Riven had some pretty big shoes to fill, as the sequel to one of the most famous games ever made. And I’m happy to say that, not only did it successfully match its predecessor, but actually trumped it in every respect, resulting in my favourite game in the Myst series, an opinion shared by a large portion of the fanbase. And this despite the fact that it adopts a mostly linear structure which would not be reused in subsequent games, thus making it something of a standalone in the series. Be that as it may, between its release in 1997 and the release of Myst III in 2001, Riven sold over 4,5 million units. Doesn’t quite match Myst’s 6 million, but it’s close enough to indicate a successful sequel.
In terms of gameplay and presentation, Riven is very similar to its older brother, but its scope is much greater, despite mostly taking place in a single age. Sounds paradoxical, but this titular age, on its own, is four to five times as large as a single Myst age, which, in a series so heavily based on creating immersive worlds, is something I can only applaud. The graphics have greatly improved, which also helps with immersion and creates a deceptively peaceful atmosphere with a disquieting undercurrent. If you get the feeling that you’re being watched…well, that’s probably because you are. Overall, the storyline is darker than its predecessor and has greater urgency to it, but also a significantly stronger backbone, culminating in a momentous, satisfying conclusion. With Sirrus and Achenar out of commission, the Stranger now has to deal with the fact that they lured their mother away to Riven to make trapping Atrus easier. Needless to say, it has resulted in a pretty big mess. Puzzles abound, just as they did in Myst, but they are more complex, more numerous and probably the most organically integrated in the entire series. This also fits the theme of the game, conveying the feeling of a cohesive structure attempting to hold a disintegrating world together (there’s a reason it’s called Riven).
Riven has never been remade, which I find to be a distinct shame. None of its successors have been remade either, but they either have free roaming or a 360° camera, none of which Riven has. Which means that, since the release of RealMyst, it’s the only game in the series which is still restricted to its original slideshow presentation. There is, however, an ongoing, fanmade project called The Starry Expanse which intends to remedy that. I hope it comes to fruition, but even in its original form Riven a wonderful, beautiful game, and if you enjoyed Myst, you are pretty much certain to love this one too.
The culprit: Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII (PlayStation 2)
I’ll always regret the £5 I spent on Dirge of Cerberus. Yes, it’s a used copy, yes, it was cheap, yes, this was four years ago. But none of that changes the fact that it’s a terrible game. I’d heard the bad reviews before, and I really should have listened, but a sort of morbid fascination guided my hand, like watching an imminent train wreck. Mind you, I hadn’t yet played Crisis Core at that point, so I had no precedent as to what to expect. Vincent was my favourite character in Final Fantasy VII, and the simple fact of him being the protagonist of his own game felt like he was finally getting some much-deserved limelight.
Well, he certainly didn’t deserve this.
The first reason why DoC doesn’t work is because it’s a third-person shooter derived from an RPG. While it probably makes sense on a theoretical level, since Vincent’s weapon of choice is a gun, after all, it fails in execution. First of all, you immediately start to wonder why the rest of the FFVII crew isn’t helping him. There’s a world-threatening crisis, surely they don’t all have better things to do? He does get some minor assistance from Yuffie and Reeve/Cait Sith, but that’s it. The latter actually features in a short infiltration sequence, but it’s terminally useless, thoroughly out of place, and the only worse character they could’ve picked from the original FFVII cast is Aeris/Aerith. Good thing they couldn’t. Mweheh. Anyway, I guess the rest of the old crew were having a BBQ party. Or a massive case of indigestion. Who knows?
Be that as it may, the shooter format feels like a simplistic downgrade from the RPG one. Corridor-riddled maps with invisible walls all over the place, no exploration to speak of, and character interaction reduced to cutscenes, often including idiotic dialogue. Still, shooters can be entertaining, when they’re well-executed, but this is most definitely not the case here. Everything looks and feels stilted, clunky and unwieldy. Combat is slow and extremely repetitive. Movement…well, Vincent can jump, but he’s either carrying bricks in his pockets, or those metallic toe-caps of his must weigh a ton. Possibly both. And this is the English version of the game; I’m told the original Japanese release was even worse.
To further damn the gameplay, some RPG elements still remain: the game is broken down into 12 chapters, which are further subdivided into stages, each with its own (frequently asinine) goal to achieve, and Vincent gains a certain amount of EXP at the end of each according to his performance. This can be used to level him up or transformed into money he can spend on supplies, such as ammo or potions (of which he can only carry a ridiculously small amount), or spare parts to upgrade his guns (of which he has three different models). The latter can quickly become expensive, meaning that you either have to sacrifice a significant chunk of EXP to be able to afford them or pray that enemies will drop wads of cash. Needless to say that this is a restrictive system, which penalises people who aren’t good at shooters. Scratch that: people who aren’t good at DoC, because the only less user-friendly gun mechanics I can think of are in the original Silent Hill.
Vincent can also use a melee combo if enemies manage to get up close and personal, but I’ll let you guess how often that comes in handy. He also has access to materia (it wouldn’t be an FFVII game without it), but there’s such a small selection of it that, once again, you’re left wondering where everything else went. The same thing happens to Vincent’s trademark shapeshifting Limit Breaks, of which he had four different ones in FFVII. In DoC, he can only use the Galian Beast. There’s a (largely implausible) storyline reason why he can’t use Chaos, but what happened to the other two? Did he suddenly incur partial amnesia? We shall never know. Be that as it may, the Galian Beast does pack a wallop, but also looks terminally silly, with Vincent’s cape serving as a loincloth. To trigger it, he must use a consumable item mysteriously named Limit Breaker. Is it drugs? Steroids? Red Bull? The game certainly doesn’t tell you, and Limit Breaks didn’t work that way in FFVII, so the mystery remains complete.
I’m not actually a stickler for smooth gameplay, and I can disregard quite a lot if the storyline and/or characters compensate for it. But by that reasoning, DoC would have to be nothing short of a literary masterpiece. As you can probably guess, this is far from being the case. Sequels are tricky to manage at the best of times, even when the original story deliberately leaves loose ends that would allow for one. FFVII certainly didn’t, and DoC isn’t any better in its premise than Advent Children was. It even references the abomination that is Genesis, the Sephiroth-wannabe and sorry excuse for a villain introduced in Crisis Core. The result is an insipid mess, as full of plotholes as a slab of gruyère, involving a super-secret, heretofore unknown and nefarious branch of Shinra, which performs human experiments and whose goal, once again, is to destroy the planet. My only interest was to get some insight into Vincent’s past, and more specifically, Lucrecia’s side of the story, which went largely ignored in FFVII. DoC does delve into these questions, but it loses itself in a morass of retcons, additions, thoroughly implausible developments…and stupid outfits. An example would be the introduction of Vincent’s father as a character. Fair enough, but 1) he’s essentially nothing more than a plot device and gets about two minutes of total screentime, 2) why the hell is he called Grimoire?! (which is a kind of spellbook), and 3) why is he dressed like Van Helsing, when he was supposedly a scientist? And for that matter, what kind of scientist wears a frilly blouse and asymmetrical frilly skirt? *points at Lucrecia* Don’t ask me where she got a change of clothes before encasing herself into that crystal she’s in, either (how did she manage that, by the way?)
This brings us to the character department, which is just another nail in the game’s coffin (get it?…Vincent…coffin…ok, I’ll just let myself out). Lucrecia gradually becomes appropriately deranged, and Hojo is his usual psychotic self. That’s about all the positive I can dredge up though. Vincent gets all his emo dials cranked up a few notches and is reduced to about half a normal human being’s width. It’s a wonder he doesn’t snap in half whenever there’s a gust of wind. Yuffie’s just as annoying as ever, Reeve is useless at best, and the rest of the FFVII team features in a horribly cheesy cameo at the end of the game. Other than that, the character lineup features such wonderful highlights as a set of villains redundantly named after colours. Eg. Azul the Cerulean: ‘azul’ is ‘blue’ in Spanish, and ‘cerulean’ is a type of blue…so the result is Blue the Blue…*facepalm* There’s also a half-robotic female scientist wearing what can only be described as remnants of clothing (where did they ever see a scientist like that?!), which would seriously not look out of place in a strip club, and her sister, who suffers from the Presea syndrome: arrested development due to scientific tampering, which left her as a 19-year-old in a 9-year-old body…who fights with a laser skipping rope. This is already creepy in and of itself–what with the ‘sexy’ pose she strikes on her official render–, but the game pushes the creepiness further by introducing a storyline development whereby she gradually takes on Lucrecia’s personality traits. While this may presage the worst, I’m happy to report that Vincent manages to avoid Pedobear-worthy territory. But just barely.
The game features some extras, such as well-hidden memory capsules which you can shoot to unlock an artwork gallery, and G-Reports, which you can collect to obtain an extra ending scene. However, it’s essentially a piece of self-insert marketing by Gackt, a Japanese artist, who also penned two songs for the game, so it’s really not worth the effort. Apart from that, there are also 40 side missions which unlock progressively as you complete them. I made a half-hearted attempt at them, only to promptly give up. They bring absolutely nothing to the storyline–not that there’s anything interesting about it to begin with–, and I couldn’t find any valid reason to subject myself to more of that gameplay. As for the music…um, I guess the best I can say is that it fits the dark atmosphere of the game? It’s mostly a series of orchestral musings with very little in the way of catchy melodies; a couple of tracks at best. And then there are the two Gackt songs, the existence of which I keep trying to forget.
The best thing I can say about this game is that the cinematics are beautiful. Except they’re few and far between and are achieved at the expense of in-game graphics, which are blocky, blurry and usually either grey or brown. Bottom line? Do yourself a favour and stay very far away from this mess. Even if you like Vincent. Or, should I say, especially if you like Vincent.
The culprit: Braid (Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, PC, Mac, available through Xbox Live Arcade, PlayStation Network and Steam, respectively)
What if you had made a terrible mistake? And what if you could manipulate time to rectify it? No, this isn’t Prince of Persia, but Braid, one of the most famous and critically acclaimed download-exclusive indie games to date. Initially available on XBLA, it has since found its way onto other platforms, thus becoming available to a wider audience. As such things often go, at first glance, it appears to be a simple platformer with a childish design and storyline. But if the game’s cover art, depicting a broken hourglass and a crumbling castle made from the spilled sand wasn’t indication enough, playing the actual game quickly reveals that there is more to it than meets the eye. Not only does it display treasures of ingenuity, but its plot also wanders off into distinctly non-childish territory, both wistful and ponderous. All in all, this is still one of the cleverest, most interesting games I have played, and I heartily recommend it.
The game’s protagonist is Tim, a little red-haired fellow in a suit and tie who is trying to rescue a princess. If you did a double-take at the “suit and tie” part, you’d be on to something. The narrative, which consists of Tim’s memories and is presented in the form of short introductory texts before each of the game’s levels, is ambiguous on what the exact relationship between them was, but Tim appears to have made some kind of mistake which resulted in the loss of the princess, and would now like nothing more than to rectify it. This is all very vague, and, on a certain level, remains that way, were it not for several small clues interspersed within the texts which hint at a different kind of story behind Tim’s apparently disjointed musings and his strange quest.
The gameplay revolves around manipulating time by various means to defeat enemies and solve puzzles, some of which are deliciously tricky and require the ability to think outside the box, as well as a good grasp of the game’s mechanics. Tim first appears against an ominous backdrop of a burning city to eventually reach a quiet, night-time street and a house, which serves as the game’s hub. It contains six rooms, each with an empty picture frame and a door which leads to one of the game’s six levels. Each one of those is subdivided into several sub-levels, which contain puzzle pieces that Tim must collect, to then complete each picture frame. The last level is located in the attic and can only be reached by a ladder which gradually gains new segments as Tim clears the other levels.
Each level features a different time-related mechanic, which is reflected in its name. The first (which is actually number 2; you’ll understand why later on), called “Time and Forgiveness”, introduces the concept of rewinding time if Tim makes a mistake or plummets to his death, although you can also fast forward it when required. The second level is named “Time and Mystery” and introduces objects, outlined in sparkly green, which are unaffected by temporal manipulation (e.g. if Tim activates a green lever, it will remain activated even if he rewinds). These objects also reappear in later levels. “Time and Place”, the third level, links time to Tim’s movements: if he moves to the right, time moves forward, if he moves to the left, it moves backwards. The fourth level, “Time and Decision”, introduces objects outlined in purple: whenever Tim rewinds time, his shadow will proceed to repeat his actions prior to the rewind and will be able to interact with the aforementioned purple objects. This effectively allows him to perform multiple actions at the same time. The fifth level, “Hesitance”, introduces a ring which, when dropped, will create a time-slowing bubble around itself: objects nearer to the centre of the bubble will move slower than objects nearer its perimeter. Finally, in the last level, simply titled “1”, time continuously flows backwards (meaning that rewinding makes it flow normally).
Visually and aurally, the game is enchanting. Each level has its own atmosphere and beautifully rendered, vibrantly coloured, environments and backgrounds, which are somewhat reminiscent of Van Gogh paintings. Each also has its own lovely musical theme, but both look and sound take a distinctly more sombre turn once you reach the final levels. This is also the second major clue as to the game’s most widely accepted interpretation. From then on, it’s very much a ‘so that’s what it was’ process.
The game also contains some humorous references, including numerous callbacks to Super Mario Bros.: not only do the most common enemies in the game resemble goombas and piranha plants (and the former can be defeated by stomping on them), but the final sub-level of each level contains a small fortress with a flag, which rises as Tim reaches it, as well as a small, plushy-looking dinosaur which informs him that the princess is in another castle. Apart from that, another commonly-encountered enemy in the game is almost a dead ringer for the killer rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In fact, I’m starting to wonder whether Tim’s name isn’t another reference to that film…
Somewhat uncommonly by download-exclusive game standards, Braid has also put some real effort into optional goals. Some of the game’s levels contain hidden areas, accessing which rewards Tim with a star (yet another Super Mario Bros. reference). There are eight stars in total; one of them can be missed if you complete the picture-frame puzzle for the corresponding level before obtaining it, and another one requires obtaining an alternate ending for the game (which isn’t as satisfying as the normal one). Each new star is added to the Andromeda constellation, which hangs above the entrance to the house in the hub level. Tim can look up at it to check his progress, and once all stars have been collected, it will slightly change its appearance, all in coherence with the game’s themes. And if that wasn’t enough, when you’ve finished the game once, a speedrun mode becomes available, netting you an achievement if you manage to complete one in less than 45 minutes.
There are very few genuine gripes I have with Braid. The major one would probably be the fact the game autosaves your progress, but does so on a single save file. Meaning that, should you fail to obtain the aforementioned missable star, for example, you would have to restart a brand new game to do so. It also means that the speedrun must be achieved in a single sitting and that, should you make a major mistake somewhere, say, in level six, you’d have to restart all the way from the beginning as well. I don’t think I need to tell you how aggravating that can be. Another gripe would be that another one of the stars takes an unnecessarily long amount of time (almost two hours simply waiting!) to obtain. Some people have also complained that the game was too short. Obviously, when you’ve cleared it once and are practicing for a speedrun, it may, indeed, seem like it whisks by in no time. Although, if it’s your first playthrough, and you’re racking your brain to figure out a puzzle, but also taking time to admire the artwork and music, chances are you won’t have that impression. Bottom line: do give this little gem a try, it’s well worth it.
The culprit: the Penumbra trilogy (PC, Mac, available through Steam)
It’s off the beaten track that you often come across the most interesting things. This applies to videogames in general, and the horror genre in particular. Like the infamous shortcut through the woods without which some horror films wouldn’t exist, taking a turn into indie title territory can yield spectacular results. Penumbra is a shining example of just such a lucky find. Created by a small Swedish company called Frictional Games, it displays such a mastery of the mechanisms of fear that it simply begs to be tried out. If Dead Space left you unimpressed, Silent Hill barely affected you and even Fatal Frame didn’t quite do the trick, or if you’re simply looking to broaden your horror horizons, do try this one on for size. Sure, the game has its kinks and flaws, and it’s pretty clear that it wasn’t made on a big budget, but let it not be said that more is better. None of the aforementioned games have scared me to this extent.
Penumbra is technically a trilogy, consisting of Overture, Black Plague and Requiem. However, considering the three games have one common protagonist and storyline–which has all the makings of a good X-Files episode–, take place in immediate succession, are each rather short and use the same gameplay, it makes sense to view them as a whole. The story is narrated in what you eventually find out is an e-mail by Philip, a 30-year-old physicist with an estranged father. On the day of his mother’s funeral, he receives a mysterious letter from said father, directing him to a deposit box in a bank and instructing him to burn everything he finds in there without asking any questions or attempting to locate him. The box contains an indecipherable journal, but also a set of coordinates, which point to somewhere in Northern Greenland. Three guesses as to what Philip decides to do. The coordinates designate an abandoned mine, where he soon discovers that something is very wrong. You’d think that any sensible person would just try to get the hell out, but curiosity is a powerful drive. It also has a nasty habit of terminating inquisitive felines. But I digress.
The people who made this game understand perfectly well that being isolated, defenceless and confused/disoriented/in doubt of your sanity is an ideal recipe for horror. There’s really nothing scarier than what an over-active imagination can conjure up, even if the game also contains very real hostiles who want nothing more than a tasty physicist snack or some chopping practice. Imagine for a moment how it would feel to be stuck in an abandoned mine in the middle of nowhere with strange whispers periodically fading in and out of your hearing range (my god, the pause menu in Overture…), alarming messages left behind by miners and scientists whose corpses you periodically come across, bizarre Inuit artefacts that give you out-of-body experiences (those are the save points), escape and concealment as your best means of defence, and god-knows-what prowling in the shadows. Philip’s frightened gasps, which punctuate some of the more intense events, really don’t help. Contrary to what you might expect, there are other people down there…But a) you can count them on the fingers of one hand, b) they’re really not all that helpful…or reassuring, for that matter, and c) Philip begins and ends the game alone; you do the math. I find that these additional characters only serve to exacerbate the deep sense of loneliness and fear the game instils, with help from a minimalistic, cold and forlorn-sounding musical track. Black Plague also adds a nasty–and very successfully executed, might I add–twist into the bargain, whereby Philip finds that he can no longer trust his perception. I would also like to remark that, if you manage to get through the kennels in Black Plague without having to pause the game to collect yourself at least once (especially with headphones on), you’re a better man (or woman) than I.
Penumbra takes place in first person, with a hand cursor on the screen to handle interactions. It uses a physics engine, whereby controls and movement are influenced by gravity. Say you’re trying to roll a boulder: not only do you need to mimic the movement, but it’ll also keep rolling if it’s on a surface where it would be realistically expected to roll. Same thing when trying to spin a valve or pull out a drawer. It takes some getting used to, but the game gives you adequate time to ease into it. Other than that, there’s a basic inventory, available at the press of a key, which you can also use to combine items or assign them to keyboard shortcuts, as well as check on Philip’s general health (which regenerates over time if he gets hurt and can be remedied with painkillers) and the state of the flashlight’s batteries. However, since the glowstick is just as useful as the flashlight and doesn’t need batteries, this is a moot point. There’s also a journal, in which Philip collects the various notes he picks up, as well as jotting down his thoughts on what to do next.
The game’s major downside is combat, but, thankfully, it’s only a factor in Overture. Philip’s only weapons are a hammer, a pickaxe or debris he can pick up and throw. And let’s just say that ‘imprecise’ doesn’t even begin to describe what swinging a pickaxe with that type of game engine is like; ‘extremely frustrating’ is probably a better description. Black Plague mercifully does away with weapons altogether, but not hostile creatures, thus ramping up the fear factor. Philip can still try fighting them by throwing debris, but it’s really not safe and takes so long that you should understand that you’re simply not meant to do it. The point is that Philip, being a physicist, and not, say, a marine, is just no good in a straight-up fight. What’s more, he’s actually not half bad at hiding: enemies are far less likely to notice him if he crouches in a dark corner with his flashlight or glowstick off. The game even automatically switches to night-vision when he crouches undisturbed for a couple of seconds: this is signalled by a relieved sigh, a slight change of angle and everything taking on a bluish tint. Conversely, you’ll find that staring directly at an enemy for too long will make him panic, jolt out of night-vision and become more noticeable.
Another part which might disappoint some people is Requiem. Developed as an expansion to Black Plague, it serves as a sort of coda to the storyline. It’s much shorter than its predecessors, and while it looks and feels similar, it’s also more unorthodox, in that it clearly doesn’t take place in reality, as indicated by several not-so-subtle hints…such as exploding ketchup bottles or infinite batteries. There are also no enemies. Or well…no real enemies. Just a succession of puzzles. And while some of them are set in rather disturbing environments, the fact that there’s no actual threat of bodily harm, except from falling, does tend to somewhat defuse the sense of fear, which may be disappointing. Still, once you figure out why Requiem is the way it is, I find that it’s not a bad conclusion to the game. Certainly atypical, but…why not? It also has two endings, one of which is more obvious than the other, but this is the only game I know of where the “hidden” ending is actually the bad one.
Other things which might cause minor annoyance are some of the textures (eg. rubbish bags on the floor which should be 3-dimensional, but aren’t) and one particular voice actor. There’s also very little in the way of optional things to do, only a bunch of statuettes located in improbable places, which you can collect to unlock some Easter eggs on a subsequent playthrough. They’re rather underwhelming, though, so I shouldn’t worry if you can’t find all the statuettes. Just goes to show that replayability isn’t exactly the game’s strong suit. Still, I find that none of this quite mars its effectiveness. If you’re receptive to psychological horror, you’re in for a treat. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself too frightened to turn a corner or open a door, every once in a while. It certainly happened to me on more than one occasion.
The culprit: Myst (PC, Mac, PlayStation, PlayStation Portable, Nintendo DS)
Myst was a surprise to everyone when it saw the light of day in 1993: to the public, who didn’t expect such a unique experience, to the industry and critics, who were baffled at how what was essentially an “image slideshow” could garner such success, and to its developers, who certainly didn’t expect their offering to become the best-selling PC game for almost 10 years, up until 2002.
To this day, the Myst saga remains one of the most famous and iconic game series, despite having seen its last instalment in 2005. With its characteristic style and atmosphere, which has since been widely copied, its intelligent, inventive and organically integrated puzzles, its trademark gameplay feature of books literally whisking the player off to different worlds (or ages, as the game calls them)–a smart and rather poetic metaphor for imagination–, and its storyline, bolstered by three books published in parallel to the games, which uses the fate of one family as a stepping-stone to explore the history and heritage of an entire civilisation, it stands tall among other adventure games. I’ll even take it one step further: this is my favourite game series, full stop. The name of this website should be ample evidence of that. So unless you’re 120% certain that the premise will not work for you, I’d urge you to give it a try.
If there was one word to define the entire saga, it would be ‘immersive’. No other game has given me the impression of ‘being there’ quite like this, made me wonder whether it would be warm or cold, how the breeze would feel, what the texture of the stone would be or what the plants would smell like. It’s a rare occurrence when the environment is so beautifully crafted that you’d simply be happy to walk around and take in the sights for a while. Everything conspires to engage your senses, pique your curiosity, encourage you to explore every nook and cranny to try to ferret out clues, and stimulate both your intellect and imagination. Obviously, if you’re expecting action, shootouts, acrobatics…or even lots of dialogue, you will be disappointed. This is an eminently solitary, contemplative, atmospheric and slow-paced experience, designed to make you think, feel and piece things together at your own rhythm. But then, the human mind is a wonderful tool, and when that is being put to work, beautiful things can happen. This is clearly what the developers were banking on, and, in my opinion, they’ve definitely succeeded.
Still, objectively speaking, the first game is far from being perfect, especially in its original form. In comparison to its successors, the graphics are dated, the scope feels fairly limited, the puzzles are rather simple, the age names are throwaway, and the ending is comparable to a wet firecracker. This is all a first-comer’s prerogative, however, as the subsequent entries in the series clearly try to address these issues (and mostly succeed). A remake titled realMyst was released in 2000, and while it only addressed graphical and interface issues, it did so remarkably well. The updated graphics are beautiful, and if that wasn’t enough, a day-and-night cycle and free roaming have both been introduced. It was a bit of a chore for most computers to run, back in the day, and nowadays, will probably not run on newer PCs without some tweaking. Another remake called realMyst Masterpiece Edition was released in 2014, and that one does run on newer machines. It was designed as the definitive version of the game, and while it does come really close, it still has some issues. Nevertheless, it’s the most accessible and easily available version of the game, so probably the one you want to go for.
The culprit:Assassin’s Creed II (PlayStation 3, Xbox 360, PC)
Let’s get this straight out there: Assassin’s Creed II is, quite simply, a better game than its predecessor. Great care has obviously been paid to varying the gameplay, streamlining old and new features, and enhancing the storyline. The plot is set in a more famous, and therefore more recognisable, environment (Renaissance Italy, rather than Medieval Syria and Palestine), and introduces a flashier protagonist, with the end result that it tends to overshadow its predecessor. And yet, in spite of the first game’s flaws, I could never shake the feeling that the second opus had lost part of its soul under all that bling. Don’t get me wrong: ACII is a lot of fun. But there were moments when I found myself missing the leaner, sterner world of its older brother.
The game starts exactly where AC left off. Desmond – he of the infinite charisma (not) – is rescued from the Abstergo lab where he was being held by Lucy, the assistant in his previous memory-delving adventures who actually turns out to be an Assassin, and two of her comrades. They take him to a secret location and hook him up to a better Animus machine to send him into the memories of a more recent ancestor, the Florentine nobleman Ezio Auditore, in the hopes that it’ll help them find a Piece of Eden. The story is still split between Ezio’s sequences and Desmond’s, and the latter now at least has more partners in crime. Rebecca’s one of those hacker-types – short hair, funky clothes, headphones – with a perky, upbeat attitude, while Shaun is the prim, British-accented history geek with a degree in deadpan snark. Lucy’s also gotten an upgrade: from unremarkable lab mouse to…goggle-eyed and fish-lipped trendy babe in skinny jeans and a form-hugging top. Yeah…The modern-day sequences now also include a chance for Desmond to put all the moves he learned in his virtual escapades to the test. Although, seeing him perform those acrobatics in his baggy jeans, hoodie and sneakers was distinctly less glamourous than long white assassin robes and leather boots. Doesn’t help that he’s still completely unremarkable as a character. Just as Altaïr stole the show in AC, Ezio also steals the show this time around.
As has already been mentioned, the three operative words are variety, streamlining and enhancement. And boy, is there a LOT of the former. The new and upgraded Animus features a historical database, which provides bite-sized info about notorious landmarks and characters. Ezio has access to more weapons (a second hidden blade, maces, smoke bombs…even a prototype gun) and armour, all of which he can upgrade, or, in the case of armour, repair, as it gets damaged in combat (which is a distinctly annoying feature). He also has more acrobatics at his command, such as assassinating targets while hiding in bales of hay. He can disarm enemies in combat, poison them, toss sand in their faces to disorient them; he can also ride gondolas, and, most satisfyingly, swim. Which is handy, since one of the cities he visits is Venice. The conveniently placed groups of monks which allowed Altaïr to inconspicuously enter guarded areas have been replaced with various factions that Ezio can hire for the same purpose: courtesans, who can distract guards by shaking booty, thieves, who can steal their stuff to have them give chase, or mercenaries, who will simply go in and bash some heads. There is a day and night cycle, which, apart from varying the atmosphere, also comes into play in certain missions. Ezio now also has a homebase in the small Tuscan town of Monteriggioni, which he can renovate and upgrade (notably by buying famous Renaissance paintings) to earn regular income, as the game now features an economic system, complete with merchants and even street doctors. There are a lot more sidequests, in particular the Templar Lairs and Assassin Tombs, which consist of some advanced platforming and reward Ezio with money and, in the case of the latter, special seals which eventually grant access to Altaïr’s black Master Assassin outfit (yum). There are also some strange blips in the Animus interface, which appear as shining glyphs on buildings and allow Desmond to solve some puzzles left behind by Subject 16, his defunct predecessor at Abstergo.
Much like Desmond, Ezio is also surrounded by a more varied and more interesting cast of secondary characters. Among those, the biggest highlight is, undoubtedly, a young Leonardo da Vinci, with whom Ezio becomes good friends, and who helps him decipher some of Altaïr’s documents which he fortuitously finds. Leo is fun, chatty, endlessly enthusiastic, scatterbrained and just eminently huggable. And, thanks to the new system of cutscene interaction (an upgrade of AC’s camera angle changes), whereby you can be prompted to press some buttons to affect Ezio’s actions during some cutscenes, you can do just that. And beware Leo’s kicked-puppy eyes if you miss that hug! Other memorable additions include Caterina Sforza, the willful, intelligent and crafty ruler of Forli, or Rosa, a gutsy, very pretty and very foul-mouthed thief whom Ezio encounters in Venice. On a less serious note, there’s also Uncle Mario, whose claim to fame is the infamous “it’s-a me, Mario!” shout-out.
As far as streamlining is concerned, the controls are more fluid, and there seem to be fewer bugs. The horrible beggar women have been replaced by the no less persistent, but much more amusing minstrels. Those will run up to Ezio and sing utter nonsense (“here comes a brave signoooreeee”), both hampering his movements and drawing attention to him until he either outruns them, knocks their lutes out of their hands or throws some money on the ground to send his immediate entourage, both rich and poor, frantically scrabbling for it. Flag collection still exists, but has been pared down to reduce tedium. Ezio now also has a notoriety meter, which rises when he performs risky or illegal acts in front of guards, and gradually makes him easier to detect. It can be reduced either by ripping off wanted posters, bribing town criers or assassinating corrupt officials. Oh, and a small detail which nevertheless makes me happy: Ezio has an accent. I missed that with Altaïr.
Finally, we come to storyline enhancement. Where Altaïr’s plotline basically boiled down to “here’s a hit list, do your worst”, Ezio’s tale is more linear, but also more personal, growing from revenge into commitment to a greater cause. Paradoxically though, this kind of presentation makes Ezio’s targets less memorable. Sure, there’s his first victim and the big bad at the end, but the people he kills in between? I couldn’t name them to save my life, and this despite the fact that their portraits are displayed in Monteriggioni after the fact. By contrast, I can still remember every one of Altaïr’s targets, and the unique settings for their assassinations. The other problem of the storyline is that it spans about twenty years, rather than just a couple of months. I’m sure the idea was to give it more scope, but it just doesn’t work very well. The only character who shows any signs of aging is Ezio, and even that is limited to…growing a beard. The only other indication that time has passed is the date which appears onscreen between chapters. Sometimes, the temporal gaps are downright baffling. Surely, someone with such a burning desire for revenge wouldn’t spend so much time doing…what exactly?
This brings us to the inevitable Altaïr vs Ezio showdown. The general opinion appears to be largely in favour of the latter, and this is easily understood: he’s depicted as far more human. He’s fiery, cocky, has a sense of humour and, upholding the most typical cliché about Italian men, is a total playboy. In short, the dashing rogue type. And yet, I couldn’t help feeling that this kind of personality didn’t quite befit an assassin. Altaïr may have been an arrogant jerk, but he was efficient, focussed, shady, and, to me, a lot more believable in his role. Ezio…just spends a whole lot of time faffing about. Defending a lady from an importunate suitor? Ezio to the rescue! A thief wants some racing practice? Ezio’s happy to oblige! And, what’s most detrimental to his integrity: his involvement with Lorenzo de Medici, whom he saves from an attempt on his life, only to become…his lackey. Lorenzo wants anything done? Ezio’s on it! No wonder the game has to span twenty years.
This, in turn, showcases the flipside of the lavish amounts of variety in the game. Weapons? All you ever really need are the hidden blades. Upgrading the villa? Ezio ends up sitting on a mountain of money he doesn’t know what to do with. Helper factions? They all amount to the same thing. Random sidequests? After a while, you start forgetting what your main goal in the storyline was. And much as I enjoyed running around familiar cities and scaling monuments I’d visited in real life, sightseeing isn’t all the Assassin’s Creed series is about. Still, don’t let this deter you: the game is definitely a terrific romp.
The culprit: Final Fantasy V (Super Nintendo, PlayStation, GameBoy Advance)
Final Fantasy V is the last game of the series that was ‘skipped’ upon release for some reason or other, resulting in its successor being known as FFIII instead of FFVI for a while. Once again, Western audiences had to wait a few years before the game became available outside Japan, bundled with FFIV in the Final Fantasy Anthology collection. In hindsight, I can understand why the oversight occurred. Don’t get me wrong: FFV isn’t a bad game. There have been far worse entries in the series both before (FFII) and since (FFXIII). ‘Bland’ is probably the word that springs to mind most readily. There’s a story and characters, and they all seem to tie in and mesh together reasonably well, but I definitely got the feeling that something was missing. You can’t blame it on character interaction, because there’s plenty of that. You can’t blame it on lack of backstory either, because there’s a good deal of that as well. So perhaps it’s just that, by some devilish stroke of bad luck, the wondrous spirit known as Charisma has managed to bypass the entire cast, bar one.
The game does have its qualities, nevertheless. It further builds on the graphical achievements of FFIV, with larger and better-designed character sprites which now gain a modicum of expression. They can laugh, look angry or surprised, which is a pretty big improvement over what the FFIV sprites could do. It’s also the first time in the series that full-fledged characters coexist with a job system, the latter having been significantly improved by comparison with its FFIII predecessor, which probably makes it the best aspect of the game. FFV’s other perk is that it makes a point of maintaining an upbeat attitude throughout, even when the characters go through rough times, making it one of the most lighthearted games in the series, especially in comparison with its three immediate successors.
Nowadays, FFV exists on the SNES (thanks to the RPGe fan-translation), PS (with some introductory and concluding cinematics) and GBA. Having played the SNES and GBA versions, I would recommend the latter. While there haven’t been any groundbreaking changes, aside from the mandatory additional dungeons and such, the retranslation has greatly improved the game, capitalising on character interaction to compensate for their individual blandness. This, alongside the well-oiled job system, makes the game almost memorable.
I remember the hype surrounding the release of Heavy Rain. There was even an interview with the developers on the news. Despite the fact that Quantic Dream had already made a similar game before (Fahrenheit, or Indigo Prophecy in the US), it was hailed as a groundbreaking achievement. I agree that it’s a riveting first-time experience. Apart from a sluggish prologue which partly serves as a tutorial sequence, the plot is well-paced and does a good job of keeping the player involved. There’s quite a lot of action, demanding quick reflexes, which may not be to everyone’s taste, but it’s a requirement of the scenario. The music is appropriately dramatic or melancholy, as the scene requires. The main protagonists pull their weight very honourably, enhanced by the realistic modelling that went into them (they’re all based on actual actors, who, with one exception, also voiced them), and, all in all, it’s great fun. Until you start scrutinising the details. And that’s when things start to fall apart.
First things first: if quicktime events drive you up the wall…you might reconsider playing altogether, since the entire game is based on them. It unfolds like a semi-interactive film with several possible outcomes depending on the player’s choices. There are no menus, no stats, no save points (the game saves automatically at key points and between chapters) and very little in the way of fixed controls: R2 makes your character walk, and you then direct them with the left joystick, while L2 lets you listen in on their thoughts. Everything else is controlled by variable on-screen prompts: you could be asked to spin the right joystick to put on a bandage, sloooowly move it from side to side to rock a baby to sleep, shake the entire controller to escape strangulation, or hold down an improbable combination of buttons to wiggle through some live electric wires. Since some of these prompts mimic real movements, it certainly feels immersive. It also keeps the player on their toes. On your first time through, there’s no telling what exactly the game can ask you to do, especially in a time-sensitive context, and some of the combinations can be difficult to pull off. From this perspective, replaying the game can either be a good thing, since you know what to expect and are therefore less likely to mess up, or a bad thing, because it kills the suspense. But then, the nature of the plot inevitably kills the suspense anyway.
There is a serial killer on the loose, who likes to kidnap young boys and drown them in rainwater by locking them in an open-air tank. Once they’re dead, he dumps their bodies on a wasteland, leaving an orchid on their chests and an origami figure in their hands (and the game itself comes with a square of paper and instructions on how to reproduce the origami figure depicted on the case). Four characters find themselves involved, and the scenario is split more or less evenly between them, alternately putting you in control of each one. Each of them can die, by mistake or by choice, and two of them can end up in a relationship, for a total of 16 different epilogues across all characters. Before you ask, yes, there’s a trophy for seeing them all.
The first protagonist is a divorced father of two, Ethan Mars. He’s lost one son to a car accident, and now, his second son gets kidnapped by the killer. To all intents and purposes, he’s the hero of the story: he gets the most screen time and the most emotional investment. He’s a caring dad, if a tad passive at first, and you have to at least give him credit for perseverance. The killer decides to test his resolve with some Saw-like trials, rewarding him with clues as to his son’s whereabouts if he manages to complete them. Success or failure is up to you, but poor Ethan gets to go through hell (and maybe back), physically and psychologically, whatever you do: the game just goes balls to the wall on the melodrama with him, tugging at every possible heartstring it can get its grubby little mitts on. On a less serious note, he’s also infamous for his overly emphatic delivery when calling out for his sons (“JAAAASOOON!” and “SHAAUUUUNNN!!”). Also, a fair warning for sensitive eyes: he has a scripted shower scene at the beginning of the game. There is man bum.
Second is Scott Shelby, a middle-aged, portly private eye who has been hired by the families of the previous victims to investigate the murders. This guy remains fairly low-key at the outset and somewhat tangential to the others, since he has his own plot arc, involving an unlikely sidekick in the form of the mother of one of the victims, a rich CEO and his depraved son. All this leaves him very little opportunity to interact with the rest of the cast, to the point where it sometimes feels like he’s in a different story altogether. Couple that with the fact that his chapters don’t really gather steam until the end of the game, and the fact that he doesn’t exactly have the flashiest personality, and you get a character that’s easy to overlook. So easy that I was actually surprised to realise that he gets the most fight scenes of the entire cast. Bit of a shame. Thankfully, though, no shower scene for him.
Third is Norman Jayden–or Nahman, as fans have affectionately dubbed him, due to his voice actor’s decidedly odd choice of accent–a young, shrewd (and cute) smartass of an FBI agent with a drug problem, who has been sent to help the local police investigate the murders. He is, hands down, my favourite of the four and the overall fan favourite as well. Not only could he be Fox Mulder’s cousin (loner agent with unorthodox methods), but his chapters deal hands-on with the murder investigation. He’s the proud owner of an ARI (Augmented Reality Interface): a pair of sunglasses and a glove, which create an interactive interface for scanning crime scenes and analysing clues. Think of a mix between Minority Report and CSI. And not only do you get to play super-sleuth with that snazzy toy, but you’re also confronted with Jayden’s addiction issues (to take or not to take), his antagonistic relationship with his cop colleagues and the decidedly spectacular fights he gets himself into. “I seem to spend most of my time getting the shit kicked out of me”, as he says himself. Poor Norm. And no shower scene for him either (alas!). But his chapters include a very clear reference to The Shining, for any Kubrick fans.
Fourth is Madison Paige, a young journalist with an insomnia problem. She encounters a battered Ethan in a motel, where she has checked in because the impersonal environment helps her sleep. She then decides to ferret out his secrets. Depending on your decisions, she can also ferret her way into his pants. I raised an eyebrow when the semi-interactive hanky-panky popped up. Three years earlier, Mass Effect got all but burned at the stake for including a glimpse of a bare bum during a minute-long cutscene, and this got through without making any waves? It’s not that I’m shocked at the content, which is pretty tame, but I didn’t expect this much tolerance after only three years. Anyways. Madison is plucky and gutsy. Problem is, not only does she have a killer hip-swing when she walks, but she features in a fight scene in underwear, a shower scene, a booty-shaking dancing scene followed by a striptease, a sex scene and an escape from a drill-wielding maniac which looks like something straight out of Hostel. All of this is optional (except the fight scene in underwear), and there’s even a trophy for avoiding the striptease, but I still felt that her status as the only female protagonist was just a tad overexploited. Sure, she’s a looker, but was that really her only contribution to the story? Especially since her role is otherwise somewhat redundant.
As the vehicles for the plot, the characters are the game’s best asset. They do have some stereotypical features, Scott feels a bit left out, and the romance between Ethan and Madison is both rushed and awkwardly timed, but on the whole, they are well-written, and you ultimately feel involved in their fates. It’s the storyline structure that doesn’t hold water (pun fully intended). First of all, an additional supernatural plotline was originally intended but dropped along the way. Significant traces of it still remain (Ethan’s blackouts), and not only do they feel distinctly out of place, but they never lead to anything. Secondly, there’s the identity of the killer. It’s always the same, so obviously, once you finish the game, the element of surprise is lost, although you can go for the “Perfect Crime” trophy (which, as you can guess, involves letting the killer get away) to mix things up. However, once you do know whodunit, it feels forced. In one episode, at least, there’s an evident struggle to make the killer’s identity fit with the events as depicted. As if the writers were trying too hard to be clever. Thirdly, some of the epilogues were clearly written with a precise continuity of events in mind, but you can still obtain them by doing things differently. The resulting ending sequences feel a bit sloppy (eg. awkwardly fitting dialogue lines, or Ethan appearing cleanly shaved in one scene and bearded in the next one). Fourthly, there are plenty of minute inconsistencies riddling the game (eg. Madison acting surprised upon hearing the killer’s name, when she has no reason to be), but going into more detail would mean spoilers, so I shall refrain. Finally, the ball was dropped in the DLC department. There was a whole string of additional episodes planned under the title of Heavy Rain Chronicles to explore each character’s past. However, only one episode was made, featuring Madison in yet another escape-from-maniac situation, which is both underwhelming and disappointing (can you tell I wanted more Jayden?).
Bottom line? Heavy Rain is a heck of a first time experience, if you’re not intrinsically predisposed against its cinematic presentation and its hybrid nature. But there’s a strong likelihood that it’ll lose a large chunk of its charm once the credits roll, and you start chipping away at the shiny surface paint to uncover cracks in the walls. Ultimately, it’s how willing and/or able you are to deal with those that will determine the game’s staying power for you.
The culprit: Fatal Frame/Project Zero (PlayStation 2, Xbox)
Despite scaring extremely easily, I am a confirmed fan of psychological horror. You know, the kind that doesn’t involve limbs flying in all directions and litres of haemoglobin gushing all over the place. One of the scariest films I’ve ever seen was the original Japanese version of Ring, and despite having its own set of clichés, J-Horror, as the genre is called, usually proves very effective on me. So, in my hunt for something that would unsettle me more than the Silent Hill series–which isn’t completely up my street–, Fatal Frame naturally caught my attention. European releases of this game (and the rest of the series as well) are inexplicably titled Project Zero–the name of the team that created it–but that’s beside the point. The point being that if you like psychological horror in general and J-Horror in particular, you should definitely give this a try.
The premise of the game is the tried-and-true haunted house setup: a famous novelist goes missing on a research trip to an abandoned mansion, his assistant goes to look for him and suffers the same fate, and finally, it falls to the assistant’s sister, 17-year-old Miku, to make sense of it all and attempt to find her brother. Exploration and plot advancement are also rather traditional: Miku will find copious notes, journals and cassettes that will fill her in on the mansion’s past (and the genuinely gruesome ritual that’s at the source of it all), and will periodically need to solve puzzles to progress. Still, even if the structure is nothing new, the execution is genuinely effective.
One peculiarity of the Fatal Frame series is its decidedly feminine angle: most of the main characters are female, including the villains, who aren’t so much villains as vengeful victims, as Asian ghosts tend to be. There’s probably a message about the victimisation of women and the sublimation of female fear somewhere in there, but what can I say? Horrific situations definitely have more of an impact when you’re put in control of a terrified girl with no real means of defence rather than a guy with a big gun. Miku’s unease is both contagious and literally palpable, since the controller vibration is put to use to mimic her heartbeat when she becomes frightened. She also walks and runs veeeeery slooooowly (it’s more of a hesitant jog than a run, really), which, besides being infuriating at times, does actually contribute to the feeling that, all in all, she’d much rather be anywhere else than in that godforsaken house.
Atmosphere is the big winner in this game, as it’s the main vector of fear. The music is minimal, consisting mostly of eerie ambient backdrops which end up getting under your skin. The game is set exclusively inside the mansion and on its grounds (which include a pond and a forest temple) over four nights. This equates to ubiquitous darkness, only alleviated by candles, torches and the solitary beam of Miku’s flashlight, and all the creaking, groaning, wind-whistling and what-the-hell-was-that-noise you could expect from an old abandoned house. Whispers, footsteps, mysterious figures shadowed on blinds, doors closing and objects falling on their own. Broken windows with moonlight barely filtering through, crumbling floors and collapsing ceilings, bloody handprints on the walls, dusty kimonos stretched on stands, an unsettilingly lifelike doll kneeling in a corner, a pool with blood dripping onto the surface from an unknown source, a long corridor with ropes hanging from the ceiling and a mirror standing at the end, and so on and so forth. And copious amounts of ghost encounters, of course. Oh, and, for an added kick, try pausing the game and leaving it for a while. I had a nice little jolt when I did that to take care of something else, then looked up at my screen.
Ghosts are the only enemies and the only allies in this game, most being designated by a straightforward description of their appearance (eg. Long Arms, Bound Man; very few of them have a name), and Miku’s only means of dealing with them is an antique camera she inherited from her mother. In a literal take on the old superstition of cameras capturing people’s souls, this camera has the ability to take pictures of spirits, damaging hostile ones. It uses film like ammo, and there are different, increasingly powerful grades of film available. The lowest grade can be found in infinite supply at any save point, which looks like an old camera on a stand. Every picture is worth a certain number of points, which can then be used to upgrade the camera. Basic upgrades enhance its range and the power of its shots, while special upgrades require Spirit Stones and may slow a hostile ghost down, paralyse it or simply inflict more damage. Timing is also important in combat; close-up shots are worth more points, and each ghost has their own ‘fatal frame’: a moment when they are more vulnerable, signalled by the camera’s capture circle turning orange instead of blue. This usually occurs either right before or right after an attack, so while these shots deal a lot of damage, they can also be perilous.
An added fear factor is that not all hostile ghosts are scripted encounters. There is a randomised chance of encountering a hostile ghost in almost every room of the house, which creates a permanent feeling of dread and urgency. Really, Miku’s not 100% safe anywhere, not even in a room with a save point (its light will turn red instead of blue if something’s in the room). Ghost appearances are signalled by a chiming noise and heartbeat, and you’ll probably be pricking your ears in suspense more than once. It’s also entirely possible to have Miku pull out the camera (say, to take a picture of a puzzle clue), only to be greeted by a ghost DIRECTLY IN HER FACE. As far as specific ghosts are concerned, the first encounter with Broken Neck will more than likely have you jumping in your seat (“It hurts! It hurts!”), while the numerous run-ins you’ll have with Blinded (“My eyes…”) may very well turn into nightmare fuel. They’re not the only scary ghosts in the game, but they were certainly the main highlights as far as I was concerned. I’ll spare you the pictures to preserve shock value.
Non-hostile ghosts come in two flavours: hidden ghosts, which will only appear when Miku takes their picture (her only means of finding them is the camera’s capture circle turning blue) and vanishing ghosts, which will appear at certain precise spots for a short while. Some of these are hair-tearingly difficult to snap, but of course, they’re usually also worth the most points.
Replay value has also been taken into account. After you finish the game once, various goodies are unlocked, such as a music player or the list of all ghosts in the game, which allows you to check which ones you’ve captured (and some are only available on second-or-more playthroughs). You also gain access to additional difficulties, as well as a mission mode which pits Miku against various combinations of the ghosts she’s encountered. Your playthrough is given a rating based on how much damage Miku has dealt, which grants you a certain number of points to spend on camera upgrades that carry over to your next playthrough. Finishing the game or the mission mode on different difficulties also unlocks additional costumes for Miku, which, besides changing her appearance, will make her move a tad faster. And last but not least, an alternate ending becomes available for subsequent playthroughs.
All in all, this game doesn’t make any groundbreaking innovations, and it does have several drawbacks: the controls are fairly unwieldy, the graphics aren’t exactly top-of-the-line, the translation feels shoddy at times, and the voice acting is adequate at best. You’ll probably need a guide to capture most of the vanishing ghosts, and there’s an unnecessarily complicated album feature which allows you to save the pictures you’ve taken (but is separate from your game saves). Still, the main point of a survival/horror game is to induce fear, unease and a sense of danger, and that’s something Fatal Frame excels at.
The culprit: Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty (PlayStation 2, PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360, as part of the Metal Gear Solid HD Collection)
Every series has its black sheep: the game that either fell short of the established quality mark, or tried to do something different, but didn’t quite succeed. In the Metal Gear Solid series, the title of black sheep usually goes to the second opus, Sons of Liberty. And I would tend to agree. Compared to its predecessor, things just don’t quite gel together. Even in the fanservice department. Considering the game is designed for an overwhelmingly male audience and is part of a series now famous for its mild naughtiness, there’s really not a lot of it. No Meryls or Sniper Wolves here, gentlemen. You have manly Olga and her armpits (way to give Russian women a bad rap, thanks!), just-as-manly Fortune, who looks like she just came out of a Pro Wrestling ring, Emma (Otacon’s half-sister), straight from ‘nerdy-14-year-old-stalker’ land and Rose, who’s in a whole league of her own, and not in a good way. On top of that, there’s a rather lengthy section involving Raiden (a.k.a. Jack) running around buck naked. It’s a refreshing change of pace from scantily clad ladies, but I’m curious: which part of the player base was this aimed at?
The storyline is intentionally designed as a sort of rehash of the first game, which distinctly impairs its impact. But the reason it provides for said rehash opens a whole other can of worms. Kojima’s (N.B. Hideo Kojima, the mastermind behind the series) intention may have been to deliver a deep philosophical message about the increasingly virtual nature of our society, but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one going “what…the…hell…” during that–oh…1hr long?–final cutscene. And yes, the cinematic overload the series is now notorious for is beginning to be apparent here. It’s still the same kind of epic nonsense as in the first game, but it somehow got turned up to 11 (cue obscure film reference). Especially the ‘radio breakdown’ episode. And naming the various rooms of the final area of the game after the stages of the digestive tract (culminating in “Arsenal: Rectum”) might have been a liiiittle bit too much. The aim was to give the player the sense of having been swallowed by a malevolent entity. Well, it certainly worked! It also seems like there was a lot more American patriotism going on this time around, which, I must say, feels very strange in a Japanese game.
The game is split into two uneven parts featuring two different protagonists. I didn’t mind it, but it certainly caused an uproar when the game came out. Snake, who is the face of the MGS series, now has to share the bill with a newcomer called Raiden. A younger, more impulsive, more emotional, more talkative, blonder and ninja’er newcomer. It’s like a clash of the stereotypes: the rough, grizzled Action Man vs the acrobatic, pretty (but so very pretty…) anime hero. In fact, he’s so pretty that one male character mistakes him for a woman, despite the fact that he’s wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, then proceeds to grope him (…). To make matters worse, Raiden starts his section of the game being briefly codenamed Snake, just to cement that “hey guys, I’m crashing this party!” feeling. Certainly not the best way to win support. But you know what? Despite having been warned multiple times about him…I actually liked him. Shocking, I know. He was a nice change of pace from Snake’s “I don’t have time for this crap” attitude, especially since the structure of the game allowed for a direct comparison between the two. I’ve heard him described as whiny. Well, I’d certainly whine for a lot less. Yes, Snake also has his share of baggage and bears it quietly, but I don’t mind that Raiden is more open about his issues. Not that “open” is quite the proper term. I’m pretty sure he would’ve dwelt on them a lot less if not for his girlfriend, Rose.
Oh. Dear. God. Rose. “Jack, what day is it tomorrow?” “Jack, you seem upset.” “Jack, you’re in the middle of a dangerous mission, you could die at any moment, and I shouldn’t bother you, but…do you really care about me? Do you? Do you really? Because I don’t think you do. In fact, I think that you’re scared, and you don’t let me in, and your room is empty, and I bet you enjoyed rescuing Emma, you pervert, and…” *gets shot* I have rarely encountered a character that annoyed me to this extent. Raiden deserves a damn medal simply for putting up with her. And before you ask, yes, “Jack and Rose” was intentional.
Moving right on, due to the game’s insistence on rehashing its predecessor, much of the villain cast feels like a pale ersatz. There’s a Grey Fox stand-in and the Foxhound-wannabe Dead Cell. It’s a little difficult to take someone seriously when they’re riding around on rollerskates in a bombsuit while drinking wine from a straw (heresy!). That’s Fatman, and although the battle against him definitely qualifies as annoying, he’s no Vulcan Raven. Secondly, where Sniper Wolf scored a winning combination of cleavage, stealth and shadiness, Fortune wears a swimsuit (this isn’t a JRPG!), and flaunts those glistening man-thighs and that enormous railgun. Not to mention that her unique…condition all but nullifies the point of her boss battle. The only one that manages to equal his predecessor is Vamp, who, despite sharing Fortune’s condition, is just as disturbing as Psycho Mantis (if not more, due to the lack of fourth-wall-breaking tendencies) and certainly just as nefarious. To top it all off, you have Solidus Snake, who gives off a distinct Doc Ock vibe, but is otherwise a sorry excuse for a villain.
This isn’t to say that the entire cast is bad. Other than Snake, Otacon also makes a comeback, providing some thoroughly random hilarity in the first part of the game by trying to imitate Mei Ling and a rather heartbreaking episode in the second one. All of that, thankfully, sans pant-wetting. In the villain department, fan-favourite Revolver Ocelot also reappears, albeit with a somewhat disturbing twist.
To round things off, a few words about combat. It’s almost identical to The Twin Snakes, but for some reason, I had a lot less trouble with the controls this time around. Maybe because the PS2 controller is more ergonomic. Or maybe I simply got used to them. In any case, for anybody who’s only played the original Metal Gear Solid, it’s a significant improvement. You still get a codename based on your performance upon completing the game, alongside a pin code made up entirely of letters. This was originally intended to be entered on a special website to get the statistical breakdown for your playthrough. However, it’s no longer available, due to the age of the game. I must also say that collecting dog tags is now noticeably more difficult. There are quite a few tricky ones, even on Normal mode, and one memorably hair-tearing instance at the end of the first part of the game, where there’s a whole military meeting going on. The final series of battles is also particularly nasty this time around. Having to fight through roomfuls of guards before finally facing the big bad has a tendency to deplete rations. This resulted in my restarting several times to get the hang of the Metal Gear RAYs (yes, that’s a plural). Not to mention the ensuing smackdown against Solidus. There are a lot of things he is not, but “goddamn annoying” certainly applies as much to him as it did to Liquid, if not more. Let me also say just how much I hate the HF Blade, which is mandatory for that battle. Who thought that controlling a katana with a joystick was a good idea? Doesn’t help that you obtain it right before the final series of battles, meaning that you don’t have time to properly get used to it, short of running around slicing at thin air.
To make a long story short, this is still MGS alright, even if not in top shape, so if you enjoyed the first game, you might as well keep going. It only gets better, and if you want to understand what’s going on in MGS4, playing this one is pretty much a requirement. Not a bad game by any means, but certainly not the best the series has to offer.
Sons of Liberty was remade as Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance two years after its initial release, but apart from some minor graphic upgrades and a lot of optional stuff, such as Virtual Training combat simulations, a skateboarding mini-game (of all things) or the Snake Tales–which essentially gave people who really hated Raiden the ability to replay some of his sequences as Snake–the core game is the same as the original. In other words, if you already have the original, no point in shelling out more money. This version is also the one included in the recently-released Metal Gear Solid HD Collection.
