Showing posts with label Dead Rising. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dead Rising. Show all posts

Sunday, February 16

Dead Rising 3 Review (XB1): A fetching quest


Back in 2006, the arrival of the "next generation" was heralded with thousands of zombies. The first Dead Rising showed me what was possible as a result of those extra few megahertz and megabytes: an awkward, charming and relatively well-populated zombie apocalypse. I was convinced that there was no way a PlayStation 2 could render that many threats on screen at the one time; I'd need to shell out a few hundred dollars for an Xbox 360 if I wanted to see everything games could be from that point forward.

Fast forward to a few months off the present day and a raging impulse robbed me of a chance to test the waters. I couldn't imagine surviving the afternoon of 22 November 2013 without taking a "next generation" console home with me. Forgetting my posturing with sentiments such as "Microsoft can't be trusted with DRM (digital rights management) policy," or "the Kinect 2.0 brings the NSA into your living room," I blew roughly 900 bucks on the Xbox One, two games and accessories without so much as a second thought. I was happy to trust Capcom with justifying the jump to more powerful hardware once more.

Dead Rising 3 did what I needed it to do: it put a few hundred more zombies on the screen, it streamlined the series' set of clunky mechanics, and it managed to stave off what could've been a pretty severe case of buyer's remorse. By that I mean, of course, that I'm still playing it. Still grappling with the undead, vehicle fusing, its hints of racism, archaic quest structure and overt sexism. It's a guilty pleasure that I'm still indulging in months after I first completed it. That's pretty rare for me. I finish a game and I move on; it's something truly special that keeps me coming back for more.

If there's one thing I appreciate in a sequel, it's in seeing that action has been taken to address flaws from previous entries in a series. By removing the requirement to find workbenches to make combo weapons and by making AI companions a little more intelligent and lethal, it became that much easier to have fun slaying the zombie hordes. By implementing a checkpoint system and removing the requirement to find toilets to save your game (in Normal mode), it was that much easier to avoid agitation. There are fewer impediments to enjoyment and satisfaction here than in any other game in the series.

The new combo vehicle mechanic (haha, unintentional pun) takes a lot of the pain out of the game's outdated approach to questing. That is to say that Dead Rising 3 is a 10-15 hour collection of fetch quests, and trucks that spew acid, fireworks and gas canisters do a great deal to neutralise the threat and frustration that comes with every street, highway and alleyway being densely populated with the undead. You spend hours behind the wheels of large, often unwieldy vehicles driving item X back to person Y. As you progress, you'll find that your favourite routes to and from each of the four (let's call them) islands that comprise the fictional setting of Los Perdidos are blocked or otherwise reconfigured, meaning that the typical fetch quest can be drawn out to the point of farce. Navigation is a core, tedious component of play, and the addition of combo vehicles makes the repetition bearable, even fun in some instances.

Battles against the series' staple Psychos return and the glut of effective combo weapons serves to neuter another source of prior frustration. I bested all but one of these fights on the first attempt though, so we've gone from one extreme to the other. These fights are no longer irritating, they're just short grinds with some offensive scripted sequences book-ending the action. On the whole, this would have to be the easiest instalment in the series by a long way. Even Nightmare Mode fails to mount a challenge close to anything I encountered in Dead Rising 2; but I'm not sure that's necessarily a bad thing.

Dead Rising 3 is written for all of us straight, white, middle class bros as it others pretty much anyone outside of that paradigm. The way in which characters of colour were written is particularly odious. I can only think of two black men that I encountered throughout the entire game and both end up betraying the player character in spectacularly cringe-worthy fashion. One side mission manages to be both racist and painfully sexist as you're tasked at first with rescuing a pimp, Big D and escorting him to his massage parlor. Upon arriving, you're greeted with a woman bound and lying on a bed. You can either kill Big D's "favourite bitch" or you can rescue her and murder her captor. I opted for the latter, only to find that Kandy moaned suggestively with as much as a slight breeze. Trying to get through a crowded doorway with my new companion gave me enough sound bytes to put together a sexy radio serial. The standard of writing is often embarrassing, and I'd hesitate to use the game to showcase the power of next-gen hardware to friends or family given how prone it is to instances or "broments" that portray women, overweight people, and people of colour in a less than positive light.

Despite these missteps, there's no denying that creating a hybrid automatic rifle shotgun or electric traffic light bow staff to mow down streets worth of zombies is a whole heap of fun. Dead Rising 3 is greater than the sum of its parts, with all-out chaos accounting for shitty, callous writing, and a heavily-populated zombie apocalypse proving distracting enough to forgive a litany of bugs and technical hiccups. The concept and mechanics of play are so well realised that Dead Rising 3 is, for mine, the best game currently available on any next-gen (current gen?) platform.

Sunday, June 16

Crotch Cam, Care Bears and Metro: Last Light


I can't do scary movies. When my brothers and friends used to insist on viewing films such as Dawn of the Dead and 28 Days Later, I would accompany them, but I'd also spend between ninety and one hundred and twenty minutes with my eyes fixed squarely on my crotch. Even when watching the relatively lighthearted    murder sprees found in the Friday the 13th series, I would stick my fingers in my ears to block out the sounds associated with men being torn limb from limb. I'm certain that my entourage would tell you that I whimpered on occasion - I'm not saying I did, but I wouldn't put it past them all the same.

I was able to play the odd survival horror title without crawling into the fetal position, however. Something about having agency in a raft of terrifying situations allowed me to deal with the sort of gratuitous violence that normally have my glance heading south. Resident Evil 1 through 4, the first Silent Hill, Dead Rising, and titles like Dino Crisis and F.E.A.R -- that weren't necessarily scary, but would try and get you to jump with surprise attacks and limited resources -- were able to be bested despite my inability to compute cinematic horror.    

As time's gone by and I've branched out from friends and family, our expeditions to view abhorrent content have become less and less frequent, and I've strayed away from the offensive content almost entirely as a result. It's to the point where I'm even shying away from violent games: Resident Evil 5,6 and Dead Space 3 have been lying around the house unplayed for months, Dead Space 2 has been in the backlog for years now. I thought I could go the rest of my life without my heart rate rising on account of copious amounts of blood, guts and screams of terror.

Then I found myself in the Metro. Surrounded by floor-to-ceiling spider webs, haunted, eviscerated rail cars, and amorphous pods of skin that spew slime and more spiders, I found that the best way to deal with my fear was to let it out. I mean really let it out: squealing and swearing as I trudged my way through the depths of post-apocalyptic Russia. I'm like a surly, cowardly sailor shooting barbs and buckshot towards creatures that make my nightmares look like scenes from an episode of Care Bears.


It's not just the grotesqueries that have me perpetually wailing "That's fucked up!" either, it's the sounds that accompany them. The taut strings that score the stealth sequences, the skittering of six (maybe eight?) very large legs, the blood-curdling screams and cries for mercy from innocent survivors: if my fingers weren't wrapped tightly around the controller, they'd be in my ears.

I actually relish the chance to face human opponents. They're predictable, they're preoccupied and they only see me coming when I want them to. It's not so much that the AI-controlled opponents aren't cunning strategists as much as they are blind. Unless a strong light source is present, consider the greenlight for shenanigans flashed.

In any case, I'm glad that Metro: Last Light has provided some fuel for that final, flickering spark of courage hidden at the back of my brain. If you have any love of bleak, post-apocalyptic scenarios or thick Russian accents, I strongly suggest you give it a try.