"The future of software development is user-created content", says David Fleck, from Linden Lab, the makers of Second Life.
"First and foremost it allows them to exploit their creative energies and display all the wonderful things that they're good at doing, whether it's manufacturing clothing or architecture.
Protenios have the Grand Theft Auto Hot Coffee video in it's full XXX rated glory here.
UK game makers have been urged to turn their attention to China where huge amounts of time and money are being spent on gaming.
Representatives from the games industry taking part in a conference in London this week heard that more than 20 million Chinese were playing games and the number was rising fast.
China is set for a big explosion in spending on entertainment, largely fuelled by online sales of video games, a report this week predicted. Last year, Chinese players spent almost US$500m on online games.
The Matrix Online has finally hit store shelves.
The Matrix online boasts a fully interactive, evolving storyline. Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment announced that it has employed a troupe of 20-odd people whose job it will be to enact narrative scenarios in The Matrix Online live. These people will assume the roles of popular characters, interact with players, and generally move the stories in ways that only live "actors" can. And though it appears that the story hasn't officially commenced, a few players on the Method server were treated to a pretty slick sample of it this afternoon: an extended pep-talk by none other than Morpheus himself.
Link via BoingBoing
The 18-rated game, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, has been criticised in the past for its violent content. The Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) was asked to investigate after receiving eight complaints about two adverts featuring game extracts.
They were shown before 2100 GMT when children could have been watching.
One advert was described by the ASA as showing "general scenes of violence and the use of guns" while the other showed the spraying of graffiti and "use of guns in drive-by shootings"
Yup. That Jack Wade is still a man’s man, alright. In a World Gone Bad™, you can be sure our square-jawed anti-hero will still be moodily supping warm Nukey Brown with his microwaved lasagne, not giving a damn about the cheese caught in his grizzly beard, or anything else for that matter.
Dreamcast and PS2 owners first admired Jack’s gruff antiauthoritarianism three years ago. However, barely two minutes after saving the city from the Bloody Mary virus, everything he fought for was razed to the ground by angry mobs, a cataclysmic earthquake and the lure of a sequel in an ironic two-fingered salute from the gods. (Or rather, the game designers at Amuze.)
Twenty years on and the city has gone bad again. Split into two distinct halves, the haves live in shiny, consumerist metropolis Above, while the have-nots, rotten apples and social outcasts are banished to, uh, Below. It’s Jack’s job to keep things that way, but this time he has the assistance of Leeza X, a feisty young thing with a nice line in tribal tattoos and spinny cartwheels.
Presumably, Jack’s getting a bit past all this ass-kicking malarkey, so he delegates much of the work to Leeza while he gets steaming drunk in his man-pad. As a result Redemption is a more well-rounded experience than before, with our protagonist proving more manoeuvrable than not-so-spring heeled Jack. However, 3D shooters have come on a bit since Headhunter, and Redemption’s twitchy aiming system feels antiquated when compared with that of Splinter Cell, for example. If the right trigger is released during gunplay at the wrong moment when turning a corner, Leeza will be left facing thin air as lock-on is lost whilst receiving much hot lead in the back. Luckily, enemies are blessed with Storm Trooper-like aiming ability, so the penalties are not too severe.
More pad-cracking frustration comes courtesy of walls being hugged too readily when attempting to sneak up on enemies; these problems aside, Redemption is a reasonably solid adventure.
Once Leeza has laid down the groundwork, Wade – ha! – wades into the later levels guns a-blazin’ and Brut a-waftin’ to conclude Redemption’s gripping plot. Amuze have created a game rich in futuristic atmosphere, with corporate corruption rife. Think Robocop meets Minority Report (lazy comparisons, I know) and you’ll have some idea of what to expect. Throw in a rousing musical score and some blackly humorous in-game adverts and immersion is achieved nicely.
Then there are those gorgeous, glowing visuals that make you think you’ve just woken up and are looking through sleep-fogged eyes. There are only so many sparsely placed metal crates that can be can be smeared in digital Vaseline, though, before you realise that level design is about as creative as Redemption’s Above/Below naming ethic…
…And indeed its puzzles. Game progression is strictly Resident Evil-style linearity. Fetch a keycard to open the door to the warehouse which contains the energy cell to power up the sub-station which will open the hatch to the room with the computer in it which has the code for the big otherwise-impassable gate in the yard and you’ll see what I mean. Having said that, the problem-solving on offer is enjoyable enough.
In fact that’s the story of the game overall: it’s enjoyable enough. Redemption carries on where Headhunter left off and feels both familiar and a little dated as a result. Yes, there are some unrefined areas of the game, and yes, it offers nothing too special compared with other genre stalwarts, but it’s got lead characters with real, if hackneyed, charisma and a genuinely enthralling plot which will grip you from start to end. If you’ve got a few quid spare give it a bash; just don’t expect too much and you’ll be pleasantly surprised.
I’m in a pickle, and no mistake. As I slouch picking bits of Jaffa Cake out of my beard, I ponder the huge pile of unfinished games before me – where to start? More to the point, which one to finish first?
Deciding to catch up with my games-buying I trundled down to Gamestation after work a few days ago. Unfortunately for weak saps like me the damn place is open till 11 at night, which makes it impossible for me to walk home without dropping in. Bearing in mind I have the same grip on my wallet as I do my deadlines, a-quick-look-to-see-what’s-out-that’s-all-I-promise swiftly turns into Shit!-XIII-and-Beyond Good And Evil-both-down-to-a-pissing-tenner?-Hold-these-for-me-sales-assistant-while-I-hotfoot-it-to-the-ATM. Consequently a ten minute stroll home becomes a 45 minute marathon of mind-changing, cash-withdrawal and instant guilt.
Once home, the new arrivals are briefly introduced to their mother consoles, and, just as things start to get emotional, they are cruelly ripped from the loving embrace of the disc tray and flung into The Unit For Games I Can’t Be Arsed To Get Into Yet. A typical thought chain, such as it is, goes something like this:
Mmm. (Indicates thinking.) Can’t wait until my next day off. Think I’ll get up really early, when Hannah goes to work, and move the TV so that it’s right in front of the sofa. Then I’ll turn off the phone, and spend the whole day pushing Jaffa Cakes into my face and playing a whole bunch of those videogames I bought. Mm-hmm. (Indicates satisfaction at happy conclusion of cogitation.)
What generally happens is I roll out of bed around two, walk into the living room and decide there are far too many wires to untangle in order to move the telly and instead flake out on the sofa playing one of two games: Old Faithful, or Pro Evolution Soccer 3 as Konami insisted on calling it; and an ongoing saga like Dark Chronicle. Other games don’t even get a look in. Before I know it it’s time for work again and the dust already gathered on my newest software remains unsmudged.
But I now know what is needed. In fact, I don’t know why it hasn’t already been thought of. What I propose is a day of SquareEyes’ Lazy-Arsed Computer-gamers’ Kompletion of Incomplete New Games.
Or SLACKING.
Of course, the acronym could do with a little work, but I feel the principle is sound. A new holiday could be created, perhaps in the life force-draining period between Christmas and Easter, during which gamers across the country could have paid time off to polish off any unfinished Ocarina Of Times or whatever. All the major industry forces - Sony, Microsoft, Nintendo, EA etc - would sponsor it and each game completed would mean gamers would be free to pay for a new challenge.
In short, game turnover would be increased, gamers’ fuddled minds would be eased and employers would be rid of thunder-faced workers who felt their jobs hindered their game playing. Or at least one thunder-faced bugger – me.
Now don’t start picking holes in it. I can dream, can’t I?
So, after washing my face of dried chocolate, I’m going to go right back to that unfinished save slot in Jet Force Gemini and give it my damndest – it’s for the good of the industry, you know.
After crawling out of bed and staggering into the kitchen, I make myself a strong coffee – milk, two sugars – and sink into the sofa in the living room. Spread before me on the floor is the detritus from last night’s Live session, which ended only a couple of hours ago. Time to clear up: first the Pringles tube, then the sour cream dip I spilt into the carpet when my Modified Coupe was rammed into a bus by SeriousSam342 from Tunbridge Wells. This online gaming malarkey gets a little messy.
An hour later I’m walking to work, daydreaming of ten hours hence when I’ll be back home in front of a warm and loving console. But it’s not the thought of further online shenanigans that blots out the miserable morning I’m traipsing through. No. It is the prospect of discovering new digiscapes all by myself.
An hour later, I’m waiting for the milk to hit 160 whilst running through my virtual holiday snaps. If only I could print these out, I’d fold them up and keep them in my wallet. Just behind the picture of Hannah. Then, whenever the monotony got too much, I could take a minute to flick through them and remind myself of what I had to look forward to.
Gaming for me will always remain a predominantly singular pursuit. As joyful as thrashing a mate’s Spurs side 4 –1 is, and as satisfying as flash-banging then clearing with a complete stranger from Minnesota is, there is nothing quite like settling down late at night to five or six hours of completely solitary playing. That is where all the best memories are.
A couple of hours later there’s a post-lunchtime lull. As I sip another coffee, I imagine being in different climes. In the rainy, neon-lit streets of Perfect Dark’s Chicago, twenty or thirty years from now, nervously crouching behind a bright yellow hover-cab as a sociopathic droid hovers across the way. Or in the green fields of Halo for the first time – looking up, I see the awesome sight of the other side of the ring world arcing through the sky above. I remember Flashback’s lush foliage and menacing city bars. And then the lull’s over, a decaf macchiato dragging me back into reality.
A few hours later. At last the day is done. The journey home is considerably faster than the one to work. No need for quite so much daydreaming; I can indulge in real-life fantasy in a few minutes. Maybe I’ll take a drive through Vice City, listening to Twisted Sister as the sun goes down, or maybe I’ll go to Metropolis Street Racer’s Tokyo in the early hours.
Escapism. That’s why we do it, I suppose. To get away. But I like going by myself. Discovering for myself. I just hope that as multiplayer gaming explodes all around us developers don’t forget the loners amongst us. We read great novels for the same reasons: imagine having someone reading over your shoulder the whole time, or only being able to unlock the latter chapters with two pairs of eyes.
Don’t get me wrong – I love company from time to time. It’s good to whip ass, or whatever those redneck opponents scream through my earpiece. But we all need time to ourselves, to get away from everybody. Games are the perfect medium through which to do so.
Right now, autumn is my favourite season. The leaves are just starting to crispen, and as the temperature cools, I get to invest in all manner of new jackets (these are the only items of clothing I enjoy buying). And, after a long and barren summer, we find ourselves rushing headlong into the Fourth Quarter ’04.
At long last, I can gaze at release schedules comfortable in the knowledge that my anticipation and patience will be rewarded within mere weeks. Halo 2, GTA: San Andreas, Half-life 2, Pro Evo 4 and Resident Evil 4 are all due in the long run-up to Christmas. If I go to bed early every night, it’ll soon be tomorrow. It’ll soon be next month. It’ll soon be time to bid a fond ‘see you next year’ to friends and family as I prepare to lock myself away with nought but a stash of Fudge Central and said games.
But there’s one thing that bothers me a little. You’ll notice that most of these titles (and a whole host more) have numbers after them. Because you’re sharp like that. Now, this isn’t going to be a second-hand rant about how creativity in games is going down the pan – Lord no. Rather, a confession – I’m a bit of a lazy gamer.
The thing is, these sequels are bearing down on me and I still haven’t got all of their forebears out of the way. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I don’t finish games. I’m just a slacker when it comes to buying the damn things. I’ve only just bought GTA III, Vice City and the remake of Resident Evil for the Gamecube - I thought they’ll be around for a while, so what’s the rush?
Well, the rush is that the new and improved versions are just around the corner and I can’t wait to play them. Only I can’t play them until their precursors have been completed; once I’ve played San Andreas, I can’t go back to its less shiny, smaller and technically inferior brethren. It’s a sad and sorry state of affairs, but that’s how it is. I’m a sucker for new stuff.
Unfortunately, it’s mighty hard staying focused on the job in hand when I having the wonders of Xbox Live to distract me, and indeed those of my good lady. My PS2 and Gamecube both have thick layers of dust on the joypads (shows up murder on black plastic, you know) – best get polishing, eh?
September 10 was a very special day this year, for it marked the end of the summer videogames drought with the release of the spectacular Burnout 3: Takedown. Gamers have been twiddling their thumbs for the last couple of months, finding other things to do. But Criterion’s latest blast of adrenaline has suddenly reminded us exactly why we play games.
First off, the bad points.
Ha! There are none. There is nothing contained on that shiny silver disc which will spoil, hinder or adversely affect your gaming satisfaction. It’s not often a game as polished and refined as this comes along. Of course, there are some microscopic niggles, like the mildly irritating commentator/DJ, but as you’d expect he can be shut up via the settings menu.
Nope. Can’t think of anything else.
The original Burnout was a riot; Burnout 2 offered further improved gameplay and a host of new features (pursuit, crash mode, etc.); Burnout 3 has blown the bar sky-high. There is now an emphasis on aggression over pure racing, and this is key to the series’ massive step forward. The premise is simple yet devastatingly effective: using any means possible, get rid of your opponents. Dishing out a Takedown garners you ever more boost. You can still use more traditional methods to fill your boost bar – drifting, air and so on – but outright vehicular combat fills it much faster. Besides, it’s much more fun that way.
Mind, expect your rivals to do the same to you. AI verges on evil, and it’s got a good memory. If you smash someone up the jacksy, they’ll return the favour at the earliest opportunity. With five other cars swarming behind you like a horde of angry hornets, smelling your fear, you can be sure this is one of the most tense and fraught racing experiences you’ll ever encounter.
And also one of the biggest. There are 173 events you can wreak havoc and destruction in, compared to 30 in Burnout 2. You get to compete in America, Europe and Asia, and unlock 70 different wheeled missiles (including big rigs, buses and fire trucks). There is so much to do in this game that there isn’t the time to list it. Rest assured, gamers won’t tire of Burnout 3 for a good while.
Aside from the multitude of new unlockables, collectables and levels, one major new feature is the ability to control your hulking wreck as it careers across a highway. By holding down the A button after a collision, you enter Impact Time. The action slows, and you can guide your car into oncoming traffic and rivals. In Crash mode you can use it to get pick-ups (like cash multipliers and instant explosions). It’s thoughtful, imaginative touches like these that really scupper those arguments about sequels destroying the games industry.
It can’t be stressed enough how much Burnout 3 has evolved the series. It’s faster – so, so much faster. It looks just sublime, although you’re better off appreciating the scenery while someone else plays – you won’t see it otherwise. And now that EA owns Criterion, we’re treated to licensed music (Ash, The Futureheads, Franz Ferdinand to name but a few).
Burnout 3: Takedown is pure fun and excitement. It is, put simply, one of the best, most complete gaming experiences ever committed to disc. There is not a single reason why you should not go out – right now – and buy this game. Unless you don’t like videogames. In which case, why the hell are you reading this?
You’ve got to move fast. Bullets are biting into the dusty asphalt all around your position; vivid scarlet streaks the screen momentarily. Somehow, you must find cover for your squad, lay down covering fire and retrieve your stricken comrade. Before that sniper steadies his aim…
Full Spectrum Warrior is a squad-based shooter unlike any other in that you don’t take direct control of your troops. Instead, you play as some sort of omnipotent cameraman: directing soldiers, relaying the scenario. A trigger you won’t squeeze. Walls you won’t jump. The question is, does this detachment detract from Pandemic’s latest title?
In short, no. Think of a smaller-scale, ground level Commandos, and you’ll have some idea of what this is.
Full Spectrum Warrior was originally conceived as a training sim for the US Army. Set around about now, in menacing, dilapidated streets not dissimilar to those of Afghanistan or Iraq, FSP puts you in charge of two teams of four soldiers. By moving a marker point around the screen, you decide where your charges will go. Cover is the catchword here – Unreal Tournament this ain’t, for one bullet can kill. Leaving a team out in the open in hostile territory will almost certainly result game over.
A premise seeking to be as authentic as this will live and die by its AI. Thankfully, you can place near complete trust in your men doing as you tell them, as sensibly as possible. They won’t stick their head above cover to shoot back unless it’s reasonably safe to do so. They’ll take the quickest (though not the most dangerous) route to a destination, in a thoroughly militaristic-looking manner. Occasionally your squad-leader will kneel and stare at the sky once he’s finished shooting at somebody, only to take one to the head instead of ducking back behind safety. Once or twice troops run into each other like clowns. But overall it is an impressive gameplay experience, with very few glitches.
It is, however, short-lived, with fairly ill judged pace. Ten of the twelve missions are a little simplistic, with only the last two providing a significant challenge for everything learned in the extensive training school. The whole thing feels just a little too quick to finish – one for an evening of rubbish telly, perhaps.
Dubious socio-political timing aside, Full Spectrum Warrior is small but neatly formed with many neat touches: a replay facility, so that you might see where your men die and jump into the action just beforehand; your GPS-cum-player map; each soldier’s colourful idiom. These are just a few. And just wait until you launch an M-203 grenade at a car in 5.1…
But back to seven paragraphs ago. MAN DOWN! What are you going to do?
Think I’m going to have a beer to soothe my frayed nerves, that’s what.
...From a few days spent visiting friends and folks up in Durham and Newcastle. I shared a carriage with a returning hen party. My head is still throbbing (although this could be a result of Irn Bru and vodka in the good ol' Tut And Shive).
Unfortunately, I couldn't fit my consoles in my bag, so I'm afraid I have no gaming goodness to impart tonight. Tomorrow, however, there'll be a review of Full Spectrum Warrior awaiting your eager eyes.
Nothing like coming back off holiday and indulging in a bit carnage, eh?
If you were expecting anything of any significance to be posted today, you’ve got another thing coming. The hangover has gone. The nausea I have after consuming a bucket of chicken and nearly two-dozen Krispy Kremes has most definitely not. My stomach is so swollen with lard and sugar that I can barely reach the keyboard, let alone type good stuff.
As a reward for getting through Sunday: FP Party Recovery Day, a friend and I took a drive in search of said authentic American doughnuts and greasy poultry. Suitably ravenous after managing little more than a can of macaroni cheese yesterday, I needed some ubercrap to restore my sense of well-being. Unfortunately, I had far, far too much of a good thing and now all thought processes – not to mention the physical effort of actually typing – are thoroughly dulled and take approximately four and a half times longer than usual.
This is a shame. As I sat – no, slumped – on Tor’s impressive sofa early Sunday morning, thoughts and ideas glided smoothly into my Absolubricated mind. Thinking it would easily be recalled the next day, I neglected to scribble anything down. More fool me. Having said that, it would have been utterly illegible anyway. And how could I have effectively discoursed the multicoloured glow which enveloped these thoughts? The results would surely not have been as impressive my 3am GiddyVision™.
So apologies, folks, for the complete no-show of yesterday’s post. I figured sitting in front of a wildly gyrating monitor was frankly dangerous. Besides, I couldn’t get off my merry-go-round bed.
Now I am going to try to switch on a console and explore digital pastures new for your information and delectation next week – once I’ve figured out how to stop my belly getting in the way of my hands.
Ooooooh. Think I’m gonna chunder violently…
Hearing Mrs. SquareEye’s desperate pleas for some form of chocolate I thought I’d play at knight in shining armour (or more accurately knight in slightly grubby trainers) and set out to buy her some. Upon leaving our road and heading under the bridge at its end, I found myself veering left where I should have walked straight on. My grubby-trainered feet seemed not to be responding to any form of directional command and so I found myself being shuffled into town. To Gamestation.
My feet, apparently, knew I wanted to buy a game before the rest of me did. “Don’t worry,” they assured me, “you can pick up some chocolate here.” Indeed I could, for Gamestation had recently melded with the local Blockbuster to form, well, Gamestation/Blockbuster. Now I can choose more junk food, more DVDs and loads more games in air-conditioned wonderment. Unfortunately, I spent about 45 minutes trying to decide whether to buy GTA3 or Resident Evil and very nearly forgot about Mrs. SquareEyes. After excessive I’llgetthisormaybethat-ing I had to rest on the Gamestation/Blockbuster leather sofa, which had presumably been provided for indecisive folk like me to organise their muddled thoughts and remember what the hell they’d gone in there for.
Anyway, I went with GTA3. I’d never got round to buying it before. It always reminded me of lunchtimes in a BO-filled HMV staffroom, trying to beat co-workers off the PS2 demo pod so that I might get a go before going back to work, and of the sinking feeling of leaving Liberty City for Rock and Pop (Main Counter). They didn’t even play the game properly – they just tried to hire hookers and giggle as the car started bouncing.
But now I’m faced with another dilemma. Do I find all those fantastic cheat codes now, or wait until I’ve finished the game ‘legitimately’? You know the ones – Infinite Ammo, All Weapons and so on. There is a temptation to hook up to the internet as soon as this is done and print them all off. It might not sound like much to you, but believe me; of all my demons, the constant struggle with my gaming conscience can sometimes deny me literally nanoseconds of sleep. How can I call myself a dedicated gamer if I bulldoze my way through police blockades in a tank right from the off? What’s the point of playing if I’m not going to master the art lamping a mobster then making off with his piece, because I already have the All Weapons cheat activated?
I’m not going to get all righteous on you. Those codes are great, but I’m probably going to wait until after having a good crack at the game unsullied before populating the city only with pimps or making everyone’s head huge (what is the point of that anyway?). But they are a brilliant, if artificial, attempt to lengthen the game’s appeal.
Oh. Shite. There’s a bar of Galaxy slowly moulding to the shape of my jeans’ pocket. Better go out again…
Village-folk of myth, legend and yore were, on the whole, a pretty narrow-minded, un-PC bunch.
Take Dracula, a guy with teeth a little more refined than normal and no love for sunshine (maybe he just wanted to play videogames all day), religion or garlic. Sounds like a sound enough bloke to me. But not to the locals, who were straight up his drive with flaming torches and rusty pitchforks demanding he leave.
Mind, at least he’d had some sort of life before succumbing to that particular bigoted and angry mob.
Not so poor Ico. Barely 12 years old and he’s carted off to the local castle-cum-prison of dubious repute for the crime of…being born with a pair of horns on his head. That’s right. Born looking slightly different and no one wants him anywhere near their village.
Luckily, Ico’s sarcophagus is ill-maintained and before long it topples over, spilling our titular hero out into an adventure which is at once beguiling and beautiful.
Ico feels immediately different to any other game around. The screen is utterly devoid of any screen furniture: no health bar, no weapon status, nothing. As such there is a sense of purity, of nothing cluttering your sense of involvement.
You’re then simply left to get on with it. Ico doesn’t patronize you by assuming you’ve never held a joypad before – if you want to know what a certain button does, experiment. Simple, yet refreshing.
After admiring the eerie, cavernous surroundings, it’s time to figure out how to get out. The first task is to rescue Princess Yorda, a girl in shimmering white suspended in a cage, thereby confirming fairytale fact number two: if there is a more harassed, distressed or incarcerated group of people than social misfits, it’s queens’ daughters.
The dynamic between Yorda and Ico is the key game mechanic here. Ico must prevent Yorda from being recaptured by all manner of – literally – dark beings intent on dragging her through puddles of oil. Or maybe they’re portals. Either way, Yorda being swallowed up is very definitely game over.
Armed with nothing more than steely determination and an oversized cricket stump, Ico needs to keep Yorda with him, as only by working together will either of them escape. Not that it is immediately apparent that Yorda has anything to offer – she dawdles around, daydreams and speaks a language that is completely impenetrable, a bit like Milla Jovovitch in The Fifth Element.
Eventually, the phrase ‘she’s more hindrance than help’ is reversed. She’ll hint at a solution if progress stops for any great length of time, open doors and try not to get in the way. She remains totally helpless, however, but thoroughly heart-warming. Ico’s impatient jig to gain her attention; even the way she flounders sometimes whilst running, everything about our protagonists is enchanting.
As the twosome journey through their prison, some majestic sights will be taken in. Interiors are vast and foreboding, while the view from the top of a lofty turret is breathtaking. Not only does the environment make up for my not going away this year, it also gives a sense of perspective, of how far you have to go.
Puzzles veer from innovative to formulaic, but they’re always intuitive. A compulsion to see what glorious scene next awaits you inspires you to scratch your head just that little bit harder, and also inures you against their sometimes contrived nature.
So, then, to a long, gushing list of superlatives which attempts to crystallize the magic of this game. The freedom it grants you. The heart-warming- no, I’ve said that – heart-melting relationship between Yorda and Ico. The joy of running around a big castle laden with old contraptions and traps; the fear of warding off its demonic guardians. And those vistas…
I’m speechless. That gushing list has evaded me. Just play it and you’ll see what I mean. And if your heart doesn’t warm, if it doesn’t melt, it must surely be made of stone.
Jesus. Look at this. Look at this big, empty New Document waiting to be filled with salient supposition and adroit alliteration.
The cursor is flashing at my inertia like some dark, intermittent beacon cutting through the blizzard inside my monitor. Need to keep it moving…
Maybe I could tell them about my week of sun, sea and Sega. Of the delights of Out Run 2. Magical Sound Shower, Passing Breeze. Futuristic nostalgia. 20 quid spent – where was the Ferrari Daytona? Eyes: sore. Neck: blistered. Architect who decided Magic City should face east into the sun: a bloody fool. Of the sweaty anticipation. Xbox conversion is coming soon…
No. It’s not there. Scratch that. Start again.
What about my new broadband adventures? Could let them know that Xbox is now Live and kicking. That now I have a whole new avenue of reportage to frag my way down. Perhaps there’s a way to write in the metallic 13 year-old girl voice of the headset – my personal favourite – that I use to taunt redneck PGR2 competitors…
Need further exploration. Too big a subject to wrap my weary mind around. Got to be quick now. Clock’s ticking silently. Digitally. So then it’s not ticking, is it? It’s flickering, not ticking.
Dammit. Must stop daydreaming. Only seem able to write in anguished superhero thought bubbles. Must focus. Thought pattern too staccato. Something is…missing.
Something topical, then. Controversial. Possibly a response to yet another furore surrounding videogames. The tragic case of Stefan Pakeerah, murdered by Warren LeBlanc. Daily Mail-type righteous outrage at LeBlanc’s ‘addiction’ to Manhunt. Perhaps I could level some considered argument there.
Next week. Definitely.
So hard to concentrate. Have now consumed three bottles of chocolate Frijj and four coffees. Monitor…starting…to…look…hazy.
But wait. Hasn’t it been more than a week since firing up my babies? Perhaps that’s it.
Need to get a digital fix. Think I might just have the strength to flip those power switches and bathe in the multicoloured glow of…something. Anything.
Until next week.
I’ve often toyed with the idea of getting a barcode tattooed on my neck. Then, when next I passed under a checkout laser, something deep and profound would flash up on the till. A choice song lyric, or maybe something useful like my phone number (then harassed sales assistants could ring my girlfriend and ask her to remove me every time I demand that my neck be scanned).
I’m toying no more though – that bloody Agent 47 has already got one, hasn’t he? His probably means really important stuff like ‘don’t annoy me please, otherwise I will clinically bore a hole right through your head while you sleep’. It could also be his address, because Mr. 47 has a dodgy memory.
He’s got memory problems because he is a genetically engineered assassin (emotion-free people-removal and all that). He likes golf clubs (the mess-making weapon, not the Pringle sweater-wearer’s drinking establishment). And he’s completely bald.
With such an enigmatic character as this, Hitman 2 should have been, well, a hit.
Unfortunately, the game itself is really rather dull. This is a game which actively encourages the ‘clean kill’, clandestine elimination. But all the tension and nerve jangling you would expect is strangely absent.
The game’s clunky controls don’t help. Imagine: spotting a lone sentry, you decide to creep up and garrotte the hapless blighter. A quick squeeze of the left trigger, and…47 is now crouched instead of creeping – oh, now his victim has turned around and all hell breaks loose. The game promotes stealth, yet the interface is too clumsy for stealth to even be attempted. It’s almost as if the game was designed to be used with a mouse and keyboard…
Which it was. The console (in this case, Xbox) version comes across as a slightly rushed PC conversion. The game looks a little blocky, and there’s a lot of pesky clipping and pop-up.
One of Hitman 2’s saving graces is in its variety of weapons. Not only do you get 47’s personal silenced ‘Ballers’ and a massive array of machine-guns, sniper rifles, pistols and heavy weaponry, but there are also more unorthodox pieces. Like a fireman’s axe (which is described, in its notes, as being used in emergencies to break through doors. Ha! Not now…). I’ll confess to being a little shocked at how satisfying it was cleaving a target’s head in half with it. Hitman 2 has a sick sense of humour, and I love it.
But that’s the only part I do love. The rest of the game comes across in much the opposite way to Agent 47. It’s messy, insipid and boring, and not very good at what it sets out to do. It seems a shame that more hasn’t been done to create a game worthy of Agent 47’s icy qualities.
A friend of mine bought an Xbox recently, and I lent him Knights of the Old Republic so that he could get an early demonstration of the console’s splendour. I got regular, excited updates of Lightsabre modifications and the like as he ploughed through the game. Then, one day I noticed a slight melancholy as I quizzed him on the state of play.
“Well, I’ve finished it.” Great – what did he think of the game? Was that journey to A Galaxy Far, Far Away not one of the most fantastic videogame adventures ever? I could see why he was down. It was all over. Real life beckoned once again.
“Yup. The game was indeed enjoyable. You have admirable taste in games.” Some of that may have been imaginary; I can’t remember. “The ending was rubbish though. It duped me into spending all that precious time on it, and then it let me down right at the end. I shan’t be borrowing anymore of your shitty gam-” Sorry, paranoia infecting my blog again. But he made a valid point. KotOR’s end sequence(s) did indeed suck.
Since that conversation, I’ve noticed an increase in the frequency of my feelings of emptiness upon completing games. I’ve seen more and more anticlimactic game finales: Pandora Tomorrow, Wind Waker, MGS2 – all great games which left me feeling a little hollow once I’d finished them. For a couple of days after finishing a certain game, I’ll try to play through it again in attempt to experience some of its particular magic once more; a kind of denial process, I suppose. But it’s never any use – they usually feel a little lifeless second time around.
Take Pandora Tomorrow. Fantastic gameplay, really worth not going to bed for. Realising the end was drawing close, I ran to my special cupboard and hastily grabbed the Jaffa Cakes I keep for just such an occasion. I’d barely finished chewing the first one, however, and the result of all my endeavour was over. I’d opened a fresh packet for barely 30 seconds of unsatisfying cut-scene.
A few games have got it bang on. Perhaps Rare were the most accomplished at satisfying my needs. Goldeneye, and subsequently Perfect Dark, gave me the climax – not like that, filthy reader – of a challenging final level/boss which was at the very peak of the difficulty curve I’d been grappling with throughout the game. Not only was the feeling of satisfaction at having beaten a formidable digital foe immense, but I was rewarded with whole new levels, too.
Then there are games like Pro Evo 3, whose gameplay gets better and better as you improve and evolve. The fact that you’ve won everything doesn’t matter: it’s how you play that becomes important. The same can be said for the better driving games (PGR2, for example).
So what do I want, then? Why am I carping on about the inadequacies of games I love? Because I couldn’t think of anything else to write? Nope – I guess I just don’t want to be short changed. I want to be glad I saw the ending of a game; that, essentially, I beat it. I’d like to feel a little breathless after a spectacular conclusion, not upset at a game which seems to run out of steam right when it matters.
If I’m going to spend up to 40 quid on a piece of software and fall utterly in love with it, then, dear developer, I want fireworks. And goodies for all my hard work – I’m shallow like that, see. Stuff to make me want to play through again and glean something new from the experience. That’s all.
The End.
WELL DONE! You’ve just finished reading Square Eyes’ latest article! As a SPECIAL bonus, for the time and attention you’ve granted him, you get to read ANOTHER ONE, next week. CONGRATULATIONS!
I think the world of my dear Nan, and always look forward to visiting her. Unfortunately I don’t do it nearly enough; I am a Negligent Grandson. And a chronic Excuse-Maker. I’m a pauper. I hate the two-hour journey on the archaic Liverpool Street-Colchester line. I abhor Clacton-On-Sea.
A couple of months ago I was in Clacton (Nan lives down the road from there) where I decided to visit the local arcades. Clacton’s arcades were always wondrous places throughout my wide-eyed childhood. Ear-splitting digital symphonies blasted out from great halls of blue haze and a thousand chaos-filled screens shone through the cigarette smoke. I used to push my way through gang after gang of school-skipping adolescents, which made the experience a little edgier. There was a certain smell in the air: sweat, Lambert and Butler, frustration and ecstasy. Piss, too, emanating from change kiosks where leathery, grumpy old women sat and scowled. Then there were the games: little slices of the future right here, right now. My mind boggled – so much to take in, so little shrapnel.
Sorry – enough wank-lit digression. The point is I went back and it was shit. Not shit in a favourite pub kind of way, but shit in a soul-sinking, childhood nostalgia-shaking sort of way. They still stank right, but the once vibrant cabinets were now dull Dance Dance Revolution clones and one-armed bandits and all of the wonder was gone. I don’t know if it was always like this or whether I was just looking through jaded, Clint Eastwood-eyes. Fact remains Clacton now has no redeeming features whatsoever, and I’m avoiding the place out of misguided principle.
Back to tonight, and I found a website which made it all (almost) all right again. It’s called The Arcade Flyer Archive (www.arcadeflyers.com) and contains hundreds of the posters that made me itch to get down to the arcades in my Nan’s town when I was kid (or more accurately, the flyers used to pitch to potential cabinet-buyers). They’re just about all there: Space Harrier, Pac-Man, Altered Beast, After Burner and god knows how many more. My favourites are Out Run (showing stand-up, standard AND deluxe cabinets) as well as Donkey Kong, complete with scene-setting quips from Kong (“Snort! Snort!”) and an evil-looking Mario (“Fight! Fight!").
It’s a fantastic and evocative archive; all I need are some menacing-looking teenagers, a chewing gum-pocked carpet and a pocket full of silvers. Oh, and an Out Run cabinet. If only…
(I’ll be visiting my Nan in the next couple of weeks – promise.)
I’m beginning to get a little suspicious of the folks at Ubi-Soft. Looking at their long list of titles over the last couple of years, it’s getting harder and harder to put the consistent stellar quality they achieve down to mere formidable talent. Some sort of bio-creative enhancement programme, secretly conducted in an underground bunker in Montreal, would go further to explaining how they do what they do. XIII; Prince of Persia: Sands of Time; Beyond Good and Evil; Rainbow Six 3… all of these games are simply must-haves. Whatever is put in the water there should be force-fed to the England football team.
If Ubi-Soft is the Czech Republic of the gaming world (i.e. dark horses giving us outstanding results. I was going to make a France analogy, but after the Greece match the other night…), then the Splinter Cell franchise is its Pavel Nedved. Brilliant at set-pieces, exciting to watch and full of neat little touches, it is the most polished gem in Ubi-Soft’s sparkling crown.
Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow adds to every aspect of the original (including an obligatory sub-title). It is more Splinter Cell 1.5 then an outright sequel; an ‘If it ain’t broke’ philosophy has been adopted. What worked has been kept and improved upon, what didn’t has not.
The most immediately striking aspect of the first game was its high visual standard; while it would be hard to improve graphically (at least on this generation of hardware), environments and effects have been made even more luscious. Witness the swaying reeds of Indonesia and the complete disorientation caused by an activated motion-sensor. It’s one of those games you’d be happy watching someone else play just so that you can take in all of the graphical nuances.
The quality of Sam Fisher’s movement was another of Splinter Cell’s outstanding features. The grace and elasticity with which he crept, swung and rolled had not been seen since the Prince of Persia’s first set of on-screen acrobatics. This time around, new moves augment Fisher’s already impressive repertoire: he can shift his weight whilst performing a split-jump (so that he can better aim a pop at unsuspecting guards); there’s a new S.W.A.T. move to minimise his visibility when moving between doorways and he can now shoot whilst hanging upside down. All in all it’s even more of a pleasure to manoeuvre Fisher and the sense of interaction is mightily satisfying.
Ubi-Soft seems to have listened to gripes about Splinter Cell and acted upon them. Aiming, for instance, was a bit of a bind because the targeting reticule consisted of a big green blob that completely obscured whatever it was you were trying to fire at. That has been ditched and for added accuracy Fisher is now blessed with a laser-sight, although the telltale red spot can be a bit of a giveaway.
Many people took exception to Splinter Cell’s linearity and lack of freedom. Ubi-Soft claims to have incorporated multiple solutions to many problems to counter this, but to be honest I don’t see much change in that respect. But who cares? Splinter Cell is all about presenting the player with a series of infuriatingly hard, beautifully presented quandaries, and letting them get on with it. There’s no need for any ‘sand box’ gameplay here. If you want that, go visit Vice City.
Pandora Tomorrow, then, is another fantastic Ubi-Soft effort that develops Tom Clancy’s franchise nicely. The barnstorming online multiplayer (more on this in a future blog) is further evidence of the Montreal developers’ collective nous.
I hate to stoop to Metal Gear baiting, but Splinter Cell claimed the stealth genre as its own, with Pandora Tomorrow consolidating that position. In fact, Sam Fisher seems to be similar to that Australian fruitcake, Steve Irwin. Where Irwin makes snakes look tame, Fisher continues to make Snake look lame.
Around this time every month my very favourite videogame magazine is released. Upon purchasing, the first thing I do is flick straight to the release schedule for the coming months and scan through for any anticipated games due in the near future. I can never afford to buy them all, of course, but I just like to know when I’ll be able to go to my local GAME or wherever and gaze longingly and puppy-eyed at the boxes.
Next month, I note with a sinking heart a total of seven titles due for release across Xbox, PS2 and Gamecube. Of those, only five are actually confirmed and only two look vaguely interesting (although I’m really looking forward to Headhunter: Redemption but that sort of skews my argument, so just forget about it). Looking at September/October/November (or, indeed, Q3 04 as elitist PR-types call it), there are at least 50 games due out for the same consoles.
I scratch my head in such a way as to suggest much puzzlement, and then I realise – ha! – It’s summer. Nothing is released in summer. Plainly, everyone involved in deciding when we get to play games believes that as soon as heat hits sun-starved Blighty, all gamers down joypads and move outside for three months solid. All the while consoles gather inches of dust and videogame stores might as well take a mammoth siesta.
Now, as I’ve said before, I enjoy the summer. Beer tastes better. Music sounds better. The washing dries faster. I’m not a vampire by any stretch of the imagination but sometimes it’s nice to open the windows, draw the curtains and play videogames (even when it’s sunny!). The same goes for most other gamers.
So why do summer releases dry up in the games industry when films do a roaring trade all year round? Every year we get the Troys, the Star Wars updates and the anti-climactic comic book adaptations (mind you, Kevin Smith’s Green Hornet looks a mouth watering prospect). As far as I know, there aren’t that many open-air cinemas, so people must be going inside, right?
For me it’s not so bad to have to wait half an eternity for big releases (Halo 2 and Half-Life 2, amongst others, are both due out this autumn) because I’m behind with my game-buying schedule – that is, I’m stony broke – although it would be nice to have the choice. But what about the game-starved rich people? How many new games are they going to be able to buy in the coming months? None, that’s how many. They’ll probably go to the cinema instead.
It’s no good just saving up all the big titles until autumn/winter in an effort to win the Christmas War. I, again, like most gamers, would much rather see a steady flow of titles released throughout the year, rather than a whole gamut of titles dumped out of the arse-end of the year.
I’ve been staring at this screen for far too long now. And look! The sun’s out! I think I’ll go and catch some.
Just kidding.
Pity the poor designer Bill Gates employed to work on Xbox's disc-tray mechanism. All that hard work trying to perfect a quiet whirr, and then along comes UbiSoft with a game that makes you forget how it sounds.
The first thing you'll be struck by is how beautiful Splinter Cell looks, and just how cleverly those looks are entwined with the gameplay. The stunning lighting effects, for example, are vital to your progression through the game: stay in the shadows and you'll go undetected, avoiding a potentially lethal firefight.
AI is frighteningly sharp, meaning you'll agonise over every footstep (is that glass you're treading on? Better hope no-one hears...).
Splinter Cell draws you into its world of Tom Clancy-inspired espionage completely. Its realism is utterly convincing, making the journey through the game a heart-pounding one.
But also an unforgiving one - the game is fiendishly hard which, whilst giving the game some longevity, feels a little trial-and-error sometimes. You're never quite given the freedom the game promises, either.
These minor gripes don't detract from the overall experience, though. Forgive it, and Splinter Cell will be giving a certain Microsoft employee real job-satisfaction issues.
My fingertips are red-raw; not from extended 'X' button depression, but from petulantly stabbing the keys of the PC as I blog. The source of this aggression? The television - unbelievably - is being used to view an actual programme. As I am one half of a single-TV household, I have to put up with the occasional interruption to my hectic and supremely important game-playing schedule. I am deprived of my now mandatory bi-hourly fix of Dark Chronicle. Thus, I am taking it all out on the PC. Serves it right anyway.
Dark Chronicle has swallowed me up completely. Pathetically, it's getting to the stage where I just can't be bothered to go to bed. I can't be arsed to get out of my horribly mis-shapen chair (I'm sure it's a good few inches lower in the middle than it was a week ago), flick the power switch off and negotiate the pitch-black path to bed. That's not to say I'm playing this game by default - I'm not. But the mental jump that has to be made from the lavish, inviting balcony high up in the Dark Chronicle penthouse to the ricketty, rusty tin-roof of Normality looks painful.
You know that feeling you get after a couple of beers, when an ever-so-slight fuzziness descends around the room and an almost rosy smell fills your nostrils? Someone suggests another and, even though you should be getting back to give your toenails a long overdue clipping, or whatever, you agree. 'A couple' ends up as vomit... You know how it goes.
It's exactly the same after a couple of hours of Dark Chronicle. Sometimes even down to the puke analogy (after sitting too close to the telly). There's something impossibly alluring about the mix of cutesy Japanese characterisation, those Gibli-esque environs and gadgets. And stats. So many beautifully unintimidating stats.
What's that? Oh stop sniggering. No, I don't fondle 22-sided dice.
After a few hours of play, I finally began to comprehend the levelling-up system. Fight monsters and other intrepid-adventurer botherers, gain points to make weapons and tools more powerful - simple enough. But there was an option in the Inventory screen for 'Spectrumising' and 'Synthesising'. Eh? Should've known it would be more complicated. Anyway, after commiting the cardinal sin of gaming - Consulting the Instruction Manual with Undue Care and Attention - I found out that items can be turned into diaphonous orbs of purpley-green. Apart from looking pretty, these are then combined with, say, Max's wrench to up points (Attack, Durability, Smash, etc.). When certain attributes are satisfied, the wrench can be upgraded to Super Dangerous Drill +3, or something equally comically monikered.
Collecting stuff, bashing nasties and number-crunching has formed the bulk of my DC experience so far. I'm beginning to get to grips with the wonderfully deep and diverse play mechanic, and the ensuing stat-swelling is proving worringly addictive. There's so much more to come though: town-building, exploration... I've only just begun to scratch the surface of this immense piece of software. Oh, and there's Steve, the psychotic robot.
Now I must dash: Hell's Kitchen has finally finished and it's my turn for the telly.
Playing XFiles: Resist or Serve on PS2 has made me realise how much I miss the show now its cancelled. Nothing has replaced it in my little shrivelled TV brain.
Before the XFiles my tv obsession was Twin Peaks (Twin Peaks is still an obssesion as I am one of the twelve people who buy the excellent wrapped in plastic Twin Peaks fanzine). The void left by Twin Peaks was filled by the XFiles, so its not much to ask for something else to obssess about is it? would you rather I stalked people??? would you?
Buffy was good, don’t get me wrong it was great. Just not as all encompassing as the Xfiles was at its height of popularity.
Big events in popular culture have a way of working their way out of a societies collective system very quickly. In much the same way a good curry does. One minute it’s a searing flavour burning your taste buds the next just a tingle in your ass.
I miss Mulder and his porn stash, I miss Scully in FHM. I even miss the overly complicated conspiracy arc episodes full of black oil and aliens bounty hunters with eyes sewn shut.
Angel has gone and I hear Smallville has lost a huge amount of viewers this season (Not that I watched it past the midway point from season three) Sci Fi, horror and fantasy are all on their last legs in TV land.
The only mildly interesting thing on is Stephen Kings remake of Lars Von Triers Kingdom Hospital (BBC 2 Sunday) But King is no Von Trier.
It’s worth watching just for the tele-visual Rebirth of Andrew McCarthy (John Hughes C List Brat Pack member Circa 1986)
I'm off to buy Xfiles season one through nine on DVD. The second Xfiles Movie can’t come soon enough because if it doesn’t I'm considering that I might start writing dodgy fan fiction where Mulder and Scully have sex with the lone gunmen whilst listening to catatonia.
Dark Chronicle is an RPG which promises well over 100 hours of gaming. I'd really like to tell you just how sublime it is but seeing as I only bought it four days ago, the only way I can do that now is by keeping one of those videogame diaries. You know, "Dear Blog, today I spoke with an old mage who told me he wanted to join my party. Think he fancies me. Maybe I should tell him where to go and ask that walking tree to join instead. My life is so full of complicated turmoil!" And so on. I never thought I'd do this. But then, until I played Knights of the Old Republic, I never thought I would actively seek out an RPG. So here goes...
Since KotOR, I found myself hankering after certain, particular gameplay elements. Big, utterly implausible plots (I think they're called 'epic'). Stats. Magic. Monsters. An outsized long black overcoat, to be worn come hell, high water or hot weather. Actually, not that last bit. That was a cheap jibe at an outmoded stereotype. I'm sorry.
It seemed my peculiar cravings meant I was becoming a Role-Playing Game Fan. Pretty soon, I feared, I'd be feverishly unwrapping the rules to 'Dragon Abuser VII', designating myself as RuleMaster and inviting a few chums round for an evening of cider, mirth and imaginery adventuring. Right now, though, I needed to fill that small digital void. After scouring for ages for a cheap copy of Dark Chronicle - for I decided this would be what I was looking for - I found one for a mere tenner in the second-hand bin of my local videogame emporium (incidentally, why do some retailers still sell some three year-old titles for a pittance, while other used, big-selling games are sold for as much as thirty pounds? New games are sold for a standard price, so why aren't used games?) and, attracted to its brightly coloured cover like the brightly coloured cover floosie that I am, I snapped it up.
Skipping the details of the stunted attempts at conversation the sales assistant made, I ran home and gleefully popped the disc into my PS2. First impressions? That I'd just bought some sort of wonderful Studio Gibli/Moulin Rouge/Zelda/Back To The Future hybrid.
To sum up the story: a 13 year-old boy, Max, has been given a medallion with the power to transport him across time, which is useful because he can use it to defeat the evil crackpot ruler from the future who is systematically destroying Max's world. A revolution deposed this ruler in the future, you see, so quashing the revolt before it started - in essence a good idea, if a little nasty - means towns and cities being removed from Max's time. It's his job to travel the world restoring these communities. Suitably far-fetched, isn't it?
The first action of the game comes in the form of a cut-scene involving Max, his cohort from the future, Monica, and a bunch of monsters. After this there's a simple battle which really serves to familiarise me with the controls, which are as intuitive as can be so far.
On to Max's hometown, Palm Brinks. Best described as a cross between 19th century Paris and Wind Waker's Windmill Island, this is home to all sorts of shops and characters. It's colourful, a little bit magical, and really sets out the game's stall. Here, Max learns about his various abilities, friends and the enormity of the task ahead.
So far, so good. It seems my new and intially unnerving RPG leanings are being sated. Best that we keep this quiet for now though, eh? I don't think I'm ready to tell anyone just yet.
Next: the quest begins in earnest...
I have mixed feelings about summer. On the one hand I enjoy all those sunny booze/barby cliches, and I'm whipping myself up into apoplectic excitement over the prospect of screaming myself hoarse in a manly fashion and having someone else's beer slopped over me whilst watching a certain football tournament. On the other hand there is the fact that days are warmer and, well, sunnier. This may seem like ungrateful whinging, but it's not. It just means unwelcome glare upon my TV screen which makes playing videogames mighty hard work.
However, the arrival of summer heralds something far more important than an excuse to wear girly flip-flops and - hahahaa - shorts. The middle of May sees the Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3 for alliterationphobes) take place in California, and it means a kalidescopic snapshot of the future of gaming.
Alas, non-industry plebs like me aren't allowed in, so I was reduced to salivating all over my PC as I discovered what was announced...
Sony's much-vaunted PSP unveiling was most drool-worthy for me. A sleek rectangle of black, chrome and general shininess, it houses a 4.3 inch screen offering a 16:9 widescreen format. Media will be played via Sony's own UMD format, and although PSP will allow video and audio playback, it remains to be seen how extensive any DVD-to-UMD library will be. Still, it looks sexy as hell, and with near-PS2 standard power, its 2005 release-date won't come soon enough.
Luckily, the games piquing my interest look mostly set for summer-to-late 2004 releases. The next Legend of Zelda title for the Gamecube is the exception, slated for a 2005 release. Link's next outing looks absolutely stunning. In fact, Link himself looks stunning. Returning to the 'realistic' renedering of a few years ago, rather than Wind Waker's initially-derided cel-shading, character models are beautifully realised, with expressive faces and jaw-dropping lighting. Not much more was said, but to be honest what I gleaned was enough to have me slobbering like a rabid St. Bernard.
Halo 2 has been frustrating me since late last year with its constantly slipping release-date, but Bungie has apparently confirmed it will be released on November 9th. Based on Earth this time around, the most notable details are that buggies now take realistic damage, a dual-weapon ability (you can press Y with some guns to pick up a second. Each trigger then corresponds to a gun, allowing you to dish out double Master Chief justice. I'll have to stock up on plasters), and a new, ultra-powerful Energy Sword which allows one-hit kills. Yee-hah.
Resident Evil 4 looked just as impressive. I'm out of visual superlatives, but if I say it was probably the most gorgeous-looking game I saw, I hope it suffices. Pre-rendered backgrounds, those infuriating opening-door sequences and fixed camera-angles have all been ditched in this radical rehaul of the RE series. I have to come clean and admit that I was beginning to tire of previous efforts, but after seeing what happened when one mad, sack-headed redneck took a chainsaw to Leon's face, I'll be investing in a nice big sofa to hide behind in time for this game's release.
Other highlights included Metal Gear Solid 3 (silly subtitle not included because it's just daft), the hell-fest that is Doom 3, and the fabulous-looking Half-Life 2.
One thing that did worry me was the lack of many new titles. Most of the most eye-catching games were sequels, and as lovely as they were, some genuinely new ideas would have been reassuring, to say the least.
Mind, what I did see looks very exciting indeed. I love the sunshine and all that, but bring on cold winter nights so I have the perfect excuse to shut out the rest of the world lose myself on Mars. Or Hyrule. Or City 17.
Wandering down to my favourite garishly-decored ice-cream'n'videogame vendor I decided I wanted to spend my weekend idly mashing buttons - videogame vegging, I suppose. Viewtiful Joe? Too crazy. Soul Caliber 2? I think I wanted something a little shallower. Ah - what about Lord Of The Rings: The Two Towers? Nah. It'll take too long typing the title. Anyway, it's a movie tie-in, stupid. Remember Enter The Matrix? The old Xbox still hesitates before opening its disc-tray.
Next thing I know, I'm back in the street clutching Phish Food and a copy of Two Towers. I don't know why I rented it; maybe the evil sales assistant swapped it with Credibilty-Gaining Cool Game X. Or maybe it was because I had just watched the DVD and was impressionable enough to want play the game.
On loading it up, I'm first treated to some movie footage. Two Towers actually covers events from the first movie as well, which means a helpful, if long-winded, recap. Before I know it however, the FMV blends almost seamlessly into the game action, and battle begins. That is, it begins once I realise I'm in control. The swiftness and directness of this start is refreshing. You are literally thrown in at the 12 feet end, bypassing the need for one of those annoying learn-how-to-walk-before-you-run tutorials. The quality of the cut-scenes is remarkable immediately, too, as I found myself straining at times to try to figure out whether or not I was watching one of those or in-game visuals.
You take control of one of Aragorn, Legolas or Gimli, and the action is fast, furious and relentless. After about ten minutes of righteous massacre, however, I found myself waiting to discover further gameplay aspects. Something to flesh out the body of the game a little. The film locations are recreated faithfully; swordplay is smooth and satisfying, with concise controls; stylistcally and atmospherically, the game is top-notch. But you can only run around like a headless Orc, manically slicing, thumping and destroying anything getting in your way, so many times before it starts to get reeeaaally duuuuulllll.
And that's it. That's all there is to the game. The Two Towers is a well-presented affair, which uses the LOTR franchise in a, technically, very effective and reassuring manner. But as a game on its own, without all the Middle Earth guff, it is initially compelling but ultimately tedious. The Phish Food, mind, was brain-freezing fantastic.
I knew as soon as I walked through the front door door that something wasn't right. That something was...off. I took off my jacket and shoes and made my way through to the kitchen. I made some coffee, switched on the PC, and logged on to Typepad.com.
Or at least, I tried to.
Normally, I press the power switch and wait a good six or seven minutes while the box stirs itself into something slightly more acceptable than juddering inaction. This time, the only pointer I had to the machine's state was a growling fan and a worringly vibrating floor. No image on the moniter, no helpful beeps or clicks. Just a palpable sense of petulance. Of a binary dummy being sent, arc of saliva trailing, to the floor.
Click, I moused. "Why are you ignoring me?"
No reply.
I could almost feel some sort of ridiculous stand-off developing. Almost akin to a partner's unexpected iciness when first invited into conversation after an inebriated previous night - what's wrong?; nothing; well why are you being like that?; you know why. But I didn't. Mild yet definite panic descended. Shit. I must have done something really stupid.
Maybe I didn't shut it down properly (it would have told me).
Maybe it has a virus (I'd be able to see it to cure it).
Suddenly, it chugged into life. "Christ, you had me worried there. Stop messing about. I've got work to do."
"Why are you pushing me away?" a voice not dissimilar to 2001's HAL intoned.
"Sorry?" I didn't believe this. I had stuff to do.
"You just keep me in here, on a tiny little breakfast bar beside that pain-in-the-arse fridge. I thought you'd, you know, pay me a little more attention."
Ah. I understood. The unit I just finished swearing at/building to house my console collection was stood right in front of the computer drying after its coat of really noxious varnish. The PC obviously noticed this and decided enough was enough.
"Our relationship seems to be purely work-based", it continued. "You spend hours with those pathetic little boxes in the living room, laughing, enjoying yourself. Why can't it be like that with us? You only come to me to type. I want what you have with them. I feel neglected."
My head was dizzying rapidly in the fume-filled kitchen, but at least the idea of my jealous computer talking to me didn't seem so insane. The moniter blinked at me. I blinked back. "They're games machines-"
"I can do games," it cut in.
"Yes, but these are designed speci-..." I sighed. "Ah, look. You're really hard work to buy games for. I don't want to read through three paragraphs of system requirements just to see if something will work on you. I don't want to worry all the way home over whether you'll install a game without throwing a wobbler. Remember Tiberian Sun? I loved that game but you ruined it for me because it took so long to get you to run it. I'm sorry, but it's just not worth the hassle."
"But if you upgraded me things would be different. We could smooth things out between us. Please?"
"Upgrade you? Sure. And then three months later I'll fork out and do it all over again. And again." I was beginning to get a little irritated. "You can't even give me stress-free surfing. You crash mid-task. You get tired and give up on what you're doing and leave me right up shit creek."
The PC did this:
But I carried on, I was on a roll. "And you're noisy. I have to put the tumble-dryer on to muffle you. This is probably the worst thing about you, though. You are beige. You belong in the Star Trek pilot. In fact, you completely suck. The only reason I have you is to write a little - when you let me - and to buy cool stuff off of the 'Net. So, no I'm never going to play games on you. I want to spend as little time with you as possible."
"I see," it said, flatly.
Good, I thought. 'Conversation' over, I needed to get back on with my post. I clicked there, there, and again there, and-
"I've just performed an illegal operation. I'm shutting down immediately."
Right, I thought. Tomorrow I am definitely getting a laptop.
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