Dead Rising Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/12/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Dead Rising

Developer: Capcom

Publisher: Capcom

Genre(s): Survival Horror

Platforms: Xbox 360

Release Date: August 8, 2006

In 1978, horror director George Romero decided to follow up his genre-defining masterwork, Night of the Living Dead, with a sequel exactly a decade later. I can ask any horror aficionado whether Dawn of the Dead is of equal repute to its iconic 1960s predecessor, and I’d probably be confronted with passionate stances claiming that it unquestionably blows it out of the water. Dawn of the Dead was colorful, exceedingly gory, and served as biting social commentary, suggesting that the brainless, drooling hordes were fittingly analogous to the rampant consumerist culture in America. With all of these glowing aspects, it’s no wonder that the general public reveres it as the zombie subgenre’s finest hour. One of the everlasting elements that Dawn of the Dead indelibly left in the public consciousness is the premise of using the setting of a shopping mall as a defensive blockade against the throngs of undead. Admittedly, the concept might alienate modern audiences now due to the capital monolith becoming obsolete in recent years, thanks to the online conveniences of Amazon. Still, they could probably still appreciate the variety of resources and tools one could use for this hypothetical predicament, given the slew of shops that comprise these types of mega establishments. The concept of using a shopping mall as one’s richly resourceful fortress worked wonders for the medium of film, but whoever would take the onus of gamifying Dawn of the Dead’s premise for a digital dimension must’ve known that they’d be striking golden, glistening oil. Finally, when such a novel concept could be feasibly rendered in the gaming medium, the Xbox 360 birthed Dead Rising and allowed gamers to revel in interactively indulging in Dawn of the Dead’s ingenuity. As a result, Dead Rising killed all of its competition, for no other video game could facilitate a fun factor of the same caliber…right? Right?!

If any developer had the credentials to take on the task of translating Dawn of the Dead to the gaming medium, I see no better choice than Capcom, considering that their catalog suggests that they already know a thing or two about zombies. Besides having Resident Evil in bold print on their resumes, I would’ve fully trusted Capcom to deliver on the full potential of a “Dawn of the Dead video game” because of how they choose to direct their horror output. I wouldn’t say that Dawn of the Dead verged into the realm of campy, B-movie horror, but it was certainly brighter and more buoyant in tone than the oppressively monochromatic Night of the Living Dead that was working off the budget of George Romero’s loose pocket change. If subtle silliness is the only way to evoke Dawn of the Dead’s effervescence, then accept no other substitutes for Capcom treating it to their patented camp. The first component of Capcom’s camp value in Dead Rising that initially struck me was witnessing the game’s protagonist in the opening sequence, where he’s being escorted across a city skyline via a helicopter. Frank West is the man’s name, and he’s an ambitious photojournalist who’s covered wars, ya know. Because his experience in cataloguing times of violent turmoil suggests that he’s not afraid to risk his biscuit in the name of getting the scoop, the utter chaos of a zombie outbreak does not deter him in the slightest. Of course, I’d probably be less hesitant to dip my toes in the proverbial shark-infested waters if I looked like I could sucker punch one if it got dangerously close to me. What I’m alluding to is that Frank West looks less like he jots down notes from the sidelines of battle and rather that he’s the soldier in the front of the battalion, firing rounds of machine gun ammo. There’s no solid guideline that says journalists can’t look like they live at the gym, but there’s a logical reason why Superman and Spiderman have both chosen that exact vocation to divert the scent trail to their superhuman capabilities. Upon meeting Dead Rising’s secondary characters, they seem equally miscast. I suppose that Jessie is appropriately dressed as a formal female DHS agent, but all the glasses and modest colors in the world can’t cover up her buxom, Marilyn Monroe figure. Her government bureau peer, Brad, is so gung-ho that I can’t believe he doesn’t get exasperated and say, “I’m getting too old for this shit.” Their targets, Carlito and Isabela, look like two models on the set for the music video of “Despacito” rather than terrorists. If these characters are indicative of Japan’s perception of Americans, I’ll take it as a compliment. Still, the fact that we aren’t all gorgeous no matter our occupations strikes us as daft when we are depicted as such.

Despite the pilot’s incredulity, he still follows Frank’s orders to drop him down on the roof of the Willamette Parkville Mall located in Willamette, Colorado. Why they’ve chosen the landlocked mountain region state as their setting is unknown, but if I had to hazard a guess, the Japanese also believe that every mall in America is of the scale and architectural proportions to the grand poobah of malls in Minnesota. Then again, only a monolith mall equal to the Mall of America is suitably vast enough to serve as a non-linear gaming sandbox. The Willamette Mall can be accessibly charted to memory, but the odd construct of its general design kept nagging me. The spacious center of this megaplex is dedicated to the enclosed outdoor courtyard of “Leisure Park,” which evokes the naturalistic area left untouched by industrialization, like Central Park in Manhattan. The shops and other commercial attractions that surround Leisure Park are located all around it in a circular barrier like the wall of a plant cell, and it’s rather strange that the outdoor area encompasses the majority of the land in this establishment. Still, the districts that surround the astroturf run the gamut of every conceivable commercial indoor attraction. The districts that depict the more traditional mall environments are the entrance and the northern section, with narrow halls with shops running parallel on both sides. “Paradise Plaza” broadens the typical mall structure with a cafe as the focal piece of its upstairs region. The “Alfresca Plaza” compromises between cramped walking spaces and its infinite ceiling of the sky, with its faux Euro-chic outdoor environment complete with a ritzy fountain at every other square inch. The core of “Wonderland Plaza” is dedicated to a play area with giant foam blocks and an indoor rollercoaster above it, so on typical occasions, the child patrons of the former can enjoy getting splashed with the vomit of the latter. All the while, there are still strips of shopping that the adults can attend to, biding their time while the kiddies scream with delight. A food court is located in the bottom left corner, and the various edible attractions are all cartoonishly themed like the eateries at Disney World. If you’re seeking some practical, long-term eating, Seon’s supermarket features rows upon columns of food libraries to transfer back home. “Seon’s Food and Stuff” is also one of the few locations in the mall that is sizable enough to be its own isolated sub-establishment, along with “Colby’s Theater,” that also disrupts the circular interconnectivity of the mall. Given its well-rounded capital and entertainment convenience, the Willamette Parkville Mall seems like the only viable commercial enterprise in the Centennial State.

Of course, the Willamette Parkville Mall’s expanse and eclecticism are ultimately irrelevant because the majority of the megaplex’s patrons have been transformed into savage, brain-thirsty zombies. However, the factors that once made the mall appealing still translate into the context of an undead apocalypse. When the lawful flow of economic commerce has been eradicated due to the overwhelming situation at hand, the human survivors are free to use any of the store’s supplies without exchanging any currency. When thousands of different objects are at the player’s disposal in the scenario of combating a deadly zombie plague, this prospect should ideally spark a sense of excitement within the player. If it doesn’t, I’m certain that a highlight reel will convince anyone of its allure. Where does one even begin in detailing the various wares of the mall that the player can reconfigure into weapons? Across the hall from the security room are some standard melee weapons that are commonly used as tools in most zombie media: your wooden baseball bats, sledgehammers, and lead pipes, for instance. Once the player enters the mall’s perimeters, the world is their oyster in terms of what they could cram into Frank’s arsenal. Is there a musical instrument store close by to the movie theater? Channel your inner Pete Townshend (Bluto if it’s an acoustic) and smash that guitar over a zombie’s skull! Think that the zombie population in Leisure Park is akin to an infestation of weeds? Take a lawnmower and shave them down to their stubs! Electrocute them with a stun gun! Chop their limbs off with hedge trimmers! Kick soccer balls at them! Bludgeon them with dumbbells! Chuck valuable jewels at them and watch them slip and fall on their decayed asses! Actually, while the humor in using the last item mentioned is worth seeking out, the ineffectiveness in dispatching the zombie target leads to discussing a class of items where their novelty does not supersede their practicality. It might be fun to wing CDs at zombies like Shaun of the Dead and blind them by sticking a mascot-sized Servbot helmet over their heads, but all of the items usually not used as weapons in regular circumstances will prove to grow tiresome when the zombies refuse to be incapacitated by them. This is why, ultimately, weapons of logical potency like knives, swords, chainsaws, and firearms like handguns, shotguns, and machine guns should take higher precedence in the player’s limited item roster. Still, the remnants of the mall offer enough variation of the effective kinds of weapons so the player will remain stimulated while they make mincemeat out of the hordes.

The curiosity that compels the players to pillage the abandoned stores will be quelled once they bear the brunt of the unfathomably massive zombie scourge infesting the mall. Am I about to complain that a zombie game has too many zombies in it? Before you ask what kind of crack I’m smoking, trust me, realizing Dead Rising’s true colors was quite a sobering moment. Despite fostering the mismatched silliness of using non-lethal items to combat zombies, Dead Rising is not a festive romp where the player can gallivant around covering themselves in the acrid blood of the undead. In reality, Dead Rising is another interpretation of the survival horror subgenre that Capcom had trailblazed with Resident Evil a decade prior. This naturally comes with the connotations typically associated with the tense, dread-inducing survival horror genre. The weapon selection is vast, but they’ll quickly disintegrate after what I’d consider conservative usage. Similar to Resident Evil’s survival horror stipulations, the player will likely desire to preserve the employment of their strongest weapons for formidable occasions, but the player can’t simply zoom past one lumbering zombie with swift precision. Doing so in Dead Rising will almost guarantee that a square of Frank’s flesh will be chewed off his health bar. Not only are the zombies always densely squeezed together like a pack of African wild dogs, but the individual zombies in those flocks are alert enough to viciously gnash their teeth into Frank upon any close contact. The relationship between being inclined to use weapons and their lack of durable utility often puts the player in many frantic scenarios where they’re rendered defenseless and, soon, dead. Sure, Frank’s defense and physical formidability increase with every level in the game’s PP leveling mechanic, but it takes a whopping number of zombies or completing other tasks to increase a single level. Save points are also scattered parsimoniously throughout the mall, so treks between them and or retracing one's steps to them is an ordeal where sweat will spill from the player’s brow like bullets. I suggest becoming acquainted with the unlimited orange juice display in the Colombian Roastmasters and the wine stand in the food court, because you’ll be chugging both beverages so often to restore your health that it’s a wonder that it doesn’t make Frank have to piss like a goddamn racehorse.

Dead Rising also goes to great lengths to dissuade the player from engaging in indiscriminate zombie carnage because there is a strict itinerary that the player must follow. Dead Rising’s narrative is divided into “cases,” small-scale missions that will incrementally reveal more context behind the zombie outbreak that Frank wishes to gather information on and earn that coveted Pulitzer prize upon exposing his findings to the public. Because these cases progress the story, neglecting to attend the scene where they take place will result in complete, game-ending failure. Dead Rising emphasizing punctuality should come as no surprise, as the three-day timer is an overarching condition that should regenerate the weary feeling that Majora’s Mask impressed on the player with its crooked-toothed harbinger moon. The timeliness for the cases is indicated with colors, blue being the freshest, which the player can procrastinate on, yellow as the warning that its availability is fading, and red suggesting that Frank light a fire under his ass lest he suffers dire consequences. Inherently, a regimented mission schedule doesn’t suppress the player’s autonomy too drastically. However, one supreme issue regarding this continual condition is that some main missions only became available when their threshold was in the red. If I had unknowingly positioned myself at the opposite end of the map, how could I possibly correct my situational inobservance? Dead Rising’s time-oriented mechanics can be comically austere, and the total erasure of one’s progress if they don’t meet the demanding, abrupt conditions is a real fieldkick to the testicles.

Surprisingly, even with the threat of starting Frank’s quest for the truth at square one as a potential demerit that is always at play if the player doesn’t promptly comply with the time conditions, Dead Rising still encourages players to bide their time with optional objectives. One optional avenue that is continually offered as an opportunity to raise Frank’s stats exponentially, if killing and or photographing zombies wasn’t substantial enough, is saving survivors. These poor saps have certainly found themselves in a sticky situation, but Frank West can act as their knight in shining armor (or whatever drag or silly, unfitting outfit I’ve put him in for shits and giggles), so they won’t have to despair and become another brick in the immense zombie wall. Even though the survivor count is completely unbalanced compared to the undead masses that surround them, there are still plenty of people to lead to the safety of the security room that exhibit a myriad of different personalities. Frank will lend a helping hand to crippled, middle-aged men, drunks, couples, siblings, strippers, teenagers, the elderly, etc. Forgive me if I prioritized the younger women over everyone else: I swear that my decision was based on the likely scenario of post-apocalyptic reproduction and not securing future carnal pleasures. However, no matter if the survivor is young, old, or able-bodied, every one of them is an aloof idiot of equal measure. Escorting a survivor to the security room is a task of teeth-pulling aggravation. Each of them is as unresponsive to sticking by Frank’s side and following his lead as a limp baby turtle swimming out to sea upon being hatched, which often results in them getting eviscerated by zombies as a result. Frank can extend one of his weapons to a survivor to sufficiently defend themselves, but this will just compel the survivor to dispatch EVERY zombie in their vicinity. Frank can also offer his literal hand, arm, and even a piggyback ride to a survivor to better ensure their survival. Still, this tactic can only be executed with a single survivor and is only available to certain survivors based on physical status and gender. It quickly dawned on me that I was more invested in staving off the survivor’s demise than they were, a teacher who fights tooth and nail to keep their underperforming student from tanking their grades and can’t seem to inspire any morale or invigoration on their part. To make matters worse, three escaped convicts roam Leisure Park with a jeep and a mounted machine gun in the back, and they immediately revive even if they are vanquished by Frank. Have fun carrying the survivors through those conditions, sucker! As callous as it sounds, some survivors are better off as zombie chow because of their incompetence and the circumstances at play, and trying to be Oskar Schindler in an attempt to bring them to safety will only drive Frank West insane. I would be their guardian angel if I could, but I’d rather throw the sole automatic survivor to the hungry hordes of zombies like a bride does to a bouquet at her wedding. Otis, an elderly Willamette Parkville employee, takes the onus of radioing intel on survivors’ whereabouts and other quests so Frank can stay on top of his obligations. As essential a service as it is, I wish it weren’t being conducted by the most cloying person in Colorado. Not only does he insist on phoning Frank at what feels like every twenty seconds, even about tasks that have already been detailed to him, but the man has the fucking GALL to give Frank lip about “being rude” if the call is interrupted for any reason. Does he know that being on the phone with him makes me as vulnerable as a bleating baby lamb? Otis, from the bottom of my heart, you are an absolute pissant, and I’d be more concerned about Frank ending your pathetic life over all of the zombies below if I were you.

Unfortunately, I was at the mercy of Otis’s inane drivel because it could’ve revealed a chance to take down one of Dead Rising’s bosses. The aforementioned convict trio that makes the survivor escort process more of a nightmare falls under a category of characters known as “psychopaths,” antagonistic human beings whose hostility and fractured mental status can either be attributed to the severe conditions of a zombie pandemic or the chaos pronouncing some antisocial tendencies. Vandal-hating Seon manager Steve Chapman and the store’s resident obese Chinese butcher, Larry Chiang, are a few of the psychopaths Frank fights along the natural narrative trajectory. However, even with the strict time demands, I implore that the player seek out a few of these formidable foes if they can spare the journey. Sometime in the second day, cultists donning green masks and yellow raincoats will wander the mall and give Frank more grief with their daggers and blinding pocket sand. To permanently extinguish their presence, Frank must kill their grey-haired leader, Sean Keanan, inside a theater while he tries to slice and dice Frank with a sacrificial sword. Portly police officer Jo abuses her power of the badge to handcuff women perceived as fairer than her and beat them with her nightstick, while Frank must stop the endeavors of his cocky, shitstain photography rival, Kent Swanson, after he oversteps the ethical boundaries of art. Crazed clown Adam MacIntyre seems to be the unanimous fan favorite, probably due to his impressive juggling of revving chainsaws. The distinctiveness of each psychopath, plus how much personality is injected in each fight and both their introductory and concluding cutscenes, makes the psychopaths too intriguing to gloss over. However, facing off against these individuals in a game where combating groups of nondescript zombies is the norm reveals some unflattering aspects of its shooting and combat mechanics, especially when finding time to aim at redneck Cletus and the family of snipers at the mall’s entrance.

But perhaps the greatest psychopaths in Dead Rising are the ones responsible for the outbreak. I’ve neglected to discuss the game’s juggernaut tool to use against zombies thus far, but finding a wasp and smashing its glass containment in close proximity to groups of the undead will cause seizures that result in their heads exploding. The greater narrative context behind such a nifty crowd controller is that these particular insects are connected to the spread of the scourge. Experiments were conducted using wasps as a means to balance the food supply, but the biological interference resulted in infecting humans with a debilitating zombie virus. The first instance of zombie mania was in a Hispanic town called Santa Cabeza, which is how Carlito and his sister, Isabela, got involved with the ongoings in Willamette. Once Carlito dies and Isabella becomes Frank’s ally, the narrative shifts its focus towards fighting the military, who have pulled a Half-Life and decided to exterminate all traces of the zombie epidemic as a government cover-up. In this climactic swathe of downtime that the game finally grants the player, which I used to cathartically bulldoze the thousands of zombies clogging up the underground pathways, successfully eluding the beefy special forces and arriving back at the helipad at noon on the third and final day, will still result in an ending most grim for Frank West. That is, unless the player wishes to elongate their adventure with “overtime mode,” where Frank achieves the true ending by retrieving specific items for Isabela and giving the military leader, Brock Mason, a piece of his mind on top of his tank. While I’d rather Frank’s work not have been in vain, I found the qualifications for this “true ending” to be tedious and provide more evidence of the game’s combat shortcomings. When your zombie game has devolved into solely escaping the too-formidable military forces, it’s time to wrap things up.

Dead Rising was certainly more than I bargained for. I sought out this title on the impression that I’d be merrily decapitating zombies with Bed Bath & Beyond products and laughing my ass off at the absurdity of it. While the game granted me a fair amount of this, it seemed to punish me harshly whenever I partook in these frivolous activities. I now see that Dead Rising is a serious survival horror contender intended to take Resident Evil’s mantle, with all of the distressing elements of that series on full display, reinterpreted to craft its own identity. Evoking the tension of a survival horror game is one thing, but combine that with clunky, unintuitive combat scenarios and the most damning time conditions seen in gaming, and Dead Rising is liable to drive the player as mad as its psychopaths. If Dead Rising is an exercise meant to illustrate the severity of the zombie apocalypse, then congratulations: I’ll gladly opt for condemning the human race with a giant meteor impact or overexposure to chemicals that turn the male population gay, and therefore, make them uninterested in reproducing more people. I’VE LEARNED MY LESSON, CAPCOM!

Devil May Cry Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/5/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Devil May Cry

Developer: Capcom

Publisher: Capcom

Genre(s): Hack and Slash

Platforms: PS2

Release Date: August 23, 2001

With Resident Evil running the course of a succinct trilogy on the first PlayStation, Capcom decided to (briefly) retire their survival horror pioneer in favor of draining their creative juices elsewhere. If I had to look into my crystal ball of insight and attempt to unravel the machinations of Capcom after Resident Evil was neatly wrapped into a three-piece gift box, I’d guess that they were eager to scratch that action itch. I suppose the survival horror genre has its inherent constrictions. Namely, the genre must abide by slower-paced gameplay, whose steadiness is intended to accentuate the dangerous, dread-inducing atmosphere that is only achievable when momentum is at a crawl. Plus, the scant inventory of supplies and ammunition that exists within the survival connotations at play encourages players to approach situations cautiously and conservatively. A methodical gameplay directive is admirable and engaging if it’s driving an appropriate genre vehicle for such, like the one that Resident Evil had laid out and evolved with each subsequent entry. However, I can understand the desire to unshackle oneself from a formula marked by specific restraints, especially since it has been sufficiently realized in the span of three entries. With the inception of Devil May Cry one console generation later, the resulting product of Capcom’s creative ennui regarding Resident Evil, all buttons on the developer’s formal wear had been unpopped, and lampshades were inappropriately misused as hats, in a manner of speaking. This hack and slash series pissed in the face of Resident Evil’s conscientiousness with high-octane bombast, a rollercoaster of swinging swords, and a bountiful blaze of bullets blistering the bodies of enemies without reloading the guns as a necessary consideration. As history tells it, the greater gaming landscape at the time was also evidently ready to send Resident Evil offshore on a raft and set fire to its remains, for Devil May Cry was received with such a passionate embrace by gamers that it ignited a wave of decade-defining influence in gaming of equal measure to what Resident Evil had sparked in the late 1990s. Oddly enough, even though Devil May Cry’s existence was inspired by exhausting Resident Evil, the first Devil May Cry shares several stark similarities to Capcom’s previous series priority. You’ll just have to tag along and read my commendatory and critical comparisons between the two to see the uncanny parallels for yourself, plus how they elicit awe and irritation from me in equal measure.

First off, the facet of Resident Evil’s identity that is often undervalued by the general gaming public is its camp value. After the first Resident Evil was mercilessly mocked for dialing the horror campiness up to a level that surpassed that of a Roger Corman production, its sequels had to suppress their tongue-in-cheek goofiness to a suitable subtlety. Devil May Cry sees how Resident Evil toned down its cheese and raises it to the roof, where the fromage is frothing from every pore. Unlike Resident Evil, which must keep the camp factor under control to maintain the thrill of fright that a horror game should elicit, the action-intensive Devil May Cry can revel in kitsch to its heart's content. You can’t laugh at all of the Jill sandwiches when the game unleashes them is laughing at them alongside you. Look no further than the opening cutscene of Devil May Cry for proof that it's brandishing a full feeling of confidence as the butt of the joke. A sexy, scantily-clad blonde lady crashes her bitchin’ motorbike into a business of the game's namesake to seemingly assassinate its manager. When the towheaded proprietor effectively bats away all of her attempts to smite him, she changes her attitude and reveals that she requires his assistance. Why then did she try to execute him? Who am I, a mild-mannered man, to understand the contradictory complexities of the female mind? Anyways, while the tone dropping on a dime could indicate some of the game’s campy tendencies, it’s really the action choreography between the two characters that reeks of ridiculousness. After roundhouse kicking him to the other side of the room, the woman picks up and heaves her motorized mode of transportation, which the man halts mid-flight to then blow it to pieces by shooting it with twin dueling pistols. He also removes the sword that was lodged in his chest with the force of a javelin throw by plucking it with the ease and lack of discomfort of removing a tie from one’s neck. The man removing a sword from the wall that is intended to censor the breasts of a woman photographed on a poster to then show them anyway once he’s out of the center frame is an expectation-subverting visual gag that garnered a chuckle from me and bends the taste threshold equally as any of the action sequences. I think the camp value that Devil May Cry supplies speaks for itself here, don’t you?

If you’ve noticed that I’ve been obscuring the names of the characters, it’s because I felt like the grander scope of the series’ protagonist was large enough to be dedicated to a separate paragraph. Back in the former half of the 2000s, Dante became somewhat of a video game celebrity. More so than the astounding success of Devil May Cry, Dante’s widespread prominence can be attributed to his embodiment of all of the things associated with the decade’s alternative youth culture. Now that I think of it, the first Devil May Cry was released early enough at the turn of the century that Dante could’ve possibly served as the trendsetter for the streak of edgy androgyny that defined the fashion and attitude of the 2000s. It’s too bad that the “Devil May Cry” business he runs isn’t a clothing store, or else my connections to Dante and Hot Topic would’ve been rock solid. Anime was also becoming a growing phenomenon in the West, so I’m sure that his fans adored the fact that he’s a demon-human half-breed with magical powers and otherworldly durability. Conceptually, comparisons can obviously be drawn between Dante and Alucard from the Castlevania franchise. However, the video game character who Dante is alarmingly alike is Duke Nukem. Similar to the chiseled, one-man alien annihilating womanizer who helped trailblaze the FPS genre in its heyday, Dante approaches terrifying dilemmas with an overflowing streak of confidence that makes him seem immune to natural human hindrances like fear and mortality. When a wampus arachnid, whose bodily constitution consists of mostly molten lava, crashes through the ceiling and threatens to devour him whole, Dante pets and patronizes it like it's a stray cat instead of turning a bedsheet white and shitting his pants as any other man would do in this situation. The game continues to test Dante’s capacity for stab wounds when he’s impaled again on another sword, of which he ascends through the blade as it's still lodged in his torso in an unnatural, unscathed trance, like the magical manipulation of a Jean Cocteau film. On top of a shared unwavering indestructibility to Duke Nukem, Dante is also a one-liner spewing machine. What is Dante’s response to Trish putting a gigantic hole in the side of his business with her motorbike? His first instinct is not shock or anger, but “Whoa, slow down, babe!” It’s as if she’s giving him a lap dance that is too aggressive for his liking, and as if he won’t have to shell out gobs of money to repair the damage. After his encounter with the terrifying fire spider/scorpion, Dante will eventually see a bird of equally formidable size threatening him in the skies and combats its words of hostility by telling it to “flock off, feather face!” The introductory cutscene before entering the main menu ends with Dante emitting the line of “let’s rock, baby,” a catchphrase only utterable by those who are completely, unquestionably confident in their coolness. Dante seemed to have the world convinced of his suave appeal, but do I think that he’s dreamy? Is he my gaming #mancrushmonday? Honestly, I perceive Dante as a clown instead of a charming rogue. The developers seem to be fully aware that Dante’s slick, nonchalant posturing is comical and is not intended to be emulated at school to woo girls. If the developers composed Dante with the same air of sincerity as a certain troubled Sonic the Hedgehog character, who also debuted in 2001 and shares a similar reputation, I’d be roasting him like Don Rickles.

But does Dante also kick ass and chew bubblegum? Well, that’s for the game to judge, and I almost mean that literally. Another credit to Devil May Cry’s rampant popularity during the PS2 era is its pioneering innovation in the realm of the “stylish action” game. In essence, what this hyper-specific genre entails is emphasizing the pizzazz that comes with the combat of a typical hack and slash game. Genre components such as combos, aerial attacks, and diversifying one’s moveset while executing these feats will be assessed on the criteria that the player continues a chain of these in a quick and proficient succession. The player’s ability to thread this seamless onslaught will be evaluated with letter grades, along with fitting alliterative terms per grade, ranging from D for “dull” to S for a striking “stylish,” as if the parallel connotations of being a contestant in a dive contest weren’t clear enough. One may think that the developers channeling their shared trauma of an extremely regimented Japanese educational upbringing puts an equal amount of pressure on the player to perform with perfection. However, it should be a relief that Devil May Cry’s combat mechanics are surprisingly simple. There is one attack button where Dante either slashes enemies with the “Alastor” sword or punches them with the fiery fury of the “Ifrit” gauntlets. Accompanying the melee equation of combat are a selection of firearms for long-range effect, including a shotgun, a grenade launcher, a laser powered by demonic magic, and Dante’s trusty twin pistols of contrasting colors that he’s nicknamed “Ebony and Ivory.” The name scheme is just too rich with exploitation sleaze for Quentin Tarantino not to steal and use for a future film of his. The effectiveness of each weapon at Dante’s disposal can also be briefly increased by activating a power gauge below his health bar, which replenishes quickly even if the player exhausts it fully. That’s the gist of the tools used to achieve high marks in Devil May Cry, and all the game asks of the player to do with this neatly categorized roulette is keep slashing and punching until the enemy is defeated to climb the grading scale. While I’m glad that the game doesn’t expect the flashy majesty of an Olympic athlete from the player, perhaps the simplicity doesn’t bode well with the realm of extravagance that a “stylish action” game is implied to exhibit. Because the guns aren’t factored into a combo chain, all the player has to do to reach that “S” score is mash the one melee button and hope that the enemy doesn’t slide away quickly enough before you beat it to death. Dante can learn new combat maneuvers through administering the red orb currency towards them in the upgrade menu, but are the improvements really necessary when the highest grades can be earned by repeating the basics of combat? Besides a surplus of red orbs given as a prize at the end of the level depending on how fluid the player’s overall performance, the “stylish” aspect of Devil May Cry’s hack and slash gameplay is rather superfluous.

The area in which Dante will be adeptly slicing and dicing stringless marionettes, floating ghosts with scythes, and the shielded lizalfos from The Legend of Zelda is not on the city streets of his business's zip code. Dante’s quest at Trish’s behest takes him to the likely often mispronounced Mallet Island, where he must stop the demonic lord Mundus from opening a gate between the living world and the underworld and toppling the order and balance of Earth once the portal is connected. There are also some personal stakes in this mission for our protagonist because Mundus allegedly murdered Dante’s mother and brother, which was prompted after Dante’s righteous demon father, Sparda, defeated Mundus in a war that took place centuries prior. Even though setting Devil May Cry in the winding, forking avenues of an urban environment would be reminiscent of PS1-era Resident Evil, something about the ancient establishment erected at the center of Mallet Island reverberates Resident Evil louder than Nemesis screaming STARS throughout Raccoon City. Mallet Island is a splendorous setting for everyone even slightly interested in a gothic aesthetic. Immediately, the foyer vestibule of the castle, with its marble statues, crumbled staircases, and a tall, hanging chandelier at its center, dimly lighting the spacious room, evokes an aura most ominous. Continually illuminating Devil May Cry at this faint, subdued setting continually dampens the exceedingly ornate architecture that persists in its libraries, dungeons, bedrooms, etc. In outdoor sections such as the various courtyards, the orange glow of a descending sun at dusk expertly keeps the consistency of the mood lighting even when the backdrop can’t logically be shrouded in shadows. When Dante finds himself outside of the castle walls, ocean waves crash against the elevated island as an elongated sunset perpetually glistens over the horizon. Whether the atmospheric tone is one of dread or the sublime beauty of a seaside landscape, Devil May Cry truly makes its case that the then-next generation PS2 could showcase some outstanding graphics. More importantly, the spooky tension that comes with the enclosure of an abandoned building of a former, ostensible esteem harkens back to the classic Resident Evil Spencer Mansion stepping grounds more resolutely than any of its sequels.

One also can’t help but make connections to Resident Evil when playing Devil May Cry because for some reason, the game has adopted its fixed camera perspective. Without a doubt, this is the one element passed on from Capcom’s former series that proves to be a glaring detriment to Devil May Cry. In survival horror games like the ones of the PS1 Resident Evil trilogy, having an omniscient outside force direct the viewpoint is acceptable because the action is languid, separated between sizable swathes of agitating silence, and can be mitigated entirely depending on the player’s resource management skills. When the action is continually at a blazing pace in the case of a hack and slash title like Devil May Cry, having the perspective consistently shift at will while the player is simultaneously keeping a keen sense of an enemy’s offense while adroitly attacking themselves is bound to throw the player off their much-needed mojo. The sharp, jarring transposing of camera angles inflicted plenty of damage on me while fighting, which I always figured was unfair due to the unnecessary blind spot that was instantaneously created. Borrowing Resident Evil’s methodical cinematic flair also proved to be punishing whenever Dante was forced to channel his inner Italian plumber and hop from platform to platform in many instances that were uncharacteristic for this type of game. Did the fact that Dante jumps with the paralyzed hesitation of teenager me having to do box jumps in gym class not clue the developers in that bouts of platforming should’ve been reconsidered? Changing the trajectory of these stilted acrobatics mid-flight just adds insult to injury. Even when the fixed camera takes a rest while Dante is underwater, nothing can salvage the stilted awkwardness of Dante swimming. Is this why he never has to periodically return to the surface to breathe?

Having to acclimate to these types of oversights can be quite the obstacle to overcome, for Devil May Cry isn’t exactly accommodating to player error. Regardless of one’s difficulty selection, any amount of harm Dante receives as a consequence of the player’s carelessness in combat will be quite harsh. Enemies will slice off meaty chunks of Dante’s health bar like a butcher cutting up a freshly slaughtered pig, and all it takes is one critical hit to turn Dante from a healthy green to a bleeding red. When the throngs of arcane adversaries prove to be too overwhelming and Dante dies as a result, the resurrection process leads to what is perhaps Devil May Cry’s strictest difficulty stipulation. Sharing the inventory of the upgrade menu alongside augmentations to Dante’s two devil triggers are a selection of enhancement items, such as a temporary shield and two elixirs that fully replenish one’s health and magic meter. Also sharing the list of aidful inventory are the smattering of orbs, which are diverse in color yet share an identical screaming visage. Like the magical pills in a Lewis Carroll fantasy realm, each color orb has a unique property that will maximize a distinct attribute of Dante’s. Fragments of the blue orbs can be put together to make a whole one, like finding four heart containers in a Zelda game, while purple orbs are allocated towards increasing the allotted time for Dante’s devil triggers. Personally, the orbs of most vital importance are the yellow ones, for they are essentially this world’s mushrooms that stockpile Dante’s life counter. What the player probably won’t realize until they’ve royally screwed themselves is that these 1-UPs don’t reset to a modest handful when a “game over” occurs. The player is forced to spend their hard-earned red orbs towards ensuring that they can afford the relief of checkpoints after dying, instead of having to revert to the beginning of a level. Considering the aggression of enemies matched with their whopping damage output, the player will feel like they can’t afford to purchase any other item. I felt this pang of despair particularly during a mission where I was caged in with a ghoul who kept literally cutting me down with Giallo-murderer-sized scissors. However, I implore the player not to abandon hope because of this stern caveat, for the lack of guaranteeing extra lives actually complements Devil May Cry’s level format. Devil May Cry’s missions are formatted with solidified finish lines, segmenting the events of the narrative with arbitrary objectives. The length of each “scene” can vary from a brief, breezy walk to an arduous series of objectives where being forced to do them without respite, with no checkpoints as a merciful safety net, can crush the player’s morale. When the player recognizes which missions are exhausting tests of endurance, they can conserve their red orbs for these instances and hardly have to rewind like they’re returning a VHS tape to Blockbuster.

I recommend that the player binge on yellow orbs when they’re faced with a mission that features a boss battle. Fighting the formidable, milestone foe is never be the sole focal point of a mission, which means that the likelihood of being battered and bruised upon encountering them is almost a guarantee. On top of that contextual hurdle to consider, each of the four bosses the game recycles throughout the story is strapped with a distinctive offensive attribute. The flaming arachnid I’ve mentioned several times before, Phantom, proves to be quite the early roadblock due to his sole source of vulnerability being obscured behind an impenetrable exoskeleton. Plucking the feathers off the demonic eagle, Griffon, isn’t an ordeal until he chooses to raid Dante on the mast of a ghost ship and takes advantage of the dearth of pronounced footing in this arena. Nelo Angelo is the only humanoid boss who also specializes in swordplay, and he can be smoothly skewered if the player patiently waits for him to stop flailing his weapon around. The aptly named Nightmare, on the other hand, is a mystifying boss due to its amorphous, gooey form, making its weak spot inconspicuous. Good thing the game has acquainted the player with the circular switches implanted in the walls; otherwise, Dante’s skull and bones would probably become another piece of the disgusting, Jello-like blob’s accumulated mass. While the repeat encounters may overstay the welcome of Mundus’s cronies, their physical and offensive distinctions, plus their genuine imposingness, are satisfying enough to keep the boss roster from growing stale.

It saddens me to say that among the exceptional crop of bosses that Devil May Cry displays, the pinnacle of vanquishing Mundus is unfortunately the game’s lowest point. The demon lordship’s first phase is an inappropriately implemented space shooter section, where the player is abruptly introduced to unfamiliar mechanics scaled to the apex difficulty found in a final boss battle. The phase that follows reinstates the more traditional combat mechanics, but Mundus must be approached from a safe distance on account of the pool of lava that surrounds him. Because the game inexplicably wouldn’t allow me to change to the Ifrit gauntlets and bombard him with its ranged meteors, I had to exploit the heavy damage output of the devil triggers and endure the burning sensation that is depleting Dante’s health. I can’t tell if this is clever or cheap on my part. After two excruciating phases, the evil bastard prolongs his eventual defeat by appearing in his most pitiful form to distract Dante from escaping the island before it explodes. I certainly grew to despise Mundus for all of his fuckery at the game’s final moments, but I already harbored a distaste for him as Devil May Cry’s central antagonist beforehand because of how much unsavory melodrama he injected into the narrative. Apparently, Trish is an identical apparition of Dante’s mother who was spawned by Mundus to torture him psychologically. Considering the promiscuous way she’s dressed, Dante has some oedipal predilections that I’m glad the game doesn’t explicitly delve into. As it is, the vexing way in which Trish betrays Dante at random occurrences just to apologize and revert to being his ally prompts some seriously trite melodramatic scenes from Mr. Cool–including one infamous line about “filling Trish’s dark soul with light” complete with a voice crack as the embarrassing cherry on top. I’m not saying that Dante can’t express a varied range of emotions, but this is like seeing Fonzie crying after publicly peeing his pants. I’d skip town after that display of reputation-ruining humiliation.

Capcom decided to reclaim its stance as architectural giants in the gaming medium once again by innovating on the hack and slash genre with Devil May Cry. While I’m convinced of Devil May Cry’s allure in its chic presentation, bewitching setting, and fairly charismatic protagonist, the game is heavily hindered by tons of dissonant decisions that clash with its intended direction. Except for the environments, all of Devil May Cry’s shortcomings stem from its successive relationship to Resident Evil, of which it shouldn’t share any characteristics with, due to the divergence between their gameplay mechanics. Angling the camera sporadically during intense combat bouts and treating checkpoints with the same scarcity as ink ribbons proved to make Devil May Cry insufferable at times. I understand that Devil May Cry’s foundation was initially formulated as the fourth Resident Evil game, but one of the developers should’ve noticed the discrepancies and promptly cut the umbilical cord. However, I’m not worried about the series’ future, for any child should start weaning off of its mother’s milk after its infancy.

Doom Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/4/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Doom

Developer: id Software

Publisher: id Software

Genre(s): First-Person Shooter

Platforms: PC, SNES, 32X, Jaguar

Release Date: December 10, 1993

The pioneers across any genre of art and entertainment usually don’t age gracefully. We cannot grant them enough veneration for their visionary contributions that molded their mediums, but our high praises for them rarely translate to personal investment. The natural ageing process will wither its former luster, and the generational disconnect will likely void all engagement from future players. I believe I’ve used the grandparent analogy before, but there really isn’t any better way to illustrate the complicated connection one has to our earliest, once-excitingly fresh and innovative entertainment examples. Ol’ Gramps would love to toss the pigskin around with his yougin’ grandson, but the whippersnapper would rather spend his time among those of his own youthful demographic. When Grampa might wind up in the hospital for dislocating his shoulder upon throwing the ball, and he doesn’t know how to connect to the internet, much less what the latest cyberspace crazes are, can you blame the kid for wanting to maintain his polite, respectful distance towards his Pop-Pop? Specifically in instances where this analogy pertains to video games, I’m a platformer genre connoisseur of both the 2D and polygonal 3D variants. I salute both the first Super Mario Bros. and Super Mario 64 for providing the template of this type of video game that sculpted my adoration for the gaming medium, but their wrinkles and achy joints are just too jarringly pervasive to warrant more than my respect. Ya’ll know I will prioritize playing anything with the Metroidvania label slapped onto it, but I think I’d rather get stuck spelunking without a flashlight than attempt to navigate through Zebes again in the first Metroid game on the NES. For the first-person shooter genre, people often give Wolfenstein 3D its rightful commendations for paving this particular territory in gaming, but I’d be lying if I said that its rudimentary minimalism was still stimulating decades onward. This is why its close-knit spiritual successor, Doom, is the pioneering FPS that tends to transcend the courteous golf claps that Wolfenstein 3D receives to continue being treated to uproarious applause and the throwing of ladies' undergarments. To this day, Doom still rocks my fucking socks off, but it does admittedly exhibit some elements that have become unsightly due to the passage of time.

Regarding the aforementioned “minimalism” of Wolfenstein 3D, nothing screams basic building blocks of gaming more than traversing through cramped mazes with a muted color scheme slathered on the walls by Microsoft Paint. Killing Nazis should always be an exciting objective, but Wolfenstein 3D cannot inherently coast on its premise when the thrills of it are muddled by ugly claustrophobia. Ironically, Doom’s visuals are strikingly better than Wolfenstein 3D’s because they pronounce the primitive pixels instead of making another sad attempt at masking them with a collection of splotchy, digitized Crayola crayons. Doom’s pixelated sheen is refined to a glorious, satisfying crisp. We can still detect some grainy edges in both the backgrounds and in our immediate surroundings, but I doubt that the player will mind too much when the graphical appearance exudes more depth and character than most of its contemporaries. Add some situational lighting to specific settings and some much-needed elevation to broaden the foregrounds, and all of the presentational bells and whistles might be enough to distract from the fact that it isn’t quite of the advanced third-dimensional spatial plane that would soon emerge (the lack of a jump function notwithstanding). It certainly puts the Mode 7 system of the SNES to shame. Speaking of the quasi-3D plane at play here, it should also surprise everyone that, despite the countless peaks, ledges, and tall obstructions that require elevators to reach and or climb over, all of Doom is still composed entirely in a two-dimensional rendering. That’s some video game magic that only a wizard like John Carmack is capable of casting to a delightfully perception-warping degree. I’d argue that the protagonist whose visage we see from a visor located front and center in the HUD has also been significantly improved. The “Doom Guy” gesticulates his health status through his protective helmet more emphatically and looks the part of someone masculine or madcap enough to operate as a lone wolf in battle, instead of a cartoony goober newly making corporal status while seemingly bearing an inability to register pain. He doesn’t exactly supersede the flat avatar level of characterization, but his added layer of facial personality compels the player to salute his badassery.

Doom’s presentation has also aged far more gracefully than that of Wolfenstein 3D because Doom’s conceptual core was far more defined and inspired. Alongside Midway’s fatality-facilitating arcade fighting classic, Mortal Kombat, Doom was another game whose graphic content was provocative enough to draw ire from the PTA boards across America and provoke the birth of the ESRB rating system. The crux of my review is defending Doom’s salient grey hairs, but it taps into such a specific facet of an early 1990s subculture so uncannily that I can’t deny its datedness. Essentially, Doom is an interactive externalization of the arcane, horrific, and satanic iconography surrounding the death metal subgenre that was blossoming in the extreme music underground at the time. When Doom’s setting isn’t the fiery catacombs of Hell, the legions of the eternally damned are still plaguing the uncolonized moons of Mars. Therefore, the game’s entirety must maintain the chaotic, otherworldly terror of Hell through its atmosphere and aesthetic. The red planet’s orbiting bodies are more cold and mechanical than outright garish, with a lack of sufficient lighting in the more enclosed areas evoking a tense and ominous tone and dimly obscuring the industrial, cybernetic setpieces. When the player descends to the depths of Hell in the third chapter, however, illuminating the environment reveals setpieces startling enough to scare the player into wishing they had remained in the dark. This is where the death metal aesthetic comparisons are as clear as the skies on a summer day in Tampa, Florida. At the very entrance of Hell, an elevator composed of what appears to be dorsal meat, given its spinal cord skeletal support, raises the player to an arena where the unnatural cracks in the ground vaguely look like a dehydrated brain. More fleshy, gaudily pink foregrounds supporting the player’s feet in Hell will see a scroll of screaming souls that greatly resemble the twisted gestures on the front cover of Morbid Angel’s “Altars of Madness.” While we’re at it, the mix of organic viscera with the hellscape background is also reminiscent of the cover of their follow-up album, “Blessed are the Sick.” The lake of lava at the center of “Mt. Erebus” immediately reminded me of Dismember’s “Like an Everflowing Stream,” where the enclosure on an island glows a flashing red and blue that suggests there is heat radiating off of it so scorching that it could melt sheet metal in seconds upon contact. Eviscerated bodies of unfortunate space marines dangle from chains like the Hellraiser-esque album art of Autopsy’s “Severed Survival,” and the occasional sightings of crucified humans here evoke the flippancy of popular religious imagery featured on too many death metal album covers to count. All the while, a blaze of crimson red engulfs the backgrounds to overwhelm the player with an enveloping hostility. In a just world, id Software would be paying royalties to Dan Seagrave for borrowing a heaping amount of his sublime, hellish landscapes that piqued the interests of 90’s metalheads and evidently, gamers alike. To be clear, even though I’ve associated a negative adjective with Doom’s presentation, I don’t mean it disparagingly. Encapsulating the most visually and tonally intense subsection of metal music in a video game converges two of my niche interests wonderfully. As for the gaming normies who do not see Doom’s environments as macabre eye candy, I’d still argue that the pixels dilute the ghastliness of Hell and Mars to a point of palatability.

The unknown reaches beyond our benevolent Earth are disquieting on their own merits, but ultimately, it’s what lurks in these unfathomable realms that poses any real danger. Of course, I am speaking of the demonic forces that run rampant throughout every conceivable nook, cranny, and corridor across the outer limits. Doom’s enemy roster consists of a diverse army of hellspawn with an equal precedence in the Doom playbook as the mute space marine who takes them all back to Hell from whence they came, in a manner of speaking. The varying offensive output and defensive constitution per breed suggest that there is a hierarchy within the federation of satanic soldiers, like any military organization. The weakest in body and ostensibly mind are the human soldiers who have been reanimated and or possessed by demonic magic. They still use the human weaponry of handguns and shotguns they brandished when they were fully conscious, and the player can euthanize these poor bastards with one or two bullets from their array of firearms. In the actual ranks, the lowest grunts seem to be the brown, fireball-tossing imps, followed by the beefy, bull-charging “Pinky” beasts whose bodies are almost entirely muscle mass. Some variants of “Pinkies” even have the power of invisibility at their disposal, which can only be visually discerned by their moving, transparent outlines. The demons whose anatomy strays away from anthropoid structures tend to be the more formidable ones, such as the demonic Madballs of the “Cacodemons” and the airborne “Lost Souls,” who irritatingly smack into the player’s blind spots like someone has thrown an eraser at the back of their heads. Controlling the common enemy chain of command are the “Barons of Hell,” imposing mirror images of Satan himself if the dark lord got prison ripped. While these hooved, lobster-red Hell bouncers are glorified minibosses, Doom will eventually pit the player against the strikingly strong “Cyberdemon” and “Spider Mastermind,” whose machine-like enhancements suggest that even the scariest creatures imaginable still need some space-age armor and artillery to boost their dauntingness. Even though the scourge of the underworld is a bunch of ugly, putrid monsters, they still exude a surprising amount of personality. Upon pumping the last bullet into them, the way in which they die somewhat reveals a layer of vulnerability. Each of them utters a uniquely pained, pathetic death cry when their last defenses cave in, as if the player were putting down a bear, wolf, or other earthly animal. Not to mention, the mess of gory entrails they are reduced to upon death will almost make the player feel remorseful for pulverizing them into disgusting paste (I said almost). Their bodies also won’t disappear upon their defeat, so the faint hints of guilt can resonate with the player upon retreading the levels. There must be a sound reason as to why mowing down the unholy hordes of demons never loses its “oomph factor” despite how the game absolutely bombards the player with them in every frame of the level, and it can likely be attributed to the subtle hints of detail that accent every encounter.

Of course, the “Doom Guy” can only transform every level into a graveyard with his eclectic roulette of weaponry. To summarize the protagonist’s arsenal on the whole, one half is a selection of common FPS guns, while the rarer half that becomes obtainable later in the game is a slew of super-deadly gizmos that take advantage of Doom’s science-fiction thematic overtones. A pistol serves as the “Doom Guy’s” default weapon, the one tool he carries automatically and will not be stripped away from him as a penalty for dying. The Chaingun’s range of fire and automatic spray of ammunition should be ideal for dispatching demons by the barrelful, but I always found myself using the single-blasting shotgun in most instances of heated, outnumbered combat. Hell, the shotgun became such a reliable, steadfast tool in fighting Hell’s forces that I almost felt compelled to refer to it by a woman’s name, like a man does his car or any other expensive, inanimate piece of property he takes pride in keeping. Alas, even though the shotgun took up the most amount of screen time (that is, being the most common object in the first-person viewpoint), the more durable demons that appear more frequently as the game progresses require firepower of a colossal caliber to exterminate. Sure, rocket launchers exist on Earth, but this particular one in Doom comes with a maximum of fifty shells and the perk of not having to be reloaded for a reason. Energy cell ammunition will fuel both the electric “plasma gun” and the game’s ultimate juggernaut weapon: The BFG. No, Roald Dahl fans, there is nothing “friendly” about this weapon, although it does satisfy the two other redundant descriptors. The acronym stands for “Big Fucking Gun” because seeing how one concentrated blast of energy from this hulking monstrosity will annihilate every enemy in its general direction might generate shouting of enthusiastic swear words from the player. It certainly gives the “Metal Blade” some stiff competition for the title of “most bodacious video game weapon,” but it still falls short because the BFG isn’t exactly energy efficient. Then again, ammo for every gun in Doom feels like it depletes quickly on account of the constant swarms of demons testing their might against humanity’s ballsiest warrior. To further complement the “Doom Guy’s” big brass stugots, if he ever finds that all of his artillery has been exhausted, the man will resort to brutally indenting his spiked ring into demons' faces with his fists. If that won’t earn you the Presidential Medal of Freedom, I don’t know what will. A chainsaw is also available as an alternative melee weapon for drastic circumstances, but I found the stationary sawing of a single enemy at a time to be rather impractical in most combat scenarios.

Ideally, the player shouldn't find themselves between an ammunitionless rock and a hard place with growling and roaring demons all too often. While the unholy hordes are bound to drain entire rounds of bullets with one sizable swarm, replenishment for every weapon can be found scattered around each level. Doom’s level design revels in the inconspicuous. Never will any of the levels coordinate progress door by door, like the game is moving on a linear rail. Describing Doom’s level design as labyrinthian might not even do it justice, as its abstractions are too asymmetrical to fall under the charted maze-like connotations of the phrase. This is why using the level map as a frame of reference in guiding the player is not recommended, but this doesn’t mean that the player is guaranteed to be haphazardly scurrying about like a chicken with its head chopped off. Rather, Doom persuades the player to embrace curiosity, using it in a practical manner to discover all of the secret goodies hidden in every crevice across Hell and the moons of Mars. Restocking on ammo and health items should definitely entice the player to put on their explorer hats, but they might also find one of the many temporary enhancements that will boost their confidence in battle, including double health, armor, “berserk mode,” and a brief window of total invincibility. If only this godly perk didn’t come with the caveat of handicapping the player with a blindingly white light filling the entire screen! If none of this provides enough incentive to scrounge around each level meticulously, tough titties. The developers would be damned if they allowed the player to casually skip to each level’s goal like the hare in a footrace, so they cleverly implemented three different keys that lock doors of their coinciding color. Some players argue that constantly veering off the beaten path due to the task of key collecting conflicts with the straightforward objective of killing demons, but how else will the players come to acknowledge the sheer depth showcased in these levels without forced bouts of circuity?

Unfortunately, despite all of the positive qualities the game has retained, I’m still going to have to knock Doom down a few pegs for upholding some archaic difficulty conditions. Surprise, surprise; an aged game that exhibits the harshness of Hell is a bit austere in the gameplay department. Specifically, the game isn’t very merciful towards those who can’t overcome the overwhelming odds of smiting dozens of demons simultaneously. If the space marine protagonist screams his anguished cry and falls to his death when his health is expended, the player will be resurrected at square one of the current level with only the pistol in hand. Is it necessary to elaborate on why getting stuck with the simple pea shooter sucks? A lack of skill is one thing, but there are also a myriad of instances where Doom sticks the player in situations where survival becomes a relevant element to level progression. For instance, in the third chapter’s second mission, “Slough of Despair,” I struggled immensely with the onslaught of enemies in close quarters without having accumulated enough of the guns and their ammunition to withstand their aggressions. The statistics page at the end of the previous level noted that I had uncovered most of its items, so my unpreparedness was not due to any carelessness on my part. Many Doom levels also require the player to (literally) dip their toes in hazardous pools of lava, blood, and an unspecified green goop en route to clear the level. Unless the player happens to find a hazmat suit, their health will plummet like the current housing market. Sometimes, enemy activity will be far too unchecked to handle, especially in the extra chapter of “Thy Flesh Consumed.” Yes, I think that “Perfect Hatred” is an apt title of a level in which the game crams so many enemies down the player’s throat that they’re guaranteed to figuratively choke. One particular level in this post-game addendum, “Against Thee Wickedly,” exemplifies every possible unfair condition coalescing into an absolute nightmare. Minibosses upon minibosses stand around several elevated islands with an elevator surrounded by lava at its center that the player must constantly visit. When I die and undoubtedly go to Hell, I’ll probably be experiencing this godforsaken level for eternity. For now, the two Johns are my grand punishers who seem to derive as much sadistic pleasure in my failures as Satan himself.

John Carmack and John Romero might be unscrupulous bastards if Doom’s difficulty stipulations are any indication. Still, the magic these two men made for the gaming medium remains invigorating all these years later, despite the hurdles present that many modern gamers might try to avoid. At the end of the day, the premise of shooting monsters with a vast array of weapons will never grow out of style, like a pair of blue jeans. In the mix of this fun, simple concept, Doom still excels with its FPS successors because of its complexities. Disintegrating demons into piles of mush may have become boring if not for the serpentine progression patterns in environments that come as close as possible to graphical verisimilitude in the early 1990s. On top of all of this, its presentation is still bitchin’ enough to make me unironically do the devil horns for the first time since I was fifteen years old. Underestimating Doom is like downplaying the awesomeness of elderly Chuck Norris, which might result in him knocking you out with a swift roundhouse swing. Doom will kick your ass, and you will fucking love it, you young gaming grasshoppers.