A Monster in Their Parasoul

From the hours of footage I've seen of the game on Wednesday Night Fights and elsewhere, Skullgirls looks like a game I'd enjoy. Its promise of teaching novice players how to actually handle themselves in a fight instead of just combos they'll never learn to implement means a scrub like me could learn to block mix-ups, see openings, and wean myself off poor tactics like jumping in constantly with the intent of using the strongest attack at my disposal. The midpoint it chooses to play at (the methodicalness of Street Fighter crossed with the more absurd tactics of the Vs. series) sounds right up my alley. It's a smarter kind of fighter, learning from both community feedback and the genre's history to create something that just might be approachable and tournament-worthy at the same time.

One look at the overly-endowed and fetishized characters that populate the game, however, and it's likely that some of the people that looked at the game as an entry point in the fighting genre will turn away. Alex Ahad, creator of Skullgirls' world and characters, doesn't mind:

“I totally understand that my style is not for everyone. The art style is more of a cartoon exaggeration, both in proportions and poses, with several inspirations mixed in. I would be pretty content if Skullgirls was a small project and had a niche following. If you enjoy the style of this game, I can never thank you enough for your support and welcome you to our world with open arms. If you have too much of a problem with Skullgirls, then this game isn't for you. To each their own. I'm ok with that notion, and would generally prefer to stay out of public discussions.”

The art style Ahad has chosen for the game isn't the problem. It's that the breast-physics are exaggerated, panty flashes are prevalent and intentional, and not a single member of the all-female cast wears pants, instead opting for dresses, skirts, or whatever Ms. Fortune's wearing. When a character's super move involves her flipping upside down and revealing her underwear, it's a problem. Skullgirls' lead designer, Peter Bartholow, defended the panty flashes by mentioning that “if a woman dressed like this were to fight, there would be some panty flashes.”

Ahad distances himself from the Eurogamer piece that previous quote originated from in his DeviantArt post, but regardless, Bartholow's point clearly doesn't hold up. Citing that the style of the characters is ”just where Alex's interests lie,” doesn't fix the problem; if the characters you designed have skirts that are too short to properly hide their underwear (Parasoul), or fight in such a way that they'll show their underwear during a super (Cerebella), the solution is to design more practically-dressed characters, not to say that it's a byproduct of the character's outrageous designs.

Sounds like the cries of a censor seeking to maximize a game's appeal, and to some degree, it is. But I'm looking for more subdued fighter designs in order to play with more people, not to increase my earnings. With the possible exception of Peacock, I don't know that there's a character in Skullgirls that I'd feel comfortable playing as by myself, let alone in a group of people*. Am I not confident around groups of people? Probably. Do I stand a better chance getting more people to play with me if at least half the cast doesn't make eyes roll? Most definitely.

Ahad says that characters' behavior within the game makes them empowered women, not sex objects, and that that's “the difference between something being sexy and being sexist.” Whether that actually bears out is unclear, but when Parasoul's upside-down cross is closer to 90° than even 45° relative to her body, taking her seriously as an empowered woman becomes difficult. Ahad also cites that none of the characters use their sexuality as weapons, that none of the characters are as bad as Cammy from Street Fighter, and that people don't complain about muscular men, but those points have been countered elsewhere recently, so I'll keep it succinct: simply because Cammy is poorly designed and people don't complain about the male characters in fighting games doesn't mean you can get away with it. Not only should Reverge have the perspective to not repeat those same mistakes, but they also don't have a legacy to bind them to characters like Cammy – they're free to correct those errors, but are choosing not to in favor or indulging an artist and a niche audience.

The Shoryuken piece regarding the topic considers the matter closed. By simply stating his view and denying the allegations against him, Ahad has made it okay for people who enjoy these characters to not worry about enjoying them. That, again, is a problem. Whether or not the game is sexist, the designs are perverted and creepy. But unfortunately, I'm a fighting game fan and a hypocrite, which means I'll buy Skullgirls – the systems at work behind the fan service look fun, and I'd love to learn to be a better player. But I'll mostly play the game alone, and instead of possibly teaching people at casual gatherings how to play a genre I'm currently enamored with, I'll either sweep the whole mess under the rug or teach them using a different game. A shame, really, because the fighting genre could use another game like Street Fighter IV to get a new group of people into playing it, and expand the genre. It's too bad Ahad's ambition is limited to keeping an insular group satisfied, because Skullgirls has the potential to do more than that.

*A quick anecdote: I play Juri in Super Street Fighter IV because I like how she plays, not because I endorse how she looks. I don't loathe her design entirely – she at least wears pants – but I play her despite her design, which I imagine I'll have to do with most of Skullgirls' cast. Peacock, again, might be the lone exception here, but when only one character appeals to me superficially in a game where you can select up to three at a time...

Compromise of the Damned

I'm calling Shadows of the Damned a compromise, and it makes me sad to think about the game that way.

I realize now that this has almost nothing to do with the game I was actually playing and everything to do with my expectations. You'll be hard-pressed to read a review of Shadows of the Damned that doesn't mention its stable of Japanese talent: Goichi Suda, known for making games weird, Shinji Mikami, known for making games fun without making adhering to modern standards, and Akira Yamaoka, known for adding unsettling ambiance wherever it's needed. As someone who's enjoyed the work of all three on multiple occasions, Shadows seemed like a dream project. Suda and Mikami in particular seem like complimentary forces; Suda's eccentric design choices rarely lead to “fun” games, while Mikami's suffer from a lack of creative direction. Or at least, I think they do.

Still, I'm let down, and it's entirely because the game isn't crazy enough, which some of you might think wouldn't be possible. I don't think that's true. The undead-meets-punk aesthetic is a fine touch, and the game's tone is consistent enough to not make the look seem out of place in hell. But this is where I feel that both the narrative and ludological sides capitulate not just for the sake of making EA can actually sell (not that they really tried), but so that the end product ends up being more cohesive. Suda's knack for the absurd is augmented by the fact that for better or worse, his games don't play like anything else out there. Mikami's games play so well because he has control over contextualizing gameplay concepts, even when they seem out of place. With neither person in full control, we end up with a faster, "spookier" version of Resident Evil 4, which is a product six years too late.

When I look at it that way, I find myself at odds. I certainly think the game is good, as my three playthroughs will attest, but when I read unapologetic praise for the game, I wonder what it is that places the game so high on people's "best-of" lists for the year: is it the atmosphere, done better in almost every Suda game? The gameplay, which feels clunky when put beside Resident Evil 5? The papercraft shooter sections? Is it the story, which acts as a metaphor for how loving someone involves embracing the bad along with the good of a person? There's a lot in Shadows of the Damned that makes it good, especially when most shooters don't dare delineate from military conflicts. But though Damned is charming, it doesn't hold up well when looked at past its veil of its setting.

Nitpicks: the big boner sections go from distracting side show to painful grind, and the shooter sections later on are only slightly better. The shooting, again, isn't up to par with Mikami's previous work. David Blum shouldn't attempt to mimic Spanish ever again, nor should Suda. The main game and Bosses alike rely on tired lock-and-key and glowing weakpoints ad nauseum. Replay value, one of Mikami's strongest suits in the past, is all but gone here. The game ends one scene too late. These could all amount to kicking Damned while it's down, but these are the kind of things that grate on a player after the first playthrough.

As I said earlier, I do like Shadows of the Damned, particularly for its examination of a relationship past rescuing or fighting with someone. Similarly, Akira Yamaoka's soundtrack seems like the one element of the game that feels unrestricted. And I theorize that for many players, this may be their first true exposure to a Suda title, since they can play it without too much hassle, which may be why so many people laud it for being novel. But I can't escape the feeling that both Suda and Mikami could've done a better job were they each making separate games. Label me a hater, but I think it's because I'm such a fan of both Suda and Mikami's work that I hold the game up to a high standard. Or maybe Suda's messing with me by further deepening the "love the good and the bad" into the development of the game itself.

Nah.

A Note From Wonderland.

Before I start in earnest, a quick anecdote: early in American McGee's Alice: The Madness Returns, there's a point where a singular path splits into two. Nothing too flashy -- games do this all the time. A quick switch into Alice's shrunk form that allows me to see chalk markings that are otherwise invisible, and I see two notes; one with an arrow and a childish rendition of a Jolly Roger, and another with an arrow and a flower, both leading down the two paths I mentioned earlier. I haven't played enough to know that the Jolly Roger is Chalk for "main path" (meaning the other path leads to a reward and a dead end), but I get enough to know that's where I'm supposed to be going.

But I double-check myself. I go along the main path first, to see far enough ahead so I know I should double back. But after going too far, the path behind me is closed by rock-slide. I've lost that little reward I knew I should've gone after. I did what I did because most games let you go back. Madness Returns didn't.

They don't make games like this anymore.

Really, they don't; it doesn't take much to see that Madness Returns finds much of its design fundamentals from 3D platformers of yesteryear, which is a good and a bad thing. Good because honestly, this throwback design sets it apart from most other games. Bad, because it's not revamped return to form. Poor camera controls, switch and door puzzles, both repeated ad nauseum -- this might've been one of the reasons these kinds of games stopped filling Wal-mart shelves (the other, perhaps,being that companies ran out of appealing mascots to slap onto covers).

But that's not what set the 2001 game, Alice, apart either. American McGee, partly heir to the Doom empire, has a panache for horror themes and "dark atmosphere" that would make Todd McFarlane and Tim Burton blush. And what's true of the original game is true of its sequel: Madness Returns is a powerful story told in adequate way between sections of an average game. Combat is consistently challenging (due to both careful difficulty balancing and occasional frustration), but like many an indie game where "art" is a keyword, you endure what you're doing to see what will happen. In this case, it's Alice reconstructing the puzzle of her fragmented memory to find out what actually happened the night her family died in a fire. Not common video game fare, though it's told in the medium's bread-and-butter tricks: cutscenes, memory fragments the tell a story during gameplay, and a few in-game sequences where you're left to experience a scene while wandering about.

But even if you're the kind of person that hates the separation of story and gameplay, Madness Returns may still hook you. Scenes in an asylum, the Carpenter and Walrus' dark philosophical waxing -- that's what you're here for. Before Alice redeems herself, you see some dark stuff, and not just aesthetically. Where McGee outdoes McFarlane is impact; Madness Return's worst moments hit hard because you don't know if a silver lining exists, where Spawn's dark corners add up to so much fluff and attitude.

Conventional in all but the one way that counts -- that's Madness Returns. Its tale is worth seeing more than most others in gaming this year, but you may have to slog through memories of gaming's past to see it. Which, as it happens, is just fine with me.

Modern Guilt

Rebecca Black's "Friday" video -- and, more importantly, the widespread negativity towards it -- spread like wildfire across the internet last week, and other important contextual setup that I don't care to add. Basically, the song is a vapid, auto-tuned mess made by a company who specializes in promoting acts that consistently remind me of rich parents hocking their kids to companies because they have the money to make viral video. It summarizes everything that's wrong with modern music. Except that it doesn't.

Many of the comments I've read about the video focus not only on how awful the song is, but also on how it represents the downfall of modern music. It has auto-tune. It stars a fabricated idol singing about friends and weekends and other stuff that lacks the depth of pop music of the past. And clearly, to someone who's outgrown pop music and thus hasn't kept up with it, this is trash and symptomatic of a larger problem.

Let's put aside the fact that the song is terrible. Because yeah, it is. And frankly, my arguments against this line of thinking can summed up perfectly in the "rose-colored glasses," argument. People who haven't grown up around this kind of music clearly see it as foreign, and will quickly dismiss it and go back to longing for the pop music of the past. Like many people who are bemoaning the loss of the morals in society, they assume a downward trend in in quality when the changes are really exposure and options.

But propping "Friday" up as the representation of "modern music" obviously ignores quite a few factors. First, there's all the progressive and indie stuff that garner high MetaCritic scores that exists outside pop music. Second, "Friday" isn't even actual pop music; it's made a relatively small company for who the song is an outlier in terms of its popularity. Though it's tempting to group them all together, Rebecca Black is ultimately not in the same category as Justin Bieber or Taylor Swift. If you're to beat on a straw man, at least make sure it's the right one.

I named my Tepig Bumfunk

It doesn't take long for any conversation about Pokemon -- specifically the games -- to come to the point of the games' rehashed formula. And it's a fair point to make; playing the Black version, I'm consistently surprised by how much of the game is retained from Red and Blue. I understand that the reason the games don't change their fundamental design is because each version serves as an introduction for new players, and that Game Freak believes that style works well.

And it does. By the time you defeat the first Gym Leader you know enough about how the game works to be able to dig into the game's collecting and battling. I'm not afraid to admit that Pokemon's simple battle system still packs enough allure and strategy to keep me engaged. The reveals new Pokemon (the creatures, not the game) still follow the same pattern as previous games (you'll get a ton of boring "Normal" types before you start finding some of the more exotic species), but the visual difference is enough to make the experience seem new. When I see a new wild Pokemon, I want to catch it. When I see a fellow trainer, I want to bury their critters' faces in the dirt. The basic elements of the game still work remarkably well, and I'm sure Game Freak knows it.

But that doesn't mean there aren't places to improve, at least from the perspective of someone who's played most versions of the game. For one, the early parts of the game feature so much mandatory hand-holding that I almost turned my DS off from boredom more than once. The game asks the player if they need few things explained to them, but they need to take it all the way: allow veterans the chance to skip the introductions of what a Pokemon is, how the world works and how to heal your captive friends at the Pokemon Center. So the PokeMart is now embedded in the Center? Cool. I could've figured that out myself.

But, despite the game's superfluous foreword, I'm still going, if no other reason than the title of this post.

Louie

Louie's a lo-fi comedy show that stars a stand-up comedian, so you have certain expectations going in. For one, it's going to be funny. Second, it'll be edgy, particularly considering the raw, brash, and foul-mouthed talent involved (Louie C.K. is like a less ). The half-hour shows usually stick to self-contained episodes that don't focus on progression, so you expect to be able to pick it up from any episode without missing too much.

Louie does meet those expectations. The stand-up comedy bits are as dark, inhumane and frank as you'd expect (which is a good thing), and the situations in the show would all fit as stand-up bits. But what works best about the show -- and what separates it from other comedy shows -- is its tone. The show focuses largely on just how depressing C.K.'s life is: A divorce this late in his life means he's almost completely out of the dating pool, his kids cause him the kind of stress that only someone you love unconditionally can cause, and generally, he feels like a shitty person. It's dark and unrelenting in how much bad "behind-the-scenes," stuff it shows. You never get the sense that the show is reaching for comedy; every scene takes place with C.K.'s half-fictional life, and the show comes off a gritty comedy show, strange as it sounds.

And as you get into the later episodes, you'll begin to see just how much drama Louie can pack into its half-hour. Episodes 9 and 11 specifically stand right on the edge of the comedy/drama line, and the show knows how to straddle that line. Its actual comedy bits (those outside the stand-up segments) can be hit of miss, but surprisingly enough, the more serious segments tend to be the most well-executed ones. There are huge chunks of episodes where the comedy is intentionally sparse, and those still manage to be entertaining, much like when a comedian launches into ranting or preaching during a segment, at least when those bits are done well.

Where C.K. takes the show in the second season is anyone's guess, but I hope it continues to alternate itself between its The Office-like awkwardness, its well-executed comedy bits, and Titus-level of black comedy. It may not completely revolutionize the half-hour comedy formula, but it definitely takes it in a great new direction.

UnWowed

I look at Killzone's great textures and sharp post-processing, and I identifying as such. I don't think "Wow, this game looks great." Which it does; the models aren't universally great and there's a big problem with people's eyelashes, but as a whole, it looks fantastic. But I can't get beyond banal and analytical sentiments like, "Wow, this game sure cost a whole lot of money to make." When a bipedal mech and a spider-bot got toe-to-toe, I'm initially surprised, but then find myself wondering what kind of work -- and of course, how much money -- went into making it. I sure hope Guerrilla got everything they wanted out of the section, because damn, it looks expensive.

I had the same feelings about Uncharted and its sequel. And Gears, for a while. I think that this sentiment is what leads people to hate big-budget games and proceed to declare that the humble artistic efforts of smaller developers trump the money-laden blockbusters of our current generation. But I don't think that; if you want to make your game look gorgeous (as all of the games I mentioned above do), go ahead. Most people with the resources of the company you work for would do the same thing. And you should, because when you're a big enough company, you eventually enter a competition of technical prowess.

Not that I question these studios' artistic intent. Though at some point, you're not just a studio artist showing the world your wares out of a selfish sort of altruism -- you're a business. But something about seeing motion-blur, vignetting, and other technical wizardry ends up putting me in the same technical mind that's likely needed to make those effects in the first place.

The Catherine Conspiracy

Even though Atlus has said it has no plans to, I find it hard to believe they won't release Catherine in the U.S.. Their history betrays them; they've released weirder titles and taken plenty of risks over the years. Catherine may be a bit different from anything else the company has released so far, but not by that huge of a stretch.

There are a few things working against Catherine's U.S. release -- most importantly, its adult content and America's tendency to overreact to things they clearly don't understand. It's likely that Atlus is trying to find a way to release their first big current-gen project without any sort of controversy. Considering that Catherine's sexual theme is the only thing that trumps Bulletstorm's... let's say gregarious violence on the Motherly Outrage-o-Meter, how Americans perceive their title should be a concern. A popular controversy could increase sales of the game, but it could also get it banned. A likely outcome? Not really, but Atlus seems like a modest company, one that would try to avoid a debacle altogether.

Still, I remain hopeful. Why? Well, for one, not only does Atlus' history betray them -- their present does too. As a few people have pointed on podcasts and other, there's little incentive to develop a 360 version of a game you won't be releasing in States, and looking at the numbers in the news story above reinforces that thinking. 360's a console on life support (less so in recent years, but still), so porting to it may be always be the smartest thing to do.

So why not just announce a U.S. version and get it over with? My insane theory is that Atlus is still gauging interest. And it's not just about releasing it like they would usually. I predict that Atlus wants to go big-time with Catherine, to leave the niche-world and have a bona fide hit. They have that with Demon's Souls, but considering Catherine more volatile subject matter, they're taking a more cautious approach. They're not just gauging interest; they're gauging demand. They want to know whether they can actually pull off a chart-topper in the U.S. like they did in Japan.

So, like many people, I'm confident about a state-side version of the game. But I'm also confident Atlus wants Catherine to be a title that has a wider reach than they've had before. Whether or not the game's odd gameplay and mature themes cross over into mainstream success remains to be seen, but I have Atlus is going to give it a shot.

Guess What...

The Camaro is a great-looking car except when someone thought it'd be okay to use its two-wheel drive on a day when the forecast says "HEY YOU GUYS I THINK THERE MIGHT BE LIKE SOME SNOW OR SOMETHING." Then it's kind of ugly, when looked at from the perspective of someone who's trying to push the damn thing up the driveway when it's not even your car while also telling people to go around all the time. It looks even more ugly when you have three people pushing it from behind while someone drives it uselessly. Uglier still when you realize you just spent an hour helping someone recovering from a mistake they shouldn't have made in the first place because you told them so.

New PS3

It started with overheating. After a few minutes of use, the system would turn off. I'd let it cool, then it'd start all over again. I vacuumed and compressed-aired the vents and whatnot, even took out the hard drive and dusted it. No go. Then, when I went to transfer all of my saves from the sinking ship of a system to the new slim PS3 I ordered, the yellow light came on right after the system turned on. Then it turned off. With my Marvel vs. Capcom 3 disc inside it. Now it was personal.

I'd planned to get a new PS3 for a while now, but this forced me to actually follow through. But first I had to get the disc out. I tried to open the PS3 the old-fashioned way, but I didn't have a flathead small enough to unscrew the screw that lodged the thing together. So I did the next best thing: I went at it with an X-Acto and a big flathead. I pried the top off as (mostly) one section, then popped off the second top. It looked something like this afterward:

Lots of dust on the thing. you can see it pretty clearly on one of the lids. Keep in mind that that picture is the PS3 sans disc drive, which I had already began taking apart. I had to find a tiny cross-head, which I found in my dad's screwdriver set (and yeah, it had the tiny-ass flathead that would've made this process a whole lot more simple), and after a few careful dissections, I found my disc inside.

Was there a more simple solution? You bet. Was it fun to find out what a gutted PS3 looked like? Hell yeah it was. I tossed the whole thing (except the hard drive, which might prove to be useful for something) into the recycling bin. And hey, now I have a new PS3 that'll actually let me use my wireless controllers wirelessly!