Netflix has a funny way of handling content sometimes. They'll make a hard push to promote things like Orange is the New Black, Daredevil, or House of Cards. Then they sneak in something like Lady Dynamite or, in this particular case, Stranger Things. For a show that got next to no real hype prior to dropping, the '80s nostalgia trip and Stephen King's Greatest Hits compilation almost immediately struck a chord with audiences, becoming one of the most talked about shows of the year.
In many respects, it's easy to compare Stranger Things to something like the original Star Wars. The creators were clearly influenced and inspired by many things that came before. Using that, they've essentially remixed many of those elements into something fresh. Though it maybe doesn't add too much new stuff to the table, Stranger Things largely succeeds by adequately bringing old things back. So many elements are either lifted from other works or are amalgamations of them, but they feel very fresh in modern times. It doesn't hurt that the Duffer brothers happen to have excellent tastes, subsequently taking from a wide array of films, television, and video games.
There's a lot one can talk about when breaking it down. Following a group of young, nerdy boys as they search for their missing friend, they stumble upon something incredible and terrifying. What makes Stranger Things feel even more refreshing is that they have practically abandoned the "mystery box" formula popularized by J.J. Abrams. There is a mystery in Hawkins, Indiana, and while not everything is spelled out for the viewers, we are not wholly ignorant to the goings-on. We watch D&D group Mike, Dustin, and Lucas search for Will. They don't know what happened to him. We the viewers, however, saw him get attacked by a monster, and get clues from another plot thread that tell us he is alive. Similarly, police chief Jim Hopper investigates unusual circumstances that we know the government is involved in.
It strikes a happy medium between unknown mystery and allowing us to watch how the characters deal with it. The trouble with shows like Lost is that the "what comes next?" and "what's going on?" questions often supersede the characters. It would have been easy for the show runners to hook people by revealing very little, ending each episode with enigmatic cliffhangers. Instead, they make sure to give viewers just enough that the driving factor for coming back to the show is concern or love for the characters.
(As an aside, a friend of mine pointed out that keeping the viewers more informed than the characters actually functions to relate those watching to the character of Will. Trapped in the parallel dimension known as the Upside Down, Will knows what is going on with this horrifying creature, but he is almost powerless to do anything about it. Occasionally, he can flick some lights, but other than that, he can't do much. It's an interesting take, and one that I find worth bringing up.)
Though references and influences of The Goonies and E.T. are pretty obvious (Episode 1 starts and finishes with nearly identical shots from E.T., for example), the show isn't just one of those kids-on-their-own adventure films. You've also got Chief Hopper trying to solve this unique mystery. It's sort of an X-Files, Twin Peaks, Jaws type of story. Plus, you've got Will's mother Joyce (the very enjoyable Winona Ryder) in this "Is she right or insane?" type of tale, fulfilling a Richard Dreyfus/Close Encounters of the Third Kind role. Then there's Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve who are essentially in an '80s rom-com at the start.
So much of the show excels when all these differing stories and genres start to converge onto a single point. At just eight episodes, it moves quickly. There isn't much time to dillydally, and these plots all begin to meet at almost exactly the middle. Being well paced dramatically impacts the effectiveness of the mystery, rewarding viewers in such a timely fashion so as to never feel like we're being reeled in by creators who would reveal that they used a lure instead of real bait.
Not everything is perfect, of course. While the internet appears to have a love affair with Barb, she's ultimately not much of a character worth noting in terms of the narrative. Her brief arc is tiny, slightly disappointing, and even highlights that sometimes the writing is a tad distracted - occasionally unsure of how much time to dedicate to each area of the story. The conclusion also has some anti-climactic moments that felt like they could have either used more of a build up or more clarity. The series starts off with the boys playing a Dungeons & Dragons campaign that spells out what is going to happen in the series (a structural tactic I always enjoy - see every Edgar Wright movie). The finale sees them finishing the campaign, with each friend objecting to its end with a series of questions related to the show's plot. Their questions about the campaign, and its lack of satisfying answers, all connect to the viewer's questions about the conclusion of the season. This is one of my favorite techniques in media. However, I'm not quite sure the fantasy aspect of the Dungeons & Dragons game ultimately connects that well with the sci-fi/horror elements that dominated the show. It's a neat way to spell everything out, but it doesn't quite connect as well as other aspects of the show, and feels a tad bit like a way to build their "nerd cred" by showing that they know something about D&D.
The acting is top notch for a show reliant on young child actors. Each one really stood out, right at home with all of your favorite kid-centric movies. The teens are also surprisingly believable characters for an '80s era set. There's been some strange criticism of Ryder, but frankly, she nails the understandably distraught and disheveled mother with the Dreyfus-esque "might be losing her mind" trope. Even David Harbour excels at the nuance of Chief Hopper, a character who starts off seeming like he's going to be unlikable, but winds up the most interesting part of the show.
Of course, no discussion of Stranger Things can be considered complete without mentioning the original score as well. Composers Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein nail the '80s nostalgia, John Carpenter-inspired soundtrack. It's arguably more perfectly recreated than Disasterpeace's amazing soundtrack for It Follows, itself a throwback to Carpenter films.
Even if you're not a big fan of the '80s, or don't care about all of the references, Easter eggs, and nods to all those things thirty-somethings cling to out of an often misguided sense of unwarranted nostalgia, Stranger Things is still great. It's incredibly well structured, intelligently written, excellently paced, and one of the more visually intriguing shows to grace the Netflix platform.
Although, can we please agree to stop talking about its title fonts? Really, it's not that interesting...
Xenogears is an old school JRPG from the PS1 days that often makes its way onto people's lists of best or most underrated RGPs of all-time. On some level, it makes sense. It's got a unique, interesting combat system split into different types, has beautiful sprites for a generation of games in which graphics haven't exactly aged well, dabbled in 3D landscapes for every area besides the world map, and has a pretty awesome score. Its story also is one of the more intricate, complicated, and confusing in any game you can find from the period.
Yet it is also a game that could be used as a shining example of what not to do in a game today. (Full disclosure: I did not complete the replay. I beat it once about a decade ago, but I remember so very little from it. I've been playing for months and have recently had to give up for various reasons. I made it 50+ hours in and got about half way through the second disc before quitting. Personally, I don't see how finishing the game could possibly alter my review, but if you're someone who feels an entire review is completely invalid if the author doesn't complete the game, then you might as well not bother reading on.)
Originally slated to be a Final Fantasy installment, Xenogears incorporates some of the classic Squaresoft elements that made its flagship franchise so popular. An epic - if completely confounding story - with distinct characters, a new combat system, and a sprawling world map filled with history and lore, the game does a lot of things well.
Most notably is the combat. It scraps the ATB system found in most JRPGs of the time, opting for a strictly turn-based system. Menus are a little strange to navigate through at first - depicted in a sort of wheel-like manner in the upper corner - but instead of your traditional options of "fight, item, magic, et cetera," players pummel enemies through series of combos. Each character has X amount of points to expend for a turn, and the player may choose to distribute them however they'd like. If the character has 5 points, it could be divvied up into three attacks (2 weak attacks at 1 point apiece, and 1 strong attack at 3 points), or two attacks (1 medium attack at 2 points, 1 strong attack at 3 points). Or, if desired, five attacks (all 5 attacks being weak attacks worth 1 point).
It's an interesting and fun system. Basically, think of the entire character-driven fighting system as Sabin specialty moves from Final Fantasy VI. As you progress, the party members learn "Deathblows" as well - combinations of attack sets that unleash special moves. Players might also choose to pocket some spare AP each turn, saving up to unleash huge "Combo" chains, though this tactic does take some time to make worthwhile.
Additionally, the game created a second style of combat with Gears. Large mech suits that each character rides and fights in, Gear battles function somewhat similarly, yet also have different dynamics entirely. Each Gear requires fuel to perform any action at all. Fuel plays a bit like a mixture of AP and EP from character battles, only it's much easier to find yourself out of in the middle of a fight. Indeed, relying on fuel is a big reason why Gear battles are often the toughest in the entire game. There's more to be conscientious of. Plus, for about a third of the game, you cannot heal gears. Doing so requires a special item sold later in the game. As a result, when you take damage, your Gear can't get that health back during the fight. This is especially problematic in areas where you have to marathon bosses.
While an interesting idea, that fact makes the Gear battles feel slightly unfair. It doesn't help either that many boss fights are at the end of long, drawn out story scenes that cannot be skipped. This puts a lot of pressure on each fight, and it's extraordinarily frustrating to find yourself losing to such bosses. The argument that putting save points at a distance from bosses to make the game more difficult only holds water if there is a stretch of the level the player must complete again if they die. Here, it's annoying because the only thing you must repeat is an unskippable story sequence.
Late in the game, one of the more annoying elements is how the fuel cost of many attacks keeps increasing, but recharging does not. For example, some moves will scale up its fuel consumption cost as you level up and improve the Gears. Yet "Charge" - a move that lets you gain fuel - never yields more than 30 units. By the time you're on Disc 2, 30 fuel is nothing, and it's even easier to run out of fuel.
In fact, the hyper-focus on narrative is often detrimental to the game. Many will mention that the problem is especially noticeable on Disc 2. By that point, it is clear that the team developing the game ran out of time and resources, hastily slapping the final disc together. The narrative style changes drastically, often relying on a character in a chair straight up explaining the bits of story that they didn't have time to include in the game otherwise. Yet the slog of story problems begins well before the end of the first disc. If they had been able to include everything they wanted in disc 2 in a natural way, the game would have taken well over 100 hours to complete.
That in and of itself isn't a huge problem. However, the issue with Xenogears' story is that it isn't paced very well, and it's reliant on incredibly cryptic story elements that take forever to understand or get explained. The pay offs are almost never worth it, and many character elements are contrived in ways that extend beyond the norm for JRPGs of that era. It doesn't help that some sequences can last up to twenty minutes, followed by no save point, merge right into a boss fight, and oh yeah, you can't skip anything. (This was a problem it's spiritual successor, Xenosaga, fixed by allowing players to skip cutscenes.)
The end result is a game that often feels like a slog. It drags as you trudge through it. It's almost shades of Final Fantasy XIII too in the sense that there is surprisingly little for you to do at any point in the game, besides go wherever it wants you to go next. Exploration is substantially less of a role in Xenogears as it is in any Squaresoft Final Fantasy. The world map is nice and big, but doesn't offer any room for worthwhile sidequests or towns to look around in. This very linear design kind of conflicts with the idea of rendering all environments in 3D, which was obviously meant to make the game feel more open. It does not, in fact, feel remotely open.
The 3D maps, by the way, are interesting, but not executed super well. Certain dungeons will require a quasi-platforming element, with players needing to make jumps to a platform or landing based off of clunky and awkward camera angles. Plus, the running and jumping mechanics aren't tight enough for these elements to ever be anything other than frustrating.
Going into the replay, all I could really remember was that I thought I liked it when I played it a while ago. Perhaps it is truly good for the time it came out in, but I'm inclined to think that calling it underrated is inherently overrating it. It's not a terrible game without any merit, but it fails in a lot of ways.
(I'm inclined to rate it "Pretty Bad," since I spent months on the game and it felt like such a slog, and eventually some glitches made me finally give up. But I think it does have enough positive attributes in the gameplay department. I think fans of the genre might take something away.)
NOTE: SPOILERS - Seriously, do yourself a favor and play it first. Then come back and read this analysis.
A choice-driven, episodic game in the same vein as all of Telltale's properties, Life is Strange follows the freakish time-manipulating adventures of Max Caulfield at a prestigious art school in the Pacific Northwest. In essence, it is part Twin Peaks, part "Twilight Zone," and part The Catcher in the Rye. References to all works are scattered throughout (from the location to the last name of the main character). When the story starts getting especially strange and crazy, it might betray the grounded, relatable nature of the first episode, but is not unexpected as a result.
The story itself delves deep into issues that many people - especially younger folks - deal with. They deftly maneuver to include issues of bullying, suicide, and drug use while tackling themes of lost innocence, coming of age, and dealing with regret.
The long and short of the game is that it's one of the better choice-based games with the added twist of an interesting and well executed time rewind power. It's extremely touching, focused on two young women rekindling an old friendship in the aftermath of what could have been a horrible tragedy. It offers some cringe-worthy dialogue at times (sometimes comes off as "what older people think younger people sound like"), but it also features some of the most tense and difficult decisions ever asked of a player. Episode 4 is the pinnacle of the game, featuring arguably the most challenging choice I've ever had to confront personally, plus one of the better, more organic, and satisfying puzzles to solve. It does kind of fall apart at the end a bit, and its timeline of events could have used a little more ironing out, but it's still an incredible entry into the choice-based gaming.
Instead of doing a breakdown of the game overall, it might make more sense to tackle some of the bigger themes, and in particular why I might be one of the few who actively liked the final choice presented at the end. I was struck upon replay with how much it seemed to encourage players to dig into the meaning of things that it would make for a more interesting post to break down some of that, rather than a straight-forward review of it as a game. So indulge me as I do a deeper dive into some of that stuff.
One of the complaints people had at the end was that there aren't any reasons given for why Max developed the powers. By the conclusion, we are left without answers to those questions. Certainly, it's easy to understand why some would not be thrilled by that prospect. However, the game was never so much about the power itself. It was always about the characters and what Max did with it. There never needed to be an explanation as to why she got the powers.
Yet one thing that could have used further explanation is why her powers created the tornado seen in her apocalyptic vision of Arcadia Bay's destruction. Throughout the game, they loosely connect Max's time manipulation powers to things like the Butterfly Effect or Chaos Theory. Essentially, we as players are meant to understand that Max manipulating time is also manipulating reality and causing all of these unusual events: an unscheduled eclipse, snow during the summer, and a bunch of beached whales and dead birds everywhere. Max's power is also clearly behind the impending tornado. While they do a relatively solid job connecting that idea for the players, they don't exactly produce any super compelling evidence for the characters to buy into within the game. Max and Chloe both seem sold on the idea that that is the truth, but there isn't really much evidence for them to believe it whole-heartedly. Confounding it more is that the sequence of events is not that Max uses her power, then has premonitions of the twister. In fact, she has the vision first. Then she learns she can manipulate time. If they had just sorted that out properly, more people likely would have bought into the idea that the characters know it's cause and effect.
Of course, the biggest controversy of the game is its conclusion. When all is said and done, players are left with one binary choice: sacrifice Arcadia Bay or sacrifice Chloe. First off, I'd like to point out the beauty of phrasing here. The final choice isn't who you want to save. It's who you feel you must sacrifice. The game is by no means presenting Max as a hero at this point, and it aims at the harsher side of decision-making. Sometimes, you have a choice to make that just sucks either way. By phrasing it as "sacrifice" instead of "save," it forces you to confront the fact that it is a choice, and even if you find it a rather easy decision to make, there is an alternative. You don't have to let Chloe die again.
Some have argued that such a choice renders the rest of the game irrelevant. This is essentially the Mass Effect 3 argument, but it's not quite accurate. See, Mass Effect 3's concluding choice feels crappy because it feels oversimplified and disregards the point of the game. With Life is Strange, the finale serves the primary theme of the game. It's a video game take on the philosophical "trolley problem." More to the point, it marks the conclusion of Max's development either way.
So much of the game is about loss of innocence and dealing with regret. Max is an aspiring photographer, in which she constantly wants to snap images that "capture a moment in time." She's constantly stuck looking at the past, often at the cost of the present and future. The trauma endured when witnessing her childhood friend Chloe getting shot and killed in the bathroom is compounded by the guilt she feels from having lost touch with her. This was her best friend as a kid, and they had grown apart. Everything after that moment is simply Max trying to get more time with Chloe, to avoid that feeling of guilt and regret. All of the time manipulation is designed to retain that innocence of the past. She doesn't want to grow up and deal with serious problems of the adult world. So, she treats her time rewind power like she does her camera - just a way to re-live a moment in time.
The phantom doe is a bit of a strange creative decision that gets no real explanation and has sparked much debate among fans. Many felt betrayed by it just disappearing without reasons, as some argued it was the connection between Max and the missing Rachel Amber. However, it could be argued that the spirit doe didn't represent Rachel, nor did it even represent Max herself. It represented the innocence of childhood - something fading rapidly, but still Max pursued. She's seen chasing the doe several times, but it only disappears completely once they find the truth about Rachel. Max's innocence is completely gone when she's forced to confront the horrible reality of a supremely serious situation. At the same time, it was her pursuit of that innocence - spending all that time with Chloe, trying to mend that friendship - that brought them to that point. Chasing the doe drove her to the point where she could no longer go back to those happier days.
Some of this is also displayed in Max's outfits. In the first three episodes, she is always wearing a shirt that depicts a deer or doe in some fashion. Does typically represent innocent creatures, baby deer that are cute and harmless. At that point, Max is still chasing the past. She is trying to fix her old friendship with Chloe while still a bit ignorant of the more sinister plot of Rachel Amber's disappearance.
After the events of Episode 3, Max cannot escape her feelings of guilt anymore. She no longer wears a shirt featuring a doe. Instead, she dawns a black shirt featuring a rugged looking butterfly that appears to include a skull. It's substantially darker, depicting the loss of innocence completely. She knows she can't ever go back to those more pure times, and she's now fully wrapped up in the dark and horrifying events of a serial kidnapper.
Max's chase for innocence lines up well with Mr. Jefferson's scheme as well. A famed photographer, Mark Jefferson has made a name for himself by obsessing over one thing: capturing the moment where innocence is lost. That is why he works at a school and pursues teenagers. They're just on the cusp of adulthood and having no choice but to abandon notions of returning to the happier times of childhood. He's surrounded by people losing innocence and gaining more cynicism and darkness. While Max tries to hunt down those fleeting moments of past pleasantries, Jefferson hunts her down to capture the moment where she loses it.
All of this creates a cohesion of specifics and themes. Max being into photography serves her main arc of learning to come of age and become more of an adult. Pictures are capturing moments in time. This hobby is not just some pretentious art for her to randomly be interested in. It fits her character's development and the primary theme of learning to get out of the past and live in the present, ideally in a way that prevents regret.
Similarly, Jefferson's obsession with photographing the moment when "light turns to dark" or innocence is lost fits the theme as well. He is trying to capture Max in the moment she is trying to avoid, pitting them as natural thematic enemies. In a sense, Jefferson is the darkness to Max's light. The two are opposite sides of the same coin. This is represented through their actual photography. Jefferson tries to capture dark, tortured images while Max has a tendency of snapping photos of more positive, cheerful things.
The idea that the final choice renders the entire game pointless is not entirely fair, nor accurate. It's worth keeping in mind that everything that happens prior to that moment - including all of the alternate timelines and rewound scenarios - all happened for Max. Whether you choose to go back to the beginning and let Chloe die or to move forward and screw over the town, Max will remember virtually everything that happened. She will have to live with further guilt either way, and live with the fact that she did possess the ability to change things. Letting Arcadia Bay get destroyed does not render everything you did meaningless, but it would indicate a level of selfishness that she wouldn't have otherwise developed into.
Indeed, the entire point of the game is really about Max dealing with the guilt of failing to keep in touch with a dear friend, and wishing she had more time. All of the interactions with other characters, whether it was Victoria or Warren or Kate, all serve to show character development. The whole thing is told from Max's perspective, complete with her inner dialogue, explaining her feelings and opinions. She is not a stand-in for you, the player, even though you get a choice in how she develops. It should be clear, then, that no matter what you choose at the end, Max will continue about her life knowing all of those things did happen. And she will have to carry additional burdens as well.
At times, I have been accused of making great stretches to create a pretentious justification for the flaws of the final choice. Certainly, binary decisions are rarely amazing, and indeed the timeline of events is flawed in a way detrimental to the specific plot. However, replaying the game in a week - start to finish with no breaks as we did when it was being released - I'm more convinced than ever that I am not making wide leaps in my explanations here. This is not to suggest that I believe my interpretations are "correct." There have been many theories and commentaries about what certain things mean, all of them every bit as valid as I believe mine to be. Great art is something that will impact people differently. Great stories will allow different consumers to take different things from them. Maybe the doe doesn't represent that sense of innocence to other people, but it absolutely seemed that way to me.
So, despite some noticeable flaws and missteps here and there, it's hard for me to call the game anything other than great. It's one of the better point-and-click style of choice-driven games. It handles choices in vastly better and more interesting ways than Telltale has in any of there games, to be frank. I love that the game had me reading into things, challenging me more. More importantly, I adored that it presented some decisions that actually made me reconsider my positions on real life issues. And, admittedly, it's one of the only games that ever made me tear up (which it did both times, even when I knew what was coming).
Life Is Strange is one of the more powerful entries in narrative gaming, and it's one of the better examples of just how much empathy and emotion interactive media can generate.
COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY PREFACE (Feel free to skip down for the review itself):
It's hard to even begin to talk about Ghostbusters without mentioning all of the nonsense involved in the build up. From legitimately sexist dudes annoyed that women would be predominantly involved in a property they love, to fanboys honestly just upset that their favorite paranormal eliminators would not be involved (yet still angrily making public announcements that they refuse to see it), to people arguing that the problem is less with an all-women cast and more with "reboot culture," it was next to impossible to get away from all of the outrage and negativity. Was any of that pessimism and pissed off attitude justified? Perhaps a better question: did anyone of those people actually see it, and actually give it a truly fair shot?
Before getting into it, I should set up how I approached the film. I mean, I shouldn't have to, or even feel like I have to, but the internet is just the worst and all the bologna surrounding the film suddenly has everyone having to explain their Ghostbusters background in order to have their opinion seem valid. So, here is mine:
I went into the movie reservedly optimistic. The trailer looked horrible, but I am one of those weird movie-goers who doesn't put much value in trailers or posters. I am a fan of Paul Feig and that entire cast. While Sony has given me plenty of reasons to be skeptical, there was just too much creative talent involved here for me to think it was going to be awful. (Spoiler: it isn't - not even close to being the worst movie of the year, never mind the last five.) I was concerned about how cartoon-like everything seemed, and how generic of a Hollywood summer blockbuster it appeared.
I'm also a die-hard fan of the original. I grew up drinking Ecto Cooler, watching "The Real Ghostbusters," and ran around the house with a plastic, blue proton pack on my back, busting ghosts around my room. I'm even a huge fan of Ghostbusters II, and a few of those (legitimately terrible) video games. The 1984 Ghostbusters is one of my all-time favorite films, and I could talk at length about why it's a genuinely incredible piece of film making that will always stand the test of time, despite some of its dated references and visuals.
However, I also never cared about the canon. The idea of rebooting the "franchise" never bothered me in the slightest. The draw to the original film, for me, is that it is an incredibly amazing piece of cinema. Given the nature of Hollywood, it never bothered me that they might continue with Ghostbusters as a franchise. It was, after all, a profitable franchise. They made another movie, three cartoon shows, a bunch of video games (including a quasi-sequel to the film), many comics, and tons of toys. It's almost more unreasonable to think that they would just leave the series alone. Even more, it doesn't bother me that they called this new film Ghostbusters. That has been a common complaint for some reason, but to me, it literally doesn't matter. Partly, it is because it takes half a second to clarify which one you mean when you talk about one of them. Partly, it's because I am primarily a Godzilla nerd above all else, so I've already lived a life with three separate films (of various quality) just called Godzilla, and it has really not been inconvenient at all.
Basically, I went in as a huge fan of Ghostbusters, it being a big part of my childhood, not caring much about any of this reboot stuff, turned off by several things from the trailer, but optimistic about the creative talent behind it. I watched figuring it would be fine, and hoping to enjoy it - although admittedly concerned I would hate it.
SO HERE IS THE REVEW OF THIS FILM, FREE FROM OUTSIDE NOISE (Relatively):
If it's hard to talk about it at all without mentioning the online outrage preceding it, it's also hard to talk about it without the inevitable comparing and contrasting to the original. In many ways, it's unfair since the new Ghostbusters is fundamentally different in almost every way imaginable. At the same time, it is another installment in the franchise, so some comparisons are justified - and indeed required to address some of the problems.
As a fan, I'm admittedly not sure what exactly I wanted in another live action film. The previews made it seem particularly cartoon-ish, which was a bit concerning. However, the application of that style was surprisingly effective and well done. They succeeded at creating a singular, cohesive look and tone to the film that contributed greatly to why it works as a piece of entertainment. Indeed, the characters are very cartoon-ish. So are most of the sets and environments. So are the bright, neon ghosts. So is the story, really. From the very start, you are meant to stop taking anything seriously. Had just one or two of those elements been like a cartoon, it wouldn't have worked. Yet they do a great job keeping it all consistent.
The cast is great, with two stand outs in particular. Chris Hemsworth as the hunky, stupid receptionist makes the most of his opportunity to break his type-casting. Though the "he's so stupid!" joke gets hammered a bit too hard at times and lasts a tad too long, Hemsworth himself is a delight to watch at work. He's genuinely hilarious, and hopefully has more comedies in his future. The other stand out is Kate McKinnon. Her character is an all-over-the-place type of crazy, which some people certainly may find a bit too much, but McKinnon simply nails it. Watching her reminded me a lot of watching Rick Moranis in the original - so good that I was looking at every subtle gesture, or tonal inflection, or facial expression.
The rest of the cast also shines, of course. Kristen Wiig doesn't do too much outside what we have seen from her in the past, but it's still funny. Melissa McCarthy got to enjoy some time outside the unfortunate trap of being cast frequently as the "female Chris Farley," which is nice to see. She plays one of the more grounded characters, which is refreshing. And Leslie Jones does a great job balancing an exaggerated "everyman" with the total history nerd. From the trailers, there was a lot made of the fact that the black character isn't a scientist. Additionally, they made it seem like her knowledge was of "the streets." All that feeding a perpetuated stereotyping of black characters and continuing to limit roles available to black actors. Yet in the end, that concern is - however justified from the trailers alone - without much ground. Her character, Patty, is a historian, spouting information and knowledge that one would usually describe as "book smart." While she doesn't quite fulfill the same important role that Ernie Hudson did in the original, Jones actually does balance "book" and "street" smarts really well.
The humor can be a bit all over the place. It isn't as slapstick-focused as the previews made it appear, but there are a lot of styles of comedy that come into play. There's the classic, bumbling awkwardness not uncommon for Wiig. There's referential humor popular today as well. As one might have expected, there's a lot of stupid humor too (some of it really good, including amazing lines like, "An aquarium is a submarine for fish.") The humor is not often the same kind of smart, subtle humor from the original, but there is some intelligence in there too. Not all of the jokes land or worked for me, but enough of them did that I laughed or chuckled plenty of times.
By the end, it kind of devolves into your typical action sequence, which was also one of my concerns going in. Yet the team, the new gadgets, and the ways that they had the "fight," was actually kind of visually interesting and fun. In fact, for me, a lot of it reminded me of how I used to play when I was a kid! I imagined doing some of those very same things! This new film certainly adds a number of moves for kids to pretend to do. All of the nerdy, "science" mumbo-jumbo was also entertaining and fun to my nostalgic brain. Dan Aykroyd endorsed the film, and one can see why. There's a lot of that made-up science talk that Aykroyd loved doing in the originals. It's super nerdy and the most effective "out of love" references to the source material.
So, yes, I found it really enjoyable, with a lot of elements working effectively and the cast very delightful.
However, it's hard to argue that it's a particularly great film. Unfortunately, this is where I have to refer to the original - just because it highlights what I mean.
Most of the problems with the new film lies within its structure. A big reason why the original still stands as an amazing classic is that it was highly unconventional. Think about it: when was the last time you saw a Hollywood summer blockbuster that didn't have character arcs, didn't have a traditional villain character scattered throughout, and didn't require the heroes to learn a lesson in order to overcome the obstacles? There wasn't anything like that coming from Hollywood before Ghostbusters, and there hasn't been anything like it since!
Which makes it a bit disappointing, then, that this Ghostbusters lacks anything structurally to stand apart from any of the other typical, "world threatened by armies of ghosts/robots/aliens descending from a portal in the sky" blockbusters. It's not completely different, of course. The character arcs are there, but only Wiig's is blatant and in your face about it. Similarly, there is no "lesson" they learn in order to defeat the villain and save the day. They go in - like Ray, Egon, Peter, and Winston - with confidence in their tools and talent, and they win. But there is still some meaningful life lesson about commitment and loyalty that plays into the conclusion.
There are also a few dangling plot points or threads that feel like they're supposed to go somewhere, but don't. For example, Patty is a historian of the city. At the end, the city is overrun by ghosts from different New York City eras. Kind of seemed like that would be a great time to have her historian characteristic pay off in a meaningful way, but they just don't bring it up at all. Similarly, the villain being the opposite side of the same Ghostbusters coin should have been explored, well, at all. They don't go into it, leaving a lackluster conflict further adding to the inadequate build up for the finale. Even that gargoyle ghost seen in the trailers doesn't really get an actual conclusion.
About that villain... I would not be able to genuinely review Ghostbusters without bringing him up, given this is a constant complaint of mine towards Marvel movies (which I love, by the way). Corny, under-explored villains that exist simply to provide an obstacle don't typically make for a great film. It hasn't helped Marvel, and it hasn't helped Sony here either. A villain like Rowan adds little to the film, despite there being grounds for thematic connections to the heroes. The lack of substance here similarly hurt Ghostbusters just as it has practically every Marvel movie.
They also do that think that Jurassic World did in that it sometimes tries a little too hard to provide fan service and references to the original. Many will likely moan about how forced many cameos from original cast members seems, but I don't know that that's even the biggest problem. Actually, I mostly enjoyed those moments overall. However, there were a few moments of playing on dialogue from the original, or taking visual cues (like the ghost in the museum is meant to be a play on the librarian). Some of the references are clever, but a lot of them come off as clunky and contrived.
In some respects, it's interesting to watch the original and then watch the new Ghostbusters, just to see how different Hollywood film making has become. The new film is quite enjoyable, funny, and entertaining, but it feels very paint-by-the-numbers in structure, and almost goes a bit too far to trap itself into the "comedy" genre. The original film was more complex and layered, with unconventional structure and more subtle humor. Both films are very much character-driven, though. It will likely come down to whether you're on board with them or not. I found the new characters to be great, even if slightly less endearing than the original characters (although McKinnon's brand of crazy was amazing to me). Certainly, some might not feel that way about them, and that will make it impossible to like the movie overall.
All that said, it's almost hard to figure out who they made the film for. It's Ghostbusters, so one would imagine they are hoping to get a lot of fans from the original, yet it's completely different in almost every way possible that it if you loved the original, you might very well hate the new one. In some ways, it seems like they tried to make it for everyone else, who has no strong connections to the source. And in some ways, that might actually be the smartest way to completely reboot a franchise. Make something completely different and try and build a new fan base! Contrary to what some nerds might say, the original Ghostbusters isn't going anywhere. We'll always have that. Maybe now, someone else will have a version that they love and obsess over too.
Ok, so I wasn't sure whether to cover this aspect or not, but since word is making rounds on the internet (go figure), I will add thoughts on this. A number of dudes online have made plenty of comments about how Ghostbusters is sexist against men, because every single male character is depicted as being stupid, incompetent, or just a complete asshole. It's actually not a hard trend to notice while watching the film, but these comments are a bit hilarious. For starters, a lot of these are coming from the same people who complained about making the film with all female Ghostbusters. It's also coming from a lot of people who complain whenever someone criticizes a film they like for the way it represents women.
That's sort of the point, though. Whilethe new film doesn't have the layers and depth of the original, it does have some moments of meta-commentary. Apart from the obvious jokes wherein they read comments about a video they posted online (notably, "No bitches be busting ghosts" which got a good laugh in the theater I was in), there are many more moments that are from a distinctly female perspective. When Erin (Wiig) is trying to obtain tenure at Columbia University, her president (Charles Dance) makes a passing comment about her clothes, but decides to "forget it" before exiting. This confounds and confuses Erin. This is pretty clearly a moment coming from a female perspective. Women have to contend with comments upon their appearance for almost everything. It doesn't just pertain to women in the public spotlight, like actresses or athletes. People, especially men, will more often than not make some unnecessary comment about a woman's attractiveness, even in the work place.
Later at the mayor's office, the four women are being told that they appreciate their efforts in fighting the paranormal. They thank the women for their work, but then tell them to stop. "That's enough," basically. Given the other moments of feminist undertones or meta-commentary, mixed with the male representation in the film, this felt especially applicable to modern times. Most people - including men who complained about all women Ghostbusters - probably agree that "feminism had its place." Most would agree that feminism "made sense" back in the days when women were not really allowed to work or hold office or even vote. But there are many people who feel like the feminist movement should have ended by now; that there is no longer a need for them. Basically, "that's enough."
And, of course, Chris Hemsworth's Kevin ("he seems more like a Chet,") is a literal, walking embodiment of male privilege.
As for the way men are presented in the film: that's kind of the point. The film exists in this sort of meta-commentary about the status of the movie industry. That all of the men are presented poorly serves to draw attention to the way that any group - by gender, race, sexuality, age - are generally presented in cinema. Granted, this is just my interpretation build upon the other moments throughout the film, but I gathered we were supposed to notice how the men were presented as a means to draw attention to the conversation regarding how anyone is presented. It's a problem that so many people have called the film "sexist against men," but then willfully shoot down any criticism about male-oriented films for the way they present women. In fact, those of us who do wind up getting chastised for "making a big deal" about gender representation. I've been told repeatedly that I'm being unreasonable when I was criticizing studios for never giving women a chance to do much other than be a damsel in distress or a love interest for the male hero to be rewarded with.
That's, in my opinion, the entire point of that aspect of the film. And ya know what? It's fine either way. For every one Ghostbusters film that focuses on female characters only and depicts men as less than ideal, actual characters or people, you can find a dozen or more films that focus on primarily male characters in which female side characters are depicted as less than ideal, actual characters or people.
It's ok to not like the way men are presented in the film, but it's not ok to then turn a blind eye on how women are presented in most Hollywood films.
What is there to say about Dark Souls that hasn't already been said? It's an incredibly well designed game with an emphasis on exploration and overcoming challenges. It's difficult, but usually takes great strides to remain fair. The challenges and old-school design elements make it one of the most satisfying games to play as a result. Plus, contrary to popular belief, you don't really need to be that good at video games or even Dark Souls itself to beat it. You just need patience.
It's also a game heavy on lore, but short on narrative. You can look up quite a lot about the world of Lordran to get a dark fantasy tale. Items also have descriptions in the menus that reveal insights into this place and its history as well. Other than that, though, the game isn't itself that interested in telling a story. In fact, Namco was at one point offering a $10,000 reward to anyone who could actually explain the story. It's not that there isn't one; it just isn't specifically clear or given much attention. Narration at the beginning and at some key points throughout are often pretty vague, and really it all just serves to point the player in a direction. "You must ring the Bells of Awakening," they'll say. Why, exactly? And where exactly? Who knows? You'll figure it out.
That's essentially the beauty of the game: you'll figure it out. This doesn't just apply to the story. The tutorial level gives you the basic controls, but there are some mechanics that don't really get explained. You figure it out, though. Lordran itself is built up of a lot of pathways and corridors, so it isn't exactly an "open world" game, but the developers also give you a ton of different directions you can go at any time. Some areas are blocked off until you defeat a particular boss, but more or less you are free to wander wherever you want. There isn't much in the way of direction there, either. Odds are, you'll inevitably wind up exploring one path, only to find yourself in an area filled with devastating enemies that you don't have a chance against! Some might find this lack of direction frustrating, but at the same time, it isn't really that difficult to note where the game actually wants you to go. You figure it out. (Should be noted that this is on the most part. There are some sections here and there where the odds are even greater that you will just look up where to go or what to do online.)
That all pertains especially to bosses. For a first time player, there aren't too many bosses that you are likely to beat upon your first encounter. Instead, it's a lot of trial and error. See, as the "Prepare to Die" tagline suggests, you will die - a lot! When you walk through a fog wall and find a giant, terrifying monster ready to decimate you, it's hard for your body to not tense up out of anxiety! These creatures are unknown to you, which makes it tough to get an idea of how to approach killing it. But you eventually figure it out.
Figuring it out is arguably the core of the game, and the source of the greatest satisfaction derived from it. Overcoming challenges does require solid execution and skill, but that itself stems from "figuring out" a particular strategy to deal with an opponent. Most of the time, dying feels productive. Yes, there's an inherent frustration to having to start over from the last bonfire, but generally, dying feels like an educational experience. When facing a boss over and over again, you often do feel like you learned something, like what animation indicates which attack and how to compensate for it.
There are lots of little things too that add to its greatness. Taking from some older RPGs, for example, Dark Souls brings two early bosses back as common enemies later in the game. This stuff is brilliant, and I always love when developers do that. At the point you face those bosses early on, you're still new and learning the basics of the game. That's a big part of why those bosses are difficult. When you see them later on as common enemies, you're likely to think back to those fights. It's probably unlikely that you'll remember much in the ways of specifics. Instead, you'll just remember that it was tough, so you momentarily panic. However, those bosses-turned-common enemy aren't that hard later. It's a great visual affirmation to your improvement as a player. Beating bosses will always be satisfying, but some of the best moments are when you realize you just breezed through a section of the level that was giving you fits just a couple of hours earlier. There's a lot here that lets players recognize their own improvement.
There's really no shortage of things to gush over with this game. Much of it has been said and praised elsewhere online. Having gotten the basics of why I love Dark Souls, I do just want to address a couple of things that feel a little...less than great. It should be noted that these do not mean the game is bad or poorly designed overall. Nor are these anywhere near game-breaking problems. Even a game as amazing as Dark Souls is still not perfect, and it's worth at least touching upon some of them.
First off, I'm not entirely sure I subscribe to the idea that the game is "always fair." In terms of the mechanics, it generally is. However, there are a couple of bosses and stretches of a level that are specifically challenging because they kind of aren't fair. Two-on-one boss fights will never feel fair to me, just the same as having borderline unblockable arrows shot at you while you sprint up a tiny, super narrow beam doesn't either. Those are examples of the challenges being directly related to design elements that feel kind of more on the "cheap" side. In the case of the two-on-one fights, they at least offer the opportunity to summon NPCs (or even other players online) to help. Some fans chastise players who use summons as being lesser players, but that kind of is the reason the developers designed summons to be a part of the game.
But a boss like Capra Demon never felt anything other than cheap to me. This was a boss that on its own would have been really tough. He's big, has two giant swords, good range, and could cover a distance with jumping. His blows were quite powerful and would likely take most of your stamina to block. The designers decided that wasn't enough, so they had you face him in a very small room, without much room to maneuver. Plus, there were little alcove arches that you could easily get stuck in if you weren't careful. Ok, that addition makes an already tough enemy even tougher, but they weren't done. Additionally, they threw in two dog enemies that were also fast and agile and could inflict Bleed status to you. All of these things together made an already tough fight just feel stacked against you. Obviously, it's doable, but that was one boss that felt challenging specifically because it felt kind of cheap, made worse by the fact that this is one of the earlier bosses you face, so you're still new. (The common opinion is that Capra Demon is probably the biggest obstacle to new players continuing with the game. Admittedly, I spent three days trying to beat him. This was easily the closest I came to quitting.)
The other aspect of the game that feels a bit poor is the PVP aspect. Now, I'm sure not many people will agree with me on this, but PVP in a game largely built around a single player experience feels a bit off. It even feels a tad clunky in a game that otherwise does some awesome stuff to foster a community (more on that in a moment). In order to kindle bonfires or summon NPCs, a player must not be in Hollow form. However, in order to capitalize on those (rather huge) benefits, being in Human form exposes you to online invaders. Other people online could interrupt your game to attack you. I found this problematic to my playthrough for a variety of reasons.
First and primarily, the experience of other players invading my game to fight me ran counter to the core experience that I had come to love of the game. See, dying from bosses and common enemies all the time was fine. As I mentioned, it felt productive. I learned something about those opponents that I could then use the next time I face them. I was, in some sense, Edge of Tomorrow-ing. Slowly, but steadily figuring out how to get it right. Yet with other human players fighting me, it just felt like a waste of time. I was clearly good enough to beat the game, but I was also on my first playthrough. I could compete with the challenges in the game, but every player that invaded my game throughout was clearly superior in skill (perhaps in part because the game has been out for about five years, so new players are at an even bigger disadvantage to experienced veterans). These opponents made quick work of me, given the blatant difference in skill level.
Those deaths don't feel meaningful. All I learned was that I'm not as good as other people at Dark Souls. It taught me nothing substantial about how to play the game, and those players were enemies I was never going to see again. Every new invader would have a different style. Every player-caused death just felt annoying and pointless. Yes, I know that if you don't want to be invaded, then stay in Hollow form. However, given that the problems emerged from my status as a new player to the franchise, losing access to kindled bonfires and NPC summons in order to stay in Hollow form is essentially a death sentence. Without being able to do either of those things, there's no chance I would have beaten the game, and possibly not even bothered continuing. The other thing is that people can't invade your game if you beat the boss of that area, but that runs counter-intuitive, in my opinion. Shouldn't it be the other way around? If I'm a new player trying to figure out this map and boss, why add the trouble of human players coming in to wreck my game? Shouldn't it work the other way? That once I beat the boss, the game and other players would maybe see that I'm "worthy" of PVP play now?
Of course, I can see the appeal of invasions and PVP to many players. The game, for many, is about becoming as skilled as possible. At some point, code-generated enemies can only provide so much of a challenge. What is a greater challenge than other, more randomized and various human competitors? While I have virtually no interest in PVP in Dark Souls, it really isn't hard to see the appeal for many others.
Those things aside, I actually really like the way they developed a community otherwise. On the flip side to other players wrecking your game, they can also offer assistance. When in Human form, you actually can summon other people to your game, usually to help take out a boss. For the other players, humanity is given (an item valuable to kindling bonfires and healing). This temporary co-op play is a great way to build community, but it goes beyond that.
Players can also leave notes and messages throughout the levels. Things like, "Be Wary of Ambush," or "Try back-stabbing," or "Mimicry," are incredibly helpful notes to send to other players. Given the game is largely single player, this also helps make you feel like you're not truly in this crazy, dark, tough world alone. Other players are going through the same stuff you are! You also get this sense by touching Bloodstains - basically playback of another person's death - as well as things like the ringing of the Bells of Awakening. Throughout the first half of the game, you may hear bells ringing off in the distance. You don't think much about it until you ring it yourself after beating the particular bosses. That's when you realize that those bells you heard earlier were actually being done by other players who had also overcome the boss. This is perhaps my favorite element of the entire game. Dark Souls is not just about gaining satisfaction yourself by overcoming tough obstacles; it's about a sense of community too. You're all in this together. For a game as dark and dreary as Dark Souls, it's actually a really lovely and positive way to design a game.
I used to think that the lack of clear direction, mechanics, lore, and tactics that almost required you look it up online were indicative of bad design, but I've actually come to take a different stand on that. Given the notes, ghosts, co-op options, and other aspects of the single player experience that promote the idea of a community, I've realized that the complete lack of clarity at moments is actually great design. I'ts just that they're not designing only for the game. They're interested in the community as well. As annoying as some fans can be with their meaningless non-response of "get good," most fans are eager to share their experience and knowledge of the game. As a new player joining the fray five years after the fact, I was hesitant to look stuff up or ask anyone for help, but quickly found that most people seem to legitimately want to! There is a sort of "pay it forward" attitude within the community that is such a great thing to see. By leaving most things up to the players to figure out or discover, it is encouraged that players communicate with each other and share what they know or have found.
That is, perhaps, the most impressive thing about Dark Souls. At its core, it is entirely a single player experience. And yet, it somehow managed to create and cultivate a strong sense of community among those players. The game is not for everyone, and it's not hard to see why some players won't finish it. It's also not nearly as perfect as some would make it sound. Still, it's definitely one of the best games to emerge from the last generation, and being the big game that it is, there's no shortage of reasons it should regularly be examined for its great game design elements.
With the new Ghostbusters film coming out in a couple of weeks, now seemed an appropriate time to re-examine 2009's Ghostbusters: The Video Game. Essentially functioning as the third installment of the trilogy once it became apparent that a third movie would never be made with the original cast, it sees the return of Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis, Ernie Hudson, and even Bill Murray reprising their iconic roles. As a huge fan of the franchise, I remembered enjoying it back when it came out. How does it hold up today?
Well, it's kind of all over the place, but at the end of the day, it's still a ton of fun. It's really just a Gears of War clone, with some of the exact same mechanics. It's basically a third person shooter, with the camera placed at about the same point as it is in Gears. Sprinting is identical, with dropping the camera to a lower angle while your character dashes forward. There are even "emergence holes" that pop up later in the game that you must close up - only instead of using grenades, you use a slime blower. The only thing really missing is the option for co-op story play, which would have been a great addition to a Ghostbusters game.
Even the shooting mechanics are the same. Sure, it appears a bit different given that your streams are never straight, but it's functionally identical. You place your aiming reticle on your target and fire. It's literally no different than aiming in Gears. However, the trapping mechanics do provide enough of a change that it does add a little something. While some ghosts will simply vanish if you shoot them enough, many others have to be trapped. This means shooting an enemy and weakening them, then wrangling them and drawing them into the trap. Wrangling isn't exactly the most fun thing on the planet, but it does provide that variance to the core gameplay that would otherwise be virtually identical to other third-person shooters.
In terms of design, there's a lot of hit and miss stuff. For example, early on they make it clear that all of your health and stamina data is integrated into the proton pack. That's actually pretty neat! Normally, games will display that information as a separate image overlaid on top of the game itself. Think The Legend of Zelda and its hearts indicating your health at the top of the screen, or Dark Souls with its health and stamina bars at the top as well, or Splinter Cell with its icons and gauges in the lower right hand corner that displayed that information. Here, that's all worked seamlessly into the game itself, creating a more cohesive visual look.
It's a cool idea that works pretty well, but they kind of kill it when they interrupt the game to show a cutscene wherein Ray explains all of that. It's unnecessary and kind of lazy tutorial. They could have just had him explain it while you were walking to take on the tutorial boss. So in a matter of seconds, it went from really neat design to really lazy design.
It also might have been nice to integrate the firehouse into the gameplay more. As it stands, there is functionally no gameplay reason why you would ever be there. Sure, there are some amusing objects you can interact with - namely the Vigo painting. But otherwise, there is literally nothing to actually do there. Granted, that was likely always going to be the case, but they could have worked in some more functional reasons for it. How about instead of interrupting the game mid-battles or mid-level to tell you that you've earned enough money to purchase an equipment upgrade, you could only purchase upgrades once you returned to the firehouse? They could have even worked in upgrading the firehouse in order to unlock other equipment upgrades as well! No, none of this is terribly exciting gameplay, but it would have created a more cohesive connection between the game and the firehouse location. It could have used the firehouse base as the central hub from which players needed to actually upgrade their characters. As it stands, it feels especially "gamey" when the icon pops up mid-level or even mid-battle to tell you that you have earned enough to buy an upgrade, then allowing you to interrupt the game itself to do so.
As for the story, well, it too is all over the place. It is actually really creepy, involving cross dimensional rifts and a collision of our world with the ghost world. If you've followed Ghostbusters 3 news throughout the years, this would sound familiar. It seemed pretty similar to the idea Aykroyd had been pitching for a while. It actually works quite well for a video game, but to be honest, it would have made for an awful film. I'm glad they didn't make that! One big problem, though, is that they don't have you busting ghosts yourself for very long. Obviously, the draw is to be a part of the team, so having you constantly accompanied by one of the founding fore-Ghostbusters is charming and fun. At the same time, the effectiveness of the uncomfortable and freaky environments and atmosphere is fundamentally diminished whenever you have a team mate. On those few moments you were alone, the game was sufficiently disquieting. I noticed a spike in my anxiety playing whenever I wasn't accompanied by a Ghostbuster.
It's nice to see the characters altogether, but it feels a little off. A good number of jokes land quite well, but the characters seem a little uncharacteristic at times. Egon and Winston especially seem to speak out of character on a bunch of occasions. It might be that they're not the best voice actors. Aykroyd sounds like the only one legitimately enthusiastic to be involved in the project. However, part of it might be that the game is extraordinarily full of fan-service that hinders the story and relatively smart additions to the canon a bit weaker than it could have been.
There is an online mode that is essentially like Horde Mode from Gears of War, and that is fun for a little while, but it isn't a strong enough element to really sell the game.
Overall, it's probably the best Ghostbusters video game they've made yet (though I do have a soft spot in my heart for that Atari game and the Ghostbusters II computer game, as practically unbeatable as they were). It's not amazing, but it's solid fun that has a good amount of interesting elements. I'd say if you're a fan of the franchise, and especially if you like Gears of War, then you should definitely check out Ghostbusters: The Video Game.
REDUCTIVE RATING: It's Fine.
And for those short on time, here's the Impromp2-Minute Review video, for quick and easy digestion!
It's hard to start talking about Mirror's Edge: Catalyst without first admitting that I am one of those people who absolutely loved the first Mirror's Edge back in 2008, flaws and all. I found the first person running mechanics to be surprisingly fun and strangely cathartic. I became addicted to simply running. And the obstacle courses that required unforgiving precision with the controls? I liked that a lot, too. Combat was clunky as all hell, but navigating through the levels was relatively fair. I didn't often feel like I was plummeting to my death because the game was cheap. I just screwed up. (In that way, it's kind of Dark Souls-like.)
So, there was always going to be a strong probability that I would wind up loving Catalyst as well. Some of the same things I loved about the first game are very much present here. The running mechanics are still fun. The combat is even smoothed out a lot more, even having elements that make it fairly satisfying! I'm still super into the visual style of the world, even if the whole "color palette based on terrorist threat level colors" schtick has kind of lost its contextual relevance almost a decade after George W. Bush left the oval office. Solar Fields once again slays it with their score. And I still enjoy Faith as a character, as well as some of the anti-corporatism story elements. All of those have carried over to make it a fun, enjoyable game. And I really liked it!
But it's hard to say that it's much improved outside the combat. The biggest, most controversial change is that they've attempted to make this an open world game. This has netted complaints from people who thought it wasn't open enough and people who thought it was too open! There are problems with what they did, from a strangely fractured map to the way missions were designed to keep players within a certain area rather than explore the world, but in terms of the size, it's fine. Mirror's Edge succeeded with level design. It kept everything linear. Players didn't get total freedom to wander around the skyline. Instead, the game focused on having players speed through each obstacle course of a level. Players were required to learn the course and become comfortable with the controls. Precision and maintaining momentum were important, because each level was designed for a specific thing. In Catalyst, each story mission ultimately feels that way too, but much shorter and less memorable. Even more, there just isn't much to explore.
Running from mission to mission along the rooftops is itself satisfying and fun. It gives you a relatively safe space to practice and hone your skills as the premiere parkour runner. But the side missions are neither interesting nor conducive for exploration. Even more, there's just nothing to really explore, frankly. Don't get me wrong: I love the world of Mirror's Edge. And to some extent, the free running does make it feel more like an actual world. But it isn't exactly like it's a vibrant world with a lot going on. There isn't really anything to do, and there's not much to see. This is a corporate world, after all, focused on removing differences and to, as the Network in The World's End did, "Starbuck" everything. It's a super stale world for the player, because it's supposed to be a stale world in context of the game's story.
At the end of the day, the lack of things to do (a common problem across open world games) actually winds up making the game feel pretty linear overall. I'd really be surprised if people who played a majority of the game actually felt like it was "too open." For me, personally, it was just the right amount. Enough that I felt like I was within an actual world, but not enough that I was regularly distracted with side quests.
There are a few key elements to combat, though, that make it noticeably improved. The first and most significant thing is that they simply abandoned gunplay. You can no longer pick up firearms the way you did in the first game. This prevents any scenarios where there are too many enemies and you just go for the one with the gun, yank it away, then awkwardly try playing the game in a sort of first person shooter fashion. A lack of gunplay also works to further the idea of momentum being important. You can't just pick up a gun and hunker down. You need to keep moving! That means either fleeing when you encounter a group of cops, or it means fighting them by constantly staying in motion. "Traversal attacks" have you use your environment to gain momentum, thus making your strikes more powerful. These elements not only make the combat more fun and satisfying; it also makes it more cohesive with the central mechanics of first person running.
Quick corner turns make running along a building ledge seem more awesome, but the biggest addition to the running gameplay is the grappling hook. Normally, this is a kind of boring extra that doesn't add that much to the game, but here it actually kind of does. First person swinging is surprisingly fun. It can also be very helpful for escaping security forces. The ultimate problem, though, is that it is pretty limited. There are a few sections where you get to use it, but you largely can avoid them with the fast travel option.
The story itself is nothing incredible. It starts off pretty great in an accidentally meta-contextual fashion. When you first put in the disc, the very first screen you are brought to is not the start menu. It's an EA licensing agreement. You must scroll down the boring terms and conditions that no one reads, and then you get access to the start menu. The game itself opens up with Faith being released from prison. Before she steps out to enter the world, she must endure listening to a corrections officer go down a laundry list of terms and conditions she must abide by in order to retain her freedom. I'm pretty sure there is no real, meaningful connection between those two things, but given the anti-corporation aspects of the story, it felt a little bit like a shot at companies like EA.
Otherwise, the story isn't exactly anything to write home about. They try to do the whole "Faith and her sister are on opposite sides" thing again, but somehow make that even less interesting. Even worse is that final cutscene. You spend so much time trying to ruin things for Kruger, the man in charge of everything, who has shaped the world into what it has become. And yet, all the player does is run to the top of his skyscraper. The cutscene then shows Faith essentially beating him. So when you get that "Mission Complete: Defeat Kruger" pop up afterwards, it feels rather hollow. "I didn't defeat Kruger," I thought. "The cutscene did." It's an unsatisfying ending. Imagine how much more impacting that fight between Faith and her sister would be if you actually controlled Faith during that scene.
In fact, the entire final level is lackluster. The majority of the game is so focused on forward momentum and speed. And yet, the final level features a ton of climbing pipes and using the auto-grappling hook that lifts you up. Neither really allows for the typical running gameplay that is the core of it all.
Ultimately, I would say this: I think if you really liked the first Mirror's Edge, there's a good chance you'll really enjoy Catalyst. If you felt underwhelmed by the first game, then you'll likely feel that way here too. I'm a bit more inclined to suggest that the first game actually is the better of the two even if Catalyst might be a more cohesive package overall, but they're also different enough in many ways that I don't know that it's totally fair to compare them.
There is one big similarity, however. As much as I love both games, they're the same in that they have a lot of unexplored potential. It's almost as if the developers understand that they have a lot of really neat, great, or interesting ideas. It's just that they don't really know what to do with them. There is a ton of unrealized potential here, just as there was the first game. By the end, you realize they clearly hope to make more games in this world. Certainly, I would like another installment! I just hope they flesh some things out a lot more than they have.
REDUCTIVE RATING: It's Fine.
(Rankings from worst to best: Terrible!, It's Pretty Bad, It's Fine, It's Pretty Good, Incredible!)
