Recently, I've been playing a lot of Tekken Tag Tournament 2, as I wasn't that into fighting games around the time it came out. It's a huge improvement over Tekken 6, the previous game in the series, and my dad and I have been playing it in anticipation for the console release of Tekken 7. What's interesting is that Tag Tournament 2 has a massive roster of 59 characters, while 7 currently has a humble 29. While 29 is a large roster itself, seeing it fall down so far from the last game, even if it was a spinoff, is a little jarring. I know I'll be missing Jaycee, Eddy Gordo, and Sebastian, and my dad's nearly lifelong main, Lei Wulong, won't be making a return either. However, it could also mean the game might have better balancing, more to like about the characters that are included, and more. It got me thinking a lot about roster size in general, and what effects it tends to have on fighting games, as well as where a large roster is appropriate and where it doesn't work so well.
Contains spoilers for K-On! (First season) If you weren't aware already, the anime adaptation of K-On! (spanning two series', a few OVAs, and a movie) is my favorite anime, and probably my favorite work of art in general. Besides the fact that I have a personal connection to it due to its impact on me as a writer, it's surprisingly got an amazing narrative for slice of life, a genre that is often criticized for generally lacking a real narrative. Pretty much everything about it is just amazing, and I'm a huge fan. I always wanted to read the manga despite hearing somewhat mixed things, since I've always been curious as to the differences, not to mention that it continued past where the anime ended. Recently, I read through the first two volumes, the equivalent to K-On! (the first of the two series'), and I have to say... I'm somewhat disappointed. To explain why, I'll have to go into what made the first series so good. So, without further ado, time to make elitists angry. Contains spoilers for Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann Often, I hear the term "blurred morality" thrown around when talking about villains with understandable motives, and while that still is true that it would be considered such, I don't think it cuts to the heart of what blurred morality really is. One of the best examples I could possibly think of to display it is Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, arguably the biggest modern classic of this era in anime. With nearly unanimous praise across the board, I don't think any anime has quite the following Gurren Lagann does. However, I can't think of anybody who has actually taken a deeper look at the ambiguous morality behind the characters throughout the show. Good or bad, hero or villain, everybody in Gurren Lagann has done at least some things right and others wrong. But the way the show handles specific motivations makes what is right or wrong debatable, and it makes an already incredibly deep show even more filled. So, I'd like to take a look at how this moral ambiguity affects the show, and what it means for the heroes and "villains". Steam recently had a sale on all of the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, or at least all of it that's been ported to PC. I was just browsing through it out of curiosity, but Sonic Adventure and Sonic Adventure 2 caught my eye. I already had both of these games on Gamecube, but I was aware that both of them surprisingly had a modding scene. So, I sold some trading cards and Team Fortress 2 items, and snagged both for under $5 and took a couple weeks to play through both. I have a long history with both games, and while they are by no means good, they are playable enough for some of those with nostalgia for them, myself included. Ask anybody, whether they love or hate the games, which one they preferred, and I'm certain they'll tell you Sonic Adventure 2. However, I'd argue that Sonic Adventure is a much better game, and that every "improvement" the sequel made to the original actively made the game worse. What am I talking about? Well, let's start with the format of the first, and see what the second built off of. Recently, I decided to give Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica a watch, since it was written by Gen Urobuchi, who also wrote Psycho-Pass, my second favorite anime ever. I absolutely loved it, but it wasn't actually Urobuchi's writing that caught my attention. It was the art direction. It had such a unique feel to it, and I don't think I've heard much in praise of it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that art design really isn't discussed much when it comes to anime, which is odd considering how much more important it is to good ol' Nippon than it is in the west, generally speaking. So, I thought I would outline a couple design elements that I personally think are really important, and don't get as much discussion as I'd like. I've always loved the ideas behind Pokemon. It's the pioneer of the creature-collecting subgenre, and its popularity comes with good reason. It's a jack of all trades, the perfect turn-based game for people who aren't even interested in such RPGs in the first place. When a new game in the series is about to come out, chances are, I'll be looking forward to it. However, for those who are unaware, it's pretty surprising to hear that I've never played a main series Pokemon game to completion. I'm always having a good time playing for quite a while. My starter (or in the case of Pokemon X, starters) gets somewhere slightly above the level 20 mark, then I get to a point where the type charts really matter. The rest of my Pokemon are somewhere lower, and I have to grind. That's the furthest I ever get, every single time. The reason? At that point, the game just isn't fun. Contains Spoilers for Inside Out Every once in a while, my family has a Christmas gift labeled "For Everyone", and it usually means a game that everybody wants, a rare occurrence now that my older sister isn't very interested in some of the games my brother and I want, or a movie. This year, it happened to be Inside Out on Blu Ray. I wasn't expecting to like it that much, but since I was already loaded with the entirety of K-On and Psycho Pass, I was set anyways. I guess I was surprised by how funny the movie is, because I'd honestly recommend it solely on the comedy, but I was right about my suspicions. It was narratively weak, with a decent framework but painfully empty execution. I think it's a prime example of the problem I have with Pixar's writing nowadays. If you listen to people talk about games in the way I do, you've probably heard the term "elegant" or something similar used to describe an indie game before. I've heard it for everything from Super Meat Boy to Fez to Cave Story, and every generally well-reviewed game in between. And while I wouldn't consider all of those games fitting of that description, I understand what the word means in such a context. But what does it mean if somebody calls an indie game "elegant"? I mean, they're all simple games, right? What makes the difference between something "elegant" and something just plain? Well, I'd like to take a quick look at a couple games to demonstrate what this means, and when it is and isn't applicable. Don't worry, this article is SPOILER FREE Yesterday, I went on a surprise viewing of Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, and I have to say I really enjoyed it. Way back in 2012, when production of the movie was first made known, my immediate thoughts were very negative, worried that they would milk the franchise for all its worth instead of actually making worthwhile films. While the milking part is indeed true, I gained more faith in the movie over time, and by the week before premiere, I was pretty confident it would be good. When I actually saw it, I was surprised by how great it was. Sure, it isn't as good as the original trilogy, but it stands well on its own while still holding true to the Star Wars franchise. I have to say, I was shocked by how excellently the action scenes were handled. This past week, I've been doing pretty much nothing but playing Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain. It's an interesting game, since there really hasn't been any other Metal Gear game quite like it. It's kind of like Peace Walker, but the open world really changes the flow of the game. Whenever I hear people talking about open worlds in games, it's usually something along the lines of how you can "do so many things", and I heard this particularly for The Phantom Pain. While it is a good thing that there are many gameplay options, I don't think that being able to do a lot has anything to do with how it works well. My initial reaction to hearing about an open world Metal Gear was "It's never going to work," but I've been proven wrong, and it's because of the design mentality behind the open world. |
Chase Moran
Your local weeb trash. I like video games, long walks on the beach, and sarcasm. Archives
January 2016
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