item may not seem like much when compared to the spectacle of other modern titles, but the complexity created by the layering of these minutiae locked me in a flow state to a degree that really doesn't happen all that much these days. The health bar/special move system adds fuel to the fire- effectively asking if you think you can combo off a certain move, and then rewarding you if you end up being correct either way in a straight-up palpable elevation of the skill ceiling. Ultimate, precise, calculated knowledge of your own limited moveset is the big goal here, which makes the learning experience so, so fulfilling when compared to the alternative of primarily remembering and reacting to specific patterns. It'd be a sin if I didn't also mention the graphics. A comic book in motion is such an elegant fit for a modern beat-em-up, which is a pretty apt way to describe the entire game. While other retro revivals have found some decent success in revitalizing interest in their specific series, the newest Streets of Rage entry feels like it has the potential to do so for beat-em-ups as a whole. It's not compact enough to reach that arcade sweetspot of replayability, but that's the only real misfire that came from adapting the series' staples for a modern audience. The demand for golden age beat-em-ups has been dead and buried for decades at this point, and who knows if an EXTRA LIFE IN 2020 is really in the cards for the genre, but I do know that I might very well be a convert. First game of the roaring 20s that gets a "you gotta play this one" from me.

The plot's nonsensical, the horror's infrequent, the campiness is unbearable at times, the puzzles are out of place, the atmosphere doesn't compare to its predecessors', and, above all, it's a complete betrayal of the grounded nature that made classic Resident Evil so great. In one fell swoop it utterly decimated the chances of fixed-camera survival horror ever being a big deal again, but, damn, it was worth it. And if you look closely, Resident Evil is still there. Awkwardly moving backwards to make space between yourself and a slow-moving enemy. Desperately scavenging for health and ammo. Internally debating whether or not to use a green herb now or risk trying to find a red one later. Layered on top of these preexisting niceties is perhaps the greatest work of classical game design of all time. The ultra simple shooting mechanics expertly intersect with a constant clip of gameplay twists, some more noticeable than others. There's the phenomenal setpieces, of which I don't think there's a single misfire, but what's possibly more impressive is the less obvious stuff. The variance in terrain- some portions open, some portions closed off, some with a focus on verticality, some with crevices to hide in and debris that obstructs your vision, others where you have no choice but to face your fears head on. Despite the blistering pace, every single area feels memorable, like it has its own tangible identity... not simply as battle arenas, which is a trap that subpar shooters end up falling into, but as real locations, places you've truly passed through on your mission to rescue the president's daughter. Enemy types aid this by weaving in and out of your story, reappearing just when you've forgotten they exist, this time with a new weapon, or with a helmet on, or paired with a more threatening group. Skilled players will line up a whole hoard of enemies to hit them all with a single kick, shoot their projectiles out of the air instead of dodging them, and rely on using the knife just to preserve that tiny bit of ammunition. But, most importantly, they'll adapt. Cultists chatter and chainsaws whir in the distance. It's a ten-out-of-ten game, it has to be. So forgive me if I don't have the heart to rate it that way.

Thirty-five odd years ago, the first Metroid proved that game design wasn't an exact science. Corridors that led to nothing, rooms that looked identical, enemies that could damage you in loading zones. All horrible ideas, stuff that would end up making the game understandably impalatable to the modern tongue, but also important, essential, even, to characterizing a truly hostile world. Later entries in the series significantly neutered this feeling, creating environments that players weren't only comfortable traversing, but staying in for extended periods of time, meticulously collecting every health tank and missile upgrade. It seems apparent that trying to make something genuinely alien will always be at odds with "good" game design, which typically revolves around the familiar, the intuitive, and the satisfying, but it's still a shame that the original Metroid's vision never wound up fully realized.

Until now, that is, and from Adult Swim of all publishers. The Rain World mantra is simple: you don't belong here, this world owes you nothing, and it will give you nothing that you don't take for yourself. You probably won't beat this game, and you definitely won't get 100% map completion. You'll have to excuse the obvious hackery of mentioning both Metroid and Dark Souls in the same review, but it's enchanting the way a first playthrough of Dark Souls is enchanting. A world as harsh as it is beautiful, with the desire to learn more about it your only motivation through its crushing difficulty. But, by comparison, even Lordran offered more kindness. At least, there, stairs were built for your feet and ladders for your arms. There are no bonfires in the rain world, instead your only points of safety constrained, metallic cages, as if complete isolation from the outside world your only true protection from it. Play perfectly for an entire cycle and you still might die to something outside of your control, right before getting to the next shelter. That's bad game design, just like any unfair mechanic is, but Rain World has loftier ambitions than being a well-designed game. Traditionally, unkillable enemies exist to be defeated later in a cinematic, cathartic payoff, but here, predators never stop being terrifying. Neither do heights, neither does the open sky, and neither does rain. Terrain should subtly guide you to where you're supposed to go next, and entrances to new regions definitely shouldn't be unceremoniously hidden in plain sight. We wouldn't want players to miss something important, would we? My only nitpicks come from the few concessions to this mentality. Mainly, the map, which too often serves as a nondiegetic crutch for players to lean on. It's hard to imagine anyone being able to complete the game without it, but that really only reinforces my argument. What's less understandable is the inclusion of the yellow ghosts, which seemingly show up when you're playing badly in order to patronizingly point out food and enemies.

But assessing Rain World's flaws truly puts its monumental strengths into perspective. Because what's possibly more impressive than everything that went right is the sheer amount of things that could've gone wrong. The game could've used upgrades to create a concrete sense of progression, an artificial way to counteract being at the mercy of your environment. The experience could've been cheapened with side characters or a more explicit narrative. If the enemy AI was even slightly more predictable, or the creature design not consistently haunting, then the exhilaration of a chase would've been greatly diminished. If there wasn't an enormously deep bag of tricks to figure out, both regarding how the game works at large and what your character is capable of, then it wouldn't be able to require so much creativity in its minute problem-solving. Things might've gotten stale if every single region didn't have a distinct way to throw you even further out of your element. And none of this stuff would've mattered if each and every screen wasn't individually memorable in how it tests a specific part of your skills, and yet meticulously constructed to feel naturalistic. Locations effortlessly fit together to paint a world where you don't belong, but also one that you can conquer if you're clever, persistent, and lucky enough. As it stands now, Rain World is a supreme balancing act, its resounding success as improbable as the survival of a slugcat in the wild. Undoubtedly one of the premiere achievements of the generation, and, hopefully, one of the most important.

Not even the term "roguelite" feels appropriate anymore. I'd say Hades is closer to a roguelite-lite, because now the meta-progression is the main event and the actual randomized dungeon crawl more of an afterthought. In hindsight, I'm surprised it's taken Supergiant, who historically develop games for the sole purpose of padding out a seemingly pre-written script, this long to make this game, since they're now given infinitely more nooks and crannies to cram situational dialog into. Critiquing it as a roguelike wouldn't be fair; it's not even trying to deliver a fulfilling, high skill-ceiling experience that hinges on the player's ability to take advantage of good luck and creatively adapt to overcome misfortune. It's addicting, yes, but for all the wrong reasons- instead of embracing the arcade philosophy of only giving players enough motivation to break through to the next level on their own, it buries its gameplay shortcomings under a mountain of extrinsic reward. It's specifically designed to be too hard with no upgrades and too easy with upgrades, in an effort to dripfeed the player story details in a way that appears natural. Though, it seems like this approach requires a substantial amount of willful ignorance to actually be effective. For me, at least, finally beating Hades (the guy) felt like less of a monumental accomplishment and more of an item on a checklist that I'd crossed off before being carted away to the next stop on the assembly line, which nullifies any potential benefit of the roguelike structure. That's not to say the concept is broken at its core, and it's hard to deny the appeal of the dynamic hubworld and the overall level of contextualization given to a traditionally abstract genre. I can certainly imagine falling in love with this game if it really did feel like all the dialog corresponded 1:1 with your actions, but I'm skeptical that this accurately describes every fan of Hades. Not to pluck my own lyre, but NPCs consistently felt behind the times for me, still praising me for reaching Elysium after I'd already escaped the Underworld several times, for instance. And it's not like the writing is exactly stellar- Zagreus's near constant quipping tells me that Supergiant's not fully confident in a tone that's more comedic than their previous games. But then again, this is all stuff that, in my eyes, would only serve to elevate an already good game and not to excuse combat that's fundamentally a slog. I don't think I have a single compliment for Hades's action gameplay, but despite runs that always feel the exact same, upgrades that are all roundabout stat modifiers with no room for personality, and non-boss enemies that never pose a threat, what's most offensive to me is that Supergiant hasn't at all evolved since Bastion. It's the same weightless, uninspired, utterly boring mashfest that it's been for the past decade, entirely inexcusable. Or maybe my heart only has enough room for one randomized trek through the realm of the undead.

Finished up the main story today, so I think I can safely say that I don't get it, or at least not fully. To me, this feels like two completely unrelated games grafted together, a claim that Yakuza 0 itself likely wouldn't dispute given how intentionally it contrasts its overwhelmingly dramatic narrative with the over-the-top goofiness of... everything else. Though, these two halves clearly don't carry equal mass (the vast majority of content lies in the optional stuff) or weight (you're free to go through the entire campaign without at all engaging in any of the sidequests, minigames, or either business system, but not vice versa). I found myself interested in Kiryu and Majima's story but not in anything else, and it wasn't until I forced myself to try and get the 'full' experience near the end of the game that I felt like I at least understood the appeal. The business management is addicting in the same way something like Cookie Clicker is- spend money to earn money at a higher rate, rinse, repeat- and there's a near infinite amount of stuff to occupy yourself with while you're waiting for cash to roll in. But because of the sheer amount of stuff to do, all of it is incredibly basic, and I think my problem is that I'm only willing to stomach tasks this menial when I'm at least interested in the world that they take place in. Kamurocho and Sotenbori look the part but don't feel it, instead of being populated with sidequests that feel organic and serve to flesh out the setting, they're filled with, in essence, whoopee cushions for Kiryu and Majima to sit on. Wacky, short-winded, painfully predictable punchlines that the protagonists reject their no-nonsense attitudes to indulge in, for some reason. I get that that's the joke, I just don't find it particularly funny- maybe if their overly serious natures were played off of instead of completely overwritten, it would've worked out better, but as it stands, I can only recall two out of the fifty or so that I did that even rose to the level of "entertaining." The combat, at the very least, grew on me over time, cleverly centering itself around manipulating enemies into certain conditions for both monetary bonuses and getting the most out of your heat meter, but it was still repetitive enough that I avoided every encounter I could for most of the game, a mentality that I regret not extending to the sidequests. At the end of it all, the only two aspects of the yakuza life that I can truthfully claim that I enjoyed were the cutscenes and some of the fights leading up to the cutscenes, two small portions of my thirty hours. Part of me is glad that a series this prominent finally managed to break through in the west, but I can't say that I'm particularly interested in checking out the other entries myself. I'd rather sit in the arcade and play some Outrun.