My First Horror Game.

Did you know that the word “convoluted” didn’t exist until the creation of the Resident Evil series? It’s true. Don’t look it up of course, just take my word for it. Very few series can boast such multifaceted caveats to their own established mythology. The series could never be accused of being simple, coherent or localised to any one setting or time period. Its less Resident Evil and more Global Evil. As much as I assotiate Resident Evil with Arklay Mansion and the neighbouring Raccoon City, over the years the series has diverged significantly from its survival horror roots. Sometimes inventive, more often bloated by conflicting tones, elaberate plots and Chris Redfields “naturally” defined biceps! Somehow the series has made zombies the least nonsensical part of its narrative, boasting over 2 decades worth of genetically engineered derangements that have at times muddled the series considerable ideology. But it never leans too heavily into its nihilistic tones, instead negating this base by topping it with cheese and schalk.

My introduction to the series came courtesy of a defective copy of “Crash Bandicoot 2”. Having purchased Crash the week before from a stall at my local Sunday market, I returned it citing the persistent crashing (pun totally unintented!). To my surprise the vendor — that I have now permanently visualised as the merchant from Resident Evil 4 — was happy for me to trade the game for something of equal or lesser value, or pay the difference. With no money or sapphires to trade I perused his displayed wares, my gaze drawn towards what appeared to be the severed head of some decaying, skeletal figure. I was fixated, but concerned. With the game being rated 15 and myself being a mere sprig of a boy, I was convinced that the proprietor would deny my request for what was clearly an age inappropriate game and report me to the local PEGI authority. But to my surprise, and as I would discover in the proceeding teenage years, that — much like my local pub — independent retailers and people in general consider game ratings as more of an advisory than a law. So having successfully acquired what was my first “Horror” game I took it home and spent the entire evening draped in a duvet to ensure some kind of security from the hordes of undead that would no doubt sneak up behind me in my own room and gnaw on my tender flesh!

My first playthrough on the “Leon A” scenario had probably taken in excess of 10 hours to complete, simply because I had to take regular breaks to compose myself. Everytime I successfully negotiated even the most modest of challenges, like unlocking a door or converting various herbs into one “medicinal” powder I would pause, considering that a worthy stoppage point for a much needed sabbatical. It was just so intense that finding the courage to just walk around a corner required considerable resilience. Taking those awkward tentative steps, that echoed through the dim confines of the seemingly deserted corridors, hoping there wasn’t some dormant creature waiting for my cowardly behind. I don’t think I’ve experienced such visceral fear before or since. It wasn’t just the zombies, the mutated abortions that would impede your progress or the lingering fear that some corporate, pharmaceutical institution could in theory commit similar atrocities as those perpetrated by the fictional interpretation of them. But the silence. The distant shuffling of some unseen zombie. The creaking floorboards above. The isolation!

Resident Evil 0, Remake, 3, 4. I played them all. Though the rigours of its absurdity eventually diminished my interest over time. The ever more ambivalent mythology, coupled with the series penchant for action only compounded my intrigue. By the time Resident Evil 6 came out, a particular low point in my opinion, I’d had more than enough Jill sandwich. And yet despite this, I’m still invested. For the most part. It’s bit like your child drawing shapes in pen on your cream carpet. Your mad, disappointed even. But eventually accept that you will have to forgive them at some point. And I feel like this might be the right time to rekindle that lost affection with my first. Or perhaps that should be infection?

What was your first Horror Game? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

My Top 10 Most Influential Games: #5 “Resident Evil 2”.

So here we are at my number 5, a game that I recall with more clarity than many on this list. Primarily because of just how harrowing this game was for me growing up. Choosing Resident Evil 2 over so many of its prestigious and indeed less revered kindred was a fairly routine decision for me. With the exception of a few misguided entries, the majority of the series has elicited some of the most anxious, bowel shuddering moments of my gaming adolescents. The festering hounds shattering the mansions windows with poop inducing precision. The regenerator’s of Resident Evil 4 that ambled through tight corridors with muffled, gnarled breathing and unsettling palsied twitching. The Nemesis breaking through walls and the conformities of the games infrastructure with literal ferocity, by taking away the safety of entering another room to thwart an enemies pursuit. Not to mention boulder boxing in a volcano, leaches, absurd live action intros, an alphabet worth of viruses and Jill filled sandwiches. But nothing quite resonates with the same enduring terror that this habitually outlandish entry does!

Resident Evil 2 was originally a compromised purchase. Having traded my faulty copy of Crash Bandicoot 2 for Resident Evil 2 from a dubious market proprietor I really had no idea what I had let myself in for. Praise must be paid to the blissful ignorance of my mother though, who if she had any inkling concerning the games sadistic extravagance probably would have forbade me from playing it, not that I would have listened.

Up to this point in my gaming tenure I had mostly been acquainted with more child friendly platformer’s that was much more congenial to my preadolescent sensibilities. So a game of such distinct morbidity, that riled you with its ambient trepidation was so exhaustively disconcerting. My first foray into the decrepit Raccoon City wasn’t particularly successful either, as I wrestled with the controls attempting to manoeuver myself away from the advancing hordes of zombies that had emerged from the incendiary wreckage behind, only to moonwalk directly into their grasp. Wounded I staggered forward trying to negotiate my way past the abandoned cars smouldering beside me as I progressed, only to be embraced by another Zombie just off-screen. The infamous “You Are Dead!” text illuminated the blank screen and I immediately switched it off. I don’t like losing, least of all after a couple of minutes against the games first antagonist. This to me was the equivalent of losing to a goomba in Super Mario!

After considerable time had passed, my juvenile ego renewed by the games absence I persevered, slowly progressing through the ravaged streets, watching in horror as a delightfully gruff gun store owner became a happy meal for the shuffling masses and proceeded to shriek, scream and squeal my way to the cities most elaborately designed police station. This merry little jaunt through the barren streets and musky alleys allowed me to familiarise myself with the revolutionary ability to run, an ability that up to that point I didn’t realise Claire and Leon possessed?! As well as instilling the inherent obsession with conserving ammo to a pathological level, that meant every bullet I squandered just made me more anxious.

Because of the explicit fear this game provoked I could only play it in gradual, interspersed sessions. Every time I stumbled upon a save room I would exhale with exasperated fatigue, requiring a good couple of minutes to compose myself, organise my inventory, combine herbs and use yet another ink ribbon to save my meandering progress before mustering the courage to continue. The only time I’d ever play for more than half an hour is if my step brother was there. And even then we’d hurl the controller at each other as if it were a bomb ready to detonate, signifying that it was their turn to endure the company of giant poisonous tarantulas and feral alligators.

This was also back at a time when a guide or walk-through was reserved for a friend from school who’d completed the game. A friend who was so well versed in the ways of this survival horror that I’d consult with him on an almost daily basis. The stream of convoluted locks, statues, keys with specific insignia’s that had to be found to progress was baffling. Couple that with the constant threat of cannibalism and you got yourself a game that frustrates and terrifies in equal measure.

Despite its absurdity, the clunky movement and graphics that were somewhat dated even when I played it back in early 2000’s, this is still the most memorable entry in the series. I’ll never forget those sudden encounters with the zombies, the faint shuffling and bellowing moans echoing down the corridors. Coming face to face with the sharp-tongued monstrosities that were the lickers, snarling and oozing cascades of saliva as they clung to the ceilings with their serrated claws. William Birkin’s grotesque transformations, Ada Wong’s duplicitous incursion into the Umbrella facility, being hunted by a 7ft Tyrant that would just appear without warning and the dying cop who I had convinced myself was Will Smith, who always had this peculiar inflection every time he said “Umbrella”. And it’s difficult to work out whether it was intentionally sinister, poorly voiced or a composite of both, but I never forgot that scene, nor panicked as much when his slumped, lifeless body lurched up to devour my pixellated face!

Resident Evil 2 gave me more nightmares than I care to remember. Provided some of the most exquisite, genuinely poop you pants moments I’ve ever had. No game since has ever roused the same sustained chills that Resident Evil 2 dished out, nor have my gaming experiences or indeed gaming choices been the same since then. And that’s why Resident Evil 2 is my #5.

Why Spider-man Must Take Inspiration From Batman.

For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to be Spider-man. It became such an obsession when I was younger that I used to try and encourage spiders to bite me, just so I could somehow contract their inherent abilities. It’s a churlish dream I still cling too now like Spidey does to walls. I imagined swinging through the streets of my quite, suburban town where the most severe crimes are perpetrated by dogs urinating on walls or kids littering. To escort civilians across moderately congested roads, while concealing my identity from my gorgeous red headed girlfriend who is voraciously attracted to me, for some reason. This adolescent career ambition occurred at a time when the animated Batman series was having a profound influence on kids my age. Yet the proliferation of atmospheric morbidity and Gothic tone depicted in that show, though more popular, just didn’t appeal to me. I personally exhibited a preferred affinity for the cosmetic vibrancy of its cheerier contemporary. The Animated Spider-man Television series from the mid 90’s was my first foray into Spidey’s robust mythology. Centring around Peter Parker in college as opposed to the traditional High School location, this series had the courtesy to omit the abundantly ubiquitous origin story, graciously presuming that it’s audience was aware of how he had obtained the vaguely arachnid genetics and came to understand that “With great power, comes great responsibility”. Though the series lost direction towards the end, evident in the recycling of animation and superfluous characters I still found Peter Parker to be a provocative yet fallible hero to idolise.

There was something so relatable about an anxious teenager that was socially awkward, suffered with crippling acne and couldn’t talk to women without stuttering like Hugh Grant at gun point. I’m not sure what it was? Perhaps the dark hair. What I do know is that I wanted to emulate him in anyway I could. The most effective means of doing this without injury, which was ordinarily sustained when I attempted to crawl down the stairs pretending I was Spidey, was through gaming. The first exposure I had was Spider-man on the PS1. Because this iteration featured many vocal talents associated with the show, including Rino Rimano (Spider-man Unlimited) as Spider-man/Peter Parker I immediately gravitated towards this vernacular of Spider-man lore. Featuring an effusive roster of villains, including a comical Venom this particular Spider-man remains a vigorous emulation of what I consider to be the chief principles of being Spider-man, albeit within the confines of the consoles technological limitations. It’s wasn’t perfect, sure, but there is certainly a potential. Spider-man 2, the game adaptation/accompaniment to the Sam Raimi movie was a valiant, if venerated attempt to imitate the sensation of Web slinging with authentic orientation. Navigating through streets with a fluidity and precision that has never been bettered. The novelty wears off rather quickly, as you become distinctly aware of the enviroments artificial experience, exposed to the cities vacant energy and modulated extremities, such as the routine activities of vehicles and dead eyed general public. Not to mention Tobey Maguire’s inept delivery of Spiderman’s rapier wit. Many (Many!) Spiderman titles have followed, some better than others. Yet none have adequately condensed the endeavours of this illustrious periodicals. Moreover it became evident that Batman was fairing much better.

I remember playing Arkham Asylum and thinking “Why can’t we have a Spider-man game like this?”. All the elements are there; such as the similar frenetic combat. They both accommodate a varied and robust rogues gallery. They’re both equally adept scientists and skilled tacticians. Yet what was most striking was the way in which Batman was able to intuit and anticipate an adversary strike and successfully counter it using, I guess, some kind of inherent “Bat-sense”. There were even visual lightning bolts that would flash above his head to indicate an incoming attack?! You know, like a “Spider-sense”, an ability that Spider-man actually possesses, rather than a convenient combat auxiliary that facilitates a arbitrary visual mechanic to help expedite the need for intuitive player reaction. Not that I’m mocking it’s inclusion, I would have died repeatedly without it. But how difficult would it be to convert Batman into Spider-man, Gotham City to Manhattan, The Joker into (preferably)Venom and brighten the monochromatic style associated with Batman into a brightly coloured style of a Spider-man comic? Not 20 years of mediocrity difficult, surely?!

Spider-man Homecoming is released this year to coincide with its cinematic equivalent. Expectations are high considering Insomniac are developing it and if anyone can pull it off its this talented studio. But to me it shouldn’t be difficult. If it can harness the style and tone of the PS1 game, with the open world and swinging mechanics of Spider-man 2, coupled with the combat and polish of the Arkham series! *num num num*. Tasty. I’m confident that Spider-man Homecoming can replicate the energetic feel of character, without comprising the environments with linear concessions or impeding the dynamic free sprawling architecture, that Spider-man can interact with, skirting acrobatically across buildings, spinning webs any size, catching thieves just like light and generally doing whatever a spider can. Insomniac have been given a great power, now please use it responsibly.

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Which Superhero has been most influential to you? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

Why GTA’s Controversy Makes It So Alluring.

The most significant allure of gaming has always been escapism. The ability to manifest vicariously in a rudimentary world without the repressive boundaries of law and regulations. These are the required extremities of reality that enables humanity to sustain a semblance of moral equanimity, providing a safe moderated environment for communities to feel secure. For most of us committing a felony, however trivial are notions we wouldn’t dare consider in the real world. We are aware of our limitations in a civilised society and are dependent on the continued complicity of these rules to enforce stability. Which is why the absence of such measures provokes such shock, particularly when the circumstances are so unspeakably loathsome. Unfortunately the same outrage is often erroneously remonstrated against some inherently violent games, with a similar resentment applied to “Grand Theft Auto”. This particular series is in no way exclusively affiliated with media controversy, as many games that depict any kind of salacious content are adjudged as a corruptible influence on encouragable youths, which is like blaming performance enhancing drugs rather than Lance Armstrong for cheating. If someone crashes their car because they were speeding you blame the individual, not the vehicle for enabling them to drive so dangerously?! You can’t plead innocence when it was an entirely intentional decision, especially one bred from your own selfish volition. Call of Duty has been reproached for glorifying modern conflicts and war in general. Manhunt apparently encouraged a teenager to murder his friend, seemingly at the behest of an inanimate object. But there’s something more sensationalised about detailing the harmful influence an inert product has on an a kid, than the explicit behavioural deficiencies of one unstable individual that shouldn’t have been playing the game in the first place.
Gaming appears to ignite a very singular ignorance, with the media littered with heinous instances perpetrated by individuals with questionable psychological standings. Generating political interventions into matters that they don’t really understand. You then have inconclusive studies that suggest that these violent computer games “might” permanently afflict the fragile mind of a youth, but probably not. It’s hard to determine for certain that it doesn’t contribute at all, but when an incident does occur that can be attributed to a game, movie or television show – however tenuous the connection – it’s so highly publicised because of its unique severity that to me it’s blown out of all proportion. But any erstwhile censorship that is then applied to such content in an effort to regulate the distribution to under age consumers, only makes such games more enticing.

 

 

“Now why would anyone have a problem with throttling a pensioner? Just decreasing the surplus population! “

I purchased my first ever copy of GTA from a rather dubious retailer, that sadly went insolvent around 15 years ago. I was probably 11 or 12 years old at the time, when disclaimers and 18 certifications on a game were somewhat of an advisory stipulation rather than a law that you had to abide by. It was the original, top down view for the PS1 and I loved it. Played it for days. Not because it was violent or destructive, but because there was a free flowing environment for me to interact with, either positively or negatively. I was playing this series totally oblivious to the controversy surrounding it. Even at a young age I wasn’t concerned with the violence because I could discern between what was real or make believe. Here was a game that relished in exerting freedom, creating an affluent depiction of crime and rewarding mischievous behaviour. You could be considerate to pedestrians lives or callously run them down with a chuckle, before being pursued by cops that shoot first and read you your rights while you lie in a pool of your own excrement. Sure games are dictated by their own maniacal rules, the dutiful caveats of virtual reality like invisible walls, but rarely is that due to litigation or the enforcement of the law. Personally I don’t relish killing innocents or necessarily condone the reprehensible acts that you are encouraged to perpetrate in order to survive, but that’s kind of the point. GTA has always enforced a world without limitations, where you decide just how bad you can be. There’s something so effusive about severing the directorial shackles of mundane life that bounds us. To be uninhibited by the strict regulations of reality and embrace a skewed adherence to the formalities of perceived reality and just go a little bonkers.

 

“Despite its age and cumbersome controls, Vice City remains my favourite in the GTA series.”

The so called controversy so often affiliated with games like this just makes them more alluring. And I mean how violent is it really? I’d argue that Super Mario is an inherently violent game, encouraging children to stamp on defenceless animals and rescue women from castles who are no more than plot devices?! The Goombas don’t even have any arms to defend themselves! And if someone decided to start imitating that, by jumping on the heads of old men at bus stop you’d say that they were one stick short of a bundle. What’s the point of playing GTA if you can’t indulge in your subverted sociopathic inclinations? If you are that concerned with moralising artificial deaths then a world where Donald Trump can be elected President must terrify you (it does me too). I think anything that encourages cognitive and creative versatility can only be therapeutic for the mind. It’s cathartic to exercise the freedom to act out scenarios you couldn’t – and wouldn’t in reality and revoke the confines of social civility. To act without sustained retaliation and inhabit an alluring persona you would never want to be for more than a fleeting period. Some would call this unhealthy or even dangerous, a negative conciliation of exposed brutality that amalgamates into an encouraged hostility towards others, outside the confines of a fictional world. I call it fun. Nurturing that slightly anarchic inclination that is a rooted psychology buried deep below the surface in all of us.
The visceral intensity is one partial factor that attracts me to games like GTA. Shattering the conventions of normality by letting you be as good or as naughty as you choose, allowing any pent up frustrations to release gradually in an environment that doesn’t hurt anyone. But I also tend to gravitate towards games with robust environments. A fully interactive world that can be traversed and explored at my leisure. That to me represents the fundamental principles of a perfect game. Investing hours of time dedicated to exploration is rather time consuming, so rather than confining myself to one arbitrary errand I’d like to just takes some time out, explore, and perhaps run down a few hookers. And an open world game provides me with a versatile platform to engage in those primal instincts that have been dulled by the arbitrary exploits of my boring day at work. I can understand, for the uninitiated that is, how being confronted with public victimisation of the citizens, depicted so blatantly in GTA may seem horrifying, especially when flaunted as a viable alternative for entertainment. The violence could be considered gratuitous or even vile, if it were real. But it isn’t. It’s a work of fiction, like a book or film that depicts similar fictitious scenarios. And it’s GTA’s rueful attitude towards controversy that has allowed it to maintain its popularity, despite its contentious place in modern culture. If you’re discerning with genres or applying limitations then that just seems like compromise rather than expression.

For all of its scrutiny, its harsh satirical themes and graphic tones, GTA continues to be a rewarding series with more heart and soul than many AAA games on the market. Long may its explicit violence, abundance of (somehow?) concealed weaponry, reckless driving, diverse range of playable characters and, above all, vehicular thievery continue.

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What is your favourite GTA game? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

The Unreleased Accounts Of Lara Croft.

These are the unpublished (completely fabricated) accounts recorded by Lara Croft,  if written by a rather juvenile 20 something who should have grown up by now. Here “Lara” chronicles the events surrounding Tomb Raider 2. This is in no way intended to offend the legacy of the Tomb Raider franchise, but to make affectionate observation of the series rather overt exploitation of the female form. Lara Croft, to the best of my knowledge has never engaged in amorous activities, orally or anally with anyone ever. And does not own or condone the use of an S&M dungeon. If you are offended by smutty innuendos, especially the second paragraph then I suggest you leave immediately. Seriously, go.

China, as in “not for all the tea in” was my destination. Travelling via “Bangkok”, a city founded in the 15th century after two rather endowed samurai’s accidentally used the same urinals, hence the name “Bangkok” was a distant memory, as I headed to a non-specific part of a great Wall more commonly referred to as “The Great Wall”! Concealed along its far reaching infrastructure lies a vaguely tomb ish like secretion ripe for plundering and the extermination of any rare creatures that could inhabit such a largely unmolested environment. Having slid down into a huge, un-scalable cavern I had no way of knowing I could actually get out of, I was immediately greeted by an adorable little kitten I’ve dubbed “anal raider” due to its penchant for excavating my voluptuous booty. Judging by the juddering vague dispersal of pixels I believe it’s meant to be a Bengal Tiger. You know those exotic cats native to Bangladesh and India that often frequent hidden catacombs at the base of the Great Wall of China? “Curious” I mused. “What an important discovery it is to have exotic animals of this nature inhabiting a country it isn’t indigenous too”? Once I’d dealt with these beautifully majestic endangered species by shooting it in its rectum repeatedly I made my ascent to a fortification high above the alcove that housed a rather large indoor swimming pool. Once inside I began leaping like a beautifully sexy and well endowed gazelle, reaching a ledge with a large lever like device, possibly a lever, enabling access to more dilapidated ruins. Grunting sensuously as I went to ward off any pursuers or potential suitors. Because no one would be curious of a duel gun slinging archaeologist with pointy breasts, tight tank top, lips that look like a slowly decomposing vagina, painted on shorts and sounding like a slowly climaxing corpse, I noticed the partial collapse of the wall and proceeded to slide down the rubble plunging into a fortuitous lagoon below.

“Yeah, I know. My ass looks great!”

All this sliding and animal cruelty had left me wet again, as I searched the water deeper and harder for any artefacts to pilfer. I squeezed my tight ass through a moist cavity extracting a well placed key as I emerged from the rippling water, my slender body completely drenched leaving me dripping…..with intrigue. Having leveraged myself from the pool, keen to remain abreast of the situation I was suddenly confronted by another vicious pussy…..cat. This hairy gingivitis leapt at me, trying to ravage my perfect physique, but ultimately succumbed to my throbbing twins. I holstered my guns and began my ascent back to the top. Back on top my search for a plot continued as I unlocked the sealed door with my newly acquired key, delving deeper into the hidden sanctum bereft of light, life and reflective surfaces to see how great my ass looks. Continuing on under the assumption that my booty was still tight enough to bounce a penny back to my London piggy bank I heard the unmistakable sound of scuttling that could only be emitted by giant tarantulas! I had little recourse but to fire round after round at their general direction until they were killed to death. With the help of my impeccable thighs that had smothered a man just the night before, I was able to dislodge a huge square boulder from my path and proceeded cautiously into the catacombs. But as quickly as I had entered I had to pull out with some haste as I evaded the two giant balls heading towards me, leaping over a chasm of rotary phallic, only to be confronted by a slowly advancing wall of spikes preparing to impale me like my college room-mate. Thrusting in my direction I leapt acrobatically picking up ammo relinquished by some skeletal adventurer, who judging by the lack of clothing died naked! Running over a wobbling volatile floor I fell through, landing safely below. A loud thud above signalling the end of any imminent danger.

“Just another obsessed fan. Except this one looks like a bruised testicle.”

Having safely negotiated the equivalent of my S&M dungeon above, I sought exploration from the gaping chasm below. Utilising my plumber like reflexes to guide my voluptuous figure swiftly between the cracks. But danger it seems was far from over as I was suddenly molested by a Tyrannosaurus! “Of course!” There is only one thing to do when confronted by prehistoric creature that has survived since the Cretaceous period; kill it to death! After dealing with Mr T-Rex, from a narrow passage far from its stunted claws another fearsome Tyrannosaurus emerged from the shadows anus. Once I’d dealt with pixelsaurus I decided I had lingered longer than the fart I just let out of my curvaceous cheeks, secured the artefact that the Olsen twins were guarding and finally emerged from the gloomy depths to the big red door that at no point during my quest did I clarify I was looking for. Endangering the population of Tigers further as I shot my way to my destination “sorry kitties, but these meat hams are not for sale!”, I was suddenly assaulted by a genital wart, which I swiftly flung over my shoulder. “Some fans just don’t get the hint”. Of course this grotesque growth poisoned himself once he released he wouldn’t be doing any “Poon Raiding” As I set myself on Venice and its many canals. “Looks as though I’m going to get wet again?”