In The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, the sacred is always at war with the profane, and beauty is always at war with blood. The series has always contrasted its world's physical glamor with its intrinsic violence, but never has that contrast been this uneasy, this convulsive. That The Witcher 3 depicts the immediate brutality of battle in great detail is not a surprise; many games fill the screen with decapitated heads and gory entrails. It's the way this incredible adventure portrays the personal tragedies and underhanded opportunities that such battles provide that makes it so extraordinary.
It is more than its thematic turbulence that makes The Witcher 3 extraordinary, actually. Excellence abounds at every turn in this open-world role-playing game: excellent exploration, excellent creature design, excellent combat mechanics, excellent character progression. But the moments that linger are those that reveal the deep ache in the world's inhabitants. In one quest, you reunite two lovers, one of which is now a rotting hag, its tongue lasciviously lolling from its mouth. In another, a corpulent spouse-abuser must find a way to love two different lost souls, each of which test the limits of his affection. Don't worry that these vague descriptions spoil important events: they are simple examples of the obstacles every resident faces. On the isles of Skellige and in the city of Novigrad, there is no joy without parallel sorrow. Every triumph demands a sacrifice.
Every horse Geralt has owned is called Roach. Talk about an identity crisis.
As returning protagonist Geralt of Rivia, you, too, face the anguish of mere existence, sometimes in unexpected, unscripted ways. The central story, which sees you seeking your ward and daughter figure Ciri, as well as contending with the otherworldly force known as the wild hunt, often forces this anguish upon you. But it was my natural exploration of the game's vast expanses that proved most affecting. At one point, I witnessed a woman sentenced to death, doomed to starve after being chained to a rock. It's a chilling sentence, of course, but it was only later, when I accidentally sailed past the tiny island where her corpse still rested, that the horror of her punishment sunk into my heart. The Witcher 3's story did not script this moment; it was merely a passing detail that might have been lost in the waves or overlooked in favor of the harpies circling overhead. Yet there she was, a reminder that my actions--actions that felt righteous and reasonable as I made them--allowed this woman to rot in this faraway place.
The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings touched on similar repercussions, but The Witcher 3 makes them personal. Political tensions run as hot as they always have in this series, and your decisions still divert the paths of barons and kings in intriguing ways. But where The Witcher 2's focus on plot came at the expense of characterization, the sequel gives the wartime struggle great heft by giving Geralt intimate connections to every major player. The connection between Ciri and Geralt proves to be the story's strongest driving force, but Ciri is not a damsel to be rescued, though it may seem so at first, especially in this particular world. This is a place where women struggle to find respect as political candidates, as armorsmithing masters, and even as proper members of a functioning culture.
Roasting a crowd of witch hunters is not only satisfying on its own terms, but has a sweet justice to it: the first steps you make in the city of Novigrad lead you to a witch-burning in progress.
You can always count on a sorceress to get the job done when you're in the middle of a somersault.
Women, as it happens, are also this story's strongest force. If you have played a Witcher game before, you know many of them already. The most powerful of them are former members of the Lodge of Sorceresses, few of them outright likable, and each of them defiant in the face of death. In certain circumstances, you take control of Ciri herself, and she wields swords just as capably as a witcher does. (Her phantom dashes also bring a zippiness to her sections that Geralt lacks.) The occasional dose of gratuitous toplessness sometimes proves to be a needle scratch, particularly in a sauna scene that seems to have been constructed specifically to get you up close and personal with a woman's anatomy. In other moments, however, the nudity is a natural element of a scene's sensuality, such as the tutorial scene that features Yennefer and Geralt sharing a relaxed intimacy that surpasses the obvious physical connection.
The Witcher 3 is enormous in scope, though "big" is just a descriptor, a statement of neither good nor bad. It is fortunate, then, that The Witcher 3 does not subscribe to the "make a big world and fill it with copy-paste content" design philosophy. Instead, it finds a nigh-perfect sense of balance between giving you things to do and allowing its spaces to breathe. You follow a path not just because there's a question mark on your map, but also because it must lead somewhere new and interesting. The intrigue builds naturally: Every quest is a story of sadness or triumph waiting to absorb you, asking you to make decisions that change the landscape in various ways. You won't always know what the consequences are; some decisions have noticeable, game-altering repercussions, while others barely draw your gaze. But the consequences are there, and you often notice them, even though the game doesn't go out of its way to call attention to them.
The Bloody Baron shows intriguing personal growth over the course of his story. No relation to the ghost at Hogwarts of the same name.
Of course, story quests, side quests, and monster-killing contracts typically involve the same set of activities: killing, talking, and activating your witcher senses, which reveal footprints and scent trails and turn Geralt into a particularly violent private investigator. It is the details that keep every task as inviting as the one that came before. It might be a change of scenery that turns an otherwise typical contract into a clash for the ages: you pull out your crossbow and shoot a screaming wyvern out of the sky with a well-placed bolt, then plunge your silver sword into its heart, all while a fire rages in the outpost beyond and lightning bolts tear across the dark sky. It might be fear that disrupts your state of mind: you search for spirits as you trudge through a murky swamp, lighting the mist with the green light that emanates from your magical lantern. The Witcher 3 makes grand gestures and small ones, too; you may battle werewolves and match wits with kings and barons, but hearing an angel-voiced trobairitz sing a plaintive ballad is a stunning show-stopper.
The writing can be best described as "lusty." Many of the land's inhabitants serve a god, but their gods have no apparent problem with them making murderous accusations and shouting obscenities. It's fitting that these people would turn to the gods yet curse them in turn, given fields ravaged by battle and littered with bloated corpses. There are a few moments that reveal the screenplay's seams: some of Geralt's lines may not make sense if you choose them in a particular order, for instance, and Geralt is concerned only with money and prefers to stay out of politics, except for when he's not like that at all, because the plot demands as much. But at least the witcher's signature dry growl remains intact, and the rambunctious Irish and Scottish accents that pervade particular regions may inspire you to head to the pub and grab a pint.
Burn, bandits, burn!
As cutting as some characters' wit may be (Sigismund Dijkstra's sarcastic barbs make him one of the game's foul-mouthed delights), you do most of your cutting with the blades sheathed on your back. The Witcher 2's combat was overly demanding at the outset, but The Witcher 3 is substantially easier; I recommend, in fact, that you choose a difficulty level one notch higher than the one you would typically choose, presuming you don't default to the most stringent one straight away. Even when things get easy, however, the combat is always satisfying, due to the crunchiness of landing blows, the howls of human foes scorched by your Igni sign, and the fearsome behavior of necrophages, wandering ghosts, and beasts of the indescribable sort. It's easy to get sidetracked and outlevel story quests, but even lesser beasts require a bit of finesse; drowners attack in numbers, for instance, knocking you about and making it difficult to swing, while winged beasts swoop in for a smackdown and require you to blast them down with a flash of fire, a shockwave, or a crossbow bolt.
The familiar magical signs return in The Witcher 3. Geralt is no mage, but he still calls on the powers of magic to assist him in combat. Character advancement is substantially improved over the previous games, providing not just passive improvements to your magical trap and your force-push technique, but also altering their very behavior. Casting Igni, for instance, initially produces a brief flash of flames. Certain upgrades, however, allow you to spray a stream of flames for as long as your energy supply supports it. Roasting a crowd of witch hunters in this way is not only satisfying on its own terms, but has a sweet justice to it: the first steps you make in the city of Novigrad lead you to a witch-burning in progress. How appropriate that you turn this punishment on the same factions that would rid the world of sorceresses and their cohorts.
The Witcher 3 finds a nigh-perfect sense of balance between giving you things to do and allowing its spaces to breathe.
Loot has a huge role to play in the game, thanks to the high degree of armor and weapon customization. Different armor sets in particular are a joy to uncover, making Geralt look more and more hardened as you progress. In many role-playing games, hunting for treasure is more of a chore to be marked off of the to-do list than a pressing adventure of its own. In The Witcher 3, discovering a diagram of new and improved chest armor is a cause for celebration. Geralt can get a shave and a haircut (and delightfully, his beard grows back over time), but otherwise, you cannot customize his physical appearance; new armor means a new look, and with it, a new visual attitude. Geralt's look evolves from that of a battered soldier, to robed battle wizard, to wisened commander, all on the basis of the game's exquisite armor designs.
The Witcher 3 also benefits from its hugely expanded potions system, which allows you to quaff potions during combat--though as always, witcher potions are dangerous, and Geralt can only have so many in effect due to their rising toxicity. Between gear diagrams and potion ingredients, I became a digital hoarder, a trap I typically avoid in role-playing games. Again, it comes down to balance: your inventory fills rapidly, but for the most part, this is not just "stuff" for the sake of "stuff." I knew that the ingredients I collected would allow me to create a potion that in turn let me dive for treasure without being annoyed by pesky sea-dwelling drowners. I knew that I could break down those horse hides I collected into armor components the local smith needed to make me look even mightier.
In Velen, the wind blows particularly violently.
From one hour to the next, the compulsion to examine the landscape grows. Some of the joys that arise in the wilds are quiet ones: you mount your horse Roach and trot over the hill in time to see a rich sunset, always a treat in The Witcher 3, whose saturated reds and oranges make the sky look as beautiful and as blood-sodden as the meadows beneath them. You discover a boat and embark on an impromptu voyage through the islands of Skellige, taking note of the ship wreckage that mars the beaches and cliffs. The music swells, and a soprano intones a euphoric melody that accentuates the peacefulness. The peacefulness is always broken, however--perhaps by a journey into a dark dungeon where your torch lights the pockmarked walls and a snarling fiend waits to devour you, or by the shout of a boy crying out for your assistance.
At the time of this writing, I have only played the PlayStation 4 version, as it was the only version provided for advance review, but it is undoubtedly beautiful, though prone to occasional bugs and visual glitches. Solving a quest's subtasks in a particular order caused the game to stick at a perpetual loading screen. Roach decided to stop galloping and lurch ahead in a weird way for minutes on end until I quick-traveled away and returned. Geralt's hair blew in the wind, even when he was indoors. It's jarring should you enter an area after quick-traveling and the citizens have yet to pop in, including quest-givers.
Silence, creature of the sky! I am here to slaughter you!
These distractions stand out in part because The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt is otherwise incredible and sumptuous; the little quirks are pronounced when they are surrounded by stellar details. And make no mistake: this is one of the best role-playing games ever crafted, a titan among giants and the standard-setter for all such games going forward. Where the Witcher 2 sputtered to a halt, The Witcher 3 is always in a crescendo, crafting battle scenarios that constantly one-up the last, until you reach the explosive finale and recover in the glow of the game's quiet denouement. But while the grand clashes are captivating, it is the moments between conflicts, when you drink with the local clans and bask in a trobairitz's song, that are truly inspiring.
When you're reflecting on a recently completed game, hating it is just as helpful a feeling as loving it. Whether your opinions are glowing or scathing, strong feelings in either direction mean that you'll have plenty to share with others when the topic comes up. It's the middling game--inoffensive but unremarkable--that really haunts you. I don't feel any regret about the time I expended playing Toren, but that's the problem. I don't really feel much about that time at all.
In Toren, you direct a small girl known as Moonchild to the top of a crumbling tower. Like the tower of Babel, it was built by people seeking great power who were punished severely for their hubris. Mankind's last hope is a girl trapped inside the tower, doomed to die and be reborn endlessly until she can scale it and slay the dragon that shares her prison. It's a web of myth and mysticism where each individual thread is vaguely familiar but has been woven into something distinct and original.
Dragons never breathe nice things, do they?
Moonchild starts as a toddler stumbling around the overgrown lower level, but the endearingly uncoordinated flopping of her limbs gives way to composure and poise the farther she progresses up the tower. The enchanted sword that takes all her strength to first lift is soon wielded with ease. Aspects of Moonchild's maturation are handled very well, including her evolving design, with one notable exception. In her awkward preteen stage, her childhood dress tears into a convenient deep V-neckline with straps slipping away from her shoulders and three large round gaps in the cloth exposing the majority of her back. This is not what happens when someone outgrows a piece of clothing, and considering that the player saw this same character toddling around in baby bloomers about thirty minutes prior, this phase of her costume evolution comes off as somewhat creepy.
The actual act of climbing the tower involves solving relatively simple environmental puzzles, fending off assorted enemies, and exploring optional dream sequences where Moonchild's mentor explains her situation and some broader philosophical musings about the nature of mankind. This is where the your experience can be seriously derailed; if you skip these optional (and easily missed) sequences, it becomes quite hard to follow the plot. You'll never want for those lofty chin-stroking tidbits, though, even though they're some of the least interesting things the game has to say.
Kind of a Princess Mononoke meets Frozen thing going on here (and I'm into it.)
Storytelling gripes aside, the hands-on feel of playing isn't great either. The best illustration of this comes in the form of the shapes that Moonchild must fill with sand during her dreams. Each dream has at least one of these to complete, and to do so, you hold down the interact button and direct her around the shape's outline. The game very weakly snaps her to the path, but it's incredibly easy to stray. It's even easier if you disregard the warnings and elect to play with a mouse and keyboard instead. (Don't do this. Seriously.) These sand tracings are the most annoying part of the game; even when you perform well (controller and all), it looks like Moonchild has spread the sacred sand with as much care as a toddler spilling cereal all over the kitchen floor.
I wish my problems with Toren ended there, but I can't leave out the times that I somehow managed to wedge Moonchild in places where the camera steadfastly refused to follow, the times when she simply slipped through the floor geometry and fell into oblivion, the times when Moonchild's arms froze in place while her legs continued to animate normally, the times that her sword hit foes with so little effect that I kept attacking, not realizing that they were already dead, the times that I took a jump too early but the game graciously floated me over to the destination platform as though I'd triggered some sort of moon gravity mode, the time that I fought the dragon, fudged the timing, and darted back to regroup before it could perform its "you're too slow" instant kill... only for the game to snap Moonchild back into its talons anyway.
Disclaimer: Your sword may vary.
And yet Toren is not without its charms. In spite of some conspicuously low-quality models, it's a delightful thing to look at: its colors are vivid, its world is small but detailed, and it doesn't shy away from dramatic use of its camera and lighting effects. A couple of the dream sequences elicited quiet gasps as I proceeded through them, and even the credits (which feature painted illustrations unfurled to a vocal version of the game's beautiful theme) are worth watching.
For all the problems, it's easy to recognize the flashes of something special in Toren. It's a loaf of homemade bread, proofed and kneaded, laid in a pan, and sprinkled tenderly with rosemary but unfortunately pulled from the oven a few minutes before it could pass the toothpick test. However complex the recipe, Toren just feels undercooked.
I like to think of Action Henk as a retired action hero on the fast road to retaking the spotlight. A distended beer belly hanging far over his belt, Henk is a small action figure sporting a wide, yet determined grin separating an impressive set of 1980s sideburns. It's hard not to root for him as he slides down ramps and over obstacles at a relentless velocity. This side-scrolling, speed-running platformer has the rush of a classic Sonic the Hedgehog game, without any of the irritating sidekicks.
Henk sets off on his pint-sized adventure sprinting along plastic orange ramps--like the ones for toy cars--and wooden blocks, leaping and butt-sliding toward the goal line--oh yes, butt-sliding. Holding down a button causes Henk to fly (literally) on the seat of his pants. Sliding down inclines builds up speed, and a comet-like trail of flame jets off Henk's plastic-molded posterior, growing longer the faster he moves. You burn through loops and bounce off walls while rushing past checkpoints as you complete a brief tour of the floor of a child's bedroom--the entirety of which is complete with jumbled clothing drawers, posters, and scattered video game cartridges. Despite his appearance, Henk moves through each level at an energetic pace, all to the tune of a jumping soundtrack.
Real men wear tutus.
Action Henk is a fast ride and pure speed-running bliss from start to goal. It feels like Sonic in his glory days. Though the kindly faced Henk doesn't quite parallel the blue blur's devil-may-care attitude, he nearly matches the blistering speed with his stride. Many levels last less than a minute, but as you make your way around the track, you notice other pathways and ramps just out of reach. They all lead you to the same point, and yet the promise of more even speed makes the desire to reach them all the more enticing. There are tricks that only experience can teach--for example, hopping just before a declining ramp increases the speed of your butt-slide, rewarding you with more air time than ever before. Soon those other areas become attainable, opening up steeper slides and more death-defying jumps--all of which amounts to gaining even more of that gratifying speed and fewer moments of slowdown.
Completing levels nets you medals of bronze, silver, or gold, which are collected to unlock new areas. The setup is similar to that of some mobile games that require a certain number of stars or other related items to unlock gates. But the rules here are not nearly as strict. New sections open up quickly, and unlocking the final section is possible only several of hours after starting. It does make sense: this is a game whose conceit is unrelenting speed, not throwing out road blocks. Because of this playability, I felt myself running through older courses again because I actually wanted to, just for the fun, and not out of any sort of obligation. It cuts down on a lot of the undue stress usually presented by games that make it difficult to unlock new missions. If you're having trouble with any of the levels, you can race against a bronze, silver, or gold ghost, who will show you the way.
Though the kindly faced Henk doesn't quite parallel the blue blur's devil-may-care attitude, he nearly matches the blistering speed with his stride.
There is still some stress involved. At the end of most sections, you face a tough boss challenge. These races can require a lot of patience and restarts as they test your speed-running skills. The final section missions, however, are the most difficult. Some of them can be downright sadistic in their challenges. Earning a gold medal in every level of a section unlocks a touch bonus mission to collect coins. The medal also unlocks the rainbow medal ghost, as well as the ghost for the top player of the level--both of which are the hardest challenges you can face. Beyond that, the game does suffer from some minor issues. A few levels tend to lag in spots, while the level select menu sticks on occasion.
Though reaching the final "Hard as Henk" levels is possible in only a few hours, there is still a lot of extra content to experience and discover. Completing challenges such as boss battles unlocks new characters and skins--the Sonic costume for Henk with his belly bursting through the front is an easy favorite. Action Henk is a community-focused game, and includes tools to build and share your own custom level and download other users' levels from its Steam page. I tried a few of the higher rated tracks, many of which are great. Some send you through enough loops to make your head spin, while others are designed for pure speed. Action Henk also has an online racing mode, but I wasn't able to give it a whirl, as the developer kept it offline for advance review copies.
Getting too close to the floor causes it to turn to lava.
Completing Action Henk will set you back only several hours, but you will be at the edge of your seat for most of that time. The speed is immensely satisfying, and earning those precious gold medals after replaying levels feels good. It's a heart-pumping adventure starring action figures and toy tracks, so give yourself a break and come play.
I'm a firm believer that all skills, even the ones we often think of as innate--artistic talent, athletic ability, imaginative writing--can be taught. It's just a matter of putting the time and effort into learning to excel (or at least be competent) at something. Rhythm is the exception to that rule. You either have it or you don't. And I do not. The only reason I could play drums in Rock Band was because of the falling note chart in the game. That I was able to enjoy the rhythmic platforming of Inside My Radio despite my total lack of an inner metronome is a testament to its hypnotic power.
Seaven Studio's Inside My Radio is a hybrid of Thomas Was Alone's geometric platforming and the beat-dependent movement of 2012's criminally underselling Sound Shapes. On a surface covered with blocks set against old-school backdrops, you explore levels through rhythmic jumping, dashing, and smashing. Beyond basic left/right movement, you can only perform more complex actions in time with the rhythm of the level's music. Featuring rock, electronic, and even reggae tunes, Inside My Radio forces you to become one with the soundtrack's tempos in order to avoid the varied obstacles in the environments themselves.
If you're wanting a game that is perfect for a chill evening where you want to relax with music and a video game, Inside My Radio is worth the spin.
Much like Sound Shapes, Inside My Radio successfully cultivates a sense of synesthesia in players--the ability to experience music with your senses beyond hearing. It's partially achieved through the core mechanical loop of the game: overcoming environmental obstacles through rhythm. If you can't find the tempo of that level's track, you aren't going to get very far. But once you discover the song's groove, you begin to feel a sense of oneness between the music and your platforming. Well, you do if you have any rhythm. I don't, but even I began to get the groove of Inside My Radio once I took a couple deep breaths and focused on the sound.
But it's more than mechanical design that creates the multisensory musical experience. The environments react to the music. The dub level has trees that grow and unfurl in time to the beats. The most devious platforming segments require an understanding of the beat to conquer. The puzzles work around the polyrhythms of the most complex tracks. Every element of Inside My Radio feeds back into the music. Music becomes the mechanics. It becomes the art. And when you learn that this guitar riff means the fatal electric platform is going to disappear before it even happens, the game has accomplished its goal of creating an immersive sonic experience.
Inside My Radio has an actual plot as well, though it's fairly nonsensical and mostly serves as an excuse to have the characters you control explore these varied worlds--including what appears to be the literal inside of a radio, a dance club, and the abstraction of a Rasta/electronic fusion. The game also relies on an unnecessary preponderance of pop culture humor/meme references that fall a little flat in its storytelling. The jokes rarely seem to serve a purpose beyond "Aren't we clever for knowing this bit of cultural ephemera?"
And despite the great soundtrack and the trance-inducing interplay between music, game art, and mechanics, the platforming and art are merely good. Your dash mechanic is key to traversing many of the game's obstacles, but it feels loose and imprecise, which is rarely a major issue but becomes frustrating when it does rear its head. The art can become a phantasmagoric, psychedelic delight, but the game also embraces staid, bland cyberpunk electroscapes that feel rote by the end of the game. Boss fights against a cyber-spider crop up at the end of the game, and they are more aggravating than hypnotic. Inside My Radio also suffers from the inclusion of an occasional puzzle where you might not even realize you're trying to solve a puzzle at first, and it interrupts the musical momentum of the game.
Inside My Radio never quite reaches the synergetic highs of its most obvious peer, Sound Shapes, but it's still an entrancing experience. Although the main campaign is very short (it takes less than two hours to complete), the Time Attack mode adds legs to the game for those who wish to truly master the game's levels. If you're wanting a game that is perfect for a chill evening where you want to relax with music and a video game, Inside My Radio is worth a spin.
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