Chris W

Lonesome Traveller

Game: Mario Kart Wii
Developer: Nintendo EAD
Publisher: Nintendo
Rating: 3+ (PEGI), E (ESRB)

Co-operation and competition go hand in hand; working towards something with others, against a common obstacle, gives rise to life’s greatest achievements and rewards. Ultimately it's competition that remains at the heart of all play, but Nintendo, in its renewed energetic rush towards family activities, seems determined to push co-operation and inclusion above all else.

As a result, Mario Kart Wii hinges on those concepts, to the extent that it’s useless without them. Try competing in a grand prix against cpu opponents, and watch as weapon after weapon crashes down on you as you near the final corner, rendering the game savagely unplayable. In the absence of voice chat, raising the number of vehicles to 12 may have seemed like a good idea for fostering amusement online, but once you try challenging for the cups all you’ll find is that the number of racers throwing items at you has increased by over half.

It’s certainly not that collaboration improves everything, either. Replacing battle mode’s tension-driven Last Man Standing premise with teamwork and infinite respawns has left a dull, subdued experience, mechanical and repetitive from start to finish. While Mario Kart has never been about the battles, this must surely be the final nail in its coffin.

On the other hand, time trials, those strangely individual contests, benefit immensely from a little mutual assistance. Encouraged to download - and if you initially ignore the option, forcefully presented with - the ghosts of other, slightly faster racers from around the world, you’ll unwittingly find yourself a part of a vast support network, ruthlessly plundered and shaped from the self-same competitive efforts it engenders. An endless, interactive tutorial, it’s an elegant system that works well.

But to witness the true strength of co-operation, head back to those races and turn on the team option. With weight of numbers no longer against you, what was hopeless alone becomes second nature with an army at your back; what was an unforgiveable last-corner laceration against the individual becomes a gallant war wound to be circumvented and reciprocated by the many. If the freneticism of TimeSplitters' bot-based death matches, the camaraderie of team-based Halo, were to be directed into a vicious, pure-blooded racer, this would be it, for there's a primitive, guttural pleasure in stealing a 1-2-3-4 win against that cheating computer scum, one which binds in the living room just as strongly as it does on the racetrack. Especially, as all agreed, when three of you are reptiles on motorcycles.

Mr Ric Squid

Unlock Your Potential

The Earth is flat. Hitler would never dare to invade Poland. The next REM album will be a return to form. If there is one thing the history of we shoe-clad monkeys has taught us, is that it's pretty easy to get it wrong.

Of course, none of the above howlers quite matches the sheer wrong-headedness of suggesting that games developers should stop including locked content in their games that requires solo play to set free. "It's not fair", people bleat; "I want all my stuff now! Give me the tracks! Give me the maps! Give me the ability to play as a cyborg chimp with a flame-thrower!". If I might offer some advice: stop talking. Otherwise you run the risk of sounding like a sugar-addled tweenager furious that Daddy won't let you pull the legs off insects until after you've done your homework. Except that in this case the homework is playing a fucking video game; it's designed to entertain you, which only adds to the impression of dealing with a spoiled Haribo-stuffed child. There's a reason why locked content is such a spiffing idea; it's because it adds to that entertainment by giving you a sense of accomplishment. It's the same principle as not letting you play Level 10 of a game until you've beaten Level 9 (try objecting to that and see how far it gets you). If you spend your time alone at the console cursing your solitude, you might have picked the wrong game, but I wouldn't really hold that against its designers. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't enjoy knitting, but that doesn't mean I hate sheep.

Yes, playing with your mates is fun, but it's hardly the be-all and end-all. I'm sure Freddie Flintoff thinks cricket matches are more fun that bowling practice, but I bet he knows which of the two sharpens his talent. If you're not interested in learning a new skill, then that's your prerogative, but are you sure this is the pastime for you? I hear you can get Twister pretty cheap now, which comes with a wipe-clean map that means even if you never bothered practising to eat, your constant drooling won't pose too much of a problem.

"But wait," the mewling continues. "Won't these light-shunning hermits become Gods amongst men at their chosen game? How can we puny mortals hope to contend with their vastly superior abilities." Well, maybe you can't. Probably, actually. But why would anyone think that video games should somehow automatically offer a level playing field? You think Alex Ferguson spits out his deep-fried Mars Bar every time he hears the opposing team has had the temerity to get some training in between games? Well, probably he does, but then he's a paranoid Glaswegian, and I'd argue you shouldn't be using him as a role model. People are supposed to have differing degrees of skill, because we don't live in a dictatorship of identical clones, in which Clone A (somewhat hypocritically) puts to death any of the other clones that differs from him. If you don't want your head handed to you, learn the game. Harping on about others putting the work in seems to be based on a ridiculous lowest-common-denominator concept of "fairness". I'm not going to put down my copy of Super Smash Brothers just because you only play it with your house full of mates and your belly full of cheap cider.

In fact, I'm not even sure games should have handicap systems, but many of them do, which is proof that a) games designers are far more forgiving than I am, and b) you've run out of arguments. You might as well whine that a game is too easy on Easy mode, too. Just find the difficulty selection screen, scroll down, and stop bothering me.

Or perhaps you'd rather we did away with locked content entirely? In fact, let's do away with completing games altogether. Instead, every time your untrained jittery fingers condemn your character to a violent death, the screen could light up with the phrase Never mind: all that matters is that you tried your best. Maybe then a furry hand could emerge from the top of your console and pat your head patronisingly, like you're a wounded puppy with learning difficulties. We could move that one step closer to a utopian society in which no-one feels a failure because we've cunningly removed the very idea of success. Life would be bliss.

Well, apart for the marauding guerrilla bands comprised of people who actually bothered to become proficient at something. They'd be a bit of an issue.

I might join them myself, actually: after three years I can take down cyborg chimps with flame-throwers like a demon.

Mr Ric is a multi-limbed freelance writer with a penchant for maths, games and anger, amongst many other things. You can you admire his rants on a wide range of topics at http://squidfromspace.blogspot.com/

Ian

Wii'll Be Together Again

I've recently become aware of a huge sadness inside me that stems from my childhood, a great yawning chasm of unhappy memories has opened up in front of me. Not a day goes by when I don't look back on those early years with a tinge of regret and often, a solitary tear falling from my eye.

I want to be a member of the Wii family.

Y'know, those guys in the Nintendo Wii adverts who play games with each other on the Nintendo Wii (and sometimes, the Nintendo DS). They seem so happy, so carefree and so damn wholesome. I just can't help but wish they would adopt me and take me into their spotless white home and treat me as one of their own. I can picture it now, me smiling contently with my new orthodontically correct smile as Mum (still pretty hot for her age, firm breasts, healthy middleclass charm personified) steps up to the console for a quick game of Wii Sports with my new sister Sarah (off to Oxford in the autumn, spectacular arse, just back from a period of charity work in Africa). We laugh at their inept attempts to play the game. Not in a nasty way of course, but just chuckling to ourselves at how much fun this videogaming lark can be. Innocent fun, I might add - we don't settle down to watch horrormovies together or laugh at unfortunate news items on the six o'clock bulletin. We play together, the whole family enjoying this precious time in each other's company. Sometimes I play Mario Strikers on the Wii with my new brother, Shaun Wright-Phillips whilst my Dad, Ian Wright looks on proudly. It's a good life here, and I feel safe.

My new house is beautiful, everything is so white and clean and pure. Like the Nintendo Wii sitting underneath our telly, the house is sleek and modern. I have a room to myself and a brand new Nintendo DS to play on. All of a sudden pretty girls (often friends of my sister) are desperate to get into my room and play with me. Not with me, exactly, but with my Nintendo DS. We invite the rest of family to play with us but they're busy doing other things (Mum is keeping toned by working out with Wii Fit, whilst Dad and Shaun mess around on our second Wii in the other room). Sarah comes into the room with her new boyfriend and we settle down to play Brain Training (Sarah needs to keep her mind sharp if she's going to Oxford). Her new boyfriend is handsome, I have to admit, but their relationship seems strangely sexless, like mine with her friend Emma who only seems interested in my Nintendo DS and holding hands as we run through cornfields.

The food is nice too. We eat health food mostly and avoid caffeine drinks. Thanks to my new healthy eating habits I found I've become more attractive still. My palid games player's skin has changed to a healthy light brown glow as the summer has worn on. We've sat outside on the patio playing our DS'es together alot this summer, so I suppose it's only natural. Thanks to his continued use of Brain Training even Shaun, previously a dim-witted footballer more concerned with chatting up page three girls and getting into the VIP area at nightclubs than doing long division has boosted his IQ to the point where he's considering dropping out of football and joining Sarah at Oxford next term. All in all things are going well, my former life just a distant memory.

I wish you could all be here, and we could all live like this. It's almost like heaven in a way, only we get to play games instead of the harp.

Chris W

Only the crumbliest, flakiest Rock Band...

The relationship between TV and games bothers me. It’s not been exploited anywhere near as effectively as it could be. Whereas film at least produces the potential for decent games - not to mention a convenient sales spike upon release - television, with its emphasis on human interaction and continuing story elements, conveys less well to digital media. Off the top of my head, the only really successful (and not-so-successful) efforts I can think of are based on cartoons, which aren’t generally too bothered with cutting edge drama.

So where else should be we be looking? There’s one part of TV infiltrates popular culture on a daily basis: the adverts. Consider it: puzzle games based on those Honda adverts, stunt racers based on many car ads, and many adverts for the latest LCD TVs look like something from Fantavision. Who wouldn’t want to take a lightgun to kneecap those dancing cunts that work for the Halifax? But there’s one gametype where we can achieve true synergy.

How many adverts are remembered purely for their music? How many musicians have shot or returned to fame because of a commercial? Apple’s iPod nano campaign recently did wonders for Canadian folk-pop elf Feist, and Levi’s and Guinness, amongst others, have been at it for decades.

The solution is simple: downloads of collections of songs taken from adverts, for your favourite rythym/karaoke/instrument-based game. The old songs thrive on nostalgia, the new ones add exposure for the artists of the day. We don’t even need proper songs; many ads have short, catchy tunes we sing along to, even if afterwards we can’t remember what they were flogging. They’d make ideal bonus rounds, collections of Wario Ware-style minigames, one ditty after another, as fast as you can go. As source material for the new wave of group games that rely on bundled peripherals, it’s something everyone is familiar with. Picture it: you banging away on the drums, sis strumming on the guitar, and gran busy covering your best microphone in spittle, arms flapping.

I feel like Chicken Tonight,
Like Chicken Tonight.
Chicken Tonight!

There’s even the potential for the companies using these songs to sponsor or subsidise the downloads, getting them into our living rooms on the cheap. You can take a cynical view of the intrusion of advertising space into your home if you like, but I’d be happy with a few cheap games showing something I’d likely be watching on the telly anyway.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check where I can hire four gorilla suits while I wait for Phil Collin’s In the Air Tonight to hit Rock Band.

Chris W

An open letter to Paul W S Anderson

Dear Mr Anderson,

I notice that you have recently been quoted as saying (Edge, March 2008, P.77):

"There is nothing more boring than seeing a movie that is a straight adaptation of a videogame. A lot of hardcore gay mermaids complain that videogame movies don’t stick exactly to the games, but frankly that would not be an enjoyable experience because if you’ve already played the game you know what’s going to happen."

Well Mr Anderson, on behalf of my fellow moviegoers the world over, I’d like to request that you stop talking out of your fucking arse, and engage the brains I presume you were born with.

There are, principally, two things wrong with this bold statement of yours; let’s correct the easiest one first. Choose a videogame, any videogame. Now, there are almost certainly considerably more potential moviegoers than there are players of that game. Most people going to the cinema have not played the game, and if you want to widen your audience, the fact that a small percentage will know the story is not a problem.

Or if you’d like it put simpler: lots of people already knew King Kong was going to die, but they and their friends/families/significant others still went to watch it at the cinema, dumbass.

Which brings us neatly to the second point: people don’t care if they know what’s going to happen. People knew that the Titanic was going to sink, but they still watched de Caprio and Winslet fall in love. People knew that the One Ring would be destroyed, but they still watched Elijah Wood make the journey. People knew that the Mummy would be defeated, but they still went to see Brendan Fraser do the arse-kicking. What people do care about is how it happens.

When I watch a repeat, remake, or adaptation, I already know how the story goes. I’m not there for shocks or surprises. I’m there to see the tale told well.

Still not getting it? Have an example: King Kong. Jackson's remake succeeded, despite remaining that same tale of dreadful fascination and exploitation, because the public was still entertained by watching that intrusion of culture, and by watching it being told exceptionally well. The essence of the tale remained true.

Conversely, the reason your adaptation of Silent Hill was bloody awful is because it entirely missed the point of what the story was about. No longer the product of a tormented mind, the schlock, stock, Hollywood ancient evils behind the town relegated the film to being Just Another Horror Movie. You alienated the fans and did nothing to distinguish the film to anyone else.

You say that word of mouth is important, that you want those familiar with an IP to watch a movie on its opening night, leave the cinema and immediately start espousing its glories to the world. Then stop raping their memories and experiences, Mr Anderson. Stop trying to rewrite stories, and start telling them. Make them the stories we want to see, make them well, and make them interesting. Make our journeys worthwhile.

Respectfully yours,

The Player

Martin H

My Resignation

It is with a heavy heart that I tender my resignation, effective immediately. I have spent the past five months with the Team Fortress 2 company, and although I have enjoyed my service to the industry I feel it is now time to move on.

I must stress at this point that I do not require any form of reference from TF2, as I feel the mechanisms and structure bear little, if any relevance to my new employer. Whilst I still respect the tactics, rocket-jumping, running with the medic, gunning for the engineers, and so on, I feel they serve no bearing to the modern workplace.

In addition to this, I will have fond memories of the slightly wacky atmosphere around the office, despite the lack of banter. I will never forget that day when I and FRAGMONKEY0101 created our first shut out on 2Fort, causing mass hysteria around the cubicles. They were golden memories, and I shall carry them with me forever.

I must admit, however, that I feel the time of TF2 is reaching its last ‘tock‘. My new post, as lackey/coffee-boy/gopher of COD Industries means that, despite a reduction in pay check, I am with a new, exciting and prosperous company.

I feel I must justify my transfer (operative, obviously, with immediate effect) to COD (Dept 4). Whilst TF2 has offered a great atmosphere, and a Brent-ian laugh around the office, COD has offered me a chance at real progression (whilst I currently sit at a lowly level 3, I can see the road ahead), as well as a chance of real reward. Without any disrespect, TF2 has never offered me the chance of a new, shiny gun, or a new title - or even the chance of truly feeling I ‘own’ a map.

It is with great sadness, overall, that I leave TF2 Co behind. I wish all remaining the best for the future, but advise them to keep their eyes open. There is a world beyond six simple maps. A wonderful world.

Dean

Rabbits
Hit the Road is easily one of my favourite videogame memories. It was 1996, the family had just purchased our first ‘proper’ PC (it came with both a CD Rom and Windows 95!) and I was in heaven with Sam ‘n Max. Unfortunately, it took me about three months to get the game running with the talkie initiated because, if you remember, Windows 95 was a complete bitch to configure and some games just decided not to run.

But I got there in the end; a chubby little boy, sweating in his bedroom during the peak of summer, simply to sample the joys of Whack-a-rat!

Skip forward a decade and I now proclaim my love for early Lucasarts adventures in literally every blog/article I write for this tiny little publication. They’ve had that kind of profound influence on my life that more important people seem to reserve for Dostoyevsky and Indiana Jones, yet I can hold my hands up, and proclaim "yes, I fucking love those games."

So, it seems worthwhile to mention that the lovely folks at Telltale games have recently released Steve Purcell’s revolutionary comic strip. It’s revolutionary in that it’s amusing and worth money – unlike so many other comic books released today. For twenty bucks you get comic strips dating back to the late 80’s, all preserved and presented in a wonderful little book that sits perfectly on your bathroom cabinet - reserved for those times when you feel like an elongated visit. For those who are looking to eBay this book in a few years time, there’s a special hard back edition being priced at fifty dollars...

Anyway, you can buy the book from http://www.telltalegames.com/store/samandmax-highway

And it comes highly recommended from your favourite Player - Me

dean

Puchi Puchi Virus - Review
"Puchi Puchi Virus" is possibly the best name for a videogame this side of Polyphony deciding to subtitle their seminal driving series with “The Real Driving Simulator”. Aside from the wonderful title, the game also features dozens of darling characters with equally darling names. "Pigsqueak" and I were really enjoying our time yesterday evening, curing all manner of ills from his extremely sick and drained body. The premise, as with so many DS puzzle games, is to link shapes (into triangles) via the magical touch-pad that enthuses each and every seven-year-old in the modern world. I won't bother to explain the premise behind the gameplay because that would certainly be a waste of your time, especially when it can be summed up in a single line.

If you like puzzle games, you’ll surely enjoy this puzzle game.

What’s more exciting for this player is that the whole game is bat-shit crazy. Giant chickens assisting "Dr. Kevin" in his attempt to cure the world of a vile and afflicting virus that turns everyday people into the cutest animals (seriously, they wear clothes and everything) is the name of the game here. While this might sound terribly Japanese (and the Otaku among you might well be excited right now), Nippon Ichi have decided to fully translate the title into wonderful, Western Internet speak.

Having the in-game characters inform me that they were “full of awesome” made me a little frightened at first. It’s as if NIS had visited the Player’s forum, and sampled our little in-jokes; alas, I’m told the world’s forums are the very same.
The translation makes perfect sense, however. ‘Ichi titles do very well with a certain audience, and while I’m sure they’d like to capture a more mass market consumer (which Puchi Puchi Virus is perfectly capable of doing) it seems they’re happy to give their current fanbase what they want.

Self referencing FTW.

If you’re wondering whether you might enjoy this game, let me tell you a quick story:

Last night, in bed, I’m giving the game a little play. Mrs. Dean gets in, watches me play for a while, and asks for a go. After five minutes of making triangles, she screams, “This game makes no fucking sense! How do triangles solve anything!?!” Forty Five minutes pass before she decides Pigsqueak has had enough for one night, and vows to save him another day!

Facewon

Tales From The Darkside.

Part 1: Field Notes From a Halo Veteran on his third tour. I have an addiction to a multiplayer game that is largely populated by teenage American children (henceforth known as Seppos). Halo 3 is, well, fuck, I'm not gonna bother with an explaination. You're reading The Player blog, you know what it is.

I'm a 31 year old Australian who delves daily into fragfests, verbal sparring and controller abuse with kids, and I enjoy it.

Actually, I am going to go back to what Halo 3 is. Disregard the dot points on the back of the box. More than any other videogame, it's like a sport. More than most videogames, it's rulesets and conventions are guarded and argued over; more than most FPSes, it relies on balance and fairness.

A choke point on a map, a misplaced power weapon, these are the stuff of forum vitriol for YEARS, until the "problem" is solved. Witness Snowbound's lower level and the shotgun spawn. It's a blessing and curse for Bungie. The games have a following the envy of pretty much every other console game, but that following is young, frequently ungrateful, Seppo and lacks the ability to string a sentence together, let alone a reasoned argument. I have immense respect for the guys and gals at Bungie, it must seem like they're raising a particularly petulant child (ah, a discussion for another time, they probably are).

Sometimes I'll over-play the game, half a day will be lost to it's various wares. Sometimes it's a harsh mistress, I'll play, curse and get worked up and want to never touch it again. Some days I reach that zone, connections are good, and teammates are on my wavelength. And it all seems fair, predictable, in a scientific, "every thing is right with the world" way.

And this is where we get back to the sport side of things. I once read an article on why men love sport so much. It's reasoning was basically that we're simple souls who like things to be fair, even, quantifiable, with solid provable answers; that in a world that seems more and more unjust and unfair, we love to see a fair fight, men being men, working together, Doing The Right Thing. Halo lives by this ethos more than any other game. I agree with the writer of the article: when I read it, it made sense to me, as a way to describe why I have a passion for sports, particularly played the right way. I can't forget my Dad's influence on my love of sports either, of playing them the right way and really holding sacred the idea of fair play.

Halo, right down to the number of steps it takes to get to a power weapon from each team starting spawn, understands fairplay. Each map is laid out with balance in mind. Even asymmetrical maps are balanced, If someone has highground, they get weaker weapons, if one team can reach an overshield easily, the other team has the advantage with invis. Where a CoD4 doesn't care if players jump in and out of matches, Halo 3 guards its team numbers zealously. One person dropping out in a game with solid players will tip the balance towards slaughter.

On another level, the game also relies on a rock solid physics system for it's pursiut of fair play. Frag grenades bounce off hard surfaces, stick in snow, scuff on dirt, plasma grenades stick to players, but slide off walls. These are RULES. If I throw a grenade, I know what it will do. There are other fun combinations of chaos that create unpredictability, but they're housed in a system that when reviewed, makes total sense. (The vagaries of online play and internet connections make this harder, but even on that front, the game really does it's best to balance things so that the game is played on even terms.)

Colour me hooked, colour me Red, or Blue, or Pink (the Seppos love "Faggots"). I'm addicted to the thrill of competition, hunting for that next close, fair and well fought match, that match where we get to go back to the lobby saying well played; that match where I don't feel the need to swear my tits off in messages to idiots who cheat, whine, betray and generally don't do the right thing.

Facewon is feared throughout the Halo community and the internet in general for his awesome skills.

Dean

Uncharted Territory

Uncharted makes me want to start several threads on multiple forums. I want to shout to the world that Uncharted is the perfect mix of pre-millennium platforming and post Gears of War over-the-shoulder; without all the associated bullshit that goes with it. The thing is, I’m about five months too late. I spent most of the past few months trying to tell myself that Uncharted is just not for me – or that I was not for Uncharted.

What a fool I was. I remember playing the demo back in October and being sufficiently underwhelmed.

I died fairly quickly and gave up. Demos should not allow you to die. They should be easy enough to make you feel like you can carry on for another ten hours, but challenging enough to not want to give up after five minutes. So in my infinite wisdom I decided to stick it to the man and ignore it.

But now I’m about five hours in and thoroughly enjoying my time! It reminds me of one of those games that simply encourages you to play. It actively encourages you to jump about and experiment with the environment. Sure, you die, but the game always resumes a split second before you attempted your suicidal feat.

While this lessens the tension, it increases the confidence of the videogame. You understand that you’re actually playing an unabashed, all balls out game, and it’s great fun. I’ve become rather bored with the over indulgence of developers to spend too much time fantasising about trying to create ‘realistic’ videogames. Fuck that! I want to follow Francis Drake on a treasure trail throughout the South Pacific. It makes me feel like a child again!

Feels like Monkey Island.

Mike

Legend Of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass

A true story. I was feeling bad for not playing my DS. It's like, I know it's fun, it's a lovely bit of kit, but I really can't be arsed with it. My PSP takes my time for the most part, and I'm perfectly contented with that arrangement. But, time has gone on (and on) and I've been feeling progressively worse for neglecting it. Yes, I know, it's just a bit of plastic but some part of me was trying to say that I really don't hate Nintendo.

So, HMV was being browsed just after Christmas, gift card in hand, and I saw The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass on sale for little over twenty quid. Given that I still had money left on the card from previous purchases (Syphon Filter: Logan's Shadow and a VHS head cleaner - I just had to watch Grease 2) it'd only cost me a tenner. Bargain, I thought.

Fast forward a month and I get around to playing it. How do I put this gently? What a pile of unadulterated shite. I mean, really, has it come to this? Say what you want about the Wii being a triumph of PR, say what you want about Mario's Galaxies, level any accusation against Nintendo you want, but I'd (perhaps naively) always held Zelda and Metroid above all the bullshit surrounding the culture. They were good games, I even enjoyed the Oracle of... games on the GameBoy.

Phantom Hourglass though, is bad. It's bad because I can see exactly why people like it, and this makes them thick. It's bad because it's an inferior game in a great series with a gimmicky control scheme that fools people into thinking it's better than it is.

Take away the control scheme for a second. Take away the touch screen and just look at what you're playing. A bland game with sparse areas, unchallenging puzzles and A-to-B-to-C-back-to-A gameplay. Fuck this shit. If any of these dungeons were in Ocarina, Link To The Past or Majora's Mask someone would have been fired. And that's what Zelda has always been about, the Dungeons, the bosses and, to be honest, they're barely average.

I hate Nintendo.

Ian

Murder, Death, Kill

The moment has nearly arrived, when the release of GTA4 sees a whole generation of young men taking the day off work to pump virtual lead into virtual passers-by. When I finished San Andreas I decided, after three console versions and two top-down PC originals, I was officially GTA-ed out. But recently, my Uzi trigger-finger has been twitching, in anticipation of the next installment in the series. I turned my attention to the already owned, but previously ignored PSP games - Liberty City Stories and its Vice City counterpart.

The PSP isn't the best console to go on a crime-spree with - the awkward analogue nub and fewer buttons at your disposal make mowing down pensioners and murdering prostitutes a touch more tricky. Despite the slight limitations, I soon found the Grand Theft Auto feeling was back! The reckless driving, the hideously violent baseball bat attacks on people who annoy me, the regular use and subsequent murder of prozzers. It's like how my life would be, if only those do-gooders down the cop shop would let me. Giving it the Boyz n the Hood attitude on the streets of San Andreas is still the series highlight for me - as a white suburban male, it was naturally my dream to perform an inner-city drive-by whilst listening to NWA.

Hopefully we'll see some classic choons finally given the Rockstar treatment. I'm awaiting the day I make my escape from the fuzz with the power chords of Steppenwolf's "Born To Be Wild" blaring from the car radio. Finishing off a rival gangland boss with a switchblade to the tune of Orange Juice's "Rip It Up" would be fun. GTA is nothing if not a pop-culture potpourri, and creating your own custom soundtracks on the original Xbox versions felt great. If only you could get the piss-taking adverts in there somewhere. I clearly remember watching the morning sun rise over a scuzzy Liberty City as Keith Moon's drums kicked off "Baba O'Riley". "Don't cry, don't raise your eye, It's only teenage wasteland...", yeah, belt it out, Daltrey. Townshend's chords came crashing in, and another day of crime and murder began. With a glint in my eye and a gun in my hand, I'd got it in mind to get paid. Paid in full.

It's like Nena sang, as we raced recklessly through the streets of Vice City:

"99 Luftballons
Auf ihrem weg zum horizont
Hielt man fuer UFOs aus dem all"....

Hopefully those lyrics turn out to mean something significant in German, otherwise I'll look a right tit ending a piece like this.

Mike

Ratchet and Clank: Size Matters

Ratchet and Clank: Size Matters (from henceforth to be know as R&C:SM, okay?) is everything that is wrong with videogames. It's like playing a post-Sands of Time (which will now be known as PoP:SoT, yeah?) platformer and thinking I thought we were past this? It is, in PR terms, an accurate and complete installment of a console franchise on a handheld machine, unstripped and faithful...with fuck all concessions made to the host platform.

I mean, really, isn't it too much to ask the player to use both the analogue nub and the d-pad for movement? The former for general motion, forwards, backwards, left, right, the latter for strafing in a gunfight (of which there are plenty). Isn't it too much to assume the player just knows what to do next? Hands are clapping for the lack of patronising tutorial - the game starts off challenging and goes from there - but to leave the player doing trial-and-error, death-and-restart flailing in the first level is unforgivable.

Also unforgivable are the mini-game style diversions consisting of Sonic Adventure-esque rail sections, hoverboard races (not as cool as it sounds, Back To The Future 2 this is not) and spaceship shizzle, among others (I assume, I lost the will to finish it). On paper they sound good, on screen they look good, in practice they take more piss than a trainee nurse. You're on a rail and the sort of sign you see on westerns for diverting trains comes up. The game assumes you know exactly what to do and that you'll hit it. I twigged it a bit late, missed it, had no chance to atone for my error and died. No worries, R&C:SM says, you'll do better next time. A prompt restart later and I do it and move onto the next section. Should the only way to survive a game be through dying? Ikaruga this is not.

It's infuriating, not least because said section (barely 3 levels in) came after repeated sections of jump-on-platform, platform falls, jump-off-platform tedium. How did I know the platform was going to fall? I didn't, I died, but I didn't make that mistake again. Which comes to the crux of the matter: Should a player fell obligated to constantly guess what the dev is going to throw at them next? PoP:SoT teased the player into improvising, trying, learning, and rarely punished the player for their rashness. It gave the player a climbing frame to scale and only asked for imagination, R&C:SM asks you to think of the most archaic and degenerate cliches in gaming and assume that's what's next.

It's not enough to just be a "full size" game on a bite-sized console. Size matters, it seems, but so does quality. Fucking gash.

Mike

Parappin'

Game: Parappa the Rapper
Developer: NaNaOn-Sha

Publisher: Sony

Platform: PSP

Available: Since about 1997

Is it ever enough just to be first? Think about the games that kick started genres and sub-genres and precious few remain at the pinnacle for too long. Tetris, sure. Mario 64 ... perhaps, though it could be argued that it has been surpassed. Goldeneye? Dethroned.

And so it comes to Parappa the Rapper to show those young whipper-snappers that followed that he remains relevant; he’s just gotta believe. Alas, for time has not been too kind to that dog wot fancies a sunflower and it seems that he suffers from a chronic condition of not being Gitaroo Man. The signs are everywhere: the title screen doesn’t say Gitaroo Man, the songs aren’t from Gitaroo Man, there’s no Mojo, Mojo King Bee and, worst of all, the entire experience severely lacks stadium rock. Bad form.

While it may seem unfair to dismiss Parappa the Rapper for not being another game, there’s no escaping the fact that the entire experience feels pointless. The genre has moved on, games have moved on and while the dog may have seemed radical at the time, he feels conservative and old-fashioned now. It all feels a bit Cliff Richard.

The mechanics of the game feel old, the songs (bar the Driving Lesson) lack punch next to Gitaroo’s set or, even, Un Jammer Lammy; next to what is on offer now, the simple follow-my-lead play style reduces the game to feeling like one long QTE. We’ve moved on, it’s time he did too.

Ian

For Everything Else, There's Master League

PES2008 is not a great football game in my humble opinion, it's part of a great series of games but not, in itself a classic. It's strange then that I've just spent a huge chunk of my week playing it again, at the expense of far more important matters. The clue's in the title as to why I'm still persevering with it, the Master League. Few things brings out my inner football geek like a good Master League campaign to sink my teeth into, with the possible exception of Football Manager (which once saw me watching a Brazilian league game on Sky at three in the morning in the hope of spotting an inexpensive left-back).

In most Pro Evo games the masterleague is the icing on the cake, unfortunately in the latest version it's one of the few saving graces of an otherwise pretty shoddy title. Master League is pretty indestructable in terms of someone at Konami coming along and ruining it. There'll always be the underlying satisfaction of taking a terrible team at the bottom of the second division and turning them into World beater's.

I like to build up a solid team of footballers I've never heard of in my life, sod signing Henry and Rooney; give me the likes of Japanese master striker Oguro (I've no idea if he even exists in real-life but he's been ace in every version of PES so far). Barretto, the long-haired Ecuadorian central midfielder is another player I try to snap up first chance I get, me and Barretto have a history of success. In PES4 on the PS2 he joined me at Lyon for a long and honour-strewn Master League career. In PES5 I'd landed myself a job in the hotbed of footballing passion that is Glasgow Celtic and Barretto once again was signed up as a raw young midfielder who matured into a legend. I'll never forget his last gasp winner than secured us promotion to Div 1 that year. Great right peg on the lad.

Obviously I know little of what these guys are like in real life, occasionally I'll sign up someone who's impressed me on Match Of The Day though. Spurs fans know all about Dmitar Berbatov, well I nabbed him on a swap deal back in 2005 in the fifth Pro Evolution, oh he was a twenty goals-a-season man even in them days. He's grown his hair a bit since then, and he's maybe not quite as effective, but still a good buy for any budding PES Alf Ramsey's. Tottenham fan's will also have (less fond) memories of Helder Postiga, the club's flop striker of a few years ago. Well let me tell you something, that boy knows where the goal is. Only last year (PES6) he joined a failing mid-table Division 1 Rosenborg team and fired us to the WAFA Championship Title. We celebrated long into the night after that one.

That's the thing about Master League, the game & you combine to create your own stars - even the cloggers of the default Master League team, Stremer, Huylens, Espimas et al can become cult heroes. Castollo, the dread-locked default striker has become something of a super-sub in this year's version for me. I've had offers for him of course, but I'm not selling, not while the kid's got something to offer us. At present I'm back at Rosenborg, still stuck in Division 2 and with some dodgy signings dragging me down. Mendieta, the former Middlesborough man has done nothing, and Maurice Voltz, another swap deal is similarly hopeless on the right. Barretto's on board though, so good things are obviously just around the corner. Hope he brought his shooting boots, we need some inspiration from somewhere.

Ian

The Player Issue 9

Download

Dean

I am not pussy whipped (Rock Band)

While I’m usually exquisitely turned out when leaving the house for an average day of Canadian festivities, I’ve recently become accustomed to wearing a Steven Tyler endorsed headband. There are two reasons for this:

a) I have a beautiful head of hair that is accentuated by a rose coloured headband
b) I am one of only a handful of people who can honestly state they can five-star The Hives’ Main Offender in Expert mode.

This in turn allows me to strut into a music shop, declare that I’d like to purchase a Fender Stratocaster and proceed to play the fuck out of it because I five-starred Heroes by David Bowie.

The thing is, Players; while I'm sitting here at my desk wearing a red Libertines jacket doing some Charlie off a supermodel, I’ve noticed my life hasn’t really changed that much. Sure, my bank balance is $200 worse off, and my wife is ignoring me because we have a set of plastic drums in the apartment, but apart from that, I’m still the cocky whore I was previously.

A cocky whore who now has a set of plastic drums in his apartment.

Rock Band is the perfect videogame for a generation of adults who’ve had enough of videogames. While conventionally, the game is extremely simple, it still manages to convey the most heavenly of sensations; playing in a band.

At one point in my life, I played guitar for a wonderful little band that would often cover Blink 182 songs for a dozen or so kids at the local rec centre on a Saturday evening. Coming onto stage and hitting out the first few bars to Dammit was a wonderful feeling, and it really helped with my sex life.

While Rock Band doesn’t replicate the feeling of being fifteen years old again, it certainly allows you to wrap your hands up in masking tape, and pretend that you’re Tommy Lee.

Which, by the way, is fucking awesome.

Martin H

Virtually Inaccessible

My Wii has been a hive of blue light activity over the past few days, what with all the new mail from the Nintendo quarters. And it all seemed so promising.

My first piece of 'amazing' news was the fact that the big N had finally made those fucking ridiculous Nintendo Stars worth sommat more than a shoddy wallpaper/ringtone/PRINT-OUT OF A GBA TO PUT ON TOP OF YOUR TELLY. Whilst not quite at the lofty echelons of the Japanese Club-Nintendo cool-as-fuck-but-pointless-as-hell gifts on offer, it's now possible to swap these stars for points to buy old games off the Wii shop. 'Get in', I think to myself, now a way to play silly-expensive Sin And Punishment without paying.

Except there's one problem. The system for getting your points is totally borked. Totally.

If you're cool enough not to own a Wii, here's how it works - you swap your stars for a points card, like XBox Live pre-paid cards. Great. Shame the cards are never on sale. Presumably to stop the die-hard-fanboys in exploiting their never-splurged (on or over?) Wii points, no doubt amassing in the thousands, there is a download limit per day.
Seriously, Nintendo. Take the hit at first, then have a decent system up and running...

If that wasn't exciting enough, more mail today told me that I can now buy Virtual Console games to send to other people. Fucksake. If I can't get them for free, what makes these cads think I'm going to buy one for anyone else.

Once again, Nintendo win my 'Most Pointless Shit Ever' award.

I'm off to play my rather expensive download of Psychonauts on my 360.