Fans are poisonous. The average, majority fan is so fickle and short-sighted, they stand to halt artistic vision and experimental game design and leave us in an endless wheel of regurgitated styles and templates.
This thought stems immediately from Capcom published, Ninja Theory developed, franchise reboot DmC. A fair fan of the previous titles and owner of all four, I wouldn’t call myself a Dante Must Die kind of guy but hack-n-slash has its kicks. What most stood out within the series for me though was the first title: the game was hauntingly atmospheric and was clearly influenced by its history as a Resident Evil title. As a kid I found the puppets and inanimate-turned-animate objects strictly terrifying, and even now a real sense of claustrophobia can envelope me as I get locked in room faced with having to eliminate all enemies first. This is what the series should be recognised for;
Totally posting this here because there isn't a collective profile for the game.
Despite all the praise - which was nothing compared to the numerous Game of the Year Awards it now boasts - I was in no rush to play The Walking Dead. Already a fan of Telltale Games, I knew the developer’s style: humourous, witty, traditional. Their games are fun offerings to pass the time, but nothing on any grand scale of achievement. That was my assumption of The Walking Dead, and I would scoop it up in a Steam sale one day, arrogant and smug, and tell everyone I enjoyed it, which I certainly would. But one day it was my Twitter feed that finally made me click; my usual regulars were buried beneath a sea of “#ForClementine” hashtags, retweets from Telltale. Nothing out of the usual for Twitter-savvy developers, but it was the content preceding these messages: tears, heart-break, desperation. People were c
The worst thing about being a fan of Nic Cage is having to actually watch him act. In films. Starring Nic Cage.
People that claim Cage has never given a good performance nor been in a good film are wrong, especially recently: excellent performances are not limited to the completely left-field, tear-broking and everyone's favourite father in Kick Ass; modern day and entirely not Italian but still Don of gangware Lord of War's Lord of War; melancholic and entirely worthless husband but still relateable weatherman in Weatherman and who-knows-what-you-could-call-him insane script-writer in Adaptation, pseudo-sequel to the equally as bizarre Being John Malkavich. The trick to these roles is that they are just that: roles. Nothing there is alike, in any way; they uncover characteristics you couldn't even begin to associate with Nic Cage and he's rewarded with new found respect each time. And th
I'm punching aliens in the face. I'm drawing penises on a whiteboard. I'm taking a slash. I'm playing billiards. I'm taking the secret throne elevator down to the Duke Cave where a personal call from the President is awaiting me. I'm single-handedly destroying an alien mothership all the while avoiding an air assault. I'm getting a blowjob from twins while I'm self-aware I'm in a game that took 14 years to develop as I play that same game on the television in front of me.
Within the course of the introduction and the first stage, I'm already in love with Duke Nukem Forever.
When the first major footage leaked amidst the demise of 3D Realms, long since we'd seen anything of the title, I was in awe: I thought the animations looked as beautiful as the graphics did, while the gameplay looked like unbelievable fun. Fun. Not intense, heart-tugging crusades through war-torn Madeupistan but the p