Far and away the worst game Capcom have ever made, a uniquely fascinating and objectively awful experience from a company whose lesser games are typically let down by near-imperceptible balance flaws for hardcore gameplay enthusiasts; a “bad” Capcom game is normally undone by subpar netcode or an overpowered character, but here we must suffer through actors falling through floors, textures upside-down on walls and enemies who forget to wake up and fight you, perhaps protesting at the unsanitary working conditions they’ve been asked to perform in. Rotten to the core in ways big-developer games are never allowed to be any more, Spanish bootleg-ass Devil May Cry game, fuckin El Diablo Puede llorar: Dos on a cigarette-burned DVD you got at the market this morning, buried deep in a spindle with Animal Soccer World. Hooooly shit dude, it’s funny like a bad movie for the first hour or two, rinsing bosses in minutes without taking damage by just standing still and shooting your guns and cackling maniacally about how little brain you used, but the novelty of a mute Dante’s hexagonal eyes clipping through their pentagonal sockets soon gives way to a depressive despair when you’re begged by a nervous stutter to pull off a series of chaotic wall-runs in order to beat a battle that I’m pretty sure was compiled and saved moments before Hideaki Itsuno had to load copies of this shitpile onto the back of a busted dumptruck headed straight to the cemetery. I persevered past the attack chopper’s infamy in hope of more epic-fail frivolity but was only rewarded with more mechanical misery; being able to activate Devil Trigger amidst what appears to be a knockdown state and have it expire before you can even jank yourself to your feet is a fun five minute feat, but my remaining shreds of self-respect prevented me from subjecting myself to ten more hours of bosses you can beat by simply walking behind them. Huge admiration for Capcom putting this in the HD Collection, presumably as a cautionary tale for generations to come about what happens when you release a CAG without combos, care or competence. Drakengard, eat your dragonheart out.

I've been to a lot of museums since covid "ended". It's interesting to see how they've all spent the two-year timeskip adapting and updating their layouts to accommodate for the wants and needs of the 2020s, fighting to stay relevant in a world where you can type "Cezanne" into your phone and have a gallery in your hand within seconds. Regardless of whether you visit a portrait gallery or a modern art space, there seems to be a universal focus on "Instagrammable" moments: extending art beyond the frame and allowing it to occupy enough physical space for a cool selfie or 15-second clip that you can cryptically share with the internet to increase your various clout scores. I'm not opposed to the idea, really - museums have to evolve or die, and I've seen creative takes on Van Gogh and Picasso pieces that are probably helping people think about those artists in ways they can relate to and understand in the present. But it is very funny that the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art has an "Instagram usher" whose sole job is to stop people turning Basquiat light shows into their own personal photo studio, perhaps belying the fact that some people aren't necessarily there to look at anything but themselves.

My favourite of these new installations is probably FRIDA KAHLO: The life of an icon at the Centre d'Arts Digitals. (Funny that every clip of the exhibition has someone taking photos with their phone, right?) It's essentially just a massive warehouse full of projectors and props, but it serves as a fusion reactor for a number of digital artforms, combining huge images, CGI, music, soundscapes and physical space to tell the life story of Frida Kahlo and her work in a more immediately relatable way than going up to description plates next to a glass-protected painting in a big old hall and "hmmmmm"ing to yourself about dates and times and names; by walking down halls and seeing light-life form and respond to your movement, you get a chance to walk in step with the artist in a whole new way.

The problem with these installations, of course, is that you need to be in the one particular spot on the planet where they're happening in order for them to work. You can't study them from the comfort of your home as you could a photograph of a painting or sculpture or video. KID A MNESIA EXHIBITION, an installation similar to Frida's, was meant to happen in London last year - but it had to be called off due to the continuing complications of covid. The creative solution to that problem was for Radiohead to partner up with Epic Games and recreate the installation as a "video game" you could download from the same place you get Fortnite and Rocket League - perhaps not a museum space your parents would visit, but regardless I think it's fair to say this digital alternative was a success, a new kind of experience that people would like to feel more of.

Cuccchi is another such experience, and it's interesting in so far as it's basically the same thing as KID A but for a physical space that has never existed. Step through Enzo Cucchi's art in a new kind of "high-fidelity", a whirlwind gallery that makes the paint move on your behalf and infers meaning through smart music cues. ("Why aren't you painting? To me, this scene is beyond belief!") Unsurprised to see VGV make a personal cameo here - it's fair to say a lot of this exhibition takes inspiration from paintings like The Starry Night and Wheat Field with Cypresses, to the point where I felt like Marty Scorsese in those plains of wheat. Borders on trascendent, but there were a few moments where I found myself bumping up against invisible walls that broke my flow - ever had that happen at a museum? The inclusion of annoying little ghosts and skulls who can damage you was hardly welcome, either - imagine you went to the Picasso Museum and there were dudes chasing you around with pointy sticks while you were trying to look at the paintings, a dream and someone turned it into a nightmare! The National Portrait Gallery on "Ultra-Violence" difficulty?! No thank you! Although there's a novelty to visiting the world's first museum with a Hard Mode, I recommend playing this on the setting where you can't take damage.

Joyfully tasteless like a massive fart that begins with an explosion of pure chaos, gradually receding as it fills the room with its stench, petering out into nothing but laughter and disgust. I know people get angry hairs on the backs of their necks when others compare video games to movies and use words like “auteur”, but I think it’s fair to say that Tomonobu Itagaki filled a role in the 2000s Gamerworld that was similar to that of Michael Bay’s in the the 2000s Movieworld: all stops pulled out at expense of any pretentious good taste, maximising the potential of computers to delight insane teenage boys worldwide. The inclusion of Playable Rachel in Sigma somehow finds a way to crank the dial on what was already there, allowing you to control a bikini sexbot of the classic Dead or Alive inflatable mold, strutting around The Vigoorian Empire with an iron thong up your arse that makes your walk cycle look like you shat yourself, balloon boobs flailing in wildly different directions every time you land a mechanically-sound-and-tactile Square, Square, Square, Triangle ground combo. This shit is practically gift-wrapped for a painfully horny kid on their 14th birthday, lol. Painfully, painfully awkward to be seen playing this edition, a mortifying ordeal of being known. Imagine showing the tentacle boss to your grandmother! It would fucking kill her on the spot, right? Big jets of polygonal blood spraying all over your shame. Game Over.

Still absolute mad fun to play, though. Don’t get me wrong.

“Western adaptation of Snatcher” is the glib one-line review here, but it is remarkable how closely this game mimics Kojima’s Blade Runner fan-game in structure and content, to the point where I’m suspicious about whether someone from Westwood played the 1994 MegaCD release and saw the opportunity for an Officially Licensed Blade Runner™ Product. Click on a corpse, fly-by-night to a multi-storey police station, see a Coca-Cola advertising board with Japanese writing on it, that sort of cyberthing. The key difference between the two games is that Blade Runner is suffocated by the tedium of a traditional point-and-click-and-walk template - while the back of the box brags about not having any puzzles and a story that unfolds regardless of what you choose/fail to do, you’re still going to find your progression blocked by the pixellated whims of a 240p environment and the typical this-noun-then-that-noun chains that govern whether an adventure game can progress; best exemplified by me brick-walling 15 minutes before the finale because I hadn’t found out about the type of cheese sauce a sandwich had, which in turn had locked me out of a whole series of conspiracies that lead all the way back to Eldon Tyrell and the nature of human existence itself. Remember the part of the original movie where Deckard couldn’t confront Roy Batty because he’d forgotten to check which toy was in the Burger King Kidz Menu this month? (“This game really feels makes you feel like Blade Runner!” - PCGamer, November 1997)

To some extent, the game does succeed at making you really feel like Mr. Blade Runner - the music is here (amusingly, Westwood created a room the exists solely for you to stand around listening to Blade Runner Blues from the movie soundtrack), the sleaze is there, the neon is everywhere, and it does, on occasion, achieve the paranoid-android feeling of wondering and worrying whether the next person you interact with is going to be a hostile replicant (the game’s primary claim to fame is that they’re randomised on every playthrough). But it’s mostly superficial simulacra, Blade Runner for the fans who would display Rick Deckard’s Iconic Blaster Pistol on their toy shelf or drink out of a plastic whisky glass that looks like it came from the props cupboard of 2049. Gaff shows up to drop his little origami animals, but more as a referential signifier than a concerted attempt to implant any thoughts or memories beyond those of the movie; compare this with Blade Runner 2049, a sequel that used its predecessor’s philosophy as a foundation to build upon rather than outright replicate as this game does with its Dick Reckard protagonist and little Universal Studios field trips to the original sets. There’s a real lack of the ambiguity that defines Blade Runner - the (well-realised) Voight-Kampf Test’s role here as an absolute judge of character seems to fly in the face of that iconic scene with Rachael, and every crisis can be averted by presenting evidence like you’re a cyberpunk Phoenix Wright - quite the contrast with boozy Harrison Ford showing up half a day late to every crime scene reeking of cigs and regrets. Frankly, I expected more from the writing team who gave us this.

With regards to the “Enhanced Edition” claims - all signs seem to point to this being a big downgrade from the ScummVM port that launched on GOG a few years ago, and my playthrough on the Switch crashed to desktop twice with debug info being written to console (no!!! bad nightdive!!!) Avoid, unless you really wanna play this on console for whatever reason - the “classic” edition is bundled with every purchase of the new PC version now. There was a whole bunch of drama between the scene hackers who originally brought it back from the dead and the otherwise-spotless Nightdive, but seems like they’ve decided to bury the hatchet (due to literal death threats from “fans” over a 90s point and click game) so I won’t get into the morality of that particular can of highly-artefacted electric worms.

Having the Scott Pilgrim guys and the co-developers of Streets of Rage 4 on the dock here meant this was never gonna be a failure, regardless of its status as a pretty ridiculous exercise in nostalgia for folks who are still wrapping their arms around a childhood long past expiry. Sometimes a shameless cash-in can also be a fantastic beat 'em up, and that's okay - the miracle of video games is that sometimes really good ones are created to promote some shitty movie.

Although based on the secret ooze that created Turtles in Time, you can feel the SOR4 in this from the moment you first grapple an enemy. We're back. Tribute Games and Dotemu have done a technically-marvelous job of taking that original arcade/SNES framework Konami developed and polishing its rough, unforgiving edges off with fairer, more thoughtful mechanics from other brawlers that folks know and love. This game isn't quite as mechnically dense or strict in the challenges it lays down in comparison to other 2D beat 'em ups, but that makes total sense because this also has to be a 90s reverie for people who just want to see Mikey eat pizza or hear a 67-year old man try to sound like a teenager again or listen to the boss themes Wu-Tang composed. And that's cool by me - I want more people to experience the joys of the genre.

Mechanically, I'd say this thing plays like the Ultimate Marvel vs Capcom 3 to Streets of Rage 4's Street Fighter IV - you're allowed far more leeway with OTGs, wall bounces and cancels compared to the precision of Wood Oak City, which leads to tons of incredibly satisfying juggle pathways that can even integrate obstacles from the surrounding environment. For example, with Raphael you can jab-loop a dude, cancel the last hit into a dash, cancel the dash into a shoryuken, roll-cancel over to the other end of the room and wall-bound the sandbagging body back to you by lunge-kicking it with a roomba. It's mondo bodacious, and goes to show how fulfilling fighting/brawling video games can be when you let the player "power fantasy" themselves as a lean green fighting machine with lengthy, stylish, free-flowing combos. A great way to show people how fun beat 'em ups are.

Six-player more or less throws all of the above out of the window in favour of a pizza party game, which is totally cool and lot of fun too, even if you're like me and don't know who anyone on the screen aside from the Ninja Turtles is (I am the right age for this flavour of TMNT, but they were called the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles over here and my mum didn't like me watching violent things and/or buying little post-Reaganite/Thatcherite plastic frog guys). A great beat 'em up should exist both as a big bashing exercise and a Sifu-like pathway to combat mastery, and no doubt some wise old masters will come along and show us multi-character juggle combos in the months to come that are like, mega bonkers radical, dude. Despite being PvE experiences, great beat 'em ups always end up developing fighting game-like communities around them who all end up complaining about patch notes and balance changes - it just goes to show the passion a great entry in this genre can inspire.

Only finished it twice so far - once solo and once in a random party - but feel like this could comfortably be a game like Streets of Rage 4 where I end up beating it like 10 times on different difficulties with different characters because it's clear they put the work in, making every character their own game to learn and every stage on every difficulty its own challenge to understand. What I'm trying to say here is that you should play Streets of Rage 4. Cowabunga! This thing has the fuckin Nickelodeon logo at the start and it could be Game of the Year lmao

There's a lot of questionable decisions in here (Doomguy riding a dragon most egregious of all), but most of them can be hand-waved with a simple "John Romero would have done this if he had the technology in '94"; even the MCU-aping 'portals' scene isn't all that far away from the original games including a bunch of barely-legal "homages" to metal music and The Evil Dead. DOOM isn't some sacred cow being slaughtered by Bethesda capital - it's always been a stupid anything-goes-fest and I respect TAG2 for recognising that and escalating it wherever it can despite working within the confines of the pandemic's peak. However, the game ending with an “always in our hearts” dedication to a ZeniMax lawyer and friend of the Clinton family who was embroiled in multiple financial fraud scandals while sat on Robert Trump's management board feels about as far from DOOM's original punk ethos as you can get. I pretend I don't see it.

I won't get into the nit and grit of the gameplay because what is the point when Durandal has literally hit it out of the park already like holy shit dude this is one of the best technically-minded reviews on the site, but I will allow myself to get smug about the Satan boss fight and say I enjoyed it very much because I recognised it for the DOOM fighting game that it is, a real "1v1 me" of timing, footsies and combos that tests how well you understand moving and grooving with Doomguy. Also, was that a NUTS.wad reference right before the final battle? Hell yeah dude.

An official two-map add-on for Quake by the senior level designer at MachineGames brings a ton of cute little surprises that feel like they shouldn't have been allowed to squeeze through the corporate release pipeline. When the Ranger said stuff like "oopsie" and "take that u evil zombie" via the on-screen message prompt I kinda rolled my eyes, but the gimmick eventually becomes a dependable in-game hint system that improves Quake's accessibility for new and rusty returning players by imitating decino's iconic tone of voice. "What did that button do?" has been a constant headache for me in id Software's early games, and the usual sound effects tells aren't particularly reliable when you have tin-shit hearing and are playing on a handheld that only puts out baby decibels. It may seem condescending at first to be told (roughly) where to go next, but I grew to appreciate the Ranger's internal monologue advising me that a door wouldn't open until later later in the level or that he could hear bars moving below us when I flipped a switch. (Of course, a cursory glance across the web shows me that certain hardcore Quake fans are affronted that anyone would dare to make their game anything other than dark, dismal and depressing at all times.)

As with all Quake add-ons that don't modify the core gameplay, the main problem here is that you have to deal with the base weapons, monsters and damage outputs. Maybe I'm just forever knee-deep in DOOM's gamefeel, but regular zombiemen taking multiple super shotgun blasts to the face will simply never feel right to me. Spongey enemies may have made sense in 1996 when game designers had to find longevity in small enemy counts in order to guarantee solid performance, but these days I'd take the Arcane Dimensions balance-sheet any day of the week - it's hard to go back to ol' chunk & thunk when you've tasted the triple-barrel... I know it's technically possible to have AD in the official source port (hell, the modding gods got it working on day 1 lol), and I'd simply love to see it accessible to the non-technical masses - this heavily-customised add-on looks like a step in that direction. Good on id Software and MachineGames for giving a shit about the classics.

A rehabilitation of DOOM Eternal that does away with the stupid "the demons ask you respect their pronouns" jokes, demolishes the castle of funko pops, wipes away the allusions to your little brother's collection of nazi viking black metal records and instead chooses to go full Plutonia by making almost every room into a maximal Video Game combat encounter with little requirement for coherence in-between. Amps up the self-aware dumb and the feckless fun in so many ways, best exemplified in stuff like the Marauder getting silly little tweety birds above his head and a new enemy type that makes you do some Ghostbusters shit. It's cute!

Reluctantly played on Ultra-Violence, and I think calling the gameplay here "sweaty" would be an understatement - I literally had to plan scratching my nose and blinking around the iframes of certain animations... And I kinda loved it? Game-cocaine in its purest uncut form, a brilliant realisation of oldDOOM's slaughtermaps for the modern age that makes me wish this thing had the support of proper modding tools. One of only a handful of modern era video games I can think of that is capable of inducing the oft-coveted "flow state" that Pro Gamers aspire to, a game of DDR where you're stamping on necks.

My only real problem with the game is the things it does when you're coming down from the combat high. We've known since the days of Super Mario Sunshine that platforming puzzles that require a fly-by introduction of their layout are doomed to frustration and failure, and TAG1 throws in a lot of them to pad for time and exposition. Nothing that'll rip and tear your hair out, but has anyone ever seriously wanted to do timed parkour in a DOOM game?? C'mon... Stick to diagonal running please Doomguy. Anyway, it's just kinda funny to think that Satan (seriously id please just use Christian names for your bad guys, it's badass that you get codec calls from God in this one) designed the inner sanctums of Hell with a 1990s assumption that Doomguy can't jump, only for him to rock up in 2020 with two airdashes and a booster lol

The story is the usual "whatever" bullshit that we've come to expect from the nuDoom franchise, but I did kinda appreciate that they finally got rid of that robot fella and replaced him with a dweeby keyboard warrior who insists on calling the Slayer "Doomguy". Representation matters!

Loved the first one for its gameplay essentialism and was pleasantly surprised to find that instead of adding more stuff for the sequel, Toree 2 actually takes out some of the stuff that dragged its predecessor down and streamlines itself into a cute little running and jumping game that would no doubt make Sonic the Hedgehog envious.

Some dodgy controls (pls listen to Kaizen Game Works re: jump buttons), but I'm gonna go Death of the Developer on this one and say it was an intentional design choice to amp up the teeny tiny tension.

Would be an absolute five-bagger if it wasn't for the crummy boss battle that simply doesn't belong in the game. Game developers, remember to normalise the signal level on your audio files if you respect ears...

A rare breed of maximally-political video game that is seemingly unashamed to throw around terms like 'traditional conservative' and literally laugh in the face of anarchists, even if it isn't entirely sure of what these words mean or imply. Essentially the Metal Gear Solid 4 of the Ace Combat franchise - throws ideas up into the air and then scrambles desperately to pick them up whenever they create conveniently-epic but emotionally/politically-incoherent "moments", perhaps best embodied in a late-game cutscene where two preteen girls grab a glock and shoot up a hard drive of flight data based on a king-turned-pilot in order to preserve the dignified human memory of a monarch who ran bombing missions during the Strangereal World's equivalent of the Kosovo War. Moreso than other Ace Combats, 7 is adamant in siloing fighter jets away from the universe they exist in, licensing and lionising pilots as apolitical titans of the sky who are simply following vocational orders from higher powers - something the godless unmanned drones could never understand.

Another king has more or less sewn up this game's ideology, so I won't bore you with The Implications (if any) of what this game's story chaotically tries to talk about. Mission 16: Last Hope - wherein a global communications outage renders your IFF useless during a mission to save a defecting general - is a real tragedy, though: a mission that perfectly captures the tone of the franchise's overarching "we're all blind pawns on the world's stage" themes in its gameplay, but is then almost immediately nullified by an announcement an hour later that you've unlocked some United States Air Force emblems to plaster all over your fictional fighter jets. No other real-world nation is represented in the game, and coupled with the game's recent Top Gun: Maverick DLC, it's hard not to think the franchise has set a hard course in the opposite direction of highly-conscious predecessors like Electrosphere and The Belkan War. The great thing about these games, at least, is that they have played exactly the same for over 20 years - you can pick and choose the ones that suit your preferred interpretations of strangereality and be none the worse off for it.

When THATCHER'S TECHBASE accidentally landed me in a bunch of newspapers and magazines last year, one question came up in every interview - "Do you think politics belong in video games?". The smart-arse non-committal wise-guy pseud-response I gave people went something along the lines of: well, games are art and art is personal and the personal is a product of the environment and environment is a product of political decisions and therefore every video game is political on some level, blah blah blah, etc. etc. etc. A nice vague answer the stands safely beyond reproach, a politican's response to a question about politics. Ace Combat 7 kinda throws that question into inverted flight by showing us what happens when affairs of state are injected directly into the Unreal Engine, bypassing environmental and personal factors to create pure political product. Sure, Call of Duty and its alikes have pulled this trick before, but they didn't lay down explicit dogma; it was all just set-dressing to make the murder more satisfyingly "real"istic. Project Aces have actually dared to pull up a pulpit here, and throughout the game's latter half I desperately waited for a series-trademark rug-pull moment where we'd learn it was all just a lesson in the blinding effects of radical-technocratic nationalism or whatever political theory the game was mulling over in that particular moment... but it never came. At least the game ends with Reiko Nagase descending from Heaven to tell you how sick your post-stall maneuvers were. That's something I can really believe in.

Psychological experiment by Namco to see how many times the human mind can be exposed to the Pac-Man theme in one hour before going completely insane. Very disturbing!

An ideal game for Game Pass - the sort of light-touch curio that would make you resent Pac-Man forever if you paid full price for it, but is very enjoyable as a noncommittal "free" offering that you can dip in and out of while playing your big meaty 4K HDR games and say stuff like "Pac-Attack fucking sucks!", "Can I unlock Baby Pac-Man?" and "Man, video games sure have come a long way since Pac-Man!"

The decision to host this smorgasbord of slice-stolen pizzas in an customisable iso-hub reminded me of the multi-storey Nintendo museum I built in Animal Crossing for the GameCube back in the day, which is nice, though I don't understand why a bunch of crummy original Pac-Man variants get their own cabinets and like, a dozen really good console and mobile games are all crammed into one games machine in the corner. Sad! Like Kirby and the Forgotten Game, there's a sort of deep sadness that comes from installing a virtual gatchapon machine in your virtual arcade, feeding it virtual coins that you got by playing a terrible 1987 US-only port of Pac-Man for the Amiga so that you can own virtual statues of cherries and berries...

Anyway, to save you some time:

MUST-PLAY
- Pac-Motos
- Pac-Man: Championship Edition
- Pac 'n Roll: Remix
- Pac-Man 256

SHOULD PLAY
- Pac-Land
- Pac-Man Arrangement

SHOULD PLAY, BUT YOU WILL BE WEIGHED DOWN BY AN INESCAPABLE SENSE OF LONGING FOR YOUR FRIENDS
- Pac-Man: Battle Royale

MORALLY OBLIGED TO PLAY
- Pac-Man

DON'T PLAY
- Pac-In-Time
- Pac & Pal
- Pac-Attack

"Becoming a pilot like I have feels enough like a dream to me. But, recently... I've been thinking—that if the body is nothing more than a container for the mind, then it doesn't actually mean anything to me. I only use my mind when I fly. My body didn't come with wings, but my mind does... and it gave me the sky."

A head-up display, or heads-up display, also known as a HUD, is any transparent display that presents data without requiring users to look away from their usual viewpoints. The origin of the name stems from a pilot being able to view information with the head positioned "up" and looking forward, instead of angled down looking at lower instruments. A HUD also has the advantage that the pilot's eyes do not need to refocus to view the outside after looking at the optically nearer instruments.

Although they were initially developed for military aviation, HUDs are now used in commercial aircraft, automobiles, and other (mostly professional) applications. In video gaming, the HUD is the method by which information is visually relayed to the player as part of a game's user interface. The HUD is frequently used to simultaneously display several pieces of information including the player's health, items, and an indication of progression (such as score, level or kills). Prolonged display of HUD elements may cause permanent damage in the form of burning into the inner coating of the television set, which is impossible to repair. Players who play their games for long hours without turning off the television risk deep harm.

The ancient Egyptians postulated seven souls.

The top soul, and the first to leave at the moment of death, is Ren - the secret name. This corresponds to the director, who directs the game of your life from conception to death. The secret name is the title of your game. When you died, that's where Ren came in.

The second soul off the sinking ship is Sekem - energy, power, and light. The director gives the orders, Sekem presses the right buttons.

Number three is Khu, the guardian angel, depicted as flying away across a full moon. A bird with luminous wings and head of light. The sort of thing you might see on a screen in a video game from your Xbox. The Khu is responsible for the subject and can be injured in his defence - but not permanently, since the first three souls are eternal. They go back to heaven for another vessel. The four remaining souls must take their chances with the subject in the Land of the Dead.

Number four is Ba, the heart - often treacherous. This is a hawk's body with your face on it, shrunk down to the size of a fist. Many a hero has been brought down like Samson by a perfidious Ba.

Number five is Ka - the double. Most closely associated with the subject. The Ka, which usually reaches adolescence at the time of bodily death, is the only reliable guide through the Land of the Dead to the Western Sands.

Number six is Khaibit, the shadow memory. Your whole past conditioning from this and other lives.

𓂀

In the autumn of 2011, I got my first ‘real’ job, leaving behind the hell of zero-hour retail and office temp work to become an IT repairman at a big library. Finally, I could provide myself with food, clothing, shelter and, most importantly, video games. I loved problem-solving, working with tools and being on the computer so much already, and now had a professional outlet for all of those things that I enjoyed. It was the best job I’d ever had, but there was one weird snag - the librarians really didn’t like the cleaning and repair staff.

I’m not sure what makes librarians think that alphabetising Anne Rice novels is a more noble profession than networking 500 computers together or replacing tungsten filaments in industrial lighting systems, but nonetheless, they felt justified in keeping the workies out of every kitchen and staff lounge in the building. Mugs, coffee grounds, tea bags, milk, plates and microwaves were all kept in locked cupboards that only “academic” staff could access. Fresh out of retail hell, I just accepted this as a natural law of the universe (of course I was unworthy of a plastic cup for some water!), but in retrospect, it was a little fucked up. My “non-academic” colleagues responded to this in kind by hiding kettles, instant coffee and tin cups in electrical cupboards and storerooms, an essential act of survival misconstrued as spiteful by the microwave-havers. Without anywhere to store fridges in a stock cupboard, there was no milk to be had. Black tea or black coffee were our only options at break-time in the library.

This is how I learned to love black coffee. I had been a white-and-sugars type guy until this point in my personal hot-drink history, treating coffee more as a vehicle for warm milk then an experience in and about itself. Thirsty as hell from running around physically installing Microsoft Excel patches on computers still running Windows 98 in 2011, I had no choice but to forgo my preference for milk and just get used to gulping hot acidic bean water day in, day out when I needed to restore my hit-points. At first I didn’t enjoy it all, but like everything else in life, cultivating patience of habit can allow you to accept and adapt to almost any situation you find yourself in. 11 years later, I now drink nothing but black coffee. I could, probably, somehow - like those wine wankers you see in movies - even tell you the difference between different blends of the hot acid gloop that is burning my insides. Such is my passion for #coffee.

In the autumn of 2011, something else happened. A video game called Dark Souls launched on the Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3, to some degree of fanfare that is still up for debate to this day. Video game historians like to mythologise the rise of the Souls series, and often claim Dark Souls launched to very little acclaim - but from my own historical perspective, I contest this claim. My memory leads me to believe the contrary - that Dark Souls had an exciting buzz about it right out of the gate - for game-fans and game-readers, at least. I was mostly a Halo and Street Fighter IV player at the time, and even I’d felt the urge to buy it on opening week. For some reason... I can’t remember why... That was over a decade ago. An age past. I don’t remember my motivation for every video game I’ve ever bought.

Friends of mine who’d foolishly bought PlayStation 3s to play Metal Gear Solid 4 derisively informed me that Dark Souls was the sequel to Demon’s Souls: their painful memories told mine that Demon’s Souls was a “stupid” and “unfair” game that treated its players with contempt and that I should consider getting Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter 2 instead because this one was gonna have all-new ways for 12-year-olds to militarily abuse me through the internet. I wasn’t the type of person to listen to my friends, though - I preferred to listen to anonymous message board posters and professional video game journalists. With one of my first paycheques as a fully-fledged computer janitor, I purchased a Cafe AeroPress coffee maker and a copy of Dark Souls.

... And I hated it. As my friends had prophesied, Dark Souls was relentlessly unfair. Enemies came back to life and stabbed me in the back; pathways crumbled and sent me tumbling to my doom; evil knights shrugged off my attacks and responded in kind with bigger and badder swords of their own. The infamous curse status - an affliction that permanently halves your health and prevents you from becoming human - was my final straw. I recognised the gauntlet that was being laid before me in the Undead Depths and chose to reject the challenge. I found solace in the darkness of my coffee maker and put the game away forever.

A few months later, while trying to avoid studying for the most important exams of my life, I picked the game up again. I had decided that wading around damp dark sewers as a cursed little half-health freak up to his knees in rat shit was less daunting than preparing for my final exams before my adulthood-proper. I persevered, #coffee in one hand and a Wiki in the other, learning the ins and outs of the game’s mechanics in far greater depth than any of the Relational Database Management Systems textbooks on my study desk. I would rather prepare to die than prepare to pass.

Like many rookie Dark Souls players, parrying was my Everest - though perhaps over-emphasised by the playerbase as an essential skill for completing the game, it was certainly a far more important mechanic back then than that it is today. I spent many hours in the Undead Parish practicing my defence; learning the intricacies and timings of the mechanic and its follow-ups with my undead knight partners until the synapses solidified and I could pull a parry out of my reflexes without much mental effort. It was the key I needed to unlock my progress through the game, and I proudly rode my parrying prowess to the Kiln of the First Flame, linking the fire in ignorance of an unintended side-effect this new reflex had developed in me in the new ages to come.

Years later, I got the chance to play the now-infamous Dark Souls 2 demo at a video game expo and felt compelled to put my parry skills to the test once more. Despite the fact a coked-out Bandai Namco Games employee was offering free t-shirts to anyone who could beat the Mirror Knight in their allotted 15-minute slot, I persevered in the starting area until I could get my timings down once more. After a few whiffs and some off-colour comments from our jaw-clicking host, I finally managed to bat back a shadowy blade. It was at that moment that I discovered that Dark Souls 2 had a brand new feature - the parries smelt and tasted of black coffee. Despite all the gamer sweat and farts and poorly-ventilated electronics in my environment, I could sense coffee inside my brain. Hours of parry practice while sipping black coffee in my bedroom had built a permanent association between parrying and coffee in my mind. A soul memory.

I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of soul memory, even if you know it by another name (Mikhail Bakhtin calls it the chronotope, for instance). The taste of spaghetti bolognese reminds you of a good day at your friend’s house in 2002. The fresh scent of factory plastic that emanates from a new video game takes you back to the summer holiday when your mum finally bought you Timesplitters 2 despite it being rated a 15+. Perhaps a particularly bad hangover from a night of drinking rum and coke has forever ruined the taste of Pepsi for you. Petrol makes you think about the forest, for some reason you don’t remember. And so on. You’ve all seen Ratatouille, I guess. I don’t need to labour at this point.

Soul memory is the currency of the sequel and the franchise, and in our current era, soul memory is undergoing hyperinflation - Star Wars: The Force Awakens; Spider-Man: No Way Home; Ghostbusters: Afterlife - filmmakers are eagerly trying to collect soul memories so they can take them to the bureau de change and cash out in dollars. You might baulk at this suggestion that the scent of your grandmother’s baked potatoes can be commodified, but I think there’s ample evidence to suggest that no link in your mind is safe from capital’s claws.

Video games are perhaps the most egregious traders of soul memory. Video games, even the best ones, are standing tall on the shoulders upon shoulders of prior moments in space-time - real and imagined - all the way back down to Donkey Kong. Re-releases and remakes and remasters and retro collections are nostalgia-primers for experiences you might not even have been alive for - we all love Pac-Man, even though we may not have met him in an 80s arcade hall; you and I replicated those experiences instead with a movie) or a PlayStation 3 Arcade Archive or a Pac-Man music video on MTV; phenomena best exemplified by the teenagers I saw on Twitter who are collecting Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles promotional Happy Meal toys from 1993 to bring their souls closer to their blue-haired messiah. By letting you collect and play your figurative Rainbow Roads again and again and again in generation after generation after generation of product, video games explore the loss of a childhood place, and our attempts to recreate it.

And so what if the place that we are in the midst of is different from the physical space that we currently inhabit? What if the things we yearn for are located elsewhere, in another place or a falsely-remembered past, and all we now carry within us is an image of this place. We may remember only elements or impressions of it: there may be certain objects, sounds, a level, a character, special moves, cutscenes, or online battles; all of which come out in a manner that we cannot control or understand. Yet any of these elements or impressions make us feel at home in a way that we cannot find in the physical space where we are now stuck. Being displaced and yet capable of remembering the particularity of place: it is the state of being dislocated yet able to discern what it is that locates us. We have a great yearning, but we often cannot fulfil it with anything but memories from our soul.

In my review of Halo Infinite at the end of last year, I suggested the possibility that game developers are attempting to harness soul memory in new and exciting ways, the limits between your imagination and theirs almost fully removed in this gilded age of RTX and NGX and Speed Tree and shader-caching and other computer stuff I don’t understand; the world expanding ever-wider as we slot in more and more chips, spreading the channels between CPU and memory (both silicon and cerebellum) ever-wider. The end-state, no doubt, is a game that never ends, expanding outwards like our universe, all contained in the heart of an eternally-burning electric star on the platter of your hard drive. But how do you fuel a world-game of such approaching-infinite size? With the dependable financial and artistic mainstays of gaming, of course - the memory of/reverie in/nostalgia for/ known experiences, known systems, known self. Which makes Halo - a DirectX-based comfort food of the 18-35 crowd - an ideal candidate for colonisation via constant computer creation.

With Halo Infinite, it’s hard to gauge the intentionality of the author (and the multi-billion dollar corporation employing the author). By all accounts, Infinite was a scrap-piece, a million shattered pieces of contractor work and discarded concepts fused into a Holiday Product - something that, at least initially, presents itself as a never-ending ring-world: Zeta Halo could not be more apt as a setting for the beyond-open world template that’s come into vogue this generation (see also: Microsoft’s other tentpole, Forza Horizon). But was this product forged with any purpose greater than a shareholder deadline, a gilded-gold ring that can’t sustain itself beyond a financial quarter (never mind an eternal age!)? Fields upon fields of the same retrofuturistic alien base and knowing remarks about crunch and copy-pasted environments from your maiden, Cortana Weapon, imply that Halo Infinite was an illusion produced by profit - a defective ring-world, nothing more; but there are, at the very least, implications that game developers know what they create. In this new Halo instalment, Master Chief, regretting his transition out of cryostasis, is the only character in the game who opposes the rebuilding of the Halo installations. Too bad, John - you’re going for another last-minute warthog ride to the sounds of early-2000s progressive hard rock.

Does Halo Infinite sound familiar? Well, you might have played Dark Souls 3 and its downloadable follow-up: The Ringed City. Hidetaka Miyazaki's Souls series homecoming may have been hailed as a "return to form" for the franchise after the polarising reception to Dark Souls 2, but this oft-quoted games-journalist soundbite has a double-edge to it - namely, that it quite literally returned Dark Souls to its original form, repurposing locations, bosses, and emotional beats from the games that came before it. Lothric isn't a million lightyears away from Zeta Halo - it forges a similarly flimsy ring of questionable geography and architecture, a Dark Souls Disneyland built from item and character references that no longer mean anything beyond commercialised self-sabotage, names and item descriptions appearing only for the purposes of cynical, cyclical continuity with its predecessors. The game knew what it was creating with itself in its Bandai-Namco-hued orange-yellow wasteland - an idea perhaps best exemplified in the Abyss Watchers, a gang of frenzied Artorias fanboys from the Firelink Shrine who serve no literary purpose beyond infighting among themselves about the ways Artorias of the Abyss was like, really, really cool. (For some reason, I am now recalling the fact my PlayStation 4 copy of Dark Souls 3 came with a mail-order slip for a £344.99 statue of Artorias from the Bandai-Namco Official European Store...) These references without continuity, these connections without purpose... all they do is ring a Pavlovian spirit bell of soul memory in your brain for a fleeting moment. Nothing more. And Dark Souls 3 didn't just know this - it made it a central tenet of its thematics, even building its last-ever DLC around the concept of painting a forever-world made of the Dark Soul itself. Known experiences, known systems, known self, known forever. Consuming the Gods without question, like Gael, until the coming Age of Dark.

[[LAUNCH DEADLINE REACHED - BACKLOGGD SHAREHOLDERS ARE DEMANDING A Q2 LAUNCH OF THIS REVIEW ]]
// TODO: placeholder for another 9 paragraphs discussing the cyclical ages of fire depicted in the Dark Souls trilogy here and how the idea can be metatextually applied to the development cycles of each Souls game and their growing commercial impact vs. receding artistic impact. This part will be included in a post-launch patch to this review at an undetermined date. Hopefully never.

In Buddhism, the Four Noble Truths are the truths of the “Noble Ones”: those who are deemed “spiritually worthy". These truths are:

- Dukkha (suffering, incapable of satisfying, painful) is an innate characteristic of existence in the realm of samsara, the world-cycle of death and rebirth we all live through. Existence is pain, to some degree.

- Samudaya (origin, arising, combination; 'cause'): together with dukkha arises taṇhā ("craving, desire or attachment, lit. "thirst”). While tanha is traditionally interpreted in western languages as the 'cause' of dukkha, tanha can also be seen as the factor tying us to dukkha, or as a response to dukkha, trying to escape it; a suffering often understood to be a combination of a consumptive desire for fleeting things, destructive hatefulness, and ignorance of the world as it truly is.

- Nirodha (cessation, ending, confinement) dukkha can be ended or contained by the renouncement or letting go of this taṇhā; the confinement of tanha releases the excessive bind of dukkha; the end of suffering. We are finite flawed creatures with only two ways out: either cyclical death, or transcendence through enlightenment.

- Magga (the path, the Noble Eightfold Path) is the path leading to the confinement of tanha and dukkha. The next path in the teachings; Buddhism’s sequel, post-launch DLC or content update.

☸

Elden Ring is an action role-playing game developed by FromSoftware and published by Bandai Namco Entertainment. The game was directed by Hidetaka Miyazaki and made in collaboration with fantasy novelist George R. R. Martin, who provided material for the game's setting. It was released for Microsoft Windows, PlayStation 4, PlayStation 5, Xbox One, Xbox Series X and Xbox Series S on February 25, 2022.

Elden Ring is presented through a third-person perspective, with players freely roaming its interactive open world. Gameplay elements include combat featuring several types of weapons and magic spells, horseback riding, summons, and crafting. Elden Ring received critical acclaim, with praise for its open-world gameplay, fantasy setting, and evolution of the Souls formula. The game sold 12 million copies within three weeks of its release.

Elden Ring is From Software's first game of a new decade that follows an Age of Dark.

The exciting thing about a long voyage like Elden Ring is that it can inhabit so many spaces and times within your life, entwining its soul memories with your own in so many more ways than just an association between coffee and parrying. Due to its epic scale, brutal difficulty and my desire to travel through it as un-aided as possible, it took me four months to beat the game. Looking back from the now, the distance from February until May feels, as it often does in modern times, like a lifetime and a moment. Nothing and everything happened within the standard cycles of my life. I got up and went to work every day, playing through Elden Ring in spare moments and evenings. A war broke out while I was playing Elden Ring. I finished all six seasons of The Sopranos and four seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the time period I existed within while attempting to beat Elden Ring for the first time, and I noted that Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Chaos Bleed for the PlayStation 2 plays surprisingly similarly to Elden Ring. I went abroad for the first time in over two years, often thinking about Elden Ring while looking at the cathedrals and sweeping vistas of Barcelona. I saw a bunch of my friends in person for the first time in years while playing Elden Ring, and we discussed what builds were cool and which characters were cool. When I started Elden Ring, social distancing and facemasks were still mandatory in many places; when I finished Elden Ring, they were not.

So how do these new memories of mine intermingle with those presented in Elden Ring? Does Hoarfrost Stomp taste like marzipan? Is the Altus Plateau a portal to the golden fields of childhood freedom? Have I come to understand Godfrey as a Tony Soprano-like patriarchal figure in relation to Godrick's AJ? Perhaps nothing as crass or immediately interdependent as that. Has playing Elden Ring while existing in 2022 caused me to draw personal and societal parallels between my different lives? I'm tempted to say yes. I'm tempted to take apart Elden Ring's Elden Ring piece-by-piece and point at its golden roots and talk about the scarlet rot and the human ashes that drown the golden skyscrapers of Leyendell and all the ways in which this tale of souls and swords can be applied to someone who travels in the world of our present. But I'd be here even longer than I already am, hanging onto the dying embers of a rambling essay that has gone on too long. In a sense, choosing what aspect of Elden Ring to unpack and explore is exactly how the game makes you feel when you're contemplating which path to take at a crossroads in the Lands Between - whether to explore a cave, a castle, a peninsula, a continent, a realm, a galaxy, an age, a concept of the afterlife turned into a video game level. Naturally, you have to let go of possibility and walk down a single path in order to move forward.

This painful push and pull between potential possibility and your (perhaps pre-determined) path is what makes Elden Ring so compelling. Of course games like Breath of the Wild have already explored this concept of 'go-anywhere', but not in an artistic sense that exists beyond the controller and the things that are happening literally on the screen. In Breath of the Wild, going up a hill will get you into a fight with a bird and you will do a puzzle and you will get a cool sword and you will have a lot of fun - but experiences begin to entwine and overlap, memories becoming overwritten and jumbled in endless plains of rolling green and goblin. Memories require delineation if they are to be stored within containers of consciousness, and in Elden Ring, going up a hill can turn into a 20-hour odyssey through the ashes of time to explore an all-out conquest that was once fought over the very nature of Godhood, where you will meet and contemplate primordial, psychological and philosophical concepts in the form of a dude with a wolf head who reads Berserk. Or maybe you will explore the entirety of a lost kingdom on the edge of the afterlife's cosmos and wonder why it exists or even existed at all, all while the ghost of a forgotten world-serpent caves your skull in. And you will get a cool sword and you will have a lot of fun and those unique, memorable moments will bond with a greater space and time in your head.

Exploration of space beyond the time is a fundamental element of Elden Ring and the Elden Ring. From Software understand that space-time extends with video games, through video games, in video games - that old cliche of a gamer living a thousand lives. In much the same way that it can be confusing to refer to Elden Ring as both a video game product and a concept within the world of Elden Ring itself (it is amusing to note how difficult it is to get the wiki page for the Elden Ring on the Elden Ring Wiki), so too can it be confusing to separate memory and space-time as they exist within and outwith ourselves, our Golden Orders of subjective fact and fiction; moments and how we place ourselves inside them, the near-infinite subjectivity of experience that so often causes people to argue with each other over matters that are ultimately our inner order of perception and recollection. Was Radahn right? Was Malenia right? Sound off in the comments below.

For a long time, one of my most-visited YouTube videos was this performance of Dragon Quest V’s music by the NHK Symphony Orchestra. The music is a fantastic soundtrack to a comments section full of positive nostalgia in a foreign language. Google Translate doesn’t get the full meaning across, but you can feel all that’s being said despite the barriers between people on opposite sides of the internet's round table. This is the comment that always stands out to me when I scroll down:

“This was a game of my dad’s era, but it makes me nostalgic for that time all the same.”

I only beat Dragon Quest V in 2019, but I feel this same nostalgia, these same memories, this same realisation of a video game world as a portal through soul memory. I beat the iOS port of the DS port of the original Super Famicom version while sitting on the toilet at work, but my shared DQV reality with that kid, and his father before him, who played the game on different hardware in a different space in a different time, allows me to understand them. We saved the world and that adventure will stay with us all for a lifetime. Bur this feeling isn't anything unique - throw a dart at the board of YouTube's video game soundtracks and you'll find this phenomenon replicated for pretty much every video game ever made. Queen Rennala stands in a Grand Library and offers you endless rebirth.

The beauty of Elden Ring's length, scale and scope is that it's also capable of playing with this concept of chronotope from within. Whereas Dark Souls 3 relied on imagery and ideology from previous entries to invoke soul memory with (intentionally) cheap referentiality, Elden Ring instead chooses to loop over itself many times over in order to play new games with your mind. There are many ways in which the game achieves this, and if you've ever griped about "reused content", you probably know the kind of thing I mean - fortresses reappearing in different states of decay and ruin; enemies returning again and again as if pursuing you through the Lands Between; the souls of wolves and trees and tree-avatars haunt the earth; the same dungeons and dragons in different locations, sometimes appearing as battlefields of the present, sometimes appearing as sites of historical importance - Great War memorials on a school field trip. The game even deigns to reference the wider From Software cosmology (I am using every word in my vocabulary to avoid typing the term "Soulsborne"), but interestingly chooses to place a lot of these capricious callbacks in dank, dirty, decaying swamps - they are deemed to be hollow, undead references. In a sense, it's a game so vast that it's able to create nostalgia for itself.

For me, the most interesting way the game exemplifies soul memory is in its boss battles. In our realm, the bosses of Elden Ring are something of a contentious topic - out of some 150+ battles that put grand old names above life-bars, only five in the whole game are wholly unique. "How could the developers be so lazy as to do this?!" is the rallying cry of the passionate masses who are seemingly unwilling to afford From Software any artistic agency or intentionality of design. In a series/franchise/whateverthisis like the Souls games, isn't the whole point that you're prepared to die, over and over again, in the same battles, just like the demigods that you seek to surpass? You're in battle against spiritual and physical elements of the universe itself! The Fallingstar Beast appears twice in the game, but you didn't fight him twice, did you? I'm willing to wager you fought him five times, ten times, twenty times, maybe many times more. Why delineate by encounters in space when you can just as easily use time? Was each death and rebirth just "reused content", or was it an intentional part of an experience that the game's developers wanted you to live through? The game's named after a big old circle, for crying out loud!

This isn't an attempt by me to reframe the reuse of content as a purely artistic choice - of course it was done to gild the game's vast size and ensure every crevice of the world map had some experience of some form for the player, but practical compromises made within the constraints of development can be moulded, with appropriate care, into art. We can challenge From's tendency to rework frameworks, but aren't they trapped in their own never-ending cycle by capital, working to the drumbeat of 100 million sales? You may rankle when yet another boss pulls off the iconic Scarlet Aeonia (itself a reference/homage/repetition of a Magic the Gathering card ), but it's all in aid of your personal character development and the development of the game's characters and their relationships in the Lands Between. While I certainly wouldn't call any of my many, many, many battles with Malenia and her acolytes art in and of themselves, my memories of these multi-faceted repetitions tie back to an essential theme of the Souls series - overcoming the greatest boss of all: yourself.

It would be trite of me to spend a ton of time telling everyone about a universal human experience and how it applies to a series of video games that have sold enough copies to make them almost universal gamer experiences, so instead I'll just share a soul memory of Elden Ring that I think embodies this value of repetition and self-mastery. The Subterranean Shunning-Grounds (the names in this game rock lol) is essentially the final dungeon of the game, a terrible theme park of sewer content that long-time fans of these games will immediately recognise - pipes, poison, basilisks, curses, rats, little fucked up gargoyle dudes. It's essentially all the most annoying things about playing a Souls game in a single package, ramped up to 11 by twisted virtue of the fact this is the final area in a 100-hour game that stands at the end of a path of six other 100-hour games with similarly wicked ideas. 11 years after giving up on Dark Souls, I was once again a half-health freak up to his knees in rat shit. Indeed, it is a punishingly difficult experience to be a half-health freak up to his knees in rat shit - even with a high-defense build, certain enemies can take you out in a hit or two. And if they aren't capable of taking you out in a hit or two, they have almost certainly been carefully positioned next to a giant pit that can take you out in a single hit. It's an infuriating area, yet entirely optional. You don't have to do it to yourself, but at this point, it just feels right that you should pursue whatever nebulous reward that the Shunning-Grounds harbour. And what is the final test at the end of this dungeon? A dragon? An army of the undead? Another cosmic deity? No! It's a jumping puzzle in a tomb of skeletons and corpses piled to the ceiling - an incredibly tricky test of wits that combines your physical dexterity with an eye for problem-solving. It took me dozens of tries to master, and memories of the hallways leading from the bonfire to the puzzle chamber have now been seared into my mind. A video game challenge that made me scream out in pain for the first time in years... Fuck that bullshit!!! And at the end of it all, what is your reward for completing this task? No runes or swords or armor. Just a spell called Inescapable Frenzy, an incantation that sends the minds of humans towards madness. Let it never be said that From Software do not have a sense of humour! No wonder some players choose to enter into a covenant with Chaos a few moments later...

"try jumping" is a message you see a lot in Elden Ring. One of the oldest pranks in the Souls fan playbook, it's a nasty little trick that encourages the freshly chosen undead to leap from high places with promise of some unknowable reward. Inevitably, it always leads to one thing - a painful, costly death. Why do players take the time to encourage people they'll never meet to commit suicide, and why do so many people mark these messages as helpful to others? Probably for the same unknowable reason that people tell each other to kill themselves via other mediums of the internet. Ugly as "try jumping" may be, it has always fit comfortably with the artistic notions of Dark Souls as an analog for the neverending battle against depression and misery, the difficulty that comes with suppressing one's urge to die, to give up, to leave it all behind. One of Elden Ring's first concessions to new players is to finally explain this meta-mechanic - if you fall for the very first "try jumping" message that the game places before you, you end up in a tutorial area. Hopefully you won't make the same mistake twice now. From Software know that the Internet-at-large is one of the most lethal enemies their games have to offer, and I fought against that wicked foe by making a point of putting down some "no jumping ahead" messages while on my journey.

The online component of these games has always existed, but has never really been explicitly acknowledged within the game-world beyond a few experimental instances like The Ringed City's Spear of the Church. As the ostensible herald of a new age Elden Ring takes the first steps toward acknowledging ours, supplementing a mechanism with a metaphor. To avoid beating around the bush - I think the Roundtable Hold is the Internet. A realm inaccessible by horse nor foot, where the people of the world meet up to sell shit, trade stories, gossip and fuck around, all under an oath of no physical contact. Per Varre's comment, the Roundtable is "a place for has-beens trying to look important but unable or unwilling to actually take any action". Sound familiar? There is a place in Leyndell Royal Capital that looks exactly like the Roundtable Hold, but no one is there - the Hold is, in effect, a virtual, imagined space; a simulation in parallel existence to reality. It's a trick that From has pulled before, but characters and their occupation of parallel space-times with differing persona spells out that this is, in some classic weird-ass cosmic FromSoft way, a digiverse within a digiverse.

Ensha, Dung Eater and D are the most vivid exemplars of this idea. Three masked edge, lords who spend their time in the Roundtable acting aloof and cool and above it all; their corporeal forms lashing out with hatred against women in the meatspace of the Lands Between, giving away their Inner Order to pursue violence against Malenia, Fia and - in the Loathsome Dung Eater's case - every woman and child in the known universe. (See also: Gideon/Seluvis and their relationship to the class-conscious Nepheli Loux: Gideon as a gatekeeper who encourages you to overcome your Maidenless status and venerate yourself in the eyes of the Roundtable's men ("the road of champions"); Seluvis as a PUA who tries to involve you in a date-rape scheme.) In the case of D, the game implies the existence of a "twin brother" - an alternate persona - who behaves differently depending on the space-time he inhabits. We see him in reality, unreality and Nokron's post-reality afterlife, behaving more aggressively in each plane until he loses bravado when faced with with the bare-faced truth of inescapable Death itself. The player has the option of giving him back his mask and suit of armour, which ultimately leads to a violent death for "that bitch" Fia, a woman who recognises men possessing a warmth that has nowhere to go. In the case of the Dung Eater, whose mortal form is trapped within the aforementioned ur-Souls palace of the Shunning-Grounds, the connection to our ugly internet personalities is a little more explicit, a seeming admission by From Software of all the ugliness that arises from building one's personality around a nexus of digital souls and swords. If From are shackled on some level to this medium of expression, the least they have done here is develop some self-awareness and critique. At the game's climax, the Roundtable burns out, telling us more or less everything we need to know about the developer's feelings on the Web Between Worlds that we inhabit and the paths we choose to walk in each realm of spirit. Will this Roundtable fall to the mortal ashes of Leydendell too, or is there potential for All to achieve Magga, the enlightened transcendence of Buddhist teaching?

The natural follow-on from this topic is an exploration of the golden Grace, the "maidenless" concept and its real-world implications, but I feel the paragraph above demonstrates why it's unwise to provoke red phantoms in the hold through discussion of certain topics and experiences. Elden Ring is a game where not every path should be taken, and, as I already said like three times before (lol), the same holds true of a review; I'm not sure I have the experience or incantations necessary to step into that toxic swamp, lest I provoke an invasion. Instead, I choose to focus on the light that casts this darkness: Friendship. The golden light of the summon sign is the natural enemy of the blood-red invader, and Elden Ring makes this relationship more explicit than its predecessors by mandating that human invaders can only go after parties of two or more players - the eternal war between the "git gud" and the "git help" is now more aggressive than ever before. By changing the mechanics of the franchise's online component, From Software have peppered their latest instalment with challenges to the sensibilities of try-hard players that remind me most of Sakurai's implementation of the anti-competitive tripping mechanic in Super Smash Bros. Brawl. While I think the omnipotent anger and cultural overpowerment of the "git gud" crowd is perhaps overstated by the fans at large, it's an unfortunate signifier of their ever-presence that after seven of these games I still get second thoughts about asking for help when I need it.

The kindness of strangers is an enduring motif of Elden Ring, a natural tonic to the toxic anger that permeates every environment you journey across. Melina, the thematic emodiment of this kindness, turns your experience and soul memory into strength, a companion who appears to those at risk of stoking personal flames of frenzy as a guide who leads you towards the Erdtree and the Elden Ring. I don't think it's a coincidence that the game gets inordinately tougher to handle by yourself in the wake of her ultimate sacrifice; investments in endgame Rune Levels feel less substantial, less meaningful, than those conversions of experience made while travelling with Melina at RL100 and below. (The Ranni questline, with its literal idolation of a young girl as a peculiar doll the player can contemplate in silence by the fire, dovetails nicely with Melina's death and serves as an interesting pair of endgame decisions the player can take, further compounded by the Roundtable stuff discussed above) The final stretch of the game demands, almost explicitly, that the player look beyond themselves and extend a hand of need to those around them in much the same way one should following a deeply personal loss.

If you did not touch a summon sign or ring a spirit bell or read a fan-wiki after Leyendell, know that I know you are a liar and a punk and you will be judged far more harshly by my council than the guys who spent six hours outside Maliketh trying to bring in a sorcerer called Pigf#cker or whatever other desperate means they chose to undertake in order to realise their ambitions. Everyone needed help to finish Elden Ring; everyone needed help to stave off the Frenzied Flame that the Elden Ring's Golden Order was trying to stoke from within you on your personal path to enlightenment. Fought the Godskin Duo by yourself, did you bro? Well, the Godskin Apostle didn't. He brought in someone to help him. Are you really that stupid? The legend of Let Me Solo Her didn't develop from the tremendous feat of beating Malenia solo - was this noble pothead the first person to ever beat her by himself? Of course not. The legend developed as a veneration of kindness, a manifestation of will and memory and dreams of ambitions, a symbol of those Tarnished who offer their help to those who need it most: Let Me Solo Her is our idealised savior, a breakup bro for the maidenless, a hero who will help you fight your hardest battles and overcome your most painful soul memories. Stay isolated and lost in your past, or find your friends on the path and start living your life.

Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well.

Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really.

How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more, perhaps not even that.

How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty.

And yet it all seems limitless.

So what of soul memory, the idea I spent so long talking about at the start of this review? Well, that's another thing that's beautiful about Elden Ring - I'm not done playing it yet. Much in the same way I wasn't done playing Dark Souls after I'd put down the pad, Elden Ring has manifested itself in my everyday life and my relationships with the souls and space-time and coffee granules around me. It's difficult to write a conclusive conclusion for an Elden Ring review because it doesn't feel like the game is over yet. I fought the Elden Beast, I saw an ending, I saw the credits, but evidently I can't stop thinking about the game and the ideas and memories and experience it imbued me with. I'm walking on an invisible path in a consecrated snowfield of boundless white, trying to find my noble truth and inner order and greater will by constantly making sense of everything I've seen, heard and felt through, with and in my lives lived, tilting at windmills in the gardens of madness within this life and beyond. You are too. Let's face it together.

𓂀

The seventh soul is Sekhu. The remains.

Went petrol go-karting yesterday and managed to hit a few pretty solid drifts on a hairpin by applying the exact principles learned in games like OutRun 2 and Type 4, which felt very, very sweet. (I also gave myself pretty severe whiplash by spinning out on a downhill, but we'll ignore that) Having never so much as attempted a handbrake turn in all my fifteen years of holding a driving licence, finally getting to experience the rush of throwing my backside out caused me to zoom home, exorcise my disc and compare notes with the virtual worlds that taught me all I know about how to drive good (and bad).

Glad I've persevered with this one - I wanted to give it up early on, but the volume of comments suggesting that this was a beautiful gourmet lobster that needs to be cracked open in order to access its meaty innards is a positive example of how reading Backloggd opinions can enrich your gaming life. As everyone says, it is brutal in its opening hours, with punishing S-corners and AI drivers that work so hard to block your every opening to no real detriment of their own. Worth it, though, when you get a handle on how the handling here subtly differs from Type 4: the beginner car is more beginner-friendly than it first seems, essentially allowing you to "correct" a turn you've already started accelerating into in order to turn it into a drift, even when the corner's almost done - a life-saver, especially when your rival has plans for how to run you off the road. The other cars aren't so easily mastered, though, and the rest is up to you - trying to explain their mechanical ins and outs would be like describing how to ride a bike, essentially useless in comparison to just feeling it out for yourself.

Seven tracks (half of which intersect with each other) seems like hardly any at all, but when multiplied with the number of cars on offer and how wildly they differ, you realise you're essentially being offered a series of puzzles that involve working out when each car should turn or shift through gear - a smart game designer's way of maximising value from what was very likely a limited development time. The heroic, master, etc. GPs are less refined measures of improving the game's longevity by just bumping pure numbers up, but are nonetheless welcome because they let you go insanely fast with no real additional risk. Does drafting belong in Ridge Racer? Sound off in the comments below.

Outside of relatively minor mechanical quibbles and course semantics, all that really divides most Ridge Racer games is their vibes. In this regard, I feel like *V lags a few seconds behind 4. I get it - the potential of a new millennium is far more alluring than actually living in it, and there was no way a PlayStation 2 launch title could compare to a generational capstone... but the aesthetic sensibilities here don't feel as confident or coherent. Type 4's soundtrack plays out like a cohesive album by a single artist, whereas V is more like a compilation CD of electric dance tracks with no specific theme, a gamble of tone that doesn't always pay off. I hit [RANDOM PLAY] in Type 4 and I'll always be happy; in V, certain tracks have me considering whether it's worth just hitting the crash barrier and starting again - that's no good! Relationally, this is in many ways the Tekken 4 to Type 4's Tekken 3. Despite all that, this is, of course, you know it, still leagues and miles better than the vibeless drudgery of Gran Turismo*, which I also played yesterday. You WILL have a good time here, if you stick with it. Guaranteed!