Month: August 2018

All Our Asias Review — The Risk of Being Didactic

by Jed Pressgrove

All Our Asias is admirably upfront about its purpose. The game’s introductory message relays developer Sean Han Tani’s intention to untangle the complicated meaning of being Asian in the United States. From there, All Our Asias becomes less straightforward as Japanese protagonist Yuito, with the help of futuristic technology, enters the mind of his dying father to learn as much as he can from the fading memories of his old man. But in the second half of the story, Han Tani’s contrived lecturing about the dubiousness of U.S. Asian identity unravels the surreal tone that serves the game’s theme so well in its first hour.

Despite the concern of his mother, Yuito, curious about the life of his aloof and neglectful father, decides to take advantage of an opportunity to dive into the brain of his soon-to-be-dead dad. When he travels through his father’s memories, he is but a floating pod, just like the people he encounters on his journey. Yuito is pushy when he speaks to the denizens of the strange world, demanding to know if they might know anything about his dad. Later he meets a character named The General, who sends Yuito on a political mission to level the playing field for Asian restaurant owners in a memory-based Chinatown of Chicago.

All Our Asias is almost nothing to look at in the beginning. That almost everyone appears to be a robotic pod during Yuito’s quest creates a uniquely vacant feeling as your own pod hums its way through the game. The lack of meticulous detail for the characters and environments, along with the jagged look of the polygons, evokes the messiness of human memory. And Yuito’s bullheaded determination to uncover truth is disturbing in this ethereal setting; his aggressive interrogation of individuals essentially kills them, turning them into forgotten things.

Yuito’s obsession eventually takes him to areas that have more visual punch, including a nightclub rendered with wireframe graphics, a hazy forest, and a cold-looking train station. The soundtrack of All Our Asias is as ephemeral as the memories that Yuito pushes around. The score, most of which was composed by Han Tani, goes in numerous different directions in terms of emotional effect, rivaling the quality of Earthbound’s various mood-setting tunes. During one of All Our Asias’ most memorable tracks, it’s hard to tell whether you’re hearing static or rain, and that lack of clarity complements Han Tani’s conflicted perspective on Asian identity.

The philosophical thrust of Han Tani’s message is at first cleverly conveyed. At one point, Yuito hears Japanese but can’t understand any of the language. Despite his removal from the culture of his parents, Yuito is inundated with racial slurs in another scene by people who don’t recognize him as an American. When he later finds himself on a train drifting in outer space, you can imagine how alien he must feel on his search for clarification.

The game loses its footing when Yuito begins doing work for The General, a memory that claims it knew his father well. This is when Han Tani’s storytelling suffers from its contrivances. Not only is labeling a bossy character “The General” too on the nose, but The General’s sermons about the diversity of Asian experiences in the United States come across as overly presumptuous.

Although it’s clear Yuito needs a lesson (his great line “Mom, maybe you were right” shows that), The General goes into left field when informing Yuito that Asians “don’t all look the same” after Yuito expresses sympathy for a struggling Korean restaurant owner based on his perception of shared identity. Yuito’s ignorance never reaches a level where he’s literally unable to recognize any physical differences. Han Tani’s point (via The General) about the cultural and social separation of Asians of different classes and backgrounds is needed in a kneejerk U.S. culture that lacks nuanced understanding. Yet All Our Asias’ preaching seems like a clumsy slap on the wrist in its final act, losing the unorthodox power of its challenging, suggestive first half.

Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate Review — Repeater Design

by Jed Pressgrove

Hunting monsters is easy in Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate. Hunting distinct quests is another matter entirely in this game of cookie-cutter experiences.

When you first start Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate, you don’t even necessarily hunt. To unlock more stuff to do, you must complete challenges in which you must gather a certain number of things, such as mushrooms or butterflies, before 50 minutes elapse, though it’s unlikely you’ll need more than a few minutes for any of these fetch quests. The work is tedious all the same, as you must experience a bureaucratic process several times in a row: talk to the village quest-giver, select a mission from a list, run out of the village to start the mission, explore segments of a map while triggering loading screen after loading screen, find the required number of items, go back to your initial starting point to deposit the items in a box, and wait for the game to give you its dramatic “Quest Complete” stamp. A revised title like Monster Hunter and Item Gatherer Generations Ultimate might not roll off the tongue, but developer Capcom should learn how to market its repetitive nonsense a little better.

The game eventually offers more opportunities to hunt. “Hunting” in this context means strolling from one part of the map to the next until you see the monster(s) you’re supposed to kill. Conveniently, your prey is always ready to fight; only a bigger type of monster will try to escape after you’ve flogged it a good bit, but you can usually find it immediately after it skedaddles. A wounded beast often runs to another obvious point on the map, and you simply follow it until a loading screen appears. Amusingly, after the loading screen went away in these situations, I frequently found myself in front of the limping creature, as if I were the one who hurried off the screen first.

There are multiple villages in Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate that need your services. Unfortunately, almost all of them require you to extinguish what is best described as idiotic velociraptor wannabes. These reptiles will charge in the wrong direction and generally fail to take advantage of their spatial positioning. Interestingly, you will often wipe out the same number of these poor bastards even when you’re on a supposedly different quest at another village.

The other monsters in the game aren’t that clever, either. Sure, there are exceptions, such as the ones that can hide under sand and pop out when they feel like it. But in general, you’ll use the same combat tactics every time, and provided that you keep upgrading your weapons and armor, eating meals before hunts, and using various stat-boosting consumables, you’ll keep doing fine.

Deceptively complex activity management and a lighthearted tone are why the Monster Hunter series has been a hit. In line with this formula, Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate (1) gives players enough busywork so that they feel like they’re somewhat experiencing the intricacies of a hunt; (2) censors certain off-putting parts of the process (when you carve up an animal, you see no blood or mutilation); and (3) ignores the high level of care that goes into actual wildlife management (one character in the game flippantly says, “Time to put ’em on the endangered list”). But even if you’re ready to fully buy into the game’s neutered, childish version of hunting, Monster Hunter Generations Ultimate takes so long to get going and repeats itself so much that your standards for fun would have to be quite low to keep playing.

Hollow Knight Review — Symphony of the Ninja Souls X

by Jed Pressgrove

With gorgeous art, an exquisite score, and an array of places to discover, Hollow Knight resembles a masterpiece. Indeed, the game is very good at resembling things, whether because of its focus on ruin, souls, and hollowness (Dark Souls); its level structure, wherein players can travel new pathways via newly acquired techniques (Metroid and Castlevania: Symphony of the Night); its curt swordplay (Ninja Gaiden); and its wall-jumping and dashing mechanics (Ninja Gaiden and Mega Man X). Look beyond its great looks and great sounds, and Hollow Knight more than lives up to to the first word of its title.

In a world of bugs, you play as a warrior on a vague quest in which you have many sorrowful run-ins with destitute and hostile creatures. As such, Hollow Knight is indebted to the storytelling approach of Dark Souls, but it says nothing specific about the human condition. In Dark Souls, a sense of real-world ennui pervades the proceedings as your character goes through the motions of killing, leveling up, and collecting currency, and the game is never shy about showing the deleterious effects of a decaying habitat on the mental states of the characters that you meet. In contrast, Hollow Knight’s friendly nonplayable characters, distinct in their audiovisual quirks, often display a strange level of enthusiasm considering the wretched state of their environments, yet there doesn’t seem to be any philosophy that inspires their general positivity. Worse, the protagonist is but a silent and nameless shell who moves with a ruthless type of efficiency; he’s a cold product of decades of video-game logic with no emotional meaning.

Controlling this brutal killer is pleasurable once you gain enough abilities after combing the game’s interconnected locations several times. You can double-jump to swing your sword up at an aerial enemy, then dash away toward a wall, kick off the wall, slash the foe from the side to eliminate it, dash again in midair, and use your final jump to land safely on a modest platform. You can bounce on adversaries by swinging your weapon downward at them from above. You can perform a few special moves, including a fireball of sorts and a dive-bomb, if you have enough Soul, which also allows you to heal if there’s enough distance between you and an active threat. But looking back at it all, I can’t name a single thing in Hollow Knight that I haven’t done in other games — a realization that creates a feeling of profound emptiness, especially considering the length of the experience.

It’s almost like developer Team Cherry bases Hollow Knight on a disturbingly patronizing pitch: “This time, it’s with bugs!” If all you want is to admire how intricately detailed animation and audio can make you feel as if you are among a wide variety of creepy crawlies (the game’s Deepnest region ingeniously epitomizes this sensation), Hollow Knight is the greatest platformer of all time. Outside of that, it’s simply another title, like Shovel Knight and Axiom Verge, that echoes the past with the vain hope that it too will go down in history.

Paratopic Review — Surreally Dull

by Jed Pressgrove

Paratopic will try anything to unnerve you. Hard-to-follow but violent plot? Check. Abnormal-looking humans? Check. Disturbingly garbled dialogue? Check. Dubious VHS tapes? Check. Far from a personal vision, this crude horror tale from developers Jess Harvey and Doc Burford is one of the most derivative and snooze-worthy games of the year.

Right away, Paratopic appears to be an amateurish idea thief that thrives on the devices of other works of art. The opening line of dialogue, “You have an enemy, friendo,” recalls the deadpan, subtly threatening, and amusing language of the No Country for Old Men antagonist Anton Chigurh, but the character who delivers these words carries no significance outside of informing you that you’re playing as a smuggler at the beginning of the game. Paratopic’s introductory scene takes place in a dimly lit hallway, and that, coupled with the PS1-era visuals, forces a comparison to Silent Hill, which comes to mind again later in the game when a mutilated human body with a television for a head stumbles toward you. Such imagery might be more frightening if it didn’t rely on overused concepts and if the game’s script gave one a reason to care about the vaguely defined characters.

In other sequences, Paratopic not only swipes material from another game but also seems to do its damnedest to be as monotonous as possible as part of some uninspired attempt to build suspense or to acknowledge the little things in life. Three times you must steer a car for minutes on uneventful stretches of road. Besides steering and ramming the car into rails (which never results in any damage to the vehicle), you can look around and turn the radio dials to hear ominous-sounding gibberish from commentators. With these driving scenes, Paratopic clearly copies the 2014 independent title Glitchhikers. While Glitchhikers itself is an uneven blend of surrealism and the common human experience of taking a late-night drive, it never comes across as a ripoff of another game like Paratopic.

Paratopic gets close to being subversive when it has the player, on multiple occasions, wander in the woods and take snapshots as a photographer. The picture-taking is quite meaningless by itself. Because this activity isn’t presented as part of a photo mode within a larger game, the scenes in the woods are meant to simulate the mundane actions of a hiker in a strange, isolated place. A more humorous tone might have allowed Paratopic to satirize the cliched fetishization of scenery in games like Firewatch, but the extended walks in the woods ultimately function as a dreary way to build up to a nasty discovery. The photographer, the innocent bystander, is nothing more than another first-person shell from which the player laps up the game’s overly deliberate weirdness. As a story, Paratopic favors mood over substance, but the mood, pathetically, is not even halfway extraordinary.

Loaded Questions Vol. 11

Loaded Questions is a regular feature at Game Bias. If you have a question you would like to submit, please email it to or tweet it to @jedpressfate. Questions can cover anything closely or tangentially related to video games or art, including but not limited to criticism, culture, and politics. Questions may be edited for clarity.

Question 1

Daniel Cánovas‏: Out of the games you’ve played, which ones were the longest with the least amount of trivial content? RPGs preferably.

Jed Pressgrove: Off the top of my head, my picks for RPGs of this sort would be Final Fantasy VI, Earthbound, Final Fantasy Tactics, Fallout 2, Planescape: Torment, The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, Dark Souls, and Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia.

Question 2

Nathan Osborne: After the 2016 election, I heard some people say that one small consolation of a Republican administration is that the culture (music, movies, literature) gets better. A lot of this commentary was centered on the hope for a revival of protest music, but not all of it. There was almost a vague sense that artists, usually open-minded and left-leaning themselves, get challenged into higher terrain when faced with gross reactionaries. So do you notice anything like this in the video-game world? Do Republican or Democratic presidents make for better video games?

Jed Pressgrove: My gut reaction is that people who said the Trump administration will inspire better culture were being hopeful at best and naive at worst. For instance, I don’t think music or film has gotten more interesting since Trump’s election, especially if we’re talking about popular artists. And look at the output of musical and film artists during the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. Both Democrats and Republicans controlled the executive branch multiple times throughout those decades, but the quality of pop music and pop film in the United States was consistently vibrant during that 30-year stretch. Art is better because of style and execution, not because of whatever the artists might be reacting to. It’s how they react that matters, and right now, music and film seem awfully safe and pandering as a whole, and that’s what capitalists want.

Here’s something to consider specifically in the context of video games: everything isn’t political. Yeah, some people love saying the opposite, but that’s their knee-jerk revolutionary side talking. Here’s where I’m going with this: 2017 was considered by many to be a great year for video games. But when I look at some of 2017’s best games — such as Topsoil, Splasher, Mario + Rabbids: Kingdom Battle, Steamworld Dig 2, and Arkanoid vs. Space Invaders — I don’t see much political meaning or inspiration at all. And as for top-notch 2017 games that were ostensibly, if not undeniably, political — such as The Norwood Suite, Nier: Automata, Pyre, Golf Story, and Torment: Tides of Numenera — can we assume that Trump was always a major driving force for their development?

I do think games like Wolfenstein II: The New Colossus and Far Cry 5 were partially inspired by the Trump administration and people’s reactions to it. But those games have questionable value in almost every respect. So there you go. Artistic style and execution, ahem, trump political inspiration.

In short, people who spend their days and nights thinking politics, politics, politics will say just about anything that they think will impress and patronize their buddies.

Question 3

Doggie: What makes shooters great to you? And why do you think Thunder Force VI is criticized heavily?

Jed Pressgrove: I do believe a lot of shooters are crap. It’s an overcrowded genre, so it’s a simple thing to fall back on because of its history and popularity. But what I like about great shooters is their kinetic brilliance and their ability to tap directly into our animalistic “fight or flight” instincts, to paraphrase Defender and Robotron: 2084 developer Eugene Jarvis. The shooter is one of the earliest video-game genres, so we can learn much about the potential of the medium by understanding them. Beyond that, they’re a very absorbing type of art, an intense experience. And look at some of the notable auteurs who have created shooters: Jarvis, Masanobu Endō (Xevious), Dave Theurer (Missile Command and Tempest), Shinji Mikami (Resident Evil 4). Check out my 15 greatest shooters list if you haven’t. I go into more detail there.

Haven’t played Thunder Force VI, so can’t comment.

Question 4

Serge Soucy: What’s your favorite arcade cabinet?

Jed Pressgrove: Missile Command. Most of the time, when it comes to cabinets that I like, I’m drawn to some good-looking art or an attractive form of advertising. Missile Command’s cabinet gets my attention in a far different way. The art on the cabinet’s side is superb, but I’m more drawn to how the control layout makes me feel like I’m part of a battle station. I wish I could have played it back in the early 1980s (I was born in 1984) when the Cold War was still on everyone’s mind, but even when I played a Missile Command cabinet last year, I still got a strong sense of what it meant politically and culturally. It’s a cabinet that appeals to something far greater than the taste of an aesthete.

Game Bias’ 15 Greatest 2D Platformers List — #5-1

by Jed Pressgrove

Note: You can read the intro to this list here, the entries for #15-11 here, and the entries for #10-6 here.

5. Solomon’s Key (1986)

Solomon’s Key, designed by Michitaka Tsuruta, might star a sorcerer who is perpetually trapped in locked rooms, but the game’s central mechanic — the ability to create and destroy square platforms — gives the player a unique type of freedom. Most 2D platformers before and after Solomon’s Key feature platforms that are set in place, so being able to manipulate the very things that inspired an entire genre creates the brilliant illusion that you are a magician. Adding to Solomon’s Key’s sense of magic is the weird secrets throughout its 50 levels. After you accidentally make a few odd discoveries, it’s hard to resist the urge to experiment in all corners of the enchanted rooms, especially since you will be revisiting the levels many times due to the game’s high degree of difficulty. Before Spelunky and Dark Souls, there was Solomon’s Key.

4. Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse (1989)

Although Konami’s Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse keeps the deliberate style of the original Castlevania, it holds a different place in video-game history by reimagining how players might progress through a journey in an action platformer. After you complete certain levels, branching pathways offer distinct challenges as you inch closer to Dracula’s castle; it’s impossible to experience every level on a single playthrough. On these different paths, you can discover multiple secondary characters, each with a completely different style of play and who can replace main protagonist Trevor Belmont with the touch of a button. No matter what path or character you choose, the game is full of ingeniously nerve-wracking sequences, the best of which is the optional Clock Tower level, where you must scale the building then work your way back down through its various mechanisms. Very few platformers can compete with Castlevania III’s epic quality, and none of them can match its emotional tension, partially because of the game’s startlingly articulate soundtrack, which is one of the greatest technical achievements on the Nintendo Entertainment System.

3. Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island (1995)

For a sequel to one of the most crowd-pleasing franchise hits of its era, Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island has a ton of gall. The game’s hand-drawn art surges with a joyful and nervous energy that has yet to be surpassed among platformers — sometimes it seems like the visuals are about to, elatedly, rip apart at the seams, as when, in one stage, you touch Fuzzy and get dizzy (an unforgettable ode to psychedelic drugs) or when the first boss, initially diminutive, blows up to take up about half the screen. Then there’s Yoshi’s Island’s bizarre and even irritating premise: to survive, the player must take care of a young Mario, who cries and floats off in a bubble whenever Yoshi is hit by an enemy. By daring to turn a Mario game into one long escort mission, producer Shigeru Miyamoto and his team make an uncompromising artistic statement, rejecting the philosophy of “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” And that’s why when people talk about this title, they rarely say, “Super Mario World 2.”

2. Ninja Gaiden (1988)

When director Hideo Yoshizawa decided to transform the 1988 Ninja Gaiden arcade beat ’em up into a cutscene-filled platformer — the birth of “Tecmo Theater” — he changed video-game history. As a story about a young man wanting revenge on the ninja who killed his father, Ninja Gaiden is simple, emotive, and urgent, inspiring scores of developers to try their hand at complementing action with bursts of cinematic aplomb. But no cutscene has yet transcended the Sergio Leone-inspired opening sequence of this game, which, through alternating close-ups of faces and running legs, showcases the anxiety, excitement, and tragedy of a duel. The last image in this montage is the masked visage of a son enraged by what has occurred, and so when the first stage finally starts, the player is already shot with adrenaline as they take control of a hero with quick feet, a beyond-efficient sword slash, and the ability to jump off walls. As the story becomes more complicated after each level, and as the soundtrack evokes everything from energetic rage to demonic mystery, Ninja Gaiden never lets up.

1. Super Mario Bros. 3 (1988)

It’s not just that the eight worlds of Super Mario Bros. 3 contain enough ideas for several video games. It’s that the realization of the game’s concepts leads to a wide variety of emotional states. The child-like thrill of sliding down a tall hill, taking out multiple foes as you go, and landing into a pool of water. The sense of dread while you jump onto moving tanks and dodge cannon fire and walking bombs. The urge to laugh when you first see the silly oversized goombas. The shock of being swallowed alive by a giant flying fish. Whether you’re in the middle of a level, navigating a world map, or going toe to toe with a friend in Battle Mode (which is more fun than most fighting games), Super Mario Bros. 3 constantly appeals to senses and feelings and, of course, our fascination with moving an avatar on, around, between, above, and under platforms in a wonderful array of fashions.