A Good Game is a title that can be described as having amenable qualities that either satiate or fulfill a player’s expectations based on an established familiarity with the genre, or perhaps just the medium overall. A Great Game is often something that exceeds expectations, subverting or reinventing familiar mechanics, and therefore distinguishes itself as an archetypical pillar of exemplary assets and execution. A Special Game is something else entirely—something which defies conventional measures of quality. Bayonetta is a Special Game. Immediately, the stylistic distinctions and fluidity of gameplay identify the experience as such, setting Hideki Kamiya’s hack-and-slash successor apart from even its comparably distinguished spiritual predecessor. What keeps Bayonetta so distinguished are often the qualities which keep it compelling when all the mounting frustrations of the game threaten to derail one’s enjoyment of the experience entirely. Such persistent detriments would surely sink any other arbitrary game of repute, let alone one which is merely merited as “good.” It’s what makes Bayonetta a Special Game, then, that allows it to rise above the guile. To rid itself of deserved criticisms, by way of its inimitable charms. An ineffable blend of sensual charisma, exuberant spectacle, exhilarating combat, and a strong vision of character allows Bayonetta to offset its somewhat convoluted nature, setting aside rote metrics of quality so that all that’s left to linger are the unique aspects which determine its special status.
The first element likely to captivate a player is the game’s brazen tone and sense of humor. The characterization of Bayonetta as this excessively sexual, otherworldly being of magic, equipped equally with an arsenal of flirtatious quips as she is effusive ammunition, gives the game a tenacious air of unending camp. The absurd grandeur of Bayonetta’s demonic powers—using her hair as a conduit to summon maleficent beasts, or manifesting various torture devices to dispatch enemies while assuming various suggestive poses—exemplifies the awe-inspiring nexus of extravagant flare, seductive lure, and farcical extremity which combine to create the irresistable appeal of Bayonetta’s creed. Just as you’re ready to assume you’ve hit the game’s ceiling for maximalist scenarios, you’ll be thrown into a motorcycle level where you’re running over hordes of biblical angels, or a boss battle where you’re surfing around a kaiju-like deity, or fighting on top of a giant cruise missile transporting you to the game’s final area. Even the standard bouts of combat maintain this signature sense of flair, encouraging you to embrace its undulating nature, as you weave in and out of combo streaks, gliding around mobs of enemies in effortless evasions of their attacks, triggering the primary combat mechanic responsible for engineering the game’s satisfying rhythm of fluidity.
Witch Time is the central conceit around which Bayonetta’s buttery combat system is designed. Essentially, it is a dodge mechanic that slows down time temporarily, allowing you to extend your combos and pile on the damage in situations where you’d ordinarily need to evade or recuperate. As long as you keep timing your dodges correctly, Witch Time effectively allows you to continuously rag doll your foes about until they’re defeated. Alongside your powerful Wicked Weave combo finishers (towering extensions of Bayonetta’s arms and legs manifested as demonic hair creatures), the combat feels intuitive and in a constant flow. Even if you’re just incompetently mashing buttons instead of executing calculated strings of inputs, the gameplay feels immensely rewarding. There are certain secret arenas hidden within the various levels of the game intended to test your capabilities at felling enemies in a minimum amount of attacks, but without a dedicated space to practice and learn specific combo patterns, these can be rather difficult to approach. It’s very clear that the core system of combat designed for Bayonetta is absolutely overflowing with potential for creative expression and personal approach, but at the same time that potential feels just out of reach without a more comprehensive system to digest these various techniques. Even the weapons systems, which boasts an opportunity for more distinctive playstyles, ultimately feels somewhat arbitrary to a novice playing through the game for the first time. It’s more than likely that there are more nuances to both the weapons system and overall combat that I simply failed to pick up on, but the perceived lack of distinction still led me to feel that the game’s fantastic combat system is perhaps less intuitively complex than it initially appears. It’s never not amazing to play, however, and any potential excess of mechanics doesn’t sour the overall experience too greatly.
This sentiment unfortunately does not extend to the actual levels encounters take place in, though, as the spaces you explore are sorely devoid of place and personality alike, more often functioning as vaguely European-themed hallways connecting one combat encounter to the next. Vigrid, the fictional city in which the story takes place, remains as much of a foggy mess to us as the clouded memories of our protagonist wandering its barren streets. It apparently exists as an intersection between the heavenly plane and the underworld below, due to the overwhelming significance of its holy presence according to the convoluted backstory the game provides. The whole of the narrative for Bayonetta feels like contrived nonsense, marred by a trite amnesia conceit that’s further muddied by an excess of lore attempting to paint a grandiose image of a centuries-old conflict between light and dark. If the central characters of the story weren’t so compellingly depicted, the whole facade would quickly fall to pieces. As for the setting itself, it’s never evident where exactly you’re going or why, or what even distinguishes the latest level from the one before it, unless there’s some unique gimmick, typically involving some kind of annoying hazard you have to navigate around. There’s nothing to explore in these copy-paste environments, as even when there are secrets to be had there’s never any satisfaction in uncovering them. Each area is merely a waiting room between fights, one right after another until you reach the end, which is only evidenced by the fact that you’re fighting some kind of boss. This listless sense of progression is mirrored in the game’s overall structure as well, haphazardly plodding along towards some uncertain climax. For as great as the gameplay and personality of the game is, it constantly feels wanting for a sense of direction.
As mentioned, though, if a game retains enough of its unique charms, fatal flaws can often be overcome. There’s just enough about Bayonetta to be quite unlike anything one could compare in its nature. The roots of its hack-and-slash gameplay are obviously well-founded in the genre, and it’s by no means the first game to be brazen and sexual in its presentation. But the way in which it melds these elements together, marrying exemplary combat systems with the stylistic characteristics of its protagonist, keeps one’s thoughts hanging on those qualities in the face of its recurring frustrations. Beyond its asinine narrative and occasionally convoluted mechanics, Bayonetta feels plagued by its use of insta-fail quick time events and wickedly punishing boss fights, many of which are capable of retaliating with little to no notice, often destroying not only your combo strings, but any decent chance of getting a good score for the level as well. However, in spite of how unfair or uninspired certain aspects of the game end up feeling, it’s never not fun to play. The fundamentals are just too good to be dragged down, and the character of the piece too distinct to ignore. Bayonetta is not a Good Game. Bayonetta is not a Bad Game. It’s something else entirely.
Unique; Distinct; Inimitable.
Special.
The first element likely to captivate a player is the game’s brazen tone and sense of humor. The characterization of Bayonetta as this excessively sexual, otherworldly being of magic, equipped equally with an arsenal of flirtatious quips as she is effusive ammunition, gives the game a tenacious air of unending camp. The absurd grandeur of Bayonetta’s demonic powers—using her hair as a conduit to summon maleficent beasts, or manifesting various torture devices to dispatch enemies while assuming various suggestive poses—exemplifies the awe-inspiring nexus of extravagant flare, seductive lure, and farcical extremity which combine to create the irresistable appeal of Bayonetta’s creed. Just as you’re ready to assume you’ve hit the game’s ceiling for maximalist scenarios, you’ll be thrown into a motorcycle level where you’re running over hordes of biblical angels, or a boss battle where you’re surfing around a kaiju-like deity, or fighting on top of a giant cruise missile transporting you to the game’s final area. Even the standard bouts of combat maintain this signature sense of flair, encouraging you to embrace its undulating nature, as you weave in and out of combo streaks, gliding around mobs of enemies in effortless evasions of their attacks, triggering the primary combat mechanic responsible for engineering the game’s satisfying rhythm of fluidity.
Witch Time is the central conceit around which Bayonetta’s buttery combat system is designed. Essentially, it is a dodge mechanic that slows down time temporarily, allowing you to extend your combos and pile on the damage in situations where you’d ordinarily need to evade or recuperate. As long as you keep timing your dodges correctly, Witch Time effectively allows you to continuously rag doll your foes about until they’re defeated. Alongside your powerful Wicked Weave combo finishers (towering extensions of Bayonetta’s arms and legs manifested as demonic hair creatures), the combat feels intuitive and in a constant flow. Even if you’re just incompetently mashing buttons instead of executing calculated strings of inputs, the gameplay feels immensely rewarding. There are certain secret arenas hidden within the various levels of the game intended to test your capabilities at felling enemies in a minimum amount of attacks, but without a dedicated space to practice and learn specific combo patterns, these can be rather difficult to approach. It’s very clear that the core system of combat designed for Bayonetta is absolutely overflowing with potential for creative expression and personal approach, but at the same time that potential feels just out of reach without a more comprehensive system to digest these various techniques. Even the weapons systems, which boasts an opportunity for more distinctive playstyles, ultimately feels somewhat arbitrary to a novice playing through the game for the first time. It’s more than likely that there are more nuances to both the weapons system and overall combat that I simply failed to pick up on, but the perceived lack of distinction still led me to feel that the game’s fantastic combat system is perhaps less intuitively complex than it initially appears. It’s never not amazing to play, however, and any potential excess of mechanics doesn’t sour the overall experience too greatly.
This sentiment unfortunately does not extend to the actual levels encounters take place in, though, as the spaces you explore are sorely devoid of place and personality alike, more often functioning as vaguely European-themed hallways connecting one combat encounter to the next. Vigrid, the fictional city in which the story takes place, remains as much of a foggy mess to us as the clouded memories of our protagonist wandering its barren streets. It apparently exists as an intersection between the heavenly plane and the underworld below, due to the overwhelming significance of its holy presence according to the convoluted backstory the game provides. The whole of the narrative for Bayonetta feels like contrived nonsense, marred by a trite amnesia conceit that’s further muddied by an excess of lore attempting to paint a grandiose image of a centuries-old conflict between light and dark. If the central characters of the story weren’t so compellingly depicted, the whole facade would quickly fall to pieces. As for the setting itself, it’s never evident where exactly you’re going or why, or what even distinguishes the latest level from the one before it, unless there’s some unique gimmick, typically involving some kind of annoying hazard you have to navigate around. There’s nothing to explore in these copy-paste environments, as even when there are secrets to be had there’s never any satisfaction in uncovering them. Each area is merely a waiting room between fights, one right after another until you reach the end, which is only evidenced by the fact that you’re fighting some kind of boss. This listless sense of progression is mirrored in the game’s overall structure as well, haphazardly plodding along towards some uncertain climax. For as great as the gameplay and personality of the game is, it constantly feels wanting for a sense of direction.
As mentioned, though, if a game retains enough of its unique charms, fatal flaws can often be overcome. There’s just enough about Bayonetta to be quite unlike anything one could compare in its nature. The roots of its hack-and-slash gameplay are obviously well-founded in the genre, and it’s by no means the first game to be brazen and sexual in its presentation. But the way in which it melds these elements together, marrying exemplary combat systems with the stylistic characteristics of its protagonist, keeps one’s thoughts hanging on those qualities in the face of its recurring frustrations. Beyond its asinine narrative and occasionally convoluted mechanics, Bayonetta feels plagued by its use of insta-fail quick time events and wickedly punishing boss fights, many of which are capable of retaliating with little to no notice, often destroying not only your combo strings, but any decent chance of getting a good score for the level as well. However, in spite of how unfair or uninspired certain aspects of the game end up feeling, it’s never not fun to play. The fundamentals are just too good to be dragged down, and the character of the piece too distinct to ignore. Bayonetta is not a Good Game. Bayonetta is not a Bad Game. It’s something else entirely.
Unique; Distinct; Inimitable.
Special.