Like Tears

In the dream, I lay dying on a hospital bed. The doctors could not treat nor even explain it, but my entire body was shutting down and failing me.

Before the end came, I was met in the middle of the night by one final unauthorized visitor. It was another me.

This other me explained that he was the real Henry, and I his clone.

At some point, he had decided he could no longer handle the pressure of his/my life, so he decided to "fake" his death by creating me in a test tube, accelerating my growth to match his age, implanting me with a selection of his memories, and finally programming me to die prematurely at a set time. Once the world saw and believed that he was dead, he would have a fresh start and the freedom at last to live as we dreamed. Naturally, this all made perfect sense to me.

Hearing these things, I felt at first a strange sort of pride, because it was the greatest thing I had ever done, a final affirmation of my cleverness. Except that I wasn't really the one doing it. Rather, it was being done to me.

On second thought, I found it impossible to respect him. I did not know at what point our existences had diverged, but we seemed to have a different appreciation for what I had achieved, and I lacked his confidence that the life he would live would be worth more than the one I was being forced to give up.

All those moments...

The Price is Wrong

Last year, I posted about Microsoft's deceptive pricing of the Xbox 360, noting that, although its initial cost was cheaper than the PS3, in order to enjoy the features that all but defined the system (i.e. Xbox Live), you needed to invest, not only in an annual $50 Gold subscription, but also potentially in a $100 wi-fi dongle, since the system possessed no wireless capability by default. Add in the cost of a hard drive if you wanted to download anything, and the cost of the 360 soared into the same extravagent range as the PS3.

Some months later, Sony itself made a much more transparently slanted version of the same argument. Sony did go further, however, to target also the Wii, which, while cheaper, lacked even the options for many of the features basic to the PS3 (e.g. HDMI, movie playback, hard drive).

I thought this was the wrong direction for Sony to take its case, because I seriously doubted that anybody bought a Wii looking for those things. On the contrary, it was apparent to me that, for less than the $399.99 cost of a PS3 80GB, you could get the Wii console ($249.99) together with its best-selling signature titles, Wii Play ($49.99 and includes all-important second Wii Remote) and Wii Fit ($89.99 and includes Balance Board).

But that doesn't mean that Nintendo has been entirely clean. The Wii Remote retails for $39.99. Add in the cost of a $19.99 Nunchuk, and already you have the most expensive first-party controller across the three consoles. For comparison, the DualShock 3 retails for $54.99, while the 360 wireless controller goes for $49.99. To be fair, the Wii system does come with one Nunchuk, and there have been very few multiplayer games that have justified investing in a second.

But now I really want to try the new Wii MotionPlus with Wii Sports Resort. It seems to me, however, that, as was the case with the original Wii Sports, and, indeed, most of my gaming on the Wii, the preferred way to enjoy Wii Sports Resort is as a multiplayer party game. Unfortunately, I'm unwilling to purchase the additional MotionPlus dongles at $19.99 apiece to make that happen. I understand these are sophisticated pieces of technology that I'm getting for my money, but that's still a lot of dough to play one game the way it was intended.

For now, I'm likely stuck waiting until Nintendo sees fit to bundle its accessory with some other games I'm interested in.

It is now okay to watch FMA: Brotherhood

For anyone who still cares, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is now finally into the "new" material. Funimation is presently streaming up to episode 16, while Hulu is on a two-week delay.

Episode 13 was the introduction of Greed, and my own memory of the first series from that point is quite hazy. But the arc concludes rather differently in Brotherhood, as I definitely do not recall Führer King Bradley busting out the twin blades last time. Then, with episode 15, the story fully diverges from the 2003 series.

Kind of an odd feeling watching this show. I was surprised at how pleased I was to see Ed and company back for more adventures. On the other hand, this second take more or less renders the entire latter half of the first series meaningless, which can be difficult to come to terms with, since there was some good stuff in those episodes.

Will the real G-Force please stand up?

I'm sure I'm not the first person to whine about this, but, on this matter, I think there can be no objection too loud.

This is NOT G-Force:

THIS is G-Force:

AKA Battle of the Planets AKA Gatchaman

One of Tatsunoko's finest, Gatchaman was a 1972 television anime that was adapted for American audiences in 1978 as Battle of the Planets. For many American children of the time, this fondly remembered series was their introduction to anime. In 1986, the same material was then adapted into English a second time as the lesser-known G-Force.

Battle of the Planets was well before my time, and I only ever saw a handful of G-Force episodes, which I did not enjoy. But I did always find the costumes to be some of the coolest and most original in any cartoon or comic. Seeing some more recent Alex Ross interpretations, I was amazed at how well the designs had aged, how well-suited they seemed to Ross's realistic style, which has often made the spandex-wearing DC and Marvel superheroes look sad and ridiculous.


I don't know where Disney gets off trying to take over a title that was already attached these last twenty-three years to an established and well-liked property. But this isn't about Disney stealing the hardly protectable least known, least necessary of Gatchaman's three names. It's about that first time I had to hear some marketing hype about some mysterious "G-Force" trailer, leading me to excitedly picture a new theatrical Gatchaman production, only to find myself subjected to lame jokes about CG gerbils defecating on live-action humans. Unforgivable.

The Essentials #39: Final Fantasy IX / Final Fantasy X

SPOILERS

Final Fantasy IX

Conceived and produced by Hironobu Sakaguchi, and directed by Hiroyuki Ito, 2000's Final Fantasy IX for the Sony PlayStation was to be the culmination of all that had come before, and more specifically the celebratory return to the ways of the classics. The game arrived about a year before Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within practically ruined Sakaguchi's career, along with the old Square that he built, and it's hard to say to what extent he planned FFIX's significance as the end of an era. Perhaps he seriously believed he would become a filmmaker after this. Regardless, as a fond farewell to the preeminent role-playing game series of three console generations, Final Fantasy IX could not have turned out any better.

A rare ninth installment in a numbered series, Final Fantasy IX evoked titles past in its story, aesthetics, and gameplay. It dug back especially to the pre-Yoshinori Kitase entries, trading the urban grit and bleak storylines for a more fanciful narrative and a massive, largely uncharted medieval world full of colorful characters and eccentric non-human cultures.

Combat, still operating on the old Active Time Battle system, would have been instantly familiar to players of VII and VIII, but longtime veterans would have recognized it as a return to the 16-bit titles, restoring the four-man party, slowing down the pace, and removing all the button-tapping that VIII had added. Character classes were also the most distinct they had been since V, and, as in IV, party members had fixed classes.

The main innovation of FFIX came in the form of the "Active Time Events." Clearly inspired by the "Private Actions" of Star Ocean, the ATE system had party members splitting up upon entering a new town. Then, as the player roamed the town as main character Zidane, button prompts would periodically appear, allowing you to cut to scenes of some of the other characters doing their own things, either alone or interacting in small groups. Similar also to the skits of Tales or the dining conversations of Grandia, the ATE system added much to character development by offering usually humorous glimpses of the party members just being themselves outside the serious matters of the main quest. It also solved the problem of how to keep supporting party members involved after their introductory subplots were resolved. Thus, while Freya and Amarant were woefully underutilized in the main thread, their clear and consistent personalities still showed occasionally in the ATE scenes. Indeed, due largely to the ATE system, Final Fantasy IX possessed probably the most lovable and well-defined cast of characters in a Final Fantasy game. I can vividly recall the existentially anguished Vivi, the single-mindedly gluttonous Quina, and the smooth yet genuine Zidane. They were perhaps not the most complex or realistic characters, but I would rank them among gaming's most endearing.


This was the first Final Fantasy where I did not bother even trying to get everything out of it. I stayed away from the poorly explained Tetra Master card game as much as I could, did not engage in the globetrotting chocobo side quest, and never faced the hidden boss, who was supposedly one of the most challenging in the series. I would blame my lack of enthusiasm mainly on my getting older and having less time, but it may also have been that I was getting tired of the formula. The game played very much like VII and VIII, but, in recalling the 16-bit titles, it felt actually even a step back in an exhausted engine. The new growth system, attaching spells and abilities to characters' equipment, did not offer the depth or flexibility of the materia or junction systems. Combat was slower, and the random encounter rate far too high, so it wasn't much fun to play. I was in it entirely for the story, which was thankfully one of the best.

I would again insist that FFIX's implementation of the ATE system was narratively groundbreaking, far more so than anything the series has done since. The plot, on the other hand, was, for better or worse, more straightforward and classical than the Kitase titles. I personally appreciated that the story could be epic in scale without being convoluted, and the lucidity of the writing helped to keep it engaging.

A throwback to the crystals plots of the pre-FFVI Hironobu games, FFIX included tons of crowd-pleasing references to past stories, and, for older fans, trying to spot them all became one of the most diverting parts of the experience. The "stage within the stage," which had become a minor tradition ever since the FFVI opera scene, was taken further than ever by having Zidane and his fellow Tantalus thieves posing as actors, even putting on full shows as a cover for their behind-the-scenes law-bending. In surely the weakest twist, however, FFIX even returned the series to its roots in tossing in an ultimate enemy who just showed up out of nowhere in the final moments and seriously started spouting Yoda lines. Well, okay, Ultimecia wasn't much different, but at least she had better dialogue.


Final Fantasy IX did not sell quite as well as VII and VIII. For whatever reason, the characters never attracted the manic fan following of Nomura's designs, and, even among the longtime players it was intended as a celebration for, the game is not often remembered in those great debates over which is the finest numbered Final Fantasy. There are those who do cherish it, however, and Hironobu Sakaguchi and Nobuo Uematsu have themselves each identified FFIX as their favorite entry, the one nearest to Sakaguchi's ideal for what Final Fantasy should be. Personally, I find it hard to argue with them. On the strengths of its characters and story--ever the best aspects of the series--FFIX may very well be the greatest Final Fantasy.

Final Fantasy X

After Final Fantasy IX closed out one era by looking fondly back at the past, 2001's Final Fantasy X for the PlayStation 2 was to signify a move forward for the series on new hardware. With Final Fantasy XI also having already been announced at this point as an MMORPG, the franchise was entering its next phase, as multiple teams were being given the go-ahead to take the series in new and different directions.

To start with, FFX finally did away with the old Active Time Battle system. Toshiro Tsuchida of the Front Mission series was brought on to devise a more strategic engine. The resulting "Conditional Turn-Based Battle" system was actually rather similar to Final Fantasy Tactics, the previous turn-based strategy take on the series. Characters still received turns based on their speed, but all real-time elements were removed, and the time gauge was replaced by a graphical display that showed the order for the next several moves, adjusting dynamically to indicate how the order might be altered depending on the player's next action.


Although only three characters could be on the field, players could switch active party members on the fly during combat. Players would need to do so constantly as well, because these were the most distinctly specialized characters the series had seen since at least FFIV. Even in V and IX, you could often make do with whatever party you liked, but in FFX there was clearly a right character for every job. Tidus's quickness made him the go-to against nimble monsters, Wakka's range and accuracy were invaluable versus winged targets, and Auron's powerful slashes cut through armored enemies. This, combined with the CTB system, made for the most strategic battles in the series.

Characters developed via the "Sphere Grid," which was set up a bit like a board game, where the party members progressed along winding roads of connected spheres, earning stat upgrades and skills along the way. Although all characters shared the same grid, they started at remote ends of it, surrounded most closely by the spheres bestowing the skills appropriate to their default "classes." By the end of my playthrough, I still hadn't gotten any of the characters to their own highest-level techniques, so it would have taken an impractical investment to subvert their innate designs. The exception was Kimahri, who started in the middle of the grid with no clear identity, leaving the player to choose which of the other characters' paths to steer him toward. Because I sensed that Lulu's poor speed would eventually make her too great a liability even when her black magic was called for, I opted to train Kimahri as a mixed mage to take her place, with disastrous results.


As was the case with FFIX, I no longer had the energy by this point to fully explore it all, but hardcore players had plenty more to occupy them in FFX. The major subgame was "blitzball," the most popular (and only) sport in the game's world of Spira. Playing like underwater water polo crossed with a menu-based JRPG, it was badly designed and unintuitive. It didn't help that, right off the bat, the game expected you to lead the worst players in the league to victory against the number one team. I'll admit, though, after forcing myself to play a few more matches, I managed to grasp the exploits, and it afterward became almost addictive. The other minigame challenges--catching butterflies, dodging lightning strikes, steering uncooperative chocobos--were far more horrendous.

The most significant addition in Final Fantasy X was the introduction of voice acting into the series. Pretty decent overall, it had its rough moments, with Tidus's annoying voice and Yuna's insane stop-and-go inflections being particularly unfortunate. The absolute worst thing about FFX, however, was that, for whatever misguided reason, Square decided to allow the player to rename main character Tidus. I had always felt that renaming the strictly defined characters of JRPGs was stupid anyway, but in FFX, there was the additional problem that the voice acting obviously could not adjust to suit whatever bizarre name the player might possibly input. To get around this, the game just never had his name spoken aloud. This led to all manner of transparently awkward dialogues where characters would avoid referring to him by name. As a result, characters would often unintentionally sound as though they were trying to disguise the fact that they were talking about Tidus. Worst of all was when Yuna would refer to him as simply "the newest member of the blitzball team," which was apparently the best they could come up with. (I think even calling him just "guv" would have been preferable.) After committing to this mistake, Square even had to carry it over into the sequel. At least they spoke his name in the Kingdom Hearts series, albeit they pronounced it differently with each game. *sigh*

Elsewhere on the audio side, Nobuo Uematsu had perhaps finally reached his limit after composing about five CDs worth of music for FFIX. For FFX, Square gave him some help by adding in-house composers Masashi Hamauzu and Junya Nakano to the team. I was familiar with each man's past work, so it struck me as a rather odd combination to put them on the same game together along with Nobuo. Hamauzu's SaGa Frontier 2 work had a very distinct sound. He was one of the only Square composers to make heavy use of piano, and while half of the time it was beautiful, I found the other half to be self-indulgent discordant chaos. FFX sadly showed off the uglier side of Hamauzu. Nakano's work on Threads of Fate was more atmospheric, and his FFX contributions were competent but forgettable. Don't get me wrong, I'm not calling these guys hacks, and Nobuo himself still managed to sneak in some of his best work, but if you were a longtime fan, you would definitely have felt that something was off with this game. Not only did FFX sound jarringly inconsistent at times due to the different styles, but it really drove home just how integral Nobuo's music had been to past Final Fantasy experiences. No matter how accomplished his replacement, you could never expect to fool a player who had grown up listening to his melodies.


After the sharp storytelling of FFIX, FFX was a return to the style of VII and VIII--a mix, in other words, of melodrama, metaphysics, and obfuscations. Set in a world ravaged for the last thousand years by "Sin"--more a force of nature than a traditional villain--it was the most epic tale yet, and, infuriatingly, much of the in-game mythology was barely "in-game" at all. Seemingly vital details on the story behind Sin and Spira could only by gleaned by optionally listening to the long-winded tales of the NPC Maechen.

That said, the story, still head and shoulders above nearly every contemporary JRPG, was the best reason to play the game. Yielding one of the most famous pre-rendered cut scenes in gaming, the bittersweet romance of Tidus and Yuna may have been a better realization of the "love" theme that was supposed to exist in FFVIII. But I was more intrigued by Tidus's daddy issues. Certainly, this was a new theme to video games. FFX's primary conflict was really one that had the protagonist struggling internally to reconcile his own memories of a negligent father with everyone else's image of a man celebrated as a star and hero. The transformative journey was one where Tidus and Yuna arrived to step out of their parents' shadows to become themselves, while also coming to terms with their mythic fathers who seemingly chose the world over them. Saving the world is always gratifying, but seeing Tidus and Yuna resolve their more personal arcs together was here the more vital experience.

Although Final Fantasy X may have been perceived originally as the start of a new era, after FFIX had given the older model a fitting sendoff, in hindsight it played out more like the end of one era followed by the end of another. It's hard to believe that it's been eight years since this game came out, because, truthfully, I don't think there's been a bigger JRPG release since.


Additional Information

Final Fantasy X was the first Final Fantasy to receive a true sequel, and, more than a cheap spinoff, there are even those who consider Final Fantasy X-2 to be equal in scale and standing to a proper numbered installment. Conceived partially to recoup Square's investment on the first game by recycling the assets, FFX-2 nevertheless brought back much of the key staff, minus Nobuo Uematsu. The story was apparently more lighthearted than usual, but I've heard good things about its take on the Active Time Battle system. Even so, I haven't been able to bring myself to play it, because, to me, FFX's was the perfect ending to that story.

BlazBlue: Calamity Trigger

I almost consider fighting games a separate hobby altogether from the rest of my gaming, which must be why I seem to end up collecting all of them despite the fact that I can't play most worth a damn.

BlazBlue: Calamity Trigger is the latest 2-D fighting game from Arc System Works, developer of the Guilty Gear series. Indeed, it is very much the successor to Guilty Gear, now that that series is mired in rights uncertainties.

As one should expect from this team, it's an extremely technical fighter full of weird hand-drawn characters. The twelve-character roster is on the small side, but this is the first installment in a new series, and, as in Guilty Gear, every fighter is distinct. And while it's a bit early (and I'm a bit underqualified) to be discussing game balance, BlazBlue probably includes more viable characters than the average Capcom or SNK title, as it attempts to equip each with some unique and powerful option to exploit, so that even weaker fighters can stand at least a puncher's chance. That's assuming you can figure out how to wield it, because this is still a good deal more complicated than your typical Street Fighter.

Distilled to its essential theory, Street Fighter is a game of "knock the other guy down, and keep knocking them down." I mean that literally. Experts will have more effective means of scoring the knockdown, but even novices will quickly realize that low roundhouse is a near-universal sweep, and they can consequently enter a match with a target around which to focus their game plan. Thus, even at low levels, rarely does Street Fighter ever truly devolve into button mashing. King of Fighters, like most Street Fighter clones, can be approached the same way, so a complete newcomer to KoF can play that game off Street Fighter experience. They may not play it well, but they'll at least grasp the theory. Marvel vs. Capcom 2, perhaps the only other fighting game I can play, comes down to "keep calling anti-air assist so that the other guy can't fight back."

Guilty Gear differs in that there is no obvious overarching tactic that applies at all levels and with all characters. It's closer to the 3-D fighting games in that, once you're in there, it's pretty much "have your combos down, or get mashing." The result is a technical showcase at high levels, and a pretty shallow experience at low levels, with a tremendous barrier between the two.

Arc clearly tried to make BlazBlue a little more accessible by including the "Drive" button, essentially a dedicated special button that provides instant access to each character's signature technique. In addition to showing off just how distinct the different fighters' styles are, it can give beginners a single button to center their game around, similar to the low roundhouse or the MvC2 assist. Within a few seconds of play, you can start to appreciate Noel's Kyo Kusanagi-esque branching offense, v-13's omnidirectional projectiles, or Taokaka's tremendous pouncing attacks. Other characters, however, such as Carl Clover and Hakumen are much harder to manipulate, and, overall, I'd say that BlazBlue is more Guilty Gear than Street Fighter. The Drive attacks give you some idea of each character's individual potential, but it still takes many matches to even begin to understand how to operate and execute within the frenzied dynamic of this game. At low levels, the action is visually exciting and offers enough feedback to input to be fun, but that kind of fun can't last. Then again, most games don't.

Aside from the competitive game, the console release also includes the requisite arcade, challenge (more like survival), and practice modes, as well as a fairly hefty story mode that almost feels like a visual novel, what with its branching paths and reliance on still images. Alas, the story itself is typical fighting game nonsense with a heavy dose of that convoluted Japanese claptrap. It feels like there's a lot of backstory that isn't covered within the game, nor anywhere else that I know of. Instead, dudes just walk around with no clear objectives, then run into other characters and decide to slug it out because that's what they do.

Every time I play one of these crap excuses for a story mode in a fighting game, I can only sigh and point to the PS1 version of Capcom's JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. You might glibly reply that fighting games are designed for versus play, and the single-player experience is purely incidental. But I wonder why that has to be the case. Why are fighting game developers content only to cater to the niche competitive audience? Why do we defend them when they decline to do more? I think also of GoldenEye 007, which is remembered equally for its single-player and versus modes. These days, FPS players pretty much demand, not only that top-tier titles like Halo and Call of Duty include both modes, but that they be superlative in both. It's not even as if it would be difficult to put together a compelling single-player mode in a fighting game. Granted, JoJo had a successful comic for source material, but it was the structure, rather than the plot, that made that story mode great. It was lengthy, varied, and traced a sensible arc that actually explained who the characters were and why they were fighting.

Perhaps even better than implementing a story into a fighter would be integrating the always solid mechanics of fighting games into more conventionally single-player genres. The closest things may be the Tales and Star Ocean JRPG series, with their clearly fighting game-inspired battle systems. But, exciting though those games may be, they are still RPGs first and foremost, with battles determined more by character stats and setups than by player skill.

I would propose a game that would be as story-focused as a JRPG, but which would cut to battles that would take the form of a good fighting game. Not only would I personally find this more satisfying than traditional RPG combat, but I think the dramatic structure of a story-based game would in turn provide a better way for players to learn the technical elements of fighting games. I can imagine the usually annoying beginning tutorial segments here serving to familiarize the player with all the arcane systems that are never adequately explained within fighting games.

The usual quibbles aside, BlazBlue is a deep and attractive fighter designed by and for fans of fighting games and Japanese anime. It's pure and elegant, featuring a sleek interface and with all characters unlocked right off the bat, saving players from wasting time needlessly. It's functional yet full of nice touches and extras, including both Japanese and English audio tracks, a gallery of unlockable artwork, and some bizarre, barely animated bonus stories where super deformed characters explain the world of BlazBlue. They even thoughtfully included the option to switch the confirm and cancel buttons, for those accustomed to the old SNES config. You can't save multiple button configurations like you could in Guilty Gear XX Accent Core Plus, but it's only a four-button game anyway.

On that note, digging into the key config menu revealed the existence of a handy shortcut mode that allows pad players to perform special moves just with the right analog stick. We've seen this in past games, usually in unsuccessful attempts to compensate for inadequate Wii or GameCube control options. In BlazBlue, it's still not to be considered by serious players, but it is a nice option to let casual players in on some quick fun. What especially impresses me is that Aksys doesn't even list it as a selling point on the back of the box. It just sneaks it in there as though it were a standard feature, which it really ought to be.

The value of the package is further increased by what may be the best limited edition treatment I've yet seen. Atlus often includes a sampler music CD with its releases, but, for BlazBlue, publisher Aksys Games gave us the complete two-disc soundtrack. Keep in mind, the music in this game was done by Daisuke Ishiwatari, whose rocking Guilty Gear compositions were one of the best things about that series.

Not stopping with the soundtrack, Aksys also included an instructional video disc. It's an idea that makes a lot of sense, and while I didn't think it was as informative as it could have been--it would have been better to demonstrate tactics by recreating actual match situations--the gesture is greatly appreciated in lieu of any in-game tutorial, which BlazBlue, like just about every other fighting game, still lacks.

Without a doubt, this is the year of the fighting game, and some have positioned BlazBlue as a potential rival for Street Fighter IV, but I have to believe that, on the contrary, it actually gained a significant boost thanks to Capcom reviving mainstream enthusiasm for the genre. At least, I hope that will be the case, both for this and the soon-to-be-released King of Fighters XII. As excited as I was for the return of Street Fighter, I was also well aware that it was only so big a deal because its absence had been so long, and I've since worried that, once people grew tired of the same experience, it would be just as long before another fighting game mattered again, and then only for the nostalgia factor. I'm starting to believe now that maybe these fighting game developers and publishers will be able to keep future releases regular enough, but also dispersed enough and, of course, good enough and distinct enough, to establish the genre as a staple without burning it out before the next major mainstream fighter (Street Fighter IV: Championship Edition for 2010?).

Perfect Dark Zero

Speaking of mediocre shooters that probably would not have impressed on the GameCube, I recently completed Perfect Dark Zero for the Xbox 360.

Where do I even begin in discussing this game? I'd heard plenty of negativity toward it, but I suppose I played it anyway out of a lingering affection for the N64 original. Alas, playing the 360 prequel just made me sad.

There are two good things in Perfect Dark Zero. The first is the melee combat. In truth, it's typical clumsy and ugly FPS melee combat. But on the easiest difficulty, it was actually the most exciting AND most efficient way to tear through the regular grunts. There were moments when I found myself alone as Joanna Dark, "ViBlade" in hand, facing dozens of gun-toting soldiers, and I liked to imagine the bloody dance that ensued as being reminiscent of Uma Thurman's swordplay in Kill Bill. Pretty satisfying, and that's all there is to be said on the melee combat.

More legitimately interesting were the hacking mini-games. Periodically, the game would present the player with a locked door or crate that would have to be opened electronically by hacking it (or sometimes blowing it up) via one of a few different short and simple puzzle mini-games. These brought to mind the treasure chest puzzles from the Onimusha series, and I guess BioShock and other games have included similar elements. Where Perfect Dark Zero got cool, however, was in the very few instances when, in the co-op mode, the game would instruct a player to begin hacking even while enemies were still present. That would leave the other player to take on all the fighting and cover their partner long enough for them to get through the puzzle uninterrupted. I think this happened three times, and none of them quite worked properly--my partner and I seemed to always exterminate the enemies before even figuring out what to hack--but it was a cool idea nonetheless.

In fact, I had a similar idea for my dream take on Resident Evil Outbreak. I envisioned that, within a cooperative team arrangement, certain characters would be limited to non-combat skills like lock picking or computer hacking, which would take the form of short puzzles. I imagined a scenario where the team would be backed up against an electronically locked door, leaving one player to hack the lock while the others fended off hordes of zombies. They would have to buy as much time as possible for the hacker to figure out the puzzle, but they would not be able to hold back the infinite zombies indefinitely, so the puzzle specialist would likewise have to work quickly. It would introduce a thrilling element of absolute co-dependency, while also allowing players of different genres and enthusiasm levels to play together. A casual player having little experience with action games, but who occasionally enjoyed idling away at something like Bejeweled, could still fill a crucial role within this dynamic alongside their more hardcore friends. I digress, of course, as Perfect Dark Zero is definitely not that dream game of mine.

The saddest thing about Perfect Dark Zero is, not that it looks like crap next to true (post-Gears of War) current-gen shooters, but that, in so many ways, it feels like a step back from the N64 game. Perfect Dark Zero's improvements include mid-mission checkpoints, the ability to revive your partner in co-op play, and a far more reasonable endgame. In almost every other respect, it is a lesser title.

GoldenEye 007 and the original Perfect Dark were among the first shooters to blend stealth elements into the design, but the mission variety in this game is far more limited. Gone are the silent assassinations and undercover ops. The soft approach never works in this game. Even if you manage to get the jump on a single frustratingly helmeted foe, his death will always alert all other guards to your presence. Ultimately, it comes down to stage after stage of guns blazing, and the game struggles to keep that interesting. The weapon selection in Perfect Dark Zero is very limited, with even basic grenades only showing up late in the campaign. While the first game's story was nothing amazing, Perfect Dark Zero's seems like a complete afterthought, full of loose ends while barely explaining how characters get from one location to the next.

Despite having been warned about Perfect Dark Zero's mediocrity, I still came away disappointed. I expected more, but it seemed like Rare actually lost a few steps in those five years between the first game and its followup. It will take a lot for me to care about any future Perfect Dark titles.