“Itchy, Tasty: An Unofficial History Of Resident Evil”. Review.

“Itchy, Tasty: An Unofficial History of Resident Evil” is Alex Aniel’s debut book, chronicling the inception and subsequent success of the Resident Evil series. An extensive account documenting the long, sometimes storied history of one of Capcom’s most revered gaming franchises. Alex, a long time fan and industry expert, consulted many principle individuals privy to the development of these games, including creator Shinji Mikami. With each giving a personal insight into not just the adversity of creating Resident Evil, but establishing survival horror as the standard industry epithet.

Its clear from the offset that this has been compiled by someone passionate about the franchise, particularly its formative development. Someone gifted with a knowledge that can only be obtained having survived the enduring horrors depicted in the games. You have to commend Alex’s attention to detail and extensive research, as well as his dedication to the subject. The effortless way he formulates an overarching narrative, rather than just a fastening a series of anecdotes sequentially.

What strikes me most is his fluency with Japanese, that isn’t only utilised as a means of translating conversations with the native speaking designers he interviews, but also clarify spelling or punctuation differences that has influenced the Resident Evil verbiage. Such as H.U.N.K, the clandestine special operative, being all caps. Even the forward, written by Mark Julio, another revered industry expert, reflects my own nostalgic sentiments to the point that it almost feels plucked from my own memories.

One of the most interesting aspects that the book examines is the original games prominent facile dialogue. An eminent if much maligned dialogue, ridiculed for both its intent and delivery. Though oddly enough the simplicity of the efforts was at least a partially intentional decision. One influenced by the desire to make the game as linguistically accessible to a Japanese audience as possible, due to the absence of any native dubbing.

Reading “Itchy Tasty”, it’s remarkable the number of variables required to ensure the original Resident Evil was even released, let alone the commercial and critical success it eventually became. Capcom at that time was not the multifaceted company it is today. The proposal of a “Horror” focused game like Resident Evil was an inherent risk, one that threatened to escalate potential bankruptcy already looming over the developer. A property inspired by prior ventures that had failed to capitalise on their unique, if niche premise. Resident Evil was really the delayed result of Fujiwara’s patient resolve in waiting for the industry to catch up to his vision. As up until then hardware was lacking the necessary polygons to render the kind of gratuitous horror he had envisioned.

Some of the more obscure tangents in the book include a partially deaf composer, drafted to produce a soundtrack to the re-release of Resident Evil, that were not only universally derided, but also written by a man who had for many years been taking credit for somebody else’s work, whilst also not being as deaf as he appeared. Also some of the principal character’s names were actually inspired by those featured pornographic magazines.

Almost every game in the series suffered some kind of complication: Resident Evil 3 was initially intended to be a spin-off that was later expanded. The original Resident Evil 4 became Devil May Cry. With the subsequent version enduring several drastic revisions, that eventually led to the unceremonious departure of Shinji Mikami. Resident Evil 2, my favourite in the series, was well into development when the script was amended by an outside consultant, and swiftly cancelled. Leading to a complete overhaul of the existing game, resulting in a year long delay. Not to mention a technical accident that led to Resident Evil 2 being shipped with 2 disc’s, when it was quite possible to fit on one.

We also learn about Capcom as a conglomerate and how they collaborate with each platform. The publishers agnostic approach to game development. Their rather covert development of Resident Evil offshoots. The emphasis that if Resident Evil could have been developed for toaster, Capcom would have. Censorship by newly established rating organisations that would appraise the content of these games, certifying Resident Evil as, well, evil! How they never created games exclusivity for one preferred platform. The intervening year’s proved costly, as did their unwavering commitment to Nintendo’s Gamecube. Despite the quality and quantity of Resident Evil games being exclusively developed for the failing console, it was not enough to encourage consumers buy a console solely for Resident Evil.

There is so much history here, narrated with such personable affection that it feels more like a story than archival publication. Giving a broadening context to a nostalgia I can associate with, centred around Resident Evil. If you don’t share that same enthusiasm for this series, then there is probably little incentive to read this. But as a fan, Itchy, Tasty truly illustrates the considerable efforts and sacrifices made by the people that created this series. And just how thankful I am they did!

Mansplaining Women In Games.

In an age sensitive to gender identity, sexuality, equality and all manner of social standings, portrayals of females in gaming seems like an unusually tone deaf outlier to the conformity. Though depictions of women has matured somewhat since Lara Crofts “Great Pyramids Of Giza” extensions, smuggled inside her adamantium lined tank top, there are still obnoxious depictions, leveraged by the masculine personification of how women should be portrayed in games.

Having played a number of Jrpg’s, I’m well acquainted with our distant relations proclivities for provocative depictions of females: Slender. Vulnerable. With a naivety that belies an inherent courage. Exemplary skin complexions, unburdened by blemishes or pores. Soft delicate features that make them more appealing to a male driven audience. Innocent, doe-eyed expressions. Endowed with anatomically questionable chest size, and leaving as much room too the imagination as their tight tank top allows for their heaving cleavage.

Again this is a very broad generalisation, one that employs many variables to make character’s distinctive, yet as physically attractive as possible. But doesn’t accurately reflect every female character. Someone like Elena Fisher from the “Uncharted” franchise is a female representation that defies these conventions in a positive manner. Though still a supporting character, subservient to the reckless volatility of Nathan Drake, she is a strong, independent women, capable of looking after herself, without having to verbally express her attributes at regular intervals. You can observe, through her actions that she is motivated by her own instincts. Though she is still accredited with some of the formalities of female design – the slim waist, feminine features and tank top – She isn’t objectified. She’s not a trophy for Drake to claim, but a women that commands respect.

During Sony’s recent state of play, an event specifically dedicated to “Horizon Forbidden West”, Aloy, the games chief protagonist, navigates her way through a playable segment of the game. The presentation concludes with an vague, yet ominous declaration about a literal and figurative storm approaching. What I didn’t know is just how prophetic that epitaph was! Now we know the Internet has a reputation for publicising the disparaging remarks of a vocal minority, to elicit the collective ire of the many to dispute their belligerent claims and stir-up controversy. But I was utterly flawed one particular critique on social media.

So among the enthusiastic throng of people reacting to the virtual exhibition was one disgruntled observer, typically emboldened by their anonymity, reacted to the trailer with a bewildering accusation concerning the size of Aloy’s cheeks. The implication being that Sony have capitulated to the liberal agenda and altered her appearance to someone much more androgynous, thereby satisfying the leftist conspiracy. He then emphasised his point by posting a before and after image of Aloy, one natural, the other heavily edited with accented makeup, again enforcing a negative interpretation of “females”, and perpetuating the false masculine attitude towards them. This is where we have come too – fat shaming a fictional character?

Sexism is still a prominent rhetoric in our culture. It may be passive at times, but its there. Women are still objectified, subjected to the habitual conventions of men’s hubris. Gaming is only a small facet of the problem, but a pivotal one too. I might not be the intended audience for such lurid gratuity, though its difficult to imagine anyone outside of puberty that fits that criteria. Nor am I particularly offended by the depictions. Some of it is not especially salacious, but at my age it does come across as perverse. With a daughter of my own I’d like to believe that games can be a distraction from the bigotry that besets this world, but also a bastion of solidarity that can explore themes of discrimination that isn’t condescending. And perhaps even promote tolerance.

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What do you think? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

Fixing My PS5 Controller.

When it comes to technology, specifically the fundamentals of how they operate, I am as adept at there repair as the Amish. My comprehension of the mechanics of even modest appliances are probably a notch above “Witchcraft”. Having never been blessed with an inherent affinity for understanding the technical logistics, nor especially receptive to their qualities, the idea of repairing a damaged gadget offered no persuasive incentive. However, when the defective implement in question is my 6 month old PS5 controller, repair becomes essential.

The concern for me was the very abrupt severity of the situation. The button in question is the R2, universally recognised as firing trigger for every FPS in the past decade, and accredited as being the most comfortable and ergonomic option. While navigating Anglo-Saxon England as an invading viking in Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla I noticed that, while attempting a heavy attack the R2 button felt malleable. Demonstrating a receding rigidity you’d usually expect after many years of usage. It was apparent from its beleaguered response that something was wrong. Though the trigger still functioned, performing the necessary tasks instructed, the lack of tension made the controller vibrate. What was curious was the absence of any sudden trauma or excessive use that could expedite such a gradual certainty. For my part, I’ve been nothing but attentive to my new, very extravagant accessory.

A quick Google search revealed not only the root cause of the loose trigger, but the extent of the damage. A tiny, curved spring that enables the trigger to respond to specific stimulants the player experiences, like the taughtness of a bow string for example was the culprit. And judging by the dissemination of similar enquiries online, a common defect. Now if the device had been damaged by my own aggressive volition, fine. I’d have no complaints. But to manufacture a product with such an inherent fault, or at least questionable durability, is inexcusable!

Now at this point I had two choices: Either contact Sony directly to arrange for restoration of the device or request a replacement. The latter I had discovered much later was liable to be Sony’s response. Or attempt to remedy the situation myself. Considering the inevitable delay and my personal aversion to phone conversations, I decided the only solution was to replace the defective part myself. What’s the worst that could happen?

So I made all the necessary arrangements. Purchased the requisite components. Studied the process of safely dismantling the device. Assured by multiple videos that the process was simple, provided you were delicate. And with great reluctance began the gruelling 1.5 hour operation to surgically replace the PS5’S broken segment.

Anyone with even a degree of technical proficiency, isn’t likely to squander such an excessive amount time on procrastination and deliberation. But in my defence I was heavily sedated by Beer and pizza that prolonged my convictions. Arrested by an overriding anxiety. As you begin prising things apart, trying desperately not break some tiny, yet crucial mechanism, you become acutely aware that you could inadvertently do something you can’t reverse. But as I made cautious little incisions in the controller’s exterior, pausing the YouTube videos to ensure I was making the right apertures, things began to improve. Until the casually dissected parts strewn across the table like extracted organs began to grow, so did my confidence.

In fact the most difficult part of all, other than reassembling the fragile plastic casing that “slots” in beneath the analogue sticks, was maneuvering the compact spring into position. A process only exacerbated by my fat, clumsy fingers. But the satisfaction of seeing that once slackened trigger responding to actions the way it was intended felt like a tremendous accomplishment. A solution easily resolved if I had just approached Sony, but not nearly as satisfying. Something I achieved. That by my fair, callous riddled hands, I had nurtured this broken controller back from the brink of extinction. And that feels pretty damn good!

Get Good Or Die Trying!

The “Git Gud” mentality, a slang term that refers to an individuals latent skill of a particular task, is something of an abstract – as well as condescending contradiction. It’s a prevalent concept in the industry, attributed to series such as Dark Souls and Bloodborne. Popularised exponents of the genre, with notorious difficulty curves that actively discrimantes against the players infancy, thereby encouraging them to learn from their considerable failures. Of which there will be many! These kind of inherently laborious endeavours demand a very cautious yet calculated fortitude, tempered by a very resolute patience. I don’t think it would be hyperbole to declare that I take to these kind of challenges like a duck to water….If the duck in question has been plucked, gutted and boiled in said water.

It’s fair to say that as much as I love gaming – evident from years of committed dedication to its indulgence, I’m not actually very good at them. Considering my years of continued service and established seniority within the medium, you’d think I’d be better acclimated to the challenges of any game. Equppied with some measure of intuitive acuity, developed through extensive participation with a variety of differing generations and genres. In reality there are few experiences that can prepare you for the relentless hostility tailored to Demons Souls players.

It really is relish or perish. The precarious nature of Souls necessitates composure, as well as a willingness to learn through the repetition of incessant death. Being someone that has always resisted the supervision of game tutorials, with the remedial hand-holding something of an inherent resentment, despite my reliance on the information specified. Adopting such a flippant attitude is not conducive to a progressive, demon soul sucking aspirations.

When I first attempted to play Demon’s Souls back in November, it simply wasn’t clicking. What was evident is that my innate vigilance, was simply too vigilant. Preserving healing items when I should have been using them. Parrying when I should have been blocking. Blocking when I should have been attacking. Failing in my attempts to land a critical, well timed thrust to an opponents back with deftly timed precision, rather than just striking when the opportunity presented itself all cost me. One of my first death’s occurred because I fell down a huge gaping chasm, trying to position an advancing enemy into a more enticing area. So I immediately quit. With an impudent censure and critical disdain for the asinine prevalence of such a pontificating derivative of gaming. Until now.

Spurred by some pathological need for redemption, I returned. Renewed by a desire to embrace a form of gaming that on the surface seemed counter-intuitive. Success shouldn’t be measured by my failings?! How absurd! But on my first try, with only vague recollections of the controls, I conquered the first level. Reducing the gelatinous shield attired gunk, into a smudge on the floor. And though I’ve succumbed to death enough time’s for a more timid game to insist I turn the difficulty down, I don’t feel deflated. Inept, certainly. But not hopeless. I finally get it. Even though, at least for the moment, I haven’t quite found my rhythm.

Gaming: The Balm Of Life.

Video-games have had a profound influence on my life. There isn’t a memory stored in my subconscious that can’t be recollected and associated with some cherished childhood nostalgia. Though I’ve always been captivated by television and cinema, it’s the narratives portrayed in computer-games and the interactive nature of them that has enabled such an enduring affiliation. I’ve always felt that its somewhat comparable to fans of Star Wars. The same prevalent affection that originates from those formative viewings, that still resonates with fans. Gaming is my Star Wars.

Sadly as you get older the constraints of “adulting” dictate the relations you have with it. Emerging as an interim hobby, covertly engaged in like some kind of sordid perversion to be concealed under the protection of a nocturnal shroud. Whereas most people my age have detached themselves from these perceived juvenile accessories. Favouring arbitrary hobbies like golf, socialising and discussing wine pairings. I find that I’m still just as effusive by the allure of games and the boundless imagination rooted in them, as I was when I was a kid.

There’s such a tragic shortage of joy in this world, that it’s easy to become cynical. The tribulations inflicted by work only exacerbate that cynicism. As banal as it is, we all prioritise earning a living. But at the same time we all need an outlet. A means of catharsis that alleviates the burgeoning anguish that makes life just a little more bearable. There’s nothing quite like a good computer game to stimulate a reprieve from the mundane tangents in our lives.

The boundless imagination and flourishing creative autonomy that is passionately imbued into a great game, provides indispensable escapism. There’s nothing better than being enveloped in a beguiling environment, replete in branching activities – extraneous or otherwise – to both engage and relax the mind. Or simply a place to depressurise. Anything that distracts the participant from the tedium of their own life, even if its just a vicarious assimilation.

Stories, particularly ones with strong thematic resonance, can motivate us to have a better understanding of our own lives. Only difference with a game being that you get to experience it, not imagine it. We begin to empathise with these character’s we take-up temporary residence in, that can influence own social behaviour. Accomplishing something in a game just gives you a lift. A sense of satisfaction that you can apply to your own beleaguered life. Sure, today may have got the better of you, but tomorrow, well who knows. Personally I think Video-games better prepare you for life and the adversities you may face. If I can defend against hordes of the un-dead, then I can gather enough sanity to survive another mentally gruelling day of work.