Of Log Traps and Pride

Taro Ebine's victory at Final Round XV's Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3 tournament may have been a surprise, but it wasn't unheralded. By the time Ebine (or as most of the chatters on Twitch TV came to know him, “Kusoru”), made it to the Grand Finals match, he'd gone from novelty to underdog to favorite. He'd already defeated several of the Marvel 3 vets – Peter “Combofiend” Rosas, Ryan “Filipino Champ” Ramirez, and Job “Flocker” Figueroa – on his way to the top 8 bracket without so much as breaking a sweat. Veteran pro player Justin Wong, who'd been eliminated earlier in the tournament, mentioned on Twitter that in a first-to-ten set earlier that weekend, Kusoru had defeated him 10-8. Justin's prognosis for beating him in a tournament set was grim.

But it's not just Ebine's remarkable skill that made the Marvel 3 finals so much fun to watch. To the Final Round crowd, he was in every way a foreigner; he was a Japanese player (not something you see often in the Marvel 3 tournament scene) and was using characters and tactics that few pro players were even aware could work. Both in and out of matches, there was a sense that he messing with both the players and the audience as he decimated the competition. After every match, Ebine went for the dramatic – cocking his hands like guns or doing bat-swing motions when he won a round with a Hyper Combo (which gave him enough time to do poses), and contorting his face in agony when he lost. Regardless of whether this was an act or common behavior, Ebine was a cheerful showman, which galvanized the online audience and polarized the tournament crowd. Players are usually cheerful between matches, but it's all business when sitting down to play at a tournament. A violation of that unwritten rule changed the atmosphere.

The narrative Ebine's presence both in and out of the game created also broke ground. The Japanese player's in-game team comprised of Viewtiful Joe, Frank West, and Rocket Raccoon, none of which are considered top-tier characters by most players (Ebine himself, though somewhat jokingly, doesn't regard them that highly, either). All three are goofy characters, which is at odds the rest of the top 8's character selection – high-tier, oh-so-cool fighters that take themselves too seriously. In that sense, the characters the players used reflected the attitudes of the players themselves – goofy and offbeat versus serious and conventional. And goofy won every time. From the moment Ebine defeated Ramirez's Dark Phoenix team in two equally spectacular ways, the baffled online viewership was with him (even Ramirez himself walked away from the match with his hands up in confusion).

He was showing players and viewers alike something they'd never seen before: top-level players being slaughtered by out-of-left-field tactics that didn't look like they should work. Between Viewtiful Joe's barrage of of dive kicks and Voomerangs, Frank West's general trickery, and Rocket Raccoon's now-infamous Log Trap assist attack, Ebine didn't just beat his opposition – he made fools of them. Log Trap specifically was his primary way to wreak havoc; a long-range attack covering most of the screen, it usually allowed Ebine a fatal combo every time it hit, regardless of what character he was using. Every match he played became a matter of when, not if, the Log Trap would hit, and watching people who are usually on top of their opponent scramble on defense fundamentally changed the game people were watching.

And much in the same way the trench coat and spandex-clad characters on-screen had to change behavior, so did the players using them. As the American players grew increasingly nervous about being ousted by someone who is both an outsider and, to some degree, mocking them, the tournament became about national pride. Before the US's last hope, Eduardo “PR_Balrog” Perez-Frangie, stepped up to fight him, players Ebine had defeated earlier engaged in huddle to advise Perez-Frangie on how to fight his strange opponent. The homegrown players had banded together to defeat the foreign threat. Even when Michael “Yipes” Mendoza faced off against Perez-Frangie after being defeated by Ebine to decide who would fight Ebine in Grand Finals, there was a clear camaraderie between the two, with a “give 'em hell” handshake at the end of the match.

During the Ebine/Perez-Frangie match, you could see that Perez-Frangie had indeed taken the advice he'd been given and adapted. He knew the Log Trap was coming, and towards the end of the set, he was properly working his way around the attack. He even utilized some tricks of his own, landing a powerful X-factor infinite attack a few times against Ebine's team. As soon as that happened, the crowd and even the commentators became excited at the chance of a comeback. It never truly came, though, and as Log Trap after Log Trap hit, it was more and more clear Ebine had the match in the bag.

But as soon as Ebine won the final round, both competitors became people again. Perez-Frangie went to shake Ebine's hand with a smile on his face but was overtaken by a mob of Ebine's teammates rushing to congratulate their friend. Whether Perez-Frangie was happy for his opponent or amused by his antics and fatigue wasn't clear. Ebine, for his part, did a tired gun-cock gesture one last time before throwing his head back in exhaustion, retiring his usual cheery self to just take in his victory. After leaving his home country for the first time (something he's apprehensive about doing again), he'd made the trip worth it for him and his team, financially and emotionally. But most importantly, he'd blindsided the Marvel 3 scene. But the local players will be back next year, no doubt with a new few new tricks of their own. And you can bet they'll have practiced their log-hopping skills.

You've read the book, now see the movie.

Better Living through Fusion

Despite being as gobsmacked by Metroid Prime as the critics were back when, I hadn't dared to venture to the Metroid side of the 2D “Metroidvania” sub-genre, sticking with the DS Castlevania games and Symphony of the Night until recently. As it turns out, Metroid Fusion's ambient running and gunning is more up my alley than recent Castlevanias' RPG upgrade systems and overwrought plot. A guide character still points you to your next goal within the game's more structured map setup – six sub areas versus a large single one – but between story snippets limited to bookends for each area, you're left to your own devices, which can be as frustrating as it is liberating. I'll confess to using a FAQ more than once, but I'm glad the game doesn't resort to the gaming equivalent of baby-talk.

So that's the setup for my run through Fusion, but here's the kicker – Metroid: Other M, most recent Metroid title, has a distinctive smell, so to speak, and there are hints of it in Fusion. Rather, it should be the other way around; the divisive aspects of Other M had their origin in Fusion. Specifically, Fusion began the dangerous task of fleshing out Samus, a main character who before was a cipher for the player, albeit a non-traditional one (I didn't find out Samus' gender until a paused a Super Smash Bros. screen of her being electrocuted). She exposits the introduction of Fusion, her thoughts as the story develops, and her history with Adam Malkovich, who in Fusion leads Samus around as he did in Other M. In the former, it's through an AI program designed to replicate him, but I'm splitting hairs. He also has the same knack for telling Samus when she should and should not use her weapons, though in Fusion Samus still has to find all of her upgrades instead of being told to do so.

In fact, after finishing Fusion, it's hard not to see that Other M is to Fusion narratively as Ocarina of Time was to A Link to the Past – a retelling with a few twists. Allusions to Samus' military past, the return of Ridley (though that one's a running theme of the series in general), the hint of a “mysterious new threat.” Mostly, though, it's the exposition. Odd, really, since intricate backstory seems at odds with Metroid's desolate, quiet exploration. Metroid, from my experience (the Prime trilogy, mostly), benefited from the era of its inception, when 8 and 16-bit graphics didn't do any sort of proper narrative justice. When most games either emulated arcade rulesets of trial-and-error or went with grandiose, sweeping narratives, Metroid and Super Metroid, whether they aimed for it or not, were something in between; the gameplay focus and wordless play of the arcade crowd and the consistency of the narrative group. That's where the series' trademark isolation comes from – being an arcade game with a lifespan longer than a few minutes. The dark backgrounds and eerie tunes also help.

Both Fusion and Other M tamper with that balance of game and enviorment. But surprisingly, Fusion comes out a winner and Other M a wreck. Why? It's a simple matter of placement. Most of the cutscenes in Other M are placed in a scattershot fashion; before, after, and during fights and other checkpoints. They interrupt. They're frequent. They're long. In Fusion, they're commercial breaks. Taking place mostly during elevator rides and in briefing rooms, where a rhetoric of waiting is already established. Even when the scene makes an elevator ride go on longer than it should, the expectation of downtime is there. Fusion takes advantage of its natural flow, while Other M meddles with your actions at times. Other M's haphazard mechanics and control scheme didn't bother me – in some ways, I preferred that simplicity – but its dull and intrusive narrative did. When all the melodrama of Other M sticks out more than any of its design decisions, the foundation almost seems besides the point.

Samus is a character interesting enough to flesh out. She's more than a blank slate, and I'm fine with losing my sense of immersion for the sake of getting to better know someone I'm familiar with. But only when done right – as punctuation, not intrusion. Premise is important, but method matters more.

Turnin' on the Screw

The following posts cover most of the current Aris Cross Assault situation:

Ben Kuchera reports on Aris' comments towards Super_Yan on Cross Assault
Patrick Klepek reports on Aris' comments the following day
Isaiah T. Taylor offers a good viewpoint for why the fighting game community felt defensive
Victor "Sp00ky" Fontanez offers his own comments

Opinions are everywhere on the subject, but those pieces cover most of the situation as I see it. A recap for those on 56k or poor phones: On the live stream for Cross Assault, a reality show about two teams competing for $25,000 through a new fighting game, Team Tekken coach Aris Bakhtanians Miranda "Super Yan" Pakozdi by asking for her bra size, smelling for the benefit of the viewers, and making frequent references to the condition of her thighs ("How are your thighs doing today, Miranda?"). Then, Pakozdi forfeited a match the would have determined whether she was still eligible for the prize money. An appropriately large negative reaction ensued.

I don't feel as though I have much to add at this point, so I'll make this quick. Aris was unequivocally wrong but doesn't represent the entire fighting game community. Miranda can't be blamed for what she did. Calling people "White Knights" for defending her is idiotic. She made frequent enough mention about how uncomfortable she was that her not reporting the issue sooner is not an issue. If you think she was doing anything other than getting on the show for the purpose of gathering attention, you're missing the point by such a large margin I'm afraid you might actually hit a bystander in the crowd (this analogy implies arguing is like an archery competition, in case you're lost).

On the other hand, the press is not responsible for giving your community coverage. And if they do cover it, it's not their job to paint the scene in a positive light. They can only offer as much perspective as possible, and should attempt to contact as many sources as possible when reporting on a touchy topic.

The exposure the community got over the whole affair is a good thing. And not in the "any publicity is good publicity" way. You cannot solve an issue unless it's exposed and there are consequences as a result of that issue. It's the only repeat offenders can learn the problems they are causing. I'm sure Aris is feeling that now, and has apologized.  A little late, but all we can do is move on. But imagine if this hadn't caught fire. Aris would still make lewd comments, commentators would not know there's a line, and the scene would have stayed the same, bullshit and all. If this issue forces more strict regulation on what can be said on a stream, that's a good thing, because it allows more people the ability to watch a sport they love without having to make excuses and give anyone who might not understand the scene a disappointed "Yeah, I know, but..." I want to watch fighting games. As Jared Rea has asked, I want my fighting games without sexual harassment. There are limits to free speech.

If the community can learn from this, clamp down on its bullshit just by keep its mouth shut some of the time, we're all better off. Making sure people don't yell "rape!" during a match won't change your lifestyle. Think about having sex with fictional characters all you like -- just don't let me know about it. There's still a lot to love about watching people play fighting games, but we don't have to love all of it. I want this community to grow, but it doesn't have to be filled with ignorance for it to work. Just watch Wednesday Night Fights tonight.

And yes, I'll be getting a copy of Street Fighter X Tekken when it comes out, because my team can consist of a rotund Mega Man and a Bear.

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.