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What's interesting about Kona is that it brings together two seemingly incompatible approaches, and uses them to motivate and explain one another. The survival systems work to keep you on a narrative path, while the adventure-type investigations and puzzle solving give shape and motivation to the survival aspects. In Kona, there's more to the world than just surviving; it's a means to an end.
At some point, it was decided horror games were more effective if they didn't involve combat; since then, they've flailed looking for ways to fill a now empty space, and a groundswell of aspiration, toward making videogames broadly about more than murdering for reward, has emboldened them. However, if the creators of horror games have silently, collectively agreed to redefine a genre, Outlast 2, packed with nonsense plot, engorged levels and frantic, anonymous bloodshed, feels like the definitive failure of their ambition. Don't be fooled by it, or its intent.
And I admit, they game does reach those levels, many times in fact. But if we hope to see this often-maligned genre grow out of the worst parts of its history, we should also set a higher standard for the kind of stories it can tell. Or in Thimbleweed Park's case, how it tells them and with what amount of conviction.
There are a handful of good stories to be found in Andromeda, but they’re hidden away, worthwhile moments tucked within hours and hours of disposable ones. In an effort to be as comprehensive as possible in tone, styles of mission objective and purpose, the game ends up feeling as impossibly vast as nature but as rigid and artificial as a computer system.
Kingdom Hearts HD 1.5 and 2.5 ReMIX is a knockout. I may be 32 now, and not 17 again, but I enjoyed my time with Sora and Mickey nonetheless. I didn't expect that.
Despite how much I enjoy that kind of experience on a conceptual level, it definitely isn't my favorite kind of game to play, and I generally felt like I was solving puzzles with half of the pieces. Rain World is a beautiful, forward-thinking game that points to a form of game design that I want to see more of. I just wish it made itself a little more accessible.
Persona 5 might not be for you—maybe you've no love for the anime aesthetic, or maybe the notion of an 80-hour game with no open world isn't your bag. Maybe you don't like JRPGs! But maybe, if you're anything like me, you'll spend eighty-three hours with this game over the course of a month and sit there as the credits roll with an empty feeling in your chest, turning your year in Tokyo over and over in your head, thinking of the friends you spent time with and the struggles you endured together.
If you want to play an “old school” stealth game, you have many options that aren’t the price of a new game. If you want crude humor, there are far better options in games and other media to enjoy. If you want to get berated by an ugly creature who thinks he’s better than you, well, Twitter is free.
Platinum and Yoko Taro are an expert pair here, harmoniously bringing together dozens of eclectic sources from philosophy to anime to history to real-life war to silly, over-the-top fight sequences into one cohesive whole where not a single part feels unnecessary, and all contribute to the larger message. It is a timely story about our priorities as a society and our continued relevance in an increasingly automated world, told in a clever way that makes meaning out of about four different genres worth of mechanics and yet could still be called elegant. It's a sharp commentary that could only be done through games, and for now, it is easily the magnum opus of either of its authors.
I’m already excited about the next Momodora game. I’m going to play all of the previous games, and then I’m going to anticipate and wait for the next one.
That’s true of Berserk and the Band of the Hawk overall—it’s a supremely disappointing mess. It still feels like a Musou game, for what that’s worth, but at a $60 price point I couldn’t suggest it to even the hardest of hardcore fans. It adds nothing to the story, adds nothing to the Musou series, and you’d be better served by playing any other Dynasty Warriors game.
This is a game that doesn’t seem to care at all about the very real horrors of modern Central and South American history—that presents a dire international problem as something that can be solved through the clean precision of four American badasses pulling off sync shots. Whether out of neglect, a lack of understanding or a deep callousness, it turns the suffering of the people who right now live under vicious cartels into a playground for a forgettable sandbox shooter. Its audience needs either a willful ignorance of—or a disturbing outlook on—the world around them to be able to play Wildlands without a deep sense of unease.
I think, however, that I ended up liking it in spite of itself, and could feel the pushback more and more aggressively the longer I played it. It is an enjoyable game, and I have no qualms about calling it one of the best fighting games of this gen, but it does not solve the problems that keep the genre from being for everyone and, in some cases, accelerates those issues. Perhaps that is too heavy a burden for any game to carry, but I still find myself wishing For Honor were capable of it.
The depth you expect, the open exploration and constant sense of discovery the series is known for, are here in perhaps greater effect than ever before, but with the systems and mechanics that drive the moment-to-moment action heavily overhauled. The result is a Zelda that feels unmistakably like a Zelda, but that also breathes new life into the venerable classic. It’s too early to fully weigh it against the historical record, but if forced to rank the entire coterie of Zelda games, Breath of the Wild would come in near the very top.
Ultimately, it’s an excellent game that delivers an engaging story, and that’s what’s expected and desired from Torment: Tides of Numenera. Sometimes it’s clunky, and other times it is sluggish, but mostly it’s an engaging game that rarely disappoints. If only everything was this way.
Halo Wars 2’s compromise between strategy and speed leaves a system without a functional amount of either. Its story bears the hallmarks of the world Bungie first crafted 16 years ago without any of the melodrama or myth. Missing so much of what makes an RTS work and what makes Halo a fiction so many choose to escape into, it’s easy to wonder who Halo Wars 2 is even for.
There is much beauty to see in the game's world—such incredible vision and craft exercised in its conception—but it's subservient to a poor story, lackluster combat and, worst of all, an evident paranoia that players won't appreciate the world Aloy inhabits unless it's put within the context of a laundry list of tasks that have to be completed.
No matter what you think of that, if you've ever thought of playing a Hitman game, then this is the one to grab. If you haven't ever heard of a Hitman game before, then you should just play this damn game and embrace the weird, wild world of sandbox murderin'.
The mixture of frustration and amazement has been a problem in Gravity Rush since the original Vita release, yet none of the flaws are enough to make me outright stop playing. Despite some awful mission design and as annoying as combat and righting Kat during a bad fall can be, there’s always enough charm and beauty here to keep me going. So, Gravity Rush 2 isn’t as resounding a success as I was hoping, but it’s still ingenious and entertaining enough to stay on my hard drive for awhile yet.
But, if you’re a longtime fan, this is still a solid entry in the series, and A Fragmentary Passage might be worth the price of admission alone. There are moments throughout when the underlying gameplay and combat exceed the limitations of the collection, and you become totally swept up in eliminating as many goofy enemies as quickly as possible, bouncing off walls, flying through the air, hurling fireballs. For these moments, Final Chapter Prologue is a success.