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Not only does the game cheapen the idea that a dog is man's best friend, it also falls apart like a cheap chew toy.
One hopes Man of Medan will function similarly to a mediocre TV pilot for a series that only later finds its footing.
With its everything-but-the-kitchen-sink imagination, Control is as much a thrilling paean to human curiosity as it is a warning of its numerous casualties.
Even when the game isn't actively shooting itself in the foot, it never entirely succeeds.
The more often you get stuck with the same items and abilities, the more redundant and shallow the game feels.
Fire Emblem attains an especially epic, moral grandeur with this game's focus on the interplay between education and religion.
The game isn't really supposed to be about anything, yet in that ambiguity it captures the specific madness of our present.
As the game never really switches up its formula, it's not long before fatigue sets in.
It experiments with all the weakest parts of the series and ties them together with a new, tedious progression system.
The game's first-person-shooter sequences aren't just dull and familiar, but also clunky, given the touchy VR controls.
Its repetitive tasks are like the usual arbitrary gates to reach a cutscene in a mediocre video game.
From the second you power on the game, its entire toy chest is open to you, no strings attached.
The similarities between SolSeraph and ActRaiser are unmistakable, but it's a joyless facsimile that lacks a single spark of innovation.
Where the game goes in-depth, and where it clearly feels most comfortable, is in its omnipresent brawls.
Worse than the sheer tedium of shooting is the effect it has on the game's atmosphere.
As varied and intriguing as the game can get on a conceptual level, it outdoes itself in the minutiae of traversal and combat.
Every shootout is an opportunity to execute a thoroughly balletic performance of sorts.
This is a rare adventure game in which the journey is actually more of a reward than the destination.
Even the few inventive stretches of the game are ultimately driven into the ground by a punishing sense of repetition.
Playing Pathologic 2 feels like suffering, and it's meant to be that way.