Author: Jed Pressgrove

Nier: Automata Review — Near Genocide

by Jed Pressgrove

Nier: Automata concerns a war between androids and robots. Because these battling groups have human characteristics, much has been and will continue to be said about director Yoko Taro’s story as a statement on existence. But the game’s most fascinating, effective, and relevant theme involves something that Taro suggests will survive beyond humanity: discrimination.

You start Nier: Automata as an android named 2B. She is part of a military group charged with taking back Earth, which has been overrun by robots that drove humankind to the moon. Your companion is 9S, who supplements 2B’s great combat skills with hacking. As you guide 2B through the first few missions, it is clear these androids don’t just believe in duty; they hate machines, as indicated by derisive comments.

Eventually, 2B and 9S witness, in a scene both disturbing and fantastic, a horde of machines giving birth to two very human-like characters. After almost killing one of these unusual progeny, 2B and 9S have no idea what has transpired. 9S, unable to focus on his duty, asks 2B why machines would try to look like humans—a delicious irony, given that androids are essentially human-looking beings. But with one of the game’s most politically powerful lines, 2B shuts down the conversation, stating there is no point in considering “unsolvable problems.” Here, Taro illustrates what makes real-world bigotry tick: a cold denial of even exploring the possibility of common ground.

From there, 2B’s discrimination is challenged by a variety of facts, such as a village of peaceful and kind robots, a faction of subjugated robots within a violent machine cult, and, most emotional, her partner 9S being forced to transfer his data, his consciousness, into a robot. After 9S speaks to 2B as a hulking bot, they touch each other with relief, the awkwardness of 9S’s now-huge hand notwithstanding.

At this point, Nier: Automata seems to end, suggesting that 2B and 9S have implicitly realized that they are not that different from those they have been called to destroy. But the game invites you to play again, and you assume the role of a small robot who wishes to restore life to one of his “brothers.” As you try to finish this quest, the focus shifts to the perspective of 9S, who watches and mocks the robot’s sensitivity from afar. In this incredible scene (which carries more power as an intro to a “second game” than it would have as a flashback), Taro has you identify with a machine’s feelings before placing you in the shoes of a familiar, hateful bigot. The hope of the game’s first ending, where 9S looks like his supposed enemy and yet retains his feelings, is unexpectedly dashed.

Playing as 9S, you get to feel the coldness that makes discrimination work overtime. When 2B dies later in the game, 9S becomes even more disgusted with robots, as he partly blames them for 2B’s demise (despite the fact that the android military group made a strategic error in trying to end the war quickly). Because the player by this point has seen, objectively, the similar humanity—the hope, the fear, the drive, the confusion—within the androids and robots, destroying machines as 9S depicts an original vision of genocide, where visually exquisite explosions of nuts, bolts, and parts scream injustice.

9S’s childish fits of anger also show how Nier: Automata functions as revealing camp, especially after 9S learns two things: (1) humanity, what he supposedly fights for, is actually extinct and (2) his kind comes from the cores that power machines. This first revelation might disturb players, as we are human, but that 9S and his victims aren’t biologically human allows us to see how a cycle of ignorance can live without us. The second revelation reinforces how individuals, for generations, may harden their hearts to carry on a legacy of exclusion. 9S, in his stupid rage, cannot accept the implications of these data, so he becomes a comical yet all-too-real portrait of a bigot.

The real kicker is how Taro bravely puts 9S in a sympathetic light. Between the scenes of 9S annihilating robots, he must face personal horrors. In one scene, he is forced to fight against multiple copies of 2B, the android—the woman—we know he loves. One might wince at 9S’s hatred, but anyone can understand the trauma that emblazoned his existing favoritism for those like him. For that reason, Nier: Automata is a cautionary tale that no one of any political persuasion in 2017 can run from once they experience and recognize it.

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Dishonored: Death of the Outsider Review — Bankable Juvenility

by Jed Pressgrove

With Death of the Outsider, the Dishonored series finally gives up its charade about morality. In the first two games, players could either kill or not kill on their stealthy journeys, but killing would bring about more inconveniences, such as an increase of deadly bloodflies, in addition to impacting the (emotionally vapid) story. Killing an enemy in Death of the Outsider, however, can be consequence-free if you avoid detection. Developer Arkane Studios even tosses in self-recharging superpowers so audiences can more comfortably lap up Dishonored’s newfound juvenile honesty.

But Death of the Outsider still has story elements to choke down or ignore, including poorly illustrated comic-book scenes, incessant collectible notes, and voice acting that sounds like a rushed second reading of a script. Between missions you still have to walk about a lair and get into a carriage before any action can start. Even worse, protagonist Billie Lurk is both dull and laughable with lines like “You want to kill a god?” and “I’m ready to rob the bank.” It’s as if the writers don’t realize that video games have pushed godless and wannabe-badass junk for decades.

Although using the superpowers, like the out-of-body experience that allows you to scope out areas that you want to infiltrate, and setting foe-snatching hook mines can be entertaining, Death of the Outsider is largely a seen-it-all-before affair. Clunky and unimaginative melee combat keeps it from being a good action game, while the stealth comes with all the usual baggage, whether it’s the dumb one-liners of enemies, the disposal of limp bodies, or the pop-up meters that let you know whether you’re about to get caught. Death of the Outsider isn’t drearily moral like its predecessors, but it’s just as emotionless, sticking to commercial formula with the faith of a child.

Persona 5 Review — Thou Art Immature

by Jed Pressgrove

Persona 5, cited by Famitsu readers as the greatest role-playing game ever, has enough stylistic flourishes for several games. From the visually dynamic menus to the finishers that leave enemies spraying arterial fluid, it’s hard not to feel a sense of coolness while playing Persona 5. Undoubtedly, director Katsura Hashino intends for players to be invigorated and empowered by how hip the game seems; after all, the very story involves a group of teenagers who shake off their insecurities and come into their own as secret superheroes. But the excitement that Persona 5 exudes is stunted by terrible editing, which leaves too much room for tired ideas, excessive tutorialization, and self-righteous morality.

As a reserved (rather than silent) protagonist, the player travels, with a team of misfits, to the Metaverse, a world that reflects the darkest desires of human beings, whether that be the lust of a high school coach or the greed of a CEO who exploits workers. Your party is known as the Phantom Thieves, all teenagers who have awakened powers they never knew they had, with the goal to change the hearts of wicked adults by fighting them in the Metaverse. Like the last two Persona games, you must also engage in life-simulator activities, such as studying for school and having get-togethers, on a day-to-day basis. This real-life facade doesn’t just make Persona 5 stand apart from most RPGs, though. As your character, for example, wakes up for the umpteenth time to a text message from a friend wanting to hang out, the daily grind shows a desperate need for editing, as it’s difficult to stay emotionally connected to writing that frequently seems copied and pasted.

You could make a frightening grocery list of occurrences, phrases, character beats, and plot contrivances that lose impact and meaning after appearing too many times in Persona 5. For instance, the story of the Phantom Thieves taking down corrupt adult after corrupt adult is framed as part of an interrogation. At first, this framing has gravity, as it invites you to consider whether the main characters are heroic or simply criminal. But after a few dozen hours, these sequences — punctuated by generic suspense-themed music — are annoying in that they interrupt your engagement with the tale at hand; restate things you already know from playing the game (such as one character serving as a computer genius); and reveal targets of the Phantom Thieves rather than letting the player become aware of these suspects in an organic way.

With such repetitive scenes, it appears that Hashino wants to make sure no one is confused during Persona 5. Admittedly, I was never lost during the proceedings, even when I took weeks-long breaks from playing. At the same time, getting into the game can be an awkward endurance test thanks to the tutorial messages that dominate anywhere from the first 12 to 20 hours of the experience. And even though these prompts appear less and less throughout, the game still bakes in hints and pats on the back for the player to a condescending degree. In more than one scene, you might solve an obvious puzzle only to be inundated by remarks from almost every main character about the solution. Persona 5 frequently doesn’t know how to shut up.

If only the game’s lack of editing merely translated into exhaustion. In addition to not wasting time, one should want to tell a story that doesn’t waste thematic potential, and a good editor can trim away contradictions to maintain focus. With an upbeat soundtrack, lines like “Your heart is steadily gaining the strength of rebellion,” and constant hand holding, Persona 5 celebrates the achievements of the Phantom Thieves (the player) so much that any of the script’s moral questions come off as accidental dots on a humongous canvas. What’s more, characters like Sae and Akechi who criticize the justice of the Phantom Thieves are portrayed as self-absorbed and unlikable, whereas the awakenings of the protagonists’ true selves drip with spiritual and sexual appeal.

Given how the Phantom Thieves reform a villain by meddling with his or her subconscious, Persona 5 seems to train one to think that the psychological trick of shaming people you find irredeemable is not only cool but the right thing to do. This type of indignation is perfectly summed up by the talking cat Morgana while discussing a person who kills animals: “I can’t ever forgive a human like that.” And so, like the social-media crusaders who dogpile sinners, the Persona 5 audience will likely not consider the God complex required to believe that you have the authority to change the spots of a leopard.

Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice Review — Against Self-Hatred

by Jed Pressgrove

In the so-called canon of great games, the sensitive Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice should replace the fear-mongering Silent Hill 2. Through the trials, tribulations, and redemption of its protagonist Senua, Hellblade flips the video-game script on psychosis with a tale that puts players into the shoes of someone who fights voices and visions in her head as she goes about life. Games like Silent Hill 2 make Hellblade’s statement necessary, as the former propagates the lie that high-quality horror is about scaring people. Silent Hill 2 and its ilk want us to be consumers who are frightened of mental illness (or, more directly, the human mind itself), but Hellblade’s horror asks audiences to embrace the challenge of overcoming self-hatred brought about by psychological struggle.

Developer Ninja Theory opens Hellblade with Senua in a canoe crossing a river to arrive at a hellish place, where the impediments to Senua’s happiness are quickly established for players. As a narrator whispers exposition, you also hear additional competing voices while Senua travels. Representing the internal dialogue of Senua, these voices are unnerving in their inconsistent messaging: lines like “Go back,” “You don’t know where you’re going,” and “That’s it, that’s it, that’s the way” are only a few examples of how Senua’s conflicting selves attempt to influence her mood and actions. And while this audio chaos is disturbing, the player, through pushing Senua to the next challenge, immediately grasps the strength of this character in how she can function despite the madness within her.

Soon, Hellblade becomes a game of puzzles and fights, with the former illustrating how someone with Senua’s condition sees the world differently (nature) and the latter representing the self-destructive fear and hatred that Senua developed because of her father’s abuse (nurture). The gradual reveal of Senua’s upbringing is especially illuminating: her father treats her inherited psychology as a curse that will destroy everyone around her, much like the events and notes in Silent Hill 2 speciously connect mental illness to automatic murder and tragedy.

Through Senua’s battles with male foes (undoubtedly visions connected to her brutal dad), Hellblade is the first game I’ve played since Golden Axe: Beast Rider that elicits gender-based intimidation in the heat of physical combat, though the nonverbal preening of Hellblade’s musclebound men is more subtle than the screams of “Bitch!” in Golden Axe: Beast Rider. This element begs for another comparison to Silent Hill 2, as that overrated game’s protagonist James can deal damage to ostensibly feminine foes, a supposed representation of James’ frustration with his dying wife. Whereas Silent Hill 2 revels in its depiction of misogyny without a clear lesson (multiple endings kill thematic purpose), Hellblade’s climax, where players must literally stop killing the bad guys if they want to see the conclusion, leads to universal philosophical implications in a single, unforgettable coda.

The violent men that Senua dispatches throughout Hellblade emanate from Hela, a goddess that Senua sees as her ultimate opposition. But when you finally give up against the neverending male horde at the end, something incredible happens: Hela becomes Senua. This transformation rejects the intolerant feelings Senua has about parts of herself: at one point, she tells the voices in her head, “I didn’t ask you to be part of me.” But they are part of her, just as all humans have parts of themselves that cause guilt and fear. After Senua realizes she has ultimately been trying to destroy herself, she can start to appreciate the beauty of life again. In this way, Hellblade triumphs over the monotony of its combat and, hopefully, takes its rightful place above pop horror games that rarely edify us.

How Much Basic Knowledge and Dignity Does the Gaming Press Have?

by Jed Pressgrove

I am still stunned by the stupidity I witnessed yesterday when numerous readers and gaming press members suggested that Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice was remarkably different for including the possibility of one having to start the entire game over if one died a certain amount of times.

Turns out, the game didn’t include that possibility, as reported here. This revelation in and of itself points to an embarrassment shared by both readers who had never played Hellblade and gaming press members who didn’t know what they were talking about despite having early access to Hellblade.

Amazing. (Let me say that once more before I go to the next point: Amazing!) But here’s the thing: even if Hellblade had actually included the possibility of one having to start the entire game over after dying a certain amount of times, there would be no compelling reason for surprise in the “online gaming community.” This situation raises significant questions about the basic video-game knowledge of many, particularly some members of a condescending gaming press that needs to set a higher standard for dialogue.

An obvious point is that, for decades, some games have featured the idea of lost progress after a Game Over (trendily called “permadeath”). Look at classic arcade games like Donkey Kong, look at old console games like Super Mario Bros., look at handheld games like Contra 4 (released only a decade ago), look at recent independent games like Downwell. There are plenty of examples of this phenomenon, yet if you visited, say, Twitter yesterday morning, it was as if all of these examples didn’t exist. Many gamers wanted something to be outraged about, for whatever reason.

But surely any member of the gaming press would know that to play into such outrage is immature and misleading, not to mention flatout stupid. When it came out that Hellblade doesn’t have “permadeath,” you could almost see the egg on the faces of the people who said otherwise.

Yet today, it’s back to business as usual. I don’t see many writers or editors talking about standards, whether related to basic gaming knowledge or journalism, the latter of which should be philosophically opposed to hearsay, rumor, and treating your readers like cattle.

And to think, some people act surprised when they hear of gaming press outlets closing down.

 

 

 

Game Bias’ 15 Greatest Shooters List — #5-1

by Jed Pressgrove

Note: Here’s the introduction, #15-11, and #10-6 of the list.

5. Blazing Lazers (1989)

Building on the groundwork laid by Gradius, this vertical shooter, released on the elusive TurboGrafx16 console, suggests power-up management is an art form of choices and consequences. Four primary weapons can be leveled up by collecting orbs, and each weapon enables different play styles, whether it’s shooting smaller bullets in front of, behind, and to both sides of you simultaneously for extra defense or unleashing blue lightning that cuts through machinery like butter. Provocatively, a level-three weapon can be more effective than a higher-level weapon depending on the situation, so having to avoid orbs to maintain your bullet expression can put you into some dicey situations with enemies. Your style can be further augmented by secondary power-ups like floating drones that shoot with your ship, a shield, and homing missiles, but unlike the case in Gradius, you can’t activate all of these options at the same time. You must make a decision and live and die with it until another power-up, going back and forth like a pendulum, tempts you to change plans.

4. Resident Evil 4 (2005)

No one could have guessed the fourth installment of a franchise known for survival horror, a subgenre notorious for inexact controls and awkward action, would be one of the most exhilarating shooters ever made. Given Resident Evil 4’s incalculable influence on all sorts of 3-D third-person titles, it might be difficult for some to remember how this Shinji Mikami-directed game energized the very idea of aiming: one button press pulls the weapon up and zooms the camera closer to the shoulder of Leon (the pretty boy with enough cheesy lines for two games). This visual trick, copied shamelessly since, focuses one’s eyes even more on the target (a kinetic proxy of the lining-up process in real life), and every firearm having a red laser ensures something close to fetishization of the aim. How much fun it was, then, to find a favorite pistol and slowly improve its bullet capacity, sturdiness, power, and so on until zombie shooting became a sport that it had never been before. This unique pleasure was only surpassed by the unlockable The Mercenaries mode, which, if the world were just, would have its own arcade machine. If you must, complain about the fact that you can’t shoot while moving; almost anyone who has gone to a shooting range will tell you that freestanding target practice, which Resident Evil 4 beautifully simulates and demands, has a distinct intimacy and discipline to it.

3. Metroid Prime (2002)

Like Doom, Metroid Prime is full of shooting and areas to explore. But this Nintendo game, directed by Mark Pacini, tops its gorier first-person predecessor by calling attention to the beauty and importance of perspective itself. The way Metroid Prime reintroduces the morph ball from Metroid is the most obvious illustration of this point: the shift from first- to third-person when you ball up is a treat every time due to the natural-feeling transition. More importantly, the game’s different visors transcend the cliched detective modes of modern gaming, offering not one but three new ways of seeing the world and unearthing its mysteries. Metroid Prime’s radical design shines in its final action-packed stretch, which has you shaking off life-draining metroids via the perspective-changing morph ball and trying not to fall while scaling small platforms; surgically dispatching a giant spider with every major blaster (each with its own quirks and eye candy); and swapping to the right visor during the final boss battle so that you can actually see where to shoot.

2. Missile Command (1980)

In most shooters, skill leads to relatively instant gratification. Line up, fire, and know soon whether your target is wounded or destroyed. With Missile Command, Dave Theurer rejects this pattern as too comfortable, requiring the player to anticipate the trajectories of enemy missiles and deftly catch them in explosions that gradually widen and shrink back down. As great as Missile Command is on any platform (I first played it on a collection of Atari-produced games for PC), the arcade experience is essential, as the roller ball and stylized three buttons make players feel like they are part of a station that stands between obliteration and everyday homes. With this full package, Missile Command stands as a testament to the anxiety of the Cold War era.

1. Galaga (1981)

Shigeru Yokoyama’s Galaga is the most straightforward shooter on this list, and it’s that simplicity that magnifies the appeal of every detail of the game, whether it’s the sounds different enemies make when you land hits; the “Challenging Stage,” which grants you both respite from the “real” game and stress due to its special emphasis on accuracy and timing; the excitement of annihilating almost every enemy before they can line up and begin their malevolent swoops toward your ship that can only move left or right; the unforgettable little tune that plays when one of your ships gets sucked into a tractor beam and the reprise when you save it; the almost hollow-sounding explosion — a fitting complement for the disappointment in your gut — when you lose an extra ship. This Namco classic renders its ancestors, including Space Invaders, almost irrelevant in my mind. That’s what a true masterpiece does; it is the high bar, making otherwise good games seem like stuff made by shortsighted amateurs. I play the arcade machine every chance I get to remind myself of what game design is capable of, how razor sharp it can be with every aspect.

Game Bias’ 15 Greatest Shooters List — #10-6

by Jed Pressgrove

Note: You can read the introduction to this list here and the entries for #15-11 here.

10. Contra 4 (2007)

From the first level that revises the introductory jungle stage of the 1987 arcade original, Contra 4 supercharges the kineticism and suspense of its predecessors, with trickier enemies, more souped-up firearms, a grappling hook, and action across and between both screens of the Nintendo DS. The spread gun, one of the most iconic weapons in video game history, is no longer the key to domination as it was in previous entries, as developer WayForward’s level design rewards players who pick the right weapon for the right sequence — if dying and restarting the game multiple times doesn’t stop them first. Yes, Contra 4 is macho, but it’s the quintessential stone-cold expression of machoism in modern video games; its manual amusingly insults the very concept of save points, and you lose a continue if you take a break mid-game. Yet after you complete the main game along with all 40 of the “Challenge Mode” missions, which handicap you in a variety of ways (sometimes you can’t even shoot!), the value of Contra 4 as history becomes evident. The unlockable extras document the legacy of Contra, from extra playable characters — not all are male or even human, but they all kick the same amount of ass — to the uncut Nintendo Entertainment System classics Contra and Super C. Not even the lack of a multiplayer mode prevents Contra 4 from cementing itself as the best run-and-gun game.

9. Gain Ground (1988)

The greatest cooperative shooter of all time, Sega’s Gain Ground is very different from a game like Gradius, and I’m not talking about their mechanical differences. Whereas Gradius gave birth to a ton of imitators, Gain Ground’s combination of shooting and strategy is so complex and intense that no other game, to my knowledge, has dared to copy it. Partly because of this distinction, many overlook, dismiss, and mischaracterize Gain Ground, as I point out in this in-depth piece. The intricacies of Gain Ground — which include everything from the hand a character uses to hold a gun to the plan of who gets to rescue whom and when — demand serious active communication between two players and rejects the type of casual design, epitomized by so many online shooters of our time, that inflates fragile egos. When you beat Gain Ground with someone, you can say you’ve experienced something unusual and great.

8. Assault Android Cactus (2015)

One can scoff at the fact that I’m naming a 2015 game as one of the top 10 shooters ever, but Assault Android Cactus is an immaculate mixture of innovation and entertainment. Developer Witch Beam reinvents bullet dodging, the arena, the Game Over screen, and the type of characters that can be featured in a shooter (that is, characters that don’t even shoot). Yet none of these risks feel forced or register as inconveniences. Rather, every element adds to the sublimity, the raw emotion, of racing within a closed area and carving paths through scores of villains. Forget top-down twin-stick shooters like Smash TV and Geometry Wars: this is kinetic art!

7. Xevious (1982)

As you scroll upward through the lone but ever-changing level, prepare for the set enemy entrances and react to the variations in enemy type and attack style during those entrances, position yourself so that you can nail swooping airborne foes while eradicating pesky ground foes via a reticle just a few inches above your ship, account for the mediocre speed of your aircraft and the fact that you can’t fly on 40 percent of the screen, and try to ignore your anxiety caused by the piercing and looping siren that is the soundtrack, you realize Masanobu Endō is a singular auteur and that Xevious was avant-garde then and now.

6. Doom (1993)

Focus on the gore, the demons, Hell, the bloodied face of the protagonist (known stupidly as Doomguy), or the chainsaw if you wish. What really separates Doom from all the wannabes, including the latest installment of its franchise, is how developer id Software’s level design elicits pleasure, fear, anticipation, and curiosity from the player with unpredictable rhythm. Sometimes these emotions are intertwined, as when we see a space we want to explore, a wall behind us falls down to unleash a slew of undesirables unloading their grunting hatred at us, and we have just enough shotgun shells to tear them all down without much of a scratch. Arriving at obvious set pieces, such as the telegraphed arenas in the 2016 Doom, doesn’t match the excitement of combing labyrinth after labyrinth of who knows what in this landmark title.

Tekken 7 Review — Kissing Capcom’s Ring

by Jed Pressgrove

After playing various iterations of Namco’s Tekken series for more than two decades, I couldn’t have predicted that Capcom, responsible for the Street Fighter series, would keep coming to mind during Tekken 7. While Capcom has held the most influence on the fighting game genre since Street Fighter II became a pop sensation in the 1990s, and while there was a Street Fighter and Tekken crossover title (Street Fighter X Tekken) released in 2012, Namco’s franchise has always had its own legacy (though 1993’s Virtua Fighter certainly opened the door for the original Tekken in 1994). But in too many ways, Tekken 7 is a shameless continuation of Street Fighter IV, as evidenced by its multi-angle super moves and the inclusion of Akuma, the one-dimensional, fireball-throwing Street Fighter villain who just won’t go away.

On a fundamental level, Tekken 7 will be quite familiar to anyone who has spent a considerable amount of time with any Tekken game, especially if your favorite character is still in the mix. For example, I’ve been using Paul Phoenix throughout the series, and while his repertoire has a few new wrinkles, he retains the moves and strengths that have made him a standout contender. For many long-time players, Tekken 7 is welcoming in this respect. At the same time, the lack of risks with the game’s general design draws even greater attention to the changes Namco does make, and these additions show little imagination despite how cool they might look on the surface.

One of the major additions is what the game calls a “Rage” technique, which can be done when a character has lost almost all health. Each character has two different kinds of Rage moves, and one type, the Rage Art, is a bastardized version of the Ultra Combo from Street Fighter IV. Like the Ultra Combo, the Rage Art is designed to reward people who have taken too many hits (i.e., people who more than likely deserve to lose). When successfully landed, the move triggers a series of blows that can take off as much of a third of the opponent’s health. These combinations are automated (meaning they take virtually no skill to complete), have considerable priority (meaning they will usually go through an attack of the opponent), and can be initiated, in some cases, by only pressing two buttons together (at least Street Fighter IV consistently required more input for such a cheap tactic). The Rage Arts utilize various camera angles to accentuate over-the-top martial arts; while the combos may look neat, Namco is just stealing presentation tricks from Street Fighter IV.

Another “new” mechanic in Tekken 7 is the Power Crush, which involves a character absorbing blows (and taking damage), as opposed to being interrupted/countered, while landing a powerful attack. This addition shows, again, that Namco is too in love with Capcom, as the Power Crush recalls the Focus Attack from Street Fighter IV. The main difference between the two is that the Focus Attack offers more variety of play. You could perform Focus Attacks of various power levels (they can become unblockable), you could cancel Focus Attacks by dashing backward or forward, and you could cancel special moves with a Focus Attack, setting up a variety of strategic possibilities. In contrast, the Power Crush in Tekken 7 is all brawn. Just do the move and watch the idiotic fireworks.

The stupidest decision by Namco, though, is allowing Akuma to be a playable character in Tekken 7. For those unfamiliar with Akuma, he has always been an overpowered Ryu/Ken clone in the Street Fighter series, and Capcom keeps putting him in games as if he adds anything to the proceedings other than a superficial air of menace (Akuma’s defense has traditionally sucked). But Akuma’s presence is even worse in Tekken 7. Whenever he’s in a match, he’s clearly out of place, hurling fireballs and jumping with the fluidity of a 2D fighting-game character. Like the evil Akuma, Namco has lost its soul.

Game Bias’ 15 Greatest Shooters List — #15-11

by Jed Pressgrove

Note: You can read the introduction to this list here.

15. Earth Defense Force 2017 (2006)

With its over-the-top voice-overs, extremely crude weapon/health/armor icons, and ridiculous physics, Earth Defense Force 2017 could be written off as a joke. Yet there are few games that match this 3D third-person shooter’s emphasis on scale as you face hordes of gigantic ants, spiders, and walking robots. Developer Sandlot shows there can be a fine line between being in awe and not taking something seriously: as you eliminate flying drone after flying drone in one level, the screen shakes so violently that you can barely see what’s happening. Never has the urge to laugh been so married to spectacle in video games.

14. Stargate (1981)

Also known as Defender 2, Stargate doesn’t get as much attention as its predecessor Defender, but it’s the better game by Eugene Jarvis and Larry DeMar. Although you still fly left and right in Stargate to stop alien ships from abducting humans, the drama is higher with the very first stage, thanks to a greater variety of enemies and the inclusion of a volcano that spits bits of lava that you must avoid as you suicidally zip toward and away from pesky targets. This sequel also gives the player more help with the titular portal, which teleports you to the nearest threat to humanity, and a temporary cloaking ability. But the standout aspect to both Stargate and Defender is the devastating audiovisual punch of the protagonist’s weapon. It’s almost offensive how loud this game gets as you launch line after line of concentrated fire. The irony is the ease with which your foes can slip through the narrow passages between these shots, even though you could swear from all the noise and visual punctuation that you should be invincible.

13. Gradius (1985)

Director Hiroyasu Machiguchi led a reinvention of genre with the power-up system of Gradius, laying the foundation for many good horizontal and vertical shooters (including Life Force, another Machiguchi game under Konami). Yet there is one thing the children of Gradius usually don’t reproduce: the sense of exploration and space in sections where you can fly up or down to make the screen shift vertically as you continue to advance horizontally through narrow channels. And while Gradius can seem ridiculously unbalanced when you die and lose speed, a shield, lazers, and whatever else you collected, the music by Miki Higashino is hopeful (in stark contrast to the nerve-wracking theme in Xevious), suggesting that another try after failure can result in heroism.

12. The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth (2014)

As much of a horror game as it is a shooter, The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth is the definitive edition of designer Edmund McMillen’s Freudian nightmare of a maniacal mother, excrement-filled rooms, and an uncaring God. McMillen evokes The Legend of Zelda in his presentation of a seemingly neverending dungeon full of random power-ups that deform as much as empower the tearful boy protagonist. The various elements that could offend, particularly the levels that put you inside a womb, reflect an abusive history where fear and hatred, not comfort and love, are compellingly tied to every aspect of the woman — an unflinching view of hell from the eyes of a child.

11. Sin and Punishment: Star Successor (2009)

This effort from developer Treasure is the ultimate rail shooter experience. Unlike most rail shooters, which automatically scroll the player from one shooting gallery to the next, Sin and Punishment: Star Successor allows you to move an avatar on any part of the screen as you shoot, slash, and evade your way through an incredible assortment of enemies and threats. Whether you are flying through a city upside down or trying to survive a six-part boss, the sense of breathlessness in Sin and Punishment: Star Successor is unparalleled.

Game Bias’ 15 Greatest Shooters List — Intro and Honorable Mentions

by Jed Pressgrove

Note: The following links will lead you to the main list: #15-11, #10-6, and #5-1.

The word “shooter” is frequently used as shorthand for a particular subgenre of pop games. I’m referring to the first-person shooter, which includes everything from 1990s sensation Goldeneye to the seemingly eternal Call of Duty series. And while first-person shooters are worthy of analysis (like any subgenre), it’s limiting to think of Doom, Overwatch, and the like when someone says “shooter.”

As such, this list will not focus on a single shooter subgenre. Any type of shooter is eligible: first-person, 3D third-person, vertical, horizontal, gallery, run n’ gun, topdown, platformer shooter, rail, and more. Although their perspectives and allowances for player expression differ, the games I list are all united by the button-tapping, or button-holding, delivery of projectiles. These games might let you talk, dodge, fly, run, jump, scan, thwack, explore, and more, but you’re going to be doing a lot of shooting along the way.

Another to keep in mind is that I do not choose games based on how difficult they are.

Finally, you might ask, “Why only 15 in the list if you almost have enough honorable mentions here for a top 20?” From my view, the honorable mentions are not quite in the same class as the 15. They are also not the only honorable mentions that I could list. I could cite TwinBee, Wild Guns, Lords of Thunder, Metal Slug 3, Downwell, and many others, but I picked the following honorable mentions to make specific points.

Note: For my thoughts on the unique appeal of vertical shooters, go here.

Combat (1977)

The pack-in game for the Atari 2600 for several years, Combat required more than one player, as many online shooters do now. But unlike its modern counterparts, Combat doesn’t pay lip service to fairness and competition. Compared to most, it actually is fair and competitive. When the game begins, there’s one player on the left and one on the right. Both players are tanks. Both players have to make due with the odd controls (to move forward, you press up on the joystick, and pressing left or right turns the tank). No reverse. No power-ups. Just shooting and slow movement. What makes Combat truly special is its ingenious array of tank modes. One allows you to guide bullets with the joystick. Another requires you to bounce your bullets off a wall first in order to register a hit. And yet another renders both tanks invisible, except when they fire, but only for a second. Sure, Combat stumbles with its plane modes, some of which kick fairness out the door, as when one player is stuck with a humongous specimen that is much easier to hit. But the tank modes of Combat are thrilling in how they bring together stripped-down opponents. The pretentious communities that complain about balance should adopt this game, art that sees us as equals and makes us laugh at our limitations.

Mega Man 3 (1990)

Mega Man 3 is the best Mega Man game, as I argue at length here. One incredible part in the Mega Man games is when they show you that your bullets are worthless. Shoot an enemy’s armor, and you hear a distinct but inoffensive ping as the bullet makes impact, right before it flies diagonally upward all the way off the screen. There have been times where I will repeatedly shoot impenetrable parts of enemies to watch this detail. Great kinetic art can make all action, even the impotent sort, interesting to observe.

Tempest (1980)

Some implied Resident Evil 7 was scary for leaving behind the traditional Resident Evil third-person perspective for a first-person perspective. But tension doesn’t take on a new form due to a perspective alone; it’s what you do with the perspective, as demonstrated by the third-person Tempest, designed by auteur Dave Theurer. A so-called tube shooter, Tempest has you look down at tiny enemies that get bigger as they climb up walls, at the top of which you flip around and rain down fire. Although Tempest isn’t unique in how it encourages you to prevent invaders from closing in on your space, it’s uniquely uncomfortable when the malevolent beings join your plane, as you no longer feel like a god looking upon the weak. Nothing in Resident Evil 7’s horror cliches is as unmistakable as the suspense of Tempest, yet the latter only sports wireframe graphics.

Shutshimi (2014)

Not merely a parody like Parodius or Star Parodier, Shutshimi is the quintessential postmodern scrolling shooter. My review of this game can tell you a lot about why it’s mentioned here, but I want to point out that Shutshimi is a distinct product of the (Mis)Information Age, much like the recent RPG hit Persona 5. Both Persona 5 and Shutshimi go overboard on tutorialization. The difference is that Shutshimi recognizes the flood of information as a hindrance to our understanding and progress. Shooter mechanics as social observation.