Rain World effectively illustrates the cruel indifference of nature. As a half-rabbit, half-slug creature trying to reunite with its family, you start smack dab in an unfamiliar land with an ecosystem where you're both predator and prey. Rain is a threat to your survival, but it pales in comparison to the game's many hunters and, unfortunately, unforgiving environments.
Rain is to blame for the rabbit-slug's isolation to begin with. As the opening cutscenes illustrate, the storms are what separated the poor creature from its family. The resulting quest to reunite with its loved ones is a long and arduous 2D trek that challenges you with limited resources and abilities. Your most useful skills are the ones you start with, namely a good throwing arm and a long jump. Ultimately, these are all you need to reach Rain World's end, though the game's pervasive threats made me crave more skills. If you get caught in the rain, you die. The only way you can survive is if you manage to reach one of the game's many waterproof shelters.
Once you reach a shelter, however, you're forced into hibernation, and surviving the long sleep requires consuming a minimum of four food items, be it flies or fruit. A screen's worth of fruit or flies--assuming there are some available--often provides the food you need but it takes a few hibernation periods to replenish. As a result, you're often compelled to explore beyond your comfort zone for other food sources.
Comfort is a relative term in Rain World. You can commit a region's layout and myriad paths to memory, but you're still vulnerable to many merciless predators. Their locations on the map change every time you emerge from slumber. This typically sustains a moderate level of freshness in each play session, though it's not uncommon to find yourself in punishing and unfair situations. Some creatures--like the giant vultures--appear with little to no warning. And if your timing is unlucky, a vicious lizard can be waiting for you at the edge of the next screen, leaving you with no opportunity to react, let alone escape. In a game that forces you to mentally juggle numerous variables to survive, these unpreventable deaths can feel exceedingly frustrating.
If you do manage to create distance between you and a lizard, the ensuing chase can be hampered by platforming issues. Rain World's tutorial offers minimal instruction and learning how to interact with the environment can be vexing. A seemingly simple act like jumping off a bridge to grab a metal rod jutting from the concrete should be easy. Instead, you're forced to move with the finesse of a trapeze artist, the feeling of which is at odds with the urgency of escaping a pursuer you have no chance of defeating.
Survival is a layered experience in Rain World, sometimes to the detriment of your enjoyment. Aside from the demands of reaching shelter with enough food in your belly, forward progress is impeded by gates between each region. Passing those gates requires maintaining a positive win-loss record--in other words, your hibernation frequency has to be higher than your death rate; a seeming bizarre and arbitrary requirement. Given all the game's other demands, this method of proving your worthiness feels harsh and nonsensical in practice. Having to forage and hibernate for the sole purpose of passing a gate feels disrespectful of the player's time since there are no other rewards for killing and eating.
As a result, there's a heightened sense of relief in reaching a new region. As you explore each new area, you're hit with a renewed feeling of resignation and acceptance of the many deaths you'll soon rack up as you reach dead ends and find the mainline path to the next gate. In an unfair process of trial and error, you make leaps of faith off cliffs to test whether falling beyond the bottom of the screen means your death or the discovery of a new area. And when you find a new gate, the tiresome process of hibernating for the privilege of passing that gate begins anew.
The silver lining of forward progress is that you're continually treated to the unique and striking visuals of Rain World's ruined landscape. The surreal creature designs, combined with the lack of humans makes this world feel both eerily lonely and alien. It carries the same imaginative spirit of games like Bioshock and Abzu, where you're too preoccupied admiring the artistry to question the logistics of how these man made environments were constructed within the fiction.
One of the tragedies of Rain World's shortcomings is that you don't need to dig deep to see glimmers of excellence. There are a handful of satisfying moments of exercising ingenuity when you're using your environment and limited resources to your advantage. You can lure two predators into the same area, and the resulting fight between the two will give you an opportunity for a discrete escape. A stick is primarily intended to stun predators, but it's also useful as a climbing point if you throw it against a wall. Rain World shines during the rare moments that encourage improvisation, like when you grab and haul a glowing mouse-like creature against its will so you can use its body to illuminate an otherwise pitch black area.
In Rain World, the spectre of failure, often caused by events you can't control, lingers heavily. It quickly drives home the point that you're a foreigner in a ruined land where anyone larger than you wants to eat you. Its stunningly detailed backgrounds and few rewarding gameplay opportunities are vastly outweighed by its platforming imperfections and hibernation mechanic, which makes little sense in its connection to accessing new areas. Oftentimes, the frustrations resulting from failure devolve into apathy, which is a wholly unfortunate outcome for a game that gives off a deceptively promising first impression.
Late zombie mayhem and a cliffhanger conclusion can't quite save Above the Law. The third episode of the New Frontier makes great narrative strides, but it runs too much on autopilot along the way. While the story itself is satisfying to watch--especially in how it ups the stakes for protagonist Javi Garcia--this is one of those Walking Dead episodes that's much more of an interactive movie than an adventure game.
Like this season's first episode, Above the Law kicks things off with a flashback. This brief look into the past helps establish the leading foursome as something of an alternative family unit for the zombie apocalypse. It's also oddly hopeful in contrast with the present, which is full of hardships and unexpected curveballs.
The themes about the importance of family ties in a world where nobody can be trusted aren't exactly subtle here, but they work, thanks mainly to the advancement of the relationship brewing between Javi and Kate. Now that their predictable mutual attraction is finally addressed, we get to see the group dynamic shift in meaningful ways.
Seeing these events transpire is gratifying, despite feeling overly predictable. Richmond is exactly the cesspool it appears to be. Clementine returns at the most opportune moment and is every bit the pint-sized badass she was last time out. David is a serial abuser and blowhard practically begging you to steal his wife. Jesus is wise and cool. Tripp is gruff but lovable. And, yes, Above the Law features speeches from corrupt people about how you have to do whatever it takes to survive in a world where the dead walk around and eat people.
Most of the above is Walking Dead 101. Nobody will be surprised that those elements are big parts of this episode. Nonetheless, the superb quality of the script, voice acting, and animation (which is smoother and more lifelike than in previous episodes, with no jarring jerks or hiccups that have been relatively common in the past) makes everything compelling to watch even though you get the sense that the story is pretty blatantly maneuvering everyone into place.
The lack of meaningful choices proves to be the bigger sin--you might as well get some popcorn out for the first 45 minutes or so of Above the Law.
The lack of meaningful choices proves to be the bigger sin--you might as well get some popcorn out for the first 45 minutes or so of Above the Law. It's easy to forget you're doing anything but watching an animated movie...and then you wind up getting killed when zombies show up after the midpoint and you're sitting back from the keyboard or with the gamepad in your lap as a spectator. A fair number of dialogue options appear in the early stages of the episode, but none of them seem to really impact the direction of the story. Most result in typical Telltale feedback like "Kate will remember that" and have no immediate effect on other characters.
The action heats up toward the end of the episode when the truth about Richmond's leadership is revealed through a nod back to what happened to Prescott in Episode 2. Also, a handful of challenging battles with humans and zombies require multiple clicks of keys in order to avoid a chomp or shot in the face. Although the surprise of having to twitch-click your way through battles is tough to handle at first, given the lightweight first two-thirds of the game, nothing here provides any serious obstacles.
Everything concludes with a revenge-fueled fight that, while somewhat satisfying, ends in such a copycat way that it takes you right out of the game if you're familiar with the TV show. Instead of something original and natural, you get a forced (and all too familiar) scene that immediately recalls a series-famous trope. As a result, the scene is more derivative than shocking (although you'll still need a strong stomach to endure the entire thing--at least if you go for the most extreme final stroke.)
In other words, bring on Episode 4. As much as Above the Law advances A New Frontier's narrative and sets up what will inevitably be a chaotic battle for Richmond, there just isn't enough to do this time around. Telltale's Walking Dead series always treads the line between interactive fiction and adventure game, but here the whole production tips over the edge to the point where you feel like you're watching a movie. Granted, it's a pretty good movie. It's filled with realistic characters, intense scenes, and some of the most brutal violence depicted in the franchise thus far. But it's essentially a movie nonetheless, with too many compromises made to manipulate the plot and characters into position for the upcoming finale.
Playing a 3D platformer without a jump button is a strange experience. When I first started Snake Pass, I felt lost without the warm blanket of a double jump. How do I get to that floating platform across the chasm? How am I supposed to change direction after I screw up my initial movement? And just how am I to obtain that arbitrary hard-to-reach shiny collectible?!
Answering these questions is easy once you realize that Snake Pass requires you to not only move like a snake, but think like a snake. Initially, I struggled to adapt to my lack of legs (I've grown quite attached to my limbs, you see): falling from the top of high peaks, slithering straight off rocky cliffs, and slamming into walls were sights seen far too often--making much of the mid-game more frustrating than enjoyable. But somehow, things clicked, and slinking up a pole to reach an objective became a natural and strangely beautiful movement, and one that distinguishes Snake Pass as a platformer like no other.
You play as Noodle, a vegetarian snake, joined by Doodle, your hummingbird companion. Like Yooka-Laylee, Snake Pass has clearly been inspired by late 90s platformers such as Banjo-Kazooie, but rather than simply retread what has come before, its central mechanic aims to innovate. Unfortunately, while Noodle and Doodle have cute names and appear full of character, their voices and personalities--or lack thereof--don't quite have the charm of the aforementioned Rare mascots or other popular mascot creatures.
The joy, then, must come from Snake Pass's mechanics. Make no mistake, this is a game about momentum, and about 'feel;' about how well developer Sumo Digital can translate being a serpent onto a gamepad. Initially, this is taught well, with easier obstacles and smaller enclosures allowing you to get to grips with your new boa constrictor body. You're afforded the time and a safe environment to learn how to wrap your body around poles, how to accelerate across flat ground (you actually have to move side-to-side), and how to successfully climb upwards. Unfortunately, the mid-game's difficulty curve is steep. There are no enemies in Snake Pass, but each of the game's four main worlds introduces new fatal, obstacles; ravines, spikes, lava, and more stand between you and three keystones, which you need to collect to open the exit portal in each level. At this stage, you're still acclimatizing to life on no feet, and yet Snake Pass expects you to run before you can wriggle.
There are other problems, too. Your airborne friend Doodle is supposed to be able to pick up your tail end to give you an upwards boost, but he'll frequently refuse to help when called upon. I now have a mild hatred towards hummingbirds as a result.
The camera's positioning is also an issue, as it often picks the wrong angle to show you as you're attempting to curl yourself around the next piece of connective bamboo. Far too often you'll need to manually move your viewpoint, and combined with the separate buttons for forward movement, lateral movement, vertical movement, and gripping, all of which are frequently being pushed at the same time, it can feel like you're tying yourself in a knot.
However, when your serpentine abilities catch up with the difficulty curve a little further in, Snake Pass transforms. You learn which movements to pull off to stay wrapped around a peg--when to tighten your muscles, when to lift your head up, and when to realize the game is up and it's best to skip to the next moving platform. As you improve, the momentum you build in gliding up and over obstacles can lead to some wonderful sights--there's something instinctively satisfying about seeing a snake's tail chase after its head, especially knowing you were the choreographer. And that's helped by the vibrant character and environment art, the latter of which accentuates each world's natural beauty, while the changing color palettes make each level appear distinct from the last. This is a game whose sense of motion is palpable, with platforms whizzing by and moving reptilian stripes attracting the eye--and yet I often found myself gazing at a distant treeline or glowing collectible orb. Maybe I wouldn't have died so much if I'd been paying attention...
Snake Pass's artistry extends into its soundtrack. Each track fits its world perfectly--ramping up tension when necessary--but mostly the panpipes and steel drums add to the exotic peace already hinted at by the game's appearance. It meant that even in that difficult middle period, even when I was frustrated at having died at the same obstacle for the fifth time, I rarely wanted to chuck my controller out the window.
At times, then, Snake Pass can be a wonderfully relaxing journey through some beautiful habitats. The late game switches into an engaging and challenging puzzler, requiring some deft flicks of the left stick, but one that can feel immensely gratifying when you elegantly slalom your way over a narrow assault course that's suspended over lava. It's the middle third, when the game expects too much of you far too soon, that causes the momentum to stutter. Nevertheless, Snake Pass is a quirky puzzler that innovates while simultaneously evoking memories of your favourite platformers of yesteryear--just don't expect to grow into your new skin overnight.
Hitting a baseball might be the hardest thing to do in professional sports. It's a feat not just reliant on athletic ability, but on skill, patience, and finely tuned mechanics. MLB The Show 17 revels in this fact, making each line drive and moonshot feel immanently special. From the emphatic crack of the bat as the ball is sent careening through the air, to the way the crowd rises to their feet with oohs and aahs in equal parts awe and rabid excitement.
Batting in Sony's long-running series has never been better. Previously, the series' ball physics were modelled on a baseball hitting a flat surface, which resulted in the ball taking relatively straight flight paths with minimal spin. I never considered this to be a facet of the game in urgent need of improvement, but now that the physics are based on the trajectory of a ball colliding off of a round bat, the leap in quality is unmistakable. Not only does this enhancement inject a dose of added realism, but it also increases the variety of dynamic hits you're likely to see. You'll witness balls sliced down the third base line that spin just enough to stay fair, bloops that fall between the second basemen and right fielder, and topspin line drives that soar over the center fielder's head before crashing into an outfield wall. I can't count the amount of times I've paused the game after a scorching double, just to hop into a replay and savour the ball's flight path. The physics are really that good.
This isn't to suggest fielders are outmatched, however--far from it. Those patrolling the diamond are more intelligent than ever thanks to The Show 17's Humanity AI. You'll never have to worry about a runner being called safe because your shortstop took his sweet time throwing to first base. Now the AI is smart enough to discern between a speed merchant like Billy Hamilton bursting down the line and the lumbering stride of someone like Miguel Cabrera, and can adapt their level of urgency appropriately. They're going to rush throws for those bang-bang plays at first, and take their time when they know they can; banishing the frustration inherent in the lackadaisical fielding that plagued previous entries in the series, while still maintaining The Show's authenticity. A deluge of fluid, new animations tie all of this together. And while the excellent pitching mechanics remain seemingly unchanged, I do appreciate the visible torque apparent in the game's pitching animations. It's a small detail, but one that edges the presentation closer to reality.
Unfortunately, intelligence inside the dugout aren't quite matched by the brains out on the field. AI Managers still aren't great at handling their pitching staff. I've encountered a few instances where relievers have been left to the wolves, long after they should have been pulled from the mound. The most egregious of these occurred when a reliever was summoned into the game, only to give up 11 earned runs on an unbelievable 136 pitches, before his skipper finally decided he had seen enough. I just felt sorry for the poor guy.
The immensely popular career mode Road to the Show returns and is as engrossing as ever. You can still import a character from last year's game to continue where you left off, or start from scratch to guide a young upstart from the fairgrounds of the minor leagues to the 30,000 capacity ballparks on the big stage. In an attempt to breathe some fresh air into the mode, Sony have incorporated a narrative overlay in this year's game, dubbed "Pave Your Path." It's not as substantial or captivating as the story modes found in the NBA2K series or FIFA 17's "The Journey," but it does add some flavour to what was previously a fairly by-the-numbers affair.
Told in a documentary style--think HBO's Hard Knocks--with each scene described by a narrator, you can choose from a range of dialogue options in various baseball-related situations. It's not a robust system, essentially boiling down to whether you want to be humble or arrogant, and do what you think is best for the team or yourself. There are potential repercussions if you continue to disrespect your organisation and its staff, as you're liable to find yourself on the trading block. But the vast majority of interactions offer little more than an opportunity to role-play and shape the personality of your created player, and it doesn't take long before scenes begin to repeat either.
There are a few big moments sprinkled throughout that have more far-reaching consequences, such as interacting with your new team's owner after the draft, or being asked to play another position. I decided to create a shortstop in my career, and after a measly showing in the draft showcase, I was picked in one of the latter rounds by the Milwaukee Brewers. After crushing it for the first couple of months, my Double-A manager invited me into his office and asked if I wanted to try playing third base for ten games or so. I would get a chance to gain some valuable experience in a new position, and if it worked out, my versatility would give the team more options going forward. So I agreed.
Once those ten games had passed, I was called back into the manager's office and informed that the team wanted to keep me at third base for the foreseeable future. I had played exceptionally good defence in the hot corner, and with Jonathan Villar fully entrenched at shortstop on the major league roster, and a top 50 prospect also manning the position in the minors, it made sense that my best path to the majors would go through another position on the field. It doesn't always work this cleanly--with a created pitcher, my demotion to the bullpen was more contrived than believable--but when the stars align and the trajectory of your career naturally deviates, it makes "Pave Your Path" a worthwhile addition to the Road to the Show formula.
Elsewhere, Franchise has received some time-saving improvements. Traditionally, playing a full 162-game season can be a laborious grind if you're not simply skimming your way through a vast majority of the games. Now there are a few more options on a game-by-game basis if you want to expedite the process and still feel involved. You can still play or manage a full game, or you can cut down the time of games by more than half by selecting quick manage or player lock. The former speeds through games at a rapid pace while still giving you a say in every single at-bat. And, if you want, you can jump in and out at any time and take direct control, even if it's only for one crucial at-bat or two. Meanwhile, player lock lets you play an entire game as a single player, à la Road to the Show. So if you've always just wanted to be Bryce Harper, now you can. These are smart new additions that ensure you can have a palpable impact on all 162-games in a season, no matter how much or how little you actually play.
After card collecting game Diamond Dynasty received a total revamp last year, it returns intact with 30 more legendary players added. So if you've ever wanted to trot out an outfield of Ken Griffey Jr., Ted Williams, and Mike Trout, now you can (provided you're incredibly lucky/willing to spend some cash). And with Griffey emblazoned on the cover, MLB The Show 17 invites some nostalgia with the new Retro mode. With its 8-bit filter and arcade-style one-button mechanics, it invokes old-school classics like R.B.I. Baseball on the NES. It's a fun novelty, but since it's limited to single games, it feels like a missed opportunity without the ability to play a full season.
MLB The Show 17 continues the series' fantastic tradition of consistency and refinement. Improvements to its various game modes give you more ways to play the game how you want to, and the action on the field has never been better, with smarter fielding AI, and enhanced ball physics that bring the hitting to life. Commentary is still a little too stilted for my liking, and there are other blemishes lurking throughout. But when you connect with a fastball and send the ball spiralling into a gap in center field, any issues retreat to the back of your mind. This is America's National Pastime at its best.
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