The_Trash_Enby
Honestly, this didn't do much for me. There's a fairly strong middle section that utilises the flashlight for some fun and tense scenarios, but the opening and closing sections are quite dull. Alyx is a fun character, but her survivability feels a little ridiculous. Sure, Gordan shouldn't have got through the original Half-Life, but as the player I've seen that his success was only possible with the loading of MANY quicksaves, and thus the unlikeliness of his success is properly conveyed and justified. Alyx's invincibility renders her a non-factor, and as such it's hard to buy this as a joint adventure.
2022
An intellectually and emotionally engaging narrative masterpiece from Sawyer and the gang. The Microsoft acquisition has me concerned, especially after seeing what it did to Arkane, but as long as Obsidian can make creative little games like this in-between the heavy-hitters, I've little cause for concern. In the contemplative silence following Kristin Hayter's contribution, I was left speechless... Just incredible.
2004
Unlike the original Half-Life, I knew what qualities to look for in Half-Life 2. This was the showcase for Valve's Source engine, which would form the basis for their prolific and acclaimed output for the next decade, and one whose advanced physics and malleability allowed for extensive use in the modding scene, for which the accessible Garry's Mod was a catalyst. As a teenager I may have played few levels of Left 4 Dead at a friend's once, but otherwise my only prior interaction with the Source engine was through Portal and Portal 2, both of which I adore. Otherwise I was console-based, only getting into PC gaming in adulthood, and even then not owning anything more powerful than the relatively cheap gaming laptop I currently use.
Finally playing Half-life 2, it's so clear why it was such a huge deal at the time. The physics engine allows for each object to serve a mechanical purpose, and this is used to great effect for puzzle solving and exploration. The level-design and incorporation of physics are frequently inspired, and consistently elevate Half-Life 2 even in its weaker moments. Using buoyant containers to lift ramps, or holding a car door to shield yourself from gunfire, are examples of developer-expected uses of these mechanics which prod the imagination towards a world of less conventional, less "intended" possibilities. The physics' looseness suggests that solutions to the game's challenges may be less prescriptive than they appear on the surface.
I think what ultimately limits the game is its format, the linear first-person shooter. Don't get me wrong, the physics wonderfully compliment the level-design, but the straight path of the game's progression keeps truly ingenious manipulation from yielding substantial gameplay feedback. An immersive simulation style of game made with craft on display here in Half-Life 2 could have truly shown off the potential of this engine.
Taking the game for what it is, I think it's a great first-person shooter, albeit one with serious issues. Keeping everything in-engine from Gordan's perspective makes a welcome return, and in some moments dramatically outclasses the first game. An early section where Gordan must escape a house raid is exceptional in its pacing, building of tension, and drawing the player's attention to the narrative beats of the set-piece. I could only imagine how this sequence would play out in a modern Naughty Dog title, wrestling control of the player's movement and camera towards every important detail - I'd likely begrudgingly accept that, to achieve this kind of moment, sacrificing control might be a necessary evil. But here's Half-Life 2, every bit Naughty Dog's equal in pacing out such a set piece, but many times more effective by keeping it in the player's control. When in control, there's real tension, because I could have exercised that control differently. In contrast, if my movement is halted before my attention is forcefully drawn towards a door getting kicked in, I know that I have time to escape the armed men pouring through, as I'm reacting in what I know to be the optimal moment; I'm seeing the designers' intentions as I play, rather than just being present in the scenario.
However, I think perhaps the main issue with Half-Life 2 is that it doesn't know when to stop. Fresh ideas are in abundance here, but there's just too many of them, and the pacing suffers. Take the vehicle sections - the stops along the way are always interesting, but the structure overstays its welcome. This problem isn't so bad until later levels where the core idea that's being iterated on isn't that enjoyable in the first place.
Larger battles with many combatants feature more prominently towards the end, and are the worst example of a bad idea being iterated on endlessly. They'd often put me in that unfortunate place of trying to understand what the designer intends of me; Half-Life is strongest when it is player-driven, but in these larger battles I'm often left pondering a couple of questions - "Are these enemies continuously respawning because I need to move forward and just haven't figured out how? Or can I not see the way forward because after I kill enough a loose rocket or something will explode some rubble, clearing a path?" The answer was almost always the latter, but the ambiguity meant that I was never quite sure, and the causation between my actions and the circumstances that allowed for progression were atrociously contextualised, and thus the player-driven design is lost. It's here that Half-Life 2's priorities backfire, as when this design contrivance occurs in, say, Bayonetta, magic red barriers appear out of nowhere and it's extremely clear what needs to be done to make them go away. Half-Life 2 can't have magic red barriers, so it probably shouldn't have ever adopted this style of encounter design.
Still, Half-Life 2 is superb a vast majority of the time. If it had trimmed each level down to its best two-thirds, and maybe one-third in the case of some later levels, then I might regard it as the masterpiece its often hailed as. As it is, Half-Life 2 still stands tall among first-person shooters.
Finally playing Half-life 2, it's so clear why it was such a huge deal at the time. The physics engine allows for each object to serve a mechanical purpose, and this is used to great effect for puzzle solving and exploration. The level-design and incorporation of physics are frequently inspired, and consistently elevate Half-Life 2 even in its weaker moments. Using buoyant containers to lift ramps, or holding a car door to shield yourself from gunfire, are examples of developer-expected uses of these mechanics which prod the imagination towards a world of less conventional, less "intended" possibilities. The physics' looseness suggests that solutions to the game's challenges may be less prescriptive than they appear on the surface.
I think what ultimately limits the game is its format, the linear first-person shooter. Don't get me wrong, the physics wonderfully compliment the level-design, but the straight path of the game's progression keeps truly ingenious manipulation from yielding substantial gameplay feedback. An immersive simulation style of game made with craft on display here in Half-Life 2 could have truly shown off the potential of this engine.
Taking the game for what it is, I think it's a great first-person shooter, albeit one with serious issues. Keeping everything in-engine from Gordan's perspective makes a welcome return, and in some moments dramatically outclasses the first game. An early section where Gordan must escape a house raid is exceptional in its pacing, building of tension, and drawing the player's attention to the narrative beats of the set-piece. I could only imagine how this sequence would play out in a modern Naughty Dog title, wrestling control of the player's movement and camera towards every important detail - I'd likely begrudgingly accept that, to achieve this kind of moment, sacrificing control might be a necessary evil. But here's Half-Life 2, every bit Naughty Dog's equal in pacing out such a set piece, but many times more effective by keeping it in the player's control. When in control, there's real tension, because I could have exercised that control differently. In contrast, if my movement is halted before my attention is forcefully drawn towards a door getting kicked in, I know that I have time to escape the armed men pouring through, as I'm reacting in what I know to be the optimal moment; I'm seeing the designers' intentions as I play, rather than just being present in the scenario.
However, I think perhaps the main issue with Half-Life 2 is that it doesn't know when to stop. Fresh ideas are in abundance here, but there's just too many of them, and the pacing suffers. Take the vehicle sections - the stops along the way are always interesting, but the structure overstays its welcome. This problem isn't so bad until later levels where the core idea that's being iterated on isn't that enjoyable in the first place.
Larger battles with many combatants feature more prominently towards the end, and are the worst example of a bad idea being iterated on endlessly. They'd often put me in that unfortunate place of trying to understand what the designer intends of me; Half-Life is strongest when it is player-driven, but in these larger battles I'm often left pondering a couple of questions - "Are these enemies continuously respawning because I need to move forward and just haven't figured out how? Or can I not see the way forward because after I kill enough a loose rocket or something will explode some rubble, clearing a path?" The answer was almost always the latter, but the ambiguity meant that I was never quite sure, and the causation between my actions and the circumstances that allowed for progression were atrociously contextualised, and thus the player-driven design is lost. It's here that Half-Life 2's priorities backfire, as when this design contrivance occurs in, say, Bayonetta, magic red barriers appear out of nowhere and it's extremely clear what needs to be done to make them go away. Half-Life 2 can't have magic red barriers, so it probably shouldn't have ever adopted this style of encounter design.
Still, Half-Life 2 is superb a vast majority of the time. If it had trimmed each level down to its best two-thirds, and maybe one-third in the case of some later levels, then I might regard it as the masterpiece its often hailed as. As it is, Half-Life 2 still stands tall among first-person shooters.
2023
What's astonishing about Pikmin 4 isn't just that it's probably the best one yet, but how, despite this, each prior game does something I like more. For as little as the core concept has changed, all four core Pikmin titles manage to stand out.
There's an obvious split in the types of Pikmin games, with 3 following up on the structure of 1 whilst 4 likewise builds on 2. 1 is rich in atmosphere and isolation, a fight for one person's survival. 3 is a cooperative fight for the survival of an entire planet which took a different tone, more focused on the beauty of the natural world and the wonderfully rendered fruits you collect.
2 and 4 are similarly alike in structure and unalike in tone. There's no overarching time limit in either, both make use of multifloored caves that are found in the typical Pikmin levels, and both focus on the collection of 'treasure'. Pikmin 2 used this structure to convey a darkly comedic capitalist satire and was thus appropriately brutal, unfair, and evil in some of its design. Pikmin 4 lacks this edge, and chooses instead to adapt Pikmin 2's structure to make a bonafide Pikmin bonanza.
Whatever style of game Pikmin is to you, Pikmin 4 is happy to accommodate. The core of the game is relatively stress-free, but by incorporating efficiency challenges usually reserved for separate game-modes into the main campaign, the more hardcore player will have plenty to appreciate too. But what if you prefer the macro-efficiency challenge of Pikmin 1 to these bite-sized chunks? Even that style gets its day in the sun here.
I'm not sure it's doing any one of these styles better than the games that came before. How can it, when it's got to build itself around incorporating them all into a single game, instead of letting one style inform its atmosphere? But by collating Pikmin's various gameplay styles into this one chunky game, and incorporating them into an open-ended structure where each action marks an incremental step towards some reward, it becomes the best Pikmin game through sheer flow and variety. I couldn't put this thing down!
A few minor complaints:
- The first hour iss pretty dull, with excessive interruptions and tutorials. Thankfully all dialogue sequences are skippable, and the speedrun seems to be done with this section before the 8-minute mark, so the developers at least had the good sense to not make this section a hurdle to replayability.
- While I love the new targeting system, which is so reliable and accessible, I wish there was a toggle for the old, looser aiming. I see the advantage of handing optimal play to the player for the purposes of the more difficult timed sections, but for the regular levels and caves it does detract from the challenge just a bit too much.
- I'd appreciate a hard mode, and not just for combat balance; some of the conveniences take away the edge. The feeling of going deeper into the caves doesn't evoke much dread when you can return to any sublevel from the entrance and select your Pikmin when you enter. Lost all the Pikmin you needed to get past an obstacle? No worries, just return to the surface from the menu, hop straight back in the cave, select the Pikmin you need (which just teleport to you I guess?), and return to that exact sublevel... Or just rewind time! I see the logic behind smoothing out the roughness for accessibility, but a mode which strips these conveniences would be ideal for veterans.
- The Winged Pikmin aren't quite right. No clue why they're taking the routes they're taking. Just fly over everything damn it!
Those issues are tiny in the scale of Pikmin 4's successes. It's just such a big, fun, accomplished Pikmin game, and I can't imagine a better showing for what will likely be most players' introduction to the series.
There's an obvious split in the types of Pikmin games, with 3 following up on the structure of 1 whilst 4 likewise builds on 2. 1 is rich in atmosphere and isolation, a fight for one person's survival. 3 is a cooperative fight for the survival of an entire planet which took a different tone, more focused on the beauty of the natural world and the wonderfully rendered fruits you collect.
2 and 4 are similarly alike in structure and unalike in tone. There's no overarching time limit in either, both make use of multifloored caves that are found in the typical Pikmin levels, and both focus on the collection of 'treasure'. Pikmin 2 used this structure to convey a darkly comedic capitalist satire and was thus appropriately brutal, unfair, and evil in some of its design. Pikmin 4 lacks this edge, and chooses instead to adapt Pikmin 2's structure to make a bonafide Pikmin bonanza.
Whatever style of game Pikmin is to you, Pikmin 4 is happy to accommodate. The core of the game is relatively stress-free, but by incorporating efficiency challenges usually reserved for separate game-modes into the main campaign, the more hardcore player will have plenty to appreciate too. But what if you prefer the macro-efficiency challenge of Pikmin 1 to these bite-sized chunks? Even that style gets its day in the sun here.
I'm not sure it's doing any one of these styles better than the games that came before. How can it, when it's got to build itself around incorporating them all into a single game, instead of letting one style inform its atmosphere? But by collating Pikmin's various gameplay styles into this one chunky game, and incorporating them into an open-ended structure where each action marks an incremental step towards some reward, it becomes the best Pikmin game through sheer flow and variety. I couldn't put this thing down!
A few minor complaints:
- The first hour iss pretty dull, with excessive interruptions and tutorials. Thankfully all dialogue sequences are skippable, and the speedrun seems to be done with this section before the 8-minute mark, so the developers at least had the good sense to not make this section a hurdle to replayability.
- While I love the new targeting system, which is so reliable and accessible, I wish there was a toggle for the old, looser aiming. I see the advantage of handing optimal play to the player for the purposes of the more difficult timed sections, but for the regular levels and caves it does detract from the challenge just a bit too much.
- I'd appreciate a hard mode, and not just for combat balance; some of the conveniences take away the edge. The feeling of going deeper into the caves doesn't evoke much dread when you can return to any sublevel from the entrance and select your Pikmin when you enter. Lost all the Pikmin you needed to get past an obstacle? No worries, just return to the surface from the menu, hop straight back in the cave, select the Pikmin you need (which just teleport to you I guess?), and return to that exact sublevel... Or just rewind time! I see the logic behind smoothing out the roughness for accessibility, but a mode which strips these conveniences would be ideal for veterans.
- The Winged Pikmin aren't quite right. No clue why they're taking the routes they're taking. Just fly over everything damn it!
Those issues are tiny in the scale of Pikmin 4's successes. It's just such a big, fun, accomplished Pikmin game, and I can't imagine a better showing for what will likely be most players' introduction to the series.
2010
This review contains spoilers
NieR Replicant takes the structure of video-games and utterly lampoons it, showing just how much we're willing to take for granted when presented to us in this structure. The protagonist is such a video-game character, willing to do any odd job no matter how menial or violent. The last thing he can do for his sick sister is actually be around more often, because he has a ridiculous quest to go on for a slight chance at curing her, and in video-games we don't stay at home to care for sick relatives, we go on quests.
I have not played Drakengard, but I understand its purpose was to highlight the mass-murderous actions of the typical video-game protagonist, that one would either have to be insane to mindlessly commit such acts or be made insane in the process. Yoko Taro evolved his thinking after 9/11 and subsequently the Iraq War, stating "You just have to think you're right. So that's why I made NieR a game revolving around this concept of "being able to kill others if you think you're right," or "everyone believes that they're in the right"." NieR Replicant is, on the surface, a game about found family, making hope in a dying world, and the virtue of kindness. This is how it feels on an emotional level, and so to an extent it IS about all these things, but when you begin to understand the protagonist's actions in the context of the broader narrative it becomes apparent just how destructive they are.
The combat of Drakengard seems appropriately mindless for the perspective on violence Taro was offering in that game, but with NieR Replicant he had a much tougher job - it had to be enjoyable, but for this enjoyment to transition into mindlessness as the true nature of the protagonist's actions comes into full view. It succeeds, with combat that's good enough but not so complex that it couldn't devolve into mindlessness, genre switching to bring variety, well-executed set-pieces, and JRPG items and weapon upgrade materials which might not be totally useless. When you run through the last few sections over and over for new endings, not only do you do so knowing the consequences of the protagonist's actions, but are also given additional context provided in these playthroughs. It's at this stage that the levelling system has you taking out bosses in a few hits, the genre-switching sections become rote mechanical exercises, the items and upgrades are revealed to be extraneous video-gamey nonsense, and the combat, the whole game even, becomes a mindless exercise in violence. It's a tedious process, but if it weren't would that not defeat the purpose?
Such a difficult game to approach discussing. The experience of it is totally different depending on which level you approach it from. I feel dishonest discussing the actions of the party so negatively, as I truly loved these characters and empathised with them deeply. But I suppose that's the point. They're working with an incomplete picture, with both the player and party making assumptions based on the expectation of what video-games are. Emile and Kainé suffer as the result of Othering, while giving little critical thought to how they may be engaged in the same process; they're just following the player, and the player knows how video-games work.
I have not played Drakengard, but I understand its purpose was to highlight the mass-murderous actions of the typical video-game protagonist, that one would either have to be insane to mindlessly commit such acts or be made insane in the process. Yoko Taro evolved his thinking after 9/11 and subsequently the Iraq War, stating "You just have to think you're right. So that's why I made NieR a game revolving around this concept of "being able to kill others if you think you're right," or "everyone believes that they're in the right"." NieR Replicant is, on the surface, a game about found family, making hope in a dying world, and the virtue of kindness. This is how it feels on an emotional level, and so to an extent it IS about all these things, but when you begin to understand the protagonist's actions in the context of the broader narrative it becomes apparent just how destructive they are.
The combat of Drakengard seems appropriately mindless for the perspective on violence Taro was offering in that game, but with NieR Replicant he had a much tougher job - it had to be enjoyable, but for this enjoyment to transition into mindlessness as the true nature of the protagonist's actions comes into full view. It succeeds, with combat that's good enough but not so complex that it couldn't devolve into mindlessness, genre switching to bring variety, well-executed set-pieces, and JRPG items and weapon upgrade materials which might not be totally useless. When you run through the last few sections over and over for new endings, not only do you do so knowing the consequences of the protagonist's actions, but are also given additional context provided in these playthroughs. It's at this stage that the levelling system has you taking out bosses in a few hits, the genre-switching sections become rote mechanical exercises, the items and upgrades are revealed to be extraneous video-gamey nonsense, and the combat, the whole game even, becomes a mindless exercise in violence. It's a tedious process, but if it weren't would that not defeat the purpose?
Such a difficult game to approach discussing. The experience of it is totally different depending on which level you approach it from. I feel dishonest discussing the actions of the party so negatively, as I truly loved these characters and empathised with them deeply. But I suppose that's the point. They're working with an incomplete picture, with both the player and party making assumptions based on the expectation of what video-games are. Emile and Kainé suffer as the result of Othering, while giving little critical thought to how they may be engaged in the same process; they're just following the player, and the player knows how video-games work.
1998
Starting up Half-Life, I wasn't sure going into it what the big hook would be. I'm aware of Half-Life 2's revolutionary physics engine, even encountering its impact myself as a young console gamer through the Xbox 360 versions of Portal and Portal 2. However, with PC gaming existing merely on my periphery until the last few years, the impact of the Half-Life series was something I knew to be significant, but didn't personally feel.
After about half an hour of play I saw what the big deal with the first Half-Life was. The set-pieces, the transitions between areas, the plot development, it's all happening in-gameplay. The player is aways in the moment, always IN the narrative. This approach is supported by environments that are suitably believable (at least relatively for the time) and thus the whole experience just feels so grounded. This focus on believable environments forced the designers to get creative with their level-design, and they certainly succeeded. There's just so much variety in the ways the player is made to navigate these environments, through vents, pipes, machinery etc. Shooters of Half-Life's time were quite abstract and game-ey, so when this came out I can only imagine how revolutionary it felt.
This all said, the shooting itself does not feel as exceptional as these other elements. Obviously the pace and superhuman jumping abilities of the id shooters wouldn't be a good fit for Half-Life but... idk, something's just a bit off here. Shooting lacks impact and feels a little unreliable. And don't get me started on the movement. Is every surface covered in oil or something? I've praised this game for offering ridiculously varied level-design that creatively incorporates the environment, but in truth there was a lot of quicksaving and quickloading involved in navigating these moments. I think nothing exemplifies Half-Life's strengths and weaknesses better than the moment I emerged out of a pipe to find myself overlooking vat of radioactive waste, only to then fling myself straight into it as I attempted to make a minor adjustment to my positioning.
Still, I see the big deal, and the strengths handily outweigh the weaknesses. But with frustrations piling on as the game proceeded, I couldn't quite bring myself to love Half-Life as much as I wanted to.
After about half an hour of play I saw what the big deal with the first Half-Life was. The set-pieces, the transitions between areas, the plot development, it's all happening in-gameplay. The player is aways in the moment, always IN the narrative. This approach is supported by environments that are suitably believable (at least relatively for the time) and thus the whole experience just feels so grounded. This focus on believable environments forced the designers to get creative with their level-design, and they certainly succeeded. There's just so much variety in the ways the player is made to navigate these environments, through vents, pipes, machinery etc. Shooters of Half-Life's time were quite abstract and game-ey, so when this came out I can only imagine how revolutionary it felt.
This all said, the shooting itself does not feel as exceptional as these other elements. Obviously the pace and superhuman jumping abilities of the id shooters wouldn't be a good fit for Half-Life but... idk, something's just a bit off here. Shooting lacks impact and feels a little unreliable. And don't get me started on the movement. Is every surface covered in oil or something? I've praised this game for offering ridiculously varied level-design that creatively incorporates the environment, but in truth there was a lot of quicksaving and quickloading involved in navigating these moments. I think nothing exemplifies Half-Life's strengths and weaknesses better than the moment I emerged out of a pipe to find myself overlooking vat of radioactive waste, only to then fling myself straight into it as I attempted to make a minor adjustment to my positioning.
Still, I see the big deal, and the strengths handily outweigh the weaknesses. But with frustrations piling on as the game proceeded, I couldn't quite bring myself to love Half-Life as much as I wanted to.
2023
Still craving polygonal platforming goodness after the brilliant Pseudoregalia, Corn Kidz 64 immediately jumped out to me. Where Pseudoregalia is sparse and ethereal, Corn Kidz 64 is densely packed and full of attention to detail, creating an immensely interactable platforming experience. It feels reminiscent of Banjo-Kazooie in this respect, but with a far more nuanced move set.
Seve is the perfect protagonist for his mechanics, this grungy little goat with a low centre of gravity being appropriately weighty, setting the pace for the explorative poking and prodding this world excels at. Both him and Pseudoregalia's own anthropomorphic goat protagonist serve as exemplars of platforming character design and animation, with each having a totally distinct style of platforming that is perfectly captured in their physicality.
I adore almost everything Corn Kidz 64 has going on, but unfortunately it's over far too soon. It's been described by the creator as a "pilot episode", so with any luck we'll eventually get the full show. If an increased scope can be achieved without sacrificing the amazing attention to detail on display here, Corn Kidz will be one of the best to ever do it.
Seve is the perfect protagonist for his mechanics, this grungy little goat with a low centre of gravity being appropriately weighty, setting the pace for the explorative poking and prodding this world excels at. Both him and Pseudoregalia's own anthropomorphic goat protagonist serve as exemplars of platforming character design and animation, with each having a totally distinct style of platforming that is perfectly captured in their physicality.
I adore almost everything Corn Kidz 64 has going on, but unfortunately it's over far too soon. It's been described by the creator as a "pilot episode", so with any luck we'll eventually get the full show. If an increased scope can be achieved without sacrificing the amazing attention to detail on display here, Corn Kidz will be one of the best to ever do it.
2023
Pseudoregalia is not a fifth-generation console game out of time, but rather the kind of game that could only be made decades out from that era. The polygonal style, low-resolution textures, limited sound capabilities, and general haze which were borne of technical limitations have gained appreciation from those who grew up in that era for evoking a dreamlike atmosphere. Pseudoregalia could not have been made then, because this retrospective understanding of fifth-generation 3D games informs Pseudoregalia, from its design, to its aesthetic, to even its narrative framing. Its own falseness is acknowledged in the title - all media is fiction, representations of real things, but Pseudo here takes us a level deeper. This is a representation of a representation of regalia (i.e. the castle, the princess) and the unreality of it could not be more salient. Pseudoregalia evoked nostalgic feelings for me, having grown up with games of the fifth generation, while also prompting reflection on the fictional nature of these nostalgic memories, which, like Pseudoregalia, have succumbed to haze.
The gameplay itself is also a dream, in that it's superb. The platforming is a genuine delight, with a high skill ceiling enabling endless sequence breaking. A second playthrough is mandatory to truly appreciate just how intricate Pseudoregalia's design is. I went for 100% on my second playthrough and it was a joy using the knowledge and skill acquired from the first to really mix up the order I did things in, getting to places and power-ups well before I was "supposed" to by making clever use of the versatile wall-kick.
I need to acknowledge the character design of Sybil. I've seen some of the not-in-game art of her and, uh, let's just say it's not to my tastes. You do you rittzler, but I'm not down with what you seem to be down with as far as anthropomorphic animals go. With that said, her in-game, polygonal design is wonderful. Her enormous thighs may have an ulterior motive, but in-game they convey her leg-strength and acrobatic abilities, which are brought to life with beautiful animation. Her grey-gold colour scheme makes her look "regal" and thus she fits just right in these environments against a backdrop of greys, purples and light blues. Her and the environment come together to form such a cohesive picture.
Pseudoregalia is a small but plucky game, packing an atmospheric, mechanically thrilling punch a short playtime. Not only did I want to immediately jump in and play through it again, I literally couldn't imagine just playing it once. If that's not a sign of a great game I don't know what is.
The gameplay itself is also a dream, in that it's superb. The platforming is a genuine delight, with a high skill ceiling enabling endless sequence breaking. A second playthrough is mandatory to truly appreciate just how intricate Pseudoregalia's design is. I went for 100% on my second playthrough and it was a joy using the knowledge and skill acquired from the first to really mix up the order I did things in, getting to places and power-ups well before I was "supposed" to by making clever use of the versatile wall-kick.
I need to acknowledge the character design of Sybil. I've seen some of the not-in-game art of her and, uh, let's just say it's not to my tastes. You do you rittzler, but I'm not down with what you seem to be down with as far as anthropomorphic animals go. With that said, her in-game, polygonal design is wonderful. Her enormous thighs may have an ulterior motive, but in-game they convey her leg-strength and acrobatic abilities, which are brought to life with beautiful animation. Her grey-gold colour scheme makes her look "regal" and thus she fits just right in these environments against a backdrop of greys, purples and light blues. Her and the environment come together to form such a cohesive picture.
Pseudoregalia is a small but plucky game, packing an atmospheric, mechanically thrilling punch a short playtime. Not only did I want to immediately jump in and play through it again, I literally couldn't imagine just playing it once. If that's not a sign of a great game I don't know what is.
I often find myself on the positive end of divisive media's reception. I think this is because I try to see the best in things and always attempt to meet art on its own terms, not mine. Provided the divisiveness is not borne of a reprehensible moral or political idea, then I'm usually happy to go along with whatever experimental, abrasive, confusing idea a piece of art is willing to put forward. It's with this mindset that I found myself diving headfirst into Silent Hill 4: The Room with open arms. Beloved and derided, I was hopeful that I'd once again find myself siding with the game's fans. Disappointingly, I merely liked and respected The Room while not totally loving it, and before the midpoint I actually somewhat disliked it.
The Room's core concept was immediately intriguing to me. Trapped in an apartment in the middle of a bustling city, invisible to the outside world, themes of social isolation, anxiety, and resultant voyeuristic tendencies are expressed wonderfully. There's enough variation to what can be seen and heard, the sound mixing is eerily up-front and non-naturalistic in that classic Silent Hill style, and the room's function as both the only save point and an unlimited health source encourages repeated returns from the nightmare realms, which is an annoying gameplay quirk but one which undeniably bolsters the theme of anxiety, wanting nothing more than to return to the familiar at all times. The idea of being a prisoner within one's own home is made literal then taken to new extremes, and I have no serious complaints with the execution.
The nightmare realms themselves on the other hand... Look, I like to think I've demonstrated, in the example of the overly-incentivised trips back to the titular Room, that if something seems a bit shit I'm not just going to write it off. Especially with something as subtle as Silent Hill, I'm going to take a step back and think "ok, why is it doing this? What's the meaning being produced here?" However, after a frustrating opening subway section where unkillable "ghosts" jankily flew around while occasionally getting in my way, and where men emerged from walls to knock me down an escalator at seemingly random intervals, I found myself in a forest. It's night, but the forest is well-lit. The area is broken up into large square clearings, most of which have nothing to find. The forest is populated with zombie-like dogs, who also appeared as enemies in the subway, and at this stage I'm really starting to notice the stock big-cat-snarl sound effect they produce each time they attack. It's at the point where I'm running door-to-door through a well-lit forest as dogs that sound like cougars nip at my heels that a voice sounds in my head: "this is shit". NO! It's abrasive, it's subversive! "It's not abrasive. It's not subversive. It's just shit".
Unfortunately, while the core concept of The Room is beautifully realised and totally original, the places where standard Silent Hill gameplay occurs are shockingly undercooked, especially at first. Things do improve with later areas, and all areas benefit greatly from their revisits after the midgame switch-up - suddenly, a couple of significant mechanical changes transform the game into a genuinely compelling and challenging survival-horror experience - but the lack of polish in game-design and atmosphere is pervasive, rearing its head even in the game's best areas.
While I've praised the thematic elements as expressed through The Room's titular concept, I'm less convinced of the interaction between them and the core story, which once again explores the cult of Silent Hill. Silent Hill 3 simultaneously explored the personal psychological horror of its teenage protagonist and the cult horror of the first game, and successfully synthesised them by aligning the cult's goals with the protagonist's fear of burgeoning fertility. The connection between the protagonist and antagonist of Silent Hill 4 seem more superficial to me. There's definitely something there, but it's not really landing as it should.
Overall I liked Silent Hill 4: The Room. It succeeds in treading new ground for the series, all while fucking up in areas prior games had totally nailed. The second half has it fucking up a whole lot less, and took the game from like a 5/10 to a 7/10, but the damage done in those early areas keep Silent Hill 4 well outside the realm of quality the first three titles achieved.
The Room's core concept was immediately intriguing to me. Trapped in an apartment in the middle of a bustling city, invisible to the outside world, themes of social isolation, anxiety, and resultant voyeuristic tendencies are expressed wonderfully. There's enough variation to what can be seen and heard, the sound mixing is eerily up-front and non-naturalistic in that classic Silent Hill style, and the room's function as both the only save point and an unlimited health source encourages repeated returns from the nightmare realms, which is an annoying gameplay quirk but one which undeniably bolsters the theme of anxiety, wanting nothing more than to return to the familiar at all times. The idea of being a prisoner within one's own home is made literal then taken to new extremes, and I have no serious complaints with the execution.
The nightmare realms themselves on the other hand... Look, I like to think I've demonstrated, in the example of the overly-incentivised trips back to the titular Room, that if something seems a bit shit I'm not just going to write it off. Especially with something as subtle as Silent Hill, I'm going to take a step back and think "ok, why is it doing this? What's the meaning being produced here?" However, after a frustrating opening subway section where unkillable "ghosts" jankily flew around while occasionally getting in my way, and where men emerged from walls to knock me down an escalator at seemingly random intervals, I found myself in a forest. It's night, but the forest is well-lit. The area is broken up into large square clearings, most of which have nothing to find. The forest is populated with zombie-like dogs, who also appeared as enemies in the subway, and at this stage I'm really starting to notice the stock big-cat-snarl sound effect they produce each time they attack. It's at the point where I'm running door-to-door through a well-lit forest as dogs that sound like cougars nip at my heels that a voice sounds in my head: "this is shit". NO! It's abrasive, it's subversive! "It's not abrasive. It's not subversive. It's just shit".
Unfortunately, while the core concept of The Room is beautifully realised and totally original, the places where standard Silent Hill gameplay occurs are shockingly undercooked, especially at first. Things do improve with later areas, and all areas benefit greatly from their revisits after the midgame switch-up - suddenly, a couple of significant mechanical changes transform the game into a genuinely compelling and challenging survival-horror experience - but the lack of polish in game-design and atmosphere is pervasive, rearing its head even in the game's best areas.
While I've praised the thematic elements as expressed through The Room's titular concept, I'm less convinced of the interaction between them and the core story, which once again explores the cult of Silent Hill. Silent Hill 3 simultaneously explored the personal psychological horror of its teenage protagonist and the cult horror of the first game, and successfully synthesised them by aligning the cult's goals with the protagonist's fear of burgeoning fertility. The connection between the protagonist and antagonist of Silent Hill 4 seem more superficial to me. There's definitely something there, but it's not really landing as it should.
Overall I liked Silent Hill 4: The Room. It succeeds in treading new ground for the series, all while fucking up in areas prior games had totally nailed. The second half has it fucking up a whole lot less, and took the game from like a 5/10 to a 7/10, but the damage done in those early areas keep Silent Hill 4 well outside the realm of quality the first three titles achieved.
I'm surprised by how much I adored Tears of the Kingdom considering my impressions going into it. I wasn't incredibly hyped leading up to release, in stark contrast to its predecessor for which I was a day-one Switch buyer. Tears looked good, but it also looked like Breath of the Wild, with the same map, engine, and a lot of the same problems; as much as I loved Breath of the Wild for the things it did right, there was so very many flaws with armour balance, combat exploits, healing, and other imbalances, as well as the shrines feeling repetitive and disconnected from the rest of the world, all of which has been carried into Tears marring my initial impressions.
By the end, Tears had totally won be over. It's both a fantastic game on its own right while being more different that Breath than I initially expected, improving on that game while not overwriting its strengths, allowing each to shine separately and as a duology.
While the similarities are apparent, the design philosophy is quite different. For all its scope for mechanical interaction, Breath of the Wild was relatively minimalist for an open-world game. All the beautiful detail and minute-level interaction supports a simple framework of learning and mastering the game's world to bounce from shrine to shrine. It's a spiritual journey of sorts, with the Buddist-like monks at the end of each Shrine symbolising the deeper connection with the world Link developed to reach there. Tears, by contrast, is maximalist. It takes the world of Breath and builds complexity upon it, creating a game that is enormous in its mechanical, geographic, and narrative scope.
Thematic elements were woven through the narrative and gameplay. Much in the way BotW's monks served a thematic purpose, so to does the image of Rauru and Sonia at the end of each of Tear's shrines. To put it simply, in connecting we strengthen ourselves, through consumption we lose ourselves. The whole sticking-shit-together gimmick isn't just a fun, mechanically liberating set of abilities, it informs the themes of the narrative.
There's like a million things I could get into, but I'm finding it difficult to gather my thoughts on something this huge. I'd like to compliment the music, particularly the use of motifs to convey meaning - returning to Rito Village while playing with headphones was one of the more immersive experiences I've had in a game lately. I'd also like to compliment the cinematic direction, which is far more compelling this time around.
Overwhelming feelings on this one, struggling to form coherent thoughts. I adored it, was genuinely affected by the ending. All the issues melt away in the ocean of the things it excels at. Just a magical experience.
By the end, Tears had totally won be over. It's both a fantastic game on its own right while being more different that Breath than I initially expected, improving on that game while not overwriting its strengths, allowing each to shine separately and as a duology.
While the similarities are apparent, the design philosophy is quite different. For all its scope for mechanical interaction, Breath of the Wild was relatively minimalist for an open-world game. All the beautiful detail and minute-level interaction supports a simple framework of learning and mastering the game's world to bounce from shrine to shrine. It's a spiritual journey of sorts, with the Buddist-like monks at the end of each Shrine symbolising the deeper connection with the world Link developed to reach there. Tears, by contrast, is maximalist. It takes the world of Breath and builds complexity upon it, creating a game that is enormous in its mechanical, geographic, and narrative scope.
Thematic elements were woven through the narrative and gameplay. Much in the way BotW's monks served a thematic purpose, so to does the image of Rauru and Sonia at the end of each of Tear's shrines. To put it simply, in connecting we strengthen ourselves, through consumption we lose ourselves. The whole sticking-shit-together gimmick isn't just a fun, mechanically liberating set of abilities, it informs the themes of the narrative.
There's like a million things I could get into, but I'm finding it difficult to gather my thoughts on something this huge. I'd like to compliment the music, particularly the use of motifs to convey meaning - returning to Rito Village while playing with headphones was one of the more immersive experiences I've had in a game lately. I'd also like to compliment the cinematic direction, which is far more compelling this time around.
Overwhelming feelings on this one, struggling to form coherent thoughts. I adored it, was genuinely affected by the ending. All the issues melt away in the ocean of the things it excels at. Just a magical experience.
2003
For years, P.N.03 sat as the only remaining piece of Shinji Mikami's directorial output I'd yet to play. Usually regarded as his weakest, I went in with an open mind but with expectations in check. I found myself far more frustrated than expected, not because P.N.03 is Mikami's weakest game, but because it shouldn't be.
Far from the creative stagnation of The Evil Within, a weird mish-mash of Mikami's most beloved game and then-ubiquitous design trends, P.N.03's core gameplay is strong and unique. Before Mikami would set the standard for the third-person shooter with his next release, there wasn't much of a consensus on how one ought to play. P.N.03 comes up with answers which are a world away from where we ended up, focusing less on aiming and more about positioning and dodging. There's a rhythm to combat that marks P.N.03 as a third-person shooter more in the lineage of melee-oriented action games such as Devil May Cry than any other shooter; although attacks directed at the player character are projectiles, they give clear tells for the player to read and to react with the an evasive maneuver.
This 'rhythm' was clearly picked up on by Mikami and his team, evident in their effort to make music and dance a theme expressed through the protagonist. Her opening cutscene reveals that she wears headphones, fighting to the music. In gameplay her head can be seen nodding to the beat, and when performing attacks she pulls off poses and dances.
So incredibly promising, all of it. It should have been fantastic. But the whole thing was rushed through in a matter of months, giving no time to develop what's here into something that feels remotely finished. What few environments are here fail to bring enough variety to the game's 11 missions, let alone enough to sustain the "trial missions" which form a practically-required grind to upgrade your equipment into something acceptable for the late-game difficulty spike.
It's so undercooked, and what we're left with is a prototype of many things: the protagonist with her sexually charged dance-fighting is a clear influence on Bayonetta, expressing the rhythm of action in diegetic music formed the basis of Tango Gamework's Hi-Fi Rush, and some aesthetic and gameplay elements were revisited in Mikami's own Vanquish. All these were more developed and better realised than P.N.03, but they don't replace it. P.N.03 is its own thing, and with more time in the oven I'm confident it would be remembered extremely fondly. Its status as Mikami's worst is deserved, but because of circumstance rather than a lack of vision, and that's the most frustrating thing about it.
Far from the creative stagnation of The Evil Within, a weird mish-mash of Mikami's most beloved game and then-ubiquitous design trends, P.N.03's core gameplay is strong and unique. Before Mikami would set the standard for the third-person shooter with his next release, there wasn't much of a consensus on how one ought to play. P.N.03 comes up with answers which are a world away from where we ended up, focusing less on aiming and more about positioning and dodging. There's a rhythm to combat that marks P.N.03 as a third-person shooter more in the lineage of melee-oriented action games such as Devil May Cry than any other shooter; although attacks directed at the player character are projectiles, they give clear tells for the player to read and to react with the an evasive maneuver.
This 'rhythm' was clearly picked up on by Mikami and his team, evident in their effort to make music and dance a theme expressed through the protagonist. Her opening cutscene reveals that she wears headphones, fighting to the music. In gameplay her head can be seen nodding to the beat, and when performing attacks she pulls off poses and dances.
So incredibly promising, all of it. It should have been fantastic. But the whole thing was rushed through in a matter of months, giving no time to develop what's here into something that feels remotely finished. What few environments are here fail to bring enough variety to the game's 11 missions, let alone enough to sustain the "trial missions" which form a practically-required grind to upgrade your equipment into something acceptable for the late-game difficulty spike.
It's so undercooked, and what we're left with is a prototype of many things: the protagonist with her sexually charged dance-fighting is a clear influence on Bayonetta, expressing the rhythm of action in diegetic music formed the basis of Tango Gamework's Hi-Fi Rush, and some aesthetic and gameplay elements were revisited in Mikami's own Vanquish. All these were more developed and better realised than P.N.03, but they don't replace it. P.N.03 is its own thing, and with more time in the oven I'm confident it would be remembered extremely fondly. Its status as Mikami's worst is deserved, but because of circumstance rather than a lack of vision, and that's the most frustrating thing about it.
A solid follow-up to the original Gameboy Wario Land. I found this one to be less interesting in its theming and structure, but the gameplay improvements make up for this. The increased screen size allows for faster movement and larger, more complex levels. There's not an enormous amount to say, it's just a plain good follow-up! My understanding is that the Wario Land games depart from this style significantly going forward, so I was glad for this second helping before moving on.
1998
A unique entry in Square's prolific and experimental PSX era, Parasite Eve adapts FFVII, with its grandiose FMV cutscenes and pre-rendered environments, into a survival horror. It's still a JRPG at its core, but one which trades micro-level complexity for macro-level; the single-protagonist combat cannot match the complexity of the party-based approach of Final Fantasy, but limitations in inventory, ammo, and items mean that choices regarding how you invest in your character's attributes and equipment have consequences that paint a complex picture in the long-term. The "long-term" thankfully isn't too long, clocking in at around 10-hours for me, resulting in a game that's well-paced and with areas that feel fully-developed and lived-in - no endless nondescript dungeons here, it's all-killer no-filler. Pair all this with a bonkers sci-fi story, wonderful music, and a diverse cast of characters, and you're left with a game that completely lived up to its potential.
How's that for a title? Wario Land: Super Mario Land 3 pulls the same trick Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island would the next year, presenting itself as a sequel to an already-popular Super Mario title to launch a new series based on a secondary character from its predecessor. If neither of these games ever got follow-ups, they'd likely be uncontroversially considered Super Mario games with one-off styles à la SMB2 US, but their function as debut titles in their own series marks the Super Mario in the title dishonest in retrospect. However, while the idea of Yoshi's Island as a sequel to Super Mario World doesn't make a lick of sense, Wario Land acts as a genuine sequel to Super Mario Land 2, forming a trilogy in what little narrative is there. It's not much, but even that slight narrative throughline goes a long way towards justifying my decision to replay the previous games before tackling this one.
So what is a Wario game, and how does it differ from a Mario game? Where Mario athletically builds momentum and bounces on his foes, Wario's approach is clumsy, as he bashes, grapples, and tumbles his way to victory. Movement is comparatively slugglish, which on paper sounds like a death knell for a platformer, but with the other elements of level-design and Wario's control being built around this it works incredibly well. The slow pace and clunkiness of Wario reflects the character's personality and physicality, as well as complementing a more thorough style of play, with increased emphasis on coin collecting and treasure hunting. The lumbering avarice of Wario is conveyed wonderfully here.
This game is great, yet it feels like the start of something special rather than the full package. While the screen-size limitation of the Gameboy is overcome through the slow-paced gameplay, the aesthetic and audio limitations hold Wario Land back, conveying a world with less colour and personality than the character at the centre, one who's journey is accompanied with a paltry selection of beep-boopin' tunes. It's a bit plain, but hopefully I'll find future titles build on this foundation to deliver the definitive Wario experience I now see the potential for.
So what is a Wario game, and how does it differ from a Mario game? Where Mario athletically builds momentum and bounces on his foes, Wario's approach is clumsy, as he bashes, grapples, and tumbles his way to victory. Movement is comparatively slugglish, which on paper sounds like a death knell for a platformer, but with the other elements of level-design and Wario's control being built around this it works incredibly well. The slow pace and clunkiness of Wario reflects the character's personality and physicality, as well as complementing a more thorough style of play, with increased emphasis on coin collecting and treasure hunting. The lumbering avarice of Wario is conveyed wonderfully here.
This game is great, yet it feels like the start of something special rather than the full package. While the screen-size limitation of the Gameboy is overcome through the slow-paced gameplay, the aesthetic and audio limitations hold Wario Land back, conveying a world with less colour and personality than the character at the centre, one who's journey is accompanied with a paltry selection of beep-boopin' tunes. It's a bit plain, but hopefully I'll find future titles build on this foundation to deliver the definitive Wario experience I now see the potential for.
Super Mario Land 2 crunches the screen to bring up the detail, while slowing down the gameplay so this is never as much of an issue as it could be. It benefits from being developed post-World, taking inspiration from that game's world map while opening it up to create a totally unique structure for a Super Mario game. After the first level, the player is free to pursue any of the six titular Golden Coins. Each is attained at the end of a sub-map of levels, each with its own theme. The structure and theming is simple but well-realised, frankly putting the New Super Mario games to shame. Even its contemporary console counterparts Super Mario Bros. 3 and World, while overall superior due to their gameplay and level-design, failed to deliver bosses as distinctive as what we find here. What a treat, in a 2D Super Mario platformer, to not have to fight Bowser's bastard kids even once.