Underappreciated for sure. 2013 was already a decent year for PS3 exclusives and Ascension was one of the highlights among them. I think Ascension's lacklustre reception has more to do with the fact that it was following up what is still probably the best western pass at an action game, and relatively soon after it came out (~3 years), rather than any particularly egregious shortcomings of its own.

One common criticism was that it was 'safe' or 'more of the same,' which was never something I agreed with. For one thing, it made the pretty bold and controversial decision to eschew the action game convention of unlocking alternate weapons as you progress through the game, instead giving you elemental modifications for the Blades, while incentivising spatial awareness via both temporary but powerful weapon pickups that drop from enemies and a mechanic that rewards avoiding damage by giving you access to more powerful moves.

None of this is new to the genre as a whole, and the damage avoidance mechanic could occasionally feel restrictive in the more difficult bits. But within the context of the GOW series, these things made for some nice mechanical shake-ups which also helped to reinforce why the Blades are such a big deal throughout the series' narrative.

Narrative is another thing for which Ascension probably deserves more credit. Despite the 2018 game being so highly praised for showing a more mellowed out Kratos, that had already been done (and I would argue more effectively) in every game that preceded it. Ascension in particular placed enough of an emphasis on this that I recall it being part of the pre-release marketing, and I think it delivered on it pretty well. Orkos is probably the closest we've seen to Kratos having a conventional friendship with somebody, Kratos' wife Lysandra is finally given a name to make his grief more personal, Kratos reacts to a god impersonating Lysandra with hapless confusion rather than anger(!), and the occasional visions of Kratos without his ashen skin also help to visually humanise him in a way not seen since the original game.

Finally, the multiplayer was absolutely ace. Not only was it incredibly unique in terms of gameplay (the closest thing to it is probably Anarchy Reigns), but it also regularly pumped out extra modes, weapons, maps and other content all for free, with little references to Greek mythology popular and obscure littered all over the place. It had some balance issues (I spit on the name of P*seidon), but they were more than worth putting up with for a gameplay experience that you couldn't get anywhere else, neither at the time nor now. I'm inclined to believe Santa Monica have my back on this one given how many mechanics they lifted straight out of Ascension's multiplayer and put into 2018 (pause combos, elemental status effects, special abilities on a cooldown, stat-based armour customisation, etc.), albeit being a lot more sensibly implemented here than there.

Ironically, despite getting shit for its alleged derivative-ness around the time of its release, games like Ascension are pretty far and few between in the current gaming landscape. I doubt it'll happen any time soon, but I think it'd be really refreshing to see Santa Monica come out with something more like this than continue along the franchise's current trajectory. In the past 8 years, I think it's fair to say we've seen a lot more releases big and small which more closely resemble 2018's style of gameplay, tone, visual design and narrative structure than those of Ascension.

Give me back over the top spectacle that makes my console struggle to breathe, unashamedly videogamey violence and T.C. Carson pls.

A little game casting a big shadow which we're still living in today. I'd actually go as far as to say that MDK might have one of the most lopsided 'innovations made : recognition received' ratios of any game ever. If you've ever used a sniper rifle in a game, or thought it was cool when an enemy changed its behaviour/had a different reaction when you shot it in a specific body part, you have MDK to thank for it.

Not only was it really forward-thinking mechanically, it's packaged with an awesome soundtrack, established a gameplay formula which a certain other lighthearted sci-fi shooter-platformer series with over the top weapons & gadgets proves still has an audience today, and has a ridiculously creative visual style which fills the part of me that likes to draw in my spare time with utmost envy. Also, it allows you to mantle up ledges despite coming out during a time when 3D games were still largely being figured out; this sounds like quite a small thing until you realise how many relatively modern games continue to struggle with this. Yeah, it's a pretty short game, but that just means it doesn't outstay its welcome.

Nathan best protagonist. Guy doesn't need any holy relics to take down Drac, just the, uh, Hunter's Whip™.

Anywho, COTM is a really solid blend of classicvania and the then-relatively new search-'em-upvania. It for some reason seems to have slightly fallen out of favour in recent years, but I've only played it for the first time this past week and I don't find it at all hard to see why it struck such a chord with people back in 2001.

The card system is flawed for sure, but allowing for extra playstyle diversity without getting overly bogged down by RPG mechanics is a net positive in my book. It could've used one or two more music tracks to better differentiate areas which share the same ones, but both the original tracks and remixes include some of the best the series has to offer regardless. While the HP/magic/heart upgrades arguably aren't as exciting as coming across a flashy new weapon or something, they at least never stop being useful, which is more than what can be said for (e.g.) coming across a new weapon in Aria after you already got the Claimh Solais. Bosses are varied & refreshingly tough as well, and the abilities you get generally do a good job of avoiding being overly situational.

I think if enemy cards had been scattered as items hidden throughout the castle instead of dropping randomly, if there was an auto-run toggle instead of the double tap input (not something I personally had any issues with but which I understand is a common gripe for most), and maybe an extra teleporter somewhere, COTM would unambiguously be seen as the high tier Castlevania title that it is.

Everyone at Insomniac was on their a-game here. Funny & clever writing the whole way through, really great variation between the levels with tons of branching paths to take & optional things to find, along with an absolute 10/10 soundtrack courtesy of David Bergeaud. The lack of strafejumping helps make an already varied arsenal of weapons even more well-differentiated from each other, having to switch weapons in real time means you have to think in advance about which one's best for the situation, and the strafing that is there has drawbacks which prevent it from being the one-size-fits-all deal it eventually became in the later titles. R&C1's also by far the most thematically focused of the series; it's hard to imagine Ratchet and Clank becoming as iconic as they are if their arcs weren't so well handled here.

Just such a uniquely designed blend of platforming with shooting that was never really replicated. It seems as though its (apparently) unorthodox controls are a common gripe these days, but I think this is more to do with skewed expectations than them being truly flawed - people seem to go in expecting this to be a shooter with platforming elements, like its sequels, instead of the platformer with shooting elements that it is. And to that end, R&C1 simply does too many things too well for it to not be considered great.

In theory, Harmony has quite a few things going against it. But it's so damn charming and strange that I can't help but really like it. Yeah, its music & colours are straight out of a fever dream, it apes Symphony of the Night a bit too hard in more than a few ways, and it's easy to the point where it almost lost my interest early on. On the other hand, what other game lets me be an interior designer in between chucking Bibles at skeletons? Or has such weird animations that just moving around normally looks like a cocaine-induced any% speedrun? Or which lets me thoughtlessly KO everything in my path by gently dangling a whip in circles?

Even though I haven't rated it the highest of the GBA Castlevanias, I think it may actually be my favourite of the three. It's got a lot of issues, but those issues loop back on themselves and end up becoming more funny than irritating, which makes it hard not to smile while playing. It feels like the developers had a blast making it, especially the artists who were clearly having a field day designing the backgrounds. Overall, if you ever have a spare ~4 hours to kill, Harmony's a solid way to spend them.

Hell yes to this game. I would inject it into my veins if I could. If there's another 3D platformer that completely capitalises on its movement and pushes it to its absolute limit as hard as Super Cloudbuilt does, I haven't played it. No potential is wasted; both players who like to carefully go at their own pace and those who like to absolutely blitz through levels like a playable Judas Priest song are rewarded here. And I don't just mean through actual in-game rewards, like its dozens of unlockable outfits and power-ups or its creative extra modes - feeling yourself get better at this game the more you play it is easily one of the most instrinsically satisfying gaming experiences out there, in part thanks to how it feels like the devs made it their mission to make the simple act of moving around fun.

The absolutely delicious schmovement of Super Cloudbuilt complements the expertly crafted levels so well. No matter which level you're in, you're always coming across alternate paths and nooks & crannies with collectibles or easter eggs that constantly had me thinking "these guys thought of everything." On the rare occasion that there seems to only be one way through a given obstacle or challenge, you have such a flexible array of movement options at your disposal that you can almost always make your own way through it with a bit of clever thinking (hint: jump on your bombs).

Outside of all that, the art direction is really pretty & atmospheric and the soundtrack is stunning from start to finish. The story that's there isn't Legacy of Kain or anything, but it's endearing for what it is and its core theme of pushing yourself to overcome your struggles is both appropriate for the game's difficulty (dare I say, ludo-fudo-wudonarratively harmonious) and helps make Demi a decently charming/relatable protagonist.

Incredible game overall. The team behind it deserve every success for the passion they poured into it.

The Devil May Cry games, and arguably action games as a whole, wouldn't be what they are today without DMC2. Everyone knows it's bad, but I think there's an unfortunate tendency to gloss over what an important piece of action game history it is. Few games are as absolutely brimming with legitimately really good and innovative ideas as DMC2 is, it's just that it didn't have anywhere near the development time it needed to realise them. Because of this, I think it's much more interesting to look at DMC2 in terms of what it did well & why it's ultimately much more influential than one would initially assume.

So, what did DMC2 bring to the table? Among other things, we've got:
- Instant weapon switching (albeit only for guns, but a paradigm-shifting precedent regardless).
- Prototypes of what would later become Styles; dodging & wallrunning were refined into Trickster, the air combo into Swordmaster, Rainstorm and Twosome Time into Gunslinger, etc.
- Bloody Palace, which pretty much every 3D action game worth its salt has a loose equivalent of.
- Majin Devil Trigger, which eventually led to Sin Devil Trigger (i.e. the coolest thing ever) in DMC5.
- A level select menu, which is probably taken for granted now.
- Multiple playable characters, which became enough of a series staple that it's effectively the main selling point of DMC3, 4 and 5's Special Editions.
- Customisation of your equipment in the form of amulets, which carried over into DMC3 and was eventually taken to an unparalleled extreme in DMC5.

Make no mistake: DMC2 is atrocious. But if not for its existence, both the DMC series itself & action games in general would be unrecognisable. For that reason, I think DMC2 is worth experiencing for yourself, even if you understandably don't finish it. You probably won't enjoy it, but you will inevitably gain a greater appreciation for why the games that came after this are as good as they are. Hideaki Itsuno and the rest of the developers under him probably deserve more credit for salvaging and expanding upon virtually every ounce of potential that this game had.

Being at once a follow-up to the game credited with putting a legendary series back on the map after a dry spell and taking so many elements from the gigante absoluto that is RE4, Village was setting high expectations for itself. For me, it more than met those expectations and I'm glad to see that most people seem to be pretty happy with it too. There's still at least one aspect in which I think it deserves more credit, though. I've often seen Village compared to a greatest hits album or described a celebration of the series rather than having a unique identity of its own, which is a bit of discourse I can't help but disagree with. It's specifically because Village does such a good job of taking familiar ideas and twisting them in new ways that I've ended up thinking so highly of it.

RE is no stranger to backtracking through old areas to get newly uncovered goodies as you progress. But the structure of Village's dedicated, uh, village™ hub zone reminded me a lot of Deus Ex in a way that felt both refreshing and like such a natural extension of RE's exploratory nature it's a wonder they didn't try something like it sooner. Sifting through little buildings for resources hidden under furniture or tidbits of environmental storytelling (greatly assisted by the first person perspective), bumping into optional mini-bosses and enemy encounters who gate off unique treasure, seeing the place change visually as you progress, etc. I absolutely loved its implementation, and I think it'd be easy to tell how much confidence the developers had in it even if they hadn't made it the game's namesake.

In my mind that alone would be enough to give Village its own individual niche within the series, but another thing that I felt wonderfully complemented one of the series' trademarks - its campiness - was the Gothic/Hammer Horror-inspired cast of monsters/villains this time around. It'd be misleading to act as though camp is all they have going for them, though. Capcom's animators have pretty much always been among the best in the business, but with Village's creatures in particular they've struck an amazing balance between looking just human enough to be subtly uncanny in some moments and overtly beastly enough to cause immediate distress in others; I was pretty impressed that they were ballsy enough to make even the most basic enemies move so erratically and quickly. The bigwig villains each have a similar degree of effort put into them, being so varied and distinctive in terms of appearance, gameplay mechanics and personality that I never really knew what was round the corner, which was bolstered by what a unique setting there is on offer here. Transylvanian vampire castle? Nothing new, sure. Devoutly Orthodox dilapidated Transylvanian village turned weird neopagan werewolf enclave? Yes please.

It's thanks to these sort of things that the atmosphere and imagery in Village is among the strongest and strangest the series has to offer whenever it leans into the horror side of things. In that respect, it also has a gorgeous marriage between art direction, photorealism and performance that serves as further evidence that the RE Engine is comprised of black magic. All this helps to make the more action-oriented turn Village takes towards the very end actually feel earned for a change; I kept expecting to come across some area or gameplay segment that I would find myself dreading on later playthroughs, but instead I only felt pleasantly surprised at how consistently high quality each zone was and what a strong note the game ended on in particular. Surely that must be the best final boss in the series so far?

There also aren't any unskippable cutscenes this time, Chris actually looks like Chris again and Capcom remembered that Mercenaries exists, so that's all pretty nice. Mercs is a little barebones compared to its last few iterations and there are two regions which I wish were a little bit more fleshed out and/or longer, but it's hard to fault a game for making me want more of it. All in all, Village is a great time.

Rayman Legends is such a treat. Almost hearkens back to Ubisoft's glory days of the late '90s through to the mid '00s. Initially I'd written a way shorter review for this, but so much of the game is so excellent that I figured it warrants gushing about a bit.

Its standout feature to me is that it's constantly throwing new ideas at you with pretty much every level. If a level in Rayman Legends doesn't have a mechanic which is it unique to it, it'll without a doubt utilise mechanics that were established previously in ways that aren't replicated in the rest of the game. In this respect there's an easy comparison to be made with the similarly creative Donkey Kong Tropical Freeze, but in a roundabout sort of way, it actually also reminded me somewhat of Metroid Prime - Retro Studios once stated one of their goals with the Prime games' level design was to ensure that no rooms were ever repeated or reused. I've the suspicion that Legends' designers had a similar philosophy given how distinctive each of the levels feel from each other; if they did, they did a fantastic job of putting it into practice. It's got mad variety in terms of mechanics, visuals and music of all sorts, but at the same time it also has the self-restraint to not linger on any one theme or idea for long enough to wear out its welcome. The pacing's so brisk and efficient.

Speaking of restraint, Legends is also remarkably tasteful when it comes to the implementation of stuff another, lesser game could've easily monetised. The little creatures you unlock which give you extra lums every 24 hours has got to be one of the healthiest and least intrusive incentives to play a game daily out there; not just because you're not punished for not doing so, but also because anything you can unlock with those extra lums is purely cosmetic. Costumes are there for those who want them and people who don't really care about them aren't disadvantaged for it; everybody wins.

Really the only thing I would maybe change about Legends is that I found wallrunning to sometimes feel a bit too "artificial," for lack of a better word. When you run at a sloped wall, the game automatically gives you a set amount of momentum to get up it rather than requiring you to build momentum yourself (like in the classic Sonic games, for example). This avoids frustrations where you might not have had enough space to do so had it not been automatic, but the game otherwise controls so immaculately that this didn't really feel necessary to me, especially because you can easily get enough speed by just using the dash attack anyway.

That's totally a footnote in comparison all the things Legends does well, though. It's so well-considered in terms of design and it's got charm out the ass to boot, in large part thanks to its beautifully expressive art. It's a shame that we haven't yet seen Rayman 4 like Murfy told us we would 18 years ago(!), but if Legends does end up being the last mainline game in the franchise, it's as good a note to end on as anyone could hope for.

It should be a legal mandate for every video game shotgun to be good enough to warrant its own intro cutscene.

Gunslinger's an easy recommendation for anyone who enjoys arcade-like games and chasing high scores - when you get into the flow of things, it almost starts to feel like a western Hotline Miami in the best way possible. But to say that's all it is would be selling it short. For one thing, it's also great example of how a well-executed art style can actually benefit gameplay; the deeply saturated, exaggeratedly bright colours of enemies' clothes means there's always just enough visual clarity for them to never get lost in the midst of the game's lovingly crafted environments.

And while the story might seem like a standard revenge tale on the surface, it actually tackles a theme you don't often see explored in much media outside of historiographical studies - that being how little we know about what historical events and figures were really like, even those from as recently as the early 20th century. It occasionally risks undermining itself in this regard with how matter-of-fact some of the little historical trivia collectibles can be, but its playfulness in twisting the fates of famous outlaws and shootouts into boss fights or set pieces is so endearingly creative it's hard not to appreciate.

John Cygan (RIP)'s performance as Silas is also absolutely excellent in how naturally he flows from humour to vengefulness to even singing in a couple of instances. It's up there with some of gaming's best voice work for sure.

Dread's a really pleasantly surprising game. I wasn't sure of the EMMIs at first, but I ended up finding them to be a really refreshing spin on the Nemesis-esque "pursuer" type of enemy usually only found in horror games; it's lovely to have them in a game where you're just as nimble as they are for a change. The fact that the timing of EMMI counters is randomised is an impressively bold choice too and really helps sell the feeling of dread™ whenever they're nearby, which is itself strengthened by the tense music and the heartbeat-like pulsating visual filter that their areas have.

The 2.5D visual style initially had me hesitant as well, but it ultimately allows for some beautiful animation fluidity that likely would've been unreasonably difficult and/or expensive to achieve with sprites, which in turn helps Samus feel smoother to control than ever. The bosses are all quite demanding in terms of how good of a grasp they need you to have on all the different movement options, which is a great change of pace for the series, and the hitstop on successful parries also strikes an unexpected balance of being tastefully short so as not to feel repetitive but also just long enough to still be satisfying each time you pull it off.

Apart from that, Samus' characterisation is nicely handled too. The cutscene after the first boss made me slightly worry that Mercury Steam had tried a little too hard to make her seem cool, but they deserve credit for their restraint. The animators did a fantastic job conveying her usual pragmatic, stoic attitude through body language, and when she does have a big climactic moment of catharsis near the end it feels earned because of it. I also think Dread's art direction and music are a fair bit stronger and more distinctive than they're often given credit for, even if they're not the series' best (Prime 2 reigns supreme, baby).

The movement in Dread is already so ace that I don't feel much is lost by not having this, but I will say that I would've liked it to take a bit of inspiration from Environmental Station Alpha's implementation of the grapple beam. In ESA, your grapple beam can attach to any surface (apart from in puzzles which are specifically designed around you not being able to do so) and builds momentum when you swing on it. Dread allowing you to use the grapple beam on spider magnets, certain doors/blocks and even a couple of enemies is already a decent step towards making it more versatile, but it'd be nice to see something like ESA's implementation in a sequel to really take the movement to the next level.

That's a thought for another day, though. Outside of that, the game ending slightly too soon before you get to really enjoy having all the powerups and a little bit of boss re-use, I'm happy enough with Dread that I don't think a sequel is needed for a while. I tip my proverbial arm cannon to Mercury Steam.

It's strange to read so many reviews say that Going Commando is where the Ratchet series started to find its footing, because ever since I was a child, I've always felt that this is where these games started to lose their way. Playing it again now only reinforces that feeling.

Going Commando is the game with which Insomniac introduced an internal "award" aptly named the Snowbeast Award, given to whichever member of their staff was responsible for the worst part of a game. I've always found this very telling. The idea for something like this probably didn't occur to them during the development of the first Ratchet because it doesn't have any dips in quality noticeable enough to warrant such a thing. By comparison, Going Commando's highs aren't as high and its lows are significantly lower to the point that even its developers noticed.

The gameplay mechanics Going Commando added are like a case study in why less is often more. Guns can now be levelled up, which means that you'll inevitably end up using some not because they're the most appropriate tool for the situation at hand or because you want to, but because you haven't killed an arbitrary number of enough enemies for them to be on par with the rest of your arsenal yet. In turn, this makes the bonus feature of allowing you to use weapons from the first game if you have its save data on the same memory card - a very cool idea in theory - pretty pointless in practice, because they (for some reason) can't be levelled up and are eventually invalidated by the new weapons as a result.

Strafing now allows you to aim and move just as quickly as when you're not strafing, meaning there's very rarely any reason not to be constantly shooting while jumping from side to side regardless of which weapon you have equipped, what enemies you're fighting or what environment you're in, because it's the best way to avoid damage in almost every single circumstance. Where the first game's guns were all functionally distinct enough from each other for switching between them all to be a conclusion you arrive at naturally, Going Commando's strafing homogenises its guns to the point where most of the reason to swap between them effectively comes down to tickling the dopamine center of your brain by seeing their level bars go up. In the rare event that you ever feel that you don't have the most appropriate weapon equipped while playing Going Commando, don't worry - its weapon wheel also now pauses the game, removing any potential tension or consequences you might have otherwise faced for misjudging the situation you've found yourself in.

The uniformity of most enemy encounters and weapons is exacerbated by how much less interesting the level design is than that of the first game. Flat, empty expanses devoid of anything to jump over, take cover behind or interact with at all beyond hordes of cannon fodder are found in relative abundance in Going Commando - this style of design would be fine if it were just relegated to the optional arena, but it regularly bleeds into main levels themselves, taking away from the adventurous appeal of travelling to planets that are meant to be diverse. Even where there is platforming (no longer the focus of the game, by Insomniac's own admission) it's largely disparate from the shooting, compared to the first game in which both sides of the gameplay formula were tightly interwoven with each other.

Ratchet himself isn't nearly as bland as he eventually became in the post-PS2 games, but he's still not as unique as he was in the first game. Insomniac toned down his attitude in response to complaints that Ratchet was a "dick" in the first game, but that characterisation of him helped much more than it hurt. Not only did it add to his arc about learning to put revenge behind him and make his arguments with Clank funnier, it also just makes sense that the protagonist of a game in which you mow down several planets' worth of people would be a bit of a hard lad. Remnants of that side of Ratchet are still present in Going Commando, but in general he's a lot more inoffensive and doesn't stand out nearly as much from the crowd of 6th gen 3D platformer protagonists as he did initially, which is also at odds with the gameplay considering it's much more combat-oriented than the first's.

"Doesn't stand out" is a descriptor you can apply to other aspects of Going Commando, too. The HUD's no longer this rickety, retrofuturistic VCR-like interface which matches the look of its world, but something sleek and much more conventionally sci-fi. Health upgrades aren't contextualised as an in-universe product people have to buy anymore, and are instead a pat on the back you receive for killing enough things like in any run-of-the-mill RPG. Even Ratchet's outfit is more typical of what you would expect the protag of a sci-fi shooter to wear compared to the grimy mechanic's getup he was introduced to us with.

It's a testament to how enjoyable Going Commando is that I still think of it as a decent enough game despite all of this. I'd even go as far as to say that I'd have preferred the onslaught of third person shooters throughout the 7th gen to have taken influence from this rather than the cover-based route that most of them ended up taking. It deserves credit for being forward-thinking in some other ways too, like - for example - pulling off rotating 3D planetoid levels four years before Mario Galaxy blew everyone's minds (albeit a couple of years after Sonic Adventure 2 did it).

The first Ratchet is my favourite game of my favourite console, though, and neither at release nor now have I ever thought that Going Commando was a particularly satisfying follow-up to that, let alone "better in every way" as some have bizarrely called it. It's worth playing by any reasonable standard, but no matter how you slice it, I think it's quite a downgrade all the same.

This is the only game I've ever played during which I've thought to myself "this is probably what it would be like to fight a dragon in real life."

From that thought, a lot can be gleaned about Dragon's Dogma. The animations and behaviours of its fictional fantasy creatures are remarkably lifelike, which bolsters its already strong immersive qualities, but the combat is arguably where it shines the most - and not just because its bows feel like semi-automatic rifles or because Arc of Deliverance is the single most satisfying move to use in any game ever made. Where a lesser game would typically have you fight a giant monster by whittling away at its ankles ad nauseam or some other comparably restrictive method, Dragon's Dogma lets you (among other things) climb onto it, knock it over, stun it, break off or cripple certain body parts, douse it in oil & light it on fire, lure it into a disadvantageous spot or environmental hazard, bring it crashing down to the ground while it's flying, send it flying through the air, freeze it, parry it, or jump off of it to reach a place you otherwise couldn't. It's like a power metal album cover come to life, with a soundtrack to match. It’s chaotic, it’s dynamic, and it’s absolutely drowning in techniques to try out.

That alone would be enough to set Dragon's Dogma above most other real-time combat systems, but what takes it to the next level is the genius pawn system. Few games offer satisfaction on the level of figuring out a golden tactic against a particularly troublesome enemy, watching your pawns become better and better at its execution over time, and being rewarded by other players for renting out your home-made killing machine to them. My mind was blown the first time I realised my pawn had learned to throw explosive barrels specifically when a tough enemy is near a ledge to kill them instantly, and almost a full decade later they continue to surprise with behaviours like this. There’s plenty else to enjoy about Dragon’s Dogma’s combat system, like the enormous playstyle diversity afforded by its classes or the chunky hitstop that provides great feedback on every attack, but it’s far from the only thing the game offers.

For one thing, Dragon’s Dogma sells the feeling of adventure very well. While not quite to the extent of in something like Breath of the Wild, you really do have to legitimately think about how to get from one place to another. Should I risk trying to clamber up that ledge or is it more practical to take the long way around, even if that means meeting more monsters? What time of day should I start my journey, or will it be short enough that I shouldn’t have to worry about all the beasties coming out when night falls? If night falls, do I have enough fuel for my lantern and is my character tall enough that it won't be extinguished by forging through bodies of water? You find yourself asking all these questions as you make your way to distant landmarks which you weren’t initially even sure if you could physically get to, which I think is enough to make the open world a net positive overall despite its blatant and unfortunate unfinished-ness. It helps that pretty much all of the dungeons in both Gransys and Bitterblack are rewarding to explore, with lots of goodies to find in hidden alternate pathways and enemy layouts which get dramatically overhauled in the post-game.

Beyond that, I’ll always stick up for the story of Dragon’s Dogma. Bingo Morihashi is seemingly cursed to always deliver well thought-out, thematically solid stories that everyone writes off as crap for some reason. Even if contextualising new game plus into it wasn’t rad as hell (and it is), the intentionally antiquated dialogue gives it so much character and it conveys such an immense, ambitious sense of progression in terms of scale. And speaking of scales (literally), Grigori is an all-timer in the realm of video game antagonists. Coupled with David Lodge’s masterful delivery, every line of his gives him such presence. He’s everything a dragon should be according to their traditional cultural depictions; not just huge, imposing and a fierce fighter, but also really intelligent and reserved to the point where it's not easy to classify him as a 'villain.' The fight against him having both style and substance in spades is just the cherry on top.

Daimon is also compelling, and his segment of the game is probably what’ll keep you coming back for more. Bitterblack Isle’s not just a wonderful, almost endlessly replayable DLC that marks a gold-standard for content density, it’s also a tantalising glimpse into Hideaki Itsuno’s full vision for Dragon’s Dogma. It was meant to have dozens of Bitterblack equivalents scattered throughout the world before its development was cut short, not the least of which included being able to travel to the moon and a massive MMO-like tower in which players could trade with one another and glimpse at each other’s worlds, endlessly stacked on top of each other. Had Itsuno and his team been allowed to carry out that vision, I’ve little doubt that Dragon’s Dogma would probably be my favourite game of all time. As it stands, it’s close enough already – all I think a hypothetical sequel would really need is for its open world to be more densely packed with content and a real-time healing system (outside of hotkeys and spells), like that of Nioh or a certain other ARPG series from the past decade or so that I hear is pretty popular.

It’s well known now that Capcom presented Itsuno with the choice to either develop Devil May Cry 5 or Dragon’s Dogma 2 a few years ago. Given the freedom that Capcom granted to him during the making of DMC5 and his recent teasing that his elusive new project is making good progress, I can’t help but have hope for the first time since release that aught is on the horizon. A Dragon’s Dogma sequel wouldn’t just be nice to see, it’d mark a victory for any and all game creators who want to see their vision fully realised.

No game Naughty Dog has made before or since Jak II has given me the feeling of "let's do whatever the hell we want" to quite the same degree. It’d be easy to knock a game like this for seeming unfocused, but I think there’s beauty in being messy - specifically the kind of messy that combines so many wildly varied concepts that it ends up forming an experience that you can’t really get anywhere else. If there are any other open world sci-fantasy 3D platformers with sprinklings of third person shooting, skateboarding and driving that all seamlessly flow in and out of each other with this level of polish, can someone point me in their direction? Seriously, I want more.

One of the best parts of The Precursor Legacy was how little downtime it had. Thanks to how densely packed together its platforming challenges were, almost all of its levels have you constantly jumping, rolling and punching your way to wherever you’re going. At first glance, Jak II’s Haven City seems comparatively sparse, but the driving system’s two-tier height switching makes it so that it’s actually quite a faithful sequel in this regard. You’re still effectively jumping over or ducking under obstacles all the time no matter where you’re going, it’s just that A) you’re doing it in a flying vehicle this time rather than on foot and B) the obstacles happen to be moving dynamically. It’s a clever twist which turns what could’ve easily been a static, empty-feeling sandbox in the hands of a lesser developer into one big, constant platforming sequence, which is also accentuated by how the hoverboard lets you grind on the edge of nearly every surface. Lovely stuff.

Apart from the sandbox, Jak II still has Precursor Legacy-esque levels that you travel to during missions, and I think there’s a case to be made that they’re more varied than those of its predecessor. Thematically, they’ve advanced beyond standard the platformer fare of obligatory snow areas, lava areas etc. into more unique scenarios, like scaling a giant support beam connected to a dictator’s palace in the sky or wandering through the ruins of mystical villages from the first game, which has the added benefit of fleshing out its setting. Mechanically, there’s a noticeable increase in difficulty that does a much better job of encouraging you to make use of the beautifully smooth, multifaceted moveset that Jak always had. Environmental hazards and enemies are a lot more frequent and more damaging compared to their counterparts in the first game, which makes techniques like timing a high jump after a roll jump or getting extra air time via an aerial spin go from feeling like bonus features to actually really useful tools you’ll need just to survive. Really appropriate considering the story’s higher and more tonally grim stakes.

On the subject of story, something unfortunate about Jak II’s reputation these days is that most people only seem to remember “I’M GONNA KILL PRAXIS” and nothing else. This game’s funny, dude. The rate of jokes-per-minute in near enough every cutscene is on par with golden age Simpsons. There’s little visual gags everywhere that Naughty Dog didn’t need to include, but did anyway because they were pretty clearly having a rip-roaring time crafting these characters and their world. It’s infectious. And a character like Daxter works so much better with an age rating that allows him to be cheekier it’s unreal – I could be wrong, but I doubt either he or Jak himself would be so fondly remembered today if they’d remained constrained by the limitations of the first game’s overtly kid-friendly age rating.

I imagine most people are aware of Jak II’s more contentious points at this stage. The lack of checkpoints led even one of its developers (Josh Scherr) to comment that “this game is just way too fucking hard,” the tonal shift wasn’t to everybody’s taste and the tangible influence of Grand Theft Auto III undoubtedly left a lot of people feeling like it was a “weird” sequel. But I never felt that way, and I still don’t. The sandbox-style world feels like a fairly natural progression from the first game’s seamless interconnected levels, the difficulty bump creates harmony between the darker story and the gameplay, and the shift in tone allowed Naughty Dog to get more creative with the characters’ personalities and dialogue. I thought Jak II was a great follow-up when I was a kid, and I like it even more now.

A lot of contemporary reviews described Jak II as one of the best PS2 games, which is saying something considering how many of those there were by late 2003. There are plenty of good reasons for that, even outside of the stuff I've already gushed over. Whether it’s the timelessly solid mechanics or little touches like the dynamic music and Daxter carrying Jak’s guns while driving (which really helps their characterisation as a duo), there’s endless things Jak II does well both in its own right and as a sequel. It’s one of the best examples of Naughty Dog’s trademark attention to detail and technical wizardry, and my favourite game of theirs in general.

In the documentary Inside Nioh 2, director Fumihiko Yasuda said his primary hope for this duology was that it “will be remembered in the (...) action genre.” I hope so too, because Nioh 2 isn’t just an almost ideal sequel that doubles down on everything that made the first game great, it’s a straight up achievement when it comes to fluidity in combat systems.

Nioh 1 was already good in terms of feeling fluid - the flux system intuitively ties together maintenance of your ki (i.e. stamina), switching weapons and weapons' stances in a way that makes your moveset feel wholistic instead of compartmentalised, and is in general one of those things that makes me think "video games are cool." But Nioh 2's addition of soul cores really takes this to another level. Collecting enemies' soul cores lets you use an attack of theirs yourself, and you can instantly cancel any animation into one of these attacks at any time at the cost of a resource called anima. It's hard to stress just how many possibilities this opens up: you can cancel out of otherwise laggy attacks to be on the assault at all times, dodge or jump in a pinch even when you've run out of ki and string together attacks that you otherwise wouldn't have been able to. Because of all this, weapons which felt relatively limited in the first game (namely axes) also finally feel up to snuff with their peers in terms of options. If all that weren't enough, there are dozens of soul cores to find and endless ways to modify their properties - needless to say build variety is once again off the charts, but to an even greater degree than in the first game. It's absolutely unreal how well everything in Nioh 2 flows together with the addition of this system; it makes so many mechanics constantly feed into each other while trusting you to play a constant balancing act between two separate resources, almost like a game within a game. There's tons to consider in the moment-to-moment and to experiment with.

This is accentuated by the new Dark Realm zones, another addition I'm a big fan of. These spoopy areas not only provide a unique buff to each enemy and boss, which helps the already strong variety between them all, but the buffs they get apply to your versions of their attacks too. Enemies playing by the same rules you do was always one of Nioh's strong points, mainly thanks to the fact that they suffer the same penalties for running out of ki as the player, and this takes that even further - now instead of just sharing a common weakness, you get to enjoy a taste of their power too.

On that note, the Devil Trigger equivalent this time around (Yokai Shift) also feels far less disconnected from the rest of your attacks than that of first game. You can seamlessly switch in and out of it if used in range of an enemy who's run out of ki or if you counter one of their most dangerous attacks (signalled with a red flash), which never stops feeling satisfying to pull off.

What I'm basically saying is that Nioh 2 is mad smooth, but there are other things to like about it too. Every boss has at least one mechanic that's unique to them, which changes the way you approach each of them in a natural way and only very rarely evokes the dreaded g-word (g*mmicky). Returning characters' personalities are more fleshed out. Presentation has seen a serious step up with a lot more fantastical vistas to enjoy (seriously, there's no comparison between Nioh 2's final boss vs. the first game's). Levels tend to have more alternate paths to progress through. The music's now dynamic and changes according to how many enemies you're fighting or with boss phases, which makes it stand out a lot more. And the new character creator's also a strong candidate for the best ever.

I'd also be remiss not to mention how well this game handles its different difficulties; this particular area is where you can really feel Team Ninja's action game chops shine through. Difficulties give enemies & bosses new attacks, switch around which attacks of theirs can or can't be countered, change the completion rewards of every mission in the game, add unique status effects to bosses and mini-bosses, add more build options, new tiers of loot and probably other things I'm forgetting. I'm on my fifth playthrough and it still feels fresh thanks to all this stuff.

If you're into Japanese history, Nioh 2 also uses tidbits of historical trivia in ways that are bananas. My favourite is that the real life Magara Naotaka is said to have continued fighting after losing one of his arms in battle, and his unique boss mechanic in this game is that he regrows a demonic arm which you can temporarily break. Off the top of my head, Toyotomi Hideyoshi's also shown to construct an entire castle in one night, which is how Sunomata Castle was allegedly built according to contemporary reports; what some people mistake for poor pacing is actually attention to detail on Team Ninja's part. A sizeable amount of the weapons & armour sets you can equip are actually real as well - I kind of wish every country had an equivalent of Nioh for this reason, because these are all such cool ways to show off your country's history.

Overall, Nioh 2 isn't quite a perfect sequel (I personally wish it hadn't gotten rid of weapons rebounding off walls, for example), but all things considered? It's close enough. Yasuda is a director to keep an eye on for sure.