NBA Live 16
is an improved game from last year's offering. But while shooting,
passing, and dribbling all feel a bit tighter this year, the changes are
too minor to push the total package beyond mediocrity. Some of the core
gameplay modes are almost unchanged, and visually, NBA Live 16 floats
in an awkward space between an outdated basketball sim and a poor
attempt at an arcade classic. The series continues to inch toward
relevance, but its deficient game modes and stunted systems fail to
propel it off the bench and into the starting lineup.
If
you consider each element of the on-court action--from the act of
shooting to playing tight on-ball defense--it’s fair to say that NBA
Live 16 is a much more playable basketball game than its immediate
predecessor. Executing crossovers or hesitations and pulling up a quick
jump shot actually feels good, with a new shot meter giving you a much
more accurate sense of your player’s optimal release point. The previous
gap between the peak of a player’s jump and the correct spot to release
the ball has been tightened to eliminate any visual disconnect, and the
smoother dribbling means you can fake and spin without always sloppily
losing the ball or getting stonewalled by poor AI defenders.
The halftime reports by Jalen Rose are helpful and aesthetically sharp.
One-on-one,
NBA Live 16 is a responsive push and pull between offense and defense.
But with two full teams setting screens, rolling to the basket, crossing
from corner to corner, and attempting to execute double-teams, this
smooth operation capitulates quickly into a disjointed, jagged knot.
Off-ball players set strange screens in the paint when called on to hold
off immediate defenders, and limited layup animations force easy
buckets to devolve into odd low-percentage shots--leading to offensive
rebounds that send just about every player in the paint into an odd
state of shock. Maybe more importantly, making long jumpers is just too
easy. I put up 56 points in my first ever Rising Star game as a mostly
unskilled created player, and that was from using simple screens to
create just enough space to jack up a shot.
Each
of the individual systems has been tightened, but when it’s all put
together, NBA Live 16 has very little mechanical rhythm or consistency.
This is most apparent when running the fastbreak, where you’ll often
struggle to corral your team to fill gaps and take advantage of
defensive breakdowns. There tend to be wonderful moments in good sports
sims when it almost feels like the game knows exactly what you’re trying
to do before you do it. In NBA Live 16, it can feel like the game isn’t
just a few steps behind, it’s actively working against your train of
thought. Even the commentary, which features noted ESPN analysts Jeff
Van Gundy and Mike Breen, can come off as sporadic audio clips recorded
in separate buildings.
Sometimes, a player decides to leave his jersey and abdomen on the bench.
Despite
a few minor gameplay improvements, the quality and depth of game modes
remains disappointingly low. The modes start with the Rising Star
campaign, where you create a rookie player primed to become a top draft
pick. You adjust his height, weight, appearance, and position--with the
welcome addition of a specific shooting, slashing, or post play
concentration available within the five traditional roles. After that,
though, you just run through season after season of regular and
post-season basketball without any story or gameplay variation to drive
you. Rising Star is just a vehicle for you to boost stats and focus on a
single position rather than on the entire team, and with the recently
released NBA 2K16 putting such a heavy emphasis on story, Live’s Rising Star variation feels woefully undercooked and inadequate.
NBA
Live 16’s Ultimate Team and Dynasty modes suffer similarly from being
largely the same as last year. Collecting players in the form of cards
in Ultimate Team booster packs still holds an undeniable charm, giving
you hope that each booster pack will include some new, top-tier player
primed to turn your entire team around. However, since it’s relatively
easy to find your shooting rhythm, I nearly doubled the score of the
championship Golden State Warriors in my first game with volatile
shooter J.R. Smith acting as my star player. I still felt compelled to
earn new cards, but the massive impact of one sharpshooter makes the
collection process feel a bit unbalanced. Dynasty, which lets you run
team operations as a general manager, is still just as bare-boned and
uninteresting as last year. Setting up a fantasy draft, proposing
trades, and signing free agents gives you something to do off the court,
but without any real standout new features, there’s little draw in
taking on the managerial role.
Thankfully, the
addition of the online Pro-Am and Summer Circuit at least gives NBA Live
16 a whiff of freshness. Here, you take your created player and either
run through progressively more difficult co-op challenges in Summer
Circuit, or join a full five-on-five pickup game against nine other
online players in Pro-Am. It’s in this wild, fast-moving streetball
jamboree where NBA Live 16 has the ability to shine brightest. Sure, you
might run into a group of ball hogs who prefer taking deep, contested
threes rather than spreading the ball around the floor. But when my
stitched-together team of diverse created players actually came together
to form at least the semblance of a real basketball squad, I actually
found myself having fun with NBA Live 16’s unpolished systems. Plus,
this mode gives you much more reason to care about building up your NBA
talent in Rising Star.
Beyond choosing between being a point guard or a power forward, Rising Star lets you determine style of play.
Even
with improved on-court control and an online Pro-Am mode that can lead
to pockets of outlandish fun, NBA Live 16 still fails to justify its
existence. Its Rising Star and Dynasty modes are too underdeveloped and
unvaried to remain interesting beyond the first few hours of play, and
the basic dribbling, passing, and shooting tend to trip over themselves
during offensive rebounds or fast breaks. NBA Live 16 is heading in the
right direction, but at this pace, the series will never be able to
challenge--let alone surpass--its only real contemporary.
Life is Strange's
final episode is titled Polarized, which is the most accurate way to
describe my feelings after reaching the series' conclusion. Developer
Dontnod's first episodic series tackles themes and explores emotional
spaces few games have: the difficulties of being a teenager struggling
for acceptance, the complicated push-and-pull of friendship between
young women, the delicate balance between fear and bravery when dealing
with other volatile young people. It's a story about kids--or kids on
the brink of becoming adults--becoming people they never thought they'd
be and learning things about one another that change their perspectives
on each other, and life itself. I loved becoming Max Caulfield, using
her time-rewinding powers to keep a promise no matter what the cost. But
the series' finale ultimately stumbles and falls over its own conceits,
sabotaging its most powerful moments with goofy dialogue and--at its
more egregious--a tedious stealth sequence.
Polarized opens with Max in the dark room from the previous episode,
desperate to escape and make things right. Her method of escape and the
consequences stemming from this decision are predictable. In the first
half of the episode, Max learns what happens when she gets everything
she wants, or at least thinks she's getting everything. It all comes at a
price, one that the series has been hamfistedly hinting at since Episode One.
I don't mind the obviousness so much as the complete detachment of this
episodes' choices from the rest of the series. Nothing you've done
matters by the time you get to Polarized, with the only tweaks made by
your past decisions reflected in short bits of dialogue.
This
episode does an excellent job showing Max the horrors her time
traveling escapades have wrought on the people around her, but some of
these more serious moments are completely undermined by silly
presentation, a critique that also extends to some of the acting. A
serious sequence at the start of the episode, meant to be horrifying no
doubt, ends up being straight-up goofy due to dialogue and the way it's
delivered. Max has to watch a certain character be killed over and over
again, and after each rewind the killer spouts the same line of
enthusiastic, comically insulting dialogue. The sequence is set up so
that you're meant to explore three or four different options and keep
rewinding before you find the right one that will save a life, but
hearing this same dialogue over and over again was laughable. It became
funny instead of serious, draining the urgency out of an otherwise tense
scene.
Max in the dark room.
There
are, however, moments that make you feel genuinely uncomfortable, and
it's in these that you and Max start to question her supposed altruism.
Max isn't the selfless time warrior she seems to be, and in this final
episode some of her dialogue options are downright vitriolic. She's
become hard and a little cruel, almost ruthless in her relentlessness to
keep Chloe alive and save Arcadia Bay from the impending storm.
Watching Max lash out, reflect, and then crumble is the best part of
this episode.
There is some great psychological
spelunking going on in this episode, but it's hard to enjoy the
unsettling atmosphere when you're forced to wade through it in a
poorly-designed stealth sequence. This sequence, which is quite long,
forces you to sneak through a labyrinthine environment with a least two
flashlight-wielding characters trying to catch you at the same time.
This sequence forces you do the same thing over and over to determine
the guards position and find an exit--take a few steps, rewind, take a
few more, rewind. It's repetitive and a cheap way of shoehorning in a
puzzle using Max's time powers and it completely pulled me out of the
mood. It also doesn't help that at the start the setting is very dark,
with no clear direction on how to get through. So it's up to trial and
error and rewinding to figure out which way to go.
The
episode also spends a hefty amount of time rehashing old events,
reminding Max of conversations and interactions from previous episodes
in the form of audio playing over her endless wandering. She retreads
familiar places and learns nothing new, although it does provide a very
chilling look inside her mind. She's worn out, scared, and utterly
broken. It's clear she feels she's failed everyone, and with the
apocalyptic tornado waiting just offshore of the sleepy Northwestern
town, she's pressured to move fast through a sequence of events that
looks and functions almost exactly like the final baffling, surrealist
episode of David Lynch's Twin Peaks.
If I learned anything from BioShock Infinite...
While
all of this is going on, the storm Max created with the butterfly
effect of her powers--Max says she created the storm but we never learn
exactly how her decisions affect it--closes in on the town. The wind
howls and rain drenches Max as she picks her way through the wreckage of
buildings along the ocean--and yet there is no urgency. The people she
encounters are calm. The sea level is rising and no one is even
attempting to leave the shoreline. The tornado of the century is
happening feet away and no one's hair moves. I had a hard time buying
the "everyone is going to die" thing because Polarized fails to sell its
apocalyptic stakes in any meaningful way.
All
of this wraps up with a final choice, that--should you choose to go back
and see both--is unbalanced. One possible ending is short and somewhat
shallow, while the other rolls the most crushing scene in the series and
then sends you on a sprawling visual journey in which Max appears to
have learned something about how life works. It genuinely feels like one
ending is an afterthought. But this choice is so divorced from
everything you've done so far, the logical leaps characters make to come
to this decision are curve balls. It's a heartbreaking climax handled
clumsily.
Life is Strange paints an excellent, vivid
picture of a young woman's struggle for acceptance and justice, but
trips itself up by trying to make things gamey. The series is at its
best when it's just letting you explore; in the beginning you're roaming
the world around you, picking through pieces of other's lives, and by
the end you're treading Max's subconscious. The story of Max and Chloe
is a beautiful tale, but it's marred by bizarre logical leaps and
leftover plot holes. Aggravating out-of-place fetch quests and stealth
sequences crack the somber atmosphere and very hamfistedly remind you
that you're playing a game. It's unfortunate, because I do love Life is
Strange's story. I just wish the ending wasn't so mismanaged.
The Legend of Zelda: Tri Force Heroes
is a drastic departure from series tradition, and at times, it shows
real potential, with clever design rivaling the best of the series’
past. But those moments are few and far between. The rest is just filler
in a shallow game that tries a slew of new things, but accomplishes
only a few.
Tri Force Heroes is Nintendo’s second original Zelda title on 3DS after 2013’s stellar A Link Between Worlds.
This new incarnation, however, is structured as a multiplayer title
with a loot system, gear crafting, and cooperative dungeons with short
run times.
The story opens on Hytopia, a realm
wherein a witch has cursed Princess Styla with a brown, form-fitting
body suit. The princess feels ugly in her new garb, and the Hytopian
king puts out a call for adventurers to break the curse with a grand
ballroom dress. From there, you wade through a series of puzzles and
combat arenas in search of materials to break the curse.
Nintendo
has told farfetched Zelda tales before, but Tri Force Heroes pushes
that sentiment even farther. It tells a story of fashion gurus and
designer dresses, complete with eccentric personalities and fashion
tips. At first, the whimsical plot was so weird, it captivated me. But
as it progressed, it deteriorated, with such poorly written characters
and such inexplicable plot points, I dreaded every cutscene’s approach.
This game’s final boss embraces the fashion angle so literally, it feels
as if Nintendo talked itself into a corner, only to justify the
grievous plot at the last second.
Despite a few great bosses, most demand similar cooperative maneuvers to bring down.
During
your travels, you’ll collect materials to fashion your own new outfits.
This loot system provides a rewarding feedback loop at first: complete
dungeons, gather materials, fashion outfits, and gain new abilities. The
Kokiri Clothes let you fire three arrows at a time. The Goron costume
grants the ability to swim in lava. Some outfits change the way you
approach dungeons entirely, making this new approach to character perks
one of the entertaining ideas present in Tri Force Heroes.
But
earning these bonuses becomes a chore. Tri Force Heroes doesn’t present
the traditional Zelda open-world structure--instead it implements what
feels just like a series of challenges. A warp room in the castle brings
you to the Drablands, where you solve puzzles and slay monsters in
expected Zelda fashion. Yet these dungeons are repetitive. Each begins
with item acquisition, and proceeds through two more rooms before the
boss or wave-based skirmish rear their heads.
And
these dungeons are short--I finished most in under 15 minutes. This is
an effort to facilitate the loot system that demands repeat
playthroughs, but it has a negative effect. The puzzles--except for a
few--seem too simple. You learn how to use each item. You learn their
applications. And just when it seems Nintendo might delve deeper into
the branching possibilities of the challenges at hand, the dungeon ends.
More
often than not, there's a boss at the end of each area. My favorite is a
giant Stalfos skeleton that only crumbles after all three heroes use
their unique items to bring it down. But this is one of a small number
of clever bosses, in a game with a slew of repetitive others. The vast
majority of them ask the same question: how many heroes do you need to
stack on top of one another, and when should you do so?
In
Tri Force Heroes, puzzles center around Totems. This gameplay conceit
allows players to carry one or both of their partners, and sometimes
throw them in the hopes of reaching distant ledges, or attacking taller
varieties of monsters. It leads to rare great moments when teams solve a
puzzle not as individuals, but as a collective council with three
essential members.
Heroes can throw each other
across gaps, only to retrieve the one left behind with a subsequent
boomerang throw. Others require stacking to hit otherwise untouchable
switches. And I adore the fire temple, complete with all of its
disappearing platforms and hazardous machinery. It encourages teamwork
more than any other area. It’s one of those shining places where Tri
Force Heroes capitalizes on its conceptual potential, comprising puzzles
that encourage teamwork, vertical thinking, and careful motor skills.
There's a taxing dichotomy between the solo and cooperative modes, and the overall experience feels fractured.
But
a day later, I replayed the same puzzles. Only this time, I tried them
in single player. And when it comes to this mode, Tri Force Heroes
stumbles. In place of fellow humans, Nintendo provides you with
doppels--heroes that, when not being used, become lifeless statues. You
can switch between them with the handheld’s touch screen, but moving
each hero to the exit means carrying the others for much of the time.
By
choosing to play by yourself, you invite a level of micromanagement
that transforms otherwise clever dungeons into heavy slogs. The
solutions to the puzzles are the same, but some bosses, and some
dungeons, are exponentially harder on your own.
Because there's no online voice chat, emotes are essential to communication.
One
example: a certain early boss focuses on one hero at a time, leaving
its vulnerable tail open to other human players’ swords. But in
single-player, switching between doppels, throwing the lifeless shells
onto ledges for hearts, all while avoiding nearby lava pools, is an
ordeal. There’s a taxing dichotomy between the solo and cooperative
modes here, and despite the few puzzles that balance the two well, the
overall experience feels fractured.
This rings
true when returning to puzzles as well. Once you’ve beaten a dungeon’s
boss, Nintendo offers challenges that alter your approach. One removes
your swords, arming you only with bombs. Another hangs monsters from the
ceiling, forcing your team to keep moving at a hurried pace. Another
adds balloons to each room, asking you to pop them before moving to the
next, all the while focusing on enemies, as well as the puzzle at hand.
These
twists can make multiplayer more fun, as your group adapts to the
changes imposed on them. However, some of them are near impossible on
your own. It widens the gap between multiplayer and single player even
more.
There are several barriers preventing Tri
Force Heroes from being great. But through it all, one of the series'
greatest traits remains strong even here: the exceptional music. Lilting
flutes, snappy strings, and tense battle drums pervade every area. The
music reminds me how compelling this franchise can be, and how great it
often is. Nintendo has deviated from the norm with the series
before--but this time, many of its changes don't work.
Consider
this: in single player, Nintendo grants you the option to skip entire
sections of each dungeon, so long as you're fine with the prospect of
less loot. I avoided this route, but considered it often. There are
hints of a great game here, and when three players are cooperating in
frantic battles, or working through dynamic puzzles, it shows.
But
like its story of fashion and surface appeal, there’s not much depth
here, and the facade fades with time. Tri Force Heroes offers us the
means to work together, but not enough reason to do so.
After completing my second ghost hunt
with Charles Dickens, I decided it was about time to shut down the last
factory forcing children into labor. As I made my way across
Westminster, zipping between rooftops with my rope launcher, a notice
popped up indicating I was approaching a bounty hunt. The objective was
simple--kill an important member of my rival gang--and I decided the
children could wait a bit longer. I was in and out of the mission in
under a minute after dropping hanging barrels on gang members, throwing
down a smoke bomb and taking out the leader with a gun to the head. I
ziplined out, stopping only once more to change my outfit to one that
held more throwing knives, before dropping by a black market stall for a
refill and dashing towards the factory. The children of London needed
me.
This is Assassin's Creed Syndicate's
playground. One moment you're free-running through a borough towards
the next story mission, the next you're sneaking through a dilapidated
building picking off criminals as you find yourself irresistibly drawn
to the promise of experience points and in-game cash--not to mention
notoriety among the London underground. The organic way in which
missions and side projects pop up is bolstered by their placement in a
gorgeous rendition of 1868 London, complete with massive factories
spewing smoke into the sky and intricately detailed copies of every
major landmark you can think of--all climbable, of course. Overlaying
all of this is one of the best stories the Assassin's Creed franchise
has told in recent years, featuring dual protagonists that are relatable
and lovable. Occasionally during climbing it can feel like your freedom
of movement is limited, and controls will sometimes sabotage you with
some unwieldiness and counterintuitive button placement. More of the
environment has been made available for you to climb on, and the rope
launcher can attach to nearly all ledges, so these small occurrences of
flying off the rails are inconvenient at worst. But overall combat and
movement feel great, and Assassin's Creed Syndicate's story is charming,
while countless amusements will keep you lost in London for hours.
Syndicate's story is an intimate, personal tale like that of last year's Assassin's Creed Unity
mixed with older Assassin's Creeds' tendencies to pack in the
historical figures. The modern day elements are more toned down than
they were in previous Assassin games, so much so that they're barely
present. You spend all your time as Jacob and Evie Frye, assassin twins
who come to London in 1868. Under the leadership of Crawford Starrick,
the Templars have a stranglehold on the city, and a sinister gang called
the Blighters run things to their liking.
Gang fights are wild, unpredictable, and tons of fun.
The
absence of any fiddling around in a present-day timeline is a boon to
Syndicate's story, allowing laser-focus on the 1868 London plot. The
story centers around the politics and policies of Industrial Revolution
London, with Jacob and Evie fighting not only to dismantle the Templar
conspiracy but also to bring justice and refuge to the city's
downtrodden. Jacob and Evie also frequently fight each other, with
disagreements about what it means to be an Assassin forming a tense
undercurrent. Along the way, the two come into contact with a smattering
of historical characters--ranging from Alexander Graham Bell (who gives
the game's best items) to Charles Dickens and Karl Marx--making the
Fryes tangential and sometimes integral to the great successes these
individuals achieved. These interactions fit neatly into Syndicate's
overall flow, and while it does seem like these figures are packed in a
little too tight, the game gives breathing room to each individual
story.
London feels alive. Towers breathe smoke
into the sky, stations bustle with passengers and passing trains, the
homeless burn fires in trash cans in alleys, and stray cats pause to
look at you while you lie in wait for your target. Bystander AI can be
overdramatic at times, cowering in fear indefinitely after witnessing
you murder someone in front of them, but those visceral reactions are
what make starting fights in public such a delight. You throw a punch in
a marketplace and crowds immediately vacate the area, fleeing from your
wrath. Little boys and women run and scream as you sink your blade in
someone's throat. NPCs also yell at you when you loot bodies, bid you
good-day as you walk by, and make whispered comments to companions about
your looks. And piled on top of it all is a brilliant soundtrack, a
seamless sea of tunes that capture the sadness of the poor and the
determination of the Fryes. In one instance, as you climb a spire to a
viewpoint, a soft soprano-and-string number kicks in, painting a picture
of melancholy for the past and hope for the future. Sights and sounds
combine to create an irresistible portrait of London, and make exploring
for every side quest and collectible an enjoyable experience.
This doesn't look good at all.
Moving
and fighting in London is also a satisfying experience, at least when
controls cooperate. Combat is fluid and simple and relies mostly on the
D-pad, on which directions are mapped to attack, counter, stun and
shoot. If you're quick, you can punch in combos that knock enemies over
and trigger some final execution moves that are brutal and beautiful.
It's undeniably satisfying to chain hits and kills until you're bopping
around between enemies in a gang war, flying along a circle of
combatants and systematically bringing them to their knees in one fell
swoop.
Free-running follows this same
simplicity; hold down R2 while running and press one button to go up and
another to go down. You can climb pretty much everything in London with
relative ease, with the city's gorgeous details offering compelling
arguments to eschew fast travel. But these controls take some time
getting used to and feel counterintuitive, especially while climbing.
Sometimes you'll kick off a wall when you meant to climb up or go up
when you try to go down; this imprecision has characterized the series
controls from the start. But in Syndicate this imprecision is
infrequent, and while the controls aren't perfect they do feel much
better and more fluid.
Gone are the days of
snapping to cover and blending into crowds. In Syndicate, a white
"Threat Ring" appears around your assassin when enemies are near.
Markings on the ring show you where enemies are relative to your
position, which is helpful when you're crouching in an area and can't
see much. This tool makes stealth much easier and allowed me to gauge
who to take out first based on how close they were and whether they'd
noticed me. Then you can determine which tools to whip out of your belt,
be it electric bombs or throwing knives. Do I smoke bomb this group and
take out the leader under cover? Or do I just escape to a rooftop and
pick them off one by one with throwing knives? Or better, make them turn
on each other with hallucinogenic darts? The tools at your disposal and
how you combine them is entirely up to you, and Syndicate's mission
design offers ample breathing room to complete each mission in your own
way.
The only thing that matters here is that corgi in a purse.
I
can recall only using Syndicate's fast travel points three times during
my entire playthrough, because with the rope launcher in your toolbox,
why would you take any other route through London? The setting is so
lovely, and zipping across the city like a Victorian Spider-Man makes
you truly feel like the city's protector, dropping to the streets every
so often to air assassinate someone. In addition to setting up aerial
kills, using the rope launcher instead of fast travel allows you to
organically stumble upon one of London's many sidequests and make a pit
stop for extra cash. Many times, on my way to a story mission, I would
zipline over a side mission and think, "Why the hell not, I'm here!" One
tool helps you traverse, discover, escape, and assassinate. The rope
launcher is the thing this franchise so desperately needed, and now that
it's here I don't ever want to be without it.
I always feel bad for the horses in these situations.
Another
new mechanic is the ability to drive carriages. I found Syndicate's
vehicles relatively easy to handle. You can also do any number of things
with these carriages, including hijacking them for your own purposes
and hiding bodies in them. One string of side missions involved
collecting wanted criminals for a policeman; I would knock them out,
steal a carriage from an unwitting bystander, put the body in the car,
and then drive away. In some instances the rival gang has carts on the
road as well, which can devolve into some hilariously fun Grand Theft
Auto-style chases. You can ram carriages as they ride up next to yours
or climb up onto your own carriage’s roof to engage in fisticuffs with
enemies. Hijacking moving carts is thrilling, and destruction is
encouraged. There's an experience perk you can earn for destroying
street lamps and other public property, so don't be shy about running
people over.
Combat, grand theft carriage, and
bounties all play into the game's main story, and you'll be tasked with
doing all of these things over the course of Jacob and Evie's
adventures. While you can switch between the twins on the fly when
playing side missions, you'll be locked into playing as a certain twin
for specific story tasks. Each chapter has dedicated objectives for both
Jacob and Evie. Jacob's tasks cause more mayhem and utilize his talent
for close-quarters combat as he seeks to bring justice to London's
underdogs, often resulting in explosions and other destruction. Evie's
missions mostly require sneaking around without being detected. Her
objectives feel closer to the traditional Assassin's Creed story, and
you'll spend time with her doing the order proud while Jacob makes a
mess of everything and invests in creating his own gang, the Rooks.
"Yes, he's like this all the time."
In
addition to differing personalities--with Evie constantly reprimanding
Jacob while he rather humorously bumbles around achieving his squad
goals--the twins have different unique skills that tie into their
interpretation of what it means to be an assassin. Evie's special skills
are stealth-based, with one incredibly useful ability allowing her to
disappear completely while she's standing still in sneak mode. She can
also hold twice as many throwing knives as Jacob and her stealth stats
far exceed her brother's. She'll be the one you take with you on bounty
hunting and liberation missions. Jacob is more suited for gang wars, a
brawler who takes less damage and, with all skills unlocked, can bring
enemies to near-death states quicker. Their differences are noticeable
in gameplay, and rather than have one character you can customize either
way, it's a brilliant touch to have two characters ready and available
for different kinds of missions at any given time.
I
cannot stress enough how deeply likeable and relatable Jacob and Evie
can be. Evie is serious but sweet, tough in battle but willing to pick
up the scattered papers of a stranger she bumps into on the street. She
acts more like an older sister than a twin, bossing her brother around
and openly deriding his more destructive decisions. Jacob is goofy,
flippant, cheeky, and is more concerned about his gang and toys while
his sister fulfills her oath. He makes fun of Evie's belief in ghosts
and her willingness to help everyone they meet, but under all that snark
it's clear he loves his sister. Their banter is sweet and at times
funny, and while they are two separate entities when it comes to combat,
they truly feel like two parts of the same whole. Their story is a
powerful one, about duty and family, and the ease with which they
communicate and the believability of their relationship showcases the
draw of Syndicate's narrative. Add to this a supporting cast filled with
diverse, equally believable characters, and Syndicate feels a little
bit like being at a party with all of your friends.
The first rule of fight club is Evie Frye always wins fight club.
In
addition to leveling up Jacob and Evie, you can level up their
green-clad gang, the Rooks. I became obsessed with tricking out my gang,
because having strong fighters on the streets mean you'll always have
backup in a fight. Using in-game currency, you can unlock perks for your
gang, such as sturdier carriages and cheap access to hallucinogenic
darts. You can even pay off policeman to turn a blind eye to some of
your illegal activities and assemble an army of children to bring you
crafting items on the streets. Micromanaging your gang is worthwhile
because it completely changes your experience in London. Having this
extra layer to deal with keeps you engaged in activities outside the
main story and is another fun way to leave your mark on the world.
Syndicate's
story is a riveting tale of compassion and greed, but the mechanics of
its climax don't carry enough urgency and drama. A final boss fight
usually tests the skills you've learned throughout the game, but
Syndicate's is a memorable for the wrong reasons. It's an anticlimactic
scramble through moving environmental obstacles to reach the boss and
trigger a quick time event. This sequence of events happens several
times in order for you to beat the encounter. It's a frustrating setup
that tosses all narrative tension out the window.
But a
disappointing final fight and some control hitches can't diminish the
charms of Assassin's Creed Syndicate. The game is a triumphant return to
form for the franchise, and presents a beautifully structured tale with
heart and soul to spare. Ziplining through London is thrilling, and the
game allows you to organically discover missions and leaves you
open-ended solutions lets you to create a meaningful, personal
experience within its world. Coupled with strong, loveable leads and a
seemingly endless procession of ways to leave your (fictional) mark on
London's history, Assassin's Creed Syndicate is a shining example of
gameplay and storytelling.
I've occasionally been asked for my comments on video games. Are they art? My quick answer, when asked, has always been a fairly curt "No".
And then guess what – Santa brought a PlayStation. Plus a variety of games, old and new. So am I all turned around on the joys of virtual play?
I certainly know (slightly) more. I am no expert (honestly, Lara
Croft, I thought you could jump off that cliff without a scratch). But
do I still suspect these computer game thingumajigs are the devil's mind
candy? Well, no. I think they're a fantastic pastime.
The great defence of video games is that they are not the internet – no offence intended – with its ceaseless assaults on attention span.
While many aspects of digital culture minimise concentration (hey you!
You know who you are. Please read to the end of this short article
before posting a comment …), games demand absolute attention over long
periods of time. They create fictional worlds of great conviction and
intensity. Above all, in an age when free online stuff is the norm, games have expensive production values and no one seems to resent paying money to reward those.
So in many ways, the world of computer games is an alternative model
of digital life – a more creative, even contemplative, style of
interaction. Until you post your scores online and blog about which game
is better and the whole noise of random comment starts again.
Which brings me back to that old chestnut … can video games be art?
And the answer is still No, or at least, Not Likely. It seems a bizarre
and irrelevant question to ask. Like, if I was reading Jane Austen and you said, "But is it sport?" No, it's not sport, it's a novel. Why would it need to be anything else?
Electronic games offer a rich and spectacular entertainment, but why
do they need to be anything more than fun? Why does everything have to
be art?
Very few things count as Art. I would argue that very little art is
actually art – because most of it fails, and failed art is not art. We
just politely pretend that it is.
Better to create a good game than a bad work of art. Games give us pleasure and freedom. Art also does that, in a different way. But it is rare. I enjoy games. I hate bad art.
Welcome! Come through to the parlour of 2014, sir, madam, and taste
of the finest delicacies and morsels this year's small developers have
to offer. There is much in the way of cyberpunk, horror, and sparking
neon, and would you care for a canape of David Lynch with a little
Burroughs perhaps? Ah, maybe you are into feeling nihilistically bummed
out? Or, you'd rather have this hors d'oeuvres containing a whole crowd
rioting?… I see.
There were so many games I didn't manage to fit into this list, so
don't feel bad if I didn't include your favourite: 2014 is going to be
knuckle-crackingly pleasurable for small budget developers; we'll see
less known developers break through and known developers do their best
work. And all for only a tiny slice of the cash you'd pay for a big
budget shootfest. What a time to game in, my friends.
Well. Let's start with the world's most thrilling sword fighting simulator shall we? No, it's not a rude joke, I promise.
At laaaaaaast! In fluid movements of skill and half-breath decisions,
you swipe your épée low-mid-high at your opponent across clouds, mines,
castles and wilds. This long-awaited local multiplayer indie game is an
intricate, flowing game of fencing, in which you kick as well as slash
opponents through long grass and hallways. It's out on 13 January with a
Daedalus soundtrack.
A slowburn cyberpunk horror game where you must find what caused the
disappearance of everyone on an abandoned moon base. First-person
exploration, permadeath, deadzone aiming, no HUD: it's all full-eyed
horror. The game will also be available on VR device Oculus Rift at
launch, adding an extra sense of horrible dread. Atmospheric.
Futuristic. Dank. Full of tension. And it's the prettiest suitor at the
prom. GIVE IT TO ME.
David Lynchian stealth game Tangiers is described by its creators as,
"a love letter to the avant-garde of the 20th century… set in a world
built from the broken prose of Burroughs and the social dystopia brought
about by Ballard's architecture." Inspired by classic PC game Thief, it
applies Burroughs' 'cut-up' technique to constantly rearrange the
environment based on player decisions. I love this game because it seems
to emulate old ideas and create new ones, integrating some of the most
interesting concepts of literature and art. Strange and dark, it comes
to PC, Mac and Linux this year.
Whatever you think of philosophising Braid-developing
leaf-on-the-wind Jonathan Blow, his next game looks set to reinvent my
childhood favourite, Myst, by exploring something Cyan Inc's classic
title only dabbled in: the realm of three dimensions. An atmospheric
exploration puzzle game on a remote island is promised. I bet it will be
good, and everyone will be upset because it will be good.
Here is a good way to tell if a critic is having a moment of madness:
they will attempt to define art. The greatest philosophers in history
have floundered on the question, many simply avoided it altogether
preferring to grapple with more straightforward questions – like the
nature of logic, or the existence of God. Art is ethereal, boundless,
its meaning as transient as the seasons. When you think you have grasped
it, it slips through your fingers.
And yet here we are again (again!), with a respected critic claiming
to know what art is or can ever be, and suggesting that video games
cannot be included. That critic is the Guardian's own Jonathan Jones,
who has been here before,
decrying Moma for including a selection of computer games in its design
section. Games are not art because there is no individual ownership, he
insisted at the time, a contention which appeared to strike out a whole
pantheon of collaborative projects from art history.
Now his affectionately expressed objection - prompted by the gift of a
PlayStation 3 and a couple of mainstream releases – is that games aren't art and that we shouldn't care.
"Electronic games offer a rich and spectacular entertainment," he
declares, correctly, "but why do they need to be anything more than fun?
Why does everything have to be art?"
Jones is an excellent writer, but as he admits, he knows very little
about games – and doesn't really want to. When he last strayed on to
this subject matter, I penned a counter-piece,
in which I showed how generations of art critics have reacted against
emerging artistic forms by immediately dismissing their worth. The shock
of the new, and all that. But I ended with something along similar
lines to Jones' argument:
"Are games art or aren't they? Nobody need answer. Games are beautiful and important, we can leave it there and know that we are right."
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There
is a key difference here though. For me, games transcend the question
because they are so wonderfully complex: they are emergent and
system-led, but also narrative and directed; they amalgamate
electronics, audio and visuals, but also often rely on text; they need
user input, and yet are authorial. But for Jones, they are mere toys,
they are playthings. "Why do they need to be anything more than fun?" he
asks, and though I respect my colleague, I can't help but see in this a
certain amount of condescension. It is the critic's equivalent of
ruffling a child's hair and sending them on their way. Why do they need
to be more than fun?
So here's another question: why do films need to be more than just fun? Why does art?
Countering Jones' argument is a basic truth: games are an expressive
medium. They are a form of communication. Naturally, Jones won't see
that so much in the mainstream action adventures that Santa brought him;
just as a movie reviewer won't see much art or meaning in a Michael Bay
flick. But deeper communication is clear in the more thoughtful games
that he may not have seen. In Journey, in Cart Life, in Papers Please, in Device 6, in The Stanley Parable – games that have more to say than blam, blam blam.
That Dragon, Cancer
Why can't games just be fun? Because intelligent, thoughtful
designers such as Navid Khonsari want to make games about serious issues
like the 1979 Iranian revolution. Why can't games just be fun? Because Ryan Green is making That Dragon, Cancer,
a game about how he and his wife are coping with the terminal illness
of their youngest son. Green has chosen games as his medium of
expression, his way of coping, because he is a game designer – it is how
he thinks, and partly how he processes the world and what is happening
to his family. He also sees in games an accessible way of telling people
about cancer, and about hope and faith. Shall we just tell him that's
not right? Perhaps you'd like to do that. I certainly don't.
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Why aren't games just fun? Because games speak to people, especially young people, in ways that films and books and TV don't.
Games speak to people.
The greatest artists, you see, want to communicate in the most
popular media of the time, they want to be heard. That's why Shakespeare
wrote for the lice-ridden but packed theatres of London, that's why
Bertolt Brecht collaborated with Fritz Lang to bring his theories to
Hollywood, that's why Dickens and Dumas had their novels serialised in
magazines. Why aren't games just fun? Because video games are now a
language and language is a tool of expression and change. A bit like
art, yes?
Here is something I feel more and more these days. And this is not so
much to do with Jones, a thoughtful and engaging critic – but it is in
the sphere of his article. How tired I am, how utterly exhausted I have
become with a certain mainstream standpoint on games. That whole nudge
and grin approach you often see when games come up on television news
programmes or magazine shows, or in the culture section of newspapers;
the shrugged shoulders, the grimaces of affable incomprehension. I think
it's time this ended because it is really not OK to dismiss what you
don't understand. Yet somehow it still happens. It happens because new
is shocking and games are out there, everywhere, and they make no sense
to some people, and they are closing in.
Defining art is madness, and dismissing a vast, vibrant and creative
medium is folly. Here is a thought for all those who think of games in
this way. Just a thought. Imagine the future – the future as represented
by games, the $60bn a year medium, the most pervasive communication
platform of the 21st century – imagine this future as a storm cloud
above you. Well, the cloud has burst and your objections are being
drowned out amid the tumult. Soon you will realise that you are Lear on
the moors railing against the world, and the fool at your side is the
only one who nods in agreement.
Electronic Arts is preparing for court once again. On Tuesday, law
firm Robbins, Geller, Rudman and Dowd filed a class action lawsuit
against the publisher on behalf of investors who bought stock in the
company between 24 July and 3 December. The suit
alleges that EA violated the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 by
allegedly providing "materially false and misleading statements" about
military shooter, Battlefield 4. Before the release of the game,
Electronic Arts issued strong fiscal guidance to investors, based on the
"purported" strength of the latest Battlefield title. "The price of
Electronic Arts’ stock steadily climbed on these statements," reads the
law firm's statement, "reaching a Class Period high of $28.13 per share
by August 23, 2013 and allowing certain of Electronic Arts’ senior
executives to sell their Electronic Arts stock at artificially inflated
prices."
However, after the launch of the game on 29 October – but most
obviously following the arrival of the PlayStation 4 version on 15
November – there have been numerous problems with the software,
especially its online multiplayer component. Hundreds of players hit
game forums and news sites complaining that they were unable to connect
or were being continually booted from servers. Earlier this month
developer EA DICE announced that it would put all other development projects on hold until the issues with Battlefield 4 had been resolved.
The lawsuit goes on to point out that after EA's announcement stock
value fell, closing at $21.01 on 5 December, "sending the share price
down more than 28% from its Class Period high".
The allegation, then, is that Electronic Arts executives raised expectations about Battlefield 4 in October knowing that the game was "riddled with bugs and multiple other problems".
The lawsuit alleges: "With an inflated share value, senior execs were
then able to offload shares, selling more than $13.2m of stock at
fraud-inflated prices." "Meritless action"
In a statement issued to US games site Polygon,
Electronic Arts has said: "We believe these claims are meritless. We
intend to aggressively defend ourselves, and we're confident the court
will dismiss the complaint in due course."
So is this a meritless case? "Robbins, Geller, Rudman and Dowd
handled the Enron class action," says Alex Tutty from UK law firm
Sheridans. "They are a securities law firm, this is what they do. The
firm obviously believes there is a case to answer, and in order to take
it forward they need to find a plaintiff – someone who has suffered
financial harm in this period due to purchasing shares on the basis of
the statements made.
"This is a problematic case, and it doesn't look good for EA, simply
from a PR point of view. Looking at the fact as presented by Robbins,
Geller, Rudman and Dowd, there does seem to be a case to answer.
However, we've only seen one side of the argument. Companies do give
this sort of guidance, and it is important to be accurate, but it is
just guidance based on what they know at the time. You'd have to prove
that they knowingly gave false information, and it would be difficult to
know about all the bugs that would crop up on the PlayStation 4
version. EA can probably produce a lot of evidence to suggest they
didn't perceive the extent of the problem, or didn't have sight of it
until after launch."
Robbins, Geller, Rudman and Dowd now has until February to find a
lead plaintiff – if it succeeds, court beckons. In the background,
Battlefield 4 has not performed as well as its predecessor at retail – according to industry news site, MCV,
UK sales are down 69% compared to Battlefield 3. However, several
Triple A franchises, including Assassin's Creed and Battlefield's rival
Call of Duty have found the transition from current consoles to the
next-gen machines difficult, with sales down across the board.
Whatever the case, this lawsuit has the potential to set an
interesting precedent in terms of publisher culpability for problematic
launch software. Several major titles have similarly suffered from bugs,
glitches and server failures this year, including Diablo III and GTA
Online, the multiplayer component of Grand Theft Auto V.
This is not the first potentially expensive legal action EA has had
to contend with. Earlier this year, the publisher settled on a lawsuit
filed against Zynga for copyright infringement concerning the latter's
game, The Ville. And in 2012, EA also settled on a complicated lawsuit with Activision
over the departure of game developers Jason West and Vincent Zampella
from the Activision-owned Infinity Ward to the EA-published Respawn
Studios.
