Showing posts with label bloodborne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bloodborne. Show all posts

16/03/2017

EPHEMERA: BLOODBORNE EDITION

It’s time for a brief break from retro games today, because I’ve been playing From Software’s Playstation 4 masterpiece Bloodborne again recently and now I want to talk about it. That’s one of the perks of having a videogame website, I can ramble on about Bloodborne without having to see the glassy stares and hear the disinterested “uh huh”-ing of people who have never played it and never will, once again proving that the internet is vastly superior to real-world human contact. So, it’s another edition of the Ephemera series, I suppose, although I’m gonna make a mockery of that name by talking about major game mechanics as well as small details. Of course, this article’s going to contain lots of spoilers for Bloodborne and its DLC, so if you want to experience it all for yourself then look away now, and if you're planning to play Bloodborne at some point I strongly suggest you do just that. Also, I hope you’re not squeamish about eyeballs.

Scenic Views

First up, something simple. I thought about what my favourite view in the game was. Now, Bloodborne is a beautiful-looking game packed with sinister, detailed-soaked architecture in a style I can only describe as Ultra-Gothic, and thus almost every location is worthy of praise. I’m especially fond of the haunted-village-meets-organ-farm feel of Hemwick Charnel Lane and the Research Hall’s towering maze. In the end, though, I settled on this.


This is the entrance to the Upper Cathedral Ward, and it’s just beautiful. The quasi-Victorian ironworks of the metal railings and the streetlights, looming towers, a fog-shrouded bridge that leads towards a mysterious building glowing faintly with a light that may seem almost welcoming but probably illuminates something that wants to use your spine as dental floss. There are many reasons why Bloodborne is an excellent game, but this aesthetic, this world, is what makes it a game that feels almost as thought it was designed specifically for me.


Also, I hope you appreciate that I took the time to nudge these two corpses into the corner so I could take the first screenshot without their mangled bodies making the place look untidy.

Selfies with Friends

As I’m sure many of you know, Bloodborne is a spin-off of the Dark Souls franchise, and in a lot of ways it’s a Dark Souls game in all but name (plus a change of setting from “medieval” fantasy to 19th Century horror themes.) One thing it took wholesale from the Souls games are the “gestures” - short canned animations that you can use to make your character point at things, wave hello, bow in greeting, that kind of thing. They’re mostly used for communicating with other players during online multiplayer. Pointing out traps, using the “slow clap” gesture when your co-operator walks into said trap, gestures are very helpful. Well, in Bloodborne there’s a gesture called Make Contact, where you stick one arm up and one arm out at ninety degrees. You pick this gesture up from a mummified corpse, who is standing in said pose, and it’s a prime opportunity for some photography.


Just look at the camaraderie on display here, my character’s arm draped across the shoulder of the corpse like they’re two lads staggering from bar to bar during a cheap holiday in Magaluf.


It wasn’t until I went through my Bloodborne screenshots in preparation for this article that I realised I’d posed with this corpse every single time I encountered it, and I’ve played through the game five or six times.


I started a tradition without even realising it. It’s nice that this evolved organically. You know, the, erm, corpse photoshoot. Nice might not be the word I’m looking for. Please tell me someone else has done this. It’s okay to be a weirdo, but not a lone weirdo.

Gun-Kata

The Dark Souls games are famed for being difficult, and so too is Bloodborne. A lot of this difficulty comes from the fact that almost everything in these games wants to make your innards outards, and will take any opportunity to kill you violently and with single-minded dedication. In the Dark Souls games, two of the ways you can defend yourself are by a) hiding behind a shield or b) parrying attacks by deflecting them with a shield and then getting a free attack while the enemy is stunned. However, there are no shields in Bloodborne. Well, okay, there’s one in the base game but it’s essentially useless and is basically included to tell you not to bother with shields (which is pretty great in itself). Instead, you can parry attacks by shooting the monsters in the face.


Dark Souls’s shield parry system is fine, but gun parries are much better for several reasons. For starters, it’s way cooler. Brushing aside an armoured knight’s blows with a shield is cool, sure, but not nearly as cool as stopping a werewolf in its tracks using a blunderbuss. I’ll admit that might be personal bias talking, though, and anyway I wouldn’t want to make such a claim of superiority without some gameplay evidence to back it up. So here it is: in Dark Souls, if you miss a parry you will to find out what it’s like to receive an impromptu root canal from a broadsword. This can discourage those of us with poor reactions, leading us to cower behind our shields and not even attempt to parry attacks. In Bloodborne, though, even if you don’t land the parry your gunfire will usually make the enemy flinch and interrupt their attack, so you miss the chance for a powerful visceral attack but you also don’t get torn to ribbons. This means you’re far more likely to attempt gun-parrying in the first place, and the fact that you can only carry a limited supply of ammunition means it’s not (entirely) feasible to simply hammer the fire button and hope for the best, retaining a suitable level of challenge.
Plus, you seem to be able to parry a higher percentage of enemy attacks in Bloodborne than in the Souls games. This is great, because part of my problem with parrying in Souls games is that you have to learn what attacks you can and can’t parry through trial, error and repeated death. In Bloodborne it all feels a bit more obvious, making for faster-paced combat where a well-timed gunshot can turn the flow of a fight.


As a bonus, here’s a clip of me parrying a boss so hard that he tried to flee back to his home planet.

The Rocks That I’ve Got

One of the items you can collect in Bloodborne are pebbles. That’s not a cutesy nickname or anything, they’re just small rocks. You can throw them at enemies, and they’re best used to get the attention of a single enemy in a group so they’ll run towards you, letting you fight them one-on-one. Then there’s the pebbles’ item description, which contains some of the densest, thickest sarcasm I’ve ever seen in a videogame.


“Quite thrilling” makes me chuckle every time I read it, possibly because I always imagine it being said by a stuffy English professor from the 1930s. The thing is, when you are throwing pebble at a half-transformed man-beast and you do get its attention, that is actually quite thrilling. There are thrills to be had as the ravenous beast realises you’re there and tries to eviscerate you, that’s for sure.


The pebbles also do a teeny tiny bit of damage when they hit an enemy, so if you’re feeling particularly bold – or you forget what item you have equipped and accidentally chuck a pebble rather than the molotov cocktail you were trying to throw, ahem ahem – then you can even take out enemies by flicking bits of gravel at them. That might seem like a terrible idea, but wait: the damage dealt by the pebbles actually increases as you raise your Strength stat! Skipping rocks at the beginning of the game might only cause one or two points of damage, but if you levelled up and invest heavily in Strength then by the end of the game you can be dishing out five or six points of damage with every pebble!

“Speyeders” Would Be The Obvious Pun

While blood is the central theme and driving force of Bloodborne’s plot, eyeballs run it a close second. Yes, eyeballs are very important in the world of Bloodborne, particularly in that certain groups attempt to “see” the true mysteries of the universe by growing more eyeballs. This is an effective strategy, apparently, even though you wouldn’t think it would work. If I want to run faster, growing seventeen more legs is not going to help, you know? Fresh eyeballs are also needed to perform certain blasphemous rituals, to the extent that you can be attacked by enemies with a special tool designed solely for gouging out eyeballs. Have another look at the pebble pictured above, and you’ll see it looks like an eyeball, and so on. Eyeballs are everywhere in Bloodborne, something which is literally true when you reach the Nightmare of Mensis area.


They’re coming, as the late, great Bill Paxton once said, out of the goddamn walls. Here in this alternate universe, the books and magazines browse you! Personally, these eyes are all the more unnerving for the fact they don’t really do anything. They’re simply there, unmoving and silent, possibly dead but also possibly seeing all kinds of things beyond the ken of man.


Then you’ve got these things. Eyeball spiders, I guess you’d call them. The legs imply that they were once mobile, and I think we can all agree that replacing a spider’s body with an eyeball significantly increases the creepiness of said spider, so I hope this image doesn’t give you eye-rachnophobia. Ha ha! Ha…
I’m sorry.
Anyway, these things are wonderful. They’re pure decoration, a mood enhancer, an unsettling thing to see out of the corner of your eye, and one of the reasons they're so great is that they’re not explained at all. You can infer how they came into being from the place you find them and what was going on there, but you’re never told what they are or why they seem to be pinned to the floor with weird organic needles. This is an example of one of Bloodborne’s greatest strengths – it’s a game that takes inspiration from Lovecraft and other cosmic horror, but it never makes the mistake of over-explaining itself. It gives you enough info to get an idea – a startling, horrifying idea – of what’s going on, but many of the specifics are never filled in, giving you the chance to ponder these secrets and develop your own theories. This is true of all the Souls games, as you can see by the large cottage industry of internet videomakers and message boards dedicated to analysing the lore of these games, but for my money Bloodborne is the game where the tension between mystery and fact is most finely balanced.

The Host With the Most

In the same area as the eyeball spiders, you’ll find a boss called Micolash, Host of the Nightmare. I think that means “host” in the sense that one hosts a party, because Micolash certainly seems like he’s having a good time.


What a cheerful chap! Micolash is an interesting boss, because unlike all the other bosses in the game he doesn’t immediately set about trying to kill you when the fight begins. Instead, you have to chase him through a maze, avoiding the skeletal puppet monsters littering the corridors and tracking Micolash down when he teleports around by jumping into various mirrors. Eventually you’ll corner him and you can have a proper scrap, but this completely different style of boss battle seems to upset a lot of people. Many will claim that Micolash is the worst boss fight in the game, which I don’t think it is, but hey, that’s your opinion and I’ll concede that it might not be as exciting as doing battle with enormous were-beasts. Some people also insist that Micolash is the worst boss in the entire Souls series, but in that case they’re objectively wrong, having seemingly forgotten about the intense dullness of the Dragonrider in Dark Souls II, or the utter fun vacuum /  bullshit generator that was Dark Souls’ Bed of Chaos.


Consider this my defence of Micolash, then, because I think this boss battle is really good. It’s a nice change of pace for starters, completely different to every other boss fight in the game, and it’s good to mix things up. The best thing about it is the atmosphere, though. As Micolash runs around he’s constantly jabbering away, spouting a mixture of interesting lore details, mockery and the howling of a madman, as befits someone who performed an arcane ritual that drove him insane and sent him to another dimension. His voice acting is fantastic, too, his dialogue dripping with the conviction that comes from being totally bonkers, coupled with just a hint of pure comedy. You get the impression that Micolash, despite clearly being nuttier than a bag of trail mix, does genuinely have a deeper understanding of the universe than the player does, which fits in perfectly with Bloodborne’s themes of being thrust into world of forces beyond your comprehension. I’ll admit that mechanically the fight has some problems, especially if you die near the end and have to chase Micolash right through the maze again, but for sheer ambience alone it remains one of my favourite parts of the game.

Millinery

You may have noticed that Micolash appears to have his head stuck in an oversized bird feeder. That’s called the Mensis Cage, and one of your rewards for defeating him is that you can take the cage for yourself. Oh yes, just like the other games in the Souls series, Bloodborne is not afraid to give the player a selection of goofy hats to wear. Here are my top three favourite goofy hats in Bloodborne.


Number three is the Mensis Cage itself. Supposedly acting as an antenna to facilitate contact with the god-like beings known as the Great Ones, it also allows the wearer to experience life as a pet canary. Good for headbutting contests, bad for wearing during thunderstorms.


Number two is the One-Eyed Iron Helm (or the Master’s Iron Helm, depending how you acquire it), which is a bucket with one eye hole drilled into it. That’s it. It’s as though Ned Kelly got distracted halfway through making it. The helmet’s description says it only has one eye hole because the original owner likely only had one eye, but that’s no bloody good to me, is it? It’s hard enough to kill all these beasts without having to squint like Popeye the whole time. There are multiple places in Bloodborne called “workshops,” and you’re telling me none of them had a suitable drill for making a new eye-hole? The One-Eyed Iron Helm is completely ridiculous, and that’s why I love it.


My absolute favourite is the majestic shining traffic cone that is the Gold Ardeo. If Pyramid Head had the wealth and taste of a Premier League footballer, this is what he’s look like. No eye-holes is even more ridiculous and thus more appealing than one eye-hole, and the first time I played through Bloodborne I never took this helmet off once I’d bought it. It even wobbles around when you run, as you’d expect a cone perched on someone’s head would. How perfect. All I can say in defence of its design is that it’s the helmet of the Executioners, who did battle with a group of pseudo-vampires led by a charismatic queen. Maybe they wore these helmets to prevent themselves being captivated by the vampire’s bewitching stares. Then again, rather than using swords and guns the Executioners killed all the vampires with massive wooden wagon wheels, so perhaps practicality is not their strongest suit.

Nightmare Pork

Going back to eyeballs for a moment, and one of the enemies you encounter now and again in Bloodborne are giant pigs. There’s one in the first area, a few more in the woods, and you can find them in the optional Chalice Dungeons. Apart from being taller than a man and unpleasantly bloated even by pig standards, they’re just pigs.


See? There’s one now. It’s a pig, but larger. This is one of the final areas of the game, and when I reached this point during my first playthrough I was more than confident about my ability to defeat the same old oversized pig. So I ran up to it, hoping to land a critical blow while its back was turned…


At which point it turned around, revealing that its face was a mass of writhing eyeballs. I was so shocked by this – shocked enough to let out an audible gasp – that the pig was able to trample me to death while I was distracted. Good job, From Software. You totally got me.

This Message I Saw One Time


Immature? Yes. Did I laugh out loud? Yes. Did I rate the message as a “fine note”? Of course I did, I’m only human. I’d like to believe that whoever left this note was in the middle of a difficult boss battle when I gave their message a positive rating, and that the resulting health refill they got saved their life. Rescued from death by a joke about butts, what a wonderful concept.

Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom

And finally for this article – the Boom Hammer weapon’s jumping attack.


For the most part, Bloodborne is a game of subtlety and precision, but sometimes you just want to leap into a crowd of enemies and smash them with a massive fiery hammer. You can do that too. “No mercy for beasts” indeed.

So, that’s a bunch of words about Bloodborne. If you read them all, thank you very much. I had fun writing them. Almost as much fun as I get out of playing Bloodborne, in fact – but not quite, so now I’m going to head back into the Chalice Dungeons for a while. If you summon a collaborator called Slab Beefbroth who’s carrying a circular saw on a stick, be sure to use a friendly Make Contact gesture.

15/09/2016

VGJUNK'S FAVOURITE GAMES

A very straightforward topic for today’s article: I’m going to write about some of my all-time favourite videogames. I get asked what my favourites are every now and then, and frankly right now I could do with some unalloyed positivity in my life, so here we are. No considered judgements or critical analyses in this one, folks, just the games I’ll take with me when I finally snap and head off to live in the woods. They’ve got electricity and broadband internet in the woods these days, right?

Silent Hill 2 (PS2, Konami, 2001)


In the admittedly very unlikely scenario that I was ordered, possibly at gunpoint, to rank all my favourite games, I would struggle from number two downwards to get them into any kind of order. However, for my number one slot there can be no other choice: it’d be Konami’s classic spook-em-up Silent Hill 2 every time and probably for all time. There are a lot of games I like, but there’s yet to be another that feels so perfectly me, like it was designed solely to provide the exact experience I wanted. What makes Silent Hill 2 so great? It might sound facetious but the answer is everything. It’s a game of rare depth and even rarer nuance, one of the very few video games from a major developer that tackles some truly heavy themes – suicide, euthanasia, child abuse – and handles them in a manner that’s heartbreakingly tragic and impressively non-exploitative.  Every aspect of its design, the characters, the graphics, the music and sound work, is pitch-perfect, creating the only videogame (well, apart from Soft and Cuddly) that’s managed to inspire a lasting feeling of dread in me. It’s assembled with such precision, craft and subtlety that every little detail of the game feels purposeful and redolent with meaning. On top of that, in Pyramid Head Silent Hill 2 produced one of the greatest monsters in any medium. A haunting mixture of the human and the abstract, Pyramid Head is unlike so many monsters in that it has a purpose beyond simple slaughter. It’s got something to teach you, and the idea that you might even be better off for knowing what that something is makes for a creature that’s more unsettling than any other.
As an aside, while there are plenty of reasons to dislike the Silent Hill movies (because they’re not very good, mostly,) the one thing that really annoys me about them is Pyramid Head’s redesign. By replacing the featureless geometry of the original’s “helmet” with a spiky, overly-fussy lump of metal, so much of what makes Pyramid Head unnerving is lost, and the movie version becomes yet another mindless murder machine with a head like a rejected trap design from a later movie in the Saw series.
Obviously every game on this list has earned its place in some part because of personal tastes that others might disagree with, but in Silent Hill 2's case I’d argue that there's not another game out there with such a consistent and expertly-crafted mood of melancholic horror, and as tiresome as the “are games art?” debate is I’d put forth Silent Hill 2 as the premier example of “yes, they bloody well can be.” Maybe one day Konami will reveal that their business decisions over the last few years have all been part of an elaborate hoax and they’re actually going to start making good games again, but until then I don’t think Silent Hill 2 is going to be topped.

Resident Evil 2 (PS1, Capcom, 1998)


While I was thinking about the games that would appear on this list, I realised that a lot of them would be standing in as a representative for their entire series, and nowhere is that more true than with Resident Evil 2. Picking a favourite entry from a franshise that has given me such consistent pleasure over the years was a difficult task, with the original Resident Evil, the Remake and Resident Evil 4 all making good cases for being the finest example of zombie-slaying, evil-pharmaceutical-company-fighting action available. I had to go with Resident Evil 2 in the end, though. If nothing else, the truck driver in the game’s intro who says “Dat guy’s a maniac! Why’d he bite me?!” would be enough to push me over the edge.
When I was finally lucky enough to get a Playstation and the original Resident Evil, it’s fair to say I became somewhat obsessed with it. It’s another game that feels as though it was made just for me, a B-movie in polygonal form with highly-trained police officers fighting against the undead, giant sharks and their own incompetence when it comes to spotting that their boss is the shiftiest man alive. I’m sure that somewhere in a dark corner of a wardrobe at my mother’s house there are still a few notebooks filled with terrible drawings of Jill fighting giant spiders and Wesker getting impaled by the ultimate bio-weapon, put it that way. So, when RE2 was announced, I was obviously very excited, but the excitement was tinged with trepidation – what if it wasn’t as good as the original? What if Capcom cocked it up somehow? Then RE2 arrived, and it was the exact opposite of disappointment. Is there an English word for “the exact opposite of disappointment”? I don’t think there is, so I propose we start using “Resident Evil 2” in those situations. “I opened a letter from the Inland Revenue, and it was a surprise tax refund! What a real Resident Evil 2 of a thing to happen!”
Anyway, RE2 takes the basic structure of the original and cranks everything up. Better graphics, a bigger world to explore, more puzzles and weapons, two playable characters with separate but intertwining storylines and more insanity. A good level of bonkers-ness, and the starting point for the series’ trip into the sheer madness of the later games. It’s the ideal sequel, in a way: everything you loved before, but more. A police station / art museum run by a mad taxidermist. The added tension of the relentless, Terminator-like “Mr. X” Tyrant. The introduction of series mainstays Leon and Claire. It’s all wonderful, and a rare example of a game where I can’t think of a single bad thing to say about it. Some people might complain about the voice acting, but without wanting to sound too harsh those people are wrong.

Final Fantasy Tactics (PS1, Squaresoft, 1998)


In hindsight, it was a bold move on Square’s part to follow up the incredible success of Final Fantasy VII with a sprite-based strategy game that eschewed the semi-futuristic aesthetic of FFVII and the upcoming FFVIII in favour of a traditional fantasy setting, but I’ll always be grateful that they did. I’ve played almost all of the Final Fantasy series, enjoyed most of them and outright loved a few, but Final Fantasy Tactics is always the one I return to time and again.
FFT is a three-pronged attack on my pleasure centres. First are the game’s mechanics. I always love a Job system, and FFT offers my favourite of the lot, allowing for a wide variety of customisation options for your characters. It’s not a game particularly concerned with balance, either, and there’s a huge array of completely game-breaking teams you can assemble. Want a character that shouts at themselves so much that they turn into The Flash and can run around the battlefield murdering everyone before the enemies can react? You can do that. I’m fond of giving people guns with a skill that prevents enemy movement, presumably by shooting them in the kneecaps. Or what about the only time I’ve ever enjoyed mathematics, but using the Calculator job class to pick targets based on god-damn prime numbers? I find being rewarded for figuring the intricacies of a game's systems t be very rewarding, and FFT offers that in spades.
Then there’s the story – it does descend into completely bananas “ancient evil gods” territory at the end, but which for the most part is an intriguing tale of political machinations, religious indoctrination and the unfair treatment of the poor by the ruling classes. Finally there’s the presentation, which is adorable. Tiny sprites absolutely packed with character and battlefield in a pleasingly chunky polygonal style, with possibly the best soundtrack in the series to boot. Add in all the secrets and hidden characters, including Final Fantasy VII’s Cloud being more useless then that time he was in a vegetative state, and you’d got a game that I can replay more than probably any other.

OutRun (Arcade, Sega, 1986)


I’ve already written a long and florid love-letter to Sega’s arcade racer, so I’ll keep this brief. OutRun is a game where you drive a car as far as you can, and it is perfect. At once completely relaxed and utterly precise, OutRun is about as close as you can get to driving down a beachside highway in a Ferrari without arranging a test-drive under false pretences. In fact it’s better than the real thing, because this way you can avoid human company, all while enjoying some of the best music ever to come out of an arcade cabinet. If you have a 3DS, I cannot recommend the 3D port of OutRun enough. Buy it, then play OutRun while sitting on a sunny beach. Now that’s living the dream.

OutRun 2006: Coast to Coast (PS2, Sumo Digital / Sega, 2006)


I had to split the OutRun series into two entries, because OutRun 2006 is such a different beast that its arcade forefather. It’s got all of the original’s atmosphere, though - the same sun-kissed beaches and winding mountain roads that serve as a playground for the sheer fun of driving, the same sense of escapism and the wonderful soundtrack. In my opinion, it’s also the single best example of a retro game being updated and enhanced for a modern (well, at the time,) console. The addition of drifting and the Heart Attack challenge mode keep things fresh, but without sacrificing the atmosphere that made OutRun such a joy to play. OutRun 2006 is one of those games that feel almost pure, somehow, and the simple act of playing the game is so much fun that even if it didn’t look and sound great it’d still be one of my favourite. You could be controlling a shopping trolley in a Tesco car-park and OutRun 2006’s game engine would still make it exciting as you pulled off a sick power-slide around a pensioner trying to reverse her Nissan Micra into a disabled bay.

Bloodborne (PS4, From Software, 2015)


There’s a stereotype about fans of From Software’s Souls games, and it’s that they’ll take the slightest opportunity to bang on at length about how it’s the greatest series of games ever created, and I’m here to tell you that such people do exist. I know because I’m one of them. Okay, so maybe I’m not quite that bad, and I can rein myself in when I see eyes glazing over, but the Souls games really are a phenomenal body of work. Any of them, Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls 1 – 3, could have made it on to this list but just edging them out for the position of my most cherished is Bloodborne - the one that sits most on the outside of that happy little group.
From’s blood-based Gothic masterpiece follows the template set by the rest of the series but goes off on its own unique tangent, the “medieval” fantasy setting replaced by a quasi-Victorian world of  mutated beasts and madmen, which is precisely the kind of universe that I long to soak myself in like a nice hot bath. The combat is the real star of the show: where one of the pleasure of the Dark Souls games is the wide variety of viable character builds, Bloodborne almost forces the player in operating as a nimble, aggressive, melee fighter. That might sound like a regressive step, but the combat is so finely-honed and responsive that playing the game that way is just so damn fun. A big part of this is down to the “regain” mechanic – when you take damage, there’s a short window where you can restore some of your lost health by slashing tasty, healing blood out of your opponents, encouraging you to get right up in their business. Couple that with the ability to parry enemy attacks not by pushing them aside with a shield, as in Dark Souls, but by shooting them in the face, and Bloodborne offers a masterclass in risk-reward gameplay.
Also exceptional is the world that the action inhabits. Personally I think it’s the best use of Lovecraftian horror that’s ever appeared in a videogame, a universe beset by madness-inducing star-gods and strange cults that worship monstrous blood. Reaching the point in the game where you gain enough wisdom to see what’s really going on in the city of Yharnam is a moment that will stay with me for a long time. It’s a beautiful game to look at, as well. Exquisitely hideous monsters roam the dark places of the world, and the architecture alone is worth the price of admission. Plus, and this is the criteria by which I judge all Dark Souls games, it has a fine array of goofy hats to wear, including a bucket with one eyehole cut out of it and a giant golden traffic cone.

Quake (PC, id Software, 1996)


Don’t get me wrong, Doom is amazing and I love it dearly but Quake is just that little bit more special to me. I can remember the first time I ever saw it, visiting a friend who had just installed the shareware version on his dad’s then brand-new Windows ‘95 machine. It was full 3D, man! And faster than a cheetah on a rollercoaster to boot! It blew my mind, and because there was no chance of me getting a computer powerful enough to run it at the time, I made damn sure I found out which of my other friends owned Quake, too.
I think I’ve said this before, but given how many alterations and compromises Quake went through during its development, from vast and complex RPG to Doom But Moreso and Brown, it’s amazing that it turned out as great as it did. Many people will tell you that Quake’s legacy is its huge part in the rise of online multiplayer, which is true, but I’ve never been much interested in that. Instead I preferred the world of offline play, the dank castles and Satanic ziggurats, the intense satisfaction of nailing an Ogre from around the corner with the bouncing projectiles of the grenade launcher. The inclusion of jumping and swimming leads to ever-more fiendishly hidden secrets, the atmosphere is so oppressive you could mistake it for the North Korea government and the action is never less than full-on heavy metal carnage, served completely without irony or pretence.

F-Zero GX (Amusement Vision / Sega / Nintendo, 2003)


The ultimate speed crazy dream extravaganza, a game so relentlessly, maniacally fast that all other racing games feel sluggish by comparison, and home to the most bizarre cast of characters this side of The Lesser Key of Solomon, F-Zero GX must surely be the result of Nintendo looking at their previous entries in the F-Zero series and saying “yes, but what if it was more? More of all of it?” And so we were blessed with F-Zero GX, the racing game to surpass all others so long as you’re not bothered about driving actual cars. It’s not a game that messes around: if you want to be good at F-Zero GX, it demands dedication and practise, but although it’s harsh it’s always fair. Okay, outside of the Story mode, anyway. That mode isn’t fair. On the higher difficulties, it’s actually a test the developers included to secretly gather data on just how much rage-fuelled punishment a GameCube controller can take. Other than that, though, F-Zero GX offers a racing experience focussed down to laser-like intensity that provides countless endorphin hits when you blast over the finish line just as your vehicle’s about to explode or as you deftly jink left and right to avoid the holes in the track. Sometimes you’ll get it wrong and fall off the track or have your racer explode, but in my experience it really is a game where practise makes perfect and one of the things I love most about F-Zero GX is that every time I play it I can feel myself getting better at it in tiny increments. Not enough to ever beat Story Mode on the top difficulty, but still.

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (PS1, Konami, 1997)


I’ll be honest, when Symphony of the Night was first released I wasn’t that familiar with the Castlevania series. I’d played Super Castlevania IV and a little of the NES games, but it’s not like nowadays where I’ve played through them all multiple times, so as well as everything else I can praise Symphony of the Night for getting me into the rest of the series in a deeper way. Not that it requires any knowledge of the franchise to enjoy, because SotN takes the themes of the series and spins them into its own unique adventure. The half-vampire son of Dracula, fighting his way through a castle filled with all manner of monsters, spooks and reimagined characters from The Wizard of Oz? I’d have been sold on that no matter the license.
A game densely packed with secrets and obscure flourishes, (as I’ve written about before,) SotN marries the joy of exploring Dracula’s vast lair with tight controls and a wide range of weapons, equipment and special moves, each enemy you defeat bringing you closer to becoming an unstoppable death-dealing instrument of justice with fabulous hair. You can still find new things after dozens of playthroughs, the voice acting reaches a level of “so bad it’s good” that it transforms into the stuff of legend and Michiru Yamane’s soundtrack is utterly sublime. It’s a game that fair sings with quality, crafted with real passion, and is absolutely as much fun to play now as it was then.

Guitar Hero: Rocks the 80s (PS2, Harmonix, 2007)


Now that the series has been crushed beneath the weight of over-familiarity and a glut of spin-offs and expansions, it’s hard to remember that Guitar Hero was a genuine phenomenon. There are very few games I’ve ever seen – Tetris and early Wii stuff being other notable examples - that had such an effect when it came to getting people who didn’t play videogames interested. Everyone wanted to play Guitar Hero, regardless of whether they’d touched a videogame or a guitar before in their lives. The reasons for Guitar Hero’s appeal are obvious: everyone loves music, it’s simple to learn but difficult to master and despite knowing on a fundamental level that playing along on a chunky plastic guitar isn’t cool, it feels cool when you’re ripping through a Megadeth solo.
The Guitar Hero games hit at a perfect time for me personally, too. I was at university when they first appeared, and I have many fond memories of extremely well-lubricated pre-night-out Guitar Hero sessions. It also works as a good warning system for alcohol consumption: when you become unable to bash out a sloppy rendition of “18 and Life,” it’s probably time to switch to water. All the early Guitar Hero games are favourites of mine. I really enjoy Rock Band too, but there’s something about it that wasn’t quite as appealing as Guitar Hero. As sense that it wanted to be “cool,” maybe, a quality that Guitar Hero most definitely didn’t possess. So, why did I pick Rocks the 80s? Because it’s the one with “Holy Diver” in it, that’s why.

That's quite a selection of games, huh? However, I forgot to stop, and I've got another bunch of favourites to discuss. With that in mind, here's Part 2!

02/06/2016

SATISFYING MOMENTS IN VIDEOGAMING

Today's article is all about the satisfaction you can get from videogames. I don't mean the big moments - beating that difficult boss, seeing the conclusion of a grand adventure, remorselessly slaughtering your younger brother in Goldeneye deathmatch until he begins to ponder the futility of existence and starts crying (sorry, bro). No, I mean the smaller moments, little things that hit my pleasure centres and make the withered husk of my heart whisper "yes, good, good" every time they happen. With that in mind, there's only one place I can start this list: Hell.

Boom-Chok-Chok

Doom II didn't change much from the original, because what could you possibly want to change about Doom? That's not to say id Software just made a collection of new levels, however. They also isolated and solved one of Doom's greatest flaws, namely the fact that the shotgun wasn't two shotguns. Thus, the double-barrelled and accurately-named Super Shotgun was introduced in Doom II.


I'm sure most people reading this will have played Doom and used the Super Shotgun at some point, and I'm also sure that anyone who has used it will agree that yes, it is one of the most intensely satisfying videogame weapons ever created. Each pull of the trigger results in a brief frisson of joy as death itself surges from both barrels like the blow of an Olympian god. One of the hard gods, too, not a wimp like Hermes. Everything you're aiming at is either shredded into a demonic flesh slurry or wishes it had been, and the sound - the thud of the gunshot and the chok-chok as you reload - hammers home the Super Shotgun's position as The One True Gun. It never gets old and it never becomes obsolete, either. It's always useful, always powerful and it can clear a room full of people more efficiently than putting one of my mixtapes one at a party. It makes you feel, if only for a fleeting moment, like you're powerful. Then you open a door to a room full of Revenants and have a split-second to marvel at Hell's homing missile technology before that feeling of power evaporates.

Retire to a Safe Distance

Over to my very favourite FPS now with Blood, and a weapon that's satisfying in completely the opposite way to the Super Shotgun. That weapon is the flare gun, and while the pleasure of the Super Shotgun comes from it's raw power and immediacy, Blood's flare gun is more of, oh ho ho, a slow burn.



Hit an enemy with the flare gun and nothing much happens at first: the flare sticks to them, and as they continue their advance you might think they only way the flare is going to damage them is if a passing airliner mistakes the illuminated enemy for a runway and lands on their head. A second or two passes, and then your patience is rewarded - the flare causes the enemy to catch light and burn to death. You might balk at the idea of a gun that doesn't make the bad guys fall over as soon as you pull the trigger, but in this case a pleasure deferred is a pleasure enhanced. It's particularly satisfying when used against the Cultists, the robed, druidic human agents of an evil god that make up the bulk of Blood's enemies. For one thing, even the lowliest Cultist can quickly drain your health if you're caught unawares or trapped by an ambush, so the ability to pop a few flares through an open doorway or window and retreat to a safe distance until the murder barbecue has reached a sufficient cooking temperature is nice. Also, Cultists speak in a made-up demonic language... until they burst into flames, at which point they switch back to English so they can scream in agony without the need for a translator. When the villains drop their eldritch lexicon, that's when you know you've really gotten under their skin.

Cameramen of the 26th Century

In an effort to move this article in a direction that makes me seem less like a violent psychopath, it's over to classic SNES racer F-Zero and the thrill of victory - specifically, the way the camera whips around when you cross the finish line.


A more cynical person than I might accuse F-Zero of being little more than a technical showcase for the power of Nintendo's then-new 16-bit console, with the camera flourish that ends each race being an example of flash over substance. It's good flash, though. Satisfying flash, and it's never unworthy of a miniature fist-pump when you blast across the line in first place to the sound of your racer screaming to victory. It's even more satisfying when you win a close race, because you get to see your rivals just behind you as you disappear towards the horizon, safe in the knowledge that they'll never be able to overtake you and you'll never crash into another of the generic, primed-to-explode racers that limp around the course like a wheelbarrow full of semtex.

From Downtown

NBA Jam is one of those sports games that can captivate people who don't give a toss about the sport in question - people like yours truly, for instance. I have no interest in basketball, but over the years I've spent a lot of time playing NBA Jam, and it's always a pleasure to come back to. NBA Jam's recipe for success is not a complicated one: it strips basketball down to its basics and then makes those basics ridiculously over-the-top, a refinement process that leads to non-stop, end-to-end action and lanky men pirouetting through the air like Peter Crouch on an electric pogo stick. The crazy dunks are one of NBA Jam's big selling points - I don't think there's ever been a game of NBA Jam played where the participants aren't at least subconsciously praying for the backboard glass to be shattered - but personally I get more satisfaction from regular three-pointer.


I think it's the simplicity that appeals to me: the gentle arc, the crisp swish of the net, the commentator not shouting "terrible shot!" at me. There's a zen-like tranquillity to it, or as much zen-like tranquillity as you can summon up with the constant "excited rats in a tumble drier" squeak of shoes on wood. If I'm being honest with myself, and this is probably down to being a Yorkshireman, there's also the satisfaction of frugality. Sure, you might have done three cartwheels, jumped so high that the aviation authorities require you to have a blinking red light on your head and then slammed the ball home while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, but it's still only worth two points. You'll notice that's less than three points.

Handle With Care

In Super Mario Bros. 3, Bowser takes over the Mushroom Kingdom by giving each of his Koopa Kids a magic wand so they can turn the various kings of each world into animals, which shows a heart-warming amount of trust on Bowser's part. I get nervous when I see my nephew pick up a cardboard tube, I can only imagine the terror I'd feel if he had access to reality-altering magics. Anyway, the point is that when you defeat a Koopa Kid, they drop the magic wand and it falls from the sky, and it's always felt weirdly important to me that I catch it before it hits the ground.


I know that I'm not alone in this - I've met several people who also felt the strange compulsion to catch the wand. Why? Who can say. I don't think it's a subconscious desire to see Mario gain magical powers, he can already shoot fire out of his hands and fly. It's not like it's going to break, either, although it would admittedly be amusing if it did and Mario had to offer a shrugged apology to each king as they try to command the respect of their subject while in the form of a dog. It just feels right, is all, and it's strangely satisfying when you grab the wand before it lands.

Moonwalking

Since Symphony of the Night, all the "Metroidvania" style Castlevania games have given the player access to a back-dash move, which makes the hero scoot backwards as though they've opened their bathroom door to see a cobra coiled atop the toilet tank. Here it is in action in Aria of Sorrow.



Making this GIF for the VGJunk Tumblr was the trigger for this article, because dodging attacks using the backdash is very satisfying, especially when you consider it's not really all that useful. You can't attack while you're backdashing, and most of the time a simple jump or even just walking the other way would be just as effective. That's not the point, though - the point is it's cool, and occasionally downright cheeky. I'm sure this giant skeleton feels like Soma is taking the piss a little. The backdash is especially important to Alucard, because it's stylish and having style is what sets vampires (or their mopey half-human offspring) apart from other monsters. You wouldn't get a gill-man in a cape, would you?

It's Like Clicking A Ballpoint Pen

On to a more modern game with From Software's PS4 masterpiece Bloodborne, the glorious amalgamation of Dark Souls, Lovecraftian horror, Victorian Gothic architecture and blood. Lots of blood. Everything is blood. The healing items are blood, the currency is blood, even the rocks are blood. It's great. Series director Hidetaka Miyazaki has said that one of the goals of Dark Souls was to create a game that rewards the player with a sense of satisfaction for overcoming the game's challenges, but that's a bit too deep for this article. Instead, here's something entire frivolous.


Each weapon in Bloodborne can be transformed between two different modes at the press of a button, as you can see above with the Saw Cleaver transforming from a brutal, jagged slab of metal for close-range attacks to a brutal, jagged slab of metal on the end of a stick, for long-range attacks and sawing logs from the comfort of your conservatory or outdoor seating area. It's a simple process, but the way your Hunter flourishes their weapon, combined with the absolutely perfect sound design that accompanies each weapon's transformation, means that switching weapon modes is so satisfying that I did it a lot, even when it was completely unnecessary. I refuse to believe there is a single person who played Bloodborne who didn't have a moment where they flicked out their weapon's alternate mode as they slowly walked towards an unsuspecting enemy, because - and I say this with a complete lack of cynicism - it looks super cool.
But which weapon transformation itself looks the coolest? A difficult choice, but it's hard to deny the Boom Hammer.


It's a sledgehammer with a tiny furnace inside that you rev up by striking it like a match on your shoulder. Again, it's called the Boom Hammer. Don't ever let anyone tell you that the Souls games are too serious.

Rocket-Propelled Spiders

You know, I'm not sure whether I'd recommend the Earth Defense Force games to an arachnophobe. On the one hand, you spend a lot of the time being murdered by a churning, relentless wall of gigantic spiders. On the other hand, you have access to high explosives.


This is Earth Defense Force 4.1, but the point stands for all EDF games and that point is the indelible pleasure of seeing a giant insect - be it an ant, a spider or your fellow EDF soldiers, who are as insects before my might - violently ejected into the stratosphere by a well-placed explosion. Watch the spider being launched out of the top-right of the frame. He's gone and he's not coming back. A budget title it may be, but few other game series can match EDF for sheer carnage on a grand scale, and sending a spider back to where it came from (outer space, that is) with a rocket launcher is something that will warm my heart every time I see it happen.

Revenge of the Nerds

There's a clown in Day of the Tentacle, and like all clowns it's a heartless, malevolent presence that lusts for human suffering.


See? A truly ghastly adversary. However, the clown must be destroyed, because dorky hero Bernard needs the laughter box from inside the clown. But how can you slay that which does not live? Turns out it's fairly simple.


You stab it. You get your friend to send you a scalpel by flushing it down the high-tech toilet from the nightmarish future she's trapped in, and then you use the scalpel to stab the clown. It's perfect, really, and the satisfaction you get from it is mirrored by Bernard's expression of glee as he deals the fatal blow. I love the elegant simplicity of the solution to this clown problem - Day of the Tentacle is a game where you have to convince people George Washington is cold by blowing his teeth out with an exploding cigar, so "just shank it" stands out in stark relief and is all the more rewarding for it. Plus, there's the moral satisfaction you get from ensuring there's one less clown in the world.

A Gordian Knot

Capcom's PS2 bushido-em-up Onimusha is a fun adventure, right up until the point where you're presented with a life-or-death sliding block puzzle.


You know what's worse than a sliding block puzzle? Okay, yes, walking in on your parents making love and them not stopping, or contracting smallpox, but what I was going to say was "a sliding block puzzle with a timer." It's not an easy puzzle, either, and all these flaws combined are enough kill my interest in Onimusha, and possibly videogames as a concept, stone dead. So how could this possibly be satisfying?


This is how - the chance to offer a hearty "get bent" to the sliding block puzzle designers of the world.

There you go, then. A collection of brief moments that fill my heart with, if not song, then at least a jaunty whistle. That's what playing videogames is all about, surely? They should be fun, always, and if I find my joy in the act of stabbing an inflatable clown then so be it.

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