Hugh
This review contains spoilers
It will never happen again.
For the six years following the release of Breath of the Wild, the Zelda team at Nintendo have been cooking. More than half of those years were spent marketing the game, barely showing it off and leaving desperate fans to postulate and bicker about what this game would be and whether it would be worth being. Eventually, we got the game. Tears of the Kingdom. An unassailable masterclass in game design, able to be so because the Zelda team spent over a decade building up its world. The reuse of the previous game’s map was a strong source of contention in the discussions leading up to release, but wound up being one of the best choices the Zelda team made. Reusing the landscape allowed the development team to repurpose it, and fill it with a seemingly infinite amount of unique things to do. Hundreds of quests, and many of them have design goals that separate them from everything else in the game. Hundreds of shrines, many of which exist to tutorialize and later expand on mechanics that Breath of the Wild didn’t even have. An entire underground map, the size of Hyrule itself, that serves to turn aimless exploration into a survival-based journey, radically changing the way you play the game. And the Sky Islands, many of which exist to offer bite-sized little Mario Galaxy-esque challenges to the player with a freedom of approach that can’t be found in the enclosed shrines or dungeons. And, yeah, dungeons, dungeons that are much more involved and smartly designed than the Divine Beasts of Breath of the Wild. Towns full of quests and life, NPCs that all have fun or interesting things to say, dialogue that changes depending on how cloudy the sky is or what Link is wearing or how progressed you are in various quests. There has never been a world in video games as alive as the world in Tears of the Kingdom, and it is this way because of the reuse. The repurposing of the existing world. It is this way because over ten years were spent creating it.
It will never happen again.
Ganandorf has awoken, and Zelda has been spirited away. Link awakes in a Hyrule assaulted by an Upheaval, significant chunks of the landscape destroyed, Hyrule Castle lifted high into the sky and raining stone and misery down upon the world below. It isn’t the Calamity of old, but a different sort of disaster. The faded wounds of the Calamity have been ripped open anew. The people of Hyrule see ghosts, the memory of their beloved Princess visiting them and causing them harm. Links sees ghosts too, but not all are harmful. His memory of Zelda gives him the ability to Recall things as they once were, essentially rewinding an object’s movement through spacetime. It is just one of several new abilities in Link’s toolset, a toolset that is so much better than just about any other powerset in video game history. Ultrahand in particular is simply unbelievable, its versatility unmatched by any other game of this scale. As if the game wasn’t already filled to the brim with an unrivaled variety of content, you now have a way to interact with its world that goes far above and beyond any other game that’s ever been made. All of your powers, you must use in your journey to find Zelda and put an end to the Demon King Ganandorf once and for all. He himself a ghost of the past returned to cause harm, Link must help people from across the various regions of Hyrule and bring the various races together to put an end to him. A terror from ages past, still felt today. And all with Zelda gone, transfigured into something unspeakable and sad.
It will never happen again.
After hundreds of hours of varied and fun exploring and combating and puzzle-solving, Link and friends take the fight to Ganandorf and yes, ultimately they win. Zelda is returned, forever changed but with an attitude positive and a love true. Link too is returned, his injuries healed and his sense of self reclaimed. But the world is still changed, Hyrule Castle floating in the sky, massive islands dotting the horizon that still threaten to drop ruins upon the land at any moment. We can never fully get back the things we’ve lost. Scars are made and they don’t heal, they just become a part of the skin. But we can recall the things we’ve lost and keep them with us, and we can keep true to who we are, not letting the evils in the world win. We do it with love from others and with love from ourselves. What was lost will always be lost, but they will be with us all the same.
It will never happen again.
For the six years following the release of Breath of the Wild, the Zelda team at Nintendo have been cooking. More than half of those years were spent marketing the game, barely showing it off and leaving desperate fans to postulate and bicker about what this game would be and whether it would be worth being. Eventually, we got the game. Tears of the Kingdom. An unassailable masterclass in game design, able to be so because the Zelda team spent over a decade building up its world. The reuse of the previous game’s map was a strong source of contention in the discussions leading up to release, but wound up being one of the best choices the Zelda team made. Reusing the landscape allowed the development team to repurpose it, and fill it with a seemingly infinite amount of unique things to do. Hundreds of quests, and many of them have design goals that separate them from everything else in the game. Hundreds of shrines, many of which exist to tutorialize and later expand on mechanics that Breath of the Wild didn’t even have. An entire underground map, the size of Hyrule itself, that serves to turn aimless exploration into a survival-based journey, radically changing the way you play the game. And the Sky Islands, many of which exist to offer bite-sized little Mario Galaxy-esque challenges to the player with a freedom of approach that can’t be found in the enclosed shrines or dungeons. And, yeah, dungeons, dungeons that are much more involved and smartly designed than the Divine Beasts of Breath of the Wild. Towns full of quests and life, NPCs that all have fun or interesting things to say, dialogue that changes depending on how cloudy the sky is or what Link is wearing or how progressed you are in various quests. There has never been a world in video games as alive as the world in Tears of the Kingdom, and it is this way because of the reuse. The repurposing of the existing world. It is this way because over ten years were spent creating it.
It will never happen again.
Ganandorf has awoken, and Zelda has been spirited away. Link awakes in a Hyrule assaulted by an Upheaval, significant chunks of the landscape destroyed, Hyrule Castle lifted high into the sky and raining stone and misery down upon the world below. It isn’t the Calamity of old, but a different sort of disaster. The faded wounds of the Calamity have been ripped open anew. The people of Hyrule see ghosts, the memory of their beloved Princess visiting them and causing them harm. Links sees ghosts too, but not all are harmful. His memory of Zelda gives him the ability to Recall things as they once were, essentially rewinding an object’s movement through spacetime. It is just one of several new abilities in Link’s toolset, a toolset that is so much better than just about any other powerset in video game history. Ultrahand in particular is simply unbelievable, its versatility unmatched by any other game of this scale. As if the game wasn’t already filled to the brim with an unrivaled variety of content, you now have a way to interact with its world that goes far above and beyond any other game that’s ever been made. All of your powers, you must use in your journey to find Zelda and put an end to the Demon King Ganandorf once and for all. He himself a ghost of the past returned to cause harm, Link must help people from across the various regions of Hyrule and bring the various races together to put an end to him. A terror from ages past, still felt today. And all with Zelda gone, transfigured into something unspeakable and sad.
It will never happen again.
After hundreds of hours of varied and fun exploring and combating and puzzle-solving, Link and friends take the fight to Ganandorf and yes, ultimately they win. Zelda is returned, forever changed but with an attitude positive and a love true. Link too is returned, his injuries healed and his sense of self reclaimed. But the world is still changed, Hyrule Castle floating in the sky, massive islands dotting the horizon that still threaten to drop ruins upon the land at any moment. We can never fully get back the things we’ve lost. Scars are made and they don’t heal, they just become a part of the skin. But we can recall the things we’ve lost and keep them with us, and we can keep true to who we are, not letting the evils in the world win. We do it with love from others and with love from ourselves. What was lost will always be lost, but they will be with us all the same.
It will never happen again.
2023
What a cool little game! The Pikmin may be a little more finnicky here than in future installments, leading to some ridiculous and avoidable deaths, but that's part of the fun to a certain point. The design decision to throw players into big maps and allow them to slowly push their way forward day by day, removing obstacles and solving puzzles, is pure brilliance and allows every player to make headway at their own pace. The timer is a great way to add tension to the proceedings and to have some facet of intended game pacing (not to mention to allow for some wicked secrets,) but it's not pushy enough to become stressful or tedious. The atmosphere is stellar, the puzzles are fun, and managing combat is surprisingly enjoyable. Only reason this isn't five stars is because of the aforementioned jank and the amount of (admittedly largely unnecessary) waiting around you have to do. Still, it's a vibe like nothing else, not even its sequels hit the same notes this game does. A singular experience, and one that every gamer should play.
2023
Frictional's key strength, for me, has always been their sound design. The prior Amnesia games and Soma aren't particularly scary, but their excellent sound design takes them over the edge and makes them wonderfully nerve-wracking experiences. Unfortunately these games weren't much more than trial and error haunted house sims beyond that, and while Soma had a compelling narrative to keep the player invested the Amnesias often wore thin long before the credits rolled. Rebirth in particular I wouldn't hesitate to call downright bad, a miserable experience that grows more tedious than frightening by the halfway point and only continues to sour from then on.
The Bunker, then, is a revelation. Frictional have decided to combine their strong sound and tense point-to-point gameplay with a classic survival horror focus on resource management and non-linearity and it has paid off in spades. Easily their best game so far, perhaps the most exciting thing about The Bunker is the knowledge that this game only serves as a testbed, a first pillar in some great structure Frictional could build down the line. If their first foray into true survival horror is this good, just imagine what they could do next? The possibilities are enough to make a horror fan salivate.
But The Bunker itself is no small feat. After a quick tone setting tutorial, the player is dropped into the titular bunker and given a task that seems simple on paper. You're locked in this bunker with one very angry ghoul. The exit is blocked by debris. Find two items to remove the debris and exit the bunker. Seems simple enough, but the way to those items are locked behind barred doors and broken generators. The game offers you one safe room, in the middle of the bunker, and it's here that you'll manage your inventory, activate or deactivate the power, and save your game. There are no checkpoints in The Bunker. A death will send you back to the last time you saved in the safe room, and deaths come quick to those who aren't careful. The monster reacts to sound, and you're guaranteed to make quite a bit of noise as you deal with the obstacles that stand in between you and escape.
The Bunker's monster is brilliant, and it's here that Frictional's sound design prowess really comes into play. The sounds this thing makes are awful, but even worse are the sounds of it crawling through the walls, honing in on you as explore. One moment you're exploring a room with only one entrance, locked to keep yourself safe. But then you notice a small hole in a wall behind a crate. And then you hear the wheezing breathing coming from it. Moments like this happen all throughout the 4-8 hours it will take you to finish The Bunker (my results screen said 2 hours, but there's no way that's right.) and they are thrilling and terrifying each time. Sometimes artillery will strike the bunker, a randomly generated jump scare that was effective every single time it happened.
Amnesia: The Bunker is Frictional's best work yet, and one of the most stressful games in a famously stressful genre. It doesn't outstay its welcome and the pacing is great, with fun little diversions being thrown your way whenever the core loop threatens to get stale. Plus, the randomization of resources and the imsim elements make for a very replayable experience, a must for any survival horror game. All in all the game is a remarkable first effort by the team at Frictional to expand their style outward. Their great sound and world design combined with classic survival horror resource management and minimal but intense combat has made for something special, and the possibilities before them feel limitless and golden.
The Bunker, then, is a revelation. Frictional have decided to combine their strong sound and tense point-to-point gameplay with a classic survival horror focus on resource management and non-linearity and it has paid off in spades. Easily their best game so far, perhaps the most exciting thing about The Bunker is the knowledge that this game only serves as a testbed, a first pillar in some great structure Frictional could build down the line. If their first foray into true survival horror is this good, just imagine what they could do next? The possibilities are enough to make a horror fan salivate.
But The Bunker itself is no small feat. After a quick tone setting tutorial, the player is dropped into the titular bunker and given a task that seems simple on paper. You're locked in this bunker with one very angry ghoul. The exit is blocked by debris. Find two items to remove the debris and exit the bunker. Seems simple enough, but the way to those items are locked behind barred doors and broken generators. The game offers you one safe room, in the middle of the bunker, and it's here that you'll manage your inventory, activate or deactivate the power, and save your game. There are no checkpoints in The Bunker. A death will send you back to the last time you saved in the safe room, and deaths come quick to those who aren't careful. The monster reacts to sound, and you're guaranteed to make quite a bit of noise as you deal with the obstacles that stand in between you and escape.
The Bunker's monster is brilliant, and it's here that Frictional's sound design prowess really comes into play. The sounds this thing makes are awful, but even worse are the sounds of it crawling through the walls, honing in on you as explore. One moment you're exploring a room with only one entrance, locked to keep yourself safe. But then you notice a small hole in a wall behind a crate. And then you hear the wheezing breathing coming from it. Moments like this happen all throughout the 4-8 hours it will take you to finish The Bunker (my results screen said 2 hours, but there's no way that's right.) and they are thrilling and terrifying each time. Sometimes artillery will strike the bunker, a randomly generated jump scare that was effective every single time it happened.
Amnesia: The Bunker is Frictional's best work yet, and one of the most stressful games in a famously stressful genre. It doesn't outstay its welcome and the pacing is great, with fun little diversions being thrown your way whenever the core loop threatens to get stale. Plus, the randomization of resources and the imsim elements make for a very replayable experience, a must for any survival horror game. All in all the game is a remarkable first effort by the team at Frictional to expand their style outward. Their great sound and world design combined with classic survival horror resource management and minimal but intense combat has made for something special, and the possibilities before them feel limitless and golden.
This review contains spoilers
"Master, I believe at this juncture that a prayer is required. Focus, and wish with all your might for the destruction of Demise."
The Legend of Zelda series has always been gaming's most spiritual long-running franchise, even by the time Link to the Past first released. The vast majority of its games are battles between the Goddesses and the Demon King, locked in an unending tug of war, the Demons yearning for power and blood and the Goddesses yearning for peace. Skyward Sword focuses itself entirely on this struggle, and spares a lot of heart for the poor saps caught in the middle. A lot has been said of Skyward's controls, its linearity, its dungeons, all the things that make a game a game and that's great, but I want to spend some time touching on its heart. Only Majoras Mask has more to give than Skyward Sword, and these are two very different stories.
The Goddess Hylia seals away the Demon King Demise, and then sheds her divinity to be reborn as a human for the opportunity to ensure the use of the Triforce, a God-made artifact of legend that grants the desire of those who possess it. To ensure that the Demon King does not return, Hylia crafts many tools. The most apparent of these Tools is the Goddess Sword, which over the course of the game becomes the Master Sword, blade of evil's bane, designed to destroy and seal away monstrous forces that seek to bring death. Inhabiting this tool is another tool, Fi, a 'messenger' of the Goddess who gives instructions to the hero who wields the sword. And that wielder, Link, is just another tool. Zelda, too, is a tool. All of humanity and all that they have to love are all pawns in a game, pieces on the board positioned by the Goddess long ago. The residents of Skyloft give much thanks to the Goddess for providing them with a peaceful life in the clouds, a life they do not understand but have long since stopped inquiring about. Only Link, in his journey through the surface, comes to understand that they all have a role to play. Zelda, a tool of Hylia, was crafted solely to manipulate Link, another tool, into picking up the Goddess Sword, another tool, and being guided by Fi. I'm sure you see where this is going.
If this game were just a message that we are all predestined to reach whatever end some divine force laid out for us, that would be one thing. But that's not what Skyward Sword ultimately tells us. It is in Zelda that I think the true message of Skyward Sword lies. A tool, yes, but while the Goddess rests in her she is still a human being. And it is only humans who have the power to save this world. The Gods may have created the Triforce, Zelda tell us, but they cannot use its power. Tools we all may be, but tools can break and fail or be lost. It is the human spirit that leads us to overcome the many trials we are set to face. After all, we are only tools, so if we fail we can be replaced. That is the secret, I think.
In Skyward Sword we are made to visit three regions, time and time again. A bountiful forest, a scorched volcano, and a desert. The desert used to be a prosperous civilization, but its guardian dragon fell ill and perished, and climate change has since destroyed all but the most stubborn remnants of that era. Incredible technologies, hundreds of curious souls, extinguished by the ravages of time. It is not just this desert where we see the wrath of climate change made manifest: The forest is overcome by great flooding, displacing its residents, and the volcano erupts with fury rendering the sky dark and the air polluted. Through kindness and action, Link is able to restore these lands to a much better state. The guardian of the desert is healed, giving hope that their civilization may eventually spring up anew. The flooding is abated in the forest, and the eruption is ceased in the mountains. The creatures of these lands return. By the end of the game, Demise itself is defeated by human hands, and human beings return to the surface world.
Zelda has been long-obsessed with destinies and divine war, but Skyward Sword is where this franchise's meaning is made clear: No matter what evils we face, or what sacred forces above us push and prod us into places both wonderful and terrible, we and we alone possess the ability to change the world. To save it.
Also the dungeons are so good that sandship one goes crazy, and the music???? Third best Zelda game.
The Legend of Zelda series has always been gaming's most spiritual long-running franchise, even by the time Link to the Past first released. The vast majority of its games are battles between the Goddesses and the Demon King, locked in an unending tug of war, the Demons yearning for power and blood and the Goddesses yearning for peace. Skyward Sword focuses itself entirely on this struggle, and spares a lot of heart for the poor saps caught in the middle. A lot has been said of Skyward's controls, its linearity, its dungeons, all the things that make a game a game and that's great, but I want to spend some time touching on its heart. Only Majoras Mask has more to give than Skyward Sword, and these are two very different stories.
The Goddess Hylia seals away the Demon King Demise, and then sheds her divinity to be reborn as a human for the opportunity to ensure the use of the Triforce, a God-made artifact of legend that grants the desire of those who possess it. To ensure that the Demon King does not return, Hylia crafts many tools. The most apparent of these Tools is the Goddess Sword, which over the course of the game becomes the Master Sword, blade of evil's bane, designed to destroy and seal away monstrous forces that seek to bring death. Inhabiting this tool is another tool, Fi, a 'messenger' of the Goddess who gives instructions to the hero who wields the sword. And that wielder, Link, is just another tool. Zelda, too, is a tool. All of humanity and all that they have to love are all pawns in a game, pieces on the board positioned by the Goddess long ago. The residents of Skyloft give much thanks to the Goddess for providing them with a peaceful life in the clouds, a life they do not understand but have long since stopped inquiring about. Only Link, in his journey through the surface, comes to understand that they all have a role to play. Zelda, a tool of Hylia, was crafted solely to manipulate Link, another tool, into picking up the Goddess Sword, another tool, and being guided by Fi. I'm sure you see where this is going.
If this game were just a message that we are all predestined to reach whatever end some divine force laid out for us, that would be one thing. But that's not what Skyward Sword ultimately tells us. It is in Zelda that I think the true message of Skyward Sword lies. A tool, yes, but while the Goddess rests in her she is still a human being. And it is only humans who have the power to save this world. The Gods may have created the Triforce, Zelda tell us, but they cannot use its power. Tools we all may be, but tools can break and fail or be lost. It is the human spirit that leads us to overcome the many trials we are set to face. After all, we are only tools, so if we fail we can be replaced. That is the secret, I think.
In Skyward Sword we are made to visit three regions, time and time again. A bountiful forest, a scorched volcano, and a desert. The desert used to be a prosperous civilization, but its guardian dragon fell ill and perished, and climate change has since destroyed all but the most stubborn remnants of that era. Incredible technologies, hundreds of curious souls, extinguished by the ravages of time. It is not just this desert where we see the wrath of climate change made manifest: The forest is overcome by great flooding, displacing its residents, and the volcano erupts with fury rendering the sky dark and the air polluted. Through kindness and action, Link is able to restore these lands to a much better state. The guardian of the desert is healed, giving hope that their civilization may eventually spring up anew. The flooding is abated in the forest, and the eruption is ceased in the mountains. The creatures of these lands return. By the end of the game, Demise itself is defeated by human hands, and human beings return to the surface world.
Zelda has been long-obsessed with destinies and divine war, but Skyward Sword is where this franchise's meaning is made clear: No matter what evils we face, or what sacred forces above us push and prod us into places both wonderful and terrible, we and we alone possess the ability to change the world. To save it.
Also the dungeons are so good that sandship one goes crazy, and the music???? Third best Zelda game.
1994
An actual perfect game. Its design still stands tall above just about every video game released today. Its soundtrack is as iconic as any other. And all these years later, it still has so much to teach us.
2001
A really solid first effort, doesn't come together 100% in the end but a lot of great ideas. Must have blown minds when it first came out, even today the atmosphere can be thick with dread. Trekking across the mansion while low on health items is classic survival horror.
What happens to us when we die? I'm not talking about our souls, or any afterlife, but to the memory of us on this world. The imprint we made while we were here. Does it stick around, haunting corridors and the minds of those we were close to? Or does it dissipate, leaving no trace we were ever here? Fatal Frame 4 concerns itself prominently with this specific question about death, and its hyperfocus on such a specific unsettling subject matter is what gives the game itself enough impact to last long after you finish playing.
Written and partially directed by Suda51, Fatal Frame 4 dares to dream of what would happen if dementia were contagious, and if it spread simply by looking at an afflicted person. The answer is as devastating as you can imagine, complete annihilation. What a wonderful topic for a horror game, and unlike many of the game franchises in its wheelhouse Fatal Frame is the one where every design decision is focused purely on horror. Want to open a door? You're treated to an almost OG Resident Evil level door opening animation, every single time, occasionally accompanied by a spooky cut to a fixed angle. Want to pick up an item? That'll be a 5-10 second long interaction, with a small chance of a surprise jump scare every time. Want to run fast away from a threat? Fatal Frame laughs in your face, the sprint button in these games being a facade implemented purely to frustrate and annoy you. These games want to scare you, they want to scare the SHIT out of you, and nothing else matters. While not the scariest or most surprising Fatal Frame game, Fatal Frame 4 still managed to scare me quite frequently because of those aforementioned design decisions and some truly excellent atmosphere and level design.
Fatal Frame 4 is set primarily in a large hospital which is divided into two sections. You explore them both individually with different characters before both sections connect near the end of the game. This large level is so well designed, with several pathways leading to whatever objective you're headed for. The game will always guide you down one specific path, but the adventurous player that chooses another route will almost always be delighted to find completely unique encounters and scares down whatever route they choose. I let my guard down while exploring early on, and almost hada heart attack when a room I'd already explored a mile away from my objective suddenly exploded with activity, locking me into a fight with three enemies simultaneously - a lot to handle with only one measly magic camera. It felt great to know that the developers considered other ways players would choose to explore the game world, and once this happened I never felt I could let my guard down for even a moment. Horror perfection. The sound design deserves a special mention, too. So many rooms have a unique and awful flavor all their own thanks to the subtle soundtrack and all sorts of horrible creaks and gasps of air. You never feel safe because the oppressive soundscape never lets up.
Combat in Fatal Frame 4 is perhaps the easiest of any game in the franchise, thanks to both its dedicated lock on button and surprising lack of difficult spirits. Towards the end of the game there are definitely a few recurring threats that present a real challenge, but for the most part the enemies in this entry are of the 'slowly walk forward, and then lunge towards you' variety. Even at its most braindead, combat in Fatal Frame is still fun thanks to its multiple special moves and unique feel, but I often felt more scared outside of combat than within it, which is maybe not ideal for a game about fighting scary ghosts. The endgame also loves throwing some real film sponges your way, which I thought made the game's final levels drag on a bit longer than they should have.
With an interesting plot, excellent direction, and endless dread, Fatal Frame 4 does everything you could hope for. While its combat can be a bit too easy and the game runs out of gas towards the end, it's still a terrifying and completely unique experience from the most underappreciated horror IP in gaming. If you like horror games and don't need constant action to keep your attention, Fatal Frame 4 is a must play.
Written and partially directed by Suda51, Fatal Frame 4 dares to dream of what would happen if dementia were contagious, and if it spread simply by looking at an afflicted person. The answer is as devastating as you can imagine, complete annihilation. What a wonderful topic for a horror game, and unlike many of the game franchises in its wheelhouse Fatal Frame is the one where every design decision is focused purely on horror. Want to open a door? You're treated to an almost OG Resident Evil level door opening animation, every single time, occasionally accompanied by a spooky cut to a fixed angle. Want to pick up an item? That'll be a 5-10 second long interaction, with a small chance of a surprise jump scare every time. Want to run fast away from a threat? Fatal Frame laughs in your face, the sprint button in these games being a facade implemented purely to frustrate and annoy you. These games want to scare you, they want to scare the SHIT out of you, and nothing else matters. While not the scariest or most surprising Fatal Frame game, Fatal Frame 4 still managed to scare me quite frequently because of those aforementioned design decisions and some truly excellent atmosphere and level design.
Fatal Frame 4 is set primarily in a large hospital which is divided into two sections. You explore them both individually with different characters before both sections connect near the end of the game. This large level is so well designed, with several pathways leading to whatever objective you're headed for. The game will always guide you down one specific path, but the adventurous player that chooses another route will almost always be delighted to find completely unique encounters and scares down whatever route they choose. I let my guard down while exploring early on, and almost hada heart attack when a room I'd already explored a mile away from my objective suddenly exploded with activity, locking me into a fight with three enemies simultaneously - a lot to handle with only one measly magic camera. It felt great to know that the developers considered other ways players would choose to explore the game world, and once this happened I never felt I could let my guard down for even a moment. Horror perfection. The sound design deserves a special mention, too. So many rooms have a unique and awful flavor all their own thanks to the subtle soundtrack and all sorts of horrible creaks and gasps of air. You never feel safe because the oppressive soundscape never lets up.
Combat in Fatal Frame 4 is perhaps the easiest of any game in the franchise, thanks to both its dedicated lock on button and surprising lack of difficult spirits. Towards the end of the game there are definitely a few recurring threats that present a real challenge, but for the most part the enemies in this entry are of the 'slowly walk forward, and then lunge towards you' variety. Even at its most braindead, combat in Fatal Frame is still fun thanks to its multiple special moves and unique feel, but I often felt more scared outside of combat than within it, which is maybe not ideal for a game about fighting scary ghosts. The endgame also loves throwing some real film sponges your way, which I thought made the game's final levels drag on a bit longer than they should have.
With an interesting plot, excellent direction, and endless dread, Fatal Frame 4 does everything you could hope for. While its combat can be a bit too easy and the game runs out of gas towards the end, it's still a terrifying and completely unique experience from the most underappreciated horror IP in gaming. If you like horror games and don't need constant action to keep your attention, Fatal Frame 4 is a must play.
2023
While I've respected the franchise from afar for a very long time, my first Fire Emblem game was Three Houses. I loved that game. I loved it a lot. But despite its promise of 4 separate story campaigns, I never felt much desire to go back to it after my first playthrough was finished. The combat wasn't good enough, the pacing was downright bad, and I rarely felt as if I was doing anything but going through the motions at all times. A great game, for sure, but one plagued by playability issues that couldn't be papered over by its interesting stories and attractive characters. Fire Emblem Engage does not have those same issues, instead opting to solve those problems and have new issues entirely the opposite.
It's been said a lot that this game is the sharp opposite of Three Houses, and it's been said for good reason. Engage does not have a great story, or even a good ones. It does not have interesting characters, or emotional resonance, or difficult decision making that has serious consequences for the game's plot. What it does have is a bunch of awesome maps, baby. I had more fun tackling single maps in this game than I had throughout the entirety of Three House's entire campaign. Between the unique Engage mechanics, the reworked weapon triangle, and the host of new classes that synergize with one another, it's just fun as hell to play. You're always making decisions about how to classify and teclassify your units, what weapons to give them, what rings they should wear, where do they start, how should they maneuver, there is SO MUCH. It can be overwhelming, but it's always satisfying. The UI does an excellent job of giving you all the information you need, and the (mostly optional) fluff between battle can help provide additional assistance if you decide that you need it. It's a great system and I hope vestiges of it remain in future games.
That story though, it really is pretty rough. It's a very simple story, and one clearly told with one-and-a-half eyes focused very intently on budget. Most characters appear, at least at first, to be paper thin anime stereotypes, to the point that many of their supports become punishing to sit through. Seriously, it isn't good. Fortunately, all this represents the vast minority of what your time in Fire Emblem Engage will be spent doing. This is a game that knows well its strengths, and loves nothing more than to press you with them.
Overall, yeah, it's what you've heard. Great gameplay, bad story. But the gameplay is so good and the story so unintrusive that there's no good reason for any Fire Emblem fan to pass on this game. It's a winner.
It's been said a lot that this game is the sharp opposite of Three Houses, and it's been said for good reason. Engage does not have a great story, or even a good ones. It does not have interesting characters, or emotional resonance, or difficult decision making that has serious consequences for the game's plot. What it does have is a bunch of awesome maps, baby. I had more fun tackling single maps in this game than I had throughout the entirety of Three House's entire campaign. Between the unique Engage mechanics, the reworked weapon triangle, and the host of new classes that synergize with one another, it's just fun as hell to play. You're always making decisions about how to classify and teclassify your units, what weapons to give them, what rings they should wear, where do they start, how should they maneuver, there is SO MUCH. It can be overwhelming, but it's always satisfying. The UI does an excellent job of giving you all the information you need, and the (mostly optional) fluff between battle can help provide additional assistance if you decide that you need it. It's a great system and I hope vestiges of it remain in future games.
That story though, it really is pretty rough. It's a very simple story, and one clearly told with one-and-a-half eyes focused very intently on budget. Most characters appear, at least at first, to be paper thin anime stereotypes, to the point that many of their supports become punishing to sit through. Seriously, it isn't good. Fortunately, all this represents the vast minority of what your time in Fire Emblem Engage will be spent doing. This is a game that knows well its strengths, and loves nothing more than to press you with them.
Overall, yeah, it's what you've heard. Great gameplay, bad story. But the gameplay is so good and the story so unintrusive that there's no good reason for any Fire Emblem fan to pass on this game. It's a winner.
2023
Resident Evil 4 is a Remake of my favorite video game of all time. I'm not opposed to Remakes in theory, but my one hope always is that a remake of a great game contains something its soul that separates it from the original experience. A perfectly faithful remake of an already perfect video game is a complete waste of time and effort. What this remake needed to be spectacular is to maintain the feeling of an always surprising journey that made the original so immediately impactful, while building a unique core of mechanics and encounters to help give it a different identity. After spending 50 hours and 4 playthroughs with this remake, I'm very happy to conclude that the team at Capcom have succeeded with flying colors.
This remake loses a lot of what makes the original game special, let's be clear. All of the villains have been drained of their personality, and the removal of stop-n-pop for more contemporary action combat means the chunky arcadey feel of the original has been lost. But in its place, RE4 Remake contains elements just as special. While the villains have lost their charm, Luis and Ashley feel much more robust and enjoyable to be around, with Ashley in particular being so charming that it actually feels bad when she and Leon get separated now. And the changes to combat - and critically, the combat encounters - have replaced that original satisfying feeling with a palpable intensity and catharsis all its own. Kicking the ass of a difficult sequence no longer feels like a victory of optimization, but a victory of grit and skill. Boss fights have largely been reworked for the better too, with the new version of Salazar and Saddler being the most obvious improvements.
One of the greatest aspects of the original game was its breakneck white-knuckle pacing, and while Remake definitely stumbles a bit more, it never loses its footing. The middle section of the castle is an absolutely genius rework, with encounters both old and entirely new being stitched together in a sequence so astonishingly fun it blows my mind even now. Chapter 11 in this game might seriously be the best level in video games, it's that good. The reworked economy system in this game also helps the game stand out from its original, while still maintaining the aspects that made it fun.
I think that's a perfect summation. This Remake takes everything that made Resident Evil 4 the GOAT and alters them to suit a newer, sleeker package. Not as a replacement, or even a refinement, but as a companion that can stand shining just alongside it. A masterpiece all its own.
This remake loses a lot of what makes the original game special, let's be clear. All of the villains have been drained of their personality, and the removal of stop-n-pop for more contemporary action combat means the chunky arcadey feel of the original has been lost. But in its place, RE4 Remake contains elements just as special. While the villains have lost their charm, Luis and Ashley feel much more robust and enjoyable to be around, with Ashley in particular being so charming that it actually feels bad when she and Leon get separated now. And the changes to combat - and critically, the combat encounters - have replaced that original satisfying feeling with a palpable intensity and catharsis all its own. Kicking the ass of a difficult sequence no longer feels like a victory of optimization, but a victory of grit and skill. Boss fights have largely been reworked for the better too, with the new version of Salazar and Saddler being the most obvious improvements.
One of the greatest aspects of the original game was its breakneck white-knuckle pacing, and while Remake definitely stumbles a bit more, it never loses its footing. The middle section of the castle is an absolutely genius rework, with encounters both old and entirely new being stitched together in a sequence so astonishingly fun it blows my mind even now. Chapter 11 in this game might seriously be the best level in video games, it's that good. The reworked economy system in this game also helps the game stand out from its original, while still maintaining the aspects that made it fun.
I think that's a perfect summation. This Remake takes everything that made Resident Evil 4 the GOAT and alters them to suit a newer, sleeker package. Not as a replacement, or even a refinement, but as a companion that can stand shining just alongside it. A masterpiece all its own.
One of the all time great video games is somehow made even better with this loving remaster. Metroid Prime in 2002 was often referred to as a game that felt plucked out of the future, and that hypothesis has been proven correct by this remaster. Over two decades later and the game still feels current. A slight update to the control scheme and an overall of the graphics to modernize them is all the game needed to immediately slot in as one of the best games of the 2020s so far. Retro's design work on the original game is legendary, and I think their artistic work on this remaster will wind up spoken of in similar regard.
Remasters almost feel like they've become more commonplace in this industry than actual new video games, but it's easy to see why. It's a lot easier, cheaper, and faster to put out an old game with some sprucing up than it is to design a game from start to finish, and everything that entails. But it's clear that this was no rush job. Retro spent years updating every single asset in the game, new effects added, adding several customizable control schemes to ensure every player was taken care of, and then throwing a bunch of fun extras in with the model viewer. When it comes to faithful remasters, this is probably the best that's ever been done.
The game itself, well, it's Metroid Prime, unruined. Still the best playing 3D Metroid-style series, Prime somehow holds up remarkably today. It's a first person game where platforming feels better than it often does in third party games not made by Nintendo. Before Prime I reviewed the quite-good action platformer Hi-Fi Rush, and despite being 20 years older and in first person, Prime's platforming manages to feel light years beyond that game's. Combat is a bit weaker in this entry than the following two Prime games, but it does the job. Bosses are fairly infrequent but quite fun, with the final battle against the titular monster being a particular standout. Prime's biomes are gorgeous now, and its music? Almost unparalleled. These 20 year old MIDI tunes are more memorable than basically any video game music released nowadays, and the visuals, music, and general design of these areas all lead to a game that is just so wonderful to spend time in. The atmosphere is perfect. It's perfect.
It's a perfect game. If you own a Switch, you need to play Metroid Prime. It's not even my favorite of the trilogy, but it's the one that does every single thing a video game can do to a very high degree of quality. The others do some things better and some things worse, but you'll be hard-pressed to find any video game even now that executes on every single possible level as highly and as effortlessly as Metroid Prime.
Remasters almost feel like they've become more commonplace in this industry than actual new video games, but it's easy to see why. It's a lot easier, cheaper, and faster to put out an old game with some sprucing up than it is to design a game from start to finish, and everything that entails. But it's clear that this was no rush job. Retro spent years updating every single asset in the game, new effects added, adding several customizable control schemes to ensure every player was taken care of, and then throwing a bunch of fun extras in with the model viewer. When it comes to faithful remasters, this is probably the best that's ever been done.
The game itself, well, it's Metroid Prime, unruined. Still the best playing 3D Metroid-style series, Prime somehow holds up remarkably today. It's a first person game where platforming feels better than it often does in third party games not made by Nintendo. Before Prime I reviewed the quite-good action platformer Hi-Fi Rush, and despite being 20 years older and in first person, Prime's platforming manages to feel light years beyond that game's. Combat is a bit weaker in this entry than the following two Prime games, but it does the job. Bosses are fairly infrequent but quite fun, with the final battle against the titular monster being a particular standout. Prime's biomes are gorgeous now, and its music? Almost unparalleled. These 20 year old MIDI tunes are more memorable than basically any video game music released nowadays, and the visuals, music, and general design of these areas all lead to a game that is just so wonderful to spend time in. The atmosphere is perfect. It's perfect.
It's a perfect game. If you own a Switch, you need to play Metroid Prime. It's not even my favorite of the trilogy, but it's the one that does every single thing a video game can do to a very high degree of quality. The others do some things better and some things worse, but you'll be hard-pressed to find any video game even now that executes on every single possible level as highly and as effortlessly as Metroid Prime.
2023
Sometimes a game just captures your heart so immediately and so completely that it takes a little time for the gloss to wear off so you can view that game with anything other than "holy shit oh my god I LOVE THIS" lenses. Hi-Fi Rush is the most recent example for me, a new entry in my favorite genre of video game from the team behind The Evil Within 2, one of my favorite games in the last five years. With an unbelievably gorgeous style, music by some of my favorite bands, and incredibly charming writing and characters. "It's like they made this game just for me." It's the sort of game that makes a weirdo like me feel seen. Then, eventually, the gloss wears down, and you can actually analyze the game for what it is. And to its credit, even without the hype and the veneer of self-validation, Hi Fi Rush is still a damn good time.
Hi Fi Rush is the first effort from Tango Gameworks to create a character action game in the style of Devil May Cry, and boy does it feel like it. All the core elements of the genre are there - you've got combat encounters where the boundaries of the room close off, you've got a focus on combo sequencing, you can buy new moves in the shop, it's all there, and it's exceptionally polished and very fun to execute. The rhythm aspect adds a touch of uniqueness to a game that would otherwise feel like a by-the-numbers DMC clone, and that goes a long way to giving the game its own mechanical identity. Unfortunately, that's about all the game has to offer in terms of combat variety. You get a few partners you can call in for assist attacks, but their usage is pretty limited and they seem to exist primarily so they can add really annoying enemies to encounters. Enemies who have to be hit twice with a partner attack to take real damage, which means calling the partner in, hoping they hit the right enemy (there's no lock-on system!), and then waiting for them to recharge and doing it again. It's unnecessary tedium in a game that already struggles with combat variety, because you only get one weapon. It's a fun one, but it's the only one you got.
Presentation in HFR is exceptional. Not only are the licensed tracks all heaters, but a lot of the in-house music is good at its worst, with a few real standouts in the pile. Voice acting is excellent and really brings the loveable cast to life, and anyone who's seen this game will tell you that visual style and particularly the animations are some of the best the video game medium has ever seen. It's a incredible experience to behold, and it all comes together silky smooth and goes down easy. Tango deserves all the credit in the world, because every aspect of the way this game looke and sounds is spectacular. There won't be a more immediately charming gaming for years to come.
One other area where HFR flounders a bit is with its pacing. The combat, as discussed above, is pretty enjoyable when you're actually doing it. But the vast vast majority of its levels are spent walking/dashing through generally samey looking corridors and doing clunky platforming with the most vertical jump in video games. The fight-to-wandering ratio is way off. People complained about this in Bayonetta 3, but I think it's far worse here. A few late game levels don't suffer from this issue nearly as much, but the bulk of the game does, and for a genre that places more importance on replays than that first time experience this is almost a death sentence for maintaining player interest.
Bosses are a mixed bag. A few are excellent, and a few (including the final boss, unfortunately) are pretty messy. The final boss commits the cardinal action game sin of forcing you to wait around for him to do certain attacks before he's vulnerable, making that entire section of the fight a frustrating slog. But when you're fighting the bosses that kick ass, and you're flowing with the music, dodging attacks and landing specials, it really is one of the best feelings in video games.
Hi-Fi Rush is one of the best looking games ever made, and its combat and story are no slouches either. Between its loveable characters, unique central gimmick, and effortless charm it's a game destined to go down as a cult classic. But a few issues with tedious enemies, bad pacing, and poor boss design hold it back from being one of the greats in its genre. What's most exciting about Hi-Fi Rush is its potential sequel. John Johanas and the team at Tango are incredible talents, so I have little doubt that a sequel will polish up these rough edges and give us a game that can sit proudly at the very top of the character action world.
Hi Fi Rush is the first effort from Tango Gameworks to create a character action game in the style of Devil May Cry, and boy does it feel like it. All the core elements of the genre are there - you've got combat encounters where the boundaries of the room close off, you've got a focus on combo sequencing, you can buy new moves in the shop, it's all there, and it's exceptionally polished and very fun to execute. The rhythm aspect adds a touch of uniqueness to a game that would otherwise feel like a by-the-numbers DMC clone, and that goes a long way to giving the game its own mechanical identity. Unfortunately, that's about all the game has to offer in terms of combat variety. You get a few partners you can call in for assist attacks, but their usage is pretty limited and they seem to exist primarily so they can add really annoying enemies to encounters. Enemies who have to be hit twice with a partner attack to take real damage, which means calling the partner in, hoping they hit the right enemy (there's no lock-on system!), and then waiting for them to recharge and doing it again. It's unnecessary tedium in a game that already struggles with combat variety, because you only get one weapon. It's a fun one, but it's the only one you got.
Presentation in HFR is exceptional. Not only are the licensed tracks all heaters, but a lot of the in-house music is good at its worst, with a few real standouts in the pile. Voice acting is excellent and really brings the loveable cast to life, and anyone who's seen this game will tell you that visual style and particularly the animations are some of the best the video game medium has ever seen. It's a incredible experience to behold, and it all comes together silky smooth and goes down easy. Tango deserves all the credit in the world, because every aspect of the way this game looke and sounds is spectacular. There won't be a more immediately charming gaming for years to come.
One other area where HFR flounders a bit is with its pacing. The combat, as discussed above, is pretty enjoyable when you're actually doing it. But the vast vast majority of its levels are spent walking/dashing through generally samey looking corridors and doing clunky platforming with the most vertical jump in video games. The fight-to-wandering ratio is way off. People complained about this in Bayonetta 3, but I think it's far worse here. A few late game levels don't suffer from this issue nearly as much, but the bulk of the game does, and for a genre that places more importance on replays than that first time experience this is almost a death sentence for maintaining player interest.
Bosses are a mixed bag. A few are excellent, and a few (including the final boss, unfortunately) are pretty messy. The final boss commits the cardinal action game sin of forcing you to wait around for him to do certain attacks before he's vulnerable, making that entire section of the fight a frustrating slog. But when you're fighting the bosses that kick ass, and you're flowing with the music, dodging attacks and landing specials, it really is one of the best feelings in video games.
Hi-Fi Rush is one of the best looking games ever made, and its combat and story are no slouches either. Between its loveable characters, unique central gimmick, and effortless charm it's a game destined to go down as a cult classic. But a few issues with tedious enemies, bad pacing, and poor boss design hold it back from being one of the greats in its genre. What's most exciting about Hi-Fi Rush is its potential sequel. John Johanas and the team at Tango are incredible talents, so I have little doubt that a sequel will polish up these rough edges and give us a game that can sit proudly at the very top of the character action world.
The internet, with its haze of anonymity, clouds who we are. It obfuscates us from others and ourselves. We become other people, not just online but in person, either emphasizing the pieces of ourselves we think others prefer or by inventing new selves out of wholecloth. In fits and spurts we remove ourselves from ourselves, and our presentation becomes what we are. One day you'll wake up a stranger. The mask is glued on. Maybe this mask makes you hurt people, but the eyeholes are too small to see the world clearly. Eventually, the distinction between the mask and your real face fails to matter. You are what you are, and you do what you do.
All this is to say that Majoras Mask is a much better written exploration of personas than any Persona game. For all that's been said of this game's themes of death and acceptance, I think that its themes of identity have fallen a bit by the wayside, as on the surface that's a much less creepypasta idea. But ultimately I think it's a topic just as important to the game as the inevitability of ones death, if not even moreso. The Song of Healing is the game's most iconic song, and what does that song do? It removes masks, by reminding its wearers of who they really are.
Look at Pamela's father. Obsessed with his study of undead creatures, death comes for him and he begins to transform into one of them. His daughter locks him in the closet, where he waits, consumed by something that is not himself, compelled to cause pain. When you heal him, the mask falls rattling to the floor. He hugs his daughter, a person he's caused great fear and anguish.
"What have I been doing this whole time?" He asks her, confused and afraid.
"You haven't been doing anything." She sobs into his chest. "You were having a bad dream."
I've had bad dreams like that too. I'm sure many of us have. Clouded by a desire to fit in, or to appeal in a way we might naturally lack, we dream ourselves into monsters until one day there's nothing else, and the people we once loved remember us for who we used to be. It is a terrible sadness to lose ones self, and this is the true tragedy of Majoras Mask.
When the Skull Kid his free, he looks up towards the Giants, who very narrowly prevented him from destroying the entire world, killing everybody within it.
"You guys... you hadn't forgotten about me?" He looks down at the ground, hiding his face, whole body shaking with emotion. "You still thought of me as a friend?"
Life is hard and life is long. We will forget ourselves, it is inevitable. But if our truest selves are good to others, than it is those others who can bring us back to who we are. A life is not defined by the good or the bad that we do, but by the Self we return to in the moments between. With kindness, with love, with conviction, we can stop ourselves and stop the ones we care about from hurting. When we die, the only face we wear can't be changed. Don't let it be a mask.
All this is to say that Majoras Mask is a much better written exploration of personas than any Persona game. For all that's been said of this game's themes of death and acceptance, I think that its themes of identity have fallen a bit by the wayside, as on the surface that's a much less creepypasta idea. But ultimately I think it's a topic just as important to the game as the inevitability of ones death, if not even moreso. The Song of Healing is the game's most iconic song, and what does that song do? It removes masks, by reminding its wearers of who they really are.
Look at Pamela's father. Obsessed with his study of undead creatures, death comes for him and he begins to transform into one of them. His daughter locks him in the closet, where he waits, consumed by something that is not himself, compelled to cause pain. When you heal him, the mask falls rattling to the floor. He hugs his daughter, a person he's caused great fear and anguish.
"What have I been doing this whole time?" He asks her, confused and afraid.
"You haven't been doing anything." She sobs into his chest. "You were having a bad dream."
I've had bad dreams like that too. I'm sure many of us have. Clouded by a desire to fit in, or to appeal in a way we might naturally lack, we dream ourselves into monsters until one day there's nothing else, and the people we once loved remember us for who we used to be. It is a terrible sadness to lose ones self, and this is the true tragedy of Majoras Mask.
When the Skull Kid his free, he looks up towards the Giants, who very narrowly prevented him from destroying the entire world, killing everybody within it.
"You guys... you hadn't forgotten about me?" He looks down at the ground, hiding his face, whole body shaking with emotion. "You still thought of me as a friend?"
Life is hard and life is long. We will forget ourselves, it is inevitable. But if our truest selves are good to others, than it is those others who can bring us back to who we are. A life is not defined by the good or the bad that we do, but by the Self we return to in the moments between. With kindness, with love, with conviction, we can stop ourselves and stop the ones we care about from hurting. When we die, the only face we wear can't be changed. Don't let it be a mask.
2022
The 2018 reboot of God of War was a great game. A personal story told in a unique and interesting fashion, it took the original franchise and de-emphasized the combat and puzzles in favor of its story and characters. While not always a worthwhile change of focus, this approach worked more often than it didn't, and the result was a great revival of the franchise that had a lot to build on. With its systems in place and plenty of time and budget to hammer out an excellent sequel, it seemed fated that God of War Ragnarok would be a landmark title, a surefire banger that excels in both its playability and its storytelling. It is an ironic twist, then, that Ragnarok breaks from this prophecy and is instead downgrade from its predecessor in just about every conceivable way.
Ditching the highly personal story of 2018, Ragnarok is a much bigger and meatier game - you frequently swap both playable characters and AI controlled partners, journeying the Nine Realms in a series of levels both linear and sprawling. The cast grows exponentially over 2018, but this increase in scale does not mesh with the returning one-shot perspective trick that 2018 utilized to such great effect. The result is a game that feels cumbersome and slow, its pace dreadful and its transitions from scene to scene occasionally ridiculous as the game strains both the story and its own believability to transition from scene to scene without cutting the camera. Ragnarok feels much more uneven than its predecessor, and while it takes big swings a lot of them fall completely flat, or land in a different stadium altogether. Several "big moments" that were intended to cause tension or shock just made me laugh instead, something the game's endless attempts at being purposefully funny rarely made me do. A few of these moments do land, and it's telling that these highlights are often the brief moments where the game returns to the heart and soul of its predecessor, focusing on Kratos' relationship with both Atreus and himself.
The combat overall has been improved, with more enemies to kill and more moves and abilities to use and customize to your liking. But the close over the shoulder perspective from 2018 remains, and a lot of Ragnarok's encounters feel like a poor fit for this system. On many occasions I found myself thinking that a boss or arena battle would have been much more fun if the camera were zoomed out, and the game returned to the perspective of the original trilogy or even found some Devil May Cry-like mesh between the two. As-is, the game's combat is often just as cumbersome as it is satisfying.
One of the biggest issues I had with 2018 was its level design - a lot of slow climbs and empty hallways that might be fine your first time through, but these games are designed for you to return to these areas later on to face new challenges, and doing so is miserable. Slowly paddling over to an island you've already been to three times because you found an item on the other side of the world that spawns a new treasure there, or climbing a mountain using automatic handholds for the fifth time because the devs refused to put a fast-climb point at the top. It all gets so slow and annoying, and as the game goes on this "filler" time only increases. This is a long, long game, taking around 50 hours to see everything on Hard difficulty, and a significant chunk of that time is spent slowly moving between waypoints on the map, the downtime droll at best.
A lot of little annoyances like that spoil the moments where the game can be great. Why do I have to return to a waypoint to fast travel, and why are they often in obnoxious locations? Why do I have to wait five seconds after I die of I don't want to use my resurrection stone? Why won't anyone shut the fuck up? Ragnarok does hit some great emotional beats and have some likeable characters and fun boss fights, but between its terrible pacing, poor writing, frazzled focus, and complete and total lack of replayability, it stands singular as one of the biggest downgrades a sequel has had from its direct predecessor in recent memory. As middling as they come.
Ditching the highly personal story of 2018, Ragnarok is a much bigger and meatier game - you frequently swap both playable characters and AI controlled partners, journeying the Nine Realms in a series of levels both linear and sprawling. The cast grows exponentially over 2018, but this increase in scale does not mesh with the returning one-shot perspective trick that 2018 utilized to such great effect. The result is a game that feels cumbersome and slow, its pace dreadful and its transitions from scene to scene occasionally ridiculous as the game strains both the story and its own believability to transition from scene to scene without cutting the camera. Ragnarok feels much more uneven than its predecessor, and while it takes big swings a lot of them fall completely flat, or land in a different stadium altogether. Several "big moments" that were intended to cause tension or shock just made me laugh instead, something the game's endless attempts at being purposefully funny rarely made me do. A few of these moments do land, and it's telling that these highlights are often the brief moments where the game returns to the heart and soul of its predecessor, focusing on Kratos' relationship with both Atreus and himself.
The combat overall has been improved, with more enemies to kill and more moves and abilities to use and customize to your liking. But the close over the shoulder perspective from 2018 remains, and a lot of Ragnarok's encounters feel like a poor fit for this system. On many occasions I found myself thinking that a boss or arena battle would have been much more fun if the camera were zoomed out, and the game returned to the perspective of the original trilogy or even found some Devil May Cry-like mesh between the two. As-is, the game's combat is often just as cumbersome as it is satisfying.
One of the biggest issues I had with 2018 was its level design - a lot of slow climbs and empty hallways that might be fine your first time through, but these games are designed for you to return to these areas later on to face new challenges, and doing so is miserable. Slowly paddling over to an island you've already been to three times because you found an item on the other side of the world that spawns a new treasure there, or climbing a mountain using automatic handholds for the fifth time because the devs refused to put a fast-climb point at the top. It all gets so slow and annoying, and as the game goes on this "filler" time only increases. This is a long, long game, taking around 50 hours to see everything on Hard difficulty, and a significant chunk of that time is spent slowly moving between waypoints on the map, the downtime droll at best.
A lot of little annoyances like that spoil the moments where the game can be great. Why do I have to return to a waypoint to fast travel, and why are they often in obnoxious locations? Why do I have to wait five seconds after I die of I don't want to use my resurrection stone? Why won't anyone shut the fuck up? Ragnarok does hit some great emotional beats and have some likeable characters and fun boss fights, but between its terrible pacing, poor writing, frazzled focus, and complete and total lack of replayability, it stands singular as one of the biggest downgrades a sequel has had from its direct predecessor in recent memory. As middling as they come.
2005
Capcom released Haunting Ground for the Playstation 2 in May of 2005, sandwiched in between the Gamecube and PS2 releases of Resident Evil 4. With that context, it's no surprise that Haunting Ground wound up both middlingly received by critics and completely overlooked by gamers at the time. "The future," they thought, "is over there." At first glance Haunting Ground seems antiquated and droll. Fixed camera angles, hiding from stalkers, no upgradeable shotguns. Haunting Ground may have seemed like regression, something to be beaten back after having just tasted the sweet sweet nectar of Resident Evil 4. But it's not 2005 anymore, and hiding from scary enemies while solving puzzles has come back in vogue. It's impossible to search through Youtube or Twitch without being assaulted by a litany of videos thumbnailed by a man screaming in terror at a game you've never heard of, a game that is proably about hiding in a closet while waiting for some kind of freak to walk away. That most common element of modern day horror games forms the base component of Haunting Ground, and if Haunting Ground were just this it would still be a successful enough horror game. It's what Haunting Ground uses that baseline to become that turns it from Acceptable Horror Game into a game that I think is an all-time horror classic.
Haunting Ground casts you as Fiona Belli, a young woman who wakes up naked in a cage in a shack behind a giant castle. Not ideal. Within 15 minutes it becomes clear that your parents are dead, you can't leave, and the castle's inhabitants are into some bizarre research and they want you for their schemes. From here the game is split into four separate 'chapters,' each involving a different primary entity hunting you down and each taking place at least partially in a separate segmented area of the castle. Fiona and her loyal pup Hewie have to explore the area, uncover items, and find the clues necessary to solve the puzzles scattered about the play area if they want to escape. All while being pursued by that section's primary antagonist. This sounds annoying on paper, and at first perhaps it can be. But the game is very smart about how it doles out its stalker characters. Each of the 4 have vast differences in the way they search the area for Fiona, and as you spend more time around them you become more and more familiar with their unique quirks. One likes to close doors behind them, slowing them down but cutting off your escape routes. One might have louder footsteps than the others but move more quickly, which turns evasion into something less strategic and more white-knuckle responsive. Unlike a lot of games of its type, Haunting Ground also provides you with a lot of options for dealing with these enemies once you've been found. From defensive items that can be both thrown and planted, to commands that allow Hewie to assist in various ways, and physical attacks Fiona herself can land on her assailants, the game manages to make you feel vulnerable without turning failure into a frustrating chase. It's a tightrope walk, but one the game pulls off with grace.
Getting familiar with the various enemy AIs is fun and satisfying, but would mean nothing if the play area itself wasn't fun to explore and master. Fortunately, Belli Castle and its grounds make for one of the most enjoyable and tense areas to explore in any horror game I can think of. The atmosphere is dense, unnerving but also inviting. Each room is detailed, and most have interactable objects that give interesting flavor text if nothing else. The shadowy corners and run down cabinets offer excellent places to hide from the game's stalkers, and also serve as tight and terrible places to be trapped in when the noose is tightening. The puzzles that these areas house are just as much the star of the game as its stalkers, with each area housing several elaborate, multiroom puzzles that must be studied and understood and then executed while the pressure is on. None of these are truly difficult, but they're momentary roadblocks that feel satisfying to overcome, not unlike a good Zelda puzzle. Often solving a puzzle will alter the area in some way to grant you a momentary repreive from your various harrassers, so solving them brings both satisfaction and relief.
The story of Haunting Ground is clunky and the game does occasionally stumble when dealing the maturity and complexity of its themes, but by and large I think this area too is a success. It's not often that a video game taps into a Giallo-esque portrayal of femininity and the cruelty of men, but Haunting Ground soundly utilizes that theme as the bedroot of the games horror. Fiona is objectified and victimized in every moment, and while occasionally it does become laughably ridiculous (her breast physics are for real outrageous) when the game wants to mine that topic for horror I think it does so very successfully. It's been 17 years as of this writing since the release of Haunting Ground, and earlier this year women in the United States lost the right to choose whether or not to terminate a pregnancy, unwanted or otherwise, in many states even in the cases of rape and incest. Even as a straight man, this eradication of human rights disgusts and disturbs, and its looming shadow is presented with stark clarity in Haunting Ground. A game older than most gamers that not only manages to feel more topical than most modern games, but far scarier than them because of it.
Haunting Ground is a triumph, a genuine landmark of the horror genre that went sadly overlooked because of the initial context of its release but that still surprises and delights and terrifies even today. It's not perfect - the controls can be clunky and Hewie's AI occasionally causes more frustration than feels intended - but most horror games made today could still learn a lot from it. Personally, I think Capcom is sitting on a goldmine here. A faithful remake of this game in the RE Engine that cleans up its controls, corrects those minor thematic miscues and tightens up the script, I really think could be a massive success in the modern environment. Oftentimes when I go back to these older titles and experience them for the first time I have the enlightening experience of seeing how those games became a part of how video games were designed from then on, like Resident Evil 4's camera angle or Devil May Cry's combat mechanics. With Haunting Ground, however, I had the much more fascinating experience of seeing a game that clearly still has a lot to give. It's a golden gem, waiting for its moment. I see it clearly. It might take another five or even ten years, but Haunting Ground is a moment of cultural significance waiting to happen. All it needs is the right push.
Haunting Ground casts you as Fiona Belli, a young woman who wakes up naked in a cage in a shack behind a giant castle. Not ideal. Within 15 minutes it becomes clear that your parents are dead, you can't leave, and the castle's inhabitants are into some bizarre research and they want you for their schemes. From here the game is split into four separate 'chapters,' each involving a different primary entity hunting you down and each taking place at least partially in a separate segmented area of the castle. Fiona and her loyal pup Hewie have to explore the area, uncover items, and find the clues necessary to solve the puzzles scattered about the play area if they want to escape. All while being pursued by that section's primary antagonist. This sounds annoying on paper, and at first perhaps it can be. But the game is very smart about how it doles out its stalker characters. Each of the 4 have vast differences in the way they search the area for Fiona, and as you spend more time around them you become more and more familiar with their unique quirks. One likes to close doors behind them, slowing them down but cutting off your escape routes. One might have louder footsteps than the others but move more quickly, which turns evasion into something less strategic and more white-knuckle responsive. Unlike a lot of games of its type, Haunting Ground also provides you with a lot of options for dealing with these enemies once you've been found. From defensive items that can be both thrown and planted, to commands that allow Hewie to assist in various ways, and physical attacks Fiona herself can land on her assailants, the game manages to make you feel vulnerable without turning failure into a frustrating chase. It's a tightrope walk, but one the game pulls off with grace.
Getting familiar with the various enemy AIs is fun and satisfying, but would mean nothing if the play area itself wasn't fun to explore and master. Fortunately, Belli Castle and its grounds make for one of the most enjoyable and tense areas to explore in any horror game I can think of. The atmosphere is dense, unnerving but also inviting. Each room is detailed, and most have interactable objects that give interesting flavor text if nothing else. The shadowy corners and run down cabinets offer excellent places to hide from the game's stalkers, and also serve as tight and terrible places to be trapped in when the noose is tightening. The puzzles that these areas house are just as much the star of the game as its stalkers, with each area housing several elaborate, multiroom puzzles that must be studied and understood and then executed while the pressure is on. None of these are truly difficult, but they're momentary roadblocks that feel satisfying to overcome, not unlike a good Zelda puzzle. Often solving a puzzle will alter the area in some way to grant you a momentary repreive from your various harrassers, so solving them brings both satisfaction and relief.
The story of Haunting Ground is clunky and the game does occasionally stumble when dealing the maturity and complexity of its themes, but by and large I think this area too is a success. It's not often that a video game taps into a Giallo-esque portrayal of femininity and the cruelty of men, but Haunting Ground soundly utilizes that theme as the bedroot of the games horror. Fiona is objectified and victimized in every moment, and while occasionally it does become laughably ridiculous (her breast physics are for real outrageous) when the game wants to mine that topic for horror I think it does so very successfully. It's been 17 years as of this writing since the release of Haunting Ground, and earlier this year women in the United States lost the right to choose whether or not to terminate a pregnancy, unwanted or otherwise, in many states even in the cases of rape and incest. Even as a straight man, this eradication of human rights disgusts and disturbs, and its looming shadow is presented with stark clarity in Haunting Ground. A game older than most gamers that not only manages to feel more topical than most modern games, but far scarier than them because of it.
Haunting Ground is a triumph, a genuine landmark of the horror genre that went sadly overlooked because of the initial context of its release but that still surprises and delights and terrifies even today. It's not perfect - the controls can be clunky and Hewie's AI occasionally causes more frustration than feels intended - but most horror games made today could still learn a lot from it. Personally, I think Capcom is sitting on a goldmine here. A faithful remake of this game in the RE Engine that cleans up its controls, corrects those minor thematic miscues and tightens up the script, I really think could be a massive success in the modern environment. Oftentimes when I go back to these older titles and experience them for the first time I have the enlightening experience of seeing how those games became a part of how video games were designed from then on, like Resident Evil 4's camera angle or Devil May Cry's combat mechanics. With Haunting Ground, however, I had the much more fascinating experience of seeing a game that clearly still has a lot to give. It's a golden gem, waiting for its moment. I see it clearly. It might take another five or even ten years, but Haunting Ground is a moment of cultural significance waiting to happen. All it needs is the right push.
2002
Coming away from Clock Tower 3, I find myself incredibly impressed by its technical achievements. It looks astonishingly good for its time, with real time cloth deformation, real time reflections, and absurdly busy animations in its cutscenes. What I'll take away from my time with Clock Tower 3 is that Capcom were masters of the Playstation 2, and that someone on this team really knew how to design a final boss. The stop-and-start nature of Clock Tower 3's goofy boss fights are fine but never anything beyond that, right up until that final boss. A tense, excellently designed battle that requires great execution and understanding of the boss' moveset to complete. It feels more like a fighting game than a horror game, particularly in the aesthetics of the scene.
All in all, a clunky and bizarre game but one with great pacing, a lot of love, and a bizzarely good final boss. It's super expensive to play on its original hardware but definitely worth emulating, it's definitely worth the 5 hours it takes to play through to completion.
All in all, a clunky and bizarre game but one with great pacing, a lot of love, and a bizzarely good final boss. It's super expensive to play on its original hardware but definitely worth emulating, it's definitely worth the 5 hours it takes to play through to completion.