Team Fortress 2 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/17/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Team Fortress 2

Developer: Valve

Publisher: Valve

Genre(s): First-Person Shooter, Class Shooter

Platforms: PC

Release Date: October 10, 2007

“Oh man, *insert popular online shooter game* was my shit back in the day.” Over the past few years, I’ve heard something of this extent spoken by young adults around my age regarding their favorite online multiplayer shooter games from their adolescence during the period when these types of games were dominating the greater gaming landscape. Usually, the subject of the statement in my quoted first sentence is reserved for series like Call of Duty, Gears of Wars, Halo, or any of the grittier, military-oriented COD copycats that splintered from the woodwork. Surprisingly, I rarely ever hear Team Fortress 2 uttered as the choice representative during this era that took place roughly between 2007-2013. Valve’s contribution to this gaming trend was equally as hot of an item as any of the aforementioned titles, so it’s quite puzzling as to how it comprises a low chunk of aggregate data on my hypothetically constructed pie chart. Hell, it was the only online multiplayer shooter that I actively played in my spare time without my friends involved, even though it served as a great game for cultivating fond gaming memories with my mates. Despite the fact that TF2 is technically among the era-defining entries, its legacy is entirely separated from the collective of its peers. TF2’s rabid fans transformed the game into a raving cult phenomenon that ravaged several circles of the internet in ways that extended far beyond what was actually in the source material. Of course, any rampant presence of something endemic to the world-wide-web connotes that nerds have to be involved, and that’s ultimately the correlation I was arriving at in regards to TF2’s particular player base. TF2 resonated with me where the other games of its ilk didn’t because it seemed like it was one of the only online shooters that catered towards staunch gamers instead of impressionable recruits. I don’t mean to express any notion of elitist posturing toward “casual gamers”, but there are clear reasons why I couldn’t echo the enthusiasm for any of the other online shooters of the era. TF2 was anything but drab and formulaic. Veteran gamers needed an online shooter with some pizazz, proficiency, and personality, and TF2 resonated with several gamers because it was one of the only online shooters that offered something of those substantial merits.

I realize it’s unfair to compare the graphics and gameplay of two games with a giant wedge of a whole gaming generation between their releases. Obviously, TF2 is leagues glossier and generally more dexterous than “Team Fortress Classic” molded from a Quake mod when FPS games were still in their primordial, developmental stages. The points in discussing TF2’s presentation will pertain less to objective advancements and more in regards to the conscious decisions made by Valve to spruce up their property. For instance, cel-shaded graphics are a wonderful voluntary graphical sheen that gives any 3D game a hint of effervescence. My inherent fondness for that particular aesthetic may indicate a bias, but I believe that the choice to render TF2 with a more buoyant color scheme is a distinguishable trademark. Oftentimes, FPS games are gritty and realistic to exude the appropriate mature, gung-ho atmosphere fit for bloody, weaponized combat. When the visuals sparkle due to the cartoonish tint of cel-shaded graphics, the unflinching violence of a typical FPS game is exaggerated to a humorous degree. Bloodshed is splattered on surfaces like splashes of red paint, and any character that meets an unfortunate fate with any type of explosive combusts dramatically as their various pieces of anatomy spill out onto the pavement like shattered glass. Each character can ceremoniously cheer or taunt with the press of a key/button, but they’ll all be uttering emphatic voice lines on the field regardless without deploying a manual trigger. TF2’s jubilant mood is far more inviting than the typical online FPS games that treat every victory or failure with grave solemnity.

As silly as TF2 is on the surface, the game still fosters an enriching experience for the most seasoned online FPS experts. I think the prime example of TF2’s dedication to the craft is that each of its maps is designed exclusively with one game type in mind as opposed to squeezing the feasibility of several different game modes onto one map like COD tends to do. TF2’s veiled premise that rationalizes the conflict between the two feuding factions pertains to the color-coded RED and BLU. They are rival corporations who are competing in heated bouts of capitalist control over a bevy of lucrative, marketable territories to expand the breadth of their business and increase the rate of commerce. Because the premise essentially boils down to annexing territory, each archetypal game mode in an online FPS game is centered around the overarching conflict. The “capture the flag” game that is commonly associated with games of the genre is contextually constructed with the flag as a briefcase containing classified business documents that would devastate the conglomerate’s operations if they were seized by the competitor. Absorbing control points also carries capital connotations in TF2 with maps such as “Granary” and “Well,” and even attempting to procure uncharted real estate in “Hydro” will be met with a conflict of interests like two dogs fighting over a single bowl of food. The attack and defense dynamic that occurs in maps such as “Dustbowl” and “Gravel Pit” imply a scheduled match like a sundown duel in the wild west. The solidified roles of either team here suggest that company executives have proposed a gentlemanly bet between them with their property as the wager instead of an everflowing stream of chaotic back-and-forths. More importantly from a gameplay standpoint, each map in TF2 is wonderfully symmetrical. Besides the color coding that represents either team, both of the industrialized fortresses of “2Fort” are identical, facing parallel to one another with a topped wooden truss bridge connecting the two opposing sides. This way, those on the offensive for either side have an equal standing during the infiltration process. It is not to say that the design of this map is simplistic to a fault for the sake of player equity. Players can take the inconspicuous route in the sewers and emerge in the far corners of the opposing base, and the more agile classes can jump on the top of the bridge and then onto the exposed decks on the opposite side. The control point maps share the same general design philosophy of an identical essence as “2Fort,” with both teams having two layers of territory before meeting at a neutral zone ripe for the picking. The multi-phased “Hydro” will plop players on either team into coarse, uneven stakes for a five-stage streak but hey, it’s not as if either corporation has stamped their brand logos on any of the fertile grounds yet. Simply put, every map in TF2 excels because the developers have made a meticulous effort to craft locations that foster a fair and feasible playing field for the specific game mode designed around them.

Do you think that these entrepreneurial fat cats fight to preserve their capital gains? Hell no! As Black Sabbath once stated in their song “War Pigs,” people in positions of power and opulent wealth hide themselves away and treat people like pawns in chess. The pawns in question on the frontlines are nine different hired mercenaries, each providing a distinctive talent in the effort to protect or procure valuable properties. In my humble opinion, TF2’s direction regarding how they treat the selectable characters in their class-based FPS game is the highest mark of excellence the game bestows. Whereas most online shooters feel it apropos to reduce their selection of playable characters to the contents of their arsenal and their set of specific combat skills, TF2 injects an overdose of personality into each individual mercenary to the point where they completely supersede their class designations. In saying that, their unique array of combat specialties is still equally as pertinent to their identities as their personable characteristics.

Scrolling from left to right on the character select screen, the first class of the gung-ho offense category is The Scout. This brazen, boisterous Bostonian is the youngest of the nine mercenaries, and his youthfulness ostensibly plays a hand in his notably spry physicality. The Scout is the quickest mercenary by a wide margin, zooming through the maps in a flash of the enemy’s peripheral. His advanced nimbleness also gives him the unique distinction of a double jump, making him the only practical class to use for an airborne advantage. Whether it be due to his fresher knees or the in-your-face, Dunkin' Donuts coffee-fueled attitude associated with the people of his home city, The Scout rushes through every combat situation with a blunt and direct manner. His scattergun is devastating at close range, and the metallic bat he’s probably had since his first game at Fenway Park will BOINK and BONK his enemies to death swiftly like a ninja. The caveat to Scout’s incredible speed is that he requires a range so close that he’ll need to breathe down the necks of his enemies in order to ensure accuracy. He carries a pistol to compensate for his blast radius the length of a school ruler, but reliance on this pea shooter will likely result in imminent death. Any class that fights with weapons requiring long-ranged precision will groan when this hyperactive kid lunges at them like a cheetah, but it’s wise for The Scout to steer clear of any classes using automatic weapons.

Continuing with the offense category is another man from the States, but on the opposite spectrum of age and more ambiguously American. The Soldier is the only one who we can presume has a seasoned amount of combat experience among the nine classes, and his exorbitant time in the US Army has shaped his persona as an indefatigable trooper of war with a sense of pride in his country and uniform that verges on nationalistic fanaticism. His time on the front lines has also unscrewed a few bolts in his brain, so he’s often inexhaustibly rambling intensely or maniacally screaming his war cry. The man is mad enough to strap a rocket launcher to his right shoulder and blast it with impunity all across the battlefront. I guess reducing his foes to a gluey red paste with his weapon of choice makes it easier to use his shovel to put their remains into a mass grave. Due to a combination of his bulkier body frame and the massive explosive ordinance he lugs around, The Soldier is a class that trades speed for sturdier, hard-hitting aggression. Keep in mind that anyone playing as this class must aim the shells for critical effectiveness, even though the radius of the splashback will still foist a fair amount of shrapnel damage. Stockier, slower characters will feel the explosive wrath of the stars and stripes, but good luck targeting The Scout while he’s zipping around like a roadrunner. On another note, should I feel embarrassed as a Soldier “main” to never have mastered the rocket jump technique using self-inflicted splashback?

We then switch from two American Joes in this ennead to someone of an untraceable, mysterious origin. The Pyro’s enigmatic nature is something that perturbs his fellow mercenaries. Discounting the jumpsuit and gas mask that obscure and muffle all personability, his/its pension for setting his enemies ablaze with a flamethrower is the cruelest method of execution fitting for a cold, emotionless psychopath. If one manages to elude the roaring, gas-powered flames, The Pyro’s axe will gruesomely cut them down, which doesn’t bode well for his image and reputation. In my experience, The Pyro is the prime beginner-friendly class. His physicality is balanced in all regards and his flamethrower will decimate all health bars complete with collateral still charring the enemy even when they manage to escape the inferno blast. I’ve often decried The Pyro as the class that newbies use as a crutch, but the concealed killer does have his blind spots other than the literal limited line of sight under his gas mask. He’s not particularly speedy and he’s rather confined to close quarters similarly to The Scout. However, the consequences of invading The Pyro’s personal space will prove far more severe than with his quicker offense class peer.

The class that begins the defensive trio is a lesson in tasteful representation. If one is going to diversify their cast with a token racial minority, it’s suitable to give them an unorthodox ethnic background to distract the developers from piling on abject racism in an effort to lightheartedly jab at one’s cultural makeup. I can’t comment on the percentage of black people that comprise Scotland’s total population, but the one-eyed Demoman certainly embodies several of the stereotypes from the northern region of the United Kingdom. He’s a churlish drunk, and the majority of his language would be considered obscene if it weren’t spoken with an unintelligibly thick accent. The Demoman consumes such an alarmingly abundant amount of straight whiskey that he always has a broken bottle at his disposal to crack in half and use as a makeshift shank. Because of how often he’s sauced, it might disturb some people to know that the “demo” portion of his job title is the prefix for “demolition.” The Demoman is an explosives expert, and he’s one class that the player will have to spend an exorbitant amount of time playing as him to hone that expertise. Despite how stacked the skill ceiling is for the Demoman, one who specializes with him will be especially deadly with ricocheting explosive capsules and stealthily placed sticky bombs. Or, you could be one of those dickhead Demomen who plants sticky bombs on the opposing team’s spawn door. You know who you are.

Next, we come to the class that’s The Scout’s polar opposite in physicality and The Soldier’s in cultural ideologies. The “Heavy” is a character whose class designation speaks for itself. This dim Ruskie is like if the corporations shaved a Kodiak bear and gave it a hulking minigun, a terrifying combination to face on the field for anyone involved. It’s shocking enough how this man’s bare hands are as effective as melee weapons as an axe or a shovel. However, The Heavy is not a thoughtless thug. Something is endearing and cuddly about his personality underneath his mammoth exterior, which is probably why he’s been the de facto face of TF2 since its launch. Still, always be cautious of the largest class who also brandishes the most substantial health bar. That is unless you’re playing as a faster class that can run circles around him. The Heavy’s imposing might matched with his glacial rate of movement tips both scales to make for a class with stark strengths and weaknesses.

The following class is a lesson in irony, I think. We return to the American men on the team to the beer-drinking, steak-eating, geetar-playing Engineer from the Longhorn state of Texas. Despite the lowbrow connotations of his background, this good ol’ boy arguably has the most white-collar job of the bunch. Playing as The Engineer is an entirely different ballpark compared to most of the other classes. The wrench and pistol are technically practical weapons in combat, but they prove to be insufficiently stacked against the military-grade firearms used by the other classes. Fortunately, The Engineer can put his academic credentials to good use in this corporate bloodbath. Anyone playing as this class will spend their time constructing a sentry gun that guards either the valuable land or documents. At first, the automated security apparatus will adorably shoot a single bullet from two feet off the ground, but expending his supply of metal will upgrade the little tyke into a sturdy mechanical beast complete with heat-seeking missiles. Metal can also craft dispensaries for health and ammunition, plus two-way teleporters for his lazy teammates. Still, maximizing the potency of the sentry gun should be every Engineer’s highest priority. Considering how many players actively choose The Engineer and stand guard in their bunker maintaining the upkeep of their sentries, it’s evident that The Engineer is an invaluable asset to any TF2 match.

Are Germans the nationality commonly associated with the mad scientist trope in fiction? The Medic’s conceptual makeup should be rooted in the legend of Dr. Frankenstein if anything. Any possible real-life connections to Germany regarding an eccentric, bespectacled doctor who conducts biological experiments would be ugly and tasteless. Let’s just say that I hope The Medic doesn’t own a property in Argentina. Problematic inspiration aside, the first support class acts similarly to The Engineer in that the player will take a secondary position in combat. The Medic’s primary function on the field is to provide medical aid to his fellow mercenaries, spurting the wispy energy from his medi gun onto his comrades that not only revitalizes their health bar but exceeds their maximum health capacity. If The Medic tethers his medicine ray to a particular player for a substantial stretch of time, he can engage an “ubercharge” that will grant invulnerability to him and his target in a brief, electrifying blaze of glory. Pair this feature with either The Heavy or The Soldier and see everyone on the other team scurry away like a pack of rats. Also, if someone catches The Medic on his vulnerable lonesome, know that his bone saw deals the highest critical damage among the TF2 melee weapons.

If The Medic is too submissive for your liking, the other support classes offer that head-on, pugnacious element of battle. Yet, The Sniper obviously engages in the sport of murder from a safe distance. The Aussie receives an inordinate lack of respect among his fellow mercenaries, labeling him as a vagabond loser who sleeps in a van down by the river. Perhaps his impersonal relationship with his teammates stems from his equally impersonal murder methodology. The Sniper’s role is fairly self-explanatory. Use his sniper rifle from an inconspicuous viewpoint to dispatch members of the opposing team, and targeting the vital organs such as the brain ensures a critical hit. The Sniper’s effectiveness as a class depends on a number of variables. The slower mercenaries are obviously ripe for picking off, while it’s a vexing task trying to shoot at The Scout while he’s hippity hoppiting about. In addition to the walking speed of his targets, a number of the maps are simply incompatible with his gameplay style. The outer decks of “2Fort” are practically built to accommodate The Sniper, but anyone attempting to scope around the congested, industrial space of a map like “Granary” is in for a rough time. His auxiliary submachine gun and machete are not to be taken lightly during any personal approach, but one clearly can’t plow through the enemy opposition with them.

Last, but certainly not least, we come to the class that is arguably the inert koala shagger’s Achille’s heel. Glass Joe may represent the embarrassing stereotypes of the French that I’m sure they’d like the world to forget, but The Spy embodies all of the classic associations with the European nation’s people. He’s snooty, rude, and pretentious, yet he exudes a smokey, noirish, and sophisticated swagger that adds to his intended mystique. He also has the most complicated gameplay style across the nine mercenaries. The objective of The Spy is to stealthily navigate around enemies, eluding their suspicions that he is of the opposition. The Spy can momentarily render himself invisible, but a more enduring tactic of deception is to disguise oneself as another class wearing the opposing colors. The other team will see The Spy totally wearing the form of an enemy class, but any of his teammates will see him attaching a cardboard cutout of another classes face–implying that the enemy team is a bunch of unobservant nincompoops. He carries a fairly effective revolver, but his idiosyncratic weapon is a butterfly knife. With a combination of his veiled trickery and this sharp object, intimate range with the opponent’s backsides will trigger a downward stab that guarantees instant death. The Spy also has a sapper tool in his arsenal used to cause sentry guns to malfunction and then explode, but executing this feat of sabotage will compromise The Spy’s position. Actually, there are several ways to inadvertently expose The Spy on the field, which is why it will take hours upon hours of practice to become an effective silent assassin. When the player reaches that point, no other class feels as satisfying to master.

While TF2 at its launch was already brimming with enough effervescence, it retrospectively seemed vanilla as the years rolled onward. To maintain user interest, Valve injected their online class-based brew-ha-ha with a smorgasbord of updates on a biweekly basis. These updates included a myriad of additional content of all varieties. Not only did the developers add several maps to spruce up the tactical range of the game types, but some maps were designed with the advent of a fresh, new game mode. “Payload” involves progressively moving explosive cargo into the other team’s base, “King of the Hill” sees one team defending a single control point in a test of endurance, and “Arena” is a deathmatch with no respawns. Valve never added any new mercenaries to the roster, but they sure augmented the nine classes that were already available. Each class was given plenty of alternatives to each of their weapon slots, plus modifications to the tools already in their arsenal. I’m so glad that “jarate” has been introduced to the greater gaming lexicon, even if I become nauseous whenever the Sniper pelts me with this piss cocktail. Several alterations to each class were strictly cosmetic, including a vast selection of hats that everyone went bananas over like a Black Friday shopping swarm. In retrospect, our collective fervor for these arbitrary pieces of clothing is a little embarrassing. Still, it indicates Valve’s dedication to showering the fans with a constant stream of exciting new features. It was a mark of benevolence unseen by any other online FPS game.

But how does TF2 stand when Valve has forsaken it to prioritize their massively profitable PC game-curating application? Not very well, to be honest. Truthfully, I haven’t played TF2 for well over a decade, when the game still bore some relevance and when all of the previously mentioned updates occurred. The impetus for this review was upon hearing that TF2 is now plagued with game-breaking bots that are infecting the game like cancer, rendering it unfit to play. The vocal community of TF2 players has echoed their grievances about the sorry state of their beloved online FPS classic with the trending hashtag “#saveTF2”, and this outcry encapsulates my point on TF2 more than my insight and experiences ever could. Despite how long in the tooth TF2 is getting to be and how many spiritual successors have taken the reins of class shooter stardom, several gamers are still devout TF2 players nonetheless. Can you blame them for keeping the faith alive? How many other online FPS games feature map designs this exquisite with a cast of characters, not just classes, that can be best described as the boxers of Punch-Out!! butchering and berating one another? My personal relationship with TF2 is ultimately superfluous. The fact that the community surrounding this game is still as zestful as it once was despite Valve attempting to shelve it into the dark corners of their archives is the real testament to its greatness.

Crash Twinsanity Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/14/2024)

[Image from igdb.com]

Crash Twinsanity

Developer: Traveller's Tales

Publisher: Vivendi

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: PS2, Xbox, GCN

Release Date: August 30, 2004

Ladies and gentlemen: I give you my favorite Crash Bandicoot game. No, there isn't a single hint of jest or deceit in my voice as I'm being absolutely sincere. Some franchise fans might burn me at the stake for championing a post-Naughty Dog Crash Bandicoot game as the one to rule over them all, but I stand tall on my blasphemous opinion with full conviction. Every game that comprised the original Crash trilogy on the first Playstation console is a solid example of a 3D platformer that embodied the essence of the genre in its infancy, even if the first game adopted some seriously stern and punishing elements that were soon removed in the sequels. Still, even with its tight, straightforward platforming goodness, the PS1 Crash Bandicoot trilogy left me a tad dissatisfied. The sum of Crash’s parts was more than the titular character’s acrobatic acuity, and the zany cartoon elements of the characters, story, and setpieces were always being subdued to amplify the platforming gameplay. Sure, I’ve argued that gameplay should be prioritized over every other aspect when it comes to a video game. Still, the world is already overflowing with platformer mascots whose gameplay already channeled Crash’s in the flat, pixelated plane and became much more engaging when they transitioned into the third dimension. One silver lining of a developer selling the rights of their beloved IP is that the new people in power have fresh perspectives on how to approach it, and Traveller’s Tale learned from the dull uncanniness of Wrath of Cortex that the Crash franchise needed some nip and tuck. What resulted with Crash Twinsanity is a bullseye on what I had yearned for with this series. However, even though this game technically scratches that itch, Crash Twinsanity is only my favorite Crash Bandicoot game judging on its conceptual and presentational attributes because the whole product is admittedly a hot mess.

While the mission of Crash Twinsanity is one of deviation, the game still recognizes that it’s a subsequent entry to a franchise by continuing precisely where the previous game ended. Cortex and Uka Uka are seen floating in a body of water in a block of ice that puts them in a state of paralyzed preservation, which was the outcome of achieving full completion to Wrath of Cortex. Cortex miraculously manages to drift to the humid tropical land of Crash’s residency on Wumpa Island which dissolves his frozen cell. His first idea in enacting his revenge mission is to assault the unsuspecting Coco skipping nonchalantly on her property. Cortex renders her as stiff as a taxidermied squirrel and borrows her clothing to use as a disguise, duping Crash to follow him thinking it’s his sister. Whether or not Cortex actually decided to shift his blaster to the skull setting, either outcome will likely generate ire from the ESRB either way. As one would’ve expected, Cortex sheds his ruse when he successfully leads Crash into an obvious trap with the cavalcade of Crash baddies and another mech that Cortex is gauging its functionality on with its ability to squash Crash. One might think beginning the game with Crash’s mortal nemesis as the tutorial boss sharply peaks the game narratively, but Cortex isn’t truly an antagonist in Crash Twinsanity much less the main one. Soon after, two intergalactic bird creatures appear from a space wormhole and inform Crash and Cortex that their objective is to annihilate the Wumpa Islands and pluck Cortex’s brain from his ear holes. Honestly, if they’re really capable of eradicating the island that Cortex has failed to destroy countless times, all the usefulness that Cortex’s grey matter could serve is as the protein in a pot of stew. Of course, the direness of this threat creates a common enemy between the unlikely pairing of Crash and Cortex, so they must band together to ensure that Crash’s homeland lives to witness a new tomorrow and that Cortex isn’t condemned to be a drooling imbecile (more than he already is, anyway)--hence the “twin” part of the title. The primary antagonists of Twinsanity may present themselves at what seems like random happenstance, but the narrative needed something outrageous to make the archrivals of the series put their differences aside and collaborate.

Then there’s the “insanity” part of the title’s punny portmanteau, which is the aspect of Twinsanity that jolts my jaded heart with sheer delight. Overall, I’d prescribe the Crash Bandicoot series with adjectives such as kooky and lighthearted, with the influence of iconic Warner Bros. cartoons from a bygone era being pumped into its veins. I’d prescribe the same adjectives to the varied Looney Tunes shorts, but their mirth extends beyond simple lightheartedness. The slapstick hijinks of Bugs Bunny and Company have never ceased to make me guffaw like a babbling idiot since childhood, and Twinsanity is the first game in the series to elicit the same uproarious response. Despite the creepy implications that Cortex has stripped Coco naked, his impromptu deceptive crossdressing is a classic standard from the Looney Tunes trope catalog that always deserves a chuckle–especially considering how unconvincing it is. Cortex commenting that he’s ruined the lives of so many that he can’t be bothered to remember everyone he’s wronged is a comically villainous line, and performing Avada Kedavra with his laser pistol on a humble farmer for withholding a crystal in exchange for a chore is such a dark, leftfield curveball for a franchise with a young and impressionable demographic. Barging through a burlesque house (that looks like a hen coop, mind you) with Cortex lasciviously asking “Are those real?” followed by “Mother?!” is equally as hilarious as it is inappropriate. Is this the game that prompted the birth of the E10 rating? Come to think of it, every moment I’ve listed in conveying Twinsanity’s hilarity involves Cortex in some capacity. As much as I adore Clancy Brown, his insidious depiction of the mad doctor is a tad ill-fitting for a game that relishes in silliness. Lex Lang chews the scenery in his debut as Cortex and as a result, he places Cortex among the ranks of Paper Bowser in the glorious echelons of bad guy buffoons.

The twin connotation also extends past Cortex collaborating with Crash in the narrative sense. The two are just as tightly connected as a pair of twins conjoined at the hip, or at least they are during the sections that involve using both characters simultaneously. Actually, the dynamic is less of two equal contenders combining their strengths and more like Crash using Cortex as an all-purpose tool–negating all of his scientific prowess and humiliating him to the nth degree. Hey, if Cortex wasn’t so stubborn and released his grip from the crystal that Crash was holding, maybe the orange marsupial wouldn’t be forced to use him to increase the range of his trademark spin move and swing his skull downward like a hammer. Perhaps his grip isn’t too tight, for Crash can manually fling Cortex from his grasp whenever to either pull a switch or pulverize a distant enemy with his zapper. Other forms of the Crash and Cortex collaboration include sections where Crash has to clear a path of hazards for Cortex who is otherwise occupied with either being chased or the debilitation of a swarm of bees stinging the everloving shit out of his face. In a section taking place in a sewer, Cortex will squeeze himself into a barrel and allow Crash to roll him through the looping pipe system in order to progress. By taking a long gander at Cortex’s ass (yes, that is seriously what happens), a lightbulb strikes above Crash’s head to use Cortex as a snowboard to quickly and comfortably (for him) to travel the steep and perilous slope to his next destination. In some moments, they quarrel so hard in close quarters that they will form a spherical concentration that will roll at the player’s command like the ball sections from Wrath of Cortex. While the last collaborative mechanic mentioned is the only one that’s been proven to work from a previous game, all of the ways for our boys to play together that the developers conjured up are still splendid–and Cortex suffering from a constant slew of indignities is only a fraction of the joy they elicit. The parallel bridge sections require acute reaction time to keep Cortex out of harm’s way, and the electric, madcap energy of the snowboarding sections makes them one of the most enjoyable downhill acceleration segments I’ve played in recent history.

Unfortunately, the half-baked aspects of Twinsanity’s gameplay tend to become apparent whenever either character is flying solo. Crash’s moveset hasn’t been augmented, but his general movement in his jumping and darting around obstacles has a slight hint of hesitation as if he’s lost his confidence. This caused many missteps while platforming, and they naturally led to chipping away at the life counter. In the few instances where Cortex is on his lonesome, his gameplay involves ranged shooting combat with his zapper. When the CPU Cortex uses it, he’s a sharpshooter. However, with the targeting system in place for the player, the glowing crosshairs need an unclear level of distance for accuracy. It’s a good thing then that the player is catapulted into a solo section with Cortex only a handful of times, but those few instances of running and shooting are rather uninspired. Surprisingly, the secret third playable character outside of the odd couple duo is the one with the most agreeable gameplay. Twinsanity introduces Nina Cortex into the colorful cast of Crash Bandicoot characters, a younger female relative of Cortex whose specific kinship to the evil scientist is vague. She’s playable during a single section, but the lengthy period when she zips through the rooftops of the academy she attends never inconvenienced me with any glaring issues like the other characters. Maybe the developers had to sacrifice her voice to ensure that her gameplay was solid.

For the most part, the player will have to get accustomed to Crash’s comparative lack of grace because he’s front and center throughout most of the game’s levels. Twinsanity features four distinct worlds that more or less fit the kookiness of Crash Bandicoot. The standard series setting of Wumpa Island starts the scene with Crash navigating around the tribesmen led by Papu Papu who are out for Crash’s blood for some inexplicable reason. The Iceberg Lab houses Cortex’s colossal scientific facility at the central base of the sturdy frozen formation, with penguins flying on jetpacks circling its perimeter. The Academy of Evil is the series' first crack at a Halloween-themed level, and the bizarro version of Wumpa Island called “Twinsanity Island” retains the Burton-esque aesthetic qualities of the previous world. More important than how these levels look is how Crash progresses through them. Twinsanity marks the first time in Crash Bandicoot history that a game flirts with non-linear level design, which is a monumental shift for a series synonymous with stringent level linearity. Well, this is technically true to some extent. The player is given a modest spatial range to roam around but once they find themselves on the trajectory towards one of the three levels per world, the path becomes rigidly straightforward as per usual. The free space the game facilitates mostly points towards the gathering of the multicolored gems, rewarded through discovery or a platforming puzzle section rather than breaking boxes. I recommend leaving these gems alone, and not only because collecting them this time around only rewards the player with meager extras in the menu. Straying from furthering the story can consequently punish the player with its shoddy checkpoint system. Some checkpoints are greater than other than Twinsanity, and the ones that engage the autosave sequence will catch Crash even when he exhausts all of his lives. What the game doesn’t inform the player is that each of these autosave boxes directly coincides with a specific level. For example, I finished Iceberg Lab and was curious to see what was beyond the trajectory because of a trail of wumpa fruit. Unbeknownst to me, I had rediscovered the autosave box for “Ice Climb” and was forced to retread this level and every other one leading up to it. The unfair penalty I had experienced aggravated me enough to completely write off the pinch of nonlinearity the game offers.

Inadvertently rewinding the game is merely symptomatic of the fact that Twinsanity is rife with glitches. Crash will often fall through invisible holes in platforms while jumping, and hitboxes are highly questionable. Getting too close to Coco once Cortex paralyzes her again in a cutscene not only killed Crash, but the game reverted to two autosave boxes as a result! I could only laugh at the absurdity of what had just occurred, even though the prospect of completing the previous levels AGAIN still had steam jetting out of both of my ears. It’s a shame that Twinsanity in particular is buggier than the Louisiana Bayou because the game’s difficulty curve is rather reasonable. Nothing in Twinsanity matches the strict precision of “The High Road” or “Piston it Away,” but perhaps the altered design of Twinsanity calls for different challenges. The levels in Twinsanity tend to be longer than those in the PS1 entries, so endurance is usually an element of the challenge rather than rigorous bouts of platforming. This aspect of Twinsanity’s gameplay is showcased to its fullest with the climax of “Ant Agony,” a luminescent laboratory gauntlet that stretches onward for what seems like ages. The elongated levels are probably the reason why Aku Aku’s boxes are more prevalently scattered, but it doesn’t explain why the invincibility period upon stacking three of them doesn’t account for nitro crates and TNT like before. Is Aku Aku’s magic waning with every entry? Regardless, all Crash needs is the hit insurance Aku Aku still provides and he’ll survive the long treks with moderate platformer obstacles. However, despite Twinsanity’s general lack of singular challenges, I swear that the homicidal walrus chef is the fastest pursuer of Crash thus far in the series.

As depicted in the early cutscene where Cortex leads Crash to his trap, the colorful cast of Crash’s secondary villains (and a pissed-off Polar with a baseball bat) are all here alongside Cortex to attempt another shot at thwarting the bandicoot. Once Cortex and Crash make their unorthodox bond, the other baddies still harass Crash to procure a treasure rumored to exist from the two intergalactic parrots. Only a handful of notable Crash bosses step into the ring with the bandicoot, but the few that confront him provide what are arguably their best encounters. Outsmarting N. Gin is more interesting than clogging another one of his mechs with wumpa fruit, and Dingodile’s multifaceted duel with his flamethrower is such an exhilarating fight that raises the bar for Crash Bandicoot boss fights. I do wish that N. Brio was more involved in his tag team with Entropy other than flopping around the ice crag while inflated to stall while the time manipulator recharges his shield, however. Fresh faces to the series also provide substantial fights like the sentient ancient Tiki monster and Madame Amberly, the headmaster at the academy and Cortex’s former pedagog. “Crybaby Cortex” may catch on as a mainstay series nickname. As for the twin parrots in the main antagonist role, they crawl into a titanic mech to squash Cortex and Crash when they deny the mad doctor’s apology for transporting them to the outer reaches of the cosmos when he was but a scientific wizkid. While the scope of the fight is appropriately formidable for a finale, the way it progresses is anticlimactic. The Nina and Cortex portions of this three-way shared fight are fine, but Crash snapping off the last few units off the mech’s health bar with his own mechanical marvel is too hurried and simple for the scope of the scene. Still, the ultimate fate of the parrots in the end cinematic is one last moment to make the ESRB uncomfortable for good measure.

The game that Crash Twinsanity reminds me the most of is Conker’s Bad Fur Day. No, Crash has not developed an acid tongue or a taste for alcohol; rather, it’s the tone and direction of the game that draws this comparison. Rare used the source material of a cuddly red squirrel not only to pervert him for laughs but to make a statement on the stagnation of child-friendly 3D platformers with a piss-take to send it off with a high salute. Due to the well-documented rushing of the developer's time and budget, I know they had unfulfilled ambitions for Twinsanity that connote an attempted earnest effort. Still, regardless of what their intentions were, Twinsanity still exudes a facetious and irreverent attitude if the constant jabs at the series if the fourth-wall-breaking fashion and total warping of the series attributes were any indication. Twinsanity practically serves as a “post-Crash” game that is aware of the IP’s limbo status and parodies its lingering existence. All of the patchy, glitchy blips only make a greater argument for taking the piss out of the series instead of invigorating it. Traveller’s Tales knew that Crash Bandicoot died when Naughty Dog buried it in their backyards. If the industry insists on digging him up for profit, they might as well make a Weekend at Burnies scenario out of it. Still, whether or not the game is as tongue-in-cheek as I credit it, an unruly, bonkers Crash game was the perfect direction that finally let the silly spirit of series flourish. Lord, why was Wrath of Cortex the Crash Bandicoot game I grew up with and not this one.

Contra III: The Alien Wars Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/10/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Contra III: The Alien Wars

Developer: Konami

Publisher: Konami

Genre(s): Run 'n Gun

Platforms: SNES

Release Date: February 28, 1992

Now that I think of it, Super C is quite a misleading title. Or, at least it became likely to be misconstrued once the 16-bit era came along. Once Nintendo launched the successor to their 8-bit console powerhouse that dominated the latter half of the 1980s, dozens of titles released for the system also brandished the “super” signifier in their titles as a stark branding method. SUPER Mario World, SUPER Metroid, SUPER Castlevania IV–the list can continue on until I lose my breath, and they are among the most essential titles released for the system. This pattern is the reason why Super C is an awkward title for a Contra sequel because it was released on the same 8-bit hardware as the first one. Admittedly, Contra’s immediate sequel was pretty “super” in how it tightened the run ‘n gun gameplay of the first game to balance the demanding challenge that Contra is infamous for. However, this is not what the word directly means in the context of an SNES sequel with the word “super” in its title. These SNES sequels connoted a total refurbishment of its NES predecessor in every conceivable fashion, and doubling the visual fidelity of the pixels is only a fraction of what the 16-bit console was capable of. Super C’s reworking of the first Contra’s formula is like physical therapy for one’s broken legs, but any Contra game on the SNES is comparable to removing one’s tender human parts and replacing them with robotic enhancements so the person can execute dexterous feats beyond their normal capabilities. As much as I enjoy Super C and its higher quality compared to the first game, it could never hold a candle to the subsequent Contra title released for a next-generation system. The specific game that I’m alluding to is Contra III: The Alien Wars, the true “Super Contra” even if its title doesn’t feature the word that would signify it.

On the hard reboot or direct follow-up spectrum that many SNES sequels fall under, Contra III definitely verges towards continuing the events of the Contra series even if there is no overarching story that connects every game in the series narratively. However, Contra III reversing the conflict dynamic found in the previous two titles is a mark of narrative distinctiveness that is arguably too dissimilar to be considered a direct continuation. Instead of defending the Earth from alien and Soviet scum, our heroes are now on the offensive side after the Red Falcon menace has somehow penetrated the military defenses of Earth/America and accomplished their goal of annihilating the free world. Bummer. However, the Hans and Franz of the future wouldn’t be torpedoing themselves into the usurped territory of the enemy if all hope was lost, so don’t let the sullen premise cripple your morale. Actually, to compound the devastation of Contra III’s premise, the two badass agents of the American strikeforce that we’ve come to know and love are not playable characters anymore. Or, at least that’s the case in the Western version of the game. Bill and Lance are still front and center in the Japanese version, but they’ve been replaced by two other musclebound beefcakes named Jimbo and Sully in the North American translation. Changing the faces of the series may seem like the developers are slighting the fans, but I actually enjoy the implication that Bill and Lance were both wiped out when the aliens blew Earth back to the Stoneage. It invigorates the player to take these new guys and use them to avenge the alien conquerors of old.

The Japanese version of Contra III is also the only one to reinstate the thirty-life Contra code, which is bound to upset Westerners more than swapping out Bill and Lance. Before any American decides to buy a one-way ticket to Japan to experience the “ideal” way to play Contra III, the developers have implemented plenty of quality-of-life features across each iteration. I’d advise not pressing start immediately and having a look through the game’s main menu, for the player will be delighted to find that the developers have implemented a difficulty setting as well as the option to choose between starting with either three, five, or seven lives. How anyone wouldn’t figure to pick the option that begins the game with seven lives would be odd. The player needs all of the additional aid they can get to survive that patented Contra onslaught before they expend all of their continues. Oh yeah, and one of the crucial quality-of-life implementations for Contra III is giving the player four chances to continue if all of their lives are depleted. If we do the math, multiplying the maximum seven lives with the four continues gives the player 28 total chances to die, which is only two less than the coveted thirty. Add the extra lives earned from score bonuses into the equation and the player is granted a safety net wider than any of the NES Contra games would allow.

Contra III also continues the influx of weapon capsules flying overhead that made Super C the favorable one between the two NES Contra games. They don’t quite flock in pairs like they formally did, but the player will still feel as if they’re constantly aiming up in the sky to catch these zooming contraptions. Unlike with Super C where every weapon was a slightly tweaked hand-me-down from the first game, Contra III showcases a genuine evolution for each of its iconic tools of alien destruction. The “fire gun” that blasted a bulbous ball of flame is now a bonafide flamethrower that blows a continual jet of fire that spans a great distance. The laser is no longer a languid electric streak that lags but a bolt of weaponized lightning guaranteed to deal massive damage to enemies. The barrier is no longer a rare item, suggesting that the player will need to be shielded from the enemy's firepower at a more frequent rate. The bomb is now a screen-spanning explosion, and the player is refreshed with one in their inventory each time they die. On top of each of these nifty enhancements, Contra III adds plenty of new deadly tools to the alien-slaying arsenal. The heat-seeking missiles aren’t as effective as some of the other weapons, but the gun that spurts them in a bevy of directions is perfect for eliminating weaker enemies that come in packs. Conversely, the cluster bomb weapon compensates for its limited trajectory by walloping bosses and sturdier enemies with a concentrated blast of nuclear energy. Unfortunately for the Contra veterans, the spread gun does admittedly get lost in the sauce among all of its new and improved weapon cohorts. It still eviscerates anything at close range in three separate angles, but the selection of weapons sort of dwarfs its effectiveness. If one is feeling sentimental, a quality-of-life enhancement present here is the ability to carry two weapons at once, swapping with the X button on the controller. Being able to use both L+R triggers with two weapons and pose a “lord of the hill” stance is macho as all hell, and I will puff out Jimbo’s chest like a gorilla whenever I have the opportunity. Still, the real appeal of having more than one weapon on hold is that if the player loses one upon dying, the alternate gun will be stashed in their back pocket so the player doesn’t have to revert back to the standard blaster. As sad as I am that the spread gun has practically been rendered obsolete, it’s a bittersweet sting that signals that better things have sprouted with the series' evolution.

Which Contra weapon dethrones the spread gun as the dominant tool used to eradicate those alien bastards? Actually, I can’t say for certain. Every available weapon, except for the spread gun, sadly, has its perks given the situation. Some might conclude that this statement means that a balancing act has been conducted to ensure that the player doesn’t sandbag the one particularly powerful weapon as they tended to do with the spread gun in the first two games. What my comment actually entails is that the player is forced to learn which weapons to utilize for specific sections of a level. The level design for the NES Contras had a point A to B kind of trajectory, with an onslaught of bullets swarming the player from all corners of the screen to complicate the journey to that area’s boss. In Contra III, the levels are heavily segmented by mini-bosses, and each of these brutal baddies that interrupt the side-scrolling action are almost puzzle-like in their duels. Sure, each of these bosses can technically be eradicated with the straight-shooting default gun. However, every player will soon notice that each boss has a hidden weakness. For example, the eye of the Tri-Transforming Wall Walker during its first phase can only be reached with the flamethrower from a safe distance from the jungle gym beam above. Otherwise, good luck timing your escape from its clockwise-moving arms when they start oscillating wildly upon its defeat. The player won’t even witness the full extent of what the monstrous turtle boss has in store for them if they are in possession of the cluster bomb gun. If you’re not one of the lucky ones, enjoy dodging his fire breath, his secretion of insects, and avoiding a piddly little energy speck that is bound to catch you off guard. I don’t even know how anyone destroys the shielded enemy ship without the heat-seeking missiles. The player is likely to be too preoccupied with swinging on every incoming rocket to keep their position while making sure the ship doesn’t shoot them out of the sky with a projectile. While the “scenes” spread around Contra III’s levels certainly make them more memorable than a constant stream of alien underlings, their memorability carries more of a greater context past impressionability. Only with repeat playthroughs will the player learn the effective method of defeating one of these bosses, and it's through an unfair trial and error curve rather than organically mastering the game’s mechanics.

Speaking of the game’s mechanics, the ones present during the alternate levels take some serious adjustment to overcome. As per tradition, Contra III changes the gameplay to another perspective in order to spruce up the whole experience with some diversity–except that it’s the second and fifth stage in this instance. Contra III continues the top-down perspective that Super C intuitively changed from the first game’s alternate levels, but the objective has been shifted from simply running and shooting from a bird's-eye view. In the settings of a dilapidated turnpike and a desert canyon, the player must scour these settings and find all of the enemies that are barricaded by a titanium shield atop a manhole or a spider-spurting fissure in the ground. Once they locate all of the targets, the boss will appear. The objective sounds elementary enough, but the challenge of these sections surprisingly isn’t the spraying of bullets from the enemies. Unlike the simple controls involved with the top-down sections from Super C, Contra III decided to take advantage of the SNES’ gimmicky graphical feature Mode 7. Because of this pixelated parameter buster, the player can shift the placement of the entire stage with the left and right triggers, which is necessary when the standard movement controls do not cooperate with the intended trajectory. Not only is the additional layer of control too much for a mere two levels, but the cracked sections of the road and the jagged corners of the canyon are far too wary and precise for a game whose focal gameplay is dodging and shooting. The swirling quicksand pits of the fifth level make the Mode 7 movement absolutely nauseating. The “advanced” control scheme intended to make the vanilla top-down sections from Super C more engaging only mars them in execution.

If you couldn’t already tell, Contra III more than upholds that ball-busting reputation the series is renowned for despite all of the next-generation advancements it implements. The player might be tempted to change the difficulty setting to easy in order to ensure that their voice becomes less hoarse from screaming obscenities at the TV, but Contra III is also the first game in the series to make one’s struggles worthwhile. In the game’s version of the alien hive, which looks effectively creepy and foreboding now thanks to the 16-bit graphics, the player will face a gauntlet of reinvigorated foes from previous nest climaxes before they face off against the toothy, saliva-covered smile of Jagger Froid and his sentient tentacle arms again. If this fight is finished on the easiest difficulty, the game ends there. On medium, the player continues the battle against Jagger Froid’s brain whose attack patterns coincide with a roulette wheel of options that the player can control with impeccable timing. On the hardest difficulty, the brain regains energy and coats itself in a metallic casing to chase the player in a last-ditch effort to squash them. By obscuring content from the player on the lower difficulties, it motivates the player not to give in to the temptation of squandering their full capabilities, even though the pain of constant failure is easy to yield.

Even though I prefer many aspects of Super C to Contra III, it’s hard to argue against the third entry of the Contra series as the superior way to experience the iconic run ‘n-gun franchise compared to those that came before it. Is its superiority inherently based on its advantages on an advanced piece of hardware? Duh. It’s the same case for every SNES sequel, so why would Contra III be any different? It exhibits far too many objective improvements on the foundation of the series to champion either Contra 1 or Super C as the greatest game the series offers. It features plenty of appropriate accommodations for a brutally difficult game, offers a larger variety of gameplay attributes, and can fulfill ambitions for the franchise that never would’ve been capable on 8-bit hardware. Mode 7 is admittedly one of those ambitions that muck up a few levels, and perhaps the developers were too blind to their enterprising goals to notice that they might have been too unforgiving to the player. Still, Contra III sparks high-octane invigoration through my system moment to moment more consistently than Super C ever did. The refurbishment effort that Super C made was admirable and effective and does fit the definition of a “super” game to a sequel on a Nintendo console. Still, the thrills and frills of Contra III’s 16-bit panache equally fit that categorization, and it’s just too cool to compare.

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Review

(Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/26/2024)

 

[Image from glitchwave.com]

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Developer: Nintendo

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Action-Adventure, Open-World

Platforms: Wii U, Switch

Release Date: March 3, 2017

I approached The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild with the same sense of skepticism and apprehension as a father meeting his daughter’s new boyfriend for the first time. Like a paternal parental guardian who is inclined to give their little girl’s new squeeze an ocular pat down, I surveyed the then-oncoming new breed of Zelda game with concern and stubborn dismissiveness. The linear 3D Zelda with a heavier emphasis on the narrative that ushered me into the series during my formative gaming years had been swapped for a bonafide open-world experience, and anyone reading this will want to slap me silly for preemptively labeling it as “Skyrim with the Master Sword.” One might chalk up my cynicism to immaturely refusing to accept change, but I had empirical proof to be wary of the direction that Zelda was heading towards. By 2017, gaming had evolved drastically from the open-world genesis point that GTA III showcased back in the early sixth generation of gaming. Open-world games had transformed from the impressive cutting edge of interactivity to a point of prevalence where they seemed like the only sufficient standard of the modern age. Oversaturation of the genre had shifted what was tightly constructed, non-linear sandboxes into bloated empty deserts with nothing of note for miles and zero sources of stimuli to spark that sense of excited curiosity that open-world games once facilitated. Nintendo had also hastily launched the successor to the Wii U, an uninspired commercial dud whose tepid presence in the HD console wars had almost ousted the long-standing champions from the circle of competition. Starting anew with fresh artillery while the war was still raging connoted that Nintendo had recognized their blunder and backpedaled to rectify all of their losses and corner that coveted gaming market. Unfortunately, I had assumed that igniting their redemption arc with the Switch was at the expense of their integrity, appeasing the masses by catapulting Zelda into the fray of the vapid technical posturing that the open-world genre had devolved into. How narrow-sighted I was with my preconceptions, and Breath of the Wild’s astounding adulation not given to the series since Ocarina’s monumental release wasn’t even a factor in my moment of clarity. Breath of the Wild wasn’t an example of a guideless, wounded franchise jumping on a stagnant trend in the hopes of garnering some cheap attention: it was a pioneering open-world linchpin returning to its roots to reclaim its former glory and show these clueless whippersnappers how to construct an ample digital country that is nothing short of captivating.

While BotW introduces itself with a prophetic promise of good triumphing over evil like all of its Zelda predecessors, a unique alteration of its classic narrative is that the player is plunged into the halfway point of this epic saga. The reincarnated hero who always takes the form of a blonde, non-verbal elfin boy or his post-pubescent version is not introduced in a humdrum scenario where he is oblivious to his messianic potential. Link, who is now embracing his canon name for the first time instead of letting the player treat him like an avatar by sticking him with whichever goofy moniker they create, has already been established as the embodiment of hope for Hyrule. However, seeing him in his state of suspended slumber without even a shirt on, much less his distinguishing green tunic, is surely a humbling scene for this young man of immense prestige. Once Link emerges from the cave into the sunny outdoors of the second-most-recognized kingdom in gaming, a wizened man with a bushy, foot-long grey beard proposes that Link uncover the secret runes hidden in the sunken sanctums of the four shrines located around the area in exchange for his paraglider. Once Link completes this task, the mysterious elder reveals his true form as Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule, the regal king of this enchanted land. On the roof of the dilapidated Temple of Time, the king dumps a heaping load of exposition on our Hero that explains the state of the kingdom he governs and why we were introduced to our hero while he was pruning up in a bath situated in a cave. One century ago, the same Link fought valiantly alongside Zelda and the four champions against the classic cataclysmic threat that is Ganon, or “Calamity Ganon” in this specific incarnation of the pernicious pig. While their efforts were admirable, none of them anticipated that Ganon possessed the power to influence the armed machines created by the Sheikah long ago to combat the foreboding invader, and flipping the switch from protector to aggressor on these mechanical marvels resulted in an event that Hyrule historians dub “The Great Calamity.” To prevent Link from befalling the same fate as the champions in this holocaust, Zelda creates a magic seal whose enormity accomplishes saving Link and stowing him away in his cryogenic long morrow, hiding the Master Sword in the hazy shade of the Lost Woods, and trapping Ganon and localizing his malicious influence entirely to the grounds of Hyrule Castle. While the expositional splurge is overwhelming due to its sheer comprehensiveness, elaborating on the events of the past that inform the context of the present almost splits BotW’s story in half like Ocarina of Time. Sure, actual involvement with the tranquil former half elevates the devastation of the grim state of the future/present. Still, I applaud the unorthodox way the developers are telling this tale, and the tattered state of Hyrule from what has already happened matched with the destructive stakes of what could occur in the future from Ganon’s looming presence places the player on the same edge that invigorates them to save the kingdom.

The visual aspect of Zelda’s presentation became a relevant talking point when The Wind Waker riled up the fanbase with its bright and bulbous cartoon aesthetic. Since then, the 3D Zelda games have drastically swapped their color palettes per entry to reach a fan consensus on an agreeable art style. Well, Nintendo can confidently close those polls wired to their PR department, for I can’t imagine any Zelda newcomer or staunch series veterans sticking their noses up at the graphical gorgeousness that BotW displays. How can anyone resist the sensation of being gobsmacked by the sequence when Link emerges from his hundred-year stasis to the cliffside view of the kingdom’s sublime breadth in all its majestic glory? It’s the indelible image of the game that sold players on BotW, and it’s not difficult to see why the developers honed in on this spectacular shot. Forget the Grand Canyon–Hyrule from this angle is the most awe-inspiring landscape one could witness with their sense of sight, and I don’t care whether or not it’s a landscape fabricated by the advancements of digital technology. It immediately causes the player to salivate at the prospect of intimately visiting all of the places seen in this lofty perspective through the course of their untethered privileges granted by the non-linearity of the open-world genre. Breathtaking landscapes aside, the pleasantness of BotW’s graphics is due to the developers seemingly not choosing a radical, discernable aesthetic at all. Compromising between the polar visuals of The Wind Waker and Twilight Princess with Skyward Sword produced an art style that was still an acquired taste. Scrapping the idea of comparing and contrasting the previous games with a style that is at least clear and competent works wonderfully. Not every aspect of a game has to be revolutionary to be effective. However, what is a revolutionary aspect of BotW’s presentation is that the game finally features fully-fledged voice acting, so the detractors who commonly critique the series omitting this for so long (who, let’s be honest, were never fans of the franchise anyway) can silence their outcries with this appeasement. I’d comment that the voice work of the characters is overall solid for a first go-around, but this is one of the most iconic video game series supported by a lavish Nintendo budget that rivals a Hollywood film production. Perhaps each series that transitioned from 2D to 3D should’ve waited twenty years to attempt unlocking their character’s vocal cords. Alas, even with this technical feat of evolution, our boy Link still opts to grunt and yelp to express himself. Old habits die hard, eh?

When it comes to the geographical schematics of the land existing beyond the outside viewpoint of Link’s elongated bedroom, Hyrule has gone through considerable operation time under the developer's knife to enhance itself. No, I am not specifically referring to its high-definition gloss, even though I realize that its HD visual fidelity is yet another modern presentational attribute making its series debut. Given that BotW is an open-world game and the world map encompasses the entirety of the playtime, the developers needed to graft a sizable amount of meaty muscle onto an area that is usually a glorified highway designed to route the player to a more notable destination located off to the side. Thankfully, the procedure proved a success, as Hyrule is now a mesomorphic goliath with washboard abdominals, or so to speak. Every conceivable topographical landform is represented on Hyrule’s map, and each of the varied terrain, no matter the size and scope, is intermingled across Hyrule to showcase a geographically diverse world. Bodies of water include lakes upon basins upon beaches upon rivers and tributaries. Mountains are scattered across the map like a genuine range instead of being confined to one monolithic land mass like a typical video game level, and the steep elevation of each of these peaks guarantees that snow and ice will be a constant element of the foreground. Before venturing into the heart of the desert, Link will have to pass through a spacious canyon that serves as a logical precedent to its arid emptiness. Can you believe this is the same overworld that was formally nothing but a flat span of astroturf? Ocarina of Time’s primordial depiction of Hyrule served as the essential broth, but BotW’s sprawling protraction of the kingdom is a hearty stew that adds a smattering of ingredients that enrich it with protein. Incidentally, the specific Hyrule Field outside of the castle in the central district of Hyrule remains a vacuous green valley. It amuses me that some things haven’t changed even with all of this progress.

If the player is looking for somewhere that resembles the lively hustle and bustle of civilization, plenty of villages and inns are interspersed between the eclectic ecosystems. One notable village that looks rather Japanese-inspired in this incarnation is Kakariko Village, and the rustic burg isn’t situated at a stone’s throw from the gates of Death Mountain for once. In fact, all of Hyrule’s familiar stomping grounds have survived the Great Calamity/open-world translations, but they’ve been shuffled like a deck of cards. While Kakariko Village is slightly east of central Hyrule, Death Mountain still resides in the northern tip of the kingdom, with the proud and stout Gorons chewing igneous rocks and rolling around on the brimstone base of the volcano as always. The Gerudo ladies are as insular as ever, barring all men (or “voe”) from their gynocentric oasis society in the southwestern desert and unabashedly sprinkling their native language into conversation with outsiders. The Rito bird people and the scaly, aquatic Zoras coexist in this iteration of Hyrule, albeit on opposite sides of the kingdom. The significance of featuring both races on the same map is that the developers have wisely retconned their foolish grasp on how species evolve from The Wind Waker. The Korok tree imps also find footing here from when Hyrule was depicted as an everlasting ocean, but how their residence of the Lost Woods is neighboring the unfathomable heat radiating from Death Mountain without smoldering into the atmosphere is highly questionable. Perhaps it’s due to keeping the player away from uncovering the Master Sword as soon as Link awakens, but their choice of location still suggests that science is still a foreign concept to Nintendo. Little villages withstanding, some detractors of BotW’s world have the gall to state that it’s too vacant for their liking, with an inability to be stimulated by pure naturalism compared to the glitzy electricity of a city setting. As an avid hiker, the emphasis on desolation when paired with a landscape of this magnitude resonates with me greatly. Go figure that many gamers don’t go outside. Besides, there are a myriad of secrets to uncover at every corner of the map that are sure to instill a sense of constant curiosity.

The all-encompassing word I would use to describe BotW’s gameplay is organic. One could apply this term to the varied terrain of the naturalistic landscape but to compound the terminology, perhaps the most organic aspect of BotW’s open-world gameplay is how the player traverses it. After briskly descending from the plateau with the paraglider, the entirety of the map is primed for exploration of his volition. Link can scour the seashores, climb to the highest of mountain tops, and go shield surfing down the dunes of the desert immediately after the plateau tutorial. Link has never felt this physically dexterous in any previous Zelda title. When I mentioned climbing mountain tops, I was not referring to the gentle ascent with a trail. BotW’s Link has the extraordinary ability to climb any conceivable surface across Hyrule: which can include the craggy sides of mountains, towering building surfaces, and the backsides of gargantuan enemies. Link’s hands have such impressive adhesive properties that I’m almost convinced he’s an unmasked Peter Parker. He can even jump manually with a button trigger, which any Zelda veteran will note is a revolutionary stride in Zelda’s mechanics. Of course, Link’s endurance threshold with climbing, swimming, or running is contingent on a green wheel parallel to his health, and it tends to exhaust quickly. With Link’s Tarzan-like physicality, no crevice of Hyrule shall be left unturned.

…Well, to be completely honest, this is all true on a technicality. There are no invisible progression barricades blocking Link from visiting any of these locations, but he might not be able to withstand the weather conditions of a particular place. The plateau tutorial eases the player into this environmental mechanic when one of the runes is located atop the frosty peak of Mount Hylia. Unless the player is able to conjure up a solution to heat Link’s body, he’ll slowly but surely succumb to frostbite and die. On the other side of the coin, the boiling heat of either Death Mountain or the dry dearth of moisture in the Gerudo Desert will also result in the same rate of declining health. Some areas will be swamped with hoards of Moblins or Lizalfos camping out under the stars to sound the horn at Link’s presence and ambush him like a tribe of headhunters. Even though BotW’s combat is exactly the in-depth system I yearned for with the previous Zelda games, with hefty health bars, precision dodging, and parrying involved, any slight miscalculation in the fluidity of fighting will often be fatal even with a stacked row of hearts. Not to mention that the Guardian mechs will be patrolling certain areas of the kingdom in large numbers. Their impervious, mechanical shells matched with how they can obliterate Link with a single, targeted laser blast while trucking it down any terrain on their four legs like a mad tarantula will strike terror in any player. Also, it’s wise to avoid any enemy that resembles a centaur. With all of these dangerous factors in mind, BotW employs something I call “implied progress,” a subtle way of informing the player that the area is beyond their current capabilities like in a Metroid game. One way that I gauged an area’s difficulty is how much adversity came with climbing the district’s Shekiah Tower where the piece of the map for that area is uncovered. If the tower did not feature support decks on the side to alleviate my diminishing stamina wheel or was surrounded by intimidating enemies, I took it as a hint to perhaps return at a later date. Or, I could hone my skills or find another avenue to overcome the challenge, for, again, there still isn’t any tangible obstacle keeping me from achieving my goal.

The hostile conditions of Hyrule and Link’s innate inability to persevere through them arguably puts BotW in the distinction of a survival game. Link’s nomadic status through the unadulterated, uncaring wilderness always puts him in potential harm, and one of the methods used to overcome the harsh conditions is to mix all edible elements he finds on the field to craft either food or elixirs he then stuffs in his pocket like a mangy packrat. Speaking of what’s in Link’s pocket, his inventory of weapons and how they are intertwined with the survival equation is probably the largest source of contention regarding BotW. Let’s have a discussion on realism in video games, shall we? The video game industry’s initiative in progressing the medium was focused on enhancing the visuals to display something akin to reality. Now that they’ve reached a peak of progress where graphics are indiscernible to films, they’ve allocated their resources to heightening game immersion through a realism imperative. The way in which BotW utilizes gaming’s newfound interest in realistic hurdles is that every melee weapon, shield, and bow degrades to the point of shattering from overuse. The only exception to this rule is The Master Sword gained by navigating the Lost Woods and unsheathing it with enough hearts at one’s disposal, but its power will still deplete if one uses it as their primary means of offense. I…suppose the wear and tear of any item will realistically render it useless. Still, if I purchased anything and it busted beyond repair after the meager amount of time spent using it like with these weapons in BotW, I’d demand a full refund even if I misplaced the receipt. While I empathize with the echoed groans of the player base, I ultimately have no serious qualms with this mechanic. Everyone has been clamoring to use the enemy’s weapons again like they could in The Wind Waker, and I enjoy the emphasis on ensuring a diverse roulette of combat–even if it is rather strictly enforced. If one is concerned that this mechanic will leave Link vulnerable in a fight, they can expand the total inventory of each weapon type by exchanging Korok seeds with the pudgy Hestu so he can increase the timbre of his maracas with them. They’re the most abundant collectible in the game and the most common reward for meticulously searching the map. Still, what type of seed has a distinct smell like the Korok seeds apparently do? The less I know the better, but I think Link should still invest in some gloves.

However, one aspect of realism in BotW that genuinely grinds my gears is the weather. In most temperate ecosystems, there is naturally going to be a shift in weather patterns due to factors like the water cycle and general sways in the atmosphere. Besides altering from day to night, the weather will also change periodically from cloudless sunshine to precipitation that might be accompanied by thunderbolts and lightning. When rain coats the land in wetness, Link’s climbing ability is completely handicapped as he won’t be able to grasp any surface without slipping. Because traversal in BotW is highly contingent on climbing, adverse weather that prohibits this ability severely puts a damper on the freeform aspect of the game. All the player can do is wait out the weather, and that’s the antithesis of stimulating. I realize that rain is a realistic part of life that we all must endure, but what is the point of giving it a collateral condition in the game other than just to inconvenience the player? A positive trade-off should’ve at least made this gameplay obstacle less cumbrous, but perhaps that would’ve negated that desired hint of realism. What are we intended to take away from this, that rain sucks? No, playing the waiting game because of the rain sucks.

The category of items in Link’s inventory that will never depreciate is the selection of runes acquired in the first few moments of the game. None of these items are intended to be used for offense. Rather, their utility lies in manipulating the elements of Hyrule for either standard traversal or solving puzzles. The bombs return to raze the cracked walls in the dirt, but now they emanate a light blue glow and detonate by a manual trigger instead of a timed fuse. Magnesis is essentially a giant magnet with the ability to carry items with metallic properties with the grappling power of a protracted energy beam. For objects that don’t feature these magnetic properties in their atoms like boulders, paralyzing them with Stasis and exploiting their inertia with a good whack or two will send them flying. Lastly, Cryonis will freeze a circular space of water which juts out to use as a platform like the ice arrows once did. Oh, and there’s a camera to create a compendium of Hyrule’s various creatures, enemies, and vegetation. One might argue that giving Link all of these gadgets all at once in the beginning like how Q equips James Bond before every mission relinquishes the opportunity for cumulative achievements spurred by utility-gated progress points. Still, solidified progression impediments are not the name of the game here. With a little intuition and some elbow grease, this specific array of gadgets should allow the player to overcome ANY obstacles they may encounter. Only by allowing equal time to become acquainted with these runes and their functions will the player become comfortable enough to attempt the downright eccentric capabilities of these nifty tools. Succeeding via experimenting with the physics of these runes is more organic than a baby turnip plucked from its roots. Or, should I be referring to these runes as applications, considering that the Sheikah Slate that stores all of these functions shares an uncanny resemblance to a smartphone? Forgive me, but I can’t help but laugh at the fact that the most sacred piece of esoteric Sheikah technology that is only permissible to be held by the chosen warrior of prophetic destiny is essentially something that the vast majority of the world’s population owns and keeps in their pockets at all times.

On the field, the runes will aid the player in uncovering Hyrule’s various secrets kept hidden underneath all of the unassuming crevices, namely staggering amounts of Koroks playing hide and seek for their leavings. For the most part, the utility of the runes will be tested in the various shrine trials. Rising from the earth and infesting Hyrule like a series of Starbucks chains, the Sheikah shrines are essentially obstacle courses constructed by the ancient Sheikah people in order to test the warrior acumen of the predestined hero. There are 120 of these arcane curiosities strewn about the map in all imaginable corners of it, so they are treated like a collectible as much as an accumulative side quest. Actually, perhaps I shouldn’t label the shrines as such because it downplays their significance. Upon completing four of the shrine courses, Link will have enough to exchange the purple orbs granted to him at the Sheikah monk’s finish line for increasing his maximum heart counter or stamina wheel. Heart containers are not sharing the space of secret gathering with the Korok droppings on the field as they previously did, so you can imagine why proactively engaging in the shrines is of the utmost importance. Increasing one’s health or stamina costs the same quantity of spirit orbs, so it’s the player’s choice whether they wish to stumble through combat scenarios or cultivate the endurance to sprint away from them. I jest, sort of, but both are vital enough to generate an incentive for the player to complete as many shrines as possible in order to enhance Link to a point of self-preservation. Aided by a beeping radar, always encountering an undiscovered shrine on the map during exploration is its own reward due to both their ubiquity and tendency to hide in the shaded, inconspicuous regions of the map. Each shrine also serves as a beacon for fast travel in BotW to ensure that the player isn’t forced to waste time tediously trekking or relying on the limited travel capabilities of their horse companion (even though riding one still quickens travel time considerably). They’re at least a much more stimulating reward for exploration than Korok caca. However, the engagement felt through the process of accomplishing the shrine’s task always varied. 120 is quite an extravagant amount of shrines to excavate through, so the developers padded the content of the shrines in order to meet their evident quota. I grew tired of the game testing Link’s strengths through minor, modest, and major increments through fighting the same sword and or spear weilding, junior-scaled guardian robot. Offensive tools such as fire arrows also allow the player to unnaturally expedite the puzzles. It’s a testament to the organic gameplay, but it kind of defeats the intended mathematical logic of puzzle-solving. To spruce up the act of shrine solving, a number of them involve considerable tasks taking place in the overworld to unearth the shrine itself. Pondering over the riddles outside the standard underground setting is stimulating enough, but many outdoor shrine puzzles that don’t involve limerick clues are so difficult that they aren’t worth the hassle. If a distant island off the southeast coast of Hyrule piques your curiosity, I have to warn you that visiting that island will engage a challenge that leaves Link at his most naked in every context of the term. Take it from me and pay this island never no mind.

Paying compliments to the shrines in BotW feels like a sort of Stockholm syndrome is seeping in. How can I forgive Nintendo for omitting the winding, layered, and labyrinthian dungeons I adore from the series in favor of these dime-a-dozen puzzle rooms with the same sterile and formulaic interior decor? At first glance, the shrines are not an acceptable substitute for the typical dungeons that have been integral to Zelda since Link was but a blob of 8-bit pixels. However, one of the main quests in BotW introduces something more akin to the traditional broadened expeditions…somewhat. In addition to the army of guardian robots who roam menacingly throughout Hyrule, the Divine Beasts are also under the spell of Ganon’s corruption. The four gargantuan mechanical behemoths were constructed by the Sheikah as blockades against Ganon’s presence and were designated to each of the major homogenized racial societies that exist in Hyrule. Each of the Divine Beasts also resembles animals fitting for the appropriate habitat surrounding the respective races; a soaring eagle for the heights of the Rito, a salamander circling the volcano of Death Mountain, an elephant seated in the deep basin near the waterfall of Zora’s Domain, and a camel stomping around the dry Gerudo Desert. They were once piloted by Link’s four champion friends but since they were slain a hundred years prior, their idleness causes strife to their racial designations by inflicting severe weather phenomena such as flooding and lightning storms. With the aid of the modern, living successor of each champion, Link destroys each of the defense arrays of the Divine Beast and boards them to regain control.

The process of repurposing the Divine Beasts is a bit more reminiscent of the classic Zelda dungeon, only because of their longer length than a shrine and the amplitude of their interiors. Despite the varied exterior phenotypes of each Divine Beast, the objective across all of them is to find five terminals that connect to the Beast’s core. Once arriving at the core with all terminals switched on, a being spawned from Ganon’s dark antimatter duels Link for its control–using the general elemental power of the beast in combat. Boss battles that aren’t sentient rock golems and Moblin ogres aside, it didn’t take me long to realize that the Divine Beasts were glorified shrines with the augmented spectacle of adventuring through the inner machinations of a colossus. Shifting the angle of the beast with the map as a consistent strategy with all of them only dilutes the modicum of diversity that the shrines fail to provide. Substantial dungeon surrogates, I think not.

The other major quest assigned to Link is recalling the events from the first half of his hero arc that occurred a hundred years prior. Because a century of sleep likely has a rattling effect on one’s mind, Link is suffering from a serious case of CRS. To piece together his fuzzy memory, legendary supporting character Impa gives Link a photo reel of twelve different landscape shots taken by Zelda over a century ago. By finding where these photos were taken in the kingdom, Link has a flashback presented as a cutscene that details the context behind the photograph. The scenes are scattered all across Hyrule, so it will require a proficient knowledge of the world map in order to acutely discern the whereabouts of the scenery taken in the photograph. Because exploration is already facilitated in a myriad of other ways, the player should at least find an inkling of familiarity in a speck of the twelve photos. Between the two main quests that BotW offers, I found this one to be the more favorable of the two. As I said before, exploration is BotW’s bread and butter and has never been executed in a 3D environment to this extent. Any task that is exploration-intensive feels fresh and exciting because it doesn’t resemble a bastardized version of something I held dear from the previous titles. Identifying the location of the photo with the limited scope filled me with feelings of pride and accomplishment that all of the floating around the map with the paraglider had paid off with some tactile reward. I, however, was not amused when one of these photographs forced me to visit the grounds of Hyrule Castle and ascend to the heights of its higher floors amidst all the malice. It should’ve been a memory left forgotten in time.

The “Cherished Memories” quest also unlocks vital references to the game’s lore. Sure, we become aware of Hyrule's dour history as a reward for completing the tutorial, but this quest allows us to experience it through the constricted lens of cinematics. When finding where these photos were taken in the kingdom, Link has a flashback presented as a cutscene that details the context behind the photograph. The player teleports to the events of Link’s past in a fractured fashion between twelve short segments. We see Link making preparations with the four champions to defeat Ganon when the day arises and the rigorous training Link will have to do to ensure victory. More importantly, the scenes are through the perspective of Zelda, who is present in all of them on account of taking the pictures where they took place. Due to being occupied with sealing Ganon to the confines of Hyrule Castle, we only witness Zelda as she was in the past through these cutscenes. From the twelve scenes we’re granted, she’s given more characterization than since she cosplayed as a pirate in Wind Waker. Over the course of the cutscenes, she frets over her dutiful role as a royal representative of Hyrule, second-guessing her ability to protect her kingdom especially compared to Link. In between her struggles with imposter syndrome, there are more mirthful moments of marveling at flowers and horseback riding that give Zelda dimension as a human being that is more nuanced than her royal title. When shit hits the fan and Zelda runs from the chaos with Link, her cries of anguished failure are truly devastating because we know first-hand how much she dreaded this outcome. BotW Zelda may not be as winsome as her Skyward Sword depiction, but this iteration is without a doubt the most developed depiction of the princes of Hyrule.

If anything, the photo location in Hyrule Castle is an indication that BotW’s organic freedom even extends to setting foot where the game’s final battle occurs. What this means specifically is that the two quests that would typically lock entrance to the game’s climax can be disregarded entirely. Yes, once Link leaves the elevated space of the plateau, he can technically penetrate the malice encapsulating Hyrule’s capital estate and march his way to Ganon’s domain guns blazing. Of course, this expeditious plan is like barging into the operations of the Italian mob and announcing that you’ve been giving the grizzle to all of their wives. Do you think the outcome of this action will result in the favor of your livelihood? The greatest utilization of BotW’s laissez-faire progression and liberal parameters is that the player is in total control of the preparations before facing off against Ganon. In my case, maximizing the stamina wheel allowed me to totally eschew any encounters with the sturdy enemies and flying sentries circling around the castle entirely. As for the fight that awaited me in the castle’s main chamber with a particularly ghastly version of Ganon in his “calamity” form, I was taken aback that half of his health bar had been decimated by the four Divine Beasts converging their cannon beams and showering the evil swine in a barrage of energy. The other half I had to deplete legitimately was a cinch because I had practiced parrying the mini guardian’s laser blasts in the shrines too many times to count. The sequence after Calamity Ganon where he transforms into his colossal, quadrupedal pig self feels slightly more scripted with Zelda giving Link light arrows and placing triforce targets on vital places to pierce Ganon with them. Still, it’s all worth it to reduce the demonic threat into pork chops and see Hyrule in a tranquil state in the final cutscene. I’ve seen criticisms online calling Calamity Ganon an unfittingly easy finale, but that’s because these people all unwittingly made it an uncomplicated bout through preparation. It’s like acing a test after diligently studying for it for a week in advance, and there’s no better analogy despite how lame it sounds.

If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and give myself seven stinging lashes for writing The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild off as a chance to capitalize on a languishing trend. In the large swathe of time when the third dimension had transformed Zelda into a linear action-adventure series, Miyamoto’s core inspiration of getting lost in the wonderment of the wilderness that engineered the open parameters of the pixelated Zelda titles was compromised due to the limitations of early 3D gaming. Skyward Sword clumsily skidding off the rails of the track that Ocarina of Time had set for the series was a wake-up call that 3D gaming had evolved enough to the point where Miyamoto’s initial direction could be fully realized. Considering the world and the loose methods of traversing it, Miyamoto can now rest easy knowing that his vision has been achieved beautifully. Still, I prefer the elements of the previous 3D Zelda titles for their meatier, diverse dungeons and tighter progression structure that keeps the game from feeling nebulous as BotW does at times. Breath of the Wild does not eclipse games like Ocarina but finds a secure foothold amongst them with its differences. However, compared to its open-world peers, it takes them to school and bends them over their knees–paddling them like a disciplinary Catholic nun. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild is a landmark in the open-world genre, and it’s been so long since a game from the franchise holds the prestige of being a generation-defining trailblazer.

Sonic the Hedgehog (Sonic '06) Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/21/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Sonic the Hedgehog (Sonic '06)

Developer: Sega/Sonic Team

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: Xbox 360, PS3

Release Date: November 14, 2006

If you knew the lengths I went through in order to play this game, you’d think that I was fucking insane. Missing out on Sonic’s big leap to the seventh generation of gaming initially felt like being too sick to attend the school field trip to Six Flags. You can imagine my disappointment that the blue blur’s next big release during the era of my childhood where I still harbored a genuine enthusiasm for Sega’s speedy mascot was going to be released exclusively to two separate, brand-spanking-new consoles that were too rich for my parent’s blood–even for the most prosperous Christmases. Alas, as history tells it, not experiencing Sonic the Hedgehog, or “Sonic ‘06’” as it’s colloquially known, at its launch when I was ten was a fortunate happenstance akin to being absent on the day of a school shooting. The self-titled 3D Sonic was not that satisfying successor to the two Sonic Adventure games that I had yearned for after Sonic Heroes left me jilted with its shifting of the Sonic formula: it was a categorical disaster of inconceivable proportions and a record-breaking low for the franchise that caused irrevocable damage. The game may share the moniker of a once-respected video game series, but this game is commonly uttered under the same breath as the all-time losers of the medium like E.T. and Superman 64. Yes, it’s that bad. By the time I owned an Xbox 360 in 2009, I was thirteen and my interest in Sonic had waned in favor of more mature interests like boobs and heavy metal (and my gaming habits were contingent on the trends of online multiplayer first-person shooters because of my friends on XboxLive as well), so I couldn’t be bothered to listen to the warning of a soul-crushingly awful Sonic game anyway. When the “social era” of gaming had come and gone and my inclinations became entirely independent, my Xbox 360’s disc drive became kaputt again and I did not bother going through the arduous and time-consuming process of fixing it as I had done five times already. Sonic ‘06 was and still isn’t available on the Xbox One’s backwards-compatible catalog, so the opportunity to give into the temptation of playing Sonic ‘06 was voided. That is until I purchased a used PS3 to experience the exclusives endemic to that system and realized that Sonic ‘06 was also released for the alternate seventh-generation console that I passed on at the time. One quick visit to Ebay and voila–the infamous Sonic ‘06 was in my possession as well as the functional hardware that supports it. One might be dumbfounded at the painstaking effort I went through to play a game that had evidently escaped my grasp due to divine circumstances for so many years, but I could not in good conscience skip Sonic ‘06 after reviewing every 3D Sonic game up to it. Like a prostate exam, I had to bend over and accept the pain, even though the game’s shockingly inexcusable quality makes this metaphorical health examination especially painful like it’s being conducted by Lou Ferrigno.

Despite the notorious reputation Sonic ‘06 has garnered, it isn’t to say that the game is totally bereft of any admirable qualities, which might be my continual thesis for this game as the review progresses. Firstly, the opening cinematic that begins Sonic’s campaign is nothing short of stunning. The evening glow of dusk and the skybound sparkle of fireworks gleaming off of the flowing water surrounding this intricately-designed urban landscape is a sight to behold, and the scope of the scene couldn’t have been achieved on the sixth-generation consoles that I owned when the game was released. High definition, indeed. All of this striking visual flair on display is for the purpose of detailing the conflict catalyst that spurs the game’s events, which obviously involves Dr. Eggman/Robotnik in some capacity. This time around, the bulbous robotics genius with the mustache that rivals the length of the average person’s arm span is harassing a red-headed girl named Elise, a princess in a royal family that governs the city setting. What could be the reason for Eggman’s fierce intimidation towards this girl who has never caused him any harm? A chaos emerald, of course–particularly the one she wears around her neck that Eggman needs to uncover some sort of mythical treasure that the universe houses. The princess of Soleanna doesn’t face the consequences for hesitating in complying towards Eggman’s aggressive orders to hand it over, for Sonic duly interrupts the doctor’s schemes as scheduled. Sonic escapes the ruined ceremony with Elise in his arms, but he quickly loses her to Eggman’s gigantic mech with kinetic opposable fingers. Sonic’s rescue mission may have been all for naught, but what he did accomplish without compromise is the swift proficiency he used to trounce Eggman’s robot fleet in the introductory cutscene. The high-definition fluidity of the cinematic action during the cutscene is Sonic at his most badass. It’s another mark of incredible presentational prowess this game bestows, and I’ll bet the Deviantart faction of the Sonic fandom was creaming their jeans upon seeing it for the first time.

Another compliment I will pay to Sonic ‘06 regarding its HD presentation is that the human characters in the game are equally as graphically refined as their surroundings. Or, at least they look impressive in a vacuum. Elise is a contentious character in the greater Sonic universe for a myriad of valid reasons, but the innocent and cherub-cheeked visage of a young princess is accurately portrayed with this enhanced visual fidelity. In brief, the core issue revolving around this character is that her relationship with Sonic is creepy. Sure, the classic “knight in shining armor” dynamic that Sonic has with Elise certainly calls for some romantic palpability, but I bet the ancient epic writers of yore never anticipated that their archetypal story structures would ever include a blue, anthropomorphic hedgehog in the heroic role. Such an idea would be perceived as a crime against humanity. Obviously, their relationship never verges into obscene beastiality territory, but even the slight hints at a budding romance between Sonic and Elise are enough to throw off my appetite. Lock up your daughters, guys, because Sonic the Hedgehog is on the prowl looking to press his gloves up against their bodies in an intimate embrace. Gross.

The interspecies love between girl and hedgehog is also indicative of a prevalent problem with the human characters of Sonic ‘06. Each of the human NPCs are rendered with an intricate amount of detail that would be impressive for any video game, but they look off-putting contrasted with the cartoonish Sonic and his furry friends. The presence of human characters in the Sonic franchise became prevalent in the 3D era, but they’ve been tolerable up until now. Sonic Adventure 2 relegated them to the occasional cutscene, and the denizens of Station Square in the first Sonic Adventure resembled that of plastic dolls rather than flesh and blood people. Eggman is the sole human character with a consistent presence in the Sonic series, but his features have always verged into caricature territory. With the advanced tint of high definition, the juxtaposition between realism and animated fantasy is jarring, to say the least. The NPCs exaggerating their interactions with Sonic in such goofy fashions like rapidly flapping their gums and flailing their arms with the drama of an angry Italian doesn’t lower their personhood to Sonic’s realm of animation: it just looks like they might be affected by a gas leak that’s permeating around the city.

The uncanniness of the human NPCs is mostly confined to the game’s hub world. An attribute from the first Sonic Adventure returns, and I would’ve been delighted as a kid because I found the freeform environment of the three hubs to be one of the most engaging aspects of the debut 3D Sonic title–even though they’re all kind of bland in retrospect. However, the generic nature of Station Square and the Mystic Ruins is admirable in its simplicity. Another evolving factor of 3D Sonic that is also rather unsavory is that the series has become a bit pretentious with polygons allowing them to tell weightier stories with an elevated narrative scope. The grandiose spectacle of the opening cutscene has often been compared to Final Fantasy in ridicule, but I’ve been comparing 3D Sonic to Square’s extravagantly overblown JRPG series ever since Shadow sulked his way into Sonic Adventure 2. Soleanna, the primary setting of Sonic ‘06, is another example of the series reaching for something out of its element. This Euro-inspired metropolis with Venetian Gothic architecture shares a strong resemblance to the real-world city of Venice located in northeastern Italy, and this particular urban area is renowned for its seductive atmosphere. It’s a picturesque paradise perfect for a honeymoon or any other romantic getaway. Is Sega suggesting that romance is a key component to Sonic ‘06 considering the sumptuous environment with canals galore that he finds himself in? I’ll wager that if Sonic gives into feelings of twitterpation, the target of his passion will not be Amy Rose. Sega, no one will think Sonic is a devilish casanova if he dicks down that human princess girl. Stop it. Your attempts to facilitate this outcome are as laughably awkward as when Attack of the Clones borrowed the same Venice-esque setpieces to blossom Anakin and Padme’s shoehorned relationship. Even if the developers never intended for love to permeate through the air, Soleanna’s ornate architecture still clashes with Sonic’s animated aesthetic as sharply as its human denizens. Maybe Soleanna bothers me because navigating through it trying to find the right objective is as unclear as the water in the Baltimore harbor. Where’s the Tikal energy ball when you actually need it?

But everything I’ve criticized Sonic ‘06 on so far has been nothing short of fastidious nitpicking. Every aspect of the game I discuss from here on out will get into the nitty gritty of why Sonic ‘06 is as critically castigated as it is, listing all of the aspects that made me want to castrate myself for ever considering purchasing this piece of shit game. Frankly, I don’t have a clue which list item to start with because the flaws of Sonic ‘06 are far too numerous and equally as vexing. I guess my first point of contention is with the abysmally long loading screens, for they’re an immediately noticeable issue as soon as Sonic encounters Tails a few seconds after the opening sequence ends. To test the absurd pause time of these loading screens, I went upstairs to use the bathroom in order to see if the game would still be loading when I returned. It HAD loaded, but the fact that I was confident enough that I’d have wasted zero time in my brief absence is a clear enough indication that the game’s buffering periods will have the player checking their watch/phone clock and stamp their feet with impatience as Sonic used to do back he was depicted with 16-bits graphics. These swathes of buffering also occur at every conceivable intermittent moment throughout the game, whether it be when Sonic reaches another section of a level or cycling through sub-mission requests assigned by the NPCs. Having to sit through TWO ungodly long loading screens in the process of reaching a simple side quest is ludicrous. Constantly implementing these prolonged sequences of inactivity subtly suggests that the game is struggling to keep up with the HD standard of its console like a fat chronic smoker after walking for more than a minute. As par for the course regarding an infamously atrocious game, Sonic ‘06 is naturally overflowing with glitches like a swarm of maggots infesting a corpse. These glitches include, but are certainly not limited to; Sonic continuing to perform the oscillating wildly animation when he runs into something while running precariously, tripping on inexplicable objects that awkwardly halt Sonic’s movement, Sonic freezing when he’s meets an unagreeable angle on the field, and countless instances of collapsing through the game’s fragile foundation into a wormhole of oblivion. I’ve yet to encounter any of the glitches that either Sonic Adventure title has been rumored to be rife with, but encountering bugs that break Sonic ‘06 is as commonplace as finding actual bugs in the humid swamps of the Everglades.

In what is either out of genuine delight or a coping mechanism at play, the varied array of bugs and glitches that plague Sonic ‘06 are a source of amusement for the more optimistic Sonic fans, laughing at the game for its litany of glaring issues like a shoddy B-movie. I, on the other hand, cannot join the cackling crowd treating their experiences with this game like it’s Mystery Science Theater because all of the flaws of Sonic ‘06 were busy beating me senseless. On a deeper fundamental level past the comedic visual glitches lies their absolute fracturing of Sonic’s controls and how he interacts with his environment. Whereas the controls of fellow maligned 3D Sonic game Shadow the Hedgehog suffered from slipping all over the place like an ice rink, the general controls of Sonic ‘06 are beleaguered by the opposite issue. Sonic feels as stiff as an overdose of Viagra pills, moving with the fluidity and grace of a paraplegic mannequin. Besides the uncomfortable restraint of his general movement, every homing attack knocks the wind out of Sonic and grinds his momentum to a screeching halt. Trying to hop from a grind rail to another one directly beside it will only result in Sonic jumping as he normally would and flying off into the abyss, and any snowboarding segment operates on a plain removed from the rational rules of physics. Precision is somehow more paramount to Sonic’s gameplay than in any previous outing, as colliding with walls or other parallel surfaces during those automated speed sequences will often result in immediate death. The roller coaster loops that have served as joyous set pieces of Sonic’s terrain since the early days on the Genesis now instill feelings of stress and worry in the player, for it’s uncertain if Sonic will careen off the track at any point while in this adrenalized instance of hectic acceleration. Actually, any instance of a spring bounce, speed booster, or any other Sonic trope where the trajectory is determined by the game is a leap of faith risking Sonic’s life–a roll of the dice where “snake eyes” is too likely an outcome to impress a sense of security. To the game’s credit, the level design for most acts offers multifaceted gameplay routes which indicate the depth of a bonafide Sonic experience. However, the additional proficiency needed to verge onto the alternate way to victory isn’t worth exercising because the faulty mechanics are a handicap that hinders the player’s heightened skill ceiling. I recommend taking the simple route in any of these levels just to ensure absolute safety.

The one recurring gameplay mode in Sonic ‘06 that encapsulates all of the aforementioned shortcomings into the pinnacle of broken bullshit is the speed sections. At the climactic point of a few levels, Sonic will proverbially unshackle his restraints used for platforming and engage his maximum velocity to its fullest extent. It sounds absolutely electric on paper, but this untethered display of Sonic’s full potential is downright perilous in every way imaginable thanks to the game’s ramshackle status. Directing Sonic through a level at a moderate pace during manual control in Sonic ‘06 is challenging enough, so imagine how furious the flairs of frustration are when the player is expected to navigate him around obstacles with his brakes cut. The obstacles in question are littered all over the field with hardly any legroom to dart around. Multiple obstacles in succession will only expose that invulnerability windows are another requisite that the game neglected to implement. Jumping over an obstacle situated on the ground should be the correct course of action, but Sonic’s hops are subdued by the unmitigated velocity of his turbo-charge which usually results in scrapping his ankle and having his rings erupt as a result. Sonic also can’t alter the course of his movement while jumping, so expect to watch in agony as he charges headfirst into his demise due to his rigidity. These sections will also shift the perspective of the camera abruptly and expect the player to assimilate to this swift adjustment in a flash or suffer dire consequences. I’d comment that these sections feel as if Jesus is taking the wheel, but Satan is the only appropriately nasty and sadistic enough divine entity that would purposefully verge the player in these disastrous directions. I’ve never been glad to experience lag while playing a video game before. When faced with these vulgar, unhinged displays of Sonic’s maximum speed, I clench my body with a nerve-racking discomfort and uncertain anxiety as I would while anticipating a thorough cavity search, and I’m not referring to the ones conducted at the dentist. All of the botched aspects of Sonic ‘06’s mechanics inadvertently turn it into the most difficult Sonic game to date, but these sections in particular sink the game even deeper into unplayable territory.

If you’re under the impression that these HD consoles still couldn’t contain the lightning-fast might of the blue blur despite their supposed advanced hardware capabilities, the distinctive mechanics of Sonic’s stupid friends will prove that Sonic ‘06 is a comprehensively abysmal experience. Again, Sonic ‘06 reintroduces another gameplay attribute from the Sonic Adventure games I adored with the playability of multiple characters. With my adult hindsight leading me to conclude that every other secondary character in that game (except maybe E-102) was lackluster compared to Sonic, imagine how that dynamic works in a game where playing as the titular character is torturous. During progress points of certain levels, the game will swap the central role of playability from Sonic to either of his Team Sonic friends. The transition between characters tends to be quite hasty, so be prepared to unwittingly lose a life or two due to the sudden change. The fluttering of Tails’ two namesake mutations sure does make a lot of noise considering all of the propulsion amounts to accelerating him at the leisurely pace of a parade float. The player might be inclined to jump through the airborne hoops to boost Tails while he flies as they did in the first Sonic Adventure but now, avoiding the rings altogether is the wiser decision because attempting to aim Tails through the hoop feels as repellent as attempting to connect magnets of the same charge. What strikes me and several others as odd regarding Tails in Sonic ‘06 is that his primary attack method is expelling ring canisters and tossing them at enemies. When has a character ever used the currency or health item associated with their franchise as a projectile weapon? Whenever the developers stopped caring, obviously. As far as Sonic’s red friend is concerned, his array of maneuvers is more recognizable but they have been soiled all the same by the game’s fractured foundation. Knuckles couldn’t even swat a mosquito on his arm considering his pitiful punch range, and he has a habit of sinking his pointy fists too deep into the walls and getting stuck as a result. I was fortunate enough to never experience this fluke, but the infamous moment from when Game Grumps played this game speaks for itself. Elise is also involved during a selection of action stages, but she only serves to subdue Sonic’s abilities when he has her clutched in his protecting arms. Her contribution to the gameplay that relieves her as a steel ball that chains and drags Sonic is that she creates an orange forcefield encompassing the two, which prevents Sonic from drowning in either water or quicksand. The protective orb looks like a cheap visual effect achieved from the free version of the simplest editing software. What exactly ignites Elise’s ability here anyway? The power of love? Gag me with a fucking spoon, Sega. I’m not as critical about incorporating multiple characters into the fray compared to the zealous Sonic fans, but I always keep in mind that they’re always going to be inferior to the titular character. When Sonic is struggling to this unprecedented extent, one can imagine that the meager alternatives with their own slew of problems are unwelcome.

In terms of the narrative, perhaps Sonic needs all of the assistance he can scrounge up to conquer the conflict of what is the grandest Sonic story ever told. If you thought that Sonic ‘06 was a by-the-books hero arc with a damsel in distress, wait until the layers of this narrative onion unfold. Unfortunately, the thickest folds of this metaphor consist of a sensitive thematic construct that tends to crumble if not given the proper consideration: time travel. This core aspect of this game’s story becomes relevant when Sonic and friends are transported by a time machine created by Eggman to Soleanna in the distant future, an apocalyptic urban hellscape flooded with lava and searing flame tornadoes called “Crisis City.” When the context behind the opening sequence is revealed, we learn that the “treasure” Eggman needs the chaos emeralds to unlock is the concentrated power of the sun God Solaris. Elise isn’t integral to achieving this goal, but she has a grim, yet vital insight regarding Eggman’s diabolical ambitions due to her father inadvertently killing himself trying to harness the power of Solaris a few years prior. Receiving an up close and personal look at Soleanna’s destitute future reveals that the stakes are dire and that Eggman’s trifling with forces beyond his element will be cataclysmic. Sonic’s pursuit in stopping the mad doctor is mostly a series of playing catch with him using Elise as the makeshift ball, losing her as quickly as he recovers her from Eggman’s clutches. Eventually, their little game of keepaway reaches a stalemate when Eggman’s callback Egg Carrier careens out of the sky with Elise on board. To negate her untimely death, the aggrieved Sonic uses the time travel properties of the chaos emeralds to revert to the moment where he catches Eggman’s starship and flees the wreckage with Elise intact. Obviously, the climax of Sonic interfering with the space- time continuum is intended to evoke feelings of relief and triumph after a scene of devastation, but even an earned moment of romance between Sonic and Elise still makes me wince. Eggman acts as if she’s ultimately superfluous to his master plan, so why didn’t the developers adopt the same attitude and drop her once the greater context of the scenario was revealed? Is Sonic getting his rocks off a new essential plot point that will persist from here on out?

Admittedly, Sonic’s arc doesn’t stray too far from the initial goal of protecting his taboo new boo from his arch-rival. However, if one reads carefully, I did technically state that the story of Sonic ‘06 superseded the triangle of interest between Sonic, Elise, and Eggman. What I did not disclose was that Sonic’s story is a mere third(ish) of the game’s entirety, so the player is far from out of the proverbial woods if they manage to conquer Sonic’s campaign. No, the greater scope of the game’s narrative is fleshed out with two other campaigns with two separate protagonists at the helm. Because the ending of Sonic Adventure 2 has been retconned continuously at this point to where I wonder if it’s even canon anymore, Shadow returns as the forefront protagonist of one the game’s major story arcs. Instead of chronically rescuing a princess and doing dirty things with her, the focal point of Shadow’s story is a figure named Mephiles. During the experiments that resulted in the death of Elise’s father, Solaris was divided into two separate manifestations, one being Mephiles and Iblis the other. Both of them have an ID and ego type of dynamic. During a scuffle with Eggman, the breaking of a mythical artifact called the “Scepter of Darkness” releases Mephiles, who proceeds to model his corporeal form after Shadow sans his mouth. A copycat isn’t a coincidence, for Mephiles’ speaking of his wishes to destroy humanity mirrors Shadow’s attitude to the point of mockery. Sonic’s unbridled positivity was never going to convince Shadow to turn the other cheek, as the only way for the black hedgehog to see the error of his ways is to echo his misanthropic disposition right back at him. Mephiles is surprisingly a better Shadow antagonist than Black Doom ever was, or at least if we are to trust that Shadow’s evil adversaries should prompt him into embracing his moral side as the hero he is perceived to be. Still, I wish the time travel component to the overall story didn’t complicate the intricacies behind the relationship between Shadow and Mephiles.

I’ve made my distaste for Sonic’s edgy doppelganger abundantly clear when I discussed previous titles in the series where he makes an appearance, so one would think that prolonging this excruciating experience with him sharing the forefront with Sonic particularly ruffles my feathers. To my surprise, Shadow’s campaign is slightly more favorable to Sonic’s because the developers have highlighted attributes of his gameplay other than speed. Shadow’s campaign is more action-oriented, littering the screen with dozens of enemies per block of a level. Shadow may not be packing heat as he was in his self-titled outing, but a “chaos blast” will effectively deplete the health bars of all enemies in its radius–making him more suitable for stomping out enemies than Sonic. Vehicles are a returning aspect of Shadow’s gameplay from his eponymous game, and the buggy, hovercraft, hang glider, and motorcycle are all unified by Shadow’s black and red color scheme despite their varied utility. Controlling them is marginally more responsive than when Shadow had the entirety of the screen time, but there is still a rudimentary quality to their acceleration that feels underdeveloped. If Sega showcased an interactive “museum” like Insomniac tends to do, riding around in these vehicles feels comparable to the rough drafts of their development that are presented as a lark. Like the quasi-Team Sonic reunion, Rogue and Omega complete Team Dark as secondary characters in Shadow’s campaign. Rogue is beset by the same glitchy climbing mechanics as Knuckles, but at least Omega’s projectiles are fitting for his character not like Tails. The improvements of Shadow’s campaign to Sonic’s are ultimately marginal, and it’s probably the more favorable one because Shadow doesn’t drive me insane with speed sections.

The last piece of Sonic ‘06’s story is unfolded through the sole series debutant Silver the Hedgehog. Unlike Sonic and Shadow who are commissioned to reside in Soleanna due to Eggman mucking about, Silver is a Soleanna native. However, he’s a citizen of Soleanna’s dismal, infernal future, which is why he pulls a John Conner and transports himself two centuries into the past to retroactively prevent what doomed his city. At first, he travels back in time with a similar objective to the T-1000, for he was manipulated by Mephiles into thinking that Sonic is the “Iblis Trigger” and strives to kill him. His confusion also results in a boss battle that stands as one of the most notorious moments of fractured fuckery in a game bursting at the seams with them. When he realizes he’s been duped and stops antagonizing Sonic, Silver alters his focus to vanquishing the actual Iblis and assisting Sonic with the time travel process whenever it’s necessary. Really, the core of the game’s overarching conflict resides with Silver’s story arc in the grand scheme of things, which is why I invested more of my attention in his campaign as opposed to the narrative lollygagging and confusing convolutions the previous two campaigns were rife with.

Despite his arc showcasing the most interesting extrapolation of the game’s events, I still couldn’t attach any personal fondness for Silver. If every hedgehog character the series introduces is intended to contrast Sonic in some way shape or form, Silver lacks Sonic’s cool charisma similar to Shadow. However, Silver is a goober instead of a brooding grouch. I don’t know whether the whiny voice acting is to blame, but the impassioned naivety of Silver comes across more as an ubergeek larping than an endearing, intrepid hero. Altogether, the hedgehog protagonist trio encompasses douchey, edgy, and dorky in an unholy trinity of cringe. In terms of his gameplay, Silver uses his psychokinetic powers in combat to lift objects like crates and fling them at enemies. The developers evidently noticed in the development process that Silver’s extraordinary abilities conflicted with the tension of combat, so they thought it wise for Silver to use his gift for moving things with his mind in the vein of puzzles. Silver’s brain teasers aren’t as consistently aggravating as Sonic’s speed sections, but one particular ball puzzle during his version of the “Dusty Desert” level is so demanding and unyielding that players commonly exploit phasing glitches to circumvent having to humor it. I, unfortunately, discovered that I never had the makings of a varsity speedrunner and had to masterfully calculate the force and trajectory of Silver’s psychokinetic pushes like a good boy. Even though Silver exists in an era beyond any other Sonic character’s mortal limits, Amy and Blaze the Cat from Sonic Rush accompany him on his quest to extinguish Iblis. I’m sure some Sonic fans will argue that Blaze being a futuristic contemporary to Silver contradicts her placement in the Sonic timeline, but I don’t give a shit. Anyway, Amy is the most sluggish out of all nine playable characters and Blaze operates like a more adroit version of Sonic. Silver’s campaign is, for the most part, the stand-out among the rest. Still, this bar is so low that not even an ant could limbo under it.

For the first time in the series, Sonic is neither the most savory nor significant figure in one of his many titles. This is probably why the developers felt no qualms about murdering the blue blur at the hands of Mephiles in the game’s final act. Elise may not be vital to Eggman’s plans, but executing her newfound love in cold blood is emotionally injurious enough to make Elise cry crocodile tears and release Iblis as a result–a cunning component of Mephiles’ scheme. Acquiring all seven chaos emeralds is also a factor in Mephiles’ plan to merge himself with Iblis to re-emerge as a wrathful Solaris ready to wipe humanity off the map. Drastic circumstances call for more manpower, which includes every other playable character in the fray for the (supposedly) grand finale of Sonic ‘06. As fittingly epic as the framing of this finale is, the idea of enduring a gauntlet of eight levels in succession with only five lives is excruciating. In execution, several characters such as Amy and Silver cannot outrun the swirling vortex of the time portals, and the sheer length of such an endeavor connotes that there are quite a bit of tidbits to memorize through failure. All of the elements of this finale aren’t as much of a stinging slap to the face as Sonic’s speed sections, but the amount of content the player must undergo without a breather is sure to cause a hefty amount of duress. Sonic is resurrected and shares his Super Sonic powers with Shadow and Silver to douse the demigod Solaris, and Elise sacrifices her memories of Sonic to prevent Solaris from ever becoming a threat to mankind. Off the record, I wish I could blow Elise away from existence so I wouldn’t have to stomach Sonic’s puppy love butterflies at every turn. Did they ever realize that Shadow and Silver have more stake in this story than he does?

I would like a formal apology from everyone who candidly shat on both Sonic Adventure games (and Sonic Heroes to a lesser extent) when I was a child. Sure, these rude comments were made before the release of Sonic ‘06, but the roaring holocaust of unspeakable, visceral horror that is Sonic ‘06 makes all of the quirky hiccups of the previous Sonic games seem like silly little quibbles in comparison. I don’t think there is a more appropriate video game comparable to the Hindenburg disaster, a bombastic display of ultra-modern technology exploding in a shocking inferno and leaving everyone awestruck at the glorious spectacle of failure. Whether it be the glitches deciding when I died, the scrambled, obtuse plot branches, the loading screens that spanned the length of a short film, or those godforsaken speed sections, I felt like I was being pinned down and sodomized at every waking moment. Do you want to know what the sad part is? Underneath all the bloated, asymmetrical, and inexcusable layers of dirt lies a solid 3D Sonic experience if the level designs and surface-level ambitions are anything to go by. My guess is that Sega put all their eggs into the game coinciding with Sonic’s fifteenth anniversary to such a great extent that they couldn’t wait another year for Sonic’s sweet sixteenth, releasing the game in its rough draft format before the developers had the chance to undergo whatever the game developer equivalent of the editing process is. Due to Sega’s impatience, hubris, greed, and total anathema for their fans, they’ve condemned what could’ve possibly been the greatest Sonic game by all contexts of the word to an embarrassing, smelly stain on the franchise that will never wash out. May God have mercy on your souls, Sega.