#21: Loadout - Loads of Fun, Like 2001

Loadout has come out of nowhere to become one of the most popular free-to-play games available on Steam. What's it about? What's the draw of another free shooter?


Simple. Over-the-top, Quentin Tarentino-level violence combined with an addictive weapon building system and combat that rewards the bloodthirsty instead of punishing them for leaving cover.


When considering the appeal of Loadout, remember that gaming has changed in the last decade or two. Loadout reminds those of us that can remember 1 gigabyte hard drives of how drastically first person shooters have changed. Games like Quake, Tribes and Unreal Tournament focused on ultra-fast movement, precision aiming and adrenaline-fueled deathmatches. Since then, the FPS genre has leaned toward Call of Duty and Battlefield style gameplay: fast deaths and a gritty sensibility grounded in reality. Loadout flips the table by combining ideas from both styles into a delicious 4v4 layer-cake of guns and more guns while pulling the camera back to a 3rd-person perspective.


The first thing a Loadout player must do is craft their starter weapons. Though you won't be able to do anything too over-the-top yet, you'll have access to options almost as good as anything a longer-time player can craft, if not the same in function.


For example, you can see in the screenshot below that I've crafted a bizarre rocket launcher named via Zoolander reference. Let me break down the most important parts for you:

Six is better than one, ask anybody!

• Scope: Laser Guidance System - While zoomed in, I project a laser that steers my rockets.
• Barrel: Hexabarrel - I have six rockets.
• Damage Type: Pyro - Instead of dealing all of the damage upfront, these rockets have a damage boost in exchange for dealing a large portion of it as damage over time.
• Ammo Type: Scuttle - The rockets crawl along the ground toward their target, a la Legend of Zelda bombchus.
• Shell: Bouncy - If they hit a surface that isn't a player, they will bounce in a new direction.

I could easily have made this gun even wackier by having a Salvo trigger that lets me load all six rockets at once, or a flak-cloud dispersal on detonation. Here's the fundamental question: is this gun better than a basic SMG or sniper rifle anyone can craft with little effort?


Absolutely not. In fact, this gun is quite difficult to kill anyone with. Every time you add some zany attribute to your gun, its stats adjust accordingly. And that's one aspect of Loadout: experimenting with weaponcrafting and realizing that you will make a lot of stupid guns. 

Hmmm. . . My scalp feels. . . hot. 

Once you're in game, you've got three movement options: run, dodge-roll, and jump, all of which are highly advised. Jumping after a roll gives you an extra high jump. The landscapes in Loadout seem intentionally designed with high-jumpable elevations and a sticky quality that lets skilled players climb or chain jumps in ways that reward mastery of the maps. 

Each player's gunplay experience will be different based on their weaponcrafting preferences. That said, riddling opponents with bullets, rockets, cannonballs, or lasers is universally satisfying, with a high pitched hit-confirm sound that you will learn to love hearing. Whether you're adjusting for recoil on your Heavy-style minigun or trying to line up the crosshairs on your bolt-action sniper, it just feels right. 

 The modes in Loadout already put some other FPS selections to shame. There's Blitz, where players rush from point to point trying to claim control. Deathsnatch requires the players to pick up a vial left behind by dead players to count the kill, allowing teammates to deny eachother. Jackhammer tasks the teams of 4 with playing capture the flag, except the flag can be slammed into the ground for a massive radius that kills opponents instantly up to 5 times. Think Gravity Hammer from Halo, except better. This twist finally makes grabbing the flag in Capture the Flag fun, and the flag runner dangerous. 

Sometimes, you just gotta stand your ground.

Annihilation, the "competitive mode" (though ranked matchmaking has not yet been enabled), combines all three of the above with an overall point system, a stat-buffing system that accumulates a stat of your choice across the game session, and a final relay-race with the jackhammer that is about as intense as it gets. A+ for creativity.

Excavation places several carts around the map and litters the terrain with blue chunks of crystal; the role of "Excavator" is rotated among team members on each team. This person must run around collecting these crystals and returning them to carts. While carrying, they cannot fire a gun. These chunks of crystals are volatile, and will explode 2 seconds after a few shots, even while being carried. This mode really rewards mastery of the map.

They also recently added Domination, which is a simple 3-hill King of the Hill mode. You've probably seen it before, but it's still fun.

Gruesome death animations are frequent.

One aspect of Loadout I am particularly impressed by is the attention to detail. When you get hit, your character is visibly, disgustingly maimed. But this detail stretches to tiny gameplay quirks: while on fire, rolling puts it out faster. Tesla damage drains shields quicker. Taunting while capturing a point captures it 10% faster, but leaves you vulnerable. Players can shoot down rockets, making slow propulsion but high damage rockets a risky move. The list goes on.

The game is funded by cosmetic purchases for one of three base characters. You can buy boosts that allow you to gain points faster like in many games, but you cannot directly purchase any points for building weapons.

I'm not all praise, though: it can be a disappointment when you realize that certain gun parts or wacky combinations are simply not as good as more tried-and-true arrangements, which stifles diversity. I rarely see anyone using shotgun-style weapons because the melee attack is so strong. Some of the more interesting equipment in the game requires a hefty investment of earned in-game currency to access, leaving fresh players out in the cold against tricks such as disguises or portable spawn points. The game is also limited to 4v4, and certain modes are abysmal on certain maps (Jackhammer on Shattered, for example). And lastly, if you're a fan of military shooters in which a few bullets results in death, you may take issue with the hardiness of the players in Loadout. 

Still, I find that Loadout is one of the most enjoyable shooters I have played in the last several years. With sessions that last fifteen minutes or less and a focus on casual modes that maximize fun, it's the perfect antidote for the gamer who just cannot handle another high-stakes game of Call of Duty or Counter-Strike. It's a free-to-play game that I can recommend to almost any gamer familiar with shooters.

4/5

#20: Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea Episode 1 - DLC Worth Digging Up

Downloadable content rarely receives the same scrutiny as its parent game. It’s not quite taken for granted that DLC is a bad value, but it is certainly a creeping suspicion of the informed consumer. It’s refreshing, then, that Burial at Sea – Episode 1 offers a bite size portion of the main course instead of the tasteless imitation some have come to expect.

Burial at Sea drops the player into Rapture, the underwater objectivist utopia from the first two Bioshock games, right as society seems to be a powder keg ready to blow. You’re still Booker DeWitt, but this time you work as a private detective hired by Elizabeth to . . . well, I’ll stop there. In such a story driven game, the less I share, the better.

The game offers fans of the first two Bioshocks an illuminating glimpse into the day-to-day life inside Rapture before its collapse. Citizens discuss the pressing issues of the day as you walk by, generously heaping story fodder for series vets and setting the stage for those who started with Bioshock: Infinite. Rapture looks noticeably more pleasant when the lights are on, the water stays outside, and hulks in diving suits aren’t trying to skewer you with their drill-fists. Of course, the ugliness is still there, underneath.

The environments are astonishingly detailed.

The gunplay remains benign, with a minor selection of firearms that behave more or less as you’d expect. Luckily, plasmids (or vigors, for those who have never been to Rapture) make a return, giving players a way to ignite, freeze, electrocute, and in general channel their inner Avatar. While many sing Bioshock: Infinite’s praises, I have never found the combat terribly satisfying, especially compared to earlier entries in the series. In a concession to players like me, the “weapon wheel” returns. This simple device allows players to hold all of their weapons at once and switch between them easily on the fly, to my relief. I’m of the opinion that only being able to hold two guns makes sense in some FPS games, but much like it felt anti-fun in Duke Nukem Forever, I felt the same in Infinite.

This scene? Hidden and totally optional.

Burial at Sea – Episode 1 is a campaign that I’ve heard others claim they completed in less than two hours. While I can certainly understand a “point A to point B” playthrough being so thoroughly abbreviated, that is a blistering pace compared to my own. I stopped to absorb every conversation, every environmental detail, every secret. I ended up taking four hours. I imagine the length of a playthrough will vary drastically based on whether one is just playing a shooter or exploring Rapture.

Featuring a fan favorite setting, tried-and-true combat, and even a cool battle with a Big Daddy, Burial at Sea – Episode 1 also sneaks in exposition as far as the eye can “sea” (get it? Sea? Rapture’s at the bottom of the sea. I’ll see myself out). It’s well polished and worthy of the Bioshock name, but could be a bit short for some players’ tastes. To mitigate that, one thing is certain: you’re much better off splurging on the season pass containing all DLC for $20 than paying $15 a la carte for part 1 of Burial at Sea. Now go get it, and try and wrap your head around that ending. 

Book Review - 33 and 1/3: "Doolittle"

You can barely throw a limited-run vinyl without hitting a band that claims to be influenced by the Pixies. They stand as one of the most brashly innovative alt rock bands even to this day. As Ben Sisario points out in his entry in the 33 and 1/3 series, “Doolittle”, the seminal album by the same name is so irreplaceable that not only is it never duplicated, it’s rarely even imitated. Even bands that proudly invoke the Pixies heritage seem unwilling or unable to display their bloodlines loud and proud.

So then, why did this album released in 1989 by a small alt rock band sell more copies after their dissolution than during their heyday? Why do their stop-go songs sprinkled with nigh-unintelligible lyrics reeking of sex, death, violence and rage resonate so persistently? Sisario, impressively, comes as close to pinpointing the answers as anyone ever may, combining the style of a storyteller and the attention to detail of a historian.

His book alternates from scenes of personal discussion with lead singer Charles Thompson to insightful and incisive backgrounding on the state of alt rock and the industry. Even for readers with not the slightest clue of why they should care about the Pixies, Sisario presents a compelling case for why the Pixies were and to some extent still are avant garde. You don’t even have to like them. After reading and listening to Doolittle, you will at minimum respect their contributions.

Sisario has the advantage of studying and personally speaking with Charles Thompson at a time providing clarity of hindsight. Thompson and his band have since reunited in 2004 for touring and begun producing new music only recently, though with a slightly shuffled roster.

Pixies songs have long perplexed listeners with their lyrics. Thompson explains his inspiration and songwriting process in detail, reaffirming some claims he’s made all along while at other times providing glimpses into authentic meanings. Citing surrealist filmmakers as influences on his style, Thompson might have lost the reader if it weren’t for Sisario’s constant and highly welcome explanation.

While Sisario occasionally includes the terse input of guitarist Joey Santiago, drummer David Lovering had little to offer and estranged bassist Kim Deal seems to have stonewalled any attempts to include her side of the Pixies story. A regrettable exclusion, though it does not noticeably impact Sisario’s ability to explain why the music itself matters. In fact, he admirably avoids mucking most of the book with personal interjection until the very end, where his 121-pages-proven musical chops give him more than enough clout to draw some conclusions.

Readers of “Doolittle” might find themselves surprised, impressed, taken aback, disappointed, or all of the above. It will depend largely on their existing knowledge of the Pixies. Musical pariahs who have long claimed Pixies songs to be overrated strummings behind rambling incoherence might find themselves googling “un chien andalou.” On the other hand, members of the if-you-haven’t-heard-the-Pixies-you-don’t-really-know-about-music-at-all club might find themselves ever so slightly disillusioned. Sorry guys, “Silver” really doesn’t mean anything. Even Thompson himself doesn’t know what it’s about, describing the lyrics as “throwaway rhymes.”

Sisario’s thesis on Doolittle is incredibly approachable, weaving personal encounters of the alt rock-kind with well-researched conclusions and elaboration. He leaves even the completely oblivious with a rock solid grasp of why musically inclined folks can’t seem to shut up about the Pixies, while at the same time satiating alumni with fascinating minutiae and inside stories from the band. I would go so far as to say that this little analysis stands as a necessary companion for any owner of “Doolittle”, an album that will forever mark a paradigm shift in alt rock history.

Music Review: Avicii - True-ly Great

Avicii has made a name for himself ahead of the release of his first full album through a string of hit singles including “Seek Bromance, “Fade Into Darkness”, “Levels” and “I Could Be The One”. Indeed, being personally invited to a weekly residency in Ibiza by none other than dance music king Tiesto himself is a sign you’re on your way up. Luckily for just about everyone, Avicii’s newest album lives up to the hype and delivers (almost) twelve infectiously danceable tracks.

The album opens with his teaser single, “Wake Me Up”, immediately catching the listener with his or her guard down. It’s twangy, it’s country, but it’s still got the up-tempo thump and bump that keeps one expecting something more. It’s a dance song, after all; there’s always something more. Amidst the wobbled strums of probably-a-banjo, pensive vocals belt out between choruses that make any room without a dance floor feel incomplete. “Wake Me Up”, more than any other song on the album, is a foolproof crowd pleaser.

“You Make Me” features a ferociously pounded piano beat paired with standard up-and-down synth, punctuated by sections of falsetto calm. An enjoyable foray into angry 88-key instrumentation, but mostly just above average filler.

“Hey Brother” returns to the fascinating country-dance fusion, opening with over thirty seconds devoid of any variety of synth and taking nearly two full minutes to achieve dance frenzy status. This is an eternity in dance music time. Still, while the horns triumph during the few sections conceding supposed genre of the album, the song drives home Avicii’s unique, uncompromising style. Dance music needs more of that.

“Addicted to You” continues the trend, with throaty female vocals reminiscent of Florence or Adele alongside well-balanced piano and bass. It is at this point that a listener who is not a fan of dance music might realize the feat the album has pulled off: you can just listen to it and tap your foot sometimes, if you prefer. The song transitions passively into “Dear Boy”, where velvety and passionate Lana Del Ray vocals feel as if lifted from a dusty record, placed between now-you’re-talkin’ bouts of dirty, wobbly thumps and synth. A song that pushes all the right buttons, but might be a tad too long.

The anger of “Liar Liar” stands in contrast to the prior moodiness. Svelt female vocal amalgamations alongside Avicii’s new pet piano build the listener up. In chorus, one man’s angry claim summons the only organ solo in recent memory into a dance music album.

A vague flavor of enthusiastic ragtime boogie lingers around “Shame On Me”, with a faster tempo that invites vigorous footwork almost enabling swing dancing, of all things. A merry arrangement of prior-mentioned ingredients are featured here, but overall this song is somewhat stale.

“Lay Me Down” is a throwback, a nod to the days of “Sweet Dreams” and “Stayin’ Alive” being dance floor material. Austin Powers would feel at home. “Hope There’s Someone”, on the other hand, opens with over a minute of emotional, bare-bones female vocal solo, building alongside that piano again into a drop into nothing but vocals, into the final drop that would no doubt cause a frenzy in a live venue if for no other reason than the nearly five minute wait.

“Heart Upon My Sleeve”, while overall dull and lacking vocals, at least offers an attention-grabbing choice on Avicii’s part: angsty cellos find their home in front of standard wubs, ticka-tickas, bonks and synth-waves.

Sadly, the album ends on somewhat of a weak note, with “Canyon” offering a by-the-numbers dance floor beat. “All You Need Is Love” similarly offers fare that’s enjoyable yet forgettable, though it at least has pleasant vocal injections to prevent the album from ending on a completely sober, inhuman note.

Avicii’s first full album, “True”, is somehow accessible while incorporating elements in directions other dance musicians may not have even considered treading, let alone feared. It stops short of greatness at the precipice, but that’s what playlists are for. Your party probably wasn’t going to feature only Avicii anyway, right?

Anime Review: Gurren Lagann - My MacGuffin Shall Pierce the Heavens

Gurren Lagann is a strange beast. It’s a 26 episode anime that is self-aware yet sloppy, childish yet undeniably clever. The same studio that created the critically acclaimed half-season anime FLCL is responsible for Gurren Lagann. Whereas FLCL aggressively subverted genre norms to the point of nearly disowning it altogether, Gurren Lagann is not quite as daring. It ends up relying heavily on winks and nods to the absurdity of giant fighting mech animes combined with a blistering pace to keep viewers interested.

The vantage from which one views Gurren Lagann will have a drastic influence on what you see. I have little doubt the show was created for those with an appreciation of (as opposed to disdain for) common anime themes and tropes. Various fighting robots in downright silly designs attack each other with their signature moves while yelling the move’s name in a way that reminded me of watching Digimon when I was eight years old. Characters regurgitate inspirational “good guys win through fighting spirit” babble and “resistance is futile” taunts. No one (well, almost no one) seems to face ultimate defeat when they lose. They’ll be back.

From my perspective, there are three real reasons to watch Gurren Lagann.

The first reason is the pacing. Even if you find yourself predicting the outcome of the episode or even the next five episodes, your prediction stretches further into a story than many shows would dare go in two entire seasons. Just as Gurren Lagann has a hyper-sweet anime flavor, it also has a skim milk sensibility for getting to the point. The story travels outward (figuratively and literally) at an alarming rate, functioning as both an element of the plot and a great way to avoid boring those who feel they’ve seen much of it before.

The second reason to watch Gurren Lagann is the way it subverts expectations. This does not contradict the earlier point about playing into the hands of the classic hero-with-special-abilities-versus-evil plot skeleton; on the contrary, the story relies on the way the protagonist has a special power and drives nearly the entire plot forward using this MacGuffin. Gurren Lagann uses the ham-fisted and full-frontal anime elements to deliver sucker punches at several key points in the series right where viewers least expect it.

As opposed to Game of Thrones, in which it becomes apparent for better or worse that anyone is fair game for any kind of misfortune, Gurren Lagann has some internal consistency issues. Still, it keeps the story fresh and signals unexpected shifts in tone and motivation. These dramatic shifts are why many Gurren Lagann fans will say they loved one portion of the series, but were lukewarm on another.

Finally, Gurren Lagann is an anime for people who like anime. The hero has an explicable power making them better, but they have to grow as a person. Pilots will have long-winded conversations in split-second timespans. Epic fights full of overblown carnage will generally leave anyone important unscathed. Everyone thinks grunting and nodding is a valid response. Events that don’t make sense visually will be explained in completely unapologetic forced exposition. And if you watch much anime, you’ll see that even when events take an unexpected turn, they’re turning from homaging one kind of played-out anime storytelling to another. 

The show knows what it’s doing. It’s just checking to see if you do too.

I enjoyed Gurren Lagann, and I can appreciate what it was trying to achieve. However, after 26 episodes, I had become frustrated and bored with the laziness of the storytelling and the constant stream of nonsensical escalation and plot devices. One can't hold a conversation entirely with winks and nods. I can recommend it primarily because it’s short and because after this review, you should know what you’re getting into: if you don’t watch anime, Gurren Lagann will not change your mind. 

Book Review: The Cuckoo's Calling - From Wizards to Detectives

“The Cuckoo’s Calling” has received more than its fair share of buzz following the news that Robert Galbraith is actually a pseudonym for J. K. Rowling (which is, itself, a pseudonym). The book is simply too solid to be a true debut, as many critics agreed upon release. As the author of a series so famous and universally loved as the Harry Potter books, it’s no surprise then that Rowling has created an enjoyable novel that scores high on easy readability while still providing quality storytelling that readers crave.

The Cuckoo’s Calling is a lean story. Like Rowling’s previous books, there’s very little fat dangling off the edges, ready to bloat the reader with unnecessary information. This is quite a feat for a 464 page detective thriller, a genre that Rowling had not yet touched and now attempts for reasons unknown. The result is a story that starts where it should start, ends where it should end, and keeps the reader guessing and turning pages the whole way through.


Private Investigator Cormoran Strike is not a man who is friends with good fortune. A leg lost to a landmine in Afghanistan, a rollercoaster romance ending in a wreck, and his struggling business leave him with almost nothing. It’s only when he is approached to reinvestigate the months-old suicide of world-renowned super model Lula Landry that he finds an outlet for his energy. All the evidence points toward suicide, with little information to lean on. He throws himself into this high-profile case that has long since been closed because he desperately needs the money and distraction, but soon finds that perhaps there’s more happening in the high-flying world of the super rich and regrettably famous than meets the eye. His temp that he can’t afford, Robin, brings a contagious enthusiasm for detective work helps keep Strike on the right track and sane.


Rowling makes the shift from the puerile though enjoyable wizard fiction of Harry Potter to the world of the reader, shared by this detective. Removing the whiz-bang of wands and puberty, “The Cuckoo’s Calling” instead offers an edgier, grown-up and worn-down character in the form of Strike that succeeds spectacularly considering how much more practice Rowling has in the realm of coming-of-age and ministries of magic.

As mentioned, Strike doesn’t have much going for him at the outset of the book:


“Other people his age had houses and washing machines, cars and television sets, furniture and gardens and mountain bikes and lawnmowers: he had four boxes of crap, and a set of matchless memories.”


Despite his troubled childhood of frequent free-spirited uprooting and shabby parenting, Strike is a cool, calm, and nearly unshakable figure. With nerves of carbon fiber (because steel isn’t strong enough), he extracts what he’s looking for from witnesses, suspects, family members, and friends-of-friends. Each new encounter is a pleasure to read, as Strike exercises his practiced and perfected art of gathering a thousand little puzzle pieces and fragments of memories from eccentric figures throughout London’s social strata.


From his office in London, Strike embarks on a distinctly modern detective tale. While historically famous investigative thrillers might take place before the advent of the computer or even electric lighting, Strike gathers information with the help of London’s ubiquitous security cameras, smart phones, and Google. Deducing the past with the help of designer brands and records of who-called-who while chowing down on a Big Mac helps lend the drama an air of recency.


Strike’s emotional duress also ensures that our expert detective is a human with emotions and needs. Of course, his stoic avoidance of self-pity both endears him to his reader and keeps him going through a time that would crack most people. In a moment of self-reflection, Strike considers:


“Seven and a half million hearts were beating in close proximity in this heaving old city, and many, after all, would be aching far worse than his.”


“The Cuckoo’s Calling” is littered with “Strikisms”, little observations of human nature and the modern world vaguely pertaining to the case. His thoughts, even unspoken, always reveal themselves in the calm and clinical verbiage of a detective accustomed to considering and including all available information:


“Couples tended to be of roughly equivalent personal attractiveness, though of course factors such as money often seemed to secure a partner of significantly better looks than oneself.”


The story tightly follows a theme of social class, income and privilege. Strike himself has a complex background reaching both up and down the social ladder. Each person he interviews is clearly represented as having their own unique destitution or opulence, each placed in stark contrast as Strike alternates from speaking to the homeless to investigating a night club.


And yet, Rowling (and by extent, Strike) stays refreshingly far away from the temptation to editorialize about the superior lives that the wealthy and famous live. If anything, it makes clear the toxic nature of fame and money on both those who seek it and those who have it. As Strike ponders:


“How easy … to capitalize on a person’s own bent for self-destruction; how simple to nudge them into non-being, then to stand back and shrug and agree that it had been the inevitable result of a chaotic, catastrophic life.”


The story breathes life into London as Strike walks down Charing Cross, takes the tubes, grumbles at construction and grabs a pint. With each new character testimony introduced, readers find themselves slowly piecing together the tragic life of Lula Landry. Disaffected and detached, The Cuckoo’s Calling presents the glitz and glamour of the celebrity life in all of its dismissed irritating details, casting a garish light on our infatuation with rich humans.


“The Cuckoo’s Calling” deliberately defies and subverts many genre norms of crime fiction. Far from a hard broiled detective in a noir world of dames and robbery, it features a protagonist with real problems, real (though stereotypically masculine) responses, and a tragic crime. The suspects, the secretary, everything about the supporting cast doesn’t just fall into a lame trope. It’s down to earth and so is Strike, which is to his distinct advantage in his investigation.


The book may be lean, but it also sticks insistently to the kindergarten advice of using words instead of violence. In our day to day lives this is excellent advice, but in a detective thriller tailored for modern audiences one might expect a bit more action instead of pure, Holmesian deduction. Rowling puts the weight of developing the investigation almost entirely on characterization and conversation for most of the book, and like Strike’s hulking frame on his prosthetic leg, carrying such a burden for so long can cause irritation.


Without giving away too much, I also found the conclusion of the story to be unsatisfactory. After putting so much effort into making a detective novel fresh and exciting, it felt like a cheesy about-face.


Taken together, “The Cuckoo’s Calling” is a modern detective story about fame, fortune, and family ties. It’s not a heavy read, it features “tell me more”-worthy characters, and it’s all tied together with that inherently suspenseful IV drip of clues for the case. While some might complain that they expect more zip-bang-pow action for their buck in crime fiction, I think the book is more palatable, interesting, and universally enjoyable as a result of the shifted emphasis.


Despite the few disappointments, I still like the idea of a sequel with Cormoran Strike. If Rowling grew as attached to the characters as I did then perhaps she will oblige.

#19: Hotline Miami - Some of That Good Old Fashioned Ultraviolence

It might seem a tad strange to begin my own review by borrowing the words of someone else's. However, with a description as fitting as the one made by Sophie Prell over at The Penny Arcade Report, I feel I might be excused:


"Hotline Miami is the split second between an inhale and an exhale. It’s the rush that comes from planning, thinking ahead of how you’ll react once that door in front of you is busted open and the white-tux, bald-headed baddies are heading your way."


Brutally murdering bad(?) guys in Hotline Miami is simple yet rewarding in a way that even the most visceral and eye-candy-bloated triple-A action games fail to achieve. Barging from room to room and ruthlessly cutting down your enemies with increasing efficiency, players have only the most basic control functions combined with a hair-thin margin for error. It's twitchy, reflex-driven, with a hint of sadistic plotting.

Good job, everyone is dead!

The brilliant art and sound direction shines even brighter through the limitations of pixel art and 8-bit bleeps. As you don different unlockable animal masks that grant unique powers, you'll witness blood spattered against every imaginable surface, shades of neon and dirty light at every turn. It draws heavy and obvious inspiration from Drive and Miami Vice. In particular, the psychedelic soundtrack merits a listen or three even if you never touch the game.


Your journey through this trippy, hazy tale of an unstrustworthy narrator will become ever more perplexing. While some have hailed Hotline Miami for its story, I believe that the story and the message of Hotline Miami are two subjects that need to be divided.


The plot struck me as a deliberately incoherent trip designed purposely to leave the player confused. It resulted in a tale akin to those magic eye illusions on children's cereal boxes and magazines: if you look but don't focus too hard, you'll see something cool. From what I can tell through some basic background research, the story may very well have no correct interpretation. Some people appreciate this narrative trick; I tend to feel betrayed.

As you might guess, you ordinarily do not survive even one bullet.

Separately and more importantly, however, Hotline Miami makes the player feel uncomfortable. The game doesn't glorify violence, and it doesn't even reward it; it's simply necessary to play. Everyone on each stage must die, full stop. There's an unease that settles in, I hope, with every player as they plumb further into the depths of Hotline Miami. With that unease comes this question: "Why am I having fun doing this? Do I even care what reason I have?" Unlike, for example, the Uncharted or Assassin's Creed series', no effort is made to hide the player from the fact that they're assigned to murdering dozens of people at a time.


At only $9.99 and available on PC, PS3, and PSVita, Hotline Miami brings a lot to the brain-splattered table. Though I played it on PC with an Xbox 360 controller, its blistering pace and short sessions strike me as perfectly suited to a handheld; if you've got a Vita, you have little excuse for not picking it up.


4 out of 5