Opinions Are Not Right/Wrong.

There’s nothing as prevalent, nor as discordant in the gaming community, than having your own preferential opinion. Views that encourage a discourse that the pontifical fraternity interpret these socially submitted views as facts. Comments poised for exuberant ridicule, that critics present as considered rebuttals. There’s a severe incongruity among the anonymous denizens of social media, that is reflected in the prejudicial vocations of gamers. With some of these comments so inflammatory that you’d think a migrant had stolen a job that they themselves had no intention of doing. If it isn’t the specious fracas between one individuals preferred, corporately funded mechanical box that outperforms yours, it’s manufacturing conflicts between other similar, yet inherently different philosophies.

Take for instance the current trend of comparing the qualities of the Switch and the Steam deck. Comparison’s based on faulty reasoning. Of course there are logical similarities between these two distinct devices. They’re both handheld devices that can be docked and played on a television. With Nintendo’s hybrid console being the more affordable of the two, regardless of the Deck model. And, well, that’s where the superficial comparisons end! They’re designed to perform very different functions. The Switches versatility provides casual gamers with a platform to play Nintendo specific content, with a device that is both accessible and adaptable to any gamer’s requirements. Whereas the Steam Deck is essentially a handheld PC, with the capacity to play almost anything, with the devices emulation capabilities. But it’s also an uncomfortable unit, with a weight that if not properly positioned can become a burden to hold. In addition to a battery that runs out of power quicker than my adulterous father ran away from my sister and I.

Neither device is objectively better than the other. Sure, the Deck accommodates superior hardware with an adaptable capacity for autonomy. But that doesn’t make it better. It’s just a preference. The Steam Decks durability and lauded “ergonomics” might not be suited to someone that requires a more rigorous battery. For a parent looking for a Christmas present for their child, the affordability of the Switch makes it the obvious consumer choice for the parent on a budget. Yet people seem to interpret their proclivities as being irrefutable. Accentuating a social dissonance amongst a community divided by preference. It seems bizarre to manufacture a conflict between two vastly disseminating objects. That are so preoccupied in discrediting an opposing opinion to prove them wrong, rather than engaging in an intellectual conversation that proves their point. It is possible for these two devices to exist in the same space, without it becoming some illusory competition.

We all have opinions. Some are more divisive than others. But let’s not start pretending that opinions are right or wrong. It is possible to acknowledge and sometimes respect a contrary opinion. There is no such thing as a “fan boy”, just ignorant subordinates to some deceptive, corporate entity with their blinders firmly strapped to their heads.

And They Call It Poppy Love.

No one could ever accuse me of being patriotic. I’m not especially proud of my countries history. I don’t salute the flag. I’m generally apathetic towards the monarchy. The only thing I’m passionate about when it comes to this “United” Kingdom, is the prevailing contempt for the government and its critical underfunding of the NHS and overt negligence towards those that aren’t part of the wealthy elite. I guess I’m just cynical about a nation that makes such a concerted effort to ostracise itself from the rest of the world, then blame other countries for not being subservient to our needs. It’s like expecting your ex to remain loyal to you after you’ve rebuffed them. We are a country identified by our dubious history and the cultural derivation of other nations. Fish and chips. Tea. Sid James. All distinctive British archetypes, that originate or have more accurately been appropriated from other countries. But there’s one British symbol I’ve always been rather ambivalent towards: the Poppy.

The poppy for those unaware, is a flower that is meant to symbolise Rememberance and hope for peace in the aftermath of the First World War. Serving men and women of the military distribute these poppy shaped brooches or pins in exchange for charitable donations, that contribute to the royal British Legion, with the general public encouraged to display these commemorative insignias, so that others can identify them as fellow proponents. Now my issue with this whole publicity isn’t the superficiality of the Poppy, and certainly not the charitable result. But rather the explicit pressure and public scrutiny of having to be seen to wear one. Whether you’ve contributed to the charity is almost insignificant, to the actual display of the poppy on your person. It’s almost cohersion by conformity. Overshadowing the very real commemorative aspect of Remembrance. The sacrifices of those that endured miserable torment most of us can’t realistically comprehend. All to defend their nations. Not necessarily because they wanted too, but because they had too.

There’s a humbling nobility in honouring those that fought so valiantly. A grudging reminder of just how destructive we are as a species. But as a parent of a very spirited 6 year old, it’s also difficult to rationalize the intricacies of such an event. Not that I’d want too. To truly grasp the significance of observing a 2 minute silence to honour the sacrifice of soldiers, during conflicts that occurred years before she was even born. Let alone comprehend the irrational concept of war. It’s even more difficult to get her to comply with these arbitrary commemorations, with any ruminative lamentation, such as the 2 minute silence. Particularly when a child’s inherent proclivities are to make as much noise as possible. Have you ever tried telling a 6 year old to stop talking? That’s like telling Zack Snyder to be subtle. But a rambunctious child is only further reason to avoid such melancholy occasions. But I digress.

By all means wear a Poppy because you want too, not because society dictates that you should. I respect the gesture, but also reserve the right not to affix one to my person. Just don’t presume I don’t care.

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Shredders Revenge”. A Review.

Nostalgia. The most powerful, all encompassing element known to man. A concept so persuasive that it makes the Jedi’s force power seem like Scientologists thetans. Nostalgia boasts such a tremendous potency, that if we could derive its raw, dormant capabilities, we’d only require the constituted energy from Comic-Con attendees to generate enough renewable energy, to adequately sustain the entire world’s energy requirements, until Britain’s next Wimbledon champion. A trip down memory lane, just off “unfulfilled aspirations avenue” on the corner of “anxiety disorder drive”, often presents some rather revealing architecture. Such as the 80’s sci-fi classic “Short Circuit” featuring an ostensibly racist character, in a prominent role. With Fisher Stevens rather egregiously portraying a man of Indian heritage in a very convincing, though stereotypical manner. Though it’s comforting to know that some aspects acceptable in the decade of decadence and dubious flamboyance, are still as revered.

The “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” were the cornerstone to many burgeoning childhoods. A cultural phenomenon that’s ubiquitous stature has never really diminished, owed to its diversified transitions and reinventions. Every generation has had iteration of this fearsome fighting team, each with a stylistic distinction that set them apart from it’s predecessors. “Shredders Revenge” is sterling commemoration of the native beat-em-ups I played as a kid, inspired by the classic 80’s adaptation. Which makes this celebratory trip a ripe subject for nostalgic scrutiny.

It’s fair to say that “Shredders “Revenge” captures that kinetic momentum of those games with such studious precision, that it might as well have been copying its homework. The movement of the Turtle’s has been amplified, to give it a contemporary fluidity. But still retains that vintage Turtle’s sensation prominent in its originator’s. I do think it leans a little too heavily into the retro style aesthetic, by embellishing an unnecessary sheen of pixilated aesthetics, to give it a simulated aged look. But considering the historic negligence suffered by this once admired series, I’m not complaining. Quite the opposite. As “Shredders Revenge” is a sobering reminder about the joys of local co-op.

Teaming up with my daughter, with characters that are unfamiliar to her, yet enjoying the experience regardless of her neutrality and limited skills, evokes memories of collaborations with my own father. One of the few fading memories of effusive contentment that I had with my dad. A memory I hope to replicate with my daughter, though hopefully a coalescence of many enduring memories. Her energetic vigour, with the almost rhythmic punishment of the buttons, belies the attentive concentration that crease her already furrowed brow. An accursed hereditary trait I’m afraid. An intensity that diminishes in a flourish of furious, symbiotic ferocity as we vanquish Shredder and his menagerie of mutated subordinates.

“Shredders Revenge” doesn’t offer anything necessarily inventive. There are additional fighters besides the titular tortoises, online capabilities and a difficulty that scales depending on the number of player’s, to a maximum of 6. But when a series as neglected as this, suffers such a prolonged draught, your aren’t going to complain about a light drizzle.

Sony. Microsoft. Please Stop!

Okay you two, stop. Just stop. We get it – you’re both incredibly insecure, endowed with too much money, but equipped with a braille like penis. The point has been well and truly made! Let’s get on with producing quality content for your respective machines, rather than showboating for the cheerleaders that just want to relish in this reductive pissing contest, that is just going to end with all assenting juveniles requiring new shoes. This continued pursuit for asset consolidation is only going to further propagate division between the already fractured contingents.

I realise that you are both competitive and proud conglomerates. With institutionalised rivalry that prevents either one of you from backing down. But, for the solidarity of the gaming firmament and my sanity, stop. Watching you two flaunting your respective influences and indulging in your conceited affluence, by acquiring publishers like some entitled aristocrat, compensating for their flaccid endowment is obstinate. Presumably this shopping spree has been instigated to ensure the consolidation of specific assets and prevent the competition from utilising said assets. Unless your competitors want to incur some recompense for the privilege. Not because your intended scheme of appropriating a few thousand acres of protected woodland, as a means for hunting peasants is still regarded as a morally reprehensible act.

Perhaps instead of buying these publishers for the express desire of demonstrating your power, or illustrate your generosity as a billion dollar conglomerate that could help feed and house the homeless, by potentially allowing other platforms to use your titles, for a small incentive, that you perhaps stop buying them. Let these creative minds flourish, uninhibited by the whims of stifling corporate provocation. We don’t need publisher’s redistributed like a quarrelling couple going through an expensive, time consuming divorce. Dividing their once shared resources in an attempt to negotiate some desperate trade deal. Like an estranged father being allocated visitation rights with their children at the weekend.

Whether Sony decides to play nice with Microsoft, by allowing Bungie games to continue distribution on their system. Or if Microsoft extend Sony the same courtesy with their recent acquisitions, one question still remains: how does buying these previously ubiquitous devs, now owned and distributed by major corporation’s, benefit the consumer? Oh, that’s right. They don’t.

Grand Theft Auto The Trilogy: Definitive Edition Review.

This might be the easiest review I have ever done. Which is sadly ironic considering that the GTA Trilogy: Definitive Edition is probably the easiest, no effort required, nor expense spared attempt to exploit sentiment and make a tidy little profit in the process. Remasters have become a prevalent, very profitable means to capitalise on nostalgia. The difference being that most remasters, however manipulative improve the existing material in someway. Ever the innovators, RockStar have instead decided to buck this trend by regurgitating the exact same Vice City, but smear additional diarrhetic excrement from an intern suffering from acute dysentery. Its a bold move that has resulted in RockStar tarnishing their once great name, negating any integrity that was seized when Sam Houser left the studio. This game is what would happen if British Leyland did video game remasters.

So, much like the development team behind this rectal abortion, I’m not going to waste my time putting any effort into this review. Carefully analysing the games “quality” and assign some arbitrary rating to indicate its relative merit. Instead I’m going to list the various misfortunes that has sullied my perception of this once venerated series. Issues such as:

Heavily compressed audio.

Missing textures.

Crashes.

Character’s heads poking through the roofs of cars.

Poorly rendered draw distances.

Music changing after pausing the game.

Missions immobilising audio.

Mission icons not appearing.

Crashes.

Vehicles spawning vertically through the ground like tombstones.

Levitating bodies.

NPC’s casually strolling through cut scenes.

Menu sounds of San Andreas in pause menu.

Cars appearing from the ether.

Invisible walls.

Crashes!

Vehicles with similar density to that of a marshmallow.

Fences with no hit detection.

Lampposts, traffic lights and other inanimate objects with too much hit detection.

Damaged car parts shedding instantaneously to the floor.

Character’s freezing during cut scenes.

Tommy teleporting into vehicles.

Sudden pixilated features on Tommy’s face and shirt.

Crashes that prevent me from completing missions unless you change the visuals in the options menu from “Fidelity” to performance for some reason!

I don’t expect perfection, but competency should be the minimum requirement. What RockStar have achieved here is commendable really. They have destroyed their reputation using arguably 3 of its most influential GTA titles, and somehow managed to “refine” a 20 year old game by making it worse. Quite the fucking achievement!