Review: Saints Row [Xbox 360]

Henley-onThames, yesterday

My late adoption of the Xbox means I missed most of the classics the first time round and can now grab them up for mere pennies. I’d heard Saints Row was “bitchin’, yo” and four quid is too good to pass up, right? Fo’ shizzle, homie.

Yes, that-there street lingo was employed to indicate that Saints Row is based around the life of a gangsta. All your middle-class, suburban fantasies will be fulfilled. But first, pimp your avatar: if you’re going for authenticity, I’d suggest rocking purple corn-rows, a green goatie and an oversized t-shirt. Then it’s time to enter Stillwater, a a law-suit avoiding  amalgamation of various west-coast cities. Before you can say “check my sweet threads, dawg”, you’ll find yourself initiated into the Third Street Saints. Although the Saints are a portrayed as a somewhat “ethical” gang, you’ll be a-whorin’, stealin’, scammin’ and murderin’ with the worst of them. Running round the open world and performing such tasks earns you cash and respect; Money allows you to buy a little summin’, summin’ – guns, clothes, cars, etc. – while bolstering your nefarious CV unlocks the main storyline.

There’s surprising variety to be found in the main campaign.  Obviously the core gameplay is based around wasting fools, but that can come in the form of either pedestrian- or vehicular-based slaughter, and there’s also racing, tagging and kidnapping elements to be enjoyed. Fun for all the family, I’m sure you’ll agree. My biggest complaint about Saints Row, however, is that most of the main missions begin with a lengthy drive across town to get to the action. Now, in principle, this gives you a real sense of scale for the city and the ‘hoods you’ve yet to bring under your control. But, if you’re less of a “playa” and more of a “spanner-fingered baboon”, there are a few missions you’ll be retrying a number of times. The lack of save points means that initial commute can become a real grind. But stick with it.

Book ending each of the main missions are a series of cut scenes. These are superbly entertaining, thanks to some great voice acting. Similarly, jump in a car and you’re treated to local radio: Interspersed between the hippin’ and the hoppin’ are some hilarious adverts. The auto parts dealer – Rim Jobs – is a personal favourite. It’s these little touches which breathe life in to the game world and elevate Saints Row above a run-of-the-mill GTA clones.

My advice? You see Saints Row pimpin’ its wares for less than a Hamilton and you’d be a fool not to check it out.

Article: Confessions of a Computer Gamer

Turns out games consoles have come a long while I was off mucking about with computers.

I’m 32 years old, and have been gaming since I could hold a joystick. Yet up until the start of this year, I’d never owned a games console. It was computers all the way for me: ZX Spectrum, Commodore Amiga, IBM 486, Pentium.

I don’t mind admitting that as a member of the computing aristocracy I felt more than a hint of superiority over the consoling classes. The computer games I played were sophisticated. Games like Lords of Midnight, Hired Guns, X-Com, Civilization, Tie Fighter, Fallout, Jagged Alliance, etc. Whether the result of hardware limitations, controller inadequacies or simple market forces, such titles were just not available on the consoles of the time. And my computers were so much more than mere gaming machines. They taught me about coding, hardware and operating systems. Even when I really didn’t want to know about them.

So what prompted the change? In a single word, time. But in three words:

Schedule. While the Spectrum and Amiga wowed me with their slick Arcade chops as much as their more thoughtful moments, my favourite PC games were all epics, in which to lose myself for weeks, even months. And not in small, manageable chunks either. Individual gaming sessions were equally epic, taking precedence over school work, sleep and food. But these days the real world takes priority, and gaming has to fit around life. While computers have a thriving “casual gaming” market, consoles are generally a bit better focussed on providing bite-sized portions of gaming fun.

Hassle. In the past I have derived a great deal of satisfaction from tinkering with hardware and software configurations to get a game to run, or to network machines for multiplayer hi-jinks. But, linked to time being at a premium, my patience isn’t what it once was… If a game requires any overhead before I’m playing, be it software set-up, familiarisation with complex controls or even a particularly steep initial learning curve, it simply doesn’t get played. I no longer have that time to invest.  Sure, modern computer gaming is far more user-friendly than the early PC days, but it can never compete with a dedicated games machine.

Accessibility. During the Spectrum and Amiga years, gaming was a very social experience, with a group of mates gathered round the keyboard, but it became more a solitary pursuit for me from the first PC onwards. These days, my limited leisure time isn’t just my own – it’s shared with a girl. Luckily, said girl likes a bit of gaming too.  Still, this has meant a shift of gaming from the solitary desk to the communal sofa, which rules out the use of a mouse and keyboard. Gamepads and little plastic guitars are a lot more amenable to living-room use.

In many ways, buying a console feels like a return to the Spectrum and Amiga. Those early computers were well-defined platforms, which avoided a lot of the compatibility and conflict problems associated with the infinite hardware/software combinations of PCs. And they were largely immune to the PC’s constant upgrade cycle. Developers pushed the existing hardware to its very limits, eeking more and more out of the same machine. With modern computers it often feels like developers have just got lazy – yeah, they could optimize their code a bit more… but it’s easier to just up the minimum requirements a shade.

Console gaming isn’t perfect. I hate first-person shooters on a pad, give me a mouse and WASD any day. But by and large, I’m happy to have stepped into this new world. Don’t get me wrong, there are still so many PC games which I’m itching to play. Maybe I’ll get to them next week when I should have a bit more time…

Review: Secret of Monkey Island (Special Edition) [Xbox 360]

Another Daily Rodent thingy.

The Lucasarts classic, The Secret of Monkey Island, has recently been given the Special Edition treatment and released on Xbox Live Arcade. We’re giving the game the “tag-team” treatment: While Mogwins played through the original back on the Amiga some 19 years ago, MrsMogwins is new to the whole adventure game genre. Between them, they might be able to provide opinion on both the game itself and what’s been added in the update. Maybe.

So, what precisely are we dealing with here?

Mogwins: It’s essentially a straight remake of the classic Ron Gilbert/Tim Schafer/David Grossman graphic adventure, Monkey Island. There’s been a visual overhaul, a complete voice track has been added and the controls have been (somewhat successfully) modified for the Xbox gamepad, but otherwise it’s wholly faithful to the original. Same characters, same story line, same jokes, same puzzles.

MrsMogwins: It’s a game which allows you to be a pirate. I like being a pirate!

Um, great. What else is new?

Mogwins: Not a huge amount. Which is a decidedly good thing. They have added a nice hint system, which so long as the player resists over-use, is a welcome addition. The Achievements also work well. They’re not too difficult to hoover up, but they encourage a replay or two and reward players who explore the non-essential corners of the game. Oh, and now you don’t need to swap 8 floppy discs.

MrsMogwins: New? Are there other games that let you be a pirate – why did no-one tell me before?! My name is MrsMogwins, prepare to die!

OK…. So how does Monkey Island hold up in 2009?

Mogwins: Remarkably well. The humour still works, which is the main thing. Good writing is still good writing a couple of decades later. It’s also a nice change of pace from the majority of Xbox titles. I’m really hoping they give LeChuck’s Revenge the same Special Edition treatment.

MrsMogwins:  You interview like a cow!

Riiight. So, an essential purchase then?

Mogwins: I’d say so, yes. It’s only 800 MS points, which is not bad at all. It’s a huge slab of nostalgia for us veterans, while standing on its own merits to newcomers. Everyone’s a winner.

MrsMogwins: I like being a pirate!

Of course you do, dear. Stay tuned for more insightful tag-team reviews in the future. Maybe.

Article: Desert Island Discs: Sonic

Posted over at Daily Rodent

Sonic The Hedgehog

This week on Desert Island Discs we have SEGA mascot, Sonic the Hedgehog. You can check out his playlist here.

I’m blue (Eiffel 65). Those slags up at SEGA HQ were insistent their front-man should “coordinate” with their dumb little logo. In short, to get the job, I needed to be blue. And not “blue” like a moody Frenchman or a Bernard Manning joke, they meant the same colour as the sky an’ shit! I thought they were just twisting my melon, but no, those smack-‘eads were serious. We tried body paint, but with the sweat I was working up, it wouldn’t stay on for 5 minutes, and those make-up girls weren’t appreciating the prick I was slipping ‘em. So I plumped for the full-body tattoo. It right pisses me off when people talk about that tart Christian Bale “suffering for his art” because he gains or loses a few pounds. He should try explaining to his little ‘uns why they’re brown while daddy’s blue. Breaks my bloody heart, every time.

Addicted to bass (Puretone). That should really be “base”, d’ya know what I mean? Ha! It’s true, I was a bit of a fan of the old amphetamines, back in the day. After I landed the SEGA gig, people just expected me to be perky an’ edgy, 24-7. Well, you fookin’ try whizzin’ around all day, especially after a night on the tiles with that pill ‘ead Dr Robotnik, without a bit of chemical assistance of your own! The days when I could get by with a strong cuppa coffee were long gone, d’ya hear me? It were more necessity than addiction, to be honest.

Infinity (Guru Josh). Huge tune, this. Huge. The first time I heard it was at the Hacienda, back at the tail end of the 80s. I’ve still got the white gloves. The 90s were coming, and the new decade just seemed massive. Like anything was possible. Anyway, this track just took me, ya know? I was part of the music, part of the rhythm.  It just flowed. Primordial, almost. Though I’ll admit, I was completely off my spikey blue tits at the time.

24-hour party people (Happy Mondays). Around the mid-ninties, Tails started bugging me to take it a bit easier. Honestly, he was worse than me ma, Mrs Tiggy-Winkles, and she’s a proper old fuss pot. But I knew I was over doing it when Shaun and Bez took me aside and told me to calm it down, like. You have to listen then – right? – it’s like the Pope telling you lay off the religion. So, I just did it, I knocked all that crazy shit on the head.

Fast car (Tracy Chapman). These days, I get my speed kicks in other ways. Tails and Dr. ‘Nik have always been petrol-heads, and as part of me rehab’ we all piled down to Silverstone and raced some of those nippy little Formula 500 cars. Fookin’ class. The Top Gear lads were down there filming the same day, and that Clarkson’s a top lad, had us all in stitches with his stories. Reckons he’s taken Michaela Strachan up the wrong ‘un while doing 150mph on the M1. Absolute boss. That Richard Hammond, on the other hand: Total c*nt.

Gold (Spandau Ballet). Another way I’ve distracted myself from my nasty old habits is to focus on my nice old habits. I’ve since expanded my collection of gold rings – it’s a tip I picked up from Mr T., who famously used necklaces as a substitute for the ciggies. These days I spend less time searching near the edge of perilous cliffs, mind, and more time scouring eBay listings and car-boot sales. Tails calls me the Lovejoy of Salford. Cheeky c*nt.

Article: Desert Island Discs – Lara Croft

Written for Daily Rodent

Lara Croft

This latest Desert Island Disc selection is brought to you by Tomb Raider megastar, Lara Croft. You can get the playlist here.

Going underground (The Jam). You’d be surprised at the number of young women who are quite heavily into the spelunking scene (I originally stumbled across it myself from a mis-typed Google search). Some love the adventure, some the exploration, others the physical challenge. Personally, I’m just grateful that 50ft of solid rock means I have no mobile phone signal, and hence a break from mummy’s constant barrage of questions about when I’m going to “settle down with a nice man”. Pffft. She just doesn’t understand that not all girls are driven by such out-dated goals.

Can you dig it? (The Mock Turtles). Being a hot, young debutante, people often forget that I’m a genuine archaeologist. No, I don’t lecture at a University like that bookworm Prof. Jones, or mooch about in fields looking for bits of broken pottery like those bearded Time Team dorks. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own archaeological ideals. I’m driven by the quest for old, expensive shit to sell to daddy’s old, rich chums. And incidentally, the “Tomb Raider” moniker I’ve got stuck with actually has very little to do with me stealing antiquaries from third-world countries.  I earned that name during my teenage ages when I discovered means of generating money from the fuddy-duddies without the need to go treasure hunting first. I don’t do that kind of thing any more though.

Straight outta Compton (N.W.A.). Daddy still keeps a little house next to the French embassy in Brompton, Knightsbridge, in case I need to pop into the city for any little chores. I like to joke that I’m “straight outta Brompton, a crazy motherfucker named Lara Croft!” But seriously, I definitely know “where it’s at”. All my girlfriends come to me for advice about inner-city living and for my real-world contacts. I’m the gal who proves you can be both street- and boulevard-wise! Only last week I was able to broker some very reasonable stable fees for one of my home-girls, right in the heart of downtown Windsor.

Tick (Yeah Yeah Yeahs). Mummy’s constantly pointing out that my biological clock is ticking.  Honestly, her dual standards drive me insane. I’m a good 6 months younger than that jumped-up schoolboy James Bond, and mummy seems more than happy with his juvenile antics (don’t think I didn’t see her slip him her room key at the last Monaco fund raiser). Anyway, there’s always adoption. After chatting with Madonna, I’ve been looking at African orphanages. It’s a beautiful, responsible thing to do, and is no way “snatching from the Cradle of Life”.

Girls on film (Duran Duran). I have a love/hate relationship with the camera. It obviously loves me, and who can blame it? But sometimes, I really hate the camera. Time after time, I’ve caught boys angling their cameras to get a better look at my arse. And sometimes it seems people are more concerned with getting a good look at my ample cleavage than they are about looking where they’re going, and end up clattering into things and falling over. I’m sad to say, I’ve even seen a few deaths from this, though at least they’ve all gone with smiles on their faces!

Independent women (Destiny’s Child). While I’m not one of those horrible “I don’t need a man to be whole” feminists that most of my still-single girlfriends seem to be turning into, I am fiercely independent. For instance, I don’t care one hoot if Guy doesn’t call me back. I only hooked up with him in the first place because of mummy’s meddling (she insisted he was the most eligible bachelor on the polo circuit at the time). And in case he’s reading this: All those missed calls were simply the result of my phone speed-dialling in the pocket of my overly tight shorts.

Article: Desert Island Discs – Marcus Fenix

Written for Daily Rodent

Marcus Fenix

Today’s Desert Island Discs are chosen by star of Gears of War and Gears of War 2, Marcus Fenix. When he’s not fighting the Locust Horde with his partner Dom and the rest of Delta Squad, what does a gravel-voiced, hardened Space-Marine listen to? Check out his his Spotify playlist for a few surprises…

Eye of the tiger (Survivor). This was playing at the Boxercise class where I first met Dom – he still jokes it was a timetable clash with Chainsaw Maintenance 101. We got chatting and he persuaded me to enlist. The Major was such a dear, putting us to bunk together. I did send the Major a nice fruit bowl as a thank you, but Dom still thinks “he really owes him, and will return the favour when he’s least expecting it.” It’s that boundless gratitude which I so admire in Dom.

In the navy (The Village People). Dom insisted I included this – he constantly teases me about falling for his jape about Space Marines being the equivalent of solar sailors! I don’t regret signing up though. I knew my cupcake business was doomed the moment galactic war was declared. And the uniforms are so sharp, which never hurts!

I want to break free (Queen). I love to sing along while doing the house work, you know, like Freddie and his chums in that outrageous video? I just wish Dom would get the vacuum out a little more often. Honestly, our shag pile’s an utter disgrace. I nearly died the last time the Major came round for inspection, but I think we just about got away with it – it’s amazing how you can distract attention to certain focal points within a room with a few well placed doilies.

Killing in the name of (Rage Against The Machine). Life in the Marine Corps is not constant slaughter. There’s lots of sitting around waiting for assignment. It’s important to keep focused during these down-times. While it’s not really my cup of tea, Delta Squad are particularly fond of chanting along to “Killing in the name of”. Pre-mission, it’s also important to keep your energy up. A lot of the young bucks like to throw burgers down their sizable necks, but I daren’t with my metabolism! Instead I like to keep a variety of healthy snacks on hand. I find goji berries work well.

You raise me up (Kenny G). As part of my post-battlefield ritual, I do enjoy a long soak in the bath: That power armour can really chafe, and you’d never believe where gristle can work its way after a full day of chain-sawing brutish monsters through the face. A long soak, Kenny and a glass of Chablis really help me unwind. I wish Dom would follow my lead, he always seems so tense. I bought him some scented candles, but they’re just gathering dust with the massage oils I got for his birthday last year.

We like to party (The Vengaboys). Recently, Dom has been spending more and more time with the rest of Delta Squad. Rather than sit up and wait for him to roll in drunk yet again, I’ve starting enjoying the company of our pool boy, Jose. He introduced me to the Vengaboys, and wow, those guys really do like to party!

Review: Wings! [Amiga]

Oooh, they don't like it up 'em!

The release of Medal of Honor in 2000 was the first trickle in what was to become a deluge of WWII-themed franchises, which to some extent still have a hold on the gaming market nearly a decade on. But a decade earlier, in the summer of 1990, the gaming world was focused firmly on WWI, particularly those magnificent men in their flying machines. While Microprose and Sierra offered polished simulations in the form of Knights of the Sky and Red Baron respectively, Cinemaware went a slightly different route. While Wings! may have been technically inferior to its WWI contemporaries, it was chock full of character and atmosphere.

Wings! sees you start out in 1916 as a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, freshly enlisted in the RAF. A couple of training exercises under your belt and it’s time to stick it to the hun! But there are no super heroes here – when it comes down to it, your aim is simply to survive the Great War (i.e., through to 1918, for those of you who bunked off history lessons to nip down the local arcades). This entails some 200-odd dogfights, patrols, bombing- and strafing- missions. In what was a novel approach for the time, failing missions does not signal the end of the game. This is war, after all – some battles you win, some you lose. Thus you’re left with a surprising amount of freedom in how you tackle each sortie: Will you stick to your orders and focus on the primary objective, or do you break formation, chasing personal glory in a few extra kills, but potentially leaving your fellow pilots at the mercy of the boche? Sometimes you’ll simply need to accept that the odds are stacked too far sausage-side, and your best bet is to bail to safety at the earliest opportunity, accepting a failed mission against your name and a harsh reprimand from your CO, but living to fight another day.

Waldo P. Barstormer realises that dodging machine gun fire at 300 ft, with only canvas and balsa wood for protection isn't the worst way to spend the war.

The true heart of Wings!, however, lies in the post-mission diaries. These small snippets of text, delivered in the form of silent-movie intertitles, tell of life on the base and the squadron’s cast of colourful characters, each attempting to confront the harsh brutality of war with a stiff upper lip and a gay scarf. There’s a genuine Saturday-matinee feel here, with drama, comedy and sadness in roughly equal measure. Rarely has a company so lived up to its name as Cinemaware.

Review: Gears of War 2 (Xbox 360)

Gears of War 2 is…. Well, I don’t really need to tell you that Gears of War 2 is first-person shooter which sees the human “Gears” fending off an alien threat from the orc-like “Locust”. I don’t need to tell you that because Gears is one of Microsoft’s flagship games, and as such has been widely advertised in the mainstream press, and covered to saturation in the gaming world. Its envelope-pushing visuals are clearly intended to showcase MS’s hardware and ultimately, win this round of the console war. It’s exactly the kind of game I don’t normally pay any attention to.

Yet here I am, reviewing the game, which suggests – though doesn’t necessarily guarantee – that I’ve spent a fair amount of time playing it. In fact, my purchase of Gears was entirely the result of the worst kind of herd mentality: My friends were playing it and I didn’t want to be left out. Fortunately, said friends were playing it for a very good reason. It’s a great game.

Marcus Fenix: Immune to whiplash, but has difficulty shopping for formal shirts. And whatever you do, don’t touch his cushions

The main campaign is centred around two overtly-macho space-marine types, Dom and the ludicrously-named Marcus Fenix, who are out to kick some alien ass, whilst grunting dead-pan quips in gravely tones. Having not played the first instalment of Gears of War, I’m not entirely clear why this obviously-repressed duo are so keen to “bring the smack-down” on the Locust. Maybe the Locust bought Marcus a tie for Christmas – a wholly insensitive gesture as he doesn’t have the slightest semblance of a neck. Or maybe they just messed with Dom’s soft furnishings. To be honest, it doesn’t really matter. The back-story is mostly irrelevant. It’s classic us-versus-them, played-out through a series of shooty confrontations in a variety of locales, and interspersed with some novel set pieces. And while it’s relatively short, the single player game is concentrated and well designed. Even the obligatory vehicle sections proved less frustrating than usual.

The multiplayer aspect, though, is where Gears 2 really shines. There are a number of gameplay modes, most pitting you against your chums in differing team configurations and with different victory conditions. They’re all great fun, emphasising slightly different styles of play, from conservative cover-based tactics to gung-ho guns-out-blazing charges on enemy territory. The weapons have been finely tuned for balance, and the maps have all been carefully laid out to ensure there aren’t any extreme bottlenecks. The mode I’m most fond of, however, is Horde, which sees a team of human players attempt to fend off wave after wave of computer-controlled Locust. With you and your buddies desperately holed-up in a derelict house, running low on shotgun shells and faced with a seemingly endless stream of monsters baying for your blood, it really captures the feel of a (good) Romero zombie flick. I’d like to say I prefer this co-operative style of play because of the warm feeling of camaraderie which results from working together as a team, but I fear the real reason is that blasting computer-controlled opposition is somewhat easier than trying to hit live human opposition, and any twitch skills I may have had faded years ago.

In short, Gears of War 2 probably would not have swayed me to buy an Xbox 360. But if you’ve already got Microsoft’s latest console, I’d heartily recommend you pick up a copy. Because stunning sound and visuals, coupled with responsive controls, really can make the player feel like they’re actually there. And this is never more vital than when you are on the receiving end of a chainsaw up the bum.

Review: Portal (Xbox 360)

I’m rather late to the Portal party. The guests have left and there’s no sign of any cake. But by all accounts, it was some party. Portal managed to make numerous game-of-the-year (2007) lists, despite being a supposedly minor addition to Valve’s Orange Box collection. While the first-person shooter Half Life 2 was top of the billing – and it did, justifiably, receive a huge amount of critical acclaim in its own right – Portal used the exact same game engine to a very different end, and in many people’s eyes, completely stole the show. Portal‘s the reason I recently forked over my not-so-hard earned cash for the Orange Box, and the reason I’d suggest you do the same.

On first appearances, Portal is a fairly standard puzzle game. You push buttons, pull levers and move objects to advance through the levels. The titular portals add variety, allowing you to teleport through walls/floors/ceilings and reach locations inaccessible by conventional, physics-conforming means. As you progress, new puzzle elements are continually added, giving you just enough time to master one concept or technique before moving swiftly on to the next.

It must be said, Portal does its day job incredibly well. It’s a very focussed effort, never feeling laboured or stretched for ideas, primarily because it doesn’t try to overreach itself striving for 20+ hours of gameplay. It’s also very polished: The graphics, though minimalist, are very satisfying. And it should be congratulated for completely foregoing any kind of tutorial section, managing a learn-by-doing approach without leaving the player feeling bewildered.

But to consider Portal only in terms of puzzle gaming is to miss something quite magical. Portal contains a story every bit as focussed, concise and polished as its core gameplay. The plot unfolds organically, through clever bits of scenery, and most importantly, sound. In this way Portal manages to convey more heart and character than any number of lengthy, passive cut-scenes could ever hope to achieve. There’s genuine humour too, from a most unlikely of sources, your guide and nemesis, the computer GLaDOS. To say any more would be to spoil one of the gaming experiences of the decade, but heed this: After playing levels 1 to 18 of Portal you will know the game. After playing level 19, you will love it.

Review: Mr Foreigner (Book)

After lapping up Matthew Kneale’s The English Passengers, I immediately grabbed his follow up, Mr Foreigner. It’s a much slighter tome, and in many ways, much simpler too. Gone are the multiple plot strands and different narratives. Mr Foreigner is a straight forward novel: a single story told in good, old-fashioned chronological order. Stripped of fancy story-telling devices, how does Kneale’s writing hold up?

That’s not an easy question to answer, primarily due to the subject matter being so wildly different from the historical fiction of Passengers. In fact, Mr Foreigner is firmly in Murakami territory: A westerner living in Japan becomes involved with a local girl. The girl begins to act very strangely, and before long, the westerner is being pressured into hastily marrying the girl by her mysterious, and more than a little threatening, family.

By taking an outsider’s view of Japanese life, Mr Foreigner contains a measure of social commentary, though it’s all been done before, better and more thoroughly elsewhere. The characters – westerners and Japanese alike – feel somewhat flat, while the supposed “dark humour” is neither particularly dark nor even humorous. As for the story itself, though short, it still takes a bit too long to go anywhere. This probably all sounds more negative than the book deserves: It’s a perfectly passable tale, but in comparison to The English Passenger, it’s a marked disappointment.