Staying In Archives - ��ý Online

My 15 favorite nonfiction books of 2018

��ý — Thu, 03 Jan 2019 16:02:23 +0000

By Stephen L. Carter
Bloomberg Opinion
HERE are my nominees for the best nonfiction books of 2018. I haven’t read everything published this year, but I read a great deal, and these are my 15 favorites. Each reflects serious thought, research and argument. Each made me look at things in a new way. The first 14 are listed in random order (no tyranny of the alphabet). At the end is my choice for best nonfiction book of the year.

RICHARD SENNETT: BUILDING AND DWELLING: ETHICS FOR THE CITY
Sennett, who has been writing about cities for a good half century, has never been sharper. As the world grows more urban, he argues, we face a crisis: Cities are shaped by the designs of planners rather than by the actual lives, needs and beliefs of their inhabitants. People who live in cities should not only be free but feel free.

JOANNE B. FREEMAN: THE FIELD OF BLOOD: VIOLENCE IN CONGRESS AND THE ROAD TO THE CIVIL WAR
Think we’re divided now? In 1854, one member pulled a gun on another… on the floor of the House of Representatives. Freeman’s book is full of such vignettes. (Yes, the famous Sumner story is here). And our rhetoric pales next to the barbs exchanged in those days.

BRYAN CAPLAN: THE CASE AGAINST EDUCATION: WHY THE EDUCATION SYSTEM IS A WASTE OF TIME AND MONEY
I’m not sure he’s right, especially about education being almost entirely for the purpose of signaling, but goodness does he make a strong case. Agree with him or not, you’ll never look at the schools and colleges in quite the same way.

DAVID W. BLIGHT: FREDERICK DOUGLASS: PROPHET OF FREEDOM
Already lauded as the definitive book on Douglass, this volume by our foremost expert on the great orator showcases Douglass’s human foibles as well as his grand triumphs.

PAIGE WILLIAMS: THE DINOSAUR ARTIST: OBSESSION, BETRAYAL AND THE QUEST FOR EARTH’S ULTIMATE TROPHY
Less a dinosaur story than a heist story — how did that illegal Tyrannosaurs skeleton wind up at an auction in New York? — with plenty of fascinating details about the way that the market for fossils has distorted the incentives in paleontology.

DAVID QUAMMEN: THE TANGLED TREE: A RADICAL NEW HISTORY OF LIFE
Actually, more a history of the science that helps explain life. Never has molecular phylogenetics seemed so fascinating. And the discovery a few years ago of a new form of life is something I’d overlooked. But what I find particularly fascinating about this widely acclaimed volume is Quammen’s ability to show us, in lively prose, how terribly difficult science is: the false starts, the confirmation bias, the backbiting and jealousy, the lengthy detours that become expensive dead ends. And the personalities. (He’s particularly good on the controversial genius Lynn Margulis).

TYLER COWEN: STUBBORN ATTACHMENTS: A VISION FOR A SOCIETY OF FREE, PROSPEROUS, AND RESPONSIBLE INDIVIDUALS
Three cheers for long-termism! Pity that neither politics nor the psyche of (most) humans actually works that way. The writing, from my Bloomberg Opinion colleague, is at once amusing and relentless. A fun, provocative read.

JASON BRENNAN: WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS: THE ETHICS OF RESISTANCE TO STATE INJUSTICE
One of our most provocative philosophers argues that if we can use force to stop others from hurting people unjustly, we can also use force to stop the government from hurting people unjustly.

JUAN WILLIAMS: ‘WHAT THE HELL DO YOU HAVE TO LOSE?’ TRUMP’S WAR ON CIVIL RIGHTS
I am not generally a fan of polemics, but Williams is an elegant writer, gathers evidence dispassionately, and stays far away from political correctness. He skewers everybody. You needn’t agree with every word to find this a fine read.

SABINE HOSSENFELDER: LOST IN MATH: HOW BEAUTY LEADS PHYSICS ASTRAY
Turns out that mathematicians are doing great things, but the physicists not so much. Hossenfeld, a theoretical physicist and popular blogger on the subject, accuses her colleagues of being so in love with elegance that they don’t worry as much as they should about whether they’re right or wrong. (Parts of the book are tough sledding for the lay reader, but it’s more than worth the effort).

COLIN G. CALLOWAY: THE INDIAN WORLD OF GEORGE WASHINGTON: THE FIRST PRESIDENT, THE FIRST AMERICANS, AND THE BIRTH OF THE NATION
You may never look at the Father of Our Country in quite the same way after reading this finalist for the National Book Award. It turns out that Washington was not terribly kind to those who were here first.

JEFFREY C. STEWART: THE NEW NEGRO: THE LIFE OF ALAIN LOCKE
A brilliant biography, winner of the National Book Award, of the man who largely fostered the flowering of black art and writing that became the Harlem Renaissance and laid the foundation for much of African-American intellectual thought over the ensuing century.

GREGG EASTERBROOK: IT’S BETTER THAN IT LOOKS: REASONS FOR OPTIMISM IN AN AGE OF FEAR
So maybe the world isn’t going to pieces. Easterbook argues that if we study actual evidence, things are actually going well in the US and elsewhere in the world, economically, environmentally, demographically, and in most other ways. And most of what’s not working, he says, we have the tools to fix.

PHILIP HAMBURGER: LIBERAL SUPPRESSION: SECTION 501(C)(3) AND THE TAXATION OF SPEECH
Don’t be turned off by the provocative title. Hamburger asks a great question: Why exactly do we limit the political speech of charitable organizations? Answers it, too. The rule wasn’t handed to us on stone tablets; it’s always been politics, all the way down.
Finally, my choice for the best nonfiction book of 2018:

EARL SWIFT: CHESAPEAKE REQUIEM: A YEAR WITH THE WATERMEN OF VANISHING TANGIER ISLAND
I can’t remember a book in recent years that taught me quite so much. Every page is vivid and rich. Tangier Island, Virginia, famous as a source of soft-shell crabs, is going under, literally — a victim of rising seas, relentless storms, and a changing economy. Swift spends plenty of time on the ground, and so is able to pierce the veils of myth and mysticism that have long surrounded the community of fewer than 500 stalwarts, whose political and religious lives are far more complex and nuanced than their stereotypes suggest. He doesn’t agree with their beliefs, but his respect and affection for them are patent. A model for what serious reportage should be.
So those are my picks for 2018. Happy reading.
Martin Gurri, The Revolt of the Public and the Crisis of Authority in the New Millennium, would certainly have made the list, were it not a revised version of a book that was self-published in 2014 and then published formally in 2016.

Stephen L. Carter is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist. He is a professor of law at Yale University and was a clerk to US Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall. His novels include The Emperor of Ocean Park, and his latest nonfiction book is Invisible: The Forgotten Story of the Black Woman Lawyer Who Took Down America’s Most Powerful Mobster.

A heck of a ride

��ý — Thu, 03 Jan 2019 16:01:59 +0000

By Alexander O. Cuaycong and Anthony L. Cuaycong
PART brawlers, part Japanese dramas, and part open-world experiences, Sega’s Yakuza games have always been a ridiculous but compelling blend of action and adventure. While they initially seem like compilations of conflicted ideas from a fever dream, their interesting, over-the-top antics and enjoyable combat systems are truly anything. Their stories keep you invested, and their atmosphere, taken individually or collectively, is nothing short of engrossing. Yakuza Kiwami 2, a remake of 2006’s Yakuza 2, follows pretty much the same formula. Featuring better graphics and sounds, enhanced gameplay, and new story elements, it does its best to keep the spirit of its source material while tacking on some of its own unique flair.
In Yakuza Kiwami 2, you follow the story of Kiryu Kazama, a former gang enforcer who struggles to put the old ways behind him. After the assassination of one of the Yakuza leaders threatens to spark an all-out war in the streets, he is reluctantly deprived of his peaceful existence and forced to take matters into his own hands. He finds himself back in the life he had tried so hard to avoid, and through the use of his fists, his charisma, and the sheer stoic nature of his character, he moves to find the men responsible for the killing and prevent any further bloodshed.
The main plot of Yakuza Kiwami 2 is solid, its serious tale of gang politics and violence complemented by its larger-than-life set pieces. Propelled by a great-looking and sounding foundation, the narrative elevates it and continually hooks you in. It can border on the absurd at times, but the way it flows seamlessly from one sequence to another is nothing short of sensational. And with new chapters added to fill in the blanks evident in the original, there’s plenty of the story to experience — and all of it interesting, if not great. Kiryu is thrown into all sorts of trouble, and when violence greets him, he possesses the wherewithal to hold his own against his opponents.
To be sure, combat is something Yakuza Kiwami 2 does very well. The battle mechanics aren’t overly complicated, and, in fact, make for fluid action and reaction. They reward aggression, patience, and skill. And while they don’t offer the stance-switching capacity of Kiryu in Yakuza Kiwami, the fast-flowing nature of fight sequences more than make up for the omission. He is able to dart, weave, and beat down his foes with his fists or any weapons he can lay his hands on, and Heat moves are just as flashy as ever. Earned by landing hits and dodging attacks, they entice you to engage in multiple sidequests.
Fortunately, Yakuza Kiwami 2’s nonlinear pursuits are anything but boring. Not always serious but invariably sure to entertain, they show that while the game’s open world may not be as expansive as other titles, it is nonetheless filled to the brim with content. Activities are always on hand for those willing to do them, and even as they would definitely be out of place in any other gang-themed action brawler, they’re right at home in the Yakuza series. What other game can have you singing in karaoke bars or playing golf, in the process giving that feeling of utter drollery, and yet keep you extremely engaged in its setting?
In a nutshell, Yakuza Kiwami 2’s ability to be comical and yet totally immersive is what makes it so engrossing. While the Yakuza series has never quite taken itself so seriously, the many antics Kiryu can perform in its latest release are just absurdly funny, but never too fantastic that it’s next to unbelievable. It takes itself seriously, but knows when to lighten up and have a laugh, even at its own expense. It can keep you hooked with its main story and, at the same time, entertain you with its side quests. It offers a stylized charm that no other series has been able to mimic, presenting a juxtaposition of comedy and drama without the slightest hint of regret.
In the final analysis, Yakuwa Kiwami 2 wonderfully treads the fine line between being weighty and being silly. It’s a brilliant game from start to finish; you never run out of things to do while uncovering a deep storyline at your own pace. Parenthetically, its biggest flaw isn’t that it does anything badly, but that it has to end at some point. Until then, it’s a heck of a ride that both those new to the Yakuza series and longtime fans will definitely love. It’s a high point that will make you look forward to more of the same.

POSTSCRIPT
Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden (PS4) — It takes a lot for developers to make games that prove more than what they seem and ultimately leave players with a lasting impression. While some titles don’t try to be anything more than temporary diversions, others strive for more than just a fleeting experience. Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden is significantly of the latter kind, with The Bearded Ladies striving to combine environment-prompted storytelling and turn-based mechanics to produce a gripping and enjoyable release inspired by — believe it or not — a series of pen-and-paper role-playing games.
Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden builds upon and brings its tabletop roots to life on the PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and Personal Computer. Players are thrust into the action as part of a group of Stalkers, mutants tasked with retrieving supplies and resources to fuel the settlement of Ark’s survival in a post-apocalyptic world. When one of the teams goes missing while on an expedition, they get to control a party of three characters in an effort to find Hammon, the chief operator of the city’s systems, as well as look into the existence of the mythical land of Eden. Along the way, they are compelled to scavenge for supplies and weaponry, and fend off the many dangers that lurk beyond the safety of Ark’s walls.
Graphics-wise, Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden looks fair but doesn’t push the limits of its technology. Nevertheless, it sets itself apart though its character and background designs. Vegetation and ruins are heavily contrasted with stylized cityscapes. Abandoned shacks and dark forests are par for the course, and constructed well enough to make them feel unique and interesting. Alongside a wide variety of mutants, both friendly and otherwise, they succeed in setting the proper tone for the narrative to move along.
Parenthetically, Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden’s gameplay holds up well. Its combat mechanics are straightforward but engrossing, playing out similarly to Firaxis’ XCOM releases, with characters being able to move and perform actions or dash to designated areas in turns. Pretty much standard fare as far as these games go? Perhaps. The Bearded Ladies makes its work stand out by adding a twist to exploration: Players are able to maneuver their squad in real time around the map, picking up much-needed supplies and even being able to ambush patrolling enemies and whittle them down one by one. It’s a simple quirk, but it creates some interesting scenarios and gives players some leniency on how to neutralize threats. Do they go in guns blazing once they’ve found some defendable areas? Do they lure enemies into manageable firing zones? Or do they move about the map and risk detection, but also get to take down stragglers to reduce the overall number of enemies?
The extent of freedom offered players is what makes Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden so unique. Its interesting blend of gameplay elements framed within its grim and dark setting creates a captivating experience. That said, it has set rules, and is far from perfect as a result. The Random Number Goddess system, for instance, can lead to frustration, especially during times when a crucial shot can mean the difference between survival and death. It certainly doesn’t help that some enemies are brutally unforgiving and can easily beat players down if not approached properly. The lack of a meaningful level progression for characters is also a hindrance; the skills earned during gameplay and the weapons and armor that can be scavenged and bought seem like minor upgrades rather than major overhauls and do very little to spice up the gameplay once a routine is established.
For all the unpredictability of dicerolls in combat, Mutant Year Zero: Road to Eden is a straightforward story from beginning to end, focused more on its themes and less on its replay value. Nonetheless, it’s absolutely fantastic at its best and leaves players wanting for more. The first playthrough is especially revealing, cementing its status as a solid addition to the PS4’s extensive library of role-playing titles despite its flaws. (7.5/10)

Video Game Review

Yakuza Kiwami 2
PlayStation 4
THE GOOD:

• Outstanding production values

• Compelling narrative

• Fun, fast-paced combat mechanics that rewards skill and smart play

• Plenty of side activities and minigames on offer

THE BAD:

• Comedic elements may seem overbearing

• Sidequests flirt with redundancy

• The “open world” can feel small at times

RATING: 9/10

And the rest is…

��ý — Thu, 27 Dec 2018 16:02:44 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
Silence
Directed by Martin Scorsese
(WARNING: story and ending discussed in explicit detail)
THE FILM BEGINS with the sound of cicadas rhythmically whirring over a black background. The sound cuts out, the film title (simple white letters) flashes on-screen. Cut to a vision of hell: a guard shrouded in steam stands beside a wood shelf containing severed heads. We are at the volcanic springs of Unzen, near Nagasaki, where friars are strung up on crosses and longhandled ladles with holes sprinkle boiling hot water on them, delicately poaching their skin. (Today of course the springs are a popular vacation resort).
Welcome to Martin Scorsese’s idea of heaven: his 30-years-in-the-making version of Shusaku Endo’s Silence, completed at last and screened to near-universal acclaim (and near-empty theaters) in 2016.
It’s an admittedly hard sell: a 161-minute film full of religious discussions, horrific torture, and interminable passages free of dialogue. Two Jesuit priests Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) are reluctantly sent to Japan to seek out their teacher Ferreira (Liam Neeson), who has reportedly apostatized — “reluctantly” because Christianity has been outlawed with priests and followers (as shown in the prologue) either being excruciated or executed. Ferreira is found, eventually, but…
Much of the film is intense and, as has been noted, one-note — intentionally so, I believe. Rodrigues and Garupe are spiritual freaks in this modern world of compromise and relativism; Scorsese (and Endo before him) presumably realized we need to be persuaded of the idea that spirituality and love of Christ matters at all before we care about what they’re giving up. Roughly half of the novel is narrated through Rodrigues’ own words, letters sent to friends back in Portugal; more than two hours of Scorsese’s film sees Japan through Rodrigues’ eyes, filtering sights, sounds, textures, smells, taste through his own overwhelmed senses.
It’s a wondrous land, Scorsese’s Japan (actually the island state of Taiwan, which has a long complicated relationship with the former country), beautiful and terrifying and often both at the same time. The two priests are deposited at a beach and we see them at a cave, its twin openings like the inside of a skull whose eyehole they are about to enter. In perhaps one of the film’s most horrific sequences, three men are tied to crucifixes (again that wooden Christian symbol, not coincidentally a classic instrument of torture for the Romans and the Japanese) staked near the shore; Scorsese first shows us huge waves crashing on rock, all thunder and saltwater hiss — we watch as a wall of slate blue fills the screen, rolls across, swallows the three men alive. Later Rodrigues wanders through Goto Island, and the massive unspeaking stones surrounded by luxuriant greenery stand almost as a rebuke to this man tormenting himself with obscure obsessions: What is the matter with him? Why doesn’t he just recant, save himself and others all the pain, enjoy this gorgeous scenery?
Because it’s what he is? From the moment he lands Rodrigues encounters the kakure kirishitan (the modern term for a member of the underground Japanese Catholic Church during the Edo period), and however appalling the tortures devised for them, their near-superhuman endurance is if anything even more awe-inspiring. Mochiki (cyberpunk filmmaker Shinya Tuskamoto) hangs on his cross blinking and struggling to draw breath between waves, his skin cooking gradually from the relentless flagellation of brine; later we see a sudden beheading, the hapless kirishitan’s friends and family shrieking — but not recanting. Rodrigues is almost shamed into stepping up: who is he to presume to teach these people anything about faith?
A crucial teacher for Rodrigues, though he never realizes it till much later, is Kichijiro (Yosuke Kubozuka) — the Judas figure in the story, somewhat inspired by the mestizo in Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory (arguably the spiritual ancestor of Endo’s novel). Kichijiro shows Rodrigues one way to redemption: total humility, absolute self-abasement, no pride or self-dignity whatsoever. The figure is Endo’s creation but I can’t help but think Scorsese had Roberto Rossellini’s Flowers of St. Francis in mind: a holy fool who debases himself time and time again, holds no illusions, yet does not totally submit to despair — he’ll alternately beg for forgiveness and betray his benefactor with dizzying speed, one act after another.
An equally crucial guide to the spiritual “swamp” (as the character puts it) that is Japan: Ferreira himself, renamed Sawano Chuan. He’s a closer figure to Rodrigues, having both taught the priest in the past and now acting as doppelganger, commenting on the prisoner’s experience, pointing out a carving he made on a cell and telling Rodrigues what he was thinking at that moment (“I heard the cries of suffering in this same cell”).
Note that Rodrigues once captured isn’t really touched — Oh he’s shoved around and shaken up a bit, but compared to what he sees what he actually experiences is almost nothing. Rodrigues’ odyssey in the first half of the film has a random happenstance shape; after his arrest it feels like an amusement park ride of horrors, orchestrated with exquisite subtlety by Nagasaki magistrate Inoue (comic actor Issey Ogata) — moments of serenity alternating with moments of violence (inflicted strictly on others), the protagonist constantly being prodded with pointed questions. No, physically torturing Rodrigues would defeat Inoue’s purpose: he needs the priest comfortable (relatively speaking) and thinking clearly when he finally gives in. Masahiro Shinoda’s 1971 adaptation of Endo is an interesting alternative take, a critical look at the arrogance of European authority figures presuming to know what’s best for alien Japan (Endo reportedly hated the earlier film’s far less ambiguous ending), but in my book Shinoda made a misstep when he had his Rodrigo actually hung over a pit — it stacked the deck in Inoue’s favor, suggested that perhaps the magistrate wasn’t all that confident about his cause, and needed to literally massage his victim for proper results.
The moment also reminds me (of all things) of Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. He knows what he wants to do is wrong, he’s been taught all his life that it’s wrong, but it’s his beloved friend — Jim — whose life is at stake. He searches up and down in and out the thickets of his head and — yes — he’ll do it; he’ll commit a grievous crime and go to hell. Catholics are known for the paradoxical nature of their faith and sometimes I suspect we glory in them; the mental exercise helps a little in dealing with the equally paradoxical conundrums of life and failure, a kind of vaccine, if you like, against the absolutism of despair.
Scorsese (with help from his frequent collaborator Jay Cocks) elaborates on the aftermath, Rodrigues’ (once more shapeless) odyssey, this time through the consequences of his recantation. Scorsese is accused of treating the ex-priest with kid gloves but seeing Ferreira’s constantly downcast eyes and Rodrigues’ own clamped-down demeanor you wonder: he spends the rest of his life carefully guarded, carefully watching his every word and gesture; one is reminded of Winston Smith sitting in a café at the end of 1984, defeated, depressed. Is this perhaps Inoue’s most diabolical torment, to show a man that he can totally submit to another’s will to the point that when he’s granted leeway, a moment of freedom — Kichijori for the umpteenth time asking for forgiveness — he hesitates? You think of Wladyslaw Szpilman in Roman Polanski’s The Pianist, wandering through the ruins of Warsaw, his situation more existential than spiritual, surviving yet wondering what is the point of his survival. Rodrigues hears Kichijiro’s confession, a priest once again — but does his act of ministry mean anything after years of denial and working for the enemy?
Likewise when Rodrigues dies and is cremated the camera glides into the coffin and into the ex-priest’s cupped hands to find a tiny cross — is this the hidden inner kernel of the man, his unspoken refusal to give up? Or is that little cross pointless in the face of all he’s done before — maybe something planted there posthumously (as is suggested) by his Japanese wife? What is the significance of a man who works for one cause half his life, works against it in the latter half, goes to his death with maybe one contradictory little symbol hidden away in his palm? Is Scorsese (like Shinoda) betraying the beautiful ambiguity of Endo’s text or perhaps extending it to an excruciating length?
The answer of course is… but Scorsese takes his cue from his god and leaves us with the sound of cicadas, whirring rhythmically away to a blank black screen.

A treasure trove

��ý — Thu, 27 Dec 2018 16:01:42 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
IT’S NO COINCIDENCE that the birth and growth of Shin Nihon Kikaku (SNK) as a video-game developing, publishing, and manufacturing company coincided with the industry’s rise in popularity. The transition to the 1980s saw the proliferation of gaming arcades and the inevitable releases of home-console versions of popular titles, and it was determined not just to take advantage of the boom, but to ensure its sustainability through constant innovation. Soon enough, it became a major player in the coin-operated business, and it astutely leveraged its experience to penetrate the expanding home market.
Needless to say, SNK struck gold with intellectual-property behemoths The King of Fighters and Metal Slug, and it rightly sought to dip into the well as often as it could. Sequels would follow, with the franchises figuring prominently in its Neo Geo and other hardware, and, over time, ported over to modern consoles. Meanwhile, precursors in which the company honed its skills flirted with the possibility of fading into oblivion. Thankfully, Nippon Ichi Software and Digital Eclipse saw fit to embark on a passion project that aimed to both preserve the arcade classics and update them for contemporary gamers to enjoy.
The result is nothing short of remarkable. SNK 40^th Anniversary Collection is presented with pride, and the labor of love is evident not just in the choice and number of titles included in the anthology, but in the manner they were restored and offered via emulation. Beginning with 13 upon release last October and adding 11 more earlier this month, it is certainly representative of the Japanese video game hardware and software company’s first decade of existence. NIS America and Digital Eclipse’s intent is evident: pay homage to its growth years by offering longtime fans an group of games that reflected its predilection to push the envelope.
To argue that SNK 40^th Anniversary Collection isn’t slipshod would be to understate the obvious. In fact, the compilation is well thought out; to cover all bases, it presents not just the English and Japanese versions of its offerings, but the home-console and arcade iterations as well. There are brawlers, with Street Smart and P.O.W. headlining the list. There are shooters, among them Alpha Mission and The Ikari Warriors Trilogy. There are side-scrolling actioners, Psycho Soldier and Athena included. And there are groundbreakers like Crystalis and Prehistoric Isle. All have been painstakingly restored and lined up to be enjoyed the way they were originally meant.
Whenever practicable, SNK 40^th Anniversary Collection enhances its look and interface for the Nintendo Switch. When run in docked mode, it offers several screen options at 1080p resolution, allowing for upscaled video in 4:3 or widescreen formats. And it’s even better on the go, with tabletop settings providing for a vertical orientation that best presents the arcade versions of games. Parenthetically, the sounds have been preserved; gamers will get to experience the same auditory cues as those of their counterparts in the ’80s. Meanwhile, button mapping is outstanding; controls, even for twin-stick options, are intuitive.
True, SNK 40^th Anniversary Collection breaks no new ground. Then again, its objective isn’t to remake the original releases or update them for current consumption, the welcome introduction of play-through, quick-save and rewind functions notwithstanding. On the contrary, it seeks to show in pristine form the 24 titles on its list. And even as the gameplay hasn’t aged well for some, there can be no discounting its worth and, concomitantly, its capacity to inform and entertain. In this regard, the Museum mode — which provides an extensive history of SNK — is a decided boon.
All told, SNK 40^th Anniversary Collection is a veritable treasure trove that shines the spotlight on the company’s pioneering efforts. Certainly, Digital Eclipse’s extensive experience in putting together restored work with painstaking precision shows; from Vanguard to Beast Busters to Ozma Wars, it rewards NIS America’s trust with output that both protects history and makes it appealing to contemporary gamers. It’s a definite steal at $40.

Domesticated helper

��ý — Thu, 20 Dec 2018 16:02:24 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
Roma
Directed by Alfonso Cuaron
ALFONSO CUARON’s Roma is, yes, one of the most beautiful-looking films of the year, a blend of artfully lit footage digitally stitched together to appear a seamless whole.
Based on the director’s memories of Mexico in the 1970s and of his own nanny Liboria Rodriguez, the film tells the story of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a domestic helper living with an upper-middle class family in the relatively affluent district of Colonia Roma, in Mexico City. The opening image reflects this focus: a lingering gaze on floor tiles as soapy water washes across the gleaming surface, and a plane slides across the reflected sky.
Cuaron leisurely establishes mood and character, using no audible soundtrack beyond what is playing on radio or TV or — on occasion — the movie screen; the relative silence, scored mainly to the clatter of plates, the hiss of scrub brushes, the light cacophony of adult and children’s voices quarreling for attention, emphasizes the serenity of the neighborhood compared to the rest of the city.
There are tensions, familial, societal, political. At one point Cleo’s employer Sofia (Marina De Tavira) reprimands her for failing to clean the dogshit off the family carport — the long tiled hallway we saw in the film’s opening; at another Sofia sharply addresses Cleo who stands gaping “Don’t you have anything to do?” Sofia has just been on the phone, in tears: apparently her husband Dr. Antonio (Fernando Grediaga) has left her for another woman.
Cleo has her own problems: she’s seeing the young Fermin (Jorge Antonio Guerrero), and has missed her period. Cleo visits Fermin as he practices kendo in some kind of training camp, dozens of young men swinging bamboo poles. “Is it for the Olympics?” she asks. “Something like that,” Fermin vaguely answers; he runs to board one out of several trucks and buses waiting to drive the youths away.
The film’s themes gradually reveal themselves: the resiliency of women, the fickleness of men, the way class boundaries are permeable and impervious — impervious in that Cleo is obviously bound by her lack of education and economic options, permeable in that she is able to win the affections and touch the sensibilities of the children she serves. In the background we see and hear student activism simmering unhappily under President Luis Echeverria’s regime — Cuaron keeps the politics at arm’s length but can we realistically expect more from a story told through a domestic’s eyes? Cleo is open but not particularly curious; she has no particular interest in the affairs of the larger world. It’s the immediate world that captures her attention — how the sky looks while lying on a rooftop with one of her young charges; how pulque tastes when sneaking a glass behind her employer’s back.
Turns out Cleo never gets to sip that pulque; she’s jostled and her glass shatters. Turns out politics does intrude, spectacularly — when shopping for a cradle with Sofia’s mother Teresa (Veronica Garcia), Cleo is caught in the middle of a student riot turned bloody, the Corpus Christi Massacre. The outside world intrudes on Cleo’s closed-in world and she can only respond according to her limited means and knowledge.
Cuaron hasn’t shaped the narrative into a neat structure which, of course, is one of the most difficult structures to achieve: life seems to meander along till a crisis happens — Dr. Antonio’s departure, a forest fire, an earthquake, a riot — and Cleo’s wide eyes take it all in. The camera mimics Cuaron’s approach, taking a variety of shots then assembling and patting them gently together to create a seamless whole (a 380 degree pan inside the house for example took 45 camera positions digitally combined) — if the film looks stunning, that’s partly because Cuaron has taken his raw material and fussed over every aspect till he got exactly what he wanted.
Cuaron’s achievement reflects both ways, presenting what’s possible using CGI in a realistic (as opposed to fantasy or science fiction) setting, at the same time underlining the scale of challenges facing past cinematographers, who didn’t have CGI and often had to create their effects on-camera in real time.
If the story is a magpie collection of memories and the visual style a magpie collection of footage, so are the references (skip this paragraph if you plan to see the picture!) — the name Cleo for one is presumably a nod to Agnes Varda’s Cleo from 5 to 7 (Cuaron has also taken a page from Varda’s use of location, nonprofessional actors, realism). The Ford Galaxie Dr. Antonio drives is an allusion to Jean-Luc Godard’s Alphaville, where the vehicle was Lemmy Caution’s spacecraft of choice and the basis of one of this film’s funnier running gags: when we first see the doctor he’s painstakingly lining up the car to enter the narrow garage (Wide phallic symbol entering tight space — Freudian much?); later Sofia takes the Galaxie’s wheel and heedlessly rams it home (Wife taking anal revenge?). When Cleo gives birth Cuaron basically takes the same shot Dreyer used in Ordet — Cleo seen from the side, writhing in pain — and adopts a different approach: where Dreyer keeps the woman’s nether regions out of sight and only gives us the horrific sound of shears snipping the baby apart, Cuaron gives us the dead child’s corpse, cradled in one hand like a limp mannequin. I can’t help preferring Dreyer’s version (the sound of those unseen shears linger in memory) but there’s a quiet poignancy to Cuaron’s version, plus Aparicio’s artless performance goes a long way in selling that scene.
Does the film work? Does giving us a panorama of ’70s Mexico glimpsed indirectly through the eyes of a largely passive witness work? It depends I think on one’s feelings on this particular subgenre — I think Bertolucci succeeded in The Last Emperor, where the sight of Pu Yi buffeted by the forces of history had its special pathos. Bertolucci benefited greatly from Vittorio Storaro’s gorgeous colors; Cuaron’s black-and-white digital photography (he shot his own film) serves a similar function, presenting a personal little story set against an epic background with spectacularly understated beautifully designed style. One of the better films of the year, in my book.
Roma can be seen on Netflix.

Episode 2 cannot come soon enough

��ý — Thu, 20 Dec 2018 16:01:25 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
IT’s a testament to the critical and commercial success of Life is Strange that Dontnod Entertainment had already begun work on a sequel even as its final episode was just being released. When the French developer confirmed the piece of news in January 2016, sales had already reached the three-million mark and physical copies were already making their way to store shelves. Episodic adventure games weren’t new to the industry, and yet it managed to present a choice-driven, coming-of-age narrative that transcended the genre. And, understandably, it wanted to build on its singular achievement.
Parenthetically, it was no surprise to find Dontnod leaning on the same group that produced Life is Strange for the next title in the series. Directors Michel Koch and Raoul Barbet were again tapped to lead the effort, backstopped by writers Christian Divine and Jean-Luc Cano, voice director Phil Bache, producer Luc Baghadoust, and composer Jonathan Morali. From the outset, however, it made clear its intent to come up with an altogether new story for the sequel, featuring new characters, new locations, new milieus, and, yes, new dilemmas.
The result, released two and three-quarters years later, is nothing short of remarkable. Considering that only the first episode has been made available, it may well be premature to say Life is Strange 2 is better and more polished. Yet, if Roads is any indication, it’s well on its way to earning its status as a superior sibling. It certainly runs and thrives with concepts and frameworks established by such disparate wordsmiths as John Steinbeck and Jon Krakauer, showing the good and bad sides of the United States while its protagonists travel across the country.
Life is Strange 2 has players in control of Mexican-American high-school teen Sean Diaz. With nine-year-old brother Daniel, he goes on the run from the authorities following an unfortunate development that disrupts their otherwise uneventful lives in suburban Seattle. En route to Mexico with no money and armed only with supplies from the backpack they’re carrying, they experience bigotry and racism, politics and violence (and not always of the physical kind), and a hint of the supernatural. The circumstances they find themselves in inform their relationship, with the elder sibling’s choices — even the seemingly small ones — firming up the younger’s moral code and affecting the direction of the narrative.
As with the original, Life is Strange 2 compels players to make hard decisions, and how they act determines the course of the game. And because nothing is presented in black and white, there is no right or wrong choice. Then again, there are consequences, and the gravity of the effects are certain to be felt moving forward. Sean is faced with having to protect Daniel by the means at his disposal, but at the same time needs to weigh the demands of expediency with their long-term repercussions on an impressionable companion.
In terms of actual length of play, the first episode of Life is Strange 2 is short; Roads won’t take players five hours to finish. Then again, the sure-footed manner with which Dontnod lays it out may well have them playing it anew, or, at the very least, appreciating their experience. Often, the turns in the story will give them pause and make them wonder if things would have been the same had they done something else or gone another way earlier. And if they’re left to their thoughts in the end, looking back wistfully and ahead impatiently, it’s because the game succeeded in moving them.
Certainly, much of Life is Strange 2’s capacity to immerse players in its world can be traced to Dontnod’s painstaking care in making visual and aural cues as realistic as possible. Settings are extremely detailed, and the smoothness of the character animations complement the excellent voice acting. The soundtrack is spot-on, with background music and ambient noise appropriately enhancing the mood at the moment. That said, the taut script and dialogue add the most weight; taking in the plot as it unfolds, players simply cannot help but be caught up in Sean and Daniel’s travails, and, in so doing, reflect on their own.
If there’s any negative to Life is Strange 2, it’s that the second segment cannot come soon enough. Even as Roads possesses high review and replay value, its very excellence figures to make waiting for Episode 2 seem interminable. The original appears to have already been surpassed, with the best yet to come.
POSTSCRIPT:
Shadow of the Tomb Raider (PlayStation 4) — It’s surprising to think that Lara Croft, one of the most iconic videogame badasses ever, could have almost been relegated to the dustbins of history. While Eidos Interactive’s Tomb Raider in 1996 catapulted her to stardom, her subsequent appearances were met with mixed reception. After a decade and a half of ups and downs that included a change in developers, the series suffered from waning public interest, and she was effectively put on hiatus.

Thankfully, Square Enix’s 2013 reboot of the Tomb Raider franchise — via the release of, well, Tomb Raider — was a success, and its 2015 sequel, Rise of the Tomb Raider, was met with similar praise. Critics hailed their stories, dramatic set pieces, and stunning mix of action, adventure, and exploration. And Shadow of the Tomb Raider, last month’s followup on the PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and Personal Computer platforms, looks to provide much of the same.
Shadow of the Tomb Raider finds Croft exploring ancient ruins and vast jungles in Mesoamerica and South America, all in an effort to recover an important artifact stolen by Trinity, a shadowy paramilitary organization bent on triggering a new world order. Amidst the backdrop of apocalyptic disasters, Lara navigates through tombs, avoids deadly traps, hunts animals, and crafts outfits and upgrades for her equipment. Along the way, she relies on her guns, trusty knife, climbing axe, and bow to solve the various environmental puzzles and overcome the many obstacles that bar her path.
As you might expect from a Square Enix game, Shadow of the Tomb Raider looks absolutely gorgeous. Stunning visuals interlaced with amazing, lifelike cutscenes is Square Enix’s forte, and Shadow of the Tomb Raider does not disappoint in this aspect. While some texture pop-ins may occur from time to time, the overall visual fidelity is stunning, and there’s never any point where the game appears ugly.
Everything in Shadow of the Tomb Raider — from Lara herself to the enemies she faces to the environments she traverses — just looks great. The forested areas are brightly lit, vibrant with life and color, while the tombs and crypts are dark and musty with age and dust. Even the odd open-area hubs are forgivable in their appearance; filled with friendly non-playable characters, these are where she accepts side quests from and explores around in for secrets and supplies at leisure.
Yes. Open-area hubs. While a vast majority of Shadow of the Tomb Raider’s gameplay should be familiar to series regulars, the appearance of merchants and introduction of side quests make exploration more appealing. Items found in tombs are no longer just collectibles, but actually add to Lara’s ever-growing inventory of toys to play with. As a result, progression seems fluid and natural. Gold, found in the unlikeliest of places, can be used to purchase guns, ammunition, and extra upgrades. Things like leather and wood can be used to upgrade her bow or repair outfits that give passive boosts to her performance. Exploring optional tombs gives the player better rewards as well, be they in the form of money, items, or experience for skill points. All in all, they serve as wonderful incentives to keep moving forward and search for hidden items and pathways seemingly just out of reach.
Players will quickly move from area to area, hunting, fighting, and swimming their way through the story with little difficulty. Exploration is key in Shadow of the Tomb Raider, and long segments of the campaign have Lara trudging through the forest, alone in the wilderness with nothing but the animals around her for company. Combat sections are placed now and then, though these sequences occur less frequently compared to previous titles, and most of the fighting is purely optional as stealth kills are still available.
The tomb-raiding part of Tomb Raider is still ever present, relying on players’ wits to avoid traps and fast reactions to maneuver through scripted sequences that result in instant death. These are fun, though, sadly, most are locked behind story progression, requiring tools that can be accessed only later in the game. Thankfully, fast travel between areas does exist, making back-tracking an ultimately forgivable annoyance.
All of these things blend together wonderfully in Shadow of the Tomb Raider. It delivers pretty much everything it has set out to do. It’s a very polished but safe title, playing very well and very smoothly, and content to present what the series has already done so before. Efforts to make itself stand out are evident in its progression system and its pacing, but, all told, it provides exactly what it is expected to.
Fans who love the Tomb Raider series will no doubt find themselves spending hours upon hours in Shadow of the Tomb Raider. With a keener focus on exploration and survival, it hits the right notes, and well. (8.5/10)

Klandestine

��ý — Thu, 13 Dec 2018 16:02:49 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
BlacKkKlansman
Directed by Spike Lee
SO GET this — Ron Stallworth becomes the first black police officer in a large largely white town (the “Jackie Robinson of the Colorado Springs police force” as his superior puts it). He is consigned to the records room, requests a transfer to undercover; sees a recruitment ad for the KKK, dials the number, gets an unexpected voice at the other end, improvises a racist rant, is invited to join the group.
Sounds like one of the more outrageous skits dreamed up for the short-lived but memorable TV show In Living Color — but it’s a true story, based on Stallworth’s autobiographical account Black Klansman.
Spike Lee’s BlacKkKlansman (2018) isn’t subtle but it’s damned entertaining. Stallworth (played by Denzel’s son John David Washington) can’t go to the meeting himself (of course) so he sends Detective Flip Zimmerman (Adam Driver playing a heavily fictionalized character) in his place.
The film runs with this highly unlikely premise, and part of the fun of the picture is watching Stallworth and Zimmerman constantly being caught off-balance by the challenges and opportunities thrown their way, having to think fast on their feet in response. At one point one of the Klansmen suspects Zimmerman of being Jewish and wants to apply a lie-detector test at gunpoint; at another Stallworth finds himself on the phone with the Klan’s Grand Wizard, David Duke (a hilariously bland Topher Grace) and they develop a surprisingly (Chillingly?) warm rapport.
Driver plays Zimmerman as an unselfconscious lump who, thanks to the Klan’s virulent anti-Semitism, develops some awareness of his racial identity. Grace’s Duke is by turns hilarious and frightening: hilarious in his obtuse racism, frightening in that his vanilla, almost wholesome, charm is what may have helped sell the Klan as an increasingly acceptable presence in 1970s America — a perhaps an even more acceptable presence in America today. In their scenes together Duke suggests a loneliness, a desire for contact that seems almost likable — Lee even feels he has to apply the brakes a little, have Stallworth motion his colleagues around him so they can have a collective laugh. It’s a tribute to Grace’s sly subversively vulnerable performance that you almost feel sorry for the man.
Almost. Lee blurs the lines a bit but at one point or the other makes it thoroughly blaringly clear where he stands on the issues, arguably the film’s main weaknesses. His Klan folk are mostly dense; paranoid but easy to outmaneuver; and unthinking in the way they mouth racist rants — Grace’s Duke is arguably an exception, though even he has his moments of fecklessness.
Lee begins the film with Alec Baldwin playing a fictitious professor clumsily speaking Klan talking points, forgetting his lines, asking for cues from an unseen assistant; big contrast to Stokely Carmichael (a.k.a. Kwame Ture) whose speaking engagement Ron is assigned to attend — Lee turns up the visual rhetoric during his speech, photographing Ture (Corey Hawkins) from various dramatic angles, confronting him with a sea of faces shining with admiration. Ron is understandably impressed, and feels doubt about his mission of infiltration.
That would be the film’s other main flaw: Boots Riley, director of the year’s other most outrageous comedy Sorry to Bother You, tweets an indictment of Ron Stallworth, claiming his role in monitoring black activist groups was more extensive and more malignant than what is shown on-screen.
Riley goes on to make other claims, some of which seem a little extreme, but his basic point is valid: history does suggest that the police and the FBI had an antagonistic even violent relationship with these groups (There’s no direct evidence linking Stallworth, but records were reportedly destroyed). Lee does go a long way to softening this period of Stallworth’s career — showing him voicing doubts, showing him form a relationship with a fictitious black activist girlfriend named Patrice (Laura Harrier) who further troubles his mind on the issue.
Lee eventually responded in an interview “Look at my films: they’ve been very critical of the police, but on the other hand I’m never going to say all police are corrupt, that all police hate people of color. I’m not going to say that. I mean, we need police.”
If the film has scenes that soft-pedal and fabricate — and Lee is hardly the first filmmaker to do so in a biopic — it also has scenes of considerable power. At one point, the Klan screens Birth of a Nation, D.W. Griffith’s monumental potboiler that helped revive the movement; Lee takes a page from Griffith’s own playbook and intercuts the screening with one Jerome Turner (Harry Belafonte) telling the true story of Jesse Washington, who was lynched in Waco, Texas. Lee later fast-forwards to the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, which ended with the death of Heather Heyer.
This, I submit, is Lee’s strongest point: if the racists portrayed in this picture are so easy to outwit then why Trump’s ascendancy? What led us to the Unite the Right rally, and why did that driver feel he had to ram his car into a crowd of people? Lee doesn’t provide answers — but he’s always been a provocateur, always willing to prod us to at least try and respond.
BlacKkKlansman is available on Youtube, Vudu, Amazon, and Google Play.

Outstanding addition to survival horror games

��ý — Thu, 13 Dec 2018 16:01:06 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong

NIPPON Ichi Software (NIS) has been known to push the envelope in terms of offerings for popular genres, so it’s no surprise to find Yomawari: The Long Night Collection eschewing the usual survival horror mechanics. The intent is clear: to rattle gamers and get them out of their comfort zones using hitherto unfamiliar techniques. Visually, for instance, the chibi-style characters don’t seem to fit in a setting designed to elicit fear and trepidation. And the fact that proceedings are perused from an isometric vantage point serves only to highlight the incongruity.
Yet, it’s clear from the outset that NIS succeeds in making what looks to be one square peg fit in the invariably round hole. Literally two and a half minutes are all it takes for gamers to become immersed in Yomawari: Night Alone, the first of the two titles that comprise the compilation. An unnamed girl takes her dog out for a walk in the woods. A pebble throw later, her pet is hit by a truck and then disappears, with a track of blood the lone evidence of the development. Her agitation leads her older sister to look for it, only to be lost as well. Her ensuing search for them propels the adventure, which involves evading monsters and spirits across suburbia armed with just a flashlight and a hopefully sustainable supply of wit to complete the ultimate objective.
The same premise and approach are taken by Yomawari: Midnight Shadows, albeit via two alternately controllable characters in search of a friend. Wandering in dimly lit streets heightens the feeling of dread, with gamers alerted to the presence of monsters by the sound of a heart pounding faster. As the threats come closer, the beats increase accordingly; absent any other audio inputs, they ramp up the anticipation. And because there are no means of fighting back, the scares are magnified.
Significantly, Yomawari: The Long Night Collection doesn’t cheat in this regard. Long on suspense, it keeps cheap thrills to a bare minimum. It places a premium on stealth, quick reaction, and, yes, flight for the lead characters to stay alive. Proper management of the stamina bar, which depletes quickly with frenzied activity, is thereby crucial. As careful as gamers may negotiate their way around town, however, death figures to be inevitable; it’s part and parcel of a learning curve that enables them to do better while coming from the last save point.
From the outside looking in, Yomawari: The Long Night Collection’s preferential option for subtlety comes across as a big risk. The norm for horror releases involves bombast: violent jump cuts, audio-visual cues aimed at eliciting startling reactions, larger-than-life depictions of relentless enemies, even Rambo-like payback. In stark contrast, Yomawari: Night Alone and Yomawari: Midnight Shadows deliberately go for the opposite. They initially calm gamers with cute graphics, then build up tension and sustain the suspense with hints of peril. They show just what the flashlight shines on, emit close to nothing save for ambient noise and a beating heart, highlight the reward of safety as temporal, and mete the penalty of mortality in an instant.
So, no, there are no out-and-out action sequences in Yomawari: The Long Night Collection. There are no rocket launchers to collect or elaborate traps to concoct. The setting is, on surface, idyllic, and the narrative unfolds at a pace that leans towards the purposive and is never forced. Still, at no time are gamers assured; rather, they stay on their toes throughout, uneasy about what comes next and apprehensive of the consequences. Nonetheless, both Yomawari: Night Alone and Yomawari: Midnight Shadows manage to shock and awe. Because the hazard is hinted at and because death results from a touch, every step is replete with anxiety.
Concomitantly, Yomawari: The Long Night Collection benefits from the simplicity of its interface. Movements and interactions with surroundings are intuitive, further encouraging exploration. And the gains are abundant; even as puzzles are few and far between, hidden gems abound for completists. If nothing else, they underscore the importance of experimentation, critical to moving forward given the uniqueness and variety of antagonists.
All told, Yomawari: The Long Night Collection is an outstanding addition to the survival horror category of games. It shuns the status quo and winds up fulfilling its purpose precisely because it defies expectations. Depending on mood and intent, gamers can be entrenched in its twin storylines for 15 to 30 hours, a stunning feat for a release that relies more on ambience than action to feature its value proposition. It’s unapologetic in what it sets out to do, and unfailing in its intent to flourish. Which, in the final analysis, is exactly why it does. Highly recommended.

POSTSCRIPT:
Assassin’s Creed Odyssey (PlayStation 4) — Ubisoft’s Assassins’s Creed is, without a doubt, one of its most profitable video game franchises to date. What started off back in 2007 as an unknown title in the stealth/exploration genre has grown into a well-loved and influential series. And, as with all things, wisdom accompanies age; the franchise has seen fit to evolve with each new release, adding in newer and better features and, in the process, highlighting parts that hitherto made it enjoyable. Meanwhile, core aspects, including exploration and freeform design, have remained unchanged even with tweaks to approach and presentation.
As the latest entry in the series, Assassin’s Creed Odyssey features an independent storyline set in Greece during the Peloponnesian War. Players control either Alexios or Kassandra, mercenaries from the island of Cephalonia who find themselves slowly entangled in a conspiracy of lies and deceit. Embroiled in a war spanning the country’s entirety while challenged by a mysterious cult out to end their lives and those of their loved ones, they become compelled to use whatever means necessary to survive. In so doing, they craft, forge, and upgrade weapons, learn new skills, and travel across lands on foot or by sea, all while seeking to unite their family and expose and overcome the cult’s designs.
At heart, Assassin’s Creed Odyssey is all about the journey, and it shows through the slow ramp-up of its story. Starting off on a small, secluded island, the chosen protagonist sets sail away from its shores and discovers a rich and bountiful land waiting to be discovered. Various landmarks, cities, and tombs dot the new world, offering a wide variety of rewards and often exuding a Tomb Raider-esque vibe during exploration. The main characters are able to climb, and cling to, practically every surface, making movement a breeze, not a chore. A new undiscovered point of interest is always another place to discover, another dungeon to explore, and another city to mark on the map.
Naturally, threats abound, and the main protagonists are more than prepared to take their measure. Armed with the Spear of Leonidas and combined with their natural agility, they are able to take down opponents through either stealth or combat. The former is brutally effective, often leading to situations where most opponents are put down with one strike. With later skills giving access to things such chain kills, poison attacks, and stuns, it becomes a vital tool when faced with multiple opponents.
That said, direct combat is no less effective in Assassin’s Creed Odyssey. With a wide variety of weapons — from swords to daggers to tridents — on hand, and with the main characters boasting of unique skills and move sets and skills, players won’t be hard-pressed to fall back on blades if need be. Then, too, they can rely on their bow to gain a significant edge, engaging foes in long range and picking them off or even pulling out of sight to reengage under superior terms.
Parenthetically, it’s the wealth of options on offer that makes Assassin’s Creed Odyssey stand out. It doesn’t hold players’ hands; rather, it engages them right from the get-go. There’s a tutorial for their bearings to be set; after that, however, they’re left to fend for themselves, free to drive the narrative as they please and at their pace. Keen on tackling side quest after side quest? No problem. Partial to furthering the plot as quickly as possible? Sure. Amid the myriad options are such worthy diversions as ship combat, gear crafting, mercenary hunting, and conquest battles.
True, Assassin’s Creed Odyssey can be repetitive and feel recycled. For all its abundance of charm, a few options carry less potential to keep players engaged. For instance, hardly any side quests have actual impact on the main story, and while attempts have been made to make the players’ choices while on one more relevant, the design does tend to fall flat on its face in the grand scheme of things. The emphasis on quantity comes at the expense of quality, likewise evident in the grinding required to advance. Even as it specifies reasonable triggers for leveling up early on, it becomes progressively difficult to the point of being unfair; at some point, clearing entire areas of side objectives becomes necessary to gain the experience required for advancement.
Nonetheless, Assassin’s Creed Odyssey manages to acquit itself well en route to underscoring its status as the best game in the series to date, with much to offer to old and new fans alike. With its revamped combat system and fun exploration mechanics, it figures to have legs, slated to last far longer than other titles in the series did. (8.5/10)

Video Game Review

Yomawari: The Long Night Collection
Nintendo Switch
THE GOOD:

• Simple but engrossing storyline

• Understated art and sound designs

• Intuitive interface

• Consistent in scope and intent

• Encourages exploration

• Definitive payoffs

THE BAD:

• One-step-back, two-steps-forward approach frustrates on occasion

• Instantaneous death

RATING: 9/10

Two women

��ý — Thu, 06 Dec 2018 16:02:10 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
Tatlong Taong
Walang Diyos
(Three Years Without God)
Directed by Mario O’Hara
LAST October my mother died.
Which to the world at large may not mean much. But it was with her in mind that I saw the digitally restored version of Mario O’Hara’s Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos (Three Years Without God, 1976), recently released on iTunes.
(Warning! Story details and plot twists are explicitly discussed)
Not an inappropriate choice. I was in a dark mood and the film — well the opening narration says it all: three years so awful the people felt abandoned by God. The film opens with the start of World War 2: Rosario (Nora Aunor) is engaged to Crispin (Bembol Roco), who leaves her to fight the Japanese. Japanese officer Masugi (Christopher de Leon) rapes Rosario, leaving her pregnant with two unhappy alternatives: to resist Masugi’s offer of marriage and starve with the rest of her fellow Filipinos, or accept the offer and be called a Japanese sympathizer (or worse).
Following Rosario’s story I realized: Rosario at some level is my mother. Not that my mother experienced war and its horrors or that she was ever caught in an indelicate position between two suitors but this: the world was convinced that it was right and she was wrong. And no matter what she did or how much she tried to change things, the world remained convinced that it was right and that she was still wrong.
My mother’s sin was to marry into a wealthy family. Oh she worked hard to be accepted; she went back to school and studied veterinary medicine (she already had a business administration degree) to help in the family’s farming operations. She bore two children — me and my twin brother — which ideally should have delighted all involved. But, the nature of my family being what it is (And who am I to judge when something acts according to its nature?), there was always tension. My mother, being strongwilled, never gave up trying — first, to be brought into their good graces; later, to be free of their hold and influence.
Rosario never did anything by halves. When she’s set against something — against Masugi’s proposal to make her a Japanese officer’s (a lieutenant from the look of his insignia) wife — she’s feet-planted-firmly-in-the-ground against it, despite repeated pleading from Masugi (who says he wants to do right by her) and from her mother. When my mother once left my father after an especially bitter fight, she took me along (I was — what — seven or eight years old?) and fled to the provinces. Only me? What about my father? What about my brother, from whom I’d never been separated? But she was furious, and would not be contradicted.
Rosario relents; so eventually did my mother. While capable of change, it’s not easy for these women; O’Hara measures the depth of that change from the tip of Rosario’s arms, sitting atop a high bridge, to the rocky bottom of a chasm below. I measured my mother’s anger by the miles she drove me away from home. When Rosario changed course, she stuck to that course for the rest of the war; when my mother came back to my father, she stayed with him for the rest of her life — bore him four more girls in fact, all of which I suspect are more emotionally mature than I can ever be.
And the world still would not forgive either women, would not let them forget they were outsiders, would not let them forget they were wrong. Did I say my mother never experienced war? She was in constant battle. Arguably the most desperate, most exhausting conflicts are fought not between nations or peoples but within a nation or people — or, if you like, within a family.
It cost my mother dearly, I think; part of that cost is the suppression of affection between us. If I want to drive myself crazy I try untangle that complex knot of feelings festering in my head: why did it happen and who is to blame? Sometimes I assign all fault to myself, sometimes to no one. Sometimes I look hard on myself and see the disappointment I must have been to her. Sometimes I theorize (Fantasize?) that in her need to finally be rid of my father’s family altogether and live life with her husband and children as she sees fit, everything else fell away in her eyes, including (though she may not have intended it) myself. Sometimes I think my mother’s private war was so exhausting, so full of despair, I had to get away from her to survive myself.
How bad did things get? When I heard news of her death (I hadn’t seen her in 15 years) not a tear. I was stone inside.
I watch Rosario as the war wound down to its end and I see how the world narrows around her, how a Japanese officer’s wife — his whore, as many folks call her — is forced to run in smaller and smaller circles, seeking escape. She can’t afford to be nice; when the city is bombed and her housemaid goes into hysterics she slaps the young girl, drags her away. The world is falling apart and her focus is sharpened into a microscopic point: the need to keep her family safe. The need to stay by her husband’s side.
I thought of my mother in the months after her third stroke, her world narrowed down to a single bed, paralyzed, unable to speak, barely able to see and touch and hear. And still for all I know loyal to her husband, still fighting that war inside her head.
The world, after its great depression, its simmering wars, its escalating nationalist and political and racial tensions, seems to have less and less use for art, for the way art refracts life, the way it unsettles us and startles us into seeing that life in a new way. I don’t know; I disagree. I take a stand with my mother against the world and assert — never mind if I’m wrong — that while life has primary importance, art still has lasting value. I have many reasons for being fond of this film, and have found a new one: in its profound empathy for its characters, good or evil right or wrong, it has brought my mother back to me.

A superb addition to the franchise

��ý — Thu, 06 Dec 2018 16:01:08 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
WHEN noted video game producer Keiji Inafune left Capcom at the turn of the decade, not a few quarters figured the Mega Man franchise, to whose success he contributed much, would grind to a virtual halt. And, for a while, those from the outside looking in were right; longtime developers in the company understood that the responsibility of taking on a successful intellectual property required following in giant footsteps. Only until Koji Oda of Resident Evil fame decided to do so last year did longtime followers entertain hope for a revival of the series.
To be sure, fans remained hesitant to predict a bright future despite Oda’s involvement in Mega Man 11. After all, the last two franchise titles were pretty much remakes of the same old, same old — rendered in eight-bit graphics and presenting facets familiar to those whose memories hark back to the Nintendo Entertainment System. From the vantage point of skeptics, the idea of continuing to dip on a 31-year-old well held limited appeal to a marketplace afforded near-infinite choices.
In this regard, the industry should rightly rejoice. Oda’s direction of Mega Man 11 effectively updates it while staying true to its roots. Featuring three-dimensional characters over two-dimensional backgrounds, it represents a remarkable melding of the retrospectively revered with the relatively revolutionary. Certainly, the polygonal graphics lend a distinct appeal to younger players and newcomers to the franchise alike. Meanwhile, the gameplay remains faithful to its source material as a side-scrolling action platformer that requires no small measure of strategy, patience, and timing from its practitioners.
Admittedly, Mega Man 11 is short on story, but manages to set up the premise well all the same. It begins with Drs. Thomas Light and Albert Wily, familiar series characters, in the early stages of their rivalry. Once close friends, they find themselves on opposite sides regarding the latter’s research on the Double Gear system, deemed dangerous by a committee of peers at the Robot Institute of Technology. They would grow further apart over time, with one continuing work on independent-thought robotics to help mankind and the other moved by jealousy to rule it.
Relative to other titles in the franchise, Mega Man 11 forks its narrative to focus on Dr. Wily’s theft of robots for use as test subjects for his Double Gear system. He turns them into Robot Masters, appearing in the game as eight end-level bosses. Meanwhile, Dr. Light uses the same technology on Mega Man, a lab assistant turned super robot, to combat the threat to the world. The installation of the prototype grants the title character two additional skills aside from traditional ones; the Speed and Power Gears slow down the action and enhance weapon effectiveness, respectively, until their specific meters are depleted, after which rest is necessary.
Parenthetically, the new feature makes Mega Man 11 both compelling and challenging. The game is less so in the Newcomer and Casual settings, the easiest of four, but those not familiar with the franchise’s exacting bent will appreciate their availability. In any case, rare are the players who won’t be frustrated and feel the need to lash out at one time or another; death can come swiftly and would, given the remarkable lack of checkpoints, often mean a level restart, requiring them to go through the same hurdles and overcome the same obstacles before advancing and, hopefully, getting through to the boss stage. Never mind that old reliable Rush is around to help on occasion, and especially during times when platforms seem too hard to reach alone.
No doubt, the urge to put down Mega Man 11 would be greater were its level design not carefully thought out. As it stands, there is method to the madness, with the game providing subtle and context clues as to who players will be up against and what weapons and tactics should serve them best. Depending on the difficulty setting, there are also items that can be picked up on the way; concomitantly, upgrades and power-ups are accorded Mega Man after a well-earned triumph and, with a visit to Dr. Light’s laboratory, even an unfortunate demise.
All told, Mega Man 11 is a superb addition to the franchise, offering novel concepts and updating old ones. Graphically and aurally, it pays homage to its roots; the visuals are colorful and vibrant, the soundtrack lively and apt for an actioner, and the voice acting a marked improvement from the old-school hysterics that littered previous releases. It’s the best from the series in recent memory, a decided improvement from its immediate past predecessor and a promise of better things to come.
POSTSCRIPT:
Full Metal Panic! Fight: Who Dares Wins — Considering the timing, the release of the PS4 game was clearly meant to coincide with the broadcast of FMP! Invisible Victory in the middle of the year. The juxtaposition is justified, to be sure: It shares principal story elements with the 4^th television series of the popular anime franchise. Ditto with the treatment and presentation; gamers are thrust in the middle of the narrative, with developer B.B. Studio assuming that they: 1.) already possess ample knowledge to follow it; 2.) figure to be satisfied with the modicum of information conveyed via the optional tutorial missions, and/or 3.) look to arm themselves with background material through appropriate research.
The assumption isn’t unreasonable. Given the intrinsic pull of the Full Metal Panic! series, Bandai Namco likely figured that Fight: Who Dares Wins would be able to lean on a core set of gamers — including those familiar with mechanics employed in Super Robot Wars — from the outset. Concomitantly, it may well have conceded the title’s limited appeal outside of the captive market, hence its decision to eschew exposition that would have otherwise enticed newcomers.
Which is too bad, really, because at the heart of Fight: Who Dares Wins is an intriguing storyline. As with Invisible Victory, it follows the exploits of Kaname Chidori, a municipal high school student with “whispered” capacities that grant her comprehension of future applied sciences. By her side is undercover agent Sousuke Sagara of Mithril, a private anti-terrorist entity resolved to protect her from elements keen on exploiting her abilities. In particular, they stand against Amalgam, promoter of dubious ideologies and employer of other Whispered in furtherance of black technologies.
Thanks to B.B. Studio’s involvement, Fight: Who Dares Wins backstops the plot with solid gameplay straight off Super Robot Wars. Players get to control a four-strong Mithril battle party consisting of Sagara, Sergeant Major Melissa Mao, Sergeant Kurz Weber, and Special Response Team head Belfangan Clouseau. Buffing the skills of the protagonists serve to augment Arm Slaves, mechs with upgradable weaponry and special attacks. Combat is turn-based, with swiftness — or lack thereof — of movement and range of attack dictated by the stats of the machines, which have specific skill sets.
In this regard, it bears noting that turns are determined by distinct agility attributes of individual mecha and not simply alternating between sides. At the same time, players need to choose between movement and attack on any given turn. During combat, they’re given the option to choose what part of the body to target; heads, arms, and legs have unique hit points, as opposed to overall hit points, allowing for easier attainment of specific mission objectives. In the latter stages of the game, however, any strategizing goes out the window. Against bosses, especially, aiming for the body becomes expedient and even necessary.
Visually, Fight: Who Dares Wins is a mixed bag. The narrative is pushed forward via text over inanimate backgrounds in traditional visual-novel format, while battle sequences underscore the level of detail given to mechs and the lack thereof to the environs. The maps are workmanlike at best; the absence of variety and color tend to stunt the tactical value of positioning in battles. Meanwhile, the menus, while serviceable, are far from intuitive and user-friendly, not to mention pale in comparison to the depth exhibited by their Super Robot Wars counterparts.
The good news is that Fight: Who Dares Wins possesses a soundtrack that stays faithful to its source material from start to finish. In no small measure, it’s propped up by excellent Japanese voice acting (with an equally remarkable effort to translate the dialogue in English). Parenthetically, the music makes full use of the Full Metal Panic! license, resulting in strengthened ties with Invisible Victory. The resulting mix is nothing short of pleasing to the senses, and adds to the intent of getting players invested in the story arc.
By design, Fight: Who Dares Wins is a niche title catered precisely to wow followers of the Full Metal Panic! franchise. And to this end, it does its job well. While short for a release in the tactical role-playing-game genre, it’s a competent companion piece to Invisible Victory and opens the door to better-planned and -integrated offerings across any number of media. (7/10)

A good man with a gun

��ý — Thu, 29 Nov 2018 16:02:49 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
Wichita
Directed by Jacques Tourneur
(Yet another film on the soon-to-vanish [Nov. 29] Filmstruck — in this case easily found on other venues [Google Play and iTunes] but difficult to find in Cinemascope; even Turner Classic Movies has resorted to showing the cropped pan-and-scan version. Filmstruck presents the film in its original aspect ratio, and if ever the term “quietly glorious” applied to a picture it applies to this. Again the plea: make the site [or one like it] available again — and make it available to other countries!)
SAY THE name “Jacques Tourneur” and the first word come to mind for most folks is “horror” (the second is possibly “cat”). Tourneur had been directing since 1931, mainly shorts, finally made a splash early ’40s working for producer Val Lewton in Cat People (low budget, eerily beautiful) and I Walked With a Zombie (despite the pulpy title, my favorite adaptation of Jane Eyre). Say “Tourneur” and the word “westerns” rarely pops up — but some of his westerns do in fact represent his finest work.
Wichita is late period Tourneur, halfway through a decade when he went freelance (before this he was with RKO, working his way up from B pictures like Cat People to A projects like Out of the Past). It was his first film in Cinemascope which, unlike other filmmakers, he embraced: Cinemascope “reproduces approximately our field of vision” he notes, adding that the format, because of the expanse of space on display, “makes it necessary to compose.”
Tourneur composed all right, but not in the flashy manner of a Welles or a Hitchcock. Critic Pauline Kael sniffed that his films with Lewton “aren’t really very good,” suggesting they’re afflicted with good taste; I submit they’re more understated than anything — a distinct dark sensibility subtly suggested.
In Cat and Zombie and in the classic noir Out of the Past, Tourneur used shadows to great effect, evoking a claustrophobic twilight world of perverse lust, supernatural transformations, and the undead. In Wichita, Tourneur worked in color, where shadows are less pronounced, and in widescreen, where shadows are less effective at evoking confinement — which compels one to wonder: what can Tourneur evoke, in a world of bright hues and vistas?
Tourneur answers the question in his opening sequence: a cattle drive led by one Clint Wallace (Walter Sande) stops for the day, to allow the animals to feed and fatten up prior to selling them at their destination; suddenly a speck is spotted moving across the low hills of the horizon. The cowboys gaze at the speck warily, wondering if it was alone or friend or foe; eventually one of the hands is assigned to ride out and settle the issue.
What do vast spaces evoke? Why fear — the sense of constant vulnerability. Anything can come at you in those spaces, from any direction; and thanks to guns (which all the folks in the plains carry) anyone can strike you where you’re standing. From evoking claustrophobia in Cat People and Out of the Past, Tourneur, in his one major Cinemascope effort, teaches us to appreciate the different but equally fine terrors of agoraphobia.

The speck grows into a buffalo hunter named Wyatt Earp (Joel Mcrea), who’s traveling in the same direction as the drive, hoping to establish a business in Wichita. He’s guardedly offered dinner (Tourneur has Earp on his horse in the background looking down on the cowboys as they’re arrayed in a row facing him: while he’s perched high up and they’re crosslegged on the ground, their shadowy implacable backs radiate cautious hospitality); later two of the men, brothers Hal (Rayford Barnes) and Gyp (Lloyd Bridges) Clements attempt to rob him, an attempt which he easily rebuffs. Turns out Wallace’s earlier speculation was right after all: the man does represent a threat, but not in an immediate straightforward way.
When Earp does arrive in Wichita, the camera ranges easily indoors and out; the buildings (painted an intriguing combination of warm wood, mint green, lemon yellow, burnt red, and the like) keep out the craze-inducing horizon, giving the impression of sheltered greenery in the midst of the Great Plains. Earp is soon offered not a business proposition but a job: the fast-growing town is about to receive an influx of cowboys (Wallace’s crew, earlier encountered) and is about to be torn up in a fit of drunken exuberance. Would Earp consider being marshal, to help keep the peace?
Earp turns the offer down; the cowboys arrive, bringing with them the wildness of the plains they spent months crossing. In a wide high-angle shot Tourneur records the teeming chaos of men running riot, a street lamp standing useless guard to the left corner; suddenly a cowboy on horseback rides across the screen, smashing the lamp’s bulb.
Tragedy strikes (Tourneur’s abrupt staging — a sustained buildup, a clutching of a small chest — underlines the randomness of that tragedy) and Earp feels compelled to pin on the tin star and be sworn in to duty. In the same sense of quiet but implacable authority with which he subdued the Clement brothers, bank robbers, now the wild-partying cowpunchers, Earp declares a gun ban in Wichita.
Does the film support gun control (and since when was gun control a serious issue in 1955?)? Yes, basically — Daniel B. Ullman’s script and Tourneur’s way of causing one’s skin to crawl whenever walls fall away and the ground stretches out for over a mile — make their stance clear. But there are ambiguities: it takes guns to enforce Earp’s ban, plus a double load of buckshot (as Earp points out “I figure I can take out about five of you at this range.”). It also takes — as the NRA often asserts — a “good man with a gun” to keep the ban effective. Granted Earp was backed into taking the position of marshal and that he’s a duly sworn lawman — how many Joel McCreas can you count on to ride into town and keep the peace?
Where other actors radiate charisma or sexuality, McCrea comes across as decent — not exactly a quality you look for in a Hollywood star. But McCrea is decent in a believable way, charming and perhaps a little clueless on any subject outside of his immediate occupation, whether journalism (Foreign Correspondent) or small-town spirituality (Stars in My Crown) or this film — he’s so damned likeable you can be forgiven when he declares martial (marshal?) law and you let him get away with it.
That’s perhaps the price Tourneur is willing to pay to tell this story: McCrea’s Earp, like the present president of the Philippines, is willing to wage a ruthless war on guns (as opposed to drugs — but it could be any issue) but is also willing to do so judiciously, responsibly. No careless killings (several times he had the chance and refused), no delegating the task to incompetents (at most he hands a firearm over to the soon-to-be-equally-famous Bat Masterson [Keith Larsen] who acts as his deputy), no “collateral damage” among civilians, at least none directly through his actions. Earp, unlike Duterte, is a genuinely good man with a gun, “good” in the sense that he not only means well, he’s effective at his job.
And it’s not just Earp as the good man; Tourneur carefully sketches the members of the community and the folks outside that community. Businessmen Sam McCoy (Walter Coy) and Doc Black (Edgar Buchanan) are the kind of elderly white men who control the town, who like Earp’s lawman integrity, who are dismayed when his integrity runs roughshod over their business interests. Tourneur often shoots them in groups conferring and plotting on how they would handle Earp, and when they surround him to try reason with him your skin crawls yet again — they’re like wary wolves surrounding a bull, looking for a weak spot. You want to hiss at Wallace and his hands, but when the cattleman learns of a second tragedy he has the decency to express regrets — besides the unlikeliness of Earp, yet another element that feels so fairy-tale in this day and age: people aren’t hypocritical when they express regret over a gun death. They pause and look for change.
If Tourneur ultimately relegates the film to the realm of fable (the real Earp was a mere police officer, not the town marshal, and left because he had gotten into a fistfight with his boss’ political enemy and was dismissed), at least the director gives us this particular fable: modestly scaled, gracefully told, honest in the way its characters respond to the shocks and disruptions of Tourneur’s world. He gives us — no, he reminds us — of how a legal and effective gun ban might look like, and considering the conditions of either the country of my birth or the country that has adopted me, that world with its strict ban looks better and better by the day.

An easy recommend for all and sundry

��ý — Thu, 29 Nov 2018 16:01:55 +0000

By Alexander O. Cuaycong and Anthony L. Cuaycong
MOST GAMERS are familiar with the modern dungeon crawler, with the likes of Diablo III, Torchlight II, and Path of Exile proving to be critical and commercial successes. That’s not to say that every release in the category follows the same formula; such notables as Class of Heroes, The Dark Spire, and The Lost Child are superb takes on turn-based exploration and fighting in elaborate milieus. They’re not for everyone, though; while compelling, they generally rely on the slow burn of an interesting story to keep players hooked, and their often-complicated battle systems can be a doozy to navigate through, especially for newcomers to the genre.
If nothing else, however, Nippon Ichi Software has exhibited remarkable proficiency in making quirky, otherwise-niche offerings hold mass appeal. Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk, originally released on the PlayStation Vita in 2016, is one such example, and it’s thus not surprising to see it now find its way to the PS4, Nintendo Switch, and Personal Computer in all its uniquely captivating glory. Featuring old-school dungeon crawling mechanics combined with a distinct anime art style, it promises to hook in players from either end of the video game spectrum.
Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk follows the story of the witch Dronya and her apprentice Luca, who trek to Refrain with the intent to explore its — what else? — labyrinth upon the request of the town’s current dispensation. As the area of interest is filled with poisonous miasma, she is fortunate to have in her possession the Tractatus de Monstrum, a book inhabited by the soul of the single being who just so happened to have already wandered through and out of it. It is through this tome that players navigate through the narrative and control a myriad of puppet soldiers, each with their distinct look, class, and feel, in an effort to unearth the secrets held by the village depths.
At first glance, Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk’s plot seems fairly standard. As with most other NIS titles, though, it is anything but, and the way it’s unveiled and how its characters are introduced and fleshed out make it stand out from among the genre’s dregs. It tackles dark themes with a boatload of charm and humor, not to mention presented in an art style that can be unsettling early on, but compelling in time. Parenthetically, it benefits from the evident imprints of Tenpei Sato and Takehito Harada, with an audio-visual feel that should be familiar to Disgaea fans.
To be sure, charm isn’t the only thing that gives Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk legs. It makes use of, and presents, the standard sets of stats, skills, and classes, but to effective excess. Moreover, the manner in which parties are laid out in “covens” allows players to manage groups of up to 15 at any given time. And there’s no lack of depth and customization in its mechanics. In fact, there’s an initially frightening and intimidating amount; everything from constitution to positioning to weapon choice to numbers can dictate how effective parties are — imposingly at first, and then crucially moving forward.
Indeed, the seeming complexity of Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk can serve as a barrier to entry. Going into it blind can prove overwhelming even for those who have previously partaken of Japanese role-playing games. Likewise, it requires no small measure of grinding, with the use of atypically large numbers for stat lines and the bevy of choices available all but enjoining players to buff up their characters to acute levels. Simply put, there are just some points in the journey where they’ll think they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.
Thankfully, there’s a silver lining to staying engaged, and Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk manages to reward the patient, and how. It distinguishes itself in its painstaking desire to reinvent a formulaic genre, and despite some of its flaws. And it succeeds for the most part, keeping players engrossed with an original and entertaining interface clothed in unfamiliar but comforting garb. Boasting of a beguiling storyline and true gameplay depth that never outstays its welcome, it’s an easy recommend for all and sundry.
Needless to say, Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk is best played on the PC, where it is graphically and aurally at its finest. Console-wise, the PS4 Pro comes close, running at a steady 60 frames per second and offering outstanding controls. That said, those angling for maximum portability would do well to pick up its Switch version; even undocked and with a busy screen, it suffers from no hiccups and provides no noticeable lags in feedback. In any case, it’s proof positive that, in this day and age of instant gratification, timeless gems driven by equal parts narrative and gameplay can command interest. Arguably the best DRPG on any platform to date, it’s well worth its list price of $49.99 and, most importantly, the 80 or so hours it takes to finish.

POSTSCRIPT:
Black Clover: Quartet Knights (PS4) — In early 2015, Hungry Joker creator Yuki Tabata launched Black Clover in Japan via Weekly Shonen Jump, a manga periodical that has male teens as its principal demographic. Focusing on orphans Asta and Yuno as they strive to survive and subsequently thrive in the magic-filled Clover Kingdom, the title has been met with extremely positive reception. Its success has led to the production of a one-off video and a television series, with the latter currently on its second season and likewise localized for English audiences.
Considering the richness of the narrative, the expansion of Black Clover’s reach comes as no surprise. It tells of Asta’s intent to become the Wizard King, the second most powerful figure in Clover Kingdom, despite his utter lack of magical powers. Needless to say, the dream is shared by Yuno, whose natural abilities include control of wind magic. Even as they join The Order of the Magic Knights in pursuit of their objective, they find themselves confronting The Eye of the Midnight Sun, a rival organization out to destroy the kingdom.
Creditably, Black Clover: Quartet Knights stays true to its source material. Developed by Ilinx of Gundam Breaker fame, it has Asta and Black Bull Squad captain Yami Sukehiro trying to stop the designs for revenge of noblewoman Karna Freese. The tale is filled with potential, hence the decision to release a manga based on it early this month. It’s at heart a magic fighting game, however, and so the Story, Training, and Challenge Modes serve mostly as a tutorial for players to learn and master the mechanics of where its real value lies.
Indeed, Black Clover: Quartet Knights is set up to be best appreciated as a medium for four-on-four online matches. And, in this regard, it’s designed to give plenty of bang for the buck. Familiar characters from the series possess unique strengths that can be used in support of team victories. Among the multiplayer offerings: Zone Control, which requires taking and keeping control of a specified area in the battle arena; Treasure Hunt, which has protagonists fighting for a key to be used to open a treasure chest; and Crystal Carry, which compels the transport of a spawned crystal to a final location.
In Black Clover: Quartet Knights, choice is critical to success. The right characters support the right strategy for the right team to meet the right objectives. Players can go for ranged magic, up-close combat, healing, or support, and the ideal mix varies depending on the mode at play. Meanwhile, coordination promises to be critical to victory. And, in this regard, the assumption is that of a thriving online community where matchmaking is a breeze.
Unfortunately, this is where Black Clover: Quartet Knights falters. Not enough players seem to be available online at any given time, thus forcing the game to populate the majority of teams with characters controlled by artificial intelligence. Invariably, the required adjustments, in theory conveyed through proper and timely communication, aren’t made, leading to less-than-desirable results. And, with the game already a month old, the problem is more likely to be exacerbated than solved.
The good news is that Black Clover: Quartet Knights proudly exhibits its visual roots. It boasts of a sharp, colorful art style consistent with that of its Weekly Shonen Jump sibling. Ditto with its sound and dialogue tracks, which feature the same vibrant rhythms and voice acting as those of the television series. Animated cutscenes are smoothly rendered, but backgrounds are often static and frame rates can drop depending on the severity of the action on screen.
Taken as a whole, Black Clover: Quartet Knights should please fans of the franchise. It’s a veritable godsend for followers of the manga and anime series, offering a plethora of cosmetic and attribute customization options for familiar characters. Parenthetically, it provides a solid foundation for its multiplayer offerings. On the flipside, it suffers from the lack of online practitioners. And because servers are sparsely populated, forming teams becomes an uneven exercise at best.
Which, in essence, places Black Clover: Quartet Knights in a Catch-22 situation. It has the potential to go beyond its niche, but needs critical mass first to do so — and vice versa. Hopefully, the next console release, which is a matter of when and not if, fares better.
6.5/10

Video Game Review

Labyrinth of Refrain: Coven of Dusk
PlayStation 4/Nintendo Switch/Microsoft Windows
THE GOOD:

• Classic NIS charm

• Compelling storyline

• Surprising depth

• Extremely accessible

THE BAD:

• Requires intense grinding

• Intimidating game design

• Slow pace

RATING: 9/10

Springtime for Hitler

��ý — Thu, 22 Nov 2018 16:02:36 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
To Be or Not to Be
Directed by Ernst Lubitsch
(Another in a series of tributes to the lamentable closing of Filmstruck, which not only shows rare films like Robert Bresson’s The Trial of Joan of Arc, but also Hollywood classics like this one — a comedy that if anything is still relevant today)
ERNST LUBITSCH’s To Be or Not to Be opened to mixed reviews and so-so box office. A picture that poked fun at Nazism and Adolf Hitler? At a time when fascism threatened to swallow the world (Pearl Harbor happened a few months before)?
Casablanca opened later that same year to better acclaim and box office; Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator opened two years earlier to good notices and business, despite being banned in parts of Europe and Latin America. This film encountered considerable resistance: Bosley Crowther in The New York Times harumphed: “To say it is callous and macabre is understating the case.”
Possibly the public (and critics’) mood was that mercurial: when Dictator came out the United States still hadn’t entered the war; Hitler was at best a looming threat in the world, wreaking havoc in faraway Europe. Casablanca never really had a problem: it had comic moments but the heroes were clearly heroic (despite a token neutrality), the Nazis hissably rotten.
To Be or Not to Be is a Lubitsch comedy, but for all the lightness Lubitsch has loaded his work with considerable meaning, from the title (originally Hamlet’s soliloquy mulling over the decision to commit suicide) to an early image of Hitler standing in the streets of Warsaw, being gawked at by surrounding Poles. Is it Hitler? Or an impersonator? Is he visiting or will he be visiting this city or not? To be or not to be?
Turns out Bronski (Tom Dugan) plays Hitler in a stage production called Gestapo — he’d been challenged as to the authenticity of his makeup and in response stepped out to measure the reaction of folks on the street. So far the reaction is everything he wished until a child (of course) steps up and asks for Mr. Bronski’s autograph.
Along with the theme of appearance vs. reality is that Lubitsch standby, the persistent need for people to be corrupt and concupiscent — Warsaw may be falling down around them and the Nazis marching down its streets but the actors of this particular theater company still feel the need to snipe, backbite, and steal scenes. Joseph Tura (Jack Benny) still has to pause as Hamlet before launching into the character’s most famous soliloquy, and he still has to dramatically pause as any bad actor would in the middle of the line (“To be — or not. To be.”). His wife Maria (Carole Lombard) still has to see that handsome young fighter pilot Lt. Sobinski (Robert Stack) who — in an underhanded comment on Joseph’s acting talents — stands up to leave for Maria’s dressing room just when Joseph utters his six opening words. People must act like people, even when the world they know is about to end; it’s an axiom to Lubitsch and by extension to us — a comfort almost.
It’s this axiom — this Lubitsch’s Law if you will — that ultimately whittles the Nazis down to size. The first time we see a member of the Gestapo he’s an actor, and if you aren’t paying attention it can be a while before you realize that something’s up. The second time is more impressive: Maria sits in a hotel room (naturally a Nazi has taken a liking to her) without permission to leave and there’s a knock on the door. She answers. An imposingly tall man asks to step inside, to wait for her dinner companion (who has been called out). Tall man doesn’t do anything, just stand there, quiet as a statue. Turns out the man is Capt. Schultz (Henry Victor), assistant to Gestapo commander Col. Ehrhardt (Sig Ruman), and while Schultz doesn’t drink and doesn’t smoke (much like his dry, smokeless Fuhrer) neither does he have much wit about him, or imagination, and Tura and his wily if wilful actors set about taking advantage of the fact.
The brave thespians first have to get past Professor Siletsky (Stanley Ridges), an anomaly in Lubitsch’s films — a smooth urbane man who does drink and smoke and yet isn’t very funny beyond a light drollery sprinkled on his banter. He isn’t stupid — stupid would have been funny. When he’s called away to meet Ehrhardt (it’s his hotel room Maria is sitting in and her husband he’s actually meeting), Joseph Tura has taken the task of fooling Siletsky and somehow wheedling a crucial list of names from the man’s grasp. The joke is ultimately on Tura, as he reacts with genuine outrage to Siletsky’s confirmation that Sobinski is seeing Maria — Tura’s own jealousy has tripped him up, and Siletsky immediately senses this, uses this to his advantage.
The rest of the Nazis aren’t as dicey; if anything it’s the apparent monolithic enormity of their presence that’s the real challenge — which is how the two major themes dovetail into each other. Bronski walks into the streets of Warsaw dressed to look like Hitler; was he a threat? Not really; a child could see through him. Nazis march into Warsaw, after a thorough bombing (and Lubitsch, in a series of images, shows us the sad shattered storefronts, their visibly Polish names splintered into syllables) and a lot of troops. They put on, as the actors irrepressibly point out, a bigger better show but (as the actors also point out) still a show, still mounted by performers, and, as Tura’s theater company continually demonstrates and as Lubitsch suggests in one film after another, performers are still corrupt concupiscent human beings. Something to keep in mind when dealing with the Trump administration (or on a smaller scale the Duterte administration) — to paraphrase a famous phrase Billy Wilder hung up in his office (“How did Lubitsch do it?”): Lubitsch did it. He confronted a vulgar, murderously ugly regime with sophistication and subtlety, thrilling us and making us laugh in the process.
How Lubitsch did it is harder to define — you rarely catch him “directing.” Scenes play out in medium shot, in continuous takes, to allow the actors to set their rhythm and create momentum. The deadpan realism helps sell deceptions — the impersonated Hitler is shown so matter-of-factly we’re forced to accept him as real — and when people walk on or off the set (much as in theatrical farce) we’re prodded to think they are who they say they are even when they’re not (and in one brilliant occasion when we know they’re not who they say they are — and so do the Nazis — turns out [at least for said Nazis] they are). The story is from Melchior Lengyel, the plot developed by Edward Justus Mayer with uncredited contribution by Lubitsch, but perhaps Lubitsch’ most significant contribution is in developing the script & allowing it to unfold in an appropriately spacious visual style, to be interpreted by his carefully guided company of actors playing actors.
It’s a great theater company, admittedly eccentric, and part of the suspense is in wondering (as with Joseph) if the actors will sabotage themselves before they manage to sabotage the enemy: Robert Stack’s handsomely dim Sobinski in the Ralph Bellamy role; Tom Dugan’s Adolf (impassive save for one hilarious moment near the end, … when Adolf’s mustachioed stoneface cracks out of horrified embarrassment); Felix Bressart’s gently humane, ultimately moving Greenberg; Lionel Atwill’s blowhard Rawich (“What you are I wouldn’t eat” “How dare you call me a ham!”). Benny himself extends his vainglorious funnier-than-he-thinks-he-is persona on the big screen, attempting to utter Shakespeare’s most famous line without interruption. On the other side, Ruman’s continually sputtering Col. Ehrhardt (“So they call me Concentration Camp Ehrhardt eh?”) demonstrates Nazi foibles while still winning our sympathy, and Victor’s Schultz as Ehrhardt’s towering adjutant functions beautifully as a broad cork dartboard.
Tura’s super secret weapon of course is his wife, who is, of course, the very embodiment of Lubitsch’s Law, corrupt concupiscence personified. In her last role as Maria (she would die in a plane crash only a month before the film’s opening), Carole Lombard serves as lovely point guard for the Polish resistance — delivering messages, posing as a potential Nazi recruit, schmoozing and seducing her way up the Gestapo (who can’t resist her) all the way to the very, very top, meanwhile soothing and supporting her rightly insecure husband with impassioned endearments (“Sweetheart, darling, I love you! Don’t you know that? Don’t you feel it?”) — she’s never been and never will be so heartstopping beautiful as when she’s being deceitful. At one point she confides to Siletsky: “I once played a spy. It was a great success!” Darling you’re a glorious success — wouldn’t mind being cuckolded if you would wrap your arms around me and breathed in my ear how wonderful I was.

A wonderful blast from the past

��ý — Thu, 22 Nov 2018 16:01:32 +0000

By Alexander O. Cuaycong
and Anthony L. Cuaycong
WHEN producer Souhei Niikawa and principal programmer Yoshitsuna Kobayashi set out to make Disgaea: Hour of Darkness from scratch, they had no idea that it would stand the test of time. True, they were determined to meet the objectives set forth by publisher Nippon Ishi Software; they aimed to come up with a role-playing game that both adhered to popular mechanics and pushed the envelope in terms of execution. Even as they succeeded in doing so, however, they could not have envisioned an outcome that exceeded their highest expectations.
Fast forward 15 years, and Disgaea has become a household name to those into turn-based strategy games. The series’ heady mix of cute and over-the-top action makes a lasting imprint, and exhibits a level of energy that no other in the genre has come close to mimicking. Little wonder, then, that the progenitor of the franchise remains well loved, standing the test of time and continually expanding its reach. Originally released on the PlayStation 2 in 2003, it found its way to the PlayStation Portable in 2007, the Nintendo DS on 2008, and the Personal Computer in 2016, each time presenting visual and aural enhancements while keeping the gameplay and story intact.
Disgaea 1 Complete is no different. As the latest iteration of the title that spawned a juggernaut franchise, it promises the nostalgia of the original alongside all subsequent tweaks and additional content. Players follow the story of the dastardly Laharl, son of the demon overlord Krichevskoy. Awakened from his two-year slumber by his loyal vassal Etna, he is shocked to find that his father has passed away, and that other demons who were once subjects of his father have now taken up arms and declared themselves the true rulers of the Netherworld. Vowing to reclaim the throne, he is compelled to team up with a wide cast of player-created and non-playable characters in order to defeat enemies that stand in his way. Among them is Flonne, an angel trainee bent on proving that even demons are capable of feeling love.
Sound serious and sinister? Nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, Disgaea 1 Complete is confidently lighthearted in tone, populated with quirky characters who never fail to inject humor in a narrative that presents supposedly hellish circumstances as anything but. And the whimsical treatment extends to the gameplay, which features stat lines that go way beyond the usual numbers in JRPG outings and manifest themselves in spectacular battle scenes replete with combos and special attacks.
Right off the bat, players won’t be hard-pressed to notice the colorful, cheerful tones of Disgaea 1 Complete. Its story, its animations, and its art exhibit an unrestrained energy and exuberance in its presentation, contributing to an aura of timelessness. Its overall look, while far from fancy, is rightly deemed an artistic choice rather than stemming from a programming limitation. Its seemingly simplistic spritework show a surprising amount of flair. And for all the evident blandness of the environments and backgrounds, it manages to convey a graphical elan that proves enticing even to a new generation of gamers.
Technically, Disgaea 1 Complete shines on both the PlayStation 4 and the Switch. It’s gorgeous eye candy in native resolution, putting enhanced sprites front and center with nary any frame drops on Sony’s machine and, impressively, even on Nintendo’s portable console. The vibrant soundtrack provides a perfect complement, feasting the ears with a score made even better by improvements in fidelity.
Significantly, visuals and sounds aren’t the only things that hold up for Disgaea 1 Complete. The game design still manages to entertain, in large measure because of its solid mechanics. At its heart, it’s a tactical Japanese RPG, emphasizing both the importance of proper strategizing and stat stuffing. Progress is turn-based, with players maneuvering their units around a battlefield and then defeating their opponents through the use of different attacks and skills. Some inherently do more damage, others drain life or inflict status effects, and still others shift character positions in battle.
Couple the variety of choices with the presence of Geo Panels, which emphasize tile manipulation and give players rewards based on the number of actions taken in sequence and combination, and Disgaea 1 Complete cannot but be considered deep and engaging. As with other releases in the franchise, it necessitates grinding, albeit in juxtaposition with proper strategy. In any case, it boasts of a lengthy story mode backstopped by all previously released content, including those hitherto available on the PSP and DS.
In sum, Disgaea 1 Complete is a wonderful blast from the past, with as many hours in store for those new to the series as for those who love it enough to play it anew. It may not be the best to carry the title, but it serves as a wonderful reminder of the series’ rich history and progress. Whether on the PS4 or the Switch, it shines as an outstanding remaster that proves its enduring appeal.
POSTSCRIPT:
Naruto to Boruto: Shinobi Striker (PS4) — Considering that Naruto Shippuden: Ultimate Ninja Storm 4 has managed to sell north of three millions physical and digital copies to date, the release of a follow up title comes as no surprise. Even as the intent is to keep the gravy train going, however, Bandai Namco Entertainment evidently believes it can do so by taking a road the Naruto franchise hasn’t previously traversed. Instead of dipping into the same well by making a game with similar mechanics, it commissioned the development of one thoroughly made up of action real-time strategy elements.
Why Bandai Namco Entertainment chose to green light a dramatic shift in tone is subject to conjecture. Perhaps it didn’t want Naruto to Boruto: Shinobi Striker to cannibalize continuing sales of Naruto Shippuden: Ultimate Ninja Storm 4. Perhaps it thought to see if it could create a spin-off for one more profit center. In any case, it wisely chose to distinguish the already existing from the new by marketing the latter as a Boruto title. It even emphasized the distinction by tapping little-known Soleil as the developer.
Creditably, the finished product proves competent in what it delivers. In a nutshell, Naruto to Boruto: Shinobi Striker is a multiplayer online battle arena stalwart, getting players to employ characters as part of a team of four taking on any and all comers in a world tournament. There isn’t much by way of a narrative; as with all MOBA offerings, the meat is in the fighting, whether in straight-up encounters, in capture-the-flag scenarios, or in base battles.
Parenthetically, characters can be created or chosen from among a lineup of 20 familiar protagonists from the Naruto franchise. Starting from scratch is the ideal option; everything from appearances to attributes can be customized. Players can make their ninjas look as they please and wear what they want, and, most importantly, fight according to their preferences. The choice of specific skill sets yields four distinct orientations, although a team doesn’t necessarily have to be composed of one character each from the attack, defense, ranged, and heal types.
If anything, victory in Naruto to Boruto: Shinobi Striker emanates from a willingness to experiment with style collaborations, and to do so on the fly. Meanwhile, the number of techniques at hand depends on abilities and experience, with characters able to add to it after level-ups and through focused training and assistance from masters they meet within the game. The key, of course, is to amass enough energy to unleash special and ultimate ninjutsus for maximum effect.
As a corollary, the emphasis on honing skills isn’t for fluff. Proficiency in the execution of basic and advanced attack and defensive maneuvers is required in multiplayer combat. With online matchmaking unable to group characters with others from similar levels, battles become exercises in frustration for those in the lower of 25 possible rungs. Thusly, continuous improvement away from tournament participation is crucial to progression.
Given the demands of Naruto to Boruto: Shinobi Striker’s frenetic action, its no small feat to find the visuals rendered at 60 frames per second. The cel-shaded graphics and voice and music tracks pay homage to their source material, no doubt a plus for fans of the franchise. And while waiting times between online matches can vary, the actual battles proceed with relative smoothness.
In sum, Naruto to Boruto: Shinobi Striker is a competent offering that expands the franchise’s reach. With Bandai Namco Entertainment aiming to periodically put out more content for the title, it has planted its feet in MOBA territory with every intent to stay. And as Boruto’s presence in the source material becomes more pronounced, so does the promise of videogame licenses in his name. (7.5/10)

Islands of memory and imagining

��ý — Thu, 15 Nov 2018 16:02:36 +0000

By Tina Cuyugan
Book Review
Playing with Water: Passion and Solitude On a Philippine Island
Written by James Hamilton-Paterson
Ateneo de Manila University Press
The author of this review also wrote the introduction to the 30^th anniversary reprint of Playing With Water: Passion and Solitude On a Philippine Island (ADMU Press, 2018).
IN THE bleak winter of 1989, as a graduate student living in a windswept campus on the edge of the Scottish highlands, I found in a tiny bookstore a copy of James Hamilton-Paterson’s Playing With Water, which at that time had the subtitle Alone On a Philippine Island. Just another one of those vacation travel books, I thought. But at least it’s about home. I started reading it that evening, and finished the book in the gray light of dawn, close to tears — and grateful at having been gifted with such a wonderful and unsettling read.
For one thing, it’s a gorgeous exploration of life on the edge, physically and metaphorically: At first in a tiny coastal village in a province far from Manila; and later on a nearby island where Hamilton-Paterson was the sole inhabitant, and whose teeming reefs he often explored alone at night, through a home-made antipara (spectacles).
“To take a torch down among the reefs at night is to experience still other things which suggest an ancient broodingness, a fragmented hegemony from whose visible signs you cannot construct a whole,” he writes. “Even if that were not so you would be chilled by the sound filling your ears. It is that of a million creatures being fiercely alive.”
In the dark, one easily loses one’s bearings, and unexpected currents can very easily pull one down into the fathomless depths of the sea, and of memory. A walk in the rain forest, surrounded by the cries of tree frogs and tuko (gekos), jolts Hamilton-Paterson into recalling his schooldays in post-WWII England, and his troubled relationship with his father, just as the blast of a dynamite fishing bomb sets off a chain of memories involving a Mozart sonata for four hands and the end of Empire.
It’s not all reverie, though; with his friends Arman and Intoy, he goes spearfishing — as an itinerant journalist on hiatus Hamilton-Paterson lives almost entirely off his catch — and revels in the doing of things, described in exacting detail: making bahay kubo (a bamboo house), drying fish, repairing spearguns, and assembling labintador (firecrackers).
And hunting: “I turn and am confronted with the large silver platter of a mabilog, a round fish of the pompano family which tries too late to shy away from the light. It has already turned when my spear takes it from behind through one open gill and going clean out through its mouth. It is too big to thread alive onto the catch-line, its struggles would be a great hindrance, so I kill it by putting a finger and thumb up under its gill-covers and pinching its heart shut. This is a good quick method but it is unfortunately only practicable for certain species.”
He also writes tenderly and achingly of the people of Kansulay. “We all know who died, who lost a boat, whose children never went to school. We all know the slow attrition caused by endless petty economies: the wounds left unplastered, the jeep fares saved by two hours’ hike to town, the nights made interminable by keeping lamp oil for an emergency.”
Occasionally, Hamilton-Paterson ventures out into the wider world. And it turns out that the book, written three decades ago, is not just an island meditation but a hyper-real snapshot as well of the last days of the Marcos regime, its troubled aftermath, and the seedy-bizarre world of the national capital.
Those of us who lived in Manila through the 1980s would likely agree with him that a plunge into the polluted Pasig river then — a scant distance from Malacañang — “would surely be to die instantly.” These days, the Pasig recovery project has been winning international recognition, but the political and economic fallout from those dark times still casts a shadow; and it would be interesting to hear from Hamilton-Paterson today how things have changed — and how in other respects they’ve remained sadly and disconcertingly the same.
For many years, he divided his time between Italy and the Philippines, producing the fictional Ghosts of Manila (1994) and a biography of the Marcoses, America’s Boy (1998) — as well as a dazzling succession of novels, essays and books on the sea, British aviation and music, among other subjects.
But Playing With Water — by turns lyrical, melancholic, coolly compassionate and sharply observant — is arguably the book by Hamilton-Paterson which deserves most to be read and remembered by Filipinos.

The reprint of Playing With Water, which was launched on Nov. 15, is available at the ADMU Press Bookstore, Popular Bookstore, and Solidaridad, and can be ordered online from Ateneo and Shopee.

Time has not been kind

��ý — Thu, 15 Nov 2018 16:01:39 +0000

By Alexander O. Cuaycong and Anthony L. Cuaycong
LONGTIME gamers remember Shenmue fondly for what it tried to achieve. The open-world adventure brawler was revolutionary in its ideas, trying its hardest to blend an engaging narrative, extensive exploration sprinkled with minigames of various types, quick time events, and combat sequences. Released back in 1999 as a Sega Dreamcast exclusive, it met with extremely positive praise, but somehow failed to parlay its critical acclaim into commercial appeal.
Still, Sega AM2 believed in its potential, and sought to push the envelope anew with Shenmue II. The sequel was released on Sega’s console in 2001 and on the Microsoft Xbox a year later, but, the continued support notwithstanding, suffered the same fate as its predecessor. With the Midas touch of director and producer Yu Suzuki — evident in hit after hit across several platforms — tested and found wanting, the series was thereafter seen to be confined to the dustbins of video game history.
Until recently, that is. Despite failed attempts at having spin-offs Shenmue Online and Shenmue City gain traction, Suzuki kept his dream alive. Licensing the title from Sega, he launched in 2015 a Kickstarter campaign for Shenmue III that proved to be massively successful. It took just a third of a day for it to meet its crowdfunding target, and then a little over a month to become what was then the best-backed video game project in the public-benefit company’s history.
Banking on the cult following of the series and projected success of Shenmue III, Sega went about updating Shenmue I and II and releasing their remastered versions late last month. Featuring retouched graphics, better audio quality, and a more player-friendly interface, the ports for the PS4, Xbox One, and personal computer highlight the videogame giant’s moves to bring the franchise to more modern audiences.

Shenmue follows the story of teenager Ryo Hazuki, who sees his father slain firsthand by the mysterious martial artist Lan Di. Swearing to find the perpetrator and avenge his father’s death, he embarks on an investigation that has him exploring Yokosuka in search for clues. Shenmue II starts where the first ends, with him in Hong Kong on the trail of his father’s killer and preparing for what he deems to be an inevitable confrontation.
Admittedly, the storyline of Shenmue and Shenmue II isn’t unique; revenge-fueled games featuring the principal protagonist spurred to action by the demise of a loved one are a dime a dozen. That said, there’s something honest in how the series presents itself and its characters; it makes up for the inability of its narrative to break new ground with its own distinct polish. At the time of its release just before the turn of the millennium, never before had a title try as hard as it did to immerse players in its setting.
In this regard, Shenmue I and II are hardly typical examples of an adrenaline-filled title that breezes through its story. They dare to be much more, and actually succeed in their objective. The game play requires a delicate balance between Ryo’s investigation and the passage of time. Non-playable characters who might have valuable information tend to be available only in given places and instances, thus highlighting the importance of time management.
In Shenmue I and II, progression entails figuring out exactly when and where certain people will be, and then coming up with a schedule that works. It sounds — and actually is — tedious, but it‘s likewise refreshing to have to figure out how to best use idle moments. Waiting for an NPC next to an arcade? Play a game of Space Harrier. Have excess money? Collect in-game gachapons and display them on your cabinet. Need to kill time? Train and practice for combat in the parking lot. There are any and all manner of minigames and distractions on hand.
After a while, though, the biggest draw of Shenmue I and II becomes their most difficult hurdle as well. Once the novelty of making idle time productive wears off, the process becomes a source of frustration. There is no skip feature. There can be no accelerating the clock, thus compelling players to wait for the next important plotpoint to occur, for the next QTE to be triggered, or the next helpful NPC to arrive. Granted, there are myriad things to do. On the other hand, most of them don’t feel like they’re crucial to the narrative moving forward. Ryo can gamble, or arm wrestle, or even operate a forklift — but the disconnect remains.
Players do still make choices in Shenmue I and II, to be sure, and the downtime does help flesh out Ryo’s personality. Then again, the gaps between relevant story sections become noticeable over time, and all of them are punctuated not by grinding but by tedium. Parenthetically, it doesn’t help that the “improved controls” their current-generation versions are supposed to parade are still on the clunky side.
In sum, Shenmue I and II boast of an interesting story, but the way it’s told exposes them as products of their time. Countless games have been released since their inception, and while not all possess as much courage in aiming to be different, many are more technically polished, boasting of more content and less downtime in between. They may have been progenitors of the open-world exploration genre, but time has not been kind to them; even at their remastered state, they’re rudimentary at best when compared to new releases.
Nonetheless, gamers would benefit from trying Shenmue I and II out. Given the faithfulness of their high-definition selves to the original, going through them at least once becomes a productive lesson in history. Even absent any luster, they have their charms, and their legacy deserves to live on.

POSTSCRIPT:
Nobunaga’s Ambition: Taishi (PS4) — New to the Nobunaga’s Ambition series is the importance of a certain lord’s “Resolve,” which reflects his personality and mind-set. Comprehending this and crafting strategy accordingly are keys to progressing in the game. Whereas one daimyo may favor army building, another may lean towards intensifying trade relations. Whereas one may want to strengthen diplomatic ties, another may have protectionist predilections. To maximize buff effects and subsequently move forward, players will want to act on the basis of their chosen clan’s strengths and weaknesses.
Admittedly, Nobunaga’s Ambition: Taishi has its flaws. While parts of it have improved compared to Sphere of Influence-Ascension, a handful of design choices do limit it from being as good as it should be. For example, battles feature a morale bar, but the removal of tactics outside of initial planning effectively negates its purpose. Meanwhile, building provinces appear sound in theory, but harder to do in practice. Also absent is combat along territorial waters.
On the whole, Nobunaga’s Ambition: Taishi comes off as a subtle reimagining of the series, sacrificing some depth in favor of greater accessibility. For those new to the franchise, it serves as a good introduction. Longtime followers, however, may be left wanting and wondering why it didn’t just add to Sphere of Influence-Ascension. It’s still one of the best historical simulation games in the market, but, depending on perspective, it’s either a glass on its way to being full or a glass on its way to being empty. (7.5/10)

Crayola Scoot (Nintendo Switch) — The game boasts of impeccable, crisp colors to complement the highly detailed, bright graphics of the arenas, and rightly so. After all, it cannot be “Crayola” without the wonderful hues and shades. And what the game lacks in appealing characters, it more than makes up in fluidity of action. Jumps, spins, and turns all seem effortless and seamless — that is, until one falls over in a faulty move and lands like a broken marionette.
The gameplay of Crayola Scoot proceeds without lags or slowdowns on the Switch, and scene changes shift in unbroken sequences, a definite plus in further highlighting movement and color in the game. Then, too, it benefits from a more than modest soundtrack — upbeat, quirky, and high on the LSS factor. Gamewise, the learning curve gets steeper with the more difficult stages as tricks require several combinations of buttons and Joy-Con stick movements to perform.
It must be said that, at first glance, similarities to other games are evident. Crayola Scoot calls to mind some well-known titles, among them Nintendo’s Splatoon, THQ Nordic’s De Blob, Sega’s Jet Set Radio, and Activision’s Tony Hawk Pro Skater. By combining creativity (coloring, painting) with action (skating, racing, scootering), it gathers inspirations from the elements of these games to create a new take on an otherwise well-represented genre, delivering entertainment for children and adults alike. (7/10)

Video Game Review

Shenmue I and II
PlayStation 4
THE GOOD

• Extremely faithful remasters of the original releases

• Immersive and interesting, with novel concepts scattered throughout

• Wide variety of minigames

THE BAD

• Too much downtime between story segments

• Slow paced and tedious at times

• Clunky controls that show their age

RATING: 7/10

Joan unornamented

��ý — Thu, 08 Nov 2018 16:02:39 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
The Trial of Joan of Arc
(Proces de Jeanne d’Arc)
Directed by Robert Bresson
(Robert Bresson’s film is available for streaming on the soon-to-be-lamented USA-only Filmstruck, which will shut down by Nov. 29. It is still available though less readily on Amazon and should ideally be available on a streaming service accessible everywhere including the Philippines.)
THE first film to come to mind watching this stony ground of a picture is Carl Th. Dreyer’s silent film, a wondrous series of gigantic closeups shuffled through at speed, arguably one of the most revered and the best-known version of the story.
Robert Bresson’s response? “Grotesque buffooneries.”
Call The Trial of Joan of Arc (Proces de Jeanne d’Arc) Bresson’s more measured response. Where Dreyer was profligate in his production — he had an elaborate castle set built complete with large courtyard and torture chamber then largely ignored it, to close in on the faces — Bresson films cobblestones, heavy wooden doors, a crack in a cell wall through which light gleams, suddenly interrupted (someone steps up close to peer at Joan). Not quite true that Bresson avoids closeups but his is an oblique style: instead of Joan’s face (or — as with Dreyer — focusing almost exclusively on Joan’s face) he looks at Joan’s feet padding across the floor or her hands being cuffed with thick manacles (did they think a 19-year-old girl — embodied by the slim Florence Delay — would overpower her guards and escape?). And it isn’t true that his Joan is almost totally emotionless — early in the film, after her ankles are shackled to a massive beam, she takes a brief moment to cover her eyes and sob through gritted teeth.
Bresson like Dreyer draws upon the trial transcripts, but unlike Dreyer doesn’t prune his dialogue to focus on her visions and on her wearing men’s clothes — Joan here talks openly of a Fairy’s Tree and mandrake roots, and of her military adventures. Looking at Delay’s face you can imagine — despite the slightness of her figure — that she’s capable of wearing armor and commanding men.
The difference between Delay’s face and Falconetti’s in Dreyer’s film says nearly everything about the difference between the directors’ approach; that the girls wear a similar haircut only emphasizes the difference. Falconetti is all eyes, her oval face and plump cheeks softening the stark staring near-madness found in them (you can picture her staring straight into the sun overhead, the harsh rays burning away her retinas). Delay’s eyes are downcast almost as often as they are level, the impression given not so much of a girl demure as of a girl sullen. A rebellious daughter dragged before her stern father, if you like, forced to account for her disobedient actions.
The image of a girl defiant before male authority does resonate. The trial turns into a verbal struggle, with the panel hurling one accusation after another and Joan replying “Beware of judging me” and “I won’t accept your judgment.” Occasionally Joan steals sidelong glances at a nearby priest who seems to be giving her nonverbal prompts — Who is he? Why is he helping her? The judges notice but don’t censure the priest, or remove him from the trial — Why? Bresson doesn’t elaborate.
Bresson’s style has always been spare but this time you have to wonder if he has pushed spareness too far. He’s done adaptations of novels and memoirs — Georges Bernanos, Tolstoy, and (indirectly) Dostoevsky. Bernanos’ material proved particularly fertile — Diary of a Country Priest is a personal favorite. When he’s writing original material he’s arguably even more creative — his transposition of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment is, I think, audaciously brilliant, reducing the Russian author’s murderer to a mere pickpocket, yet still managing to wring the full measure of drama (and a startling eroticism) out of the felon’s story.
But the transcript of a trial conducted 600 years ago? Without descriptive prose (We have no idea what the Maid of Orleans looks like) or attempt at characterization, just what was spoken and written down? Bresson brings us just the words, unadorned, in his elliptical visual style, and, yes, it does work — eventually you tune in to the film’s verbal sparring, get some sense of the legal and theological intricacies involved, involve yourself in the drama of this 19-year-old arguing for her life before a panel of vindictive old men.
The film is perhaps not the most poignant Bresson has made up to then or since but is perhaps not meant to be. A distant echo from the past, an audio recording if you like from a surveillance microphone taped under the bishops’ table and smuggled to present day — the roughness of it, the crude imagery precisely wrought, that’s what gives this film a special poignancy.
Once Joan’s fate is sealed and she’s led to the stake, Bresson allows himself a smidgen of allusive poetry: Joan’s feet follow as the camera glides down the cobbled street, unaccountably shuffling (Is she limping? Is she perhaps acting goofy?); a leg sticks out in an attempt to trip her but she stumbles past the cruel jab. A dog lopes to the camera (a foreshadowing of Bresson’s donkey?). A pair of doves, no, the shadow of a pair of doves, flaps onto a canvas roof — presumably the one over the bishops’ heads as they watch the girl burn — flutters off again. Arguably the most austere work of an austere filmmaker, and whether you like it or not depends on whether you like the filmmaker and his style (I do) and if you like his style pushed as far as it can go.

A much-needed update

��ý — Thu, 08 Nov 2018 16:01:37 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
CONSIDERING that Metal Max Xeno is just the second in the series to be released in the West after Metal Saga on the PlayStation 2, it’s hard to believe that 27 years have passed since the original Metal Max made its way to the Nintendo Family Computer. And how the title evolved from concept to fruition is a story in and of itself. Following the dismal sales of Metal Max 4: Gekko No Diva (3DS, 2013) and of the mixed reception to Metal Max: Fireworks (smartphone, 2015), publisher Kadokawa Games saw fit to swing the pendulum back to consoles and green-lit the latest iteration for the PS4.
Understandably, Metal Max Xeno represents a departure in its treatment of franchise tropes. Even as it acknowledged its roots in tackling familiar themes, the manner in which it does so distinguishes it from its older siblings. In this regard, Kadokawa Games’ intent is evident; it aims to breathe new life in a title that seemed to have reached a plateau. It’s still a turn-based role-playing game focused on vehicle combat in a post-apocalyptic milieu, but its story makes sure to highlight its open-world setting.
Metal Max Xeno begins with mankind at “True Century’s End,” on the brink of extinction and under threat from Sons of NOA, monsters created by the otherwise-defeated supercomputer NOA intent on completing its goal to eradicate any and all vestiges of humanity. After surviving a large-scale attack, a small band of holdouts in the Iron Base, the last remaining settlement in Dystokio, aim to fight back. At the forefront of the rebellion is Talis, a young wanderer with an artificial left arm bent on seeking revenge for the death of his mother, adopted father, and friends.
In Metal Max Xeno, players take control of Talis and do battle against the SoNs through the use of eminently customizable tanks. There’s a learning curve to mastering the combat mechanics, which involve the development of character skills and remodeling of equipment en route to triumph. As with other titles in the series, movement is turn-based, with the open-world map offering opportunities for buffs and levelups. Dungeons abound, and while entry is not required, the degree to which grinding helps in defeating bosses makes their exploration integral to progress.
Parenthetically, tanks can be enhanced through the acquisition of weapons found in areas of the map and the proper assembly at the Iron Base of parts of defeated enemies. Meanwhile, encounters on foot can result in the discovery of useful items and information providing technological upgrades to the Iron Base and, by extension, raising the rebels’ level of preparedness for combat. That said, battles are relatively short, thus placing a premium on intrinsic strength as opposed to strategy building.
Needless to say, SoNs are extremely difficult to overcome even with Talis driving the powerful Red Rev. Thankfully, Metal Max Xeno employs a forgiving system in which in-game death simply means starting over at the Iron Base. Because there is no cost to failure, however, the risk-reward interplay becomes imbalanced, and advancement is a matter of when, not if. It certainly doesn’t help that the locations of the dungeons and items, not to mention the frequency with which monsters spawn, are randomized. Thusly, repetition winds up being as much an end as a means.
Compared to previous series releases, Metal Max Xeno boasts of audio-visual flair. Its graphics are polished, well-rendered, and appropriate for its hope-amid-the-end-of-days narrative. Meanwhile, its anime-style music, spot-on ambient sounds, and Japanese voice tracks serve as perfect complements. Concomitantly, players won’t find it hard to immerse themselves in their exploration of Dystokio as they look for survivors and aim to be rid of any and all obstacles standing in their way.
In the final analysis, Metal Max Xeno is a worthy addition to the franchise, representing a much-needed update of both aesthetics and gameplay and signifying better things to come.
POSTSCRIPT:
The Crew 2 (PS4): Visually and aurally, it’s a marked improvement over its predecessor. Representations of known landmarks are believable if not spot on, aided in no small measure by the outstanding level of detail that remarkably requires little to no discernible load times. The soundtrack is catchy, and auditory effects are well timed and properly modulated. The script and voice acting could have been better; occasionally, the dialogue seems stilted and inappropriately produced. Still, there’s nothing in the cutscenes that qualifies as a dealbreaker.
Gameplay wise, The Crew 2 tries to pull out all the stops, but doesn’t always meet lofty objectives. Players aim to increase the main character’s “following,” the de facto mode of currency that defines progression, through the completion of a gamut of tests, skills challenges, and triggering events that literally need to be photographed for posterity. Meanwhile, the driving dynamics take a little getting used to, and not simply because of the number of choices on tap. Oddly enough, collision detection continues to be iffy, and rubber-band AI opponents abound.
Nonetheless, The Crew 2 promises to amp up the fun factor for hours on end. Perhaps it can be deemed a jack of all trades and master of none, but it does have plenty for everybody. And, best of all, its open world figures to keep on growing with content updates that Ubisoft aims to periodically roll out for free. Featuring an enhanced online experience and continuing support, it counts itself among the best massive multiplayer hybrid arcade-sim racing franchises featured on the PS4. (7.5/10)
Super Robot Wars X: its core design is solid, but it does have some flaws. The story is forgettable, and is little more than an excuse to pair all the robots up under one banner. Its presentation is amazing, but it does get repetitive after a while to see the same attacks happen over and over. The sprites look good, but the backdrops and backgrounds seem fairly generic by comparison. Most tellingly, it suffers from mecha imbalance, which becomes more evident in higher levels of difficulty. The challenge spikes can turn players off if they’re unprepared or inexperienced.
Still, Super Robot Wars X is a must-buy for fans of the tactical genre. And while it does possess the potential to shock the unprepared and uninitiated, it rewards patient gamers with an experience they’ll remember and lean on whenever another title from the series is in the offing. (8/10)

Aiming to please

��ý — Thu, 25 Oct 2018 16:01:49 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
AT THE TURN of the millennium, SNK Corp. came out with the two-dimensional SNK Gals’ Fighters on the Neo Geo Pocket Color. Designed to be the female version of the hugely successful The King of Fighters series, it was released near the end of the handheld’s life cycle. Needless to say, it was an attempt to boost flagging sales; it tried to widen the user base by making 10 distaff characters from popular licenses its protagonists under proven gameplay mechanics.
Even as SNK Gals’ Fighters ultimately failed to help prop up the Neo Geo Pocket Color, SNK evidently thought it had a potential hit in its hands. Under a different set of circumstances and with a few tweaks here and there, it figured to meet the same goals. Which, in a nutshell, was how the idea of a revival germinated nearly two decades after the title’s initial availability on store shelves. When the mere possibility actually got the green light is subject to speculation. What isn’t: The studio’s decision to follow up last year’s The King of Fighters XIV with SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy.
Made commercially available last month, the spiritual successor to SNK Gals’ Fighters bears a striking resemblance to the latest iteration of the gaming company’s most accomplished franchise. Indeed, SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy boasts of the same look and feel as The King of Fighters XIV, featuring the rendition of three-dimensional models over a two-dimensional plane and the employment of frenetic music tracks that further inject a sense of urgency to the proceedings.
Where SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy departs from its older sibling is, as its name indicates, in its all-female roster of fighters operating under a tag-team setup. Twelve — from such notable series as The King of Fighters, Samurai Showdown, Fatal Fury, and Art of Fighting — are available at the outset, with downloadable content promising to expand the list. (The latest additions: Thief Arthur and Skullo Mania.) And instead of offering the usual mano-a-mano matches, the game goes the two-versus-two route, but with only one character in the theater of battle at any given time. Players can choose any two characters at hand, send out a particular one to start, and then call for substitutions on an infinite number of instances. Protagonists on one side share a health bar, but possess a separate special-attack meter that fills up faster at rest, and that, once fully charged, sets up the Dream Finishes required for victory.
Corollary to the intent of SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy to interest the masses, controls have been simplified. Those steeped in fighting games may be disappointed with the lack of complexity of button combinations for spectacular moves, but newcomers will, no doubt, appreciate the absence of a learning curve. There are just four attack buttons, including one for throws. Moreover, crouching has been eliminated altogether, thereby streamlining combat for less experienced players.
Parenthetically, the relative ease with which SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy can be negotiated dovetails with its lighthearted treatment of the proceedings. The Story Mode, which fleshes out the chosen characters through a series of animated cutscenes interspersed with seven fights, displays humorous touches with no small measure of fan service. The costume customization options, which provide players with opportunities to have protagonists compete in various getups — or, as the case may be, stages of undress — lean on the side of comedy, with literally dozens of accessories on tap. Even the items that pop up on the field of combat from time to time for use against opponents convey some measure of silliness.

In a nutshell, SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy represents SNK’s deliberate effort to court a more extensive consumer base, as highlighted by its status as the company’s first release on the Switch — and on a Nintendo platform in a long, long while. It’s a feast for the senses even when played on the go, and its interface has been programmed to cater to casual gamers, eliminating the need for them to purchase an arcade stick to stay competitive, whether against artificial intelligence on Story and Survival Modes or versus other players collocated or online.
Meanwhile, the characters’ narratives are compelling, and their thoughtful presentation speaks of the effort that went into their development. They lay claim to unique backstories, wardrobes, and special moves, in the process providing significant replay value. True, SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy isn’t the ultra-deep fighting game that spawns tournaments akin to the Evolution Championship Series. Then again, it isn’t meant to be. Broken down to brass tacks, it aims to please. And, in this regard, it delivers.
POSTSCRIPT:
Conan Exiles (PS4): Compared to other sandbox/survival titles like Subnautica, Minecraft, and Rust, it doesn’t look as artistic or as stylized. Nonetheless, its gameplay remains strangely compelling, propped up by the way it presents its harsh, arid climates. Despite all its flaws, it’s able to stand against its competitors well enough to warrant a purchase. It’s neither the best looking nor the most satisfying in its genre, but it’s inviting all the same. Fans of dark and gritty settings will find it right up their alley. (7/10)
Super Bomberman R (PS4): It’s an easy recommend for players on the lookout for party games. It’s perfect for a whole afternoon of unwinding with friends engaging in battles of oneupmanship, laced with loads of taunting for good measure. And longtime fans of the franchise will be happy to note that it’s the best and the brightest of the Bomberman brethren yet. At $39.99 for all its bells and whistles (and, signifying the PS4 stamp of approval, Ratchet and Clank on the roster), it’s a worthy addition to the library of Sony stalwarts and casual gamers alike. (8/10)

Video Game Review

SNK Heroines: Tag Team Frenzy
PlayStation 4/Nintendo Switch
THE GOOD:

• Lighthearted fare designed to please a wide swath of gamers

• Characters fleshed out through fully animated cutscenes

• Simple controls and easy-to-follow gameplay mechanics

• No learning curve

• Delivers fun in spades

THE BAD:

• Lacks the depth of gold-standard fighting games

• Short Story Modes

• Lack of complex combinations promotes button mashing

• Sometimes too silly for comfort

RATING: 8.5/10

The undisputed king

��ý — Thu, 18 Oct 2018 16:01:55 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
LET’S FACE IT. The NBA 2K franchise is a venerable one built on both the intrinsic pull of its source material and the collective talent of its developers. Never has the National Basketball Association (NBA) been more popular, and its already immense global reach — propped up by outstanding leadership and instantly recognizable marquee names — continues to grow by the day. Meanwhile, Visual Concepts has turned the otherwise-vicarious experience of appreciating matches at the sport’s highest level into an extremely impressive undertaking.
Needless to say, exceedingly high expectations borne of previous successes have accompanied the release of NBA 2K19. Even as sports titles are an acquired taste, the series has continually managed to draw in a wide swath of the gaming public, including multi-discipline sports buffs who normally gravitate toward real-life preferences, and casual button mashers out for adrenaline-pumping action devoid of violence. Its immediate past iteration sold north of 10 million copies, and it expects to generate at least as much business this time around.
Which, in a nutshell, is why the NBA 2K series has engendered extreme loyalty over the last two decades and, along with the likes of Borderlands, Civilization, and WWE 2K, counts among Take-Two Interactive’s flagship franchises. Despite the high number of main releases in its lifetime, it has managed to continually churn out bigger and better offspring. And for NBA 2K19, the improvements are evident from the get-go, its gorgeous looks manifesting in everything from the courts to the players’ faces to the action itself.
Needless to say, NBA 2K19 benefits from the latest advances in technology to meet its overriding objective of approximating real life. Painstaking care has been taken to make gamers feel truly part of the proceedings. Cutscenes and animated sequences flow naturally and, save for the stilted dialogue on occasion, manage to set up the action well. Meanwhile, the Face Scan feature is much improved vis-a-vis its predecessor’s, allowing it to transcend its arm’s-length leanings and boast of as firsthand an offering as possible.
For gamers who want the best version of NBA 2K19, the PlayStation 4’s is the way to go. It’s stunning graphically and aurally, and the DualShock 4 trumps other controllers in terms of executing complex players’ moves. And while it provides neither the on-the-go option of the Switch nor the native 4K resolution of the Xbox One X, it nonetheless comes out ahead because of its humongous ownership base. Unlike the competition’s ecosystems, Sony’s is extremely populated, making interaction with others online a breeze; Microsoft’s looks grand, but isn’t as dense, while Nintendo’s is especially barren, thus negating any advantages of undocked gameplay.
In terms of the on-court action, NBA 2K18 plays smoothly and runs fairly well. As with previous incarnations, it displays a natural smoothness to the animations, and in-game players control and handle naturally, even for series neophytes. The programmers’ painstaking level of care and attention is evident in the visceral feast. As with previous iterations, graphical bugs occasionally manifest themselves, and the feedback can be jarring at first; over time, though, they can be welcome injections of levity in the midst of intense battles.
Quick games aside, NBA 2K19 will invariably be getting the most mileage through its MyCareer mode. Providing a Create-And-Control-Your-Own-Character system, MyCareer is basically the game’s story track, entitled “The Way Back” and delivered with elements more commonly found in role-playing games. And, in this regard, it takes pains to deliver an enveloping experience. It begins with character creation, wherein gamers can craft their player to their liking and, yes, even to their likeness through the use of a smartphone app. They are then thrust into the Prelude, which serves to inform them of their player’s plight; not good enough to be drafted in the NBA, he gets to hoop in China and then advance to the G-League before he meets his objective and makes it to the bigs.
Make no mistake. The process isn’t as simple as it sounds. En route to unwrapping the narrative, the player will have to choose teams, negotiate contracts, prove his worth on the court, and hone his skills and develop new ones required for him to progress. Parenthetically, MyCareer grants access to “The Neighborhood,” an online hub that has him roaming around and doing whatever he pleases in semi-open-world fashion. In short, it’s the mode that gives players the best bang for their buck.
On the flip side, MyCareer is likewise where gamers are encouraged to part with real bucks. How good their respective players can become is determined by upgrades as acquired through Virtual Currency (VC) either toiled for or bought outright. The good news is that NBA 2K19 has made these easier to be earned. Notably, its immediate past predecessor all but compelled real-life spending in order to bypass the intense grinding otherwise required for character improvements. The bad news is that progression via in-game work remains tedious and time-consuming, what with myriad individual skills needing to be improved and higher-level upgrades becoming more expensive. Simply put, the appeal of microtransactions continues to be underscored by evident pay-to-win features.
That said, NBA 2K19 delivers in spades. MyGM and MyLeague, its management-sim components, are deep and engrossing. Meanwhile, competition is enhanced by subtle and significant changes that serve not just to satisfy, but to delight; among the more pronounced is the introduction of the Takeover system which provides stat boosts once a meter is filled through streaks of offensive and defensive gems. And regardless of the player’s station or skill level, the fluidity of movement, seamless transition between animations and controlled situations, and near-perfect presentation of variables — from the pre-game and post-game shows to the live-ball commentary to the interviews — help keep gamers involved and engaged.
All told, NBA 2K19 is an easy recommend. Forget EA Sports’ apparent determination to revive the NBA Live franchise. For pro hoops (or, to be honest, any kind of hoops), no title is better. And while it also shines on the Switch and Xbox One X, it’s best appreciated on the PS4 platform, where the sheer number of gamers makes for a robust “My Neighborhood” experience. (As an aside, Sony has kept with tradition and rolled out a console bundle that includes a physical copy of the game and extends the warranty to two years). The superb execution and unparalleled gameplay make it the undisputed king of basketball simulations. Enough said.

Video Game Review

NBA 2K19
PlayStation 4/Xbox One/Nintendo Switch
THE GOOD:

• Outstanding gameplay, hewing as close to real life as possible

• Excellent audio-visual presentation

• Seamless transitions between in-game animations and controlled actions

• Open-world offerings in “My Neighborhood,” particularly on the PS4

THE BAD:

• Microtransactions abound in MyCareer Mode

• Occasional graphical glitches can stunt the immersive experience

• Preset cutscenes for “The Way Back” don’t always reflect the character’s progression, or lack thereof

• Fewer online peers for Switch gamers

RATING: 9.5/10

Children’s book writer fights the stigma of HIV-AIDS

��ý — Thu, 11 Oct 2018 16:02:39 +0000

By Michelle Anne P. Soliman
Reporter
ENZO, Gab, Chuchay, and Luis join a support group on social media under their online alter egos. Enzo starts a group chat and sets a date to meet with the group’s other members. At a coffee shop one day, they all get together because of something called “Pete.”
The four young men are characters in the latest book by Segundo Matias, Jr., the author the Moymoy Lulumboy series, Mga Batang Poz — “poz” being slang for HIV positive.
The young adult novel confronts misconceptions about the disease by illustrating the lives of young characters living with HIV-AIDS — acquiring the disease, undergoing diagnosis, joining online support groups, revealing their situation to their families, and undergoing medication.
The book’s release is timely — the HIV/AIDS and Art Registry of the Philippines’ data for March reported that there were 912 new HIV antibody seropositive individuals, 31% who were 15 to 24 years old “at the time of testing.”
As Dr. Rossana A. Ditangco, DOH-RITM AIDS research group head, wrote in her message in the novel: “Bawat araw, may sampung tao na nada-diagnose na mayroong HIV. Sa sampung ito, dalawa ay mga kabataang nasa edad labinlima hanggang dalawampu’t apat. Kung hindi mapipigilan ang pag-laganap nito, hindi imposible na sa susunod na panahon ay mas tumaas pa ang bilang ng mga kabataang humaharap, hindi lamang sa pagkakasakit, kundi maging sa social stigma na dala ng HIV (Every day, there are 10 people who are diagnosed with HIV. Out of the 10, two are children aged 15 to 24. If the spread of the disease is not prevented, it is likely possible in the coming years that there will be a rise in the number of children facing, not only the disease, but also the social stigma brought by HIV).
“We have to take note that the year they were tested was not the same period they were afflicted with HIV,” Dr. Ditangco said in Filipino during the book’s launch in September at the Precious Pages Events Center in Quezon City. As an example, she pointed out that if an 18-year-old was diagnosed with HIV, the patient may have caught the disease at a younger age.
Mr. Matias’ thesis adviser at UP Diliman, professor Eugene Evasco, suggested that he write a book about AIDS for young people. The young adult novel served as the author’s thesis for his masteral degree in Malikhaing Pagsulat (Creative Writing in Filipino).
At a clinic where he was doing research for the book, Mr. Matias learned that there were patients as young as 12 who were diagnosed positive with the disease.
“When I learned about the demographics and the number of people who are afflicted with HIV, that pushed me [to write],” Mr. Matias said in the vernacular.
Mr. Matias considered changing his byline to J. M. Matias, citing concern over his “branding” as a children’s book writer.
“But then again, you’re fighting the stigma. Bakit ako mismo matatakot? So, nilagay ko na talaga ’yung name [ko] (Why should I be afraid myself? So, I decided to use my full name),” he said.
Mr. Evasco said that the country is blessed to have writers who are brave enough to write and educate readers about HIV. “Our society is blessed today because we have books that will guide readers and give a positive depiction not only about being gay, but also about being poz,” he said in Filipino.
Dr. Ditangco said that the book serves as an alternative learning tool not only for young readers, but also for parents and teachers.
“At present, one of the limitations in HIV education is that it is taught like heath or science. It is not taught to influence the values and behavior of a young person. That is why it is important that materials like these are available not only to affect our emotions, but also to teach the reader,” she said in the vernacular.
Despite what the conservative sector of society may think, Mr. Matias is ready to share this story with everyone.
“I cannot say that they (the conservatives) are ready, but since I have written it, I am,” he said.
Mga Batang Poz is available at Precious Pages retail outlets, National Book Store, the Pandayan book shop, and leading books stores nationwide for P300. For inquiries contact, lamparapublishinghouse@gmail.com.

The finest by far

��ý — Thu, 11 Oct 2018 16:01:52 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
WHEN Microsoft sought to expand the reach of its acclaimed Forza series shortly after the turn of the decade, it chose to tap another developer for the purpose. Early in the millennium, it formed Turn 10 Studios precisely to build a franchise that would not just rival, but better, the competition on any gaming platform. And, having seen the immensely positive results, it didn’t want its creative arm to be distracted from continuing to improve Forza Motorsport; after all, it was one thing to get to the top, and quite another to stay there.
Fortunately, Playground Games was around to serve Microsoft’s needs. Having just been formed and populated by experienced minds behind companies known for racing simulations, it looked for an inaugural project that would serve to announce its arrival in the industry. And, as things turned out, it proved to be an ideal complement to Turn 10, building on the latter’s successes while treading new ground, and, at the same time, providing fresh ideas that would catapult Forza Motorsport to even greater heights.
Enter Forza Horizon, a spinoff series that used Forza Motorsport’s intrinsic pull of accurate renditions of popular beasts on wheels, but with the end-view of enhancing the driving experience. In this regard, landmarks and environments were as much stars as the vehicles players used to get there. As directed by Microsoft, Playground’s objective was clear: It wanted to reach out to a certain segment of the gaming populace that gave as much importance to the familiarity and accessibility of roads as to the ownership and customization of metal marvels.
Significantly, the progeny would become the more commercially successful series in due time. Forza Horizon 3, released in late 2016, managed to sell close to three million copies after half a year, indicating better reception for open-world racing vis-a-vis circuit-style skirmishes. That said, Playground fed off Turn 10’s progressions, and vice versa. Microsoft hit upon a perfect working arrangement that continually resulted in wins all around. Continuous improvement was spurred, leading to Forza Motorsport 7’s status as the best of the series to date.
Until, that is, the arrival of Forza Horizon 4 late last month. All that those new to the series have to understand is this: It’s the best in any platform.And all that those already familiar with the series need to know is this: It’s the finest by far. As with its predecessors, it has as its backdrop the Horizon Festival, a street-racing spectacle patterned after Coachella-like music celebrations, but in Great Britain. It offers a map of English and Scottish expanse that dwarfs those hitherto presented for Colorado, France, Italy, and reimagined Australia. And, off the bat, it showcases a whopping 450 royal roadsters, with all but a handful of the most acclaimed badges gloriously represented. Muscle marvels? Check. People movers? Check. Customized offroaders? Check. And so on and so forth. Name it, and it’s there.
In stark contrast to the immediate past release, Forza Horizon 4 has players start from the bottom, participating in any and all sorts of races through 25 distinct campaigns to gain popularity in a social-media-savvy populace. Influence is the currency of note, and the more the wins, the greater the opportunity to advance in the game — by tweaking rides, pimping them out for psychic income, appreciating the open world, and, ultimately, taming car, road, and opposition en route to success.
Needless to say, Forza Horizon 4’s level of polish is unparalleled, and Playground parades it with pride. It has Great Britain exposed to all four seasons to start, allowing for the appreciation of the effort that went into having weather conditions affect gameplay, not to mention the competitions on offer outside of the ubiquitous “Forzathon Live” events. As a corollary, the objective of injecting even more realism is met by the introduction of a shared interface that, after the initial foray, chucks the otherwise-competent “Drivatar” aIl in favor of 72 players online and in real time.
Certainly, Forza Horizon 4 is eye candy galore. Whether in 4K running at 30 frames per second (fps) or in 1080p at 60 fps on the Xbox One X, the visuals figure to wow even the most jaded of racing-game habitues. As an aside, the visceral experience is further jacked up on a dedicated Windows rig, available as a cross-play feature. On occasion, the heightened realism can prove too much of a good thing, as gamers wind up appreciating the lush surroundings at the expense of tasks at hand. The flipside, of course, is that they can while the time away just driving and marveling at the somehow fitting juxtaposition of the ultimate in natural and man-made designs.
In this regard, it helps that Forza Horizon 4 boasts of the pedigree that has placed the franchise on the cutting edge of simulators in the market. The physics are, simply put, excellent; interactions between vehicles and terrains are exactly as they should be, and the remarkable rendition of environs even at breakneck speed serves to add to the experience. And only in nitpicking can the seemingly frequent absence of pedestrians be deemed a negative.
Meanwhile, Forza Horizon 4’s soundtrack is exceedingly eclectic. It has everything for everybody. Out for a leisurely drive? Ready for a rip-roaring ride? No problem. Half a dozen radio stations are at players’ disposal, with all types of music available to match the mood at any given time — ideal complements to the aural energy emanating from the humming of horses underneath the hood.
In sum, Forza Horizon 4 represents a milestone for Microsoft, Playground, and, yes, even Turn 10. It’s precisely the kind of release that has users of the Xbox One platform feeling good about themselves, their not insignificant investment paying off in spades. It defines success as a journey and not a destination; it can be played in adrenaline-pumping haste or cool-hand casualness, with edge-of-seat immediacy or relaxing deliberation.
A hundred hours of immersive experience counts as an achievement for most titles. It’s merely the beginning for Forza Horizon 4.

Video Game Review

Forza Horizon 4
Xbox One/Xbox One X
THE GOOD

• A glorious feast for the senses

• Abundant realism

• Open-world racing composed of up to 72 players online

• The best of the acclaimed Forza series yet

THE BAD

• Engine sounds could be better

• May be too easy for simulation diehards

• No long races to reward precision driving

RATING: 9.5/10

Monster, Inc.

��ý — Thu, 04 Oct 2018 16:03:15 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
My Neighbor Totoro
Directed by Hayao Miyazaki
(CAUTION: plot and narrative twists — which aren’t all that much and anyway aren’t the heart of the film — to be discussed in explicit detail!)
HARD TO BELIEVE Hayao Miyazaki’s My Neighbor Totoro was seen as a too-risky project, and had to be double-featured in its original commercial run with Isao Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies; both made a modest profit ($6.1 million in Japan and Europe according to Wikipedia), but Totoro on home video became a family favorite, earning $265 million in Japan and the USA (again according to Wiki — you often wonder at their figures). The film eventually became a minor cultural phenomenon: Studio Ghibli adopted the creature as its corporate logo, an asteroid was named 10160 Totoro, a Vietnamese velvet worm was dubbed Eoperipatus totoro.
The film itself is considered a family friendly delight, purest sunshine and cheer. Some fans though would like to make the case that the film is actually darker than it appears, and may be the animator’s (a legend in the industry, known for epic fantasy-adventure features like Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind and Princess Mononoke) true masterpiece.
Totoro is definitely well-made. The opening sequence is as quotidian as can be: a family with belongings piled high on a little truck, driving through the Japanese countryside (Tokorozawa City in Saitama prefecture, a former farming community — the film having been set in 1955, more or less). But the background art is breathtakingly intricate (by Kazuo Oga, who has worked on the landscapes in Miyazaki’s films from Kiki’s Delivery Service to Ponyo) and the truck rushes past a field of fresh-planted rice, the flooded paddies reflecting the solid blue of sky, the bright green plantlings rushing by in a startling display of full-motion animation.
Your skin tingles, the little hairs (if you are at all aware of the difficulties of animating anything on film) along your arm rise in excitement; you’re primed for something especially funny or dramatic to happen and Miyazaki rewards you with some 10 minutes of the family — Tatsuo Kusakabe, his daughters Satsuki and Mei — opening up the house they had just bought, moving in their belongings, basically enjoying the creaky old house’s benign spookiness.
Not what folks would consider attention-grabbing cinema. But again Oga works wonders on the backgrounds — the house is all dark shadows and splintered wood, and what are those furry little balls with eyes that scurry out of sight when you open a door? Not roaches or mice — Granny explains that they’re “soot sprites,” little creatures that inhabit uninhabited houses; if they decide you’re good people they’ll leave you alone, perhaps move somewhere else (they like their solitude).
The Kusakabe move in and establish a comfortable rhythm: Satsuki goes to school, Tatsuo works at home, Mei runs about looking for things to gawk at or poke. A natural-born filmmaker, she uses the rusted-away bottom of a water bucket as a rough camera frame to peer at her surroundings, and (the everyday magic of framing, that it can focus attention and reveal details) spots the glint of a shiny acorn (they have been dropping from the house’s ceiling for no apparent reason). She spots a pair of white rabbitlike ears making its way through the grass; out pops what looks like a cross between a bunny and a raccoon — she has found a Chibi (small) “Totoro” (her mispronunciation of “tororu” or troll).
The Totoro runs; she gives chase. The animal scampers under her house’s front steps through broken slats, hides in the crawl space. Mei decides against ducking under the steps, looks for another opening, peers into the dark (she can see — something — moving in there but the little figure seems to have a sack slung over one shoulder). She squats and waits and here a neat example of how Miyazaki likes to frame and stage action: crawl space hole to the left, Mei in center frame; a butterfly flutters in from the right, cuing you that something might happen at that end. Not one but two Totoro — the white one, and a larger blue Chuu (medium-sized) — pad quietly past her, one of them carrying the previously glimpsed sack.
Lovely little sequence melding the precisely observed behavior of a little girl running after an even littler animal with a clever minor plot point inserted: the Totoros — who presumably feed on acorns — have been storing them in the old house; now that people have moved in they’re trying to smuggle the nuts to a quieter place.
Miyazaki presents the various spirits and creatures inhabiting the edges of the film and landscape thusly, and with similar nonchalance introduces the film’s more serious subtext. Tatsuo, Satsuki and Mei take a biking trip, a happy outing with a purpose: they’re visiting Yasuko, Satsuki and Mei’s mother, who is confined at a hospital (her ailment isn’t specified, but Miyazaki’s mother suffered from spinal tuberculosis). The crisis some days later when Yasuko isn’t able to visit their new home as promised; apparently she’s caught a cold and needs to recover.
Mei throws a tantrum. The fissures implied in the hospital visit — Mei, who usually defers to Satsuki, acts a bit like an attention-hungry brat around their mother — have pulled wide open. Satsuki yells at Mei, who screams rage and disappointment (thought the voice acting quite good — the Japanese better than the English — the character animation perfectly capturing the way not just two girls but two closely bonded sisters quarrel). They mope about the house while awaiting further news from their father. Then Mei disappears; she has apparently run away from home.
Satsuki looks for Mei with increasing desperation, and without much fuss or comment Miyazaki dims the sun over the lovely Japanese countryside, suggesting with all the empty fields and silence a forlorn deserted look; occasionally Satsuki meets a farmer working late in his field or another taking his wife on a motorbike ride — they’re polite but not much help, and their presence just emphasizes the emptiness of the landscape. Suddenly news — a child’s slipper floating in a pond! Was it Mei’s? Miyazaki doesn’t pound the ear with dramatic music or have Satsuki shriek in dismay; he simply cuts to a little pink sandal floating in water, arguably the single saddest shot in the film.
Possibly the film’s finest element is in the way Miyazaki folds the fantasy into everyday family busyness. While no one actually contradicts Mei and Satsuki’s assertion that Totoros exist — if anything Tatsuo explains that spirits can make their presence known if they want to — Miyazaki leaves the film open to the suggestion that perhaps these creatures are manifestations of the children’s unconscious feelings and desires. Mei in a fit of boredom — running in and out of frame as her father works in the foreground — dreams up the Chibi Totoro and its blue brother the Chuu Totoro complete with sack of acorns. Later when the father goes to the university to teach (he’s an archeology professor) and Satsuki has to attend school, Mei is farmed out to Granny and throws a tantrum; Satsuki ends up having her sister sit with her in class. Later there’s a downpour and Satsuki and Mei — who notice father has left his umbrella at home — decide to wait for him with his umbrella at the bus stop. Lonely portrait of two kids left to their own devices, waiting for a dad too busy to come home on time… and perhaps Satsuki taking her cue from Mei conjures the sound of big padded feet squishing into muddy ground. Is that a 10-foot-high creature with nine inch claws — an Oh (big) Totoro — standing beside her? A frog across the road croaks assent; yes, this is real and, no, you aren’t imagining him.
For the final crisis with Tatsuo at the hospital and Satsuki left to herself — without even the presence or support of Mei — of course she has to turn to the Oh Totoro, and of course things turn out all right. But consider: we see the mother at the end credits happily hugging her daughters, presumably at home — but this is at best a brief visit, the mother still stricken with tuberculosis, the children still having to do their growing up without her. Miyazaki gives us a brightly tinted childhood of happiness and delight — when the Oh Totoro rises to the air with the children clinging to his chest fur is perhaps the most exuberant moment of flight in all of Miyazaki (considering nearly all his films depict flying) — only to smuggle into the feast like a sack of acorns an unyielding kernel of sadness.
My Neighbor Totoro was released on Blue Ray in 2017.
* Background art in Japanese anime in general is given more care and consideration than in American productions — true even today when most backgrounds are digital renderings of photographed landscapes. Oga has been praised for the photorealism of his work but there’s more to him than just slavish mimicry: the forests in this film seem luminescent, betray a serene inner glow as if shining with a sense of heightened life of sharpened awareness.

Good intentions

��ý — Thu, 04 Oct 2018 16:02:06 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
THERE’S NO QUESTION that the Gundam franchise has become huge to the point of ubiquity. These days, offshoots of animation studio Sunrise’s intellectual property can be found practically anywhere, way beyond the small and big screens and into toy establishments, hobby shops, book and video game stores, and collectors’ corners. It has become so ingrained in popular culture that a 65-foot-tall Unicorn mecha in Odaiba stands as one of Japan’s biggest — literally and figuratively — tourist attractions.
Considering how the franchise has turned into a veritable money-making machine, it’s hard to imagine that it once came close to being relegated to the dustbins of history. Mobile Suit Gundam, the television series that introduced it to the public in 1979, lasted just three months short of a year due to low ratings. Still, Bandai must have seen something in the 43 episodes that aired since it produced themed merchandise shortly thereafter. The decision spawned a juggernaut that now generates close to ¥100 billion in revenues yearly.
Needless to say, a chunk of the Gundam-related income Bandai Namco pulls in comes from its video game business. In terms of quality of the titles, the franchise has had mixed results. Still, there can be no doubting its intent to vary the ways in which it dips from the well, if for no other reason than to entice loyal fans to maintain their support with each new release. In this regard, the Gundam Breaker line has seen worthy improvements, with Gundam Breaker 3 representing an apex in the way it incorporates real-life Gunpla (the construction and beautification of mecha model kits) in the gameplay.
Parenthetically, gamers who appreciated the hack-and-slash action in Gundam Breaker 3 couldn’t wait for its successor to hit the shelves. And if New Gundam Breaker gained significant attention heading into its release, it was precisely because of the heightened anticipation of something better having been created in the two and half years that passed.
Given the extremely high expectations, New Gundam Breaker may well have been doomed to mediocrity even if it managed to retain much of what made Gundam Breaker 3 tick. As its very name indicates, however, it presents quirks to the previously established series structure where players engage in Gunpla and then subject their creations to battle after battle. Even as it still involves a lot of building and customization, it has, in cases, modified mission parameters as to require the completion of objectives other than combat, and under trying circumstances to boot.
The premise of New Gundam Breaker is, to be sure, no more or less weighty and sound than those of its predecessors. Offered in visual-novel format, the Story Mode is set in a Japanese high school where academics steeped in Gunpla are terrorized by a Student Council bent on making the strong, well, stronger at the expense of the weak. With this as backdrop, players control the main character, an outstanding builder and fighter with designs of becoming a professional, and get him to form and lead a rebel group in an effort to uphold the institution’s egalitarian purpose.
If nothing else, the narrative fits with New Gundam Breaker’s objective of engaging players in Gunpla creativity and excellence as validated by victories in combat. Perhaps it goes too far with its relationship-fostering aims; in order to flesh out interaction between characters, the dialogue can be tedious and repetitive. With an art style and thematic design that hews to the younger set, the presentation initially catches the eye, but could well prove diversionary and immaterial to those bent on action.
In this light, New Gundam Breaker’s battle mechanics are where estimation of its value will ultimately be based. Were its combat parameters the same as those of its older siblings, it would be forgiven its character-development missteps. Unfortunately, it boasts of changes that make progress and progression difficult. The degree of customization allowed and required remain all but boundless, a decided plus. However, the acquisition and collation of necessary components entail considerable in-game currency that grinding is inevitable, and to the point of excess. And even as these parts can be scavenged and salvaged during skirmishes, the odds of the right ones being made available through this route range from slim to zero.
Certainly, it doesn’t help that New Gundam Breaker’s cooperative modes have a task-completion bent that serves to muddle the path to success. Three-on-three scenarios don’t always lead to direct confrontations. Instead, the opposing teams aim for victory by way of points garnered when specific goals are attained. And when battles do break out, mechas take such damage that appendages can be lost as quickly as they are found. Meanwhile, noticeable lags and uneven frame rates make online options risky at best.
To its credit, Bandai Namco has taken the backlash against New Gundam Breaker in the two months since its release seriously, and has, in turn, resolved to make the gameplay better over time through continuous patching, not to mention implemented deep discounts to its sticker price. For longtime fans of the series, the hope is that the changes make the latest release more like previous ones. Until then, though, it serves as a stark reminder of what the road to heck is paved with. If there’s any consolation, it’s that the franchise will keep thriving, and that, somewhere in the not-too-distant future, a newer, better Gundam Breaker will be in the offing.

Tom Hardy brings out Marvel’s darker side in new movie Venom

��ý — Thu, 04 Oct 2018 16:01:53 +0000

LOS ANGELES — In the new movie Venom, British actor Tom Hardy plays an investigative journalist whose body is invaded by an alien with violent instincts who feeds on a diet of human flesh.
It is a darker tale from the Marvel Comics superhero universe than what audiences have seen in recent films such as The Avengers series released by Walt Disney Co.
“His version of doing good is just eating,” Hardy said of Venom. “The world is an all-you-can-eat buffet, and human beings are on the menu, so that’s not great for humanity as your hero.”
The story is a Jekyll-and-Hyde tale where Hardy’s journalist character, Eddie Brock, tries to keep Venom’s bad behavior under control. Venom is being released by Sony Pictures, which owns rights to several Marvel characters that are not owned by Disney.
Hardy said Venom has similarities to several classic monster movies.
“There’s an element of original Ghostbusters, a slightly ’80s retro vibe to it, which I enjoyed, and a bit of Teen Wolf and American Werewolf in London vibe to it,” Hardy said.
The star said he also received input from his 10-year-old son on how to play the role.
“My son’s a massive fan of Marvel and Venom, and he was very clear about what I can and can’t do,” Hardy said at the movie’s red-carpet premiere, adding “It’s very odd being told what to do by your son who’s 10 and him being right.”
Venom co-stars fellow British actor Riz Ahmed as villainous corporation owner Carlton Drake and Michelle Williams as Brock’s former girlfriend. It is the first time Oscar-nominated Williams has starred in a superhero movie.
Venom was created by comic book writer Todd McFarlane, who invented the new character after he struggled to draw Spider-Man.
“Venom is a by-product of me wanting to draw a blue and red Spider-Man costume,” McFarlane said. “Thirty years later, you’ve got a big movie!” — Reuters

Family plot

��ý — Thu, 27 Sep 2018 16:02:01 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
The Killing of a Sacred Deer
Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos
DVD
WITH all the horror films that popped out last year (and continue to emerge this year) few if any come close to being as bizarre as Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Killing of a Sacred Deer.
The horror starts right off, with an opening shot of what looks like a piece of muscle squirming with faintly obscene frequency (looks like a grotesque Japanese porn video I saw once, of a masturbation scene recorded internally — you don’t want to know the details); as matters turn out it’s a shot of open-heart surgery. Cut to cardiothoracic surgeon Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) pulling off blooded gloves and surgical gown. He enjoys a good life: gorgeous wife Anna (they don’t come any more gorgeous than Nicole Kidman), beautiful children Kim (Raffey Cassidy) and Bob (Sunny Suljic), spacious stately home, great job in an ultramodern hospital — can’t do much better than that.
Only who is Martin (Barry Keoghan), the young man with some kind of hold or claim on the surgeon, and why is he readily introduced to Steven’s family — even encouraged to spend time with the kids?
Lanthimos takes his cue from Euripides’ Iphigenia in Aulis, where Agamemnon is forced to atone for killing the god Artemis’ sacred deer. He takes his cue from Greek drama in general by filming in austere settings (Steven’s near spotless house, the gleaming glass white-tile monument — mausoleum? — of a hospital) and using stylized, at times hilariously deadpan, acting (Steven in a medical convention in the middle of conversation: “Our daughter started menstruating last week” — no one bats an eye). He shoots in brightly lit sets and sun drenched exteriors, and paradoxically all that lighting feels less comforting than unsettling — as if to suggest that there’s nowhere one can hide or be forever safe; that all will eventually be exposed, secrets above all, and above all secret guilt. All this contributes to the overall effect of deliberate overwhelming fate: Steven will get his comeuppance and nothing he can do or say will change that outcome. Lanthimos slyly underlines that conclusion when Martin, in response to Steven’s hospitality, invites the older man to his house, where they sit with Martin’s mother (Alicia Silverstone in a small but startling role) to watch the boy’s favorite movie, Groundhog Day (“What’s that again?” “I’m a god.” “You’re God.” “I’m a god; I’m not the God, I think.”).
Lanthimos gets full mileage of unease in the scenes between Steven and Martin (Is the boy a bastard son? A lover?) and even his most drawn-out quotidian moments have the nail-on-chalkboard quality of Jack Torrance’s interview scene in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. If I mention Kubrick that’s possibly because his spirit seems to persist, lingering in the margins of Lanthimos’ films: Dogtooth appropriates an image from the earlier picture, and Sacred Deer goes as far as to appropriate Kidman, whose more quarrelsome scenes with Farrell echo her scenes with Tom Cruise in Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Might as well note that the soundtrack, while not featuring music composed for the film, seems to keep wanting to morph into music (particularly Bela Bartok’s) used in The Shining.
Arguably Lanthimos’ most potent weapon isn’t so much horror — though that, to put it mildly, ain’t exactly chopped liver — as it is humor. The comedy helps stiffen the film, give the horror understated if outrageous snap: by way of comparison, Jordan Peele’s Get Out (which I do like) seems fairly safe and humdrum, even when dealing with an issue as sensitive as racism. Once the situation becomes clear to the family (skip the rest of this paragraph if you haven’t seen the film), each member pleads his or her case to Steven as to why they shouldn’t be the sacrifice. They crawl on the floor, dragging their lifeless limbs behind them, point out this or that virtue they possess or action they have accomplished (“I cut my hair just as you want me to.”
“I love you more than anything in the world.” “I think I’m gonna wear that black dress that you like.”). Deadpan delivery but the eyes are large and pleading — a more horrific image of supplication to patriarchal authority I can’t think of, at least in recent films.
It’s not all sunshine and light though. Steven is offered sex, which he rejects, suggesting a virtuous husband; Anna offers sex coldly, deliberately, as a practical transaction. Understand where Anna is coming from — where Steven seems paralyzed with indecision she’s driven to find a way out of this mess, plus, if we’re following the general outlines of the myth, Clytemnestra was unfaithful — but why make Steven look relatively better?
Not quite as resonant as Lanthimos’ The Lobster, a surprisingly poignant love story; not as economically and elegantly wrought as Dogtooth — his best work in my book, suggesting that nothing in myth or fantasy is stranger than plain unfiltered human perversity — but a potent film all its own.

A love letter of longing and living

��ý — Thu, 27 Sep 2018 12:55:09 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong

WHEN KADOKAWA GAMES released God Wars: Future Past on the PlayStation Vita and PlayStation 4 last year, it put forth a tactical role-playing game awash in Japanese lore. Its story, which began with a Queen’s sacrifice of a daughter to appease the gods and continued with the other daughter striving to find out why, offered a stunning look into the history of the Shinto-steeped Land of the Rising Sun. Parenthetically, the hope that the narrative would pull in and not alienate Western audiences was answered with success on retail shelves.
Considering the positive reception, it’s no surprise to see God Wars subsequently making its way to the Nintendo Switch. This time around, it’s appropriately packaged as The Complete Legend, already containing from the outset all downloadable content released on the Vita and PS4. Along with the inflation-proof price tag also free of the so-called Nintendo tax plaguing most ports to the hybrid system, it winds up presenting a wholly engrossing, bang-for-the-buck experience that will remind gamers of the heyday of strategy-based RPGs.
It helps that God Wars was seen to fruition by the chief executive officer of Kadokawa Games himself. Indeed, Yoshimi Yasuda steered its development off knowledge borne of his three-decades-long fascination with ancient Japan fueling its plot lines. Featuring mythological figures and backdrops, it fittingly unveils itself through cutscenes and expository text eschewing over-the-top art and sound designs prevalent in present-day RPGs. The result is an outstanding directorial effort shining the spotlight on deities that engage as much in mischief as in guidance.
To be sure, God Wars: The Complete Legend’s finest facets can be found in its gameplay, which ties in well with the story and features elements reminiscent of those from the best SRPGs in the 1990s. A bountiful cast of characters — led by Princess Kaguya, her friend Kintaro, and his animal companion Kuma — is fleshed out thoroughly. And as the principal protagonists journey through the country’s landscapes in search of the Queen, they take on roles and become subject to not inconsiderable player customization, serving to increase their preparedness for encounters against any and all sorts of enemies.
As God Wars: The Complete Legend progresses, so does the frequency of battles increase. In this regard, the mechanics are thankfully engrossing, with characters traversing a grid-based map and confronting targets with a level of speed and degree of effectiveness based on their unique stats. In this regard, the terrain plays a significant part, with positioning determining the efficacy, or lack thereof, of attacks and defenses.
As with most other releases in the genre, God Wars: The Complete Legend requires no small measure of leveling up. Stages and confrontations become progressively tougher, stiffer, and more drawn out, necessitating strategic planning and direction. That said, it manages to stand out in its capacity to strike a healthy balance between risk and reward. Teamwork and timing are keys to victory; how party members are able to work together and when they use their skills and equipment in furthering their cause move to shape the outcome.
In terms of presentation, God Wars: The Complete Legend is well suited for the Switch and its distinct on-the-go options. Even undocked, colors are vibrant and acoustics clear, with nary any frame drops. The controls are spot on, and while the in-game menu system can border on the tedious, the interface poses little difficulty to navigate. And once mastered, it lends positively to the overall experience. Players will be invested in seeing the elaborately spun tale through, with their take on the complexities of man’s relationship with nature enriched by their experience.
In the final analysis, God Wars: The Complete Legend represents the apex of Yasuda’s vision. Devoid of the flaws that marked its earlier releases on the PS4 and Vita and offering up hours upon hours of new content, it is a love letter of longing and living well worth its $39.99 list price, and one that figures to keep gamers engrossed time after time.

Video Game Review

God Wars: The Complete Legend
Nintendo Switch
THE GOOD:

• Steeped in Japanese lore

• Storyline and gameplay mesh well

• Features progressively challenging battles that require strategy to win

• High degree of character and party skill set customization and development

• Excellent localization and dubbing, with educational summaries available on call

• Outstanding Switch port with all previously released content included off the bat

THE BAD:

• The narrative’s historical backgrounds occasionally require additional research

• Grinding is necessary

• Enemy encounters can be drawn out

RATING: 8.5/10

Memory play

��ý — Thu, 20 Sep 2018 16:02:26 +0000

By Noel Vera
Video Review
Marjorie Prime
Directed by
Michael Almereyda
Available on YouTube,
Amazon Prime, Google Play,
and iTunes
MICHAEL Almereyda’s Marjorie Prime (2017) adapts Jordan Harrison’s Pulitzer-nominated play to the big screen in a small way, and it’s marvelous. Eighty-five year old Marjorie (Lois Smith, who played the role in two previous stage productions) suffers the initial symptoms of Alzheimer’s; to help her deal with the memory loss, her daughter Tess (Geena Davis) and son-in-law Jon (Tim Robbins) have installed a “Prime” — a hologram-projected Artificial Intelligence (AI) — representing Marjorie’s husband Walter (Jon Hamm) when he was a relatively young 40.
The effect is not a little creepy: Walter seems young and imma-culately groomed — you feel as if dust would never touch him nor oil mar his skin. He sits unnaturally erect moves in tiny precise gestures, has the carefully spoken diction of an interface programmed to comfort, to reassure, the ultimate customer service.
Marjorie though is not an easy client to serve; she’s sharp (on her good days) and manipulative, and in a clever little dig at her AI husband, she changes a detail in her memory of a movie date, from watching My Best Friend’s Wedding to watching Casablanca with its far more entertaining dialogue (“I came to Casablanca for the waters.” “The waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.” “I was misinformed.”). More, her memory is full of self-told deceptions and hidden truths that in the wrong hands or with the wrong approach can drop the unwary explorer into treacherous concealed pits. Watch out for sharpened bamboo stakes.
Most of the film is set in a beach house Walter owned (Tess and Jon moved in to keep Marjorie company), a lovely residence, all picture windows and billowy sunlit curtains that match the white of Smith’s streaming mane. Would probably make an interesting double feature with Roman Polanski’s The Ghost Writer, another film about echoes and secrets and memories haunting another stunning beachfront property.
You wonder why Almereyda chose to do this play — no I think that’s obvious — you wonder why he chose this approach in adapting the play. I suspect he took his cue from Harrison’s minimalist approach, adding details here, there, tweaking scenes, adding minor characters (the caretaker Julie [Stephanie Andujar], the younger versions of Jon, Tess, Marjorie, and so on). Mica Levi’s music helps considerably — the strings we heard in Jackie and Under the Skin here strum relentlessly, thrillingly, draw us into the scenes and yet are so sparely arranged they’re not distracting.
As the camera wanders down this or that hallway, lingers on this or that stone terrace or charcoal-wood porch, as it gazes in long takes from various angles throughout the spacious living room, the house takes on the confined feel of the inside of someone’s mind — Marjorie’s? Tess’? Jon’s? The whole family’s perhaps? The periods when the film leaves present location and time become all the more intriguing — the saffron-tinged moment when Marjorie mourns a lost child, the darkened bedroom where Walter proposes to Marjorie, the darkened museum where Jon kisses Tess. Mysterious episodes whose reality you can’t help but question: Are they memories? Willed fantasies? Depictions of an objective reality? Some combination of all three? None of the above?
As to why — many plays explore the mourning for a lost beloved, but this may be the first, or at least one of the few, to explore the poetic potential for technology to help us do so. The Primes are witnesses and confidants, perfect repositories for testimonies and impersonal enough that you feel you can tell them the most intimate detail and they’ll keep it secret (not really true as it turns out, but you feel you can). They’re like the hole in the rock wall Tony Cheung whispered into at the end of Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love, a film I don’t quite love and yet can’t deny the power of the moment. “Backboards” Tess disparagingly calls them, and she has a point: they’re not people, they only react as programmed, you have to buy into them at some level — to believe (or deceive yourself into believing if you like) that they can help. Perhaps Harrison’s most poignant scenes have Tess, Jon, and Marjorie confronting a forgotten memory and being dismayed or moved accordingly; the art (as in Spielberg’s AI, or Kubrick’s 2001, or Ghatak’s Ajantrik) is in finding that mechanical (Digital?) gesture, either mimicked or original, that provokes the audience.
Almereyda adds a bit more, the je ne sais quoi that defies logical and narrative necessity and is just preternaturally beautiful. Like the moment when young Walter and young Marjorie are viewing a video of saffron flags billowing in winter — you recognize the image as a memory Marjorie once talked about, of pausing in the depths of her sorrow before moving on with her life. Where did the video recording come from — a random travelogue footage they just chanced upon? Why would they continue to watch it? There is desolation in Jon’s eyes; Marjorie gives him a brief tight hug. The moment fits nowhere in the timeline yet feels so sad so unaccountably right you can’t help but respond.

Far from perfect, still…

��ý — Thu, 20 Sep 2018 16:01:55 +0000

By Anthony L. Cuaycong
CLOSE to the turn of the decade, animator Pendleton Ward developed an idea that took root back when he was still enrolled at the California Institute of the Arts and germinated from a short that subsequently aired on Nicktoons. Inspired by his experience working on The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack, he fine-tuned his concept and steered it to fruition. His creation wound up being an immensely successful Cartoon Network series. Indeed, Adventure Time pulled in a loyal viewership that generated high ratings across all age demographics, with the young ones, the young once, and those in between appreciating its unique blend of cutting-edge humor, hand-drawn visuals, and storyboard-driven narratives that tugged at the heartstrings.
The Adventure Time series lasted nine years, bidding farewell on Cartoon Network early this month. In that period, its influence grew and its reach broadened to include contemporary literature, popular merchandise, and video games. Its licenses in the latter were particularly well-received, with Nintendo DS and 3DS owners the first to see its appeal as a gaming franchise. Three more releases followed, with Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion finding its way to current-generation platforms last July.
Creditably, Outright Games resolved to pull out all the stops in making the first Adventure Time title on the Nintendo Switch not just hew close to its source material, but likewise garner the interest it deserves. From the get-go, it involved fans of the franchise, even running a competition to name the boat that principals Jake, Finn, Marceline, and BMO would be using as a primary means of travel in the game. Meanwhile, it aimed to stick to the look and feel of the Cartoon Network series to the point of engaging all the original voice actors.
The good news is that the effort paid off. Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion retains all of the characteristics that made it thrive in the broadcast medium. It’s funny, engaging, unpredictable, and ridiculous without being flippant. It certainly takes itself seriously, never mind the simple premise. The Land of Ooo is flooded and isolated following the melting of the Ice King’s sojourn, and the lead characters need to cross the waters to other kingdoms in the Land to determine the cause and come up with a solution. The uncovering of the mystery sets players on an open-world adventure with fairly deep gameplay.
On the Switch, the controls are simple, and playing Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion undocked may well benefit the younger set. The challenges look even less imposing from the console’s screen instead of on widescreen television. To be sure, the option likewise helps those relatively ahead in age; the game is easy enough to pick up and pack away as allowed and needed on the go. As an aside, combats are beginner-friendly, and investigative forays set off hilarious bits familiar to followers of the series.
That said, there’s a seeming disconnect between the game’s title and its finest elements. While on water, the main characters do remarkably keep the thematic representations of the series; whether in the songs or in the conversations, the flow figures to remind players of the tone and pace of any given episode in the series. For all the promises of encounters against seafaring marauders, however, Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion is best appreciated with the main characters on dry land, where exploration is fulfilling, where turn-based battles are compelling (if lacking in difficulty), and where gameplay is rewarding.
Admittedly, Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion is far from perfect. In fact, bugs abound, with random crashes invariably occurring and forcing players to restart from the last checkpoint or their previous save. Long load times, slowdowns, and out-of-sync audio and video during cutscenes are evident. Meanwhile, the role-playing aspect is dampened by the game’s linear progression. The map seems to indicate a vast area open for discovery, only to yield swaths of nothingness. And while side quests do exist, they’re tantamount to savory distractions in the grander scheme of things; the gameplay moves forward once a specific development occurs.
Still and all, Adventure Time: Pirates of the Enchiridion manages to deliver the goods insofar as earning its name is concerned. True to its origins, it’s long on the very values Ward espoused when he turned his series into an appealing and enjoyable statement of popular culture that literally drew teeming millions in for a whopping 283 episodes. And with its initial price tag of $39.99 already marked down, it becomes even more of a bargain for gamers steeped in the series and on the lookout for lighthearted fare, as well as for parents keen on expanding their Switch library with titles boasting of harmless fun.

Beginner-friendly but surprisingly hard

��ý — Thu, 13 Sep 2018 16:02:55 +0000

By Alexander O. Cuaycong
and Anthony L. Cuaycong
BY ALL ACCOUNTS, the Touhou Project has been a resounding success. What originally started out as a series of bullet-hell shooter games has evolved into a franchise spanning multiple brands across genres and platforms. Touhou Genso Wanderer Reloaded is one such example.
Developed by Aqua Style and published by NIS America, it takes on a turn-based, roguelike dungeon-crawler approach to gameplay; it deviates from the norm but likewise features the series’ familiar flair.
In Touhou Genso Wanderer Reloaded, players follow shrine maiden Reimu Hakurei on her journey to save her friend Rinnosuke Morichika, who has been possessed by the power of a golden sphere. While she’s initially defeated in battle and forced to flee, she knows only she can defeat him in Buyking form, and thus ventures to ascend to the very top of a tower that serves as his lair. Along the way, Reimu must face the many obstacles he has placed before her, and must use a variety of weapons, magical spells, and equipment to defeat enemies. Only by doing so will she be able to save her friend.
Right off the bat, Touhou Genso Wanderer Reloaded exhibits the nonsensical extravagance shown by other games in the franchise. It captures the ridiculousness of the series in all its outrageous charm, and while the story doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, it does stay in tune with the Touhou universe and its characters. It’s evident even in the distinct graphics and art style—colorful, cheerful, and, at times, gaudy, but ultimately harmless and inoffensive. Character sprites are eye-catching and leave indelible marks, and the levels themselves are presented with marked variety.
Touhou Genso Wanderer Reloaded’s design helps in this regard. As a roguelike dungeon crawler, it offers random layouts, with enemy positions and item placements changing level to level, guaranteeing constant alterations in the base experience. Not too much, though; apart from the standard spells and weapons on tap, items can be bought and crafted with the end-view of better equipping characters. There’s a lot of things to toy around with overall, and the further up the Tower of Desire players get, the better the rewards will be in overcoming more challenging opponents.
Parenthetically, there’s a status system and an accompanying Tummy meter which restores and decreases health when it’s full and empty, respectively. In terms of gameplay, Touhou Genso Wanderer treads extremely familiar territory to older players of the genre, and leans on such easy-to-learn mechanics that even neophytes won’t have trouble picking it up and playing right off the bat, whether on the Nintendo Switch or on the PlayStation 4.
That said, Touhou Genso Wanderer Reloaded’s accessibility does come with disadvantages. Layouts and enemy placements are randomized and thus promote unpredictability, but they likewise lead to uneven gameplay. Floors can range from boring to monotonous to outright impossible to complete. Playthroughs can end just as fast as they start, and some runs that look promising and reach higher floors with seemingly rhythmic precision can be cut short with a simple mistake. For such a beginner-friendly game, it can become surprisingly hard, and fast.
To be sure, roguelike releases make no pretensions about their penchant for getting gamers to work for progress, and, in this regard, Touhou Genso Wanderer Reloaded is no different. To beat the game, players need to try and try—and then try and try again. And for fans of the dungeon-crawling genre, it’s definitely appealing in how it presents itself, what with its Project Shrine Maiden sensibilities. It boasts of simple but appealing graphics and a story with a hook. It doesn’t offer anything new, but it does what it does well, and is best appreciated when players sit back, relax, and just lose themselves in its dungeons.

Staying In Archives - ����ý Online

My 15 favorite nonfiction books of 2018

A heck of a ride

Video Game Review

And the rest is…

A treasure trove

Domesticated helper

Episode 2 cannot come soon enough

Klandestine

Outstanding addition to survival horror games

Video Game Review

Two women

A superb addition to the franchise

A good man with a gun

An easy recommend for all and sundry

Video Game Review

Springtime for Hitler

A wonderful blast from the past

Islands of memory and imagining

Time has not been kind

Video Game Review

Joan unornamented

A much-needed update

Aiming to please

Video Game Review

The undisputed king

Video Game Review

Children’s book writer fights the stigma of HIV-AIDS

The finest by far

Video Game Review

Monster, Inc.

Good intentions

Tom Hardy brings out Marvel’s darker side in new movie Venom

Family plot

A love letter of longing and living

Video Game Review

Memory play

Far from perfect, still…

Beginner-friendly but surprisingly hard

Staying In Archives - ��ý Online