kosmzone
Super Mario at its core is a franchise about simple pleasures, and there are two primary categories of them that define its games. The first is simply poking around the environment and seeing what happens; the question box is after all, a symbol of uncertainty. The second is the mechanical pleasure of managing Mario’s slippery movement and momentum. 43 years after Donkey Kong brought us Jumpman and 41 after the proper introduction of Mario, the topic regarding the extent to which the franchise is successful on delivering on these fronts is decidedly more complex than the pleasures themselves. This is, in part, due to the colossally prolific nature of the brand, but focusing in on the two mainline pillars of Super Mario, the 3D Mario games have claimed the domain of the first pleasure with its ability to portray more fully realized spaces. 2D Mario, however, has largely failed, to my knowledge, in the modern era to emphasize mechanical challenge or novelty, leaving the New Super Mario Bros. sub series without much identity beyond frenzied co-op and looking like plastic, without even in leaning into it to create something cool like the charmingly toyetic look of the Link's Awakening remake.
That positions Super Mario Bros. Wonder as an eponymous effort to bring the first pleasure of mystery and discovery back to 2D Mario. It does this through the format of Wonder Seeds, a sometimes hidden powerup found in each level that causes something out of pocket to happen in dramatic, maximalist fashion. The Wonder Seeds give explicit and structured incentive to poking about, and they also enhance the mechanical pleasure by willing to constantly change the format of the player’s engagement, adding up to a title that fully realized the gestating potential of 2D Super Mario. The addition of visual flourishes that help nudge the aesthetics just a tad closer to the painterly rather than the plasticly helps a great deal. Still, I would describe the pleasures of Wonder as more joyful than wonderful, as the game is still too embedded in an established formula, the Wonder Seed format means the surprises are too signposted, and the badge system, as novel as some of the provided abilities, is a poor substitute for the power of expressing mechanical identity through characters. Wonder didn’t restore my childhood or anything, but that’s probably too much to ask and I do in fact enjoy being an adult anyways. It's a good time - what more do you want from me? Mamma mia!?
That positions Super Mario Bros. Wonder as an eponymous effort to bring the first pleasure of mystery and discovery back to 2D Mario. It does this through the format of Wonder Seeds, a sometimes hidden powerup found in each level that causes something out of pocket to happen in dramatic, maximalist fashion. The Wonder Seeds give explicit and structured incentive to poking about, and they also enhance the mechanical pleasure by willing to constantly change the format of the player’s engagement, adding up to a title that fully realized the gestating potential of 2D Super Mario. The addition of visual flourishes that help nudge the aesthetics just a tad closer to the painterly rather than the plasticly helps a great deal. Still, I would describe the pleasures of Wonder as more joyful than wonderful, as the game is still too embedded in an established formula, the Wonder Seed format means the surprises are too signposted, and the badge system, as novel as some of the provided abilities, is a poor substitute for the power of expressing mechanical identity through characters. Wonder didn’t restore my childhood or anything, but that’s probably too much to ask and I do in fact enjoy being an adult anyways. It's a good time - what more do you want from me? Mamma mia!?
2023
The central narrative problem with the first Alan Wake was the overly simple metaphor that dominated its focus; it's the light versus the darkness, and the light is the power of art, and the darkness is some sort of nebulous bad vibes or something. To be honest, I don't really care all that much. This metaphor continues to be the central focus of Alan Wake II but is made more nuanced by the introduction of our second protagonist, Saga Anderson. Saga, being a detective, rather than an artist, faces different demons and insecurities than Alan, and has her own ways of dealing with them. Art is certainly powerful, but that doesn't mean it's the only or even best way of dealing with our internal struggles - at the very least it depends on the person, and presenting it in such a metaphysical binary as light vs dark runs the risk of making a rather masturbatory work of art.
Now, just because it's careful not to oversell the importance of art, doesn't mean Alan Wake II doesn't love art; this is a Remedy game after all. Hilariously crass and deadpan commercials, a twenty minute short film, a level set in an interactive theater, another set set in a cheesy theme park, even the talk show and a set piece I dare not spoil here, this game is stuffed with impressive recreations of various ways humans express themselves and communicate with each other. Add to that Remedy's ever improving presentation skills, (the best in the business, no less) with flourishes such as live action superimposed over gameplay and the arresting imagery of the stock videos accompanying the monologues read from the plot altering manuscript pages, and of course, Ilkka Villi's ability to portray the most baffled man in history purely through facial expressions, and you have a rich visual vocabulary that makes for a fantastic horror experience.
Further benefiting from Remedy's pitch perfect presentation are the environments. Bright Falls is a cozy enclave from what feels like insurmountable wilderness, Watery is an impoverished yet tight knit rural community, but it is Nightmare New York that stands out as an all timer of a video game setting. Drowning in smog and rain, awash in neon, and flooded with garbage, it is devoid of people and yet it feels eerily alive. Exploring the lush details in these environments is paired with the fundamentally solid bones of Resident Evil 2 Remake’s gameplay, which combines straight forward adventure game style puzzles with fairly standard third person shooting combat. It's managing resources and inventory space that provides the tension vital for making horror game work, and the combat encounters do a good job of having the player stockpiling necessities and blowing through powerful items such as flares and flash grenades to make it through. Additionally, the ambiguity of which shadow presences in Alan’s levels were hostile and which were just standing there, menacingly, made even just navigating those areas perpetually unsettling, and I never felt safe in the dark woods around Bright Falls. Unsurprisingly though, for a Remedy game, the enemy variety is rather thin, but the teleporting enemies make me wish it was thinner still. At least there's a truly inspired new monster design in the halfway point of Saga’s campaign, which leaves a tantalizing glimpse into what could be if enemy variety is given a greater focus in future Remedy titles.
Playing through the game, between the previously described components and the gripping roller coaster thrills of the plot, there was one thing I was worried would prevent the game reaching masterpiece status; an unsatisfying ending, such as those that plagued Alan Wake and Control. Initially, my fears bore fruit, with an ending that forced a cliffhanger and a seeming sequel tease, and with the games industry undergoing a calamitous contraction in the wake of pandemic over-speculation and rising interest rates, good luck getting that made. However, the NG+ ending, entitled The Final Cut, adds a resolution to the cliffhanger as well as additional details that recontextualize the game and entire Remedyverse into seemingly being the machinations of an almost cosmic horror-like entity, providing ample fodder for fascinating theory crafting. I am a bit conflicted about the somewhat steep ask of having the player replay the entire game (full disclosure; I haven't yet played the Final Cut and I instead watched this playlist for the sake of this review) but it is narratively and thematically justified, commentating on the twisted nature of Alan's predicament and the extreme lengths required to make art feel ‘real.’ There are some unrelated narrative quibbles that I have as well. The Sheriff Breaker stuff is baffling, as a normal person who did not play Quantum Break, and the strangeness surrounding the game’s depiction of Sam Lake and the real and fictional Alex Casey is too weird for such a hurried cop out of an explanation. Still, I am ultimately satisfied with the ending and that is all I wanted. Should this be the end of Alan Wake, aside from the DLC, I am quite grateful we got such a bold and confident game from a franchise that had once seemed destined to die in obscurity.
Also, how is the game that produced this video still not profitable? What is wrong with ya’ll?
Now, just because it's careful not to oversell the importance of art, doesn't mean Alan Wake II doesn't love art; this is a Remedy game after all. Hilariously crass and deadpan commercials, a twenty minute short film, a level set in an interactive theater, another set set in a cheesy theme park, even the talk show and a set piece I dare not spoil here, this game is stuffed with impressive recreations of various ways humans express themselves and communicate with each other. Add to that Remedy's ever improving presentation skills, (the best in the business, no less) with flourishes such as live action superimposed over gameplay and the arresting imagery of the stock videos accompanying the monologues read from the plot altering manuscript pages, and of course, Ilkka Villi's ability to portray the most baffled man in history purely through facial expressions, and you have a rich visual vocabulary that makes for a fantastic horror experience.
Further benefiting from Remedy's pitch perfect presentation are the environments. Bright Falls is a cozy enclave from what feels like insurmountable wilderness, Watery is an impoverished yet tight knit rural community, but it is Nightmare New York that stands out as an all timer of a video game setting. Drowning in smog and rain, awash in neon, and flooded with garbage, it is devoid of people and yet it feels eerily alive. Exploring the lush details in these environments is paired with the fundamentally solid bones of Resident Evil 2 Remake’s gameplay, which combines straight forward adventure game style puzzles with fairly standard third person shooting combat. It's managing resources and inventory space that provides the tension vital for making horror game work, and the combat encounters do a good job of having the player stockpiling necessities and blowing through powerful items such as flares and flash grenades to make it through. Additionally, the ambiguity of which shadow presences in Alan’s levels were hostile and which were just standing there, menacingly, made even just navigating those areas perpetually unsettling, and I never felt safe in the dark woods around Bright Falls. Unsurprisingly though, for a Remedy game, the enemy variety is rather thin, but the teleporting enemies make me wish it was thinner still. At least there's a truly inspired new monster design in the halfway point of Saga’s campaign, which leaves a tantalizing glimpse into what could be if enemy variety is given a greater focus in future Remedy titles.
Playing through the game, between the previously described components and the gripping roller coaster thrills of the plot, there was one thing I was worried would prevent the game reaching masterpiece status; an unsatisfying ending, such as those that plagued Alan Wake and Control. Initially, my fears bore fruit, with an ending that forced a cliffhanger and a seeming sequel tease, and with the games industry undergoing a calamitous contraction in the wake of pandemic over-speculation and rising interest rates, good luck getting that made. However, the NG+ ending, entitled The Final Cut, adds a resolution to the cliffhanger as well as additional details that recontextualize the game and entire Remedyverse into seemingly being the machinations of an almost cosmic horror-like entity, providing ample fodder for fascinating theory crafting. I am a bit conflicted about the somewhat steep ask of having the player replay the entire game (full disclosure; I haven't yet played the Final Cut and I instead watched this playlist for the sake of this review) but it is narratively and thematically justified, commentating on the twisted nature of Alan's predicament and the extreme lengths required to make art feel ‘real.’ There are some unrelated narrative quibbles that I have as well. The Sheriff Breaker stuff is baffling, as a normal person who did not play Quantum Break, and the strangeness surrounding the game’s depiction of Sam Lake and the real and fictional Alex Casey is too weird for such a hurried cop out of an explanation. Still, I am ultimately satisfied with the ending and that is all I wanted. Should this be the end of Alan Wake, aside from the DLC, I am quite grateful we got such a bold and confident game from a franchise that had once seemed destined to die in obscurity.
Also, how is the game that produced this video still not profitable? What is wrong with ya’ll?
2012
With a garish and brightly colored comic book aesthetic, The Darkness II somehow looks more visually dated than its predecessor five years its senior, having abandoned the harsh shadows and blaring lights that defined that title’s atmosphere.. To its credit, it is quite ugly, and that does fit the moral sensibilities that this franchise trades in, but this entry as a whole does lose the more subtle warmth that distinguished the first game, perhaps best exemplified by the new gravel laden drawl of Jackie’s recast voice actor. Admittedly, the wackier villain, more involved lore, and the more bombastic twists and turns of the plot make for a more enjoyable pulp experience, but one that lacks the sharper texture and memorable flavor of Starbreeze’s take on the franchise. After giving into his vengeful urges at the end of the prior game but putting them under wrap between titles, Jackie Estacado is back on his bullshit and using The Darkness in order to defend his found mafia family and to cope with the loss of his girlfriend, Jenny. Any emotionally grounded storytelling the game might have achieved concerning grief and addiction is thoroughly undone not only by the sheer ridiculousness of the game’s descent into the mythically fantastical, but also by a hammy post credits scene introducing an extraneous cliffhanger. Still, I must admit that the core conceit of the franchise, deploying fucked up monster powers as the world’s most emo mob boss, is enough to make plot decently enjoyable.
Where The Darkness II unambiguously improves over the original and fully embraces the joy of fucked up monster powers is, famously, in the gameplay, which sees the Darkness appendages streamlined from a rotation of singular powers into a constant presence that allows for fluid transitions from quad wielding, to grabbing and throwing environmental tools and weapons, and viciously devouring the hearts of one’s enemies. Still, there are downsides to combat that prevent *the game from realizing its full potential as a shooter, the most notable of which are the clashing systems that lead to combat rhythms with mismatched tempos. On one hand, the game encourages rushdown because eating hearts both restores health and grants experience points, and on the other, it encourages precise stop-and-pop shooting thanks to how disabling being in the light is, and the necessity of shooting out all of the sources of artificial light in an arena. Further frustrating are levels that feature a combination of shield enemies, which require Darkness powers to defeat, and light wielding enemies, which disable your Darkness powers. It adds up to be an excessive amount of friction for a game that is trying to be most appreciated for its base pleasures. Still, it’s definitely more approachable than the original, and its own merits is a solid enough roller coaster for those who want to unleash hell and fury upon hapless video game enemies for a few hours.
Where The Darkness II unambiguously improves over the original and fully embraces the joy of fucked up monster powers is, famously, in the gameplay, which sees the Darkness appendages streamlined from a rotation of singular powers into a constant presence that allows for fluid transitions from quad wielding, to grabbing and throwing environmental tools and weapons, and viciously devouring the hearts of one’s enemies. Still, there are downsides to combat that prevent *the game from realizing its full potential as a shooter, the most notable of which are the clashing systems that lead to combat rhythms with mismatched tempos. On one hand, the game encourages rushdown because eating hearts both restores health and grants experience points, and on the other, it encourages precise stop-and-pop shooting thanks to how disabling being in the light is, and the necessity of shooting out all of the sources of artificial light in an arena. Further frustrating are levels that feature a combination of shield enemies, which require Darkness powers to defeat, and light wielding enemies, which disable your Darkness powers. It adds up to be an excessive amount of friction for a game that is trying to be most appreciated for its base pleasures. Still, it’s definitely more approachable than the original, and its own merits is a solid enough roller coaster for those who want to unleash hell and fury upon hapless video game enemies for a few hours.
2007
The Darkness stands out as a 7th Gen title with so much love and care put into the grit and grime of its exaggerated depiction of New York City that you can smell the piss in glorious 720p. While that doesn't exactly make for a virtual space that is pleasurable to inhabit, it does make for one that feels tangible and weighty, a fitting backdrop for the inhumanity of institutions and individuals that the story explores. Notably, the only wealth you see in the game is possessed by the guy trying to kill you for spurious reasons; it’s not a setting where the structures humanity have built benefit anybody but the cruel and short-sighted. However, that's what makes the warmth and humanity that persists shine through, from the entire feature length amount of time the player can spend watching TV with Jackie’s girlfriend to the various personalities and graffiti that decorate the subways, it's lovely to see depictions of how people and culture persist in such conditions. This is what makes Jackie Estacado, the Hot Topic Italian mobster, such a compelling protagonist, with his wild anecdotes and asides about the wacky and wretched things that have happened to him growing up in such a city. He's undeniably shaped by his environment, and while he's hardly a good person, seeing how he remains his humanity through it all is a great place to center the drama. This is where The Darkness, the supernatural entity possessing Jackie and providing him with his powers, comes in as a metaphor, representing an embrace of nihilistic vengeance, fostered by inherited sin and inherited trauma. It's fitting that its origins in the Estacado family are found in World War I, a historical event that demonstrated how the marvels of modernity created new ways to fuel humanity’s inhumanity to each other. The potency of this metaphor is what makes it a shame that the plot sees The Darkness make an unforced error, which turns Jackie against it and undermines his arc by saving him trouble of finding his own good reasons to reject the power that The Darkness provides, which in turn undermines his ultimate failure to overcome it.
Still, it's quite a blessing that the city captures the themes and drama of the game so well, because the player is forced to trudge through it with slow movement, sluggish combat, and plenty of backtracking. Shooting the lights out to maintain The Darkness's powers with aiming this slow is truly a chore, and words fail to convey just how much the traversal ability Creeping Darkness fucking sucks (!!!!!!!) so I am forced to resort to formatting gimmicks to communicate that fact. Furthermore, The Darkness, with its thick atmosphere and strong deployment on genre, was threatening to be one of the more tragic examples of the undeniable truth of the maxim ‘if the shotty bad, the game bad’ until its final hour where it kindly bestows a high-powered AA-12 to blast away the game’s endless waves of mooks and goons; a mechanical deus ex machina, if you will. Distinctly strong and distinctly flawed alike, The Darkness is solid pulp genre fare that doesn't deserve to be lost to history just quite yet.
-Played on Windows PC via RPCS3.
Still, it's quite a blessing that the city captures the themes and drama of the game so well, because the player is forced to trudge through it with slow movement, sluggish combat, and plenty of backtracking. Shooting the lights out to maintain The Darkness's powers with aiming this slow is truly a chore, and words fail to convey just how much the traversal ability Creeping Darkness fucking sucks (!!!!!!!) so I am forced to resort to formatting gimmicks to communicate that fact. Furthermore, The Darkness, with its thick atmosphere and strong deployment on genre, was threatening to be one of the more tragic examples of the undeniable truth of the maxim ‘if the shotty bad, the game bad’ until its final hour where it kindly bestows a high-powered AA-12 to blast away the game’s endless waves of mooks and goons; a mechanical deus ex machina, if you will. Distinctly strong and distinctly flawed alike, The Darkness is solid pulp genre fare that doesn't deserve to be lost to history just quite yet.
-Played on Windows PC via RPCS3.
2023
As a medium, food is rather underrated. I don't mean that in the sense that it provides sustenance and sensual pleasures, but rather in terms of the information it can convey. Mediums, after all, are tools for communication and are defined by what they provide directly to the recipient and what they leave to interpretation. Venba, for example, left without the senses of taste and touch, uses its vibrant art and lively music to convey the appeal of its food, and does so wonderfully. In the case of the medium of food, it carries with it cultural history, geographic context, our tastes and preferences, shared knowledge and tradition, and the product of collective and individual experimentation, and most importantly, our labor and care for each other. This is what makes the somewhat narratively contrived puzzle mechanic of the incomplete cookbook a compelling metaphor, it shows how cultural knowledge can be lost and restored across generations, provided the effort is put into preserving it. The actual plot of Venba explores the pain that can happen when direct communication fails at helping its characters understand each other, but it also shows the beauty in that such methods leave room for us to connect through more abstract means.
This review contains spoilers
Armored Core is defined by an industrial coldness, and such inhumanity is central to the dramatic questions of its newest entry. There isn't a single human being to be seen in the entire game, their presence indicated only by voice over and the hulking mechs they inhabit. Rubicon itself is a planet dotted with colossal megastructures and sprawling metropolises with a bevy of institutions and organizations fighting for control of them as well as the hybrid power source and data conduit substance known as Coral that enticed them there. There’s the derelict scientific institute that established the initial research into the substance and caused the cosmic disaster that hangs over the planet, the governing authority that administers over the remaining Coral reserves, the two corporate powers occupying the planet in order to extract wealth from its veins, and the beleaguered locals struggling to liberate their home. (Editors note: there are actually even more factions in this game!) However, regardless of the faction in question, there’s nary a whiff of culture to be seen, beyond corporate logos and military decals. It’s a vision of humanity's future set on a planet of war where all of our efforts as a people have gone solely into creating the most fucked up mechs, the most overwhelming missile barrages, and the most devastating laser volleys possible. It is within this bleakness that From Software asks the player to answer the question of whether humanity can be trusted to evolve past its current form. It makes for the most interesting moral choice in From Soft’s modern catalog, however not all elements of the game support it as well as it could have.
In order to bring themselves into such a position where they can make such a call, players build and customize their mechs from an arsenal of parts and fight for the highest bidder. There are dozens of stats on display affecting your mech's performances, and figuring out how to balance the tradeoffs of each component to build a cohesive machine is half the fun. This customization is one of the more successful thematic aspects of Armored Core VI, being the vessel in which players express themselves and form an identity. Aside from their name (separate from their callsign, Raven), no aspect of the player character is customizable, or even viewable. Raven is, in essence, their mech, and as such, constantly in flux.
The combat that this customization is in service of is balletic and bombastic, with hefty assault charges and nimble boost dodges, and has a engaging learning curve as the player gradually comes accustomed to managing the considerable mental stack regarding the range and ammunition of four different weapons at once, alongside the mech’s own engine and cooldown capacities. As is typical of From Soft games, spikes in difficulty are often just as much knowledge checks as they are tests of skill and dexterity, and those who love tinkering will be ecstatic over the range of options to try out when they encounter a progress barrier. However, the balancing of the game is too lopsided in order to fully facilitate this intended approach; the stagger system, disconnected from the parries of Sekiro that defined it in that game, heavily rewards burst damage, and if you have powerful ammunition on hand when an enemy is staggered, even Armored Core VI’s fiercest enemies will swiftly crumble. For the most part, my first playthrough was based around upgrading and tinkering with parts for a central mech design I created early on, and the design I took into the final battle shredded every threat it faced in NG+ and NG+2 (on patch 1.02). This undermined the structure that New Game+ is meant to facilitate in this game, which is utilizing the repetition of replaying the game’s various missions as an opportunity to try out new mech designs, and unfortunately I found that NG+2 disappointing in the story department as well.
The story in Armored Core VI the first two routes are quite compelling. It has far more dialogue than any of From Soft’s Soulslikes, including Sekiro, which helps to bring personality to the sheer complexity and density of its proper nouns and headier ideas. There are occasional blemishes, of course. Front of mind is Handler Walter’s dramatically inert off-screen ‘death’, which is, confusingly, only vaguely alluded to. Then there’s the matter of Gen IV augmentation, one of a plethora of established experiments in modifying physiology in order to better pilot Armored Core mechs, which leaves it unclear what Raven’s psychological capabilities are in regards to free will, which muddies the messaging around player choice and the will to choose. However, most of the twists and turns land impactfully, and the decisions to be made are hefty enough that either route of the base story shines through as a memorable and meaningful experience. NG+2, titled ‘Alea lacta Est’ has a lot going for it by focusing around the mercenary support group ALLMIND and their hidden agenda of implementing the Human Instrumentality Project from Neon Genesis Evangelion. It may not be original, but it’s a good thematic fit for the game. This is undermined however by the fact that Alea lacta Est replaces the dramatic gravitas found in the finales of prior playthroughs, with what is essentially a joke. Low rank mercenary G5 Igauza’s petty resentment of the player character takes center stage over a hypothetical antagonist that could have more directly and cleanly represented opposition to the player character’s goals. Sure, G5 Igauza as a foil is meant to represent how one could squander the will to choose, but it doesn’t register when Armored Core VI’s depiction of humanity is already so consumed with war and profit. It doesn't help that the game’s final image is a straight up goofy way of expressing its status quo shift, becoming an instance where the game’s commitment to never showing human faces goes a bit too far, and hardly feeling like a worthy reward to the considerable grind required to reach the ending. It adds up to one of those cases where the masterpiece version of a game is so clearly visible in its released form, but it falls short in a few key places, even if it doesn't stop it from being great overall.
In order to bring themselves into such a position where they can make such a call, players build and customize their mechs from an arsenal of parts and fight for the highest bidder. There are dozens of stats on display affecting your mech's performances, and figuring out how to balance the tradeoffs of each component to build a cohesive machine is half the fun. This customization is one of the more successful thematic aspects of Armored Core VI, being the vessel in which players express themselves and form an identity. Aside from their name (separate from their callsign, Raven), no aspect of the player character is customizable, or even viewable. Raven is, in essence, their mech, and as such, constantly in flux.
The combat that this customization is in service of is balletic and bombastic, with hefty assault charges and nimble boost dodges, and has a engaging learning curve as the player gradually comes accustomed to managing the considerable mental stack regarding the range and ammunition of four different weapons at once, alongside the mech’s own engine and cooldown capacities. As is typical of From Soft games, spikes in difficulty are often just as much knowledge checks as they are tests of skill and dexterity, and those who love tinkering will be ecstatic over the range of options to try out when they encounter a progress barrier. However, the balancing of the game is too lopsided in order to fully facilitate this intended approach; the stagger system, disconnected from the parries of Sekiro that defined it in that game, heavily rewards burst damage, and if you have powerful ammunition on hand when an enemy is staggered, even Armored Core VI’s fiercest enemies will swiftly crumble. For the most part, my first playthrough was based around upgrading and tinkering with parts for a central mech design I created early on, and the design I took into the final battle shredded every threat it faced in NG+ and NG+2 (on patch 1.02). This undermined the structure that New Game+ is meant to facilitate in this game, which is utilizing the repetition of replaying the game’s various missions as an opportunity to try out new mech designs, and unfortunately I found that NG+2 disappointing in the story department as well.
The story in Armored Core VI the first two routes are quite compelling. It has far more dialogue than any of From Soft’s Soulslikes, including Sekiro, which helps to bring personality to the sheer complexity and density of its proper nouns and headier ideas. There are occasional blemishes, of course. Front of mind is Handler Walter’s dramatically inert off-screen ‘death’, which is, confusingly, only vaguely alluded to. Then there’s the matter of Gen IV augmentation, one of a plethora of established experiments in modifying physiology in order to better pilot Armored Core mechs, which leaves it unclear what Raven’s psychological capabilities are in regards to free will, which muddies the messaging around player choice and the will to choose. However, most of the twists and turns land impactfully, and the decisions to be made are hefty enough that either route of the base story shines through as a memorable and meaningful experience. NG+2, titled ‘Alea lacta Est’ has a lot going for it by focusing around the mercenary support group ALLMIND and their hidden agenda of implementing the Human Instrumentality Project from Neon Genesis Evangelion. It may not be original, but it’s a good thematic fit for the game. This is undermined however by the fact that Alea lacta Est replaces the dramatic gravitas found in the finales of prior playthroughs, with what is essentially a joke. Low rank mercenary G5 Igauza’s petty resentment of the player character takes center stage over a hypothetical antagonist that could have more directly and cleanly represented opposition to the player character’s goals. Sure, G5 Igauza as a foil is meant to represent how one could squander the will to choose, but it doesn’t register when Armored Core VI’s depiction of humanity is already so consumed with war and profit. It doesn't help that the game’s final image is a straight up goofy way of expressing its status quo shift, becoming an instance where the game’s commitment to never showing human faces goes a bit too far, and hardly feeling like a worthy reward to the considerable grind required to reach the ending. It adds up to one of those cases where the masterpiece version of a game is so clearly visible in its released form, but it falls short in a few key places, even if it doesn't stop it from being great overall.
This review contains spoilers
Taking aim at the carceral state and boldly declaring that all Lobster Cops Are Bastards, Frog Tec 3 emerges as a masterwork of an anarchist polemic. Well, not quite; anybody who thinks that anarchism is naive and idealistic will not be swayed by any evidence presented in this game, because it's smart enough to not stray far from the silly sensibilities of the series to deliver its message. It's simply a way to interrogate some of the ingrained assumptions of the genre that were seemingly taken for granted in the first entry and more gently mocked in the second. It also helps justify the Wild West setting, which at first seemed to be a tad too specific of a genre for the grand finale, but it works because such a setting is known in the popular imagination for exploring the intersection of the law and lawlessness. It's also a perfect fit for one of the series’ running gags, which is the Detective’s insecurity over his oddly shaped head that cannot host a hat. Of course, the fact that I had to spoiler tag this review thanks to the plot twists attached to its politics is a big indication of how much more ambitious these games have gotten, which is quite welcome. In addition to a new scooter (and accompanying sweeping music track) to traverse the larger space, the game pulls off a gag I'd have previously assumed to be outside the scope of these microgames, and then does another just a few minutes later. What a delight that Frog Tec went out on such a high note!
A benefit to the detective mystery subgenre is that if you have a compelling lead, you can squeeze a great deal of juice from a simple formula, at least as far as entertainment is concerned. While it would be quite hard for me to find novel things to write in reviews had Frog Tec become a long running I am quite glad that Grace Bruxner has the chance to expand on the template that the first entry set before wrapping things up. Frog Tec 2 does add slightly more to keep track of, hence the addition of a journal where you can accurately label everyone, including yourself as suspicious, but the true benefit of the larger scope is the improved sense of place that is provided by Warlock Woods. It's a setting that allows for an exploration of the theme of community, and expanding on the first game’s theme of communication by focusing on how a shy new resident should introduce herself after making a mistake. It remains good-natured lighthearted fun - now if only someone would bring the dastardly Evil Guy to justice!
Narratively simple and mechanically even simpler, there isn't much for Frog Detective (or Frog Tec if you're a Batman fan) to justify it’s forty five minute length beyond its charm. Fortunately, its charm is irresistible; it's lounge jazz soundtrack, clever camera work, and cleanly minimalist 3D art style all supporting the beating heart of Frog Tec, its gently awkward humor. Characters descend into lengthy detours over semantics, bring up their special interests unprompted, and blurt our their insecurities, and it's all presented with sharp wit to make it hilarious.
The gameplay consists entirely of talking to a character and fulfilling their needs or wants, usually by talking to another character or picking up an object lying around not far from them, to solve a mystery that could have been solved if any other character has bothered to do so. As such, Frog Tec conceptualizes detective work as communication, and the interesting thing about that is that our titular Detective isn't that great at communicating either! It's his willingness to push through the awkwardness that distinguishes him, and brings a purpose to the hijinks, as enjoyable as they are on their sake.
The gameplay consists entirely of talking to a character and fulfilling their needs or wants, usually by talking to another character or picking up an object lying around not far from them, to solve a mystery that could have been solved if any other character has bothered to do so. As such, Frog Tec conceptualizes detective work as communication, and the interesting thing about that is that our titular Detective isn't that great at communicating either! It's his willingness to push through the awkwardness that distinguishes him, and brings a purpose to the hijinks, as enjoyable as they are on their sake.
This review contains spoilers
It’s rather impressive how the strengths and weaknesses of Breath of the Wild were flipped for Tears of the Kingdom. Where the former game was a refreshing open world dragged down by its underbaked immersive sim elements, the latter is a brilliant immersive sim parred with a disappointing open world. Put another way, with the re-use of Breath’s Hyrule, the joy of discovery that defines the best entries in the open world has been shifted to the mechanics and the new maps that Tears provides. One of these emotive redistributions works quite well (for the most part) and the other does not (for the most part), leading to a final product that sings quite well but sag in a few important places.
The core problem that needs to be solved when designing an immersive sim is that all of the wacky creative choices that the player needs to be more appealing than just taking the path of least resistance. Tools like magnetism and time freeze in Breath had limited applications in combat, and simply slapping enemies with your sword was just more efficient, even with the weapon degradation system attempting to force the player into more spontaneous play. In a single fell swoop, the new ability Fuse, which allows the player to attach any item to any weapon, provides a host of useful and whacky combat and exploration utility, while also giving purpose to the hoard of items and weapons that the player accrues of the course of playing these two games. Being able to enhance any weapon I find with whatever I choose makes the temporality of my weapons far less bothersome because I’ll always have something on hand to suit my needs, while still having the possibility open for creativity and experimentation. While the powers Ascend and Rewind allow for unique navigation options, the real showstopper of Tears is, of course, Ultrahand, which allows the assemblage of standard items and special Zonai tools into nearly whatever form the player desires. The building blocks of the system are easy and intuitive, allowing for both complex engineering and satisfying simple solution crafting. However, the game is far better at incentivizing using Ultrahand to solve simple problems in closed areas, such as the sky islands, the shrines, and the dungeons than it is at incentivizing that complex engineering. Tearsrequires the player to have intrinsic motivation to access its wilder possibilities outside of funny videos on twitter, which is mostly fine, but makes all the time I spent to get my Zonai batteries to max capacity feel like a waste, which brings us to the reason why the new open world ofTears falls so flat.
Of course, there’s a good degree of value in the opportunity to see how the people of Hyrule have progressed since the events of Breath, but the accompanying busy work of unlocking regions I’ve already explored is hardly appreciated. This wouldn’t be a large problem whatsoever weren’t for the lacking nature of the new open world zone in the form of The Depths. My initial discovery of the massive underground cavern lying below Hyrule was a rush of horror and awe (albeit a pale shadow of the experience of entering Elden Ring’s Caelid for the first time) but once you’ve seen one area of The Depths you’ve seen them all, with rare exception. However, this area has the materials that are needed to build Zonai devices from scratch and to mean upgraded battery, which means if you don’t want your time with the toys you build to be painfully short, you have to spend a painfully long time down under. I wanted to make use of the more open ended nature of the Ultrahand system, so after my time in The Depths I built a war machine that I’m decently proud of to fight Ganon, but could only be used for twenty seconds on a max level battery. Turns out, in the actual fight I didn’t have enough time for auto-build to assemble it and for it to take off, so I simply resorted to slapping him with a sword again. It was a sharp reminder of how the freedom of the mechanics conflicts with the freedom of the open world, making me wish that this was a more focused and condensed experience, that asked the player to use ultrahand and fuse to solve more specific problems.
Before I go, I will expend a few words on the narrative of Tears, which has some strikingly bold decisions but is ultimately let down by typical Nintendo cowardice, where status quo triumphs over progression everytime. I must ask, is there anyone on the planet who doesn't want Link to keep his awesome new arm, and if so, who is letting them near Nintendo’s development offices? A similar aversion to consequences manifests in Zelda’s arc, which sees her unfortunately sidelined once more but this time in a way that’s actually kind of interesting, until it’s reverted in tidy fashion in time for the credits. Even in a series with threadbare continuity, things must go back to the way things were. Now, thanks to my dopamine starved brain, this review is being published several months after I actually finished the game, but when I think about Tears of the Kingdom these days, two things come to mind; the all timer final boss fight and all the time I spent gathering apples at the same damn apple orchard from Breath of the Wild.
The core problem that needs to be solved when designing an immersive sim is that all of the wacky creative choices that the player needs to be more appealing than just taking the path of least resistance. Tools like magnetism and time freeze in Breath had limited applications in combat, and simply slapping enemies with your sword was just more efficient, even with the weapon degradation system attempting to force the player into more spontaneous play. In a single fell swoop, the new ability Fuse, which allows the player to attach any item to any weapon, provides a host of useful and whacky combat and exploration utility, while also giving purpose to the hoard of items and weapons that the player accrues of the course of playing these two games. Being able to enhance any weapon I find with whatever I choose makes the temporality of my weapons far less bothersome because I’ll always have something on hand to suit my needs, while still having the possibility open for creativity and experimentation. While the powers Ascend and Rewind allow for unique navigation options, the real showstopper of Tears is, of course, Ultrahand, which allows the assemblage of standard items and special Zonai tools into nearly whatever form the player desires. The building blocks of the system are easy and intuitive, allowing for both complex engineering and satisfying simple solution crafting. However, the game is far better at incentivizing using Ultrahand to solve simple problems in closed areas, such as the sky islands, the shrines, and the dungeons than it is at incentivizing that complex engineering. Tearsrequires the player to have intrinsic motivation to access its wilder possibilities outside of funny videos on twitter, which is mostly fine, but makes all the time I spent to get my Zonai batteries to max capacity feel like a waste, which brings us to the reason why the new open world ofTears falls so flat.
Of course, there’s a good degree of value in the opportunity to see how the people of Hyrule have progressed since the events of Breath, but the accompanying busy work of unlocking regions I’ve already explored is hardly appreciated. This wouldn’t be a large problem whatsoever weren’t for the lacking nature of the new open world zone in the form of The Depths. My initial discovery of the massive underground cavern lying below Hyrule was a rush of horror and awe (albeit a pale shadow of the experience of entering Elden Ring’s Caelid for the first time) but once you’ve seen one area of The Depths you’ve seen them all, with rare exception. However, this area has the materials that are needed to build Zonai devices from scratch and to mean upgraded battery, which means if you don’t want your time with the toys you build to be painfully short, you have to spend a painfully long time down under. I wanted to make use of the more open ended nature of the Ultrahand system, so after my time in The Depths I built a war machine that I’m decently proud of to fight Ganon, but could only be used for twenty seconds on a max level battery. Turns out, in the actual fight I didn’t have enough time for auto-build to assemble it and for it to take off, so I simply resorted to slapping him with a sword again. It was a sharp reminder of how the freedom of the mechanics conflicts with the freedom of the open world, making me wish that this was a more focused and condensed experience, that asked the player to use ultrahand and fuse to solve more specific problems.
Before I go, I will expend a few words on the narrative of Tears, which has some strikingly bold decisions but is ultimately let down by typical Nintendo cowardice, where status quo triumphs over progression everytime. I must ask, is there anyone on the planet who doesn't want Link to keep his awesome new arm, and if so, who is letting them near Nintendo’s development offices? A similar aversion to consequences manifests in Zelda’s arc, which sees her unfortunately sidelined once more but this time in a way that’s actually kind of interesting, until it’s reverted in tidy fashion in time for the credits. Even in a series with threadbare continuity, things must go back to the way things were. Now, thanks to my dopamine starved brain, this review is being published several months after I actually finished the game, but when I think about Tears of the Kingdom these days, two things come to mind; the all timer final boss fight and all the time I spent gathering apples at the same damn apple orchard from Breath of the Wild.
2022
Oddly, Sifu benefits from its hefty disconnect between the player and the player character. Whereas the protagonist spends eight years honing their martial arts craft in pursuit of their vengeance, you’re learning on the fly, the game’s pseudo-roguelite structure gatekeeping you until you achieve mastery and can progress with the proficiency of the protagonist. You get to experience the training arc montage and the rising action at the same time, giving Sifu an intoxicatingly satisfying structure of learning, practice, and progression. The mechanic that lies at the center of the combat system is my own personal gaming catnip, Sekiro’s parry system. As in From Soft’s seminal 2019 title, fights are about simultaneously managing both the posture meter of you and your opponent by creating consistent pressure and enduring against their attacks with precision blocks. However, parrying in Sifu is even more dangerous, with less opportunities to recover posture and guaranteed chip damage from regular blocking, not to mention the steeper consequences of revivals, with each death increasing your character’s age (and decreasing your health bar) until you either run out of revives or restart the level. The game provides other defensive options, such as dodging, but parrying automatically defeats all high low mixups, and enemies with throws, which beat parries, are quite rare, so the system emerges as the most consistent option in the base toolkit. The game does have lots of unlockable abilities, including perks, special moves, combos, and super moves but fundamentally, parrying is the core skill you need to learn to use and it can carry you through the game if you master it. What this adds up to is a combat model of aggressive defense that encourages and facilitates the most exhilarating style of play that will see you taking on mobs of enemies with stylish aplomb. While the combat itself is mostly just a variant on an already successful mold, the combination of its structure and its combat are what distinguishes it and makes it worth playing.
Now you might notice that I didn't list narrative and aesthetics among the reasons to play Sifu, to which one of those is an unfortunate omission on my part, while the other is not. The story takes the form of revenge pulp, and the issue with revenge stories is that they tend to have binary outcomes. The protagonist either succeeds or fails in taking revenge, and it is presented as either justified or not. It is the particular contours of a revenge story that make it stand out, and this where Sifu stumbles in its minimalistic approach. Speaking in broad strokes, pulp revenge stories thrive from the catharsis of righteous violence and prestige revenge stories trade in the thorniness of the act. Spending almost no time on story means there's no build up to enjoy taking down the villains, and it means that the Eastern philosophies that inform the games morally didactic conclusions are only engaged with as shallow references. However, where the game benefits from a minimalist sensibility is the artstyle, which carries a painterly touch to its 3D models and allows for abstract, non-literal sequences, such as the elevator in the art museums. These sequences demonstrate creativity and vision that if they had been applied to the narrative, would have created a substance that made Sifu worthwhile beyond its flurries of parties and strikes, as legitimately enchanting as that system combat is.
Now you might notice that I didn't list narrative and aesthetics among the reasons to play Sifu, to which one of those is an unfortunate omission on my part, while the other is not. The story takes the form of revenge pulp, and the issue with revenge stories is that they tend to have binary outcomes. The protagonist either succeeds or fails in taking revenge, and it is presented as either justified or not. It is the particular contours of a revenge story that make it stand out, and this where Sifu stumbles in its minimalistic approach. Speaking in broad strokes, pulp revenge stories thrive from the catharsis of righteous violence and prestige revenge stories trade in the thorniness of the act. Spending almost no time on story means there's no build up to enjoy taking down the villains, and it means that the Eastern philosophies that inform the games morally didactic conclusions are only engaged with as shallow references. However, where the game benefits from a minimalist sensibility is the artstyle, which carries a painterly touch to its 3D models and allows for abstract, non-literal sequences, such as the elevator in the art museums. These sequences demonstrate creativity and vision that if they had been applied to the narrative, would have created a substance that made Sifu worthwhile beyond its flurries of parties and strikes, as legitimately enchanting as that system combat is.
One of the things that makes Guardians of the Galaxy interesting as a comic property is that there isn't really decades of source material the way that even obscure characters often get in shared universe superhero comics. Sure, there's a version of the team from the 70's (with an entirely different roster) and the characters in the current iteration started cropping up in the 60's, but it's the 2008 Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning run that built their modern identity with a radical departure from what came before. What this means is that creators working on the franchise have the opportunity to create ideas that wind up becoming an essential part of their mythos, much in the same way that Fleisher’s Superman's cartoon introduced flight as a part of his toolkit. It’s too early to say if Eidos Montreal’s take will have any lasting impact on the legacy of the team but its chosen medium does offer a synthesis of the more detailed lore facilitated by the serialized storytelling of the comics alongside the tighter emotional focus of the James Gunn films. The titular galaxy flourishes with texture and history because it pulls from the decades of cosmic Marvel stories that the Guardians were born into, and much like how Arkham Asylum’s encyclopedia entries drew me into comics to begin with, the ones on offer here shows how the hypertextual nature of video games is well suited to contextualizing and capitalizing on the fascinating unwieldy behemoth that comes with shared storytelling projects. However, I must admit that I have a strained relationship with superhero fiction these days, for a myriad of reasons, but especially in the medium of comics, due to their unwillingness to ever end. This forms the second part of the appeal of the Guardians video game, telling a long but definitively finite story with these characters.
To that end the game delivers the broad storytelling, colossal stakes and sincere goofiness that superhero comics are known for. Plus you get extra video game goofiness as well! If Rocket being able to use a gun five times bigger than him, assembled with the barrels of a dozen oversized weapons, because he overcame his trauma isn’t using the game using its medium to its advantage, I don’t know what is. The broader narrative writ large tackles the consumptive nature of grief, which is hardly new territory but it’s a natural fit for Guardians and the game distinguishes itself by exploring and refuting the seductive but unachievable appeal of living a life free from it. Of course, the gameplay itself is also part of how the game tells its story, and this is where we must confront the fact that Peter isn’t that fun to control, without much to do but hover around on floaty jet boots and to chisel away at enemies with anemic pistols. The game offsets this by allowing you to give orders for your teammates to set off power combinations, but I would have preferred switching between characters mid-combat, but I do appreciate the focus on leadership, and it works well enough. While it’s most likely destined to be lost in the veritable flood of superhero media that our era has produced, Eidos Montreal’s take deserves to be remembered for its cohesive assembly of what makes the Guardians team fresh and interesting; its rich and dynamic characters.
To that end the game delivers the broad storytelling, colossal stakes and sincere goofiness that superhero comics are known for. Plus you get extra video game goofiness as well! If Rocket being able to use a gun five times bigger than him, assembled with the barrels of a dozen oversized weapons, because he overcame his trauma isn’t using the game using its medium to its advantage, I don’t know what is. The broader narrative writ large tackles the consumptive nature of grief, which is hardly new territory but it’s a natural fit for Guardians and the game distinguishes itself by exploring and refuting the seductive but unachievable appeal of living a life free from it. Of course, the gameplay itself is also part of how the game tells its story, and this is where we must confront the fact that Peter isn’t that fun to control, without much to do but hover around on floaty jet boots and to chisel away at enemies with anemic pistols. The game offsets this by allowing you to give orders for your teammates to set off power combinations, but I would have preferred switching between characters mid-combat, but I do appreciate the focus on leadership, and it works well enough. While it’s most likely destined to be lost in the veritable flood of superhero media that our era has produced, Eidos Montreal’s take deserves to be remembered for its cohesive assembly of what makes the Guardians team fresh and interesting; its rich and dynamic characters.
It really is quite something to witness a franchise throw out everything its well received predecessor had done just three years before. Compared to Dual Strike, Days of Ruin offers a more balanced and less wacky take on the franchise's mechanics. CO powers are nerfed substantially, and with the abandonment of the dual screen gimmicks, no longer provide an extra turn through the CO Swap systems. Units introduced in Dual Strike are a given similar treatment, with the megatank returning in a weaker form, and the neo-tank, piperunner, oozium, stealth bomber and black boat being entirely absent, leading to a slimmer range of tactical scenarios but a greater emphasis on engaging with the bread and butter of the air, land, and sea fronts that Advance Wars combat revolves around. The new units, which are the anti-tank cannons, the duster plane, and the aircraft carrier, add additional layers of strategy to these fronts by fulfilling multiple functions. Anti-tank units attack from range but can still defend themselves in direct assault, duster planes can attack land and sea units, and carriers create a mobile production capacity while creating seaplanes, which can attack almost any unit. Paired with level design that is tighter and more focused, it comes across as though Intelligent Systems felt that the series got away from itself and needed to return to the basics as it were.
Of course, there’s another ambition that these changes are in service of, and it’s the readily apparent pivot in tone that this reboot undertakes. Days of Ruin is concerned with what the question looks like in a war without law, and to visualize that it takes to anime character designs and a color palette consisting of a dirge of gray and brown, in stark contrast to the bright and poppy cartoon fare that the series is known for. While the very premise of these games necessitates a degree of cynicism in the approach to such a question, as without a war there’s no game to play, but I did appreciate that the visual novel sequences did present some optimism towards groups of people working toward a common goal without a state structure. Still this is undermined by the story’s turn toward an one dimensional villain and a healthy dose of sci-fi genre nonsense. Compared to the original Advance Wars, the text is more interesting, but the subtext has lost its delightful idiosyncrasies, but still, I do appreciate how tight the tactics on display are here.
Of course, there’s another ambition that these changes are in service of, and it’s the readily apparent pivot in tone that this reboot undertakes. Days of Ruin is concerned with what the question looks like in a war without law, and to visualize that it takes to anime character designs and a color palette consisting of a dirge of gray and brown, in stark contrast to the bright and poppy cartoon fare that the series is known for. While the very premise of these games necessitates a degree of cynicism in the approach to such a question, as without a war there’s no game to play, but I did appreciate that the visual novel sequences did present some optimism towards groups of people working toward a common goal without a state structure. Still this is undermined by the story’s turn toward an one dimensional villain and a healthy dose of sci-fi genre nonsense. Compared to the original Advance Wars, the text is more interesting, but the subtext has lost its delightful idiosyncrasies, but still, I do appreciate how tight the tactics on display are here.
2023
It's hard to tell if Hi-Fi Rush cares if you stay on beat. On normal difficulty it absolutely does not but the game is so cohesively put together around the idea of syncing your attacks to the beat that, instinctively speaking it really feels like it should. Then again, it’s a conceit that fits a story about being an idiot who constantly fails upward! The game has two different toggleable visual indicators of the beat, and the entire world pulsates with the rhythm through the animation of everything from Chai’s walk cycle to background elements, and yet it offers barely any resistance to someone who button mashes their way through without assists, aside from the occasional mini-game. Now, I’m not someone especially blessed in the department of musical intelligence, so any amount of friction would have provided a stiff challenge, but I did find the visual indicators to be the most useful feedback in helping me learn how to stay on beat. This is where we run into a problem, which the game heavily incentivizes and for certain enemies, requires using summoning assists, which fill the screen with so much visual noise that I found myself just flailing along without much incentive to improve. I appreciate the band metaphor they were going for here, but the implementation winds up getting in the way. Now I’m not complaining that this game doesn’t have the disciplinary bite of Sekiro, as that wouldn’t be a good fit for Hi-Fi Rush, and it’s entertaining enough to watch the spectacle as you plow through robots, but I do wish that the game’s combat worked together more cohesively to enable engaging with it the way it wanted me to.
However, the catharsis that I found missing in the combat systems was made up for in the elements packaged around that combat, with an aesthetic blend of anime character designs, the flat shading of western cartoons, and the visual language of comics to form an aesthetic that rivals Persona 5 for the title of best in the business. It pairs well with a story that sees a scrappy band of punks take down a mega-corporation in breezy fashion, in a manner that offers little that’s thematically or emotionally challenging but a lot that is fun and entertaining. I guess if nothing else I have to praise the whole package for its consistency.
However, the catharsis that I found missing in the combat systems was made up for in the elements packaged around that combat, with an aesthetic blend of anime character designs, the flat shading of western cartoons, and the visual language of comics to form an aesthetic that rivals Persona 5 for the title of best in the business. It pairs well with a story that sees a scrappy band of punks take down a mega-corporation in breezy fashion, in a manner that offers little that’s thematically or emotionally challenging but a lot that is fun and entertaining. I guess if nothing else I have to praise the whole package for its consistency.
2023
Given the impressive array of formats that the Resident Evil games have adopted over the years, one would be forgiven for assuming that RE2 Remake and RE3 Remake are birds of a feather with the original RE4 given that they are both third person shooters. However, these games have their particular idiosyncrasies that make merging them a more conflicted affair than one would think, and in terms of mechanics it turns out there are a number of second order effects that come with tweaking a combat system as refined as RE4’s. The biggest affront is that the combat has taken a turn towards the sluggish rather than the snappy, even though it should in theory be faster due to the ability to shoot and reload while moving. This is caused by changes to the targeting reticle, as well as player movement and enemy stagger animations, and it results in less cathartic and rewarding game feel. Additionally, knife degradation robs the player of a dependable tool for preserving resources and instead adds an additional drain on them. Yes, survival horror is founded on the principle of combining scary imagery alongside the accumulating stress of managing interlocking systems, but this takes a step to far towards the frustrating, and of the system the new knife gives in return, only parries are worthwhile, purely on the grounds that they are sick as shit. Even then, anybody who thought it was a good idea to have a parry focused boss fight with a limited parry resource should be summarily barred from making video games now and forevermore.
Another change that dilutes the delicate balance of the original is the attache case customization, which provides opportunities to manipulate the AI Director towards favoring particular item drops. The trouble is that this brings the Director front to mind as it becomes part of the player's planning, which saps the joy of simply working with what you're given. These customization options are provided as randomized gacha rewards for achieving certain scores, and Capcom, buddy, it’s okay if the mini-games are just for perverts who enjoy chasing high scores. You don't need to extrinic motivations that affect the main game! At least the new treasury system is an improvement, as it allows you to pick what gems you want to slot into what items as opposed to punishing you for not finding every treasure, but I sorely miss getting big cash drops from bosses and mini-bosses.
Yet another discrepancy created by the merging of the original and previous remakes is tone. Simply put, the original is one of the best gonzo blockbusters out there, and this remake is not of the best lowkey campy stories in games so it’s hard not to be a little disappointed. I genuinely would have preferred a few blown pivot into dour and macabre horror than the middleground we got, even though Resident Evil normally thrives in that sweet spot between the two, because it would at least feel fresh. Still, beefing up the subtext by adding more text is appreciated; RE4 Remake explores similar themes as previous titles but targets new institutions, such as old money European aristocracy, capitalist ventures such as mining and drilling, and of course, the religious institution of the Las Plagas cult. Furthermore, Ashley’s redesign and character development are thoroughly appreciated, but I must note that making Luis not hot anymore is a crime punishable by [redacted.]
As such, we've reached a point where RE4 Remake is largely good because it inherits a bevy of all timer setpieces, and adds at least as many neat new ones as it botches or removes (looking at you, mine cart sequence). Subsequently, perhaps this game's most notable quality is its ability to inspire dreams of lost futures. What if this team got the game resources to make an original game instead? What if we got an RE2 Remake and RE3 Remake in the style of RE1 Remake? What if we got a 2023 RE4 Remake with fixed camera angles? What if we got hookman? What if we got hookman? What if we got hookman?
Another change that dilutes the delicate balance of the original is the attache case customization, which provides opportunities to manipulate the AI Director towards favoring particular item drops. The trouble is that this brings the Director front to mind as it becomes part of the player's planning, which saps the joy of simply working with what you're given. These customization options are provided as randomized gacha rewards for achieving certain scores, and Capcom, buddy, it’s okay if the mini-games are just for perverts who enjoy chasing high scores. You don't need to extrinic motivations that affect the main game! At least the new treasury system is an improvement, as it allows you to pick what gems you want to slot into what items as opposed to punishing you for not finding every treasure, but I sorely miss getting big cash drops from bosses and mini-bosses.
Yet another discrepancy created by the merging of the original and previous remakes is tone. Simply put, the original is one of the best gonzo blockbusters out there, and this remake is not of the best lowkey campy stories in games so it’s hard not to be a little disappointed. I genuinely would have preferred a few blown pivot into dour and macabre horror than the middleground we got, even though Resident Evil normally thrives in that sweet spot between the two, because it would at least feel fresh. Still, beefing up the subtext by adding more text is appreciated; RE4 Remake explores similar themes as previous titles but targets new institutions, such as old money European aristocracy, capitalist ventures such as mining and drilling, and of course, the religious institution of the Las Plagas cult. Furthermore, Ashley’s redesign and character development are thoroughly appreciated, but I must note that making Luis not hot anymore is a crime punishable by [redacted.]
As such, we've reached a point where RE4 Remake is largely good because it inherits a bevy of all timer setpieces, and adds at least as many neat new ones as it botches or removes (looking at you, mine cart sequence). Subsequently, perhaps this game's most notable quality is its ability to inspire dreams of lost futures. What if this team got the game resources to make an original game instead? What if we got an RE2 Remake and RE3 Remake in the style of RE1 Remake? What if we got a 2023 RE4 Remake with fixed camera angles? What if we got hookman? What if we got hookman? What if we got hookman?