how early is too early for me to call my shot on the quality of something? i'm not asking this to be facetious, i'm genuinely curious. the reason i ask is that i highly doubt the quality of rain world will falter from my current point in the game. i'm only about say, 3 or 4 hours in? and it's already one of the most impressive games i've played in my life. every frame has been filled with such grace and beauty, while every interaction with the world and it's ecosystem has been lung-crushingly tense at best and downright terrifying at worst. it's chewed me up and spit me out over and over again, but i keep coming back to push through the brutal struggle. if that's not a sign of a special game, i don't know what is.

after i finish the game i may make a vein attempt to write something more formal about it, and by extension probably remove this journal entry to clean up my page a little. for the time being i can only speak for my experience through the first few levels, but if this section is indicative of the quality of the game as a whole, I suspect i'll comfortably be able to call this a masterpiece.

As the start of a new mascot platforming series launching around the turn of the millennium, one might assume Sly Cooper and the Thievius Raccoonus would stand as nothing but a sloppy first step for a long abandoned IP, but I was delighted to realize this assumption of mine was misguided, at least for the most part. In an effort to make a title that stood out from other games released for the PS2 in 2002, as well as potentially compete with the competition on Nintendo's platform, Sucker Punch aimed to make a platformer that played as smoothly as the aesthetic it was draped under. Setting the game around a globe-trotting adventure following the escapades of a sneaky Raccoon and his fellow band of misfits was already a recipe for success as far as I was concerned, but managed to be elevated even further by its gameplay.

Following in the approach of its narrative, Sly Cooper leans into a more adventure oriented design philosophy when it comes to its various locales, focussing less on gamey platforming playgrounds and more on the feeling of scavenging through organic feeling levels and environments. One of my favorite elements to the game is absolutely the levels themselves, once you reach a new level, there's basically no breaks until you complete the objective at hand, which more often than not tasks the player with collecting a few trinkets that tie into the level itself in some way. While I could have gone without Sly’s disembodied head being scattered throughout levels to give you more lives, I love how the game goes out of its way to make some of its more gamey elements feel a bit more diegetic. You’re not breaking boxes to fill an imaginary quota or collecting Stars to bring power to a castle, you’re collecting keys to open locks or finding pages of Sly’s family handbook to unlock more abilities focussed on the art of thievery. The platforming is pretty basic compared to other games of its ilk, but these little elements go a long way towards making the experience stand out from the crowd.

Thankfully, even while traversal isn’t necessarily taxing, Sucker Punch added just enough flourishes to Sly’s kit to make progression feel smooth and satisfying for the entire runtime of the game. Through the use of a single multi-purpose stealth button, Sly is able to interact with the world around him in practically any way you see fit to sneak by undetected. Hiding along walls, climbing up poles, sneaking on overhead wires, you name it. Everything lends further credence to the idea that you’re a master thief sticking your nose in spots you're not supposed to.

Unfortunately, the game’s design cohesion is not completely airtight. My statement earlier on the levels feeling organic is only partially true. While it's correct that each individual section is laid out in a way that makes it feel like a more believable place, each area is generally connected to a central hub that splits off into segmented levels through Super Mario 64-esque portals where the game warps you to a new section of the map. Sadly this is an element to the experience I can’t say I’m fond of. It may feel pedantic to rag on something as small as this, but when the rest of the experience goes out of its way to feel organic in its pacing and progression, it makes something like this stand out pretty hard. I tend not to care about it in something as whimsical as SM64, but I suppose I expected something more, forward thinking(?) for a game with a world as confident and grounded as this (ironic given the fact that the leads are anthropomorphized animals scouring the globe for the missing pages of a book)

The strength of the level design also tends to get lost when you’re stuck performing arduous mini-games that are clearly only there to extend the runtime or occasionally give Sly’s fellow thieves something to do on the field. It was a bit of a shame to see such a colorful cast of characters mostly swept to the side in place of the admittedly fun and charismatic Sly. It makes me wish there were a version of this group where overcoming obstacles felt more like a collaborative effort, rather than Sly doing everything himself and dragging his friends along

I could go on about smaller nitpicks like the mostly forgettable bosses or other teeny world-breaking elements, but on the whole I greatly enjoyed my time with this. Despite my issues with how it all ties together, a strong foundation was clearly laid with this game and I don’t think that should go overlooked. All it would take is some rethinking of the level structure, some extra polish on the objectives, and maybe a better balance between the cast, and I think you'd have a game that truly makes the thief motif shine. (I wonder what a game like that would look like 🗿)

Recommended by Dr. Delicious on this list.

The end of last year was quite a hectic and stressful one for me, but having something I could easily pick up for 15 minutes on a lunch break or in-between other tasks to forget about the world around me was quite a comforting thing. Outrun's vibe is so electrifying and immediate, you boot up the game, pop in a credit, and just go. It was just the thing I needed to clear my mind of all the baggage I've had weighing on me lately. I've heard many complain that the game is over far too quickly, but I suspect this is either due to them looking at the game in relation to other more conventional lap-based racers, or just an admission that they don't have a firm grasp of the game's mechanics yet (completely understandable for a game designed to be played in short bursts with the pressure of a strict time limit, but unfortunate nonetheless)

I kinda knew going in that the game would fulfill my need for something comfy to slip into if I had the time, but I was pleasantly surprised by how neatly the game's mechanics would tie the whole experience together for me.

Simplifying the joy of driving a sports car down to the bare essentials not only widens the appeal of Outrun to everyone, but also trickles down into the moment-to-moment gameplay and creates a truly exhilarating experience in a way I wasn't expecting. The push-pull between the gear system and the absurdly strict timer is a particular highlight for me, having to choose whether or not to switch into the low gear for sharp turns or risk crashing is engaging enough on its own, but speed being the top priority encourages the player to make high risk maneuvers at every turn and always keeps the game from becoming dull.

To the game's detriment, there's not exactly much room for expression here (something I tend to crave in most games) but once the player gets to a point of mastery with the mechanics, that honestly ceases to matter. As soon as you cross the hurdle of learning when to shift gears, how to weave through traffic, or how to complete each route, the game comes full circle and morphs back into what made it so appealing to me in the first place. The track begins to melt away, and all that fills your focus is the horizon up ahead.

Life moves too quickly to focus on the past, so just buckle up and take life one turn at a time.

In my short time on this platform I've noticed that a not-insignificant portion of FromSoft fans tend to look back on Demon's Souls as nothing but a stepping stone to Dark Souls, and while DeS certainly laid the groundwork for a new sub-genre of adventure games that future titles would learn from, I don't think it's fair to sweep it under the rug as nothing but a prototype.

Something we tend to hear about in games criticism is the idea of conventional design. For example, a platformer that teaches a concept in a safe environment and tests your knowledge on the concept incrementally will likely be heralded as an example of good game design. It doesn't have to be a platformer, every genre under the sun tends to have games that follow what's expected, and more often than not those games see success over those that break the mold. This makes sense to a certain degree, something comfortable to the consumer is clearly a safe investment, odds are they'll be more satisfied with their purchase in the short term, etc. The fallacy here, of course, is the implication that the best games only stem from those that don't take risks, but looking at the most successful games of all time night trick you into believing this. Market trends continue to worm their way into every corner of the medium, allowing for higher profits for the higher ups at big companies leading to more disposable experiences (quick aside, but this is a big reason why i tend to be more cynical towards remakes these days. it's more profitable to take a classic title and reshape it to better fit in with modern standards rather than just preserve the art as it once was).

This is why a game like Demon's Souls slipping through the cracks is all the more fascinating to me. Back in an era where most devs fell into formulaic trappings that some would follow for the next decade, DeS not only made it to shelves in the tangled abrasive state it was in, but actually managed to resonate with it's playerbase. What other game was cool with you missing massive pieces of lore right before the final boss? What do you mean other players can join my world and punish me for successfully regaining my humanity? Even today, Demon's Souls was able to capture my attention in how it was somehow able to tie all these disparate gameplay elements together cohesively.

Now, it'd be foolish of me to write any piece on a Miyazaki-directed title without bringing up the difficulty, but to those of us who've played DeS, the way the game expects mastery from the player is more thoughtful than you might be led to believe. If there's one slice of the game that exemplifies this well, it's gotta be the cycle between soul form and human form. Starting the game with half your health slashed might be devastating to a first-time player, but it will surely teach them one thing: patience. After the player has carefully navigated the first level and taken down their first boss, they're rewarded with their humanity, but only for a fleeting moment. Since they know that this only lasts as long as they can handle, it will make them more cautious of traps and upcoming dangers, as the punishment for death will be severe. But even though they may lose their humanity in the moment, the reward for pushing through can't be understated. It's a brilliant little loop of design that not only keeps the player engaged throughout, but expertly threads the game's depressing mood and theming into the core gameplay. It's gameplay ideas like this that are so insane when stacked up against the larger gaming landscape, but the team behind the project had faith and passion in what they were creating, any potential accolades were secondary to the game itself.

Suffficed to say, it's very cathartic to see a game like Demon's Souls make an impact despite not even the publishers and higher ups at Sony believing in it. Even though Dark Souls was the game that changed the world in a more significant way, it wouldn't have turned out the way it did had Demon's Souls been adjusted to better fit in with the industry. Is it a game that can stumble over its own ideas occasionally? Sure. Are there clearly rough edges that slipped past QA that wouldn't have existed if the team had more experience? Absolutely. But we need more games that are willing to bend conventions and see what they can get away with. We need more rule breakers like Hidetaka Miyazaki that care about creating meaningful experiences above all else. Though even if all creativity was drained from humanity tomorrow and we only got slop for the rest of our existence, at least that wouldn't wash away the diamond in the rough that came to life against all odds.

Simply put, few games have managed to capture my soul quite as much as this, and that's probably the highest praise I can give.

DISCLAIMER: this review will spoil both the original game and official remake for Metroid II. If you're unfamiliar with how either play out, I'd strongly recommend playing the original first, and then the remake.

It's pretty easy to separate remakes into two distinct categories: those that are supplementary to the original (Final Fantasy VII Remake, Twin Snakes) and those that are replacements to the original (Demon's Souls, Shadow of the Colossus). I tend to be more apprehensive towards the latter, but that's not to say it can't be done well. With the right team at the helm (usually including the original designers) it's possible to create something truly special that polishes the original's shortcomings and reinvents what it represented without the constraints of it's era. I haven't played the Resident Evil Remake, but from what I'm told it's the best example of a game that repaints the original while still capturing the spirit and soul present in the PlayStation version.

Having said that, most replacement remakes tend to stumble over themselves and create a product that doesn't really do justice to the source material in any way. Samus Returns is no different.

Looking at it in a vaccum, it's a standard Metroid adventure. Many areas tend to blend into one another and the stop-and-start nature of combat got old quickly, but a lot of it is pretty familiar and comfortable if you're familiar with the series. Looking at it in the context of the source material is where it really starts to fall apart in my eyes.

Much of the charm of Return of Samus was how cramped and stressful the whole journey was. The first game presented a complete mirror of the Zelda series that felt both swashbuckling and mysterious with it's alien world while still feeling like an adventure. It's sequel, by comparison, wasn't nearly as pleasant and leaned more into a psudo-horror atmosphere. You were tasked with exterminating an entire alien race, and the game quite fittingly was upsetting to trek through. Traversing the caves of SR388 always felt tense, the limited visibility meant you never knew what was around every corner, and the Metroid encounters were a mad scramble to stay alive more than anything. Nothing about it felt triumphant. While repetitive towards the end, each subsequent Metroid encounter would eventually feel as if you're just filling a quota, like you're just clocking in for a drab job only to slog through the day and clock out. It was interesting to see Samus not only get tasked with commiting genocide on an alien planet, but for it to be presented without any of the energy you might expect. And yet, in one final subversive gesture, it doesn't end on a sour note. Samus comes across a Metroid hatchling, and instead of greeting it with hostility, she changes her tone and takes it back to the federation. One would expect a game like this to end in bombast, yet the player gets a moment of quiet relief. The mission was over, there was no need for any more violence or conflict. The galaxy was at peace.

Presumably in an effort to modernize the game and have it fall more in line with other popular titles, the official Metroid II remake manages to sand down nearly all distinct elements of the GameBoy classic and create a game that hardly resembles that which it's trying to replicate. It seems as though every change made in Samus Returns was made to make everything bigger, better, and louder. In place of pitch black dour caves you have brightly lit neon crystal formations, enemies are more aggressive promoting the use of your new parry action to make combat feel more "engaging", the list of changes is pretty massive and it'd be boring to just list them all. Instead, I think it'd be valuable to mention how these changes all fit together. In other words, each step in the remake progress was logical.

Newer games are expected to be bigger so they made the map bigger, and by extension added an actual map to track your progress. The lack of any map in the original is a big sticking point for many, but what makes it work is how you only needed to keep a small chunk of the map in your mind at any time, once you finish an area you can move on and never look back. It created a dizzying feeling while exploring, but the excellent layout and sprite designs guaranteed the player should never be lost for too long. Now that the world is massive, it'd be ridiculous to force the player to track it all in their brain, so the map makes some amount of sense. It just comes at a cost of the rewarding feeling players got by picking apart the world completely on their own.

More pressingly, the huge world greatly effects the thrill of hunting Metroids. In the original, not only could they spring up at any moment, but encounters never felt gamey for lack of a better term. Fights could take place in sand pits, cramped caves, or anywhere for that matter. They never felt like video game combat arenas, so the whole journey felt natural. The heart sinking feeling of finding a Metroid never lost it's spark since you never knew when they'd appear. Naturally, SR opts into a dedicated radar that beeps like a metal detector as you approach a Metroid removing the thrill of discovery, and every fight takes place in one of a handful of deliberately designed sterile arenas.

None of these elements stand up to the scrappy yet elegant design of the original, but the biggest blunder has got to be the overall tone and feel of the game. As I mentioned earlier, hunting Metroids in the original rarely felt fun. It was a nerve-wracking crawl through claustrophobic caves and generally just felt miserable. The remake instead wants the player to feel as cool as posible while shredding this world to pieces. Samus's parry is the most immediate example of this cheap pop of energy, but the series first of Cutscenes That Wrestle Control From The Player to Show You Something Sick Nasty From Samus is the most obnoxious. Walking into an unknown area and having control taken from me is the quickest way to let me know I'm in absolutely no danger, and anything that happens is bound to be awesome. Because nothing screams genocide like Samus backflipping off of an alien as she shoots it to death.

Not even the beautiful ending leaves unscathed, what used to be a calm reflective escape to your ship is now an action packed sprint through every basic enemy in the game's roster followed by the most embarrassing form of fanservice in the game, a brand new final boss against the most iconic villain of the series, Ridley. Of course the game with the most subversive ending had to end with bombast, that's what they always intended for with the classic violence free ending right?

The cherry on top is the baby Metroid itself, once a symbol of hope to strategically shift the tone before the end is now relegated to a key for item collection right after the Queen Metroid encounter, but before the final boss, leading to the most frustrating item cleanup in the series.

I recognize most of this write up has been me whining about why the remake fails when stacked up against the original, and while that may seem sloppy and unfair, it's only natural given the fact that they share a title. Samus Returns was meant to be a cozy return to form for the series, and in many ways it accomplished that goal. It's nice to see a series come back in a familiar setting after lying dormant for a decade, but that's never what the original was meant to be. It was a brand new adventure that didn't have to follow an arbitrary ruleset laid in place by the series legacy, it was an interesting sequel to a groundbreaking title and nothing else. These days people don't look fondly on Return of Samus, so this could have been a perfect opportunity for Mercury Steam to show the world what made the original so special in their own Resident Evil Remake moment. Instead what we got was a safe installment that proudly wears the series on its sleeve, but holds no reverence for the game that bore the title of Metroid II.

By all accounts this is a game I should probably detest, and in a lot of ways I definitely do, but there's something to this trainwreck that I can't help but admire.

Following in the painful trend of disregarding unique elements of the original in favor of later game's features and throwing in what's "hip" at the time, Twin Snakes opts to sand down any potential challenge the original had by making it play similar to Sons of Liberty, featuring first person aiming, hanging on ledges, lockers, and the dreaded M9 tranquillizer gun. All of this adds up to an experience that not only fails to add to the original in any meaningful way, but also runs the risk of ruining the perception of the original for future generations.

Having said that, at some point these changes boiled over in my mind and morphed the game into something completely new. Something funny?

I'm sure we're all aware of the "so bad it's good" label that gets thrown around for the consumption of art. People of all cultures and tastes are able to spin great enjoyment from the worst of the worst. Something like The Room immediately springs to mind as art that fails in almost every meaningful way the author was trying to accomplish, but has garnered a cult following that enjoys it dearly, presumably either to make fun of it or display adoration for the confidence and passion that went into it. I think games are harder to attain this status, as a level of interaction is required that isn't present in other mediums (from a distance a game like Devil May Cry 2 might be astonishing, but you couldn't pay me to play that game again) and as a result the "worst games ever made" usually just transform into a lesson for future designers to learn from and little else.

As you could probably imagine, I don't feel comfortable staking the claim that Twin Snakes is "so bad it's good" or nearly any other game in existence for that matter. Instead I've found a way to justify the game in my mind different from the one I've just described: I'd like to make the bold assertion that Twin Snakes shines not in spite of it's flanderization of the original, but because of it. Twin Snakes, with all the asinine gameplay additions and tacky Matrix-adjacent cutscene direction, doubles back on itself and becomes a parody of the original in a way I've never seen before.

It might sound hypocritical of me to hold up this disaster as a shining beacon of joy while talking down on other remakes that, for all intents and purposes, adjust the game in more "tasteful" ways (I'm not the biggest fan of the Shadow of the Colossus remake, but the only thing that actually changed in the process was the graphical overhaul, the game design itself remains near untouched) but hear me out on this. How many games do you know of, whether it be a remake or original title, can actually claim to be a genuine parody of something? I don't fully know why this game checks all the right boxes in my mind, but when I see Snake backflip to avoid a sniper shot only to flip his own rifle into the air like a skateboard and spin around before making a shot at his target, it feels like fireworks go off in my brain.

Given this admittedly-nebulous write up and my overall rating of the game, it's very possible this all comes across as the ramblings of an insane person, but that's what it feels like to sit down and experience the game.

Despite my best efforts I can't succinctly pin down my thoughts on this game. I expected to come in here and quickly describe it as a parody and little else, but as it tends to do, Twin Snakes managed to tangle itself in my mind and I can't get it out. In one moment I loathe all the additions to gameplay, but in the next I recall the quote on the back of the box stating that this was "the way it was always meant to be played" and I can't help but laugh.

Metal Gear Solid: The Twin Snakes is a nut that I can't seem to break open, but this new way of thinking about it has certainly made it crack. Split between two ends of the remake spectrum, it lands with the eloquence of a plane crash as a game I simultaneously can't stand but also adore. We may never see another game like it if in being honest. I don't have a final mic dropping statement on Twin Snakes as it's a piece of art that I constantly shuffle between two states of mind on, but hopefully if you've played the game yourself you understand the origin of my meandering around the point. I'd never in a million years want this game to replace the original in the public consciousness, but I think I'd hate just as much for this car crash to fade from our memory.

Super Mario Galaxy was always one of my favorite games growing up, but over the years I've drifted apart from that notion for reasons outside my understanding. Any time I would attempt to revisit the game, it never quite stuck the landing like it did during my magical first playthrough. Recently however, I think I realized what made this game stick out at the time, while falling short under my current standards for 3D Mario games.

It's honestly really simple, the game loves to show you impressive things, while never letting the player do anything interesting on their own.

Now I understand to a point why this may not bother a lot of people. Nintendo themselves have described 3D Mario games as falling under two categories: linear course clear games like Galaxy and 3D World, and sandbox games like 64 and Sunshine. The former dropping the player into one-off level concepts that railroad the player, with the latter letting the player find the fun for themselves within smaller playground-like levels. While these are both going for vastly different approaches in design, it's hard for me to look at them in a vacuum when one thing ties all of his games together regardless of dimension, and that's the joy of moving Mario around an environment.

Simply put, Super Mario Galaxy just does not control as well as other 3D Mario games, or many other 3D platformers for that matter. When talking about what Galaxy does well, people often lean on the level design, which is true to a point. While these levels take the planetoid concept and do really interesting things with them, the player doesn't have many options to make their own fun while completing these samey linear objectives. At least in a game with movement as simple as 3D World, the developers crafted an identity for every single stage, while Galaxy tends to send you down paths that only slightly differ in structure.

Now, an argument can be made that the levels are built around what Mario is capable of so it's foolish to complain about the controls, but to me, the levels can only be so fun when the playable character feels so sluggish. After all, a game is only as interesting as the characters that inhabit it, regardless of the genre. Even a game with levels as barren as Devil May Cry 4 houses some of the most interesting combat in the entire action genre. Developers should ideally strive to find a good middle ground between interesting movement and interesting level design, but I'll always personally prefer games that allow the player to make many interesting choices during gameplay.

I do not hate Super Mario Galaxy, the universe exploring concept still holds so much potential Nintendo has yet to tap into, but if they were to make a Galaxy 3, it may be in their best interest to rethink some of the fundamental design choices they made during the first two games. For now though, I'll just stick to 64 and Sunshine.

You know, I can almost envision a reality where this game received the notoriety it so clearly deserved, and it wouldn't take much strain to imagine. Given the time period in which the game launched, it had everything it needed to click with anyone who laid eyes on it: a bright and colorful cast of characters that felt ripped right out of the system they were made for, a story of super heroes fighting off an alien invasion during an era where The Avengers were exploding in popularity, quirky gameplay mechanics you'd come to expect from a company like Platinum Games, an all star team of action game designers who had the experience and passion needed to bring this crazy concept to life and flourish, the works. With Hideki Kamiya at the helm, there was no chance this game could possibly fail, regardless of the system it was launching on.

So what went wrong?

Clearly something didn’t click with people despite Platinum’s best efforts. There are many reasons this could be the case (unorthodox control scheme, confused marketing, niche appeal of the action genre, etc.) but it would be difficult to pin down one specific thing that turned people away.

In my eyes however, what matters most is not that the game lacked something to wrangle in the highest number of potential customers, but that the game did not restrain itself in what it sought out to do.

Let me set the scene for you: June 2020, one of the worst years in recent history and it refuses to let up. Due to the recent shutdown of my job given the status of the world at that time, I had devoted a lot of my free time to playing games, as many others in my position likely do as well. Everything in my life is starting to drag, and I can tell nothing will get better any time soon. However, there is a momentary glimmer of joy coming my way. The Wonderful 101 recently had an incredibly successful kickstarter, and having heard many positive things about the game, I decided to give it a blind shot. Many of my favorite games were action games, so while Platinum didn’t have a perfect track record in my experience, I was interested in trying something I knew so little about. Even if it was disappointing, it probably had some interesting elements to dig into.

I didn’t expect my expectations to be shattered like they were after finishing the game.

I’ve never played a game before that appealed to all my sensibilities like The Wonderful 101 does, and even after nearly 200 hours of play, I’m still picking up on new things to love that I never noticed before. I won’t bore you with the semantics, but every element of the game is emblematic of everything I love about the medium. The story felt cartoonish and stupid in all the best ways, the gameplay presented incredibly distinct systems to set it apart from other action games while tackling problems about the genre in interesting ways I had never considered before, and the whole experience was uncompromising in it’s vision in a truly inspiring way.

In many ways, The Wonderful 101 made me feel like a kid again and ignited a passion for life in my heart at a point where everything felt so aimless and dark. As this global pandemic slows down and eventually fades into nothingness, I’ll be sure to leave a lot of things from this era in the past, but this game is sure to stick with me for years to come.

Regardless of how you may feel about the final product, what can’t be denied is that The Wonderful 101 is everything it wanted to be and didn’t settle for less. And for the time period when it came into my life, that’s all I needed it to be.

Bayonetta 2 leaps off the screen in an explosive display of pride for the action genre. The colors pop and the visual design is off the charts. No longer does the game force cheap instant death QTEs on the player, but instead the occasional laid back mashing sequence that provides no immediate danger to the player, providing a power fantasy that isn’t anything new to the genre. On the whole the game is snapper, more vibrant, and is in contention for the best audio visual experience Platinum games has ever made. On the surface this game is a straight upgrade from Bayonetta 1, but that’s just the problem, it’s all just surface level. The more I played the game the more little things jumped out to me. The heavier enemies mean juggle combos aren’t as easy to attain, and occasionally your combo will be broken out of due to no fault of your own. To get around this the player has a new mechanic known as Umbran Climax, but to say it turns the game into a button masher would be an understatement. A thing I loved about the first game was how it was all balanced. One might assume that witch time was the defining central mechanic to skillful play, but in a shocking twist, the game removes this mechanic entirely on the highest difficulty, revealing that it was never essential to begin with. This was teased at certain points by enemies that couldn’t trigger witch time like gracious and glorious, but this revelatory moment is something that surely made people stick with the game even past the highest threshold of difficulty. In general, Platinum Games are really good about introducing a unique mechanic to the player, and then removing the training wheels by the end of the experience. They respect the player’s skill and let them go wild with newfound mastery of the game. But in Bayonetta 2, the use of Umbran Climax is essential for the sake of getting the best rank. More pressingly, this addition seeps into other facets of the game in a negative way. Most obvious is the major nerf to Bayonetta’s damage output. Possibly in an attempt to make Umbran Climax more enticing, Platinum opted to reduce the damage output of standard attacks dramatically from their power in the first game. This isn’t a terrible change on paper, but Bayo is so crippled here that fights end up dragging on for what feels like an eternity. In general there’s just not enough wiggle room for player expression in the game to warrant a 2nd playthrough. I’ve seen many players call Bayonetta 2 a better casual experience than the first game and I definitely agree. It's easier, less punishing, more flashy, and makes the player feel like a god from the start compared to the brutal challenge of Bayonetta 1. As a result, however, it loses all the thrill, tension, and escalation of the first game. I’m not sure what's in store for our favorite angel slayer, but with the impending release of Bayonetta 3 looming over our heads, one can only hope they don’t make the same mistakes they did with this game.

downwell is the best mobile game that should probably never be played on a mobile device. while the pick up and play nature of the game suits the mobile format quite nicely, the necessity for massive digital buttons on-screen could easily be a hinderance to play. the last thing you'd want would be for a run to fail due to not seeing what's down below or fumbling with the controls. that's not to say the game requires high dexterity, it only has 3 inputs after all, but in my experience it's better to use any controller you can get your hands on. in some ways, downwell feels even closer to an arcade game than a mobile game. the vertical screen space reminds me of overhead shoot-em-ups and in general the pace of the game is comparable to old arcade games that held about 30 minutes of content. for how tightly designed the game is, it's a marvel that the game is only $1, even on pc. while it may not be the most content rich game in the world, it's commendable for making the most out of the platform it's built for and managing to avoid any preconceived notions around the soulless void of the mobile market.

reviewing any piece of art often requires some amount of subjectivity from the writer. our interactions with art are often influenced by our personal experiences in life, and especially in a medium as variable as video games, many people will walk out of a game with something different to say. as an example, someone with an appreciation for deep character studies may find the plot in the last of us to be it's most engaging element, while someone who enjoys stealth games may like the combat more than anything else. i don't believe there's anything inherently wrong with this approach to criticism, it's just how we're wired as human beings. as we consume media we pull from our past experiences and our immediate impressions come naturally. so when a game like journey comes along with such a singular focus, it's no surprise that people feel strongly one way or another when talking about it. as the name suggests, it's more about the journey than the destination. in fact, that's really all there is to it. there's no immediate conflict, there's nothing to move a plot along, and there's barely anything resembling a story. there's subtle bits of world building sprinkled throughout, but nothing to pull you away from your objective. the game has often been heralded as a flawless work of game design mastery, while also frequently being described as boring or just another walking simulator. after hearing the discourse take fold for years, i knew i had to try it out for myself. having finally played it in one straight shot and feeling a wide range of emotions while i played, i can comfortably say i'm at least happy i played it. while it wasn't quite the thought provoking game i led myself to believe, i don't think it necessarily needed to be. the level of comfort i felt on the way to the end trounced any other questionable feelings i may have felt from the offset. i don't believe i have the authoritative right to call journey a perfect video game, but i can say with confidence that it's a game that everyone should play.

i'll admit, the prospect of a castlevania game with more control options was always one that allured me. now that i have some experience with the series however, i can't say i'm particularly fond of the changes made in super castlevania 4. the identity of the first game was founded on it's difficulty, and by extension it's lack of control. it's not fair to say the game doesn't control well though. every action performed in the first game had to be calculated in advance, and the game is clearly structured around this. however, when the series moved to the snes and more power was given to the player, i'd argue it lost a lot of its identity. simon can now whip in many different directions, control the arc of his jump, and generally speaking just feels snappier to move around with. on paper these all sound like positives, but unfortunately konami didn't accommodate for this in the rest of the game. sub weapons in particular feel the effects of this change. what used to be a system designed to cover the blind spots of the whip, now has very little reason to exist. any positional challenge can be overcome by the whip and jump control. i hesitate to blame this on the nature of this being a remake/retelling of the first game because there are clearly small moments that utilize this newfound control (the crouch walk sees interesting moments later on) but they clearly didn't want to reinvent the wheel with the series quite yet. to make matters worse, instant death traps such as bottomless pits and spikes are placed all throughout, possibly as a way to counteract the ease of control. this makes deaths feel more frustrating than before, as the few times the player is punished, they're punished to an absurd degree. the soundtrack is surprisingly weak too. not that the compositions are bad, not by any stretch. it just lacks the punch i normally expect from the super nintendo sound chip. i won't make the claim that this is a bad game, but something was certainly lost in translation from the 8-bit classic that preceded it.