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Friend streamer Misfit Waferton joins us as we discuss the different anime short-films of the Star Wars Visions anthology. Can you believe it? Chris likes Star Wars again!
Have you ever heard the tragedy of Eh! Steve! the podcaster? You underestimate Steve's power as he duels with Chris regardless of the high ground. In this episode, we kill all the younglings as we discuss Revenge of the Sith.
An examination of what makes Samus Aran so iconic despite her silence, and how a voice became a detriment for two games.
Today is the release of Metroid: Dread, the “fifth” entry in the “main” Metroid narrative. More specifically, it is the most recent canonical release beginning with the progenitor Metroid on the Nintendo Entertainment System, followed by Metroid II: The Return of Samus on GameBoy, which was then succeeded by Super Metroid on the Super Nintendo, and then continued with Metroid: Fusion on the GameBoy Advance. If there is a specific storyline that has been running through the entire franchise, then these are the games considered to be the “main” ones.
Nintendo has recently announced the cast for the upcoming Super Mario Bros. film adaptation, and in response a friend of mine asked me who I’d wish-cast into the role of Samus Aran should she receive a film of her own. It is a question I answer begrudgingly, for I’d prefer there be no film adaptation of Metroid at all. It is not a series whose traits work well with the motion picture medium, grounded too much in an isolated atmosphere of exploration and mystery. From its inception to its modern interpretations, the best entries are those where the plot is minimal and the story is developed through the experience of the player.
It was days later that I stumbled upon comments on some blogs and forums that brought up the much maligned Metroid: Other M and the faults with its writing. Reading and responding to such comments led me to a realization: the greatest problem with adapting Samus Aran to screen is the same as whenever series co-creator Yoshio Sakamoto insists on giving her a voice; Samus Aran is not a character, and the franchise is at its best when the story is not about her.
Chris tries to figure out why people like AAA still, has false assumptions about Steve's recent play preferences corrected, and ultimately lots of games are discussed.
There's nothing else out there quite like the punk-rock infused No More Heroes games.
Goichi Suda, founder of Grasshopper Manufacture and creator of the No More Heroes franchise, describes his creative philosophy as designing games with the spirit of punk. He grew up with the musical genre in much the same way he grew up with video games, and as such wants to avoid safe, conservative ideas and to instead try and push the boundaries with what games can be. Of all the games he had worked on prior, it is No More Heroes where this spirit stands out the most.
Booting up the remastered release of No More Heroes on PC earlier this summer, I found myself struck by that very do-it-yourself “punk” nature that was rebelliously birthed in the music scene in retaliation to the prog-rockers and Simon & Garfunkels of the time. If I were to summarize the game as succinctly and accurately as I could, it would be in comparison to Scott Pilgrim vs. The World’s opening performance of “Launchpad McQuack”. It doesn’t take a professional to recognize the unbalanced audio levels that cause each instrument and mic to blow out the amps and speakers, nor does it take much to observe the lack of sophistication in the song composition. Yet there is an undeniable rawness to it that defies the systematic, corporate cleanliness of what you’d typically hear on the radio. This is expression, and you cannot help but be caught up in the energized emotion of the performers strumming those chords and banging those drums with as much fervor as they can muster.
(There is a degree of irony to this, seeing as the songs were written to specifically sound half-baked and shoddily composed. However, that’s partially because the songs themselves were rushed and given no opportunity to be cleaned up, retaining all mistakes and problems for the final cut of the movie.)
There was something of this spirit lost in No More Heroes 2: Desperate Struggle, perhaps due to Suda51’s shift to “Executive Director”. What that means is uncertain, though Suda’s time away from the director’s chair following the first No More Heroes has been widely published. He was still contributing ideas to the many projects within Grasshopper Manufacture, but he was not in control of them. It is, perhaps, for this reason that Desperate Struggle feels less like a sequel and more like an imitation. Like the corporate moneymen that believed they could imitate Michael Bay’s style and achieve the same success, the sequel title feels like a superficial understanding of what made the original game work while failing to capture the same heart of its unpolished “Launchpad McQuack” of a game.
Thrice Upon a Time concludes the Rebuild series of Evangelion films. It was good, but for me, the original is still better.
It’s been a couple of weeks now since I watched Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0: Thrice Upon a Time, the final entry in director and series creator Hideaki Anno’s “Rebuild” quadrology of films. A project over a decade in the making, there was a sense of finality to it not only for the films themselves, but the franchise as a whole. This is it. This is the end. It is a definitive conclusion, and as the credits began to roll I could not help but feel a wave of satisfied completion wash over me.
This feeling did not last. Days would pass by, and as I thought more and more about the film, I could not help but feel as if it was mishandled. I had spent so long wondering why Anno had changed directions so drastically with the third film, You Can (Not) Redo, that I had hoped this conclusion would answer those questions and provide a clear throughline. The final ten minutes of the film introduce changes to the entire continuity that serve no purpose and do nothing to develop the psychology of certain characters. Further research into the development of each film reveals that Anno had no grand vision at the start – at least, not one he adhered to throughout – and had effectively made it up as he went along.
Fans have been claiming that they “finally” got closure out of this film. I cannot imagine how, as the entire franchise became more convoluted and vague in the final hour. Perhaps what they really mean to say is “I finally got my happy ending”, forgetting the rage that erupted in the fandom in the actual happy ending of the television series. I’ve seen memes that refer to the original series and films as “depression” and this final film as “therapy”, and once again point to that original series ending. Even if the original End of Evangelion film left you feeling depressed due to the tone of its conclusion, there was always the manga with its more optimistic fusion of ideas from the film and original series.
Ultimately, I don’t think it is “closure” that viewers got from this final film. I simply think that many of them have been placated.
Decisions regarding the future of my content as a hobby going forward... again. Look, this is the last time, I promise... I hope.
It would seem I have the memory of a goldfish. I also suffer the incessant desire to speak too openly about myself no matter how concretely I swear I will do no such thing. What can I say? I’m a Millennial, and in my foolish youth I discovered the Blurty blog platform. “Over-sharing” has long since been embedded in my thought processes as a habit. While I have broken free of the shackles of social media, it has not yet quenched the fire of spitting out my introspective thoughts and hand wringing over things. What things? Many things.
When this habit combines with the goldfish memory it turns into the inevitable sensation that I’m about to repeat myself. Digging into this past year’s archive of blog posts reveals that, yes, I’ve already verbalized my thoughts regarding the content of this blog,and would rather leave my waste of words and time regarding behavior on stream in the rubbish bin of memory. The older I get in years, the more I believe these sorts of posts should be left by the wayside. If they are to be discussed, it should be with trusted sources with whom I can bounce my thoughts towards in private.
Unfortunately there is something more therapeutic than therapy itself in writing things out. Perhaps because, in these moments, I am writing regarding the subject most occupying my mind. In fact, this is a subject that’s been flitting about my brain pan for over a year now, whispering a truth that I’ve long wanted to ignore. A single idea that threatens to shatter any sense of value attached to not only my hobby, but the time spent thinking about it.
The honest truth is that I don’t want to make YouTube videos anymore. Or rather, I don’t want to keep making full-blown deep-dive analytical videos of video games anymore.
A lifelong Godzilla fan finds something to love and appreciate in the titanic tortoise competitor of kaiju cinema.
Godzilla is one of those few non-video game properties that has managed to stick with me throughout my entire life. Since I discovered him around the age of five and onward, I’ve always felt a love of his big stompy feet and deadly radioactive flame breath. It was this love that led me to discover and see a live show for Kaiju Big Battel and a deep appreciation for Guillermo Del Toro’s Pacific Rim despite its mediocre characters and leaps of logic.
Never had I really explored kaiju cinema beyond Godzilla, however. Not in regards to the many Japanese properties, at least. I’d always been curious about Gamera, the colossal turtle whose filmography is mostly only known to kaiju enthusiasts. Godzilla had enough mainstream clout and recognition to get a poor Hollywood adaptation released in 1998, followed by a proper American recreation in 2014, but the odds of there ever being a blockbuster budgeted Westernization of Gamera has been slim-to-none. Unless you were a prominent viewer of Mystery Science Theater 3000 in the 90’s, or a child exposed heavily to the cheaper film fare licensed out to local UHF television stations, you were unlikely to ever come across the name “Gamera” outside of kaiju enthusiast circles. Scanning through Amazon Prime’s video library recently, however, I noticed quite the collection of the beast’s films available for streaming. Now was the time to expand my knowledge of massive monsters and see for myself if Gamera had what it took to stand beside one of the most iconic colossal creatures in cinematic history.
I’ve only watched the original Gamera, the Giant Monster, released in 1965, as well as its 30th anniversary reboot Gamera: Guardian of the Universe. Incomplete though it may be, I figured these two films would serve as a foundation for what would define the Gamera films in each generation’s origin. On a superficial level, neither film was as good or entertaining as select Godzilla films from those respective eras.
Nonetheless, I found each film quite fascinating in their own right.
Steve is once again replaced by a special guest, Issuna87, so Chris can have someone to gush with love about visual novel A.I. The Somnium Files.
Despite owing obvious inspiration to both Zelda and Dark Souls franchises, Death's Door manages to come together and form an identity all its own.
Back in February I wrote about the design of the game Salt & Sanctuary, specifically calling out its adherence to the design template presented in the inspirational Dark Souls. The conclusion I came to is that I’m far more interested in games that glean some lessons from the franchise, but otherwise put their own spin on the Soulsborne genre.
Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I like it when a game knows how to blend certain design elements together in order to generate something fresh. I enjoy Darksiders 3 as much as I do because the elements it chooses to blend happen to fit snugly together, like LEGO bricks stacked into a colorful tower. It’s not enough to mix and match genres. You must take into account the goals of each individual game and which mechanics are used to achieve their vision. Some of those mechanics may not be compatible with those of another game, no matter how similar.
While the prevailing label to Death’s Door is that it is a Zelda-like rather than a Souls-like, that Dark Souls inspiration is still present. However, most acknowledgment seems to be in the game’s combat and leveling mechanics. Yes, you collect “souls” of enemies when you defeat them, and then use those souls to level up and improve your combat prowess. However, the most significant inspiration from Dark Souls has little to do with its combat, and instead fits snugly into the philosophies found in the Zelda franchise.
Death’s Door deftly combines the Dark Souls approach to map design with that of The Legend of Zelda.
Beginning with some chatter over Ratchet and Clank 2016, Death's Door, and A.I. The Somnium Files, Chris and Steve eventually labor on about the Snyder Cut of Justice League.
From the PlayStation 5 and Death Loop to the Steam Deck and games unbeaten, Chris and Steve once more talk about a whole random assortment of topics.
It kind of amazes me how much love this film continues to have despite all of its problems. Has anyone actually gone back to rewatch it?
There is a portion of Sam Raimi’s 2002 Spider-Man film that feels like the best theatrical interpretation of the character we’ve ever had. From the moment Uncle Ben is lecturing Peter about how great responsibility comes with great power and, in true teenager fashion, Peter brushes him off. The awkward insistence that Peter be referred to as The Human Spider before being tossed into a ring with Bonesaw, a brutal independent wrestler portrayed by the late and great Macho Man Randy Savage. His refusal to stop a theft after having been screwed over. The sorrowful death of Ben Parker, and the ensuing chase through the city streets as Peter yearns for vengeance. The combination of mourning and unfocused rage as Peter realizes his own inaction led to the demise of his beloved uncle.
It perfectly illustrates what great power and responsibility mean while simultaneously preparing Peter for the hardship he’ll face throughout the rest of the film. You don’t do the right thing for a reward, and failing to do the right thing often leads to the pain and suffering of another. In other words, in true altruistic fashion, doing the right thing means to take the pain and suffering onto oneself rather than allowing it to be inflicted upon others. As Peter begins to save the citizens of New York City, he will find himself celebrated at first, but later hated and rejected.
Of course, you can be forgiven for missing the part where he’s hated and rejected. The Daily Bugle claims citizens are calling for Spider-Man’s arrest, but the magnificent portrayal of J. Jonah Jameson by J. K. Simmons establishes almost immediately that the Daily Bugle is not a reliable, trustworthy source of information. We do receive a scene where police officers try to arrest Spider-Man – not that we really understand why aside from a sudden trust of the Daily Bugle’s accusations – but after that the feelings of New York towards Spider-Man are largely forgotten until the very end, when the film reminds us that the only people that actually love New York City are the poor shlubs that have to live there. Rather than develop on this notion of rejection despite your heroism, the film is far more interested in the drama and love triangle between Harry Osborne, Mary Jane, and Peter Parker.
By far the worst part of the film, and the worst execution of these characters of all the Spider-Man films.
Is it another impulsive mistake to discuss why writing about my faith may have been an impulsive mistake? Maybe I'll make another impulsive mistake about writing about things that are impulsive mistakes.
It always feels strange opening a blog entry up with “if you’ve been following me for a while”. From what I can gather, the only folks following this blog long enough to know my personality and biases are also probably friends with me in real life. Even if that friendship exists in the digital realm and not through physical, meatspace shenanigans, it is an ongoing connection and friendship that is “real” in all meaningful senses of the term. As such, anyone reading this blog likely already knows me well enough that no explanation or prelude is necessary.
Nonetheless, I feel it necessary to remind the audience – that would be you reading this – that I once began a “Sunday Studies” column upon this blog. While I’ve pretty much been Christian or Christian-adjacent my whole life, I only started “taking it seriously” a few years ago. It was then that I not only felt compelled to tone down on foul language or try to exhibit a more positive, loving behavior, but I was feeling driven to do more with my life and talents than discuss video games.
This process did not last for a multitude of reasons. The most obvious is that I have been incapable of consistently writing or updating content in any form. Either I get easily distracted by trying to play, watch, or read too many things, or I succumb to the depths of depression and self-doubt and so on and so forth. Fortunately, the latter hasn’t been much of a problem as of late, but even as I have steadily become more and more willing or capable to discuss games, anime, or film, I’ve failed to return to blogging about my faith.
While this began as a lack of confidence in what to say, it has become a confident decision to keep this blog focused on the analysis and discussion of games, their design, and occasionally diving into anime and film.
I was having a blast for roughly three-quarters of the game. Then the game decided it hated me.
I gave Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice a bit of a try when it first released, only to be driven to such depths of anger as to find myself ranting to a whole crowd of fellow players about how “bullcrap” it was. This discussion ultimately led to claims of all From Software games being “tough, but fair” despite cheap tactics to the contrary, and whenever character-action games were brought up, they were regularly referred to as “button mashers”. This sort of comparison would consistently drive my eye to twitch, and I ultimately sold the game off to someone and ejected myself from the conversation for the sake of everyone’s temperament and mood.
Now that I’ve successfully played through Bloodborne multiple times, I can better understand the appeal of the From Software games as well as what elements they offer that other games do not – one of them being the ability to avoid a lot of combat, as opposed to character-action titles that frequently lock you in a room with your foes. Or rather, they’re locked in there with you.
If there is any character-action title that epitomizes how silly it is to call these games “button-mashers”, it is Ninja Gaiden ...Sigma. I mean, any iteration of the original Ninja Gaiden on Xbox, really, but Sigma is what came in the Master Collection released this month, and so Sigma is the version I am specifically discussing. It is a game that demands the player study the habits of the enemies, allows you to receive a rocket to the face just by turning a corner, and is not afraid to take away half of your health bar, even when that health bar itself is half the length of the screen.
If we return to that “tough, but fair” assessment of the From Software games, I would still disagree that the sentiment is wholly true. Any game that causes enemies to swivel and spin, magnetized to the player position, rather than force them into the same commitment as the player is intentionally designed to be unfair. Nevertheless, I understand the sentiment behind the claim, though the words chosen are certainly poor. Nevertheless, no one of sane mind or objective consideration would try to claim that Ninja Gaiden Sigma is fair. It is quite frequently unfair by design and by accident… or at least, I think by accident.
