Metro: Last Light
Release Date: 17/05/13 

Once upon a time the apocalypse was supposed to be a good thing; God would shake the Etch-a-Sketch of this world and his chosen few would live on, immortal, while the sinners simply faded away. The problem is, we’re all sinners, really, in one way or another, and so the apocalypse has come to embody the fear (and excitement) of losing everything we treasure, all the glorious intangible stuff of this material world. Furthermore, it’s become something mankind can actually endure, as we burrow into this life, like ticks, persevering to the end (post-end in fact) often with a trusty, homemade shotgun and a healthy sense of gallows humour.

And there’s certainly a sense that some kind of sci-fi, post-apocalyptic scenario is actually welcome. I mean, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? To forgot about the made-up systems that govern our lives, to not have to worry about money or trivial social norms. How silly it all was, how it all seemed like children playing, with their banks and their politics and their table manners, acting like it was all so important, as if any of it really mattered. It’s hardly surprising that post-apocalyptic fiction is so popular right now; we’re getting bored with civilisation. We fancy a change.

The grim, toxic, monster-infested world of Metro: Last Light is not a place one would fantasise about visiting in reality. Moscow is a ruin, where only grotesque mutants stalk the poisoned swamps, hungry for meat. The people fled to the safe darkness of the city’s underground Metro tunnels, where they built a new home out of the rubble of the old. But of course they’re not really safe; horrible creatures lurk in the shadows, and the survivors fight amongst themselves, as new factions emerged, each with their own rigid systems of belief. Players walk in the shit-encrusted boots of Artyom, a hero in the loosest sense of the word, who is tasked with destroying what may be the last surviving ‘Dark One’ (a race of telepathic super-beings who just want to get along, mostly wiped out by Artyom in the first game; Metro 2033). Needless to say, nothing goes at all to plan, and Artyom finds himself going on an epic journey through the Metro, sometimes aided by fellow humans, but often alone in the deep black, surrounded by creepy-crawlies and brutal Nazis.

Oh yeah, there’s Nazis. The Fourth Reich want to wipe out the impure, anyone they suspect of being mutated, to ensure mankind’s survival. Then there are the Communists; the Red Line who want to unite the Metro tunnels under one banner, to ensure mankind’s survival. Artyom himself is the newest member of the Rangers of the Order, a band of battle-hardened soldiers who are in possession of terrible, game-changing weapons, to ensure mankind’s survival. You’re probably detecting a theme right about now.

The attention to detail in Metro: Last Light is simply wonderful; from the ingenious handmade weapons, to the unique underground settlements that ensure no two tunnels are exactly alike. While the similar themed (albeit more playful) Fallout 3 saw you trekking through remarkably dull train stations, or keeping above ground as much as possible, Metro does it’s best to make long slogs in claustrophobic tunnels as diverse and engaging as possible. One moment you’ll be creeping through the shadows, with only a lighter to guide your way (and repel hungry spider-creatures) the next you’ll be clinging to a makeshift boat, while giant lampreys burst out of the flooded tunnel, hoping to tip you overboard. On the rare occasions you do venture outside, you’ll have to wear a gas mask, and regularly replace the air filters, which come in short supply. You’ll also have to manually wipe the mask with a tap of a button, whenever it gets spattered with slime or mud or blood. Little touches like this greatly elevates the game into something special, indeed Metro is at it’s best when relying on atmosphere, rather than narrative, to drive the experience.

Overall, the story is perfectly fine, but it could have done with less of it. The game is pretty linear, and at times it feels like more of a ride, especially as there are so many scripted events. The experience is most enjoyable when you forget the story, and forget that you are essentially being told where to go. Luckily a lot of the locations and set pieces are so breathtaking that forgetting comes easy.

The tools at your disposal are pretty varied but never overbearing. You have an assortment of cool, unique weapons, some of which you actually have to manually pump, that you can buy attachments for at certain vendors (who are few and far between). You’ll also have a knife, a lighter, a flashlight, a compass and gas masks if you can find them. A lot of the sticky situations you find yourself in can best be handled with stealth, so lights are better used for fighting monsters (or trying to find your way in the labyrinthine tunnels. Seriously it’s pretty easy to get lost, despite your wonderfully cumbersome compass).

Stealth in Metro: Last Light is pretty damn fun, and you’ll probably find yourself naturally doing it, even if you’re more of a fighter at heart. The game is dark, I mean literally, and the way is often only illuminated by lights and lamps, which your human enemies set up around their camps and outposts. Luckily you have a little light that pops up on your watch to let you know if you’re hidden by the shadows or not, this makes it relatively easy to sneak around, extinguishing lamps and enemies as you go.

Interestingly you are given a choice in sneak attacks to use either the hilt or the pointy end of your knife, so if you are so inclined you can spare the lives of most of the people you encounter by simply knocking them out. You’ll come to realise that even the ranks of the evil Nazis have their fair share of innocents, whether they are young and impressionable or simply living in the wrong tunnel at the wrong time, finding themselves working for a faction they don’t necessarily agree with. Morality here is as grey as concrete ruins. You’ll have plenty of time to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations and stories as you tiptoe about, learning about the world of Metro through osmosis. Indeed, in the neutral, heavily populated areas the hussle and bussle can be somewhat overwhelming, the constant, overlapping chatter reminiscent of Ridley Scott’s Alien.

The game really is at it’s strongest when you’re living and breathing the atmosphere, rather than simply following the quite-good narrative. At times it’s hard not to yearn for a more open world, such as what we get with Fallout 3, where Artyom might just have to survive in this hostile environment, perhaps having to catch food and hunt for valuable items (like abandoned crates of pre-war alcohol). The biggest problem is the lack of a true survival element, which is actually a step back from the previous game. Perhaps this is an effort to appeal to a wider demographic, focussing more on the shooty stuff that is so popular with more casual gamers, but the overall result is the game never quite feels bleak enough.

That said, the action is pretty enjoyable, and the game still manages to be fun if and when your cover is blown, and you’re forced to shoot your way out of a situation. Each gun gives a satisfying kick, and humans go down pretty easily. However, that same rule applies to you, so you’ll have to bob and weave through the maze-like enemy bases, reloading and pumping your weapons while desperately searching for a health kit or a dark corner to hide in. The monsters are a different matter entirely, you’ll either have to leg it or gun them down. Some of them will crawl out from some hellish hole, only to shrink back in fright as you hold up the small glow of your lighter, others you’ll hear coming from a mile off, by their trademark, nightmarish screams. Above ground you’ll also have to worry about winged demons. And ghosts.

Metro Last Light is a bloody beautiful game, and not just technically, it’s ambitious and unique, with a style all it’s own, despite the familiar and well-worn, post-apocalyptic setting. The interesting and exciting environments are complimented by an in-depth world aesthetic and brilliant little touches, such as the tools you use to survive, and the NPC character interactions. The story is pretty solid if nothing unremarkable, although the characters themselves are really engaging. Once you accept the game is linear, you can appreciate the excellent pacing, one moment pushing through laughing crowds in safe zones, the next crawling through pitch black tunnels filled with hungry creatures, and then a moments peace in an abandoned shack before sneaking into an enemy base. Metro’s focus is on atmosphere, above all else, and that feels wholly appropriate for a post-apocalyptic game.

Well that’s all from me, I’m heading back outside. The sun has come up now, sliding in and out of view, under the great blanket of clouds. And when a beam of light does shine down from the heavens, and illuminates the skeleton of Moscow, with it’s broken towers and bloated corpses strewn about in the marsh, it really is quite beautiful.

This was written by David Knight. His current whereabouts are unknown.

The Look of Love
Release Date: 26/04/13 (theatrical)

Michael Winterbottom understands how to get the best from Steve Coogan. This, his fourth feature film working with Coogan, has him utilising both the well cultured comedic timing of Coogan and his remarkable ability to evoke sympathy from characters that would otherwise be seen as deplorable.

Coogan this time brings his chameleonship to the role of Paul Raymond, a pioneer in the British adult magazine industry. A hedonist by nature, Raymond seemingly has everything you would expect from leading such a lifestyle; the admiration of young women, expensive cars, an excessive wealth which has bought him half the properties in Soho and all the drugs that a party hard club owner in the 70′s could desire.

Winterbottom seems obsessed with the 70′s, having previously made 24 Hour Party People (also starring Coogan) a film set in the tail end of the 1970′s charting the rising profile of the Manchester music scene. If he was successful in recreating the world of the 1970′s in that film, he has honed in on capturing the era perfectly in his newest effort. The soundtrack is really something which helps this film along, with numerous instantly recognisable songs of the decade coming in at just the appropriate times to reinforce a feeling that is more intense and immersing than nostalgic. It’s only when Winterbottom decides to mix real life footage with cinematic scenes that we are reminded, rather bluntly, that this is a recreating of a time long gone and we are, momentarily, brought back into the present, gazing at the period with novel sentimentality.

The film, although very grounded in the idea of transgression and decadence in the British lifestyle of the time, is also deeply concerned with human connections and relationships, in particular the relationship between Raymond and his daughter, Debbie. (Imogen Poots). Debbie grows up adoring her father and he adoring her. She is the only person he truly cares for as he wanders through life taking all he can, without ever giving much back. As a child she is thoroughly impressed by all the things her father owns, and in return for this adoration Raymond gives her everything that she desires, including putting her out to an illustrious boarding school. As she matures, we see that she is beginning to reflect the more reckless and negative traits of her father and eventually decides to work for him on one of his more risqué shows. The off-kilter, fragile nature of Debbie is well acted by the young Poots, displaying the misplaced hunger and ambition in the eyes of the character quite expertly at times.

An impressive attribute to the film, and something which Winterbottom excelled at in his last film Everyday, is the subtle ageing of each character. The progression of Raymond from a young man with everything at his feet, to a tiring, ageing and broken man is quite remarkable as it sneaks up on you. This also charts a parallelism to Raymond’s ex wife (Anna Friel) who evolves from a confident and powerful young woman to a tired grotesque caricature of a glamour queen

Even though the strongest part of the film is the tragic downfall of the spoiled and adored daughter, it could be an element to why the film also struggles with balancing tone throughout. Coogan is first and foremost a loveable funny man, and he certainly brings that to his character, allowing much comic relief throughout. This comedy, however, runs into some problems as the film progresses and the tragic spiralling is heightened. The comedy and tragedy go against each other, fighting for a piece of our emotions and in the end neither really win out as we are numbed by the counteracting of both.

Some of the scenes are expertly shot by Winterbottom, often feeling quite grand at times. The refrain of Poots singing The Look of Love is something which stays with you quite some time after the credits role. Her aforementioned fragility is complimented with a childlike enthusiasm and clumsiness that is a perfect juxtaposition to a song which has so many connotations to grace and elegance. She is certainly the highlight to an otherwise emotionally anaesthetised affair.

The Look of Love is a character study that lacks genuine insight; instead we are shown a conflicted man trapped in a film which has numerous conflictual issues itself. It’s however redeemed by the fantastic capturing of the era and a stand out performance by the ever improving Imogen Poots.

This was written by Alan Laidlaw.

BioShock Infinite
Release Date: 26/03/13

“No gods or kings, only man.”

The now iconic opening imagery of the original BioShock set the tone for many of the themes it would broach, from free will and player choice to Randian Objectivism. BioShock Infinite opens, fittingly, in much the opposite way. Some of the first imagery you’ll see in Infinite is a sign that reads “Of thy sins, shall I wash thee,” above a basin of water. The citizens of Rapture seemed not to subscribe to any religion, whereas the people of the sky-loft wonder of Columbia are expected to deify and worship America’s founding fathers and their prophet, the main antagonist in Infinite, Father Zachary Comstock. Infinite deals with some heavy themes which Comstock has used as the societal foundation of Columbia, like jingoism, religious fanaticism and racism. But in the end, BioShock Infinite becomes so much more than commentary on any one or group of ideals. It became a truly magnificent and transcendent experience that left me stunned.

The instant I set foot on the gilded, floating city of Columbia, I was speechless. The world Irrational Games has built within Infinite is so beautifully and wholly realised that it’s almost too much to take in. Much of the art is styled after the America of 1912 (the year this is all taking place), with a more fantastical twist. Everything was so perfect, too perfect even, and I immediately felt a strange uneasiness. Everyone seems happy, but as I looked around I saw billboards laden with imagery depicting the need for Columbia and its citizens to “defend against the foreign horde,” and I felt out of place. How could these people be surrounded by such vile messages and still be so happy-go-lucky? Because this is the world they want to live in. Comstock’s world is one of racial and nationalistic prejudice. It’s an extremist version of an American time period, an extreme to which America never actually went, but rather Comstock’s ideal version of it. “More American than America” indeed.

It never feels as though the racism is there just to be there, or for the shallow purpose of shock value. It’s as much an integral part of the identity of Columbia as it was the America it is based on, and as much that as any commentary. In a way, it is kind of just there. This is the way life is in this world, for good or ill. There isn’t necessarily a blatant statement being made on this theme in Infinite, but even if it doesn’t make an outright claim one way or another, smaller details and character interactions hint at what it’s trying to say. At one point, Elizabeth (the story’s lead) comments on the impracticality and inefficiency of having separate facilities for whites and blacks. Having been trapped in a tower all her life, she hasn’t seen racism first-hand, and is puzzled when she eventually encounters it. Booker (the player character) is clearly a man who regrets many of the detestable things he’s done in his past. He happens upon a black man smoking on the job, and the man is immediately worried and apologetic. Booker tells him he has no problem with him, and to enjoy himself.

Those subtle hints at the underlying ideas in BioShock Infinite were effective because of the way they were communicated; through characters I grew to care about. Booker DeWitt is a man with sins he wants to atone for, but even still he isn’t really a good person. He’s a veteran of Wounded Knee, and a former Pinkerton agent. Neither are things he’s particularly proud to have been. The entire premise in Infinite starts out with Booker accepting a job to erase some nasty debts he’s built up through drinking and gambling. That job; go to Columbia and retrieve a girl.

That girl is Elizabeth, BioShock Infinite’s greatest strength. Elizabeth has been locked away in a tower for the entirety of her life, as she possesses a strange power that allows her to alter reality in a way. The way in which her character is developed and explored throughout the game is remarkable, and left her standing tall amongst my favourites in all of videogames. Though, to speak of her as simply a ‘videogame character’ does her a disservice, at times. In the quiet moments, when you’re afforded some time to spend with Elizabeth, she shines. In those instances, she’s more human than any character in a game I can think of. The way she and Booker’s relationship builds and changes throughout Infinite is one of my absolute favorite things in the entire game, and their conclusion is what left me breathless at Infinite’s end. It becomes obvious BioShock Infinite is more about Elizabeth than anything else.

Infinite isn’t a one-note instrument, though, proven by those aforementioned calm moments. Much of the time the tone is serious and heavy, and you will be shooting people often, but there is levity interspersed throughout the journey. Each spell of lightness comes at the exact right time, and makes for a near-perfectly paced adventure. These brief respites don’t only serve to pace the game technically, though. Each of those moments meant something more to me, were used to such an effect that I wished for more of them, more time to spend with Elizabeth or gaze at the surface-beauty of Columbia, as it was in that calm opening hour. It never takes long for those calm moments to ramp up into incredible moments of action, punctuated by violence. If there was one thing I wanted more of it would have been those quite, calm moments of exploration, or time to talk with and get to know Elizabeth.

BioShock Infinite is a very violent game, and that can at times be distracting and almost overwhelming. But violence is one of the themes that’s carried throughout the entire experience and underscores the world of Columbia. I felt no disconnect between the narrative and gameplay as Booker DeWitt is a man with a violent past, and a trained killer. And though the world of Columbia is a bright and beautiful place, its undercurrent is one of violence and hostility. This undercurrent flows upward in the often brutal combat, as an effective contrast to the setting on its face. Most importantly, I didn’t feel Infinite ever glorified the violence. Often, Elizabeth will gasp and be disgusted when she witnesses you mangle an enemy, and that alone made me more conscious of my actions. Part of the point I felt Infinite was trying to make was that you aren’t supposed to feel good about this violence. It’s supposed to be disconcerting.

Despite not reveling in the violence of it’s combat, it still manages to be enjoyable. The mechanics are very similar to that of BioShock 2; you have a variety of guns and vigors, which are effectively plasmids. This time around, though, the combat is much less tactical, and more focused on movement and is far more frantic. This is in large part due to the addition of skylines, rails that allow you to move through the sky at incredible speeds, which completely change the dynamic of battles. They offer a sense of movement through a combat space that few games have ever had. The sheer variety of options provided through firearms, vigors and the ways they can be combined, environmental hazards, Elizabeth’s tear power (which allows her to bring additional items into battle to aid Booker, such as more guns, health kits or an ally turret), and the exhilarating skylines make BioShock Infinite one of the most enjoyable shooters I’ve played. One aspect I took issue with was that the vigors don’t really fit into this world in the same way plasmids did in the original BioShock. The world is littered with them, but few enemies use them, and their inclusion is never really explained. A small and ultimately inconsequential gripe.

BioShock Infinite is a game with character, a strong sense of self, and is filled with ideas and ambition. Some of the more lofty ideas aren’t explored as deeply as others, but through everything it gave me in its characters, world, narrative and gameplay, I couldn’t be less bothered. There are so many things I want to say about it, I feel I’ve barely scratched the surface. I’ve said nothing of its fantastic music, both anachronistic and original, the interesting way it applies and twists real world science, or two of my favorite characters in the Lutece twins. It’s been a couple of weeks since I finished it now, and I still think about it daily. What I went through with Booker and Elizabeth is a journey I’ll never forget, and one that changed some of the ways I think about games. If you care about videogames at all, BioShock Infinite is worth your time.

This was written by Eric Mack.

Dragon 
Release Date: 05/04/13

A small village in Yunnan province, 1917. Liu Jin-xi (Yen), an ordinary papermaker leading a quiet life with his loving wife and two sons, accidentally finds himself at the scene of a crime. As two gangsters attack the local shop, Jin-xi reluctantly comes to the aid of the shopkeeper and manages to single-handedly triumph over the criminals in a seemingly amateurish fight. And with as much reluctance, he becomes the local hero, bringing himself to the attention of a smart detective, Xu Bai-jiu (Kaneshiro). As Xu begins to investigate the crime, doubtful of the apparent luck Jin-xi had in defeating two notorious martial artists, he threatens to expose Jin-xi’s long hidden secret and unknowingly bring more destruction than justice to the village.

Dragon is an utmost entertaining novelty wuxia film, a swift combination between the 1967 film ‘One-Armed Swordsman’, David Cronenberg’s ‘A History of Violence’, ‘Kiss of the Dragon’ starring Jet Li and a classic Sherlock Holmes detective story. By borrowing elements and bearing similarities to other popular productions, as well as weaving in drama, martial art fights and suspense, Chan’s film plays out with fluidity and ease, while maintaining a certain amount of intensity throughout, and manages to be coherent, balanced and exciting.

Though Dragon is not a piece of spectacularly epic cinema, which we have come to expect from, its story is rather fluid and its characters well-built. Yen delivers an impressive dramatic performance, certainly an effort for a martial arts star with little experience in portraying complex emotions, and resembles Viggo Mortensen’s transformation from a peaceful citizen to a local hero. Jin-xi is perfectly contradicted by the quirky detective, whose interesting investigative style additionally seasons the film. Kaneshiro succeeds in portraying Xu perhaps as eccentrically as Robert Downey Jr. does Sherlock Holmes, but also unveils a few hidden tricks of his own, borrowing from Jet Li’s skillful deathly use of acupuncture.

Much of the film plays out like a detective story, with the talented investigator creatively piecing together the puzzles of the occurred fight, playing them out in front of the viewer’s eyes and discrediting the apparent amateurism displayed by Jin-xi. As Xu concludes the man before him is a skillful martial artist himself and is dedicated to the faithful belief of bringing him to justice, he becomes an agent of destruction and doom, catching the attention of the infamous ruthless clan of the 72 demons and awaken a chilling father-son conflict, as Yen and Wang Yu (‘One-Armed Swordsman’) face each other in a climactic confrontation. In one symbolic act Jin-xi severs his ties with the murderous clan and with the help of the remourseful detective he breaks the chains which hold him to his past.

As expected of most Chinese big productions, Dragon is full of beautiful scenery shorts and slow motion scenes, depicted with a beautiful colour palette and indeed quite poetic. The gorgeous cinematography skillfully paints a dream-like and almost idyllic world where Jin-xi has escaped into a creative contradiction with the reality of the film, which is rather brutal and to a large extent ugly. As the fights are accompanied by graceful splashes of water and death is set against panoramic landscapes with vivid hues, the drama of the film is accentuated further and beauty is tainted with tragedy.

Dragon dances gracefully between genres and abandons typical wuxia film strategies, leaving only three major fights within its lines and sinking its claws into the personal. Chan is as attentive to Jin-xi’s skillful combat moves, as he is in the tenderness and affection he bears for his loved ones. Even if Yen’s moves are not as fresh as they used to be a few years ago, he invests his talent in choreographing top notch fight sequences, albeit merely three. With carefully interwoven elements from other genres, resemblances to other productions and the juxtaposition of the idyllic scenery and the brutality of Jin-xi’s past, Dragon treats the audience to a delightful production, which can easily be Yen’s best performance outside the martial arts comfort zone to date.

This was written by Antoniya Petkova.

Turn me on, Goddammit
Release Date: 25/03/13

The coming-of-age story is something that has been planted into the human consciousness via film quite a lot recently, yet inexplicably the tale revolves primarily around the mature/immature progression (or lack thereof) of the teenage male. It’s an annoying societal trait that the idea of a chaotic film about horny males could conjure up and elicit such a rapturously slapdash, high-five the nearest person to you, response, whereas the idea of that happening with a teenage girl brings about the exact opposite reaction; when you have a horny teenager, unfortunately for the discerning, backwards minority out there, both have the same inescapable and highly promiscuous tendencies. Therein lies the inherent positive of this film; despite some inexplicably strange, slightly bewildering scenes, it does truly paint an important picture, one that demonstrates that when it comes to growing up, puberty doesn’t discriminate. The director, Jannicke Systad Jacobsen, eliminates this skewed view that females and males should adhere to the traditional behavioural traits that they’ve long been associated with, ditching it in favour of the reality of adolescence, shown in somewhat mischievous graphic detail.

This supposed graphic detail begins almost instantly when manifesting itself in the form of 15 year old Alma, played by Helene Bergsholm, furiously masturbating to the tormentingly distant musings of a man working for a sex line. You’d be mistaken for thinking that the film would take the form of a rapid, gratuitous beast, but it’s interesting in that it interweaves the intensity of Alma’s fantasies with the downbeat, slow, eerily tranquil familial and social life that plays out extremely closely to another coming-of-age film, Terri. Obviously, it’s refreshing to see the full-frontedness when it comes to the way in which Alma behaves, defying other films that so often force the teenage girl into the role of object of affection, but it’s relieving that it doesn’t take over the piece and inevitably cause a somewhat cluster-fuck of a film.

Following on from our frank opening, the film follows Alma as she goes from popular to unpopular in the space of moments. The reason for the sudden change in heart from friends is a tad peculiar and perhaps unneeded, but once you get past the idea of a boy pressing his erect member against an under-age girl and into the nitty-gritty of the ramifications of said incident,  it develops into a fascination of the fickleness of youth. Impulsiveness is something that ties naturally to teenagers. They won’t admit it, but we, who have survived past twenty can decisively concur that in retrospect, we were constantly meandering in and out of social circles, and treating others with oft inconsistency. Such is the way of Turn me on, goddammit,  which aspires and generally succeeds in cementing how the inclusiveness of a small-knit community can rage out of control when there are so few outlets to which one can vent one’s annoyance.

The juxtaposition of Alma’s sexual dreams and the dreariness of her quotidian life may seem a bit obvious on the surface, and it is to a degree, but it does work, primarily because the film doesn’t profess to be anything it’s not. It’s a whimsical tale of a teenage girl, her angst and her ineludible clarity. When she is scorned by her classmates, she turns to hating the world, rebelling because she thinks that she is making a point. Naturally, after experiencing life outside of the village she mercilessly detests, she discovers that actually she is relatively normal and that everything and everybody eventually moves on to bigger, and potentially better things.

Light shouldn’t necessarily mean worse when it comes to film. This is a warm piece, it is fluffy in places, but it contains everything that the director aspired to flaunt to the audience. Aided by some honest, charming and unobtrusive performances by first-time actors, Bergsholm and Matias Myren, Jacobsen’s film unapologetically measures the flowering sexuality of the teenage girl as something just as vital as that belonging to the teenage boy. Whilst ruminations of capitol punishment perhaps get pushed to the sidelines, the film is consistent in its willingness to divulge and interrogate the playground antics of the maturing teenager with smart conciseness and devilish humour.

This was written by real human Jonathan Neeves. Visit the Gorilla website to read more of his stuff.

Tomb Raider
Release Date: 05/03/13

If you have any doubts about this latest addition (and total reboot) of the tomb raiding franchise, let me put your mind at ease right off the bat. Don’t. Tomb Rader is Lara Croft’s greatest outing, hands down.

Classic Tomb Raider games are fondly remembered, and somewhat rightfully so, but they pale in comparison to Crystal Dynamics’ latest effort. Lara is now a real character with depth, not just a set of polygons assembled to vaguely resemble a person. Her journey is full of bombastic, fast-paced action, balanced with slow-paced and methodical exploration, which feels natural and satisfying. And, yes, you will probably raid a few tombs.

The journey begins as Lara finds herself aboard the Endeavour, a ship bound for wonder and mystery. The adventure hits the ground running while Lara and her companions are still only warming up. Thus, she and her crew are shipwrecked on an island in a strange area known as the Dragon’s Triangle (akin to the Bermuda Triangle as far as danger and intrigue are concerned). Lara is separated from her crew and must do whatever it takes to survive.

Here starts what developer Crystal Dynamics has been touting as Lara’s transformation from a green, young explorer to a hardened, ruthless and efficient tomb raider. Lara’s journey and character development are a small but important step in the right direction, concerning the portrayal of women in games. Her growth feels natural and real, and she’s displayed with a respect and eventual strength that are uplifting. However, the way in which Lara’s character develops can occasionally stray to the disturbing side, mostly in the opening hours of the game. The extent to which Lara is assaulted early on straddles the line between excessive and sadistic, and sticks a toe across that line once or twice. Thankfully, that’s reigned in after the first couple of hours and never manifests into a real issue.

Structurally, Tomb Raider is a sort of hybrid game, combining an equipment-gated open world with a linear action-adventure. It’s excellently paced and put together, with each area in the world feeling naturally connected to the others, creating a cohesive whole.

The way in which new areas are accessed periodically throughout the adventure is similar to the structure of a Metroid game; as you progress through the story, you’ll gain new equipment that will in turn allow you to access those new locations. Tomb Raider is as much a platformer as anything else, and as such, accessing these areas almost always includes climbing or jumping of some sort, both of which feel very responsive, so that traversal is always fun.

When Lara isn’t busy being battered, bruised or otherwise abused, she’s want to do a bit of extracurricular tomb raiding. Luckily, she ended up stranded on an island consisting of several beginner level tombs to practice her newfound hobby on. Truthfully, there aren’t all that many optional tombs to explore throughout the whole of Lara’s ordeal, but what is there is interesting and fun enough a distraction to be worth the time they’ll take to complete. It is a shame there aren’t more, and that each only takes ten minutes or less to solve. On the upside, many of the story beats also consist of puzzles in places that are essentially tombs by any other name.

One thing that’s never in short supply in Tomb Raider, (unlike the actual tombs) is high-octane, set-piece focused action. Roughly a half-dozen times I found myself running through a building or environment that was either on fire or exploding, and it was, to my surprise, always a blast. During these linear set-piece sections, Lara will often find herself faced with a group of enemies to overcome. She can do so in a variety of ways, be it stealthily with her trusty bow or pickaxe, or running-and-gunning with more traditional firearms. The violence can occasionally be very graphic, both in Lara’s death animations and in the way enemies can be killed, almost unnecessarily so. Lara will often find herself falling down cliffs, into rivers, and onto sharp objects, but it always remains gruesome, largely thanks to highly effect but gut-wrenching sound design.

Indeed, the extreme violence is where Tomb Raider’s biggest issue surfaces. The difference between Lara’s character and demeanour in cut-scenes and her actions during gameplay can be very jarring. She’ll go from scared and disturbed from having had to kill someone for the first time, straight to wiping out a group of assailants. This has come to be known as Ludonarrative Dissonance, in which the player’s actions when controlling the character display a major inconsistency with the narrative aspects of the game determined by the developers. It’s a tough thing to work around, though. The developer is at once tasked with telling the story they want to tell, and providing a game that’s also fun to play. The alternative in this case would have been to scale down the action and most of the killing, for a more slow-paced and gradual transition, but that might not have made for such enjoyable gameplay.

Experiencing Lara Croft’s struggle to survive first-hand has been, admittedly, inspiring. It’s rare to find a game that displays a female character with such respect and strength, as a real subject opposed to an object. It’s refreshing, and makes me hopeful for the continuation and success of this particular franchise reboot. A reboot is normally inducive of an eye-roll, but in this case it’s exactly what the series needed. And while there is a mildly troublesome disconnect between Lara narratively and the violent action in-game, Tomb Raider still succeeds in developing her character in a meaningful way and providing a game that’s a whole lot of fun to play at the same time.

This was written by videogame person Eric Mack. You can read more things he wrote on the Gorilla website.

Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch
Release Date: 01/02/13

Ni no Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Or, Second Country: The Queen of White Sacred Ash, depending on your preference) is a PlayStation 3 videogame by Level-5 and Studio Ghibli, and it’s almost agonisingly twee.

The story follows a young American boy called Oliver, who lives in a rose-tinted little town called Motorville where everyone is unbearably nice, and the streets are impossibly clean. This being co-developed by Studio Ghibli (and it really does feel like playing in one of their beautifully realised worlds) Motorville resembles an idealised, postcard-perfect 1950′s dream, and there’s plenty of magic in the air before any of the fantasy world stuff is even introduced.

The music is gorgeous, which of course you would expect from Joe Hisaishi, the composer of most of Ghibli’s films, and the English speaking cast all do a surprisingly admirable job bringing the characters to life, although it’s not really explained why nearly everyone has an English accent. That’s fantasy realms for you, I guess.

Anyway, Ni no Kuni has Ghibli’s paws all over it, so naturally a tragedy occurs in Motorville, and Oliver is compelled to travel to another dimension to set things right. I say compelled, he’s more or less bullied into going by a grumpy little fairy called Drippy, the player’s wise-cracking sidekick, who is convinced Oliver has what it takes to save his world from the evil White Witch. Drippy is hands down the best voiced character in the game; his thick Welsh accent perfectly compliments his cheeky, straight-talking character and gives him a certain amount of edge. Indeed, his gruff no-nonsense attitude and general bullying of Oliver is the only break we get from the overwhelmingly sweet sentimentality of the game. Seriously, even the monsters you battle are adorable.

Speaking of, the battles are like a cross between Final Fantasy and Pokémon; you start a fight by bumping into someone or something, and then you fling your familiars (if you don’t know what a familiar is, go read any generic Fantasy book) at the badguys and select commands such as attack, defend or special move to bash your foes to oblivion.

The game really begins once Oliver travels to Drippy’s world, and adopts the role of wizard (because, y’know, might as well), this new magical landscape is where you’ll explore, fight monsters, collect friends and familiars, and do the majority of the fetch quests (that make up most of the experience).

This is an RPG, so there’s lots of grinding, levelling up both you and your little familiar buddies, with seemingly endless perks and powers to unlock. There’s also a lot of conversation with strangers, as just about everyone in the world has something to say, and many of them want your help. One of the more interesting concepts in the game is the idea that feelings like love, confidence and enthusiasm are commodities, to be taken from those who have plenty and given to those who are lacking, in order to make more well rounded and well balanced people. The exact connotations of this rather terrifying power that apparently all wizards posses is largely swept under the carpet, with a quick warning to ‘use your powers wisely’ seeming to suffice.

The wonderful world of Ni no Kuni is a joy to inhabit, largely because it feels like you’re inside one of Studio Ghibli’s mesmerising animations. There are even one or two special cut scenes that are animated by the Studio, and they really help sell the idea that this is truly a Ghibli game. That said, you don’t actually even need these little indulgences, because the environment in which you play gets the feel of the Ghibli Universe spot on. The attention to detail is sublime, and the lush colours and animated characters give your eyes plenty to feast on.

The actual gameplay itself is surprisingly challenging, and at times it feels like that twee, carefree veneer hides a spiky little heart. The game delights in pricking your patience and rubbing your face in your failures, but nevertheless it’s always fair. There’s a lot of work required, to make it anywhere in the game, but that’s OK because Ni no Kuni is so immersive and impressive you find yourself willing to make the extra effort.

If you’re the kind of person who finds themselves, at 3am, staring longingly at the warm glow of your television, which is playing Kiki’s Delivery Service for the third time that week, and wishing you could jump into the screen and be magically transported into that world, rather than, say, crumpled in a heap of blood and bones, then Ni no Kuni is probably about as close as you’re going to get to happiness. It feels like you’re experiencing the magic of Ghibli first hand, and it just also happens to be a well-crafted, thoroughly thought-out game- which is a nice bonus.

Now if you’ll excuse me I’m to go cry for an extended period of time.

This was written by David Knight.

Mad Max 2

Sunday 17th February

ITV4: 11.45pm – 1.45am

This week’s pick was an absolute pitch struggle between one of my favourite movies of all time, and one of the most criminally overlooked ever made. On the one hand was Mad Max 2, a film that is one of – if not the – greatest sequel ever made. Yet, in the words of famous Country singer Randy Travis, ‘on the other hand’, there was Brazilian masterpiece Black God, White Devil (Deus e o Diabo na Terra do Sol).

Following on from the low budget Mad Max, this sequel has more grit, an increased budget and enough action to keep a narcoleptic from falling asleep. In fact, given that Mad Max 2 propelled Mel Gibson’s career into Hollywood overdrive, you’ll be hard-pushed to see it on the TV schedules. Yet for some reason I can’t quite fathom, ITV have a tendency to play the cringe-worthy Beyond the Thunderdome so often you have to wonder if Tina Turner is personally in charge of scheduling the films for the network.

Back before we all found out Gibson was quite fluent in racism, sexism, anti-Semitism and homophobia (indeed, I have the vaguest hope that the past decade of bigotry was all just method-style preparation for a starring role as Hitler – after all, hope springs eternal) he was a charismatic and simply captivating male lead. When he’s on screen, you can’t help but be drawn to the man.

Put simply, the story follows our reluctant hero helping a group of settlers who are beset by a gang of marauding bikers in the aftermath of an almost-apocalyptic third world war, all in the manner of a classic loner-frontier Western. Interestingly, the hunger for oil in the film only becomes more prescient as time goes by. On show is brilliant cinematography, comic book visuals that still pop with life, a thumping, dystopic soundtrack by Brian May (the Aussie composer, not the be-permed guitarist from Queen) and a kind of sinewy self-knowing macho energy that’s sadly missing from mainstream films in the past years (this last decade has seen ‘macho’ somehow become a byword for thumping your chest and being casually homophobic, yes 300, I’m looking at you).

Now, over on Film 4 on Thursday morning (1.10am – 3.45am) is the exquisite and simply incredible Brazilian masterpiece that is Black God, White Devil. Simply by virtue of a coin flip, this narrowly missed out on the spot as a Pick of the Week, but that in no way suggests it’s not deserving of the title. Only available on DVD since 2008, this is a true gem for anyone interested in World Cinema and if you watch one film this week, make it this.

Set in the 1940s, Black God, White Devil is an epic film that follows anti-hero Manuel as he kills his exploitative boss, and then flees with his wife across the plains. Manuel soon finds himself under the sway of a messianic preacher and self-proclaimed saint who actively supports ritualistic violence. Following some rather disturbing scenes, the couple then move on and become embroiled with a gang of ruthless revolutionaries who use their doctrine to murder and rob from rich and poor alike. On it goes until Manuel learns that his destiny is his own hands. A hefty dose of stark imagery and social portent: just right for a graveyard timeslot.

Such is its rarity; I couldn’t actually find a trailer for the film with English subtitles, so here it is in glorious Portuguese. Perfectly timed for the award season, I will actually use this as a deft example of why award ceremonies are pointless: this epic film lost at Cannes to the most vapid dog turd of a musical that has ever been defecated out of the bowels of the French film industry. Let me introduce you to 1964 Palme d’Or winning Les parapluies de Cherbourg (click the link and if you can sit through the whole thing you have my respect and sympathy). Recitative singing (taking dialogue and singing it) is just one of the worst excesses of the genre. Now if you take what is often the most excruciating part of any musical and stretch that insipid rubbish over an hour and a half you get what I like to call ‘a reason to throw a brick at the telly’. Rant over.

This was written by Robert James Taylor. He is, for all intents and purposes, a human.

Puppies vs Cat
Release Date: 20/01/12

Perhaps one of the most moving, and indeed disturbing, films in recent years is the sinisterly titled Puppies vs Cat, a short film available to watch on YouTube. The basic set up of the piece is this; a brown cat is overwhelmed by a a group of about six white, fluffy puppies.

The cat is pinned down, as the small dogs pile onto it, snuffling and nipping at the feline’s neck and back. At first, the scene is comical and adorable, but as the film continues the true horror of it all begins to sink in. The image of a gang of pure white animals, beating and suffocating one brown animal is disconcerting to say the least. And, just to hammer home the point, the cat attempts an escape and is gleefully pursued and caught once more by the pack. The audible screams from the cat does nothing to sedate the bumbling puppies who, oblivious to the obvious cruelty of their actions, continue to pull the cat down.

Not content with tackling the grim subject of white supremacy, the film takes an interesting turn by introducing the disembodied voices of the filmmakers themselves, who laugh and point at the cat’s trauma. This clearly represents the cold apathy of God, who allows evil into the world without intervening or comforting the repressed. Indeed it is strongly hinted that the Western idea of God is that of a totalitarian parent, favouring the stupid, unrelenting love and loyalty of the dog to the cautious individuality of the cat. Dark stuff indeed.

This was written by David Knight.

Black Death

Wednesday 6th February

BBC1: 11.40pm – 1.15am

Occasionally there are some absolute gems that are heinously overlooked by critics and audiences alike, and Black Death can certainly be thrown into that category. Although one can always hope it finds its niche alongside the classic Witchfinder General and become a cult classic for future generations.

Set in 1348, the narrative sees a young priest named Osmund as he guides a group of soldiers, led by Sean Bean’s Ulric, who are searching for a village that seems to be untouched by the Black Death. Eddie Redmayne’s portrayal of the morally conflicted Osmund is superb – his reason for leaving with the men is so he can rendezvous with a girl he’s fallen in love with, a dilemma that makes him question his own faith as the character is forced to choose between his monastic life, and his love for Averill. When the group arrive at the village they find a witch controlling the villagers through drugs and manipulation, touching on the use of power, cruelty and religion in society. For the absorbing final third alone, this movie is worth the late night price of admission (besides which, do you really have to be awake for work on Thursday? Nothing ever happens on Thursdays. You know it, I know it, and your boss knows it’s just a doss.)

The action is handled by British director Christopher Smith, whose previous films include Creep – the fairly decent horror flick set in the depths of the London Underground and Severance – another fairly decent horror film, although one in which you’ll inevitably find yourself thinking ‘this would be perfection if Danny Dyer – sorry “Dah-knee Doy-er” -  hadn’t been cast in a lead role’.

This week’s pick also allows me to indulge in my love of Sean Bean (although saying that, I’m not half the fan in comparison to whoever curates ‘The Mighty Bean’ fansite). He’s a simply fantastic actor and I’ve religiously watched everything he’s been in, with the sole exception of the recent Silent Hill: Revelations. I love the man dearly, but I’m not such an out-and-out masochist in order to wilfully sit through another turgid mess like the original Silent Hill.

As an aside, anyone want to join me in starting a Kickstarter campaign to make a film where the legendary Sean Bean actually survives to the credits? It’s become so culturally ingrained you just count down the minutes and wonder how inventive they’ll be with the deed. In fact, it’s probably not ruining any suspense to check out this infographic that FHM knocked up – it does give plot spoilers about Black Death, but like Gerard Butler shouting obnoxiously in every film he’s in, it seems as though it’s some unwritten rule that the Bean must die.

This was written by Robert James Taylor. He is, for all intents and purposes, a human.