Music cognition specialist I'd have brought my flip-flops had I known there was a beach party!

I can attest to the hypnotic nature of the combat, but I can't wholly condone it, especially when Ryse's other aspects are so frustratingly limited. This may be the most linear game outside of rail-shooters you are likely to play, with exploration opportunities limited to a few dead ends where you might find some unhelpful collectible. No, you can't leap over that log: Roman soldiers simply can't step that high--except for when it's another log, that one over there. You can break these vases, but these other ones that look a lot like those are just for decoration. And you can climb up that barrier because the game wishes it be so, but crossing knee-high foliage is out of the question. Invisible walls are not uncommon in games, but few games do a poorer job at making their corridors feel so arbitrarily confining.

And so Ryse: Son of Rome is, as MacBeth might say, "Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Its revenge tale is old and simple, and is comprised of a dead family, a betrayal foreshadowed long before it occurs, some mystical allusions to the gods and their squabbles, and the requisite display of bare breasts to reinforce the lechery of the ruling elite. Excellent voice acting at least sells each roar to the heavens and every call to arms. The superb acting also applies to Ryse's highly expressive faces. The CryEngine 3 used to render this explosion of innards is undoubtedly impressive. An elder's hair looks as though it grows from his scalp, rather than sits on top if it; wrinkles, scars, and crow's feet move naturally as characters speak. Ryse for the PC supports all number of ways to make your computer cry, but there is no shame in not being able to maximize every graphics option: Ryse looks photorealistic enough at even moderate settings without ever tumbling into the uncanny valley. I pray to Zeus, however, that you are not as distracted as I am by how combatants in some scenarios scuttle about as if they're brawny bodies were carried by toddlers' legs.

The campaign lasts around four or five hours, and while you might presume that the simplistic Ryse couldn't possibly support more game than that, a cooperative two-player online mode hopes to prove you wrong. There are concerns here beyond shedding as much blood as possible: you level up as you play match after match, earning access to new gear and improving attributes, but the foundation is still built upon that insistent combat. It is, as always, the cavalcade of aural and visual overstimulation (Listen to the roar of the crowd! Watch how the stadium morphs and shifts as we do battle!), combined with the unremitting pattern of your button presses, upon which Ryse: Son of Rome relies.

Having already lost many hours to the Xbox One version of Ryse, I understand how a mediocre game can still spark your basest instincts, causing you to tap those buttons even when you understand that the ritual has become unhealthy, and even though many superior games deserve the attention you have lavished on a lesser one. I have a complicated relationship with Ryse: Son of Rome. I could never call it good, or imaginative, or varied. I can see through its obvious attempts to appeal to my most primitive impulses. But I can also say that Ryse succeeds in tickling your brain stem even when you know your time is better spent. I don't believe, however, that it deserves congratulations for having done it.