Deny Me Three Times
The supposed summer holidays are upon me, which of course means my beloved offspring is home all day and looking for exciting things to do. As such, I don't get as much game time as I would previously because, and here's a crazy notion, I don't play games rated for adults when there's a child walking about the place. Bless her little cotton socks, she does like to play the occasional game though, so when it's raining outside (odd phrase that, when has it ever rained inside?) and she's not having one of her creative sprees, she will hijack her mother's DS or play on the Wii with me. Huzzah and hurray then for Wii Sports Resort (Wii).
Much has been made of the new Motion Plus and in the main the comments about improved interaction and responsiveness are fair. Some of the praise though, particularly from the Nintendo only press, is a bit, obsequious. It certainly works well in the main, but it's not the earth shattering golden glory hole some corners of the media would have us believe. It's fun and works well in most cases, particularly the sword fighting and bowling, but does frustrate at other times. Canoeing is anger inducing crap and had me wondering whether the play-testers were tanked up for that session as I can't see how me performing exaggerated sweeps to my right can have the avatar scooping at his left.
All this Wii focus did mean I took my eyes off the wider scene for a moment, and when I did catch sight again I was genuinely pleased to see that EA had subtitled the new Need For Speed game in a way that really emphasises the direction they've taken the series. Then I spotted the “F”.
IGN are running another “Death of PC Gaming” piece. Read it with disbelief yourself here .
Finally for this little session a word about Ben There, Dan That (PC): Good. Now a word about Time Gentlemen, Please! (PC): Great. Now some more words on both.
I had a little look at Ben There, Dan That some time ago, but, and this may shock you, I was never a huge pointy clicky adventury kind of person. I tended to sit and watch friends play them. That way I could enjoy the story and get bonus jollies from watching their frustration when unable to solve a puzzle. Nothing ventured nothing failed, so to speak. It wasn't until the recent release of Time Gentlemen, Please! that I remembered about Ben There, Dan That and so popped back to the Zombie Cow site to download it and give it a go. Seeing the ad for Time Gentlemen, Please! there as well, and noticing that it cost just £3.44 including VAT, I had this strange uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Why guilt? I don't know. Maybe because I hadn't played Ben There, Dan That when I originally meant to and thus failed to donate any money for future developments. Whatever the reason, I decided that without further ado I would make amends, and even if they turned out to be the worst games I ever swung a cursor at, I was going to help these bastions of the independent gaming development bods. So in the best traditions of those pointy clicky adventury things, I used credit card on website.
I won't bore with the details, and I wouldn't have a clue how to explain what happens in the games without giving away the story and jokes, suffice to say they were some of the most joyous hours of gaming I have ever had. I laughed more at these games than I have at any comedy DVD of the past few years. Self referencing comedy genius of the highest order.
Given that Ben There, Dan That is free, and Time Gentlemen, Please! is just £3.44, I do find myself wondering what kind of person wouldn't head off to www.zombie-cow.com for a download, and the only people I can think of are Nazis, morally righteous mice, and paedophiles. I'm sure you're none of those.
Time once again proves to be anything but a friend. This time it has teamed up with my failing memory to play the cruellest of tricks. You see, I remember quite clearly being good at Street Fighter II. Back in the old SNES days I first completed it with Blanka, a feat my friends told me was quite an achievement, themselves first making their way through with either Ken or Ryu. I soon followed suit and completed it with all seven of the original playable cast. You'll notice I said seven there. That's because we don't count Zangief. We just don't.
Some years have passed and despite at least six further versions and sequels, we now have Street Fighter IV (360). I'm sure you will appreciate, given my undoubted skills, I had little to fear from this new incarnation. It is, after all, just a modern version of Street Fighter II with nice new graphics. The gameplay mechanics remain as they were back in 1992.
Starting as Ryu I went into the first round and immediately fired off a couple of fireballs and dragon punched my opponent, following up with the whirlwind kick. This was like riding a bike. I was home. That, however, was where the joy got up, left the room, and buggered off to South America with the window cleaner. Before I knew what was happening, this laddett who I believe is called Crimson Viper, in a poorly fitting suit and awful glasses, was beating seven shades of the proverbial out of me. I put it down to complacency and being over confident and resolved that Round 2 would see me regain my rightful place as the Ultimate World Warrior. No, spanked again.
I'm sure I used to be able to play these games. I'm sure I was at least competent. Have my reactions slowed that much? Was I actually just a bit shit and I've spent these intervening years steeped in ignorance and delusion?
Anyway, fighting games are so last century. I've moved on.
Love Casualty
I know, I've been slacker than a cheap whore's money maker of late. I'd like to say it's because I've been so focused on my exercise regime that when not pumping my body full of lactic acid and natural endorphins I've been stood in front of a mirror admiring my finely tuned physique.
Obviously I can't say that as it would be an obscenely large mountain of bullshit and only slightly more difficult to swallow than a BBC press release stating that they are actively seeking a woman over the age of 50 to present a popular Saturday night entertainment program.
Anyway, I've no doubt my absence from the densely populated blogosphere has gone largely unnoticed so my preoccupation with other, more interesting, things was under no pressure to cease being indulged.
“What is this wondrous new thing that has kept you from projecting your innermost thoughts out into the void where they are free to roam and meet other thoughts, do some networking, get a job and then turn up on your doorstep one July morning laughing at you, dressed in a fine suit from Slaters in Liverpool, a good one, not one of the cheap ones off the rack but a proper tailored one, like you'd only get for a really special occasion like your wedding, but is now before you being worn as a regular day suit?”
Well no-one in particular, It's none of your damn business and I'll thank you to refrain from such intrusions in future.
Children are the most wonderful invention. Their innocence is so refreshing, particularly the way they assimilate some of our grown up bullshit.
The other day I was standing in the local Asda chatting with Michael while his dynamic duo (that being his children, not his testicles, as dynamic as I'm sure they are) happily amused themselves rearranging the various carbonated beverages into neat displays. Being children they also wanted to partake of such beverages, and Michael being a budget conscious soul (see: cheap) agreed to allow them to select three, thereby invoking the shops own brand three bottles for a solitary pound of her majesties tender covenant.
Alas the bright colours proved too tempting for the young charges, and soon there was a dilemma. With four flavours to choose from, what method of elimination could be employed?
A Britain's Got Talent style competition was ruled out as Simon Cowell is off having expensive fun on his expensive private jet while he lives his expensive life with his antique marble teeth and 1950's yard brush hair; Amanda Holden was too busy shaving her ankles; and Piers Morgan's a cunt.
Strictly Comes Dancing was a no go as Bruce would just blend in with the greeters so we'd constantly lose him, and Tess, let's be fair, Tess' personality is on ITV hosting Beat The Star.
Dancing On Ice was a none starter. We were nowhere near the freezers and if Holly Willoughby had turned up we'd be too busy restocking the milk cages.
In looking at the flavours on offer, Mike seamed to favour Dandelion & Burdock the least. I got this impression from the way he said Dandelion & Burdock as if he was locking tongues with a camel who had just finished giving it's diarrhetic baboon lover a rim job.
Turning to his children I asked if they knew what Dandelion & Burdock was made from. Of course they didn't, they're children.
“Well a dandelion is a flower, I'm sure you've seen them, they're the ones you pick and blow, not unlike a nose.”
They nodded enthusiastically,
“Well, you take some dandelion flowers and you crush them and their seeds down to a pulp.”
Gripping stuff.
“Now do you know what a Burdock is?”
Of course they didn't, no-one does. And going off to Wiki and claiming you do doesn't count.
“A Burdock is a little beetle, about an inch long,”
I held out my fingers and indicated an inch between my thumb and forefinger. Then bringing my other hand into play I commenced the mime,
“and what you do is peel back the wings and scoop out all the soft stuff underneath like the guts and intestines, and then pound that into the mush. And that's where the flavour comes from. It's full of protein, like eating flies and worms.”
“Don't want that one Dad.”
I've been pretty quiet through June thus far. I think this is because I've been trying to catch my breath after what has been a rather viscously delivered metaphoric steel toe capped boot to my love juice factory.
MP's with their nose in the trough is nothing new, and at times of financial hardship I can understand the general population getting angry. Having said that, for all the things this, previous, and successive governments have and will do to get us angry, the expenses issue is a disproportionate smoke screen to real issues, and certainly should not have been used as an excuse for what some people did in the wake of the revelations. As I've said elsewhere recently, I believed being British meant upholding the virtues of freedom and the unequivocal right to live without persecution due to ethnicity, religious belief, gender or sexual orientation. To oppose fascism by spreading light and understanding into every dark corner where it seeks to fester. Clearly I was wrong.
Aside from the misery that is our political system, Duke Nukem Forever failing to materialise and Take 2's reaction is as comedic as it is tragic.
PC gamers fell out of love with Valve after the announcement of Left 4 Dead 2, while Xbox 360 owners decried them for complaining about what will no doubt be a fine sequel, completely missing the point of the anger which isn't that Valve are releasing a sequel, rather that Valve have announced a sequel that contains all the content that purchasers of the first game where told would be made available to them after they'd paid upfront at launch. There's also the issue of splitting the community and further concern that there's still no sign of HL2:Ep3 and questions over whether Valve are moving away from their, until this incident, steadfast supporters in favour of the console market.
On the subject of consoles, consoles are good. There, I said it. While my gaming medium of choice remains the PC, I don't exclude other formats for my gaming fix, and given some recent releases I'm more grateful for the soulless boxes of blasphemy than I have been for a number of years. Some games simply don't warrant a purchase, and in the absence of a rental market for PC games, Blockbuster along with Xbox 360 and PS3 owning friends become all important.
Damnation (360) promised much and delivered nothing. Steampunk by it's very nature is a bit wank, being laughably quaint in it's original vision as future technology. Ignoring the reality though and taking it as the fantasy it is, in the right hands it can work as a marvellous piece of escapism and alternate reality (if that's not hypocritical, which it probably is). There's a number of fine literary examples, Verne and Welles being the most obvious exponents, and inspiring early science fiction cinema and the birth of special effects in Melies works. Gaming wise I struggle to think of any that really made the decision to choose the steampunk route worthy. BioShock just about got away with it by the steampunk elements being relatively incidental, and besides that the only game that springs to mind is The Chaos Engine way back in the Amiga days. I'm sure there's been others, but they clearly fade from memory so as to be worthless. Enter then Damnation to pick up the torch of the forgotten, in the cave of the lost, and immediately piss on the flame of redemption. Now it could be that the steampunk elements work quite well in Damnation, I can't say as I got that far because the game is so horribly broken that anything it may do right is tainted by the mountain of shit it's buried under.
Damnation sees you control a chap named Hamilton (I shit you not) Rourke who fancies himself as Marcus Fenix in a cowboy hat, leading two fellow rebels (a feisty semi naked damsel and a wise ass bullet magnet) on a mission to do something I soon forgot all about as I cursed the AI who kept getting shot and making me go search for them in order to revive them, the visuals that had me thinking I'd developed cataracts, and the acrobatic displays that are supposed to be a key selling point, and in fairness can look quite nice when pulling off a backwards leap from a flagpole onto a broken wall before springing over to face down the generic men in masks, but which most of the time had me mashing the pad wondering why it was refusing to do what it promised if I followed it's instructions. At one point quite early on I was supposed to scale a wall, only halfway up I could neither climb further, move down, or jump to the building behind me. All I could do was move sideways, which was pretty redundant. Handing the pad to my dear friend who had been chuckling away at my increasing levels of hostility, he spent five lateral minutes before declaring the game a “pile of cock”.
It's quite conceivable I missed something significant, and after a reset I must have paid more attention as I progressed a little further, shot a few more men in masks, and revived allies who may as well have just left written instructions before eating a bullet, thereby saving me a lot of time and the enemy some ammunition.
Like I said earlier, some games aren't worth buying, but this festering arse boil isn't even worth the rental price. In fact, if someone offers you this game for free, they're doing so because they hate you, they wish you were dead, and have been sleeping with your mum. And dad.
Equally not worth a purchase, but far better executed and fun for the few hours it lasts is Terminator:Salvation (360). Released to tie in with the new movie, though sans Bale, it has you taking the role of Marcus Fenix again, sorry, no, it's John Connor this time, as you sequentially move between cover points destroying robots. The gameplay really doesn't get more complicated than that. You'll man gun emplacements, including on the back of a truck, but it's all the same really, and that's no bad thing because as I suggested at the start, for the few hours your blasting T-600s and HKs to smithereens you're having fun. Yes, fun. It's why we play games, and sometimes a little bit of mindless action is a good thing. The visuals are also surprisingly colourful, with foliage draping the shattered walls and the smashed cars in the streets still wearing their paint with pride. It may sound strange, but after so much grey and brown with the likes of Gears of War, GTA IV, Fallout 3, Damnation, it was refreshing to see colour splashed around so liberally.
There's no significant characters to get attached to and no meaningful storyline to follow. A linear third person shooter without pretensions in which you, and a friend in co-op if you so desire, will spend an evening blasting robots.
In more serious game related news I've just completed Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (PC). Despite what I'd read about it's bugged nature and incomplete story, I thoroughly enjoyed it and found it to be far more stable than the original, though the stability could be down to a registry tweak I discovered after completing the first game.
I again followed the path of the light and hope to return in the future as an utter bastard. While the ending doesn't give closure in the same way the first game did, it's still a worthy sequel, and as a nostalgic old man who still remembers the excitement of being taken to the cinema in Birkenhead in 1977 (the one in Wallasey was a bit small and certainly didn't have a decent audio system) and the racing pulse as the blockade runner seemed to pass over my head, this pair of games encompass everything that was good about the fantasy and doesn't shoehorn in an Ewok or irritating Gungan. Not to mention the fact that they are incredibly well crafted and detailed roll playing games.
I do wonder whether The Old Republic MMO could succeed where others have failed to capture me. Though maybe it's too soon to think of such things, still being in mourning for Warhammer as I am.
I also boxed off Call of Duty:World at War (PC). A re-skinned Modern Warfare relocated to WWII and focusing on the Pacific campaign and Russian front, that on paper should have been at least on a par with it's older brother but which failed to capture anything of what made the previous incarnation a delight to play. All too often I found myself pinned down with endlessly spawning enemies charging at me, while my comrades sat around discussing the virtues of needle point and darning in the pacific islands. Okay maybe not, but the one thing they weren't doing was being soldiers, or any use whatsoever. All too often death came from places unknown, forcing slow progress as wave after wave of bayonet wielding Banzai merchants charged. Maybe I expected too much, but World at War sullied my love of the Call of Duty franchise to date, and I even liked the Wii version of Call of Duty 3.
I also took advantage of another of the weekend deals on Steam and purchased the Penumbra Collection (PC). Having played the demo of Black Plague and been impressed enough to add it to my ever expanding list of future purchases, the offer of both Overture and Black Plague along with the add-on Requiem for the ridiculously bargain basement bucket of bliss price of £4.50 was just too glorious a deal to walk away from. Since then I've spent more time than is probably good for me crouching behind boxes and creeping around in the dark.
A first person horror adventure, the emphasis is on exploration and physics based interaction and puzzle solving as you try and discover what happened to the residents of the deserted mine you've stumbling into, and search for a means of escape.
It's still early on in the first game, but it's certainly been a wonderfully terrifying ride so far.
I've also been catching up on some TV. One of the beauties of having the option to series link is that you can wait for the series to finish before watching the lot back to back. Of course the downside is you end up with multiple series and a full box before you know it. Rapidly running out of hours it was time to spend a few evenings watching the second, though unfortunately I believe not final, series of Ashes to Ashes.
I can't quite put my finger on why I haven't enjoyed Ashes to Ashes as much as Life on Mars, though it has to be said, the opening monologue as the title music starts doesn't help,
‘My name is Alex Drake. I’ve just been shot and that bullet...' at which point I'm already screaming “Oh Fuck Off!” at the screen.
Even Life on Mars I felt was stretching it by running to a second series, but the dynamic between Sam and Gene kept things moving along. Sam with his modern techniques and attitudes, Gene embodying the very bad old days, albeit as a caricature of them. They were poles apart in technique but drawn together for the common good, as similar as they were opposed.
I don't see that dynamic with the Alex character, and as we reached the end of the second series I felt Gene had been watered down to the point were he wouldn't have looked out of place in The Bill.
In other TV related fun, Krod Mandoon and the Flaming Sword of Fire is a hoot.
Finally, at hour thirty two, I'm just adding a little note here to remind myself should I ever look back on this with disdain, that it was written during one of my wonderful periods of insomnia, and rather than wait until I've had a good and proper sleep to proof read and edit, I'm lobbing it up in a final act of carefree rebellion to common sense.
But yeh, Krod Mandoon. Good.
