Added: 27.05.2015 15:00 | 1 views | 0 comments

I've been playing Splatoon, Nintendo’s new and unusual shooter, for just over a week, and my experience has ranged from delightful to frustrating. Its inventive mechanics are refreshing, making it easy to enjoy both the single player and multiplayer components.Since the game hasn't been released yet, my only time with multiplayer has been with other Nintendo employees and members of the press. Until I've been able to test multiplayer with a large number of people playing online, I unfortunately can’t pass judgment on the game at large. That said, when I have been able to get into a match, I've thoroughly enjoyed Splatoon's multiplayer offerings.

Unlike most shooters where the goal is to kill opponents, Splatoon's multiplayer Turf War matches are won by whichever team of four Inklings (shapeshifting human-squid hybrids) paints the largest area of the map with their team's color. This mode engrains Splatoon's non-violent gameplay into your psyche, and though you can technically "kill" members of the opposing team, which knocks them out of the match for three seconds and earns you a decent chunk of experience points, it's clearly a secondary objective. This takes a bit of getting used to, but focusing on shooting the environment rather than on shooting other players means that you can actually relax a bit while playing, free from the pressures of the highly competitive environment created by today's typical shooters. Being great at a game like requires a lot of practice and discipline, but Splatoon doesn't punish newcomers, allowing almost anyone to enjoy some measure of success from the get-go. Turf War matches are the only available type of online match before you hit level 10 and unlock ranked battles, which I have unfortunately not been able to manage given my current matchmaking difficulties. There, objective-based matches will become available, but until I get to experience them for myself, it's impossible to say how they stand up to Turf War.

Regardless of whether you're playing online or offline, you have plenty of chances to put your squid abilities to good use, and you soon realize that ink is for more than just shooting. When you're running around in a patch of your own ink, you can revert to a purer squid form and swim at great speeds until you reach a dry spot or a puddle of your enemy's ink. Swimming through ink allows you to quickly move forward, or backwards if you're trying to find cover, but it also creates tactical advantages when used properly. If you stand still in a pool of your own ink, you actually appear invisible to your opponents, which makes it easy to get the jump on an unsuspecting enemy, or, to avoid conflict in a tight situation. You have to be careful of how much ink you're holding as it depletes rather quickly, but all you need to do to reload is to turn into a squid and watch your ink tank fill up.

As you progress in online multiplayer matches, earning experience and leveling up, you primarily unlock the chance to purchase new guns, headwear, shirts, and shoes. More than a fashion statement, choosing the right equipment will give you one or more stat boosts, giving you greater swimming speed or more effective ink, for example. The guns you choose are also important, as a wide paint roller acts very differently than a typical squirt gun. The ability to upgrade gear means that it's unlikely any two teams will be alike, making every match a dice-roll.

Thank goodness, because while the gameplay and progression systems in Splatoon are enjoyable and varied, the maps you play on are too similar, and I can't think of a single one that stands out. There are some elements that you'll pickup on, but these are isolated pieces that you recognize rather than recall fondly. For the most part, you swim over flat land, up a ramp, and maybe through a wire mesh, but I haven't noticed a case where a map emphasizes one particular element over another. Maybe this is a casualty of the game's painting mechanic, making every map feel like a big, neon puddle, but good level design should be able to overcome this. There's also the issue that Splatoon limits the number of maps that you can potentially play on to two or three per day, a limitation which is masked behind a daily announcement from a pair of Inkling celebrities, It's strange that Nintendo would want to limit the number of maps that you have access to and hope that a charming skit would make up the difference.

Online multiplayer aside, the single player campaign does feature a lot of variety, taking you through five worlds filled with minor puzzles, platforming, and some head-to-head matches against the game’s AI-driven baddies, the Octarians. The goal in each level is to reach an electrified fish known as the zap fish, which lies at the end of every level. Though the worlds aren't differentiated the way they are in so many Nintendo games, with different themes or natural elements giving them a strong identity, the objectives and goals you face along the way make the moment-to-moment gameplay feel fresh. Again, it's generally easy to make it through most levels, but you will be hard pressed to find the game's hidden items: Sunken Scrolls. Each one opens up a chapter in the history of the world of Splatoon. Collecting all of them may open up something new in the game, but I need to find a few more before I know whether that's true or not.

I'll be doing my best to find viable multiplayer matches and as many Sunken Scrolls as possible in the next couple days. Once I've got a good feel for the breadth of Splatoon's modes, I'll be back with my full review.

Added: 27.05.2015 8:17 | 9 views | 0 comments


This action-heavy episode does a great job of breaking Telltales Game of Thrones out of its various rutts. Though Miras time in Kings Landing is shorter than usual, everyone else picks up the slack as we see Gared finally embark on his journey north, Rodrik break the cycle of abuse by the Whitehills, and Asher work to gain the favor of Daenerys Targaryen.

Added: 27.05.2015 0:37 | 5 views | 0 comments

In Sunset, you sweep dusty floors, wash spotted windows, and fold a stranger’s well-pressed, tailored clothes--every week for a full year.

These acts might sound routine and tedious, but when you’re rooted in the fictional Latin American country of Anchuria during a 1972 military coup, a ritualistic comfort goes along with carefully making a bed or unclogging the upstairs sink. Still, uncertainty lies even within these constants because the man whose house you maintain has ties to the political and cultural turmoil engulfing the streets. Sunset beautifully pairs its dull corners with a sharp, sociopolitical edge, and while its inconsistent pacing and nagging technical hiccups blur the vision, there’s an unquestionable beauty in watching the sunset kiss the tips of skyscrapers as another somber day comes to a close.

You'll spend Sunset's four-hour run with Angela Burns, an African-American engineer working as a housekeeper to cover her hefty school bills. Angela works for the affluent art collector Gabriel Ortega, whom Angela gets to know solely through his surplus of sculptures and paintings, his eclectic taste in literature, and a series of notes on which you can write personal responses. You become most intimately acquainted with the actual apartment, though, which both subtly and dramatically morphs as the revolution outside its walls progresses. It’s a character all its own, and you grow accustomed to its many distinguishing features--such as the deep closet dug into Ortega’s bedroom, the neatly prepared chess board in the game room that pines for players, and, maybe most importantly, the wide windows by the patio that act as a thin veil between calm and chaos.

How this apartment is decorated and what you do during each in-game hour is up to you. If you feel compelled to go above and beyond the to-do list and hang up pictures of Ortega’s accomplishments, you have the option. If you just don’t feel up to lifting a finger on a cool September evening, you can simply turn around, open the elevator doors, and call it a night.

You do work within boundaries, though. You can’t throw a chair in the fireplace or send the grand piano out the window and into the streets (I tried), but the chores you’re assigned have variations. You’re given a warm and a cool option when you hover your cursor over a task, which determines whether you want to add some personality to the work or complete the task plainly. You can decorate the second floor with bright, floral wallpaper or slap on whatever drab design Ortega has tucked away in the closet. The material of the rug in front of the fireplace, the color of the fresh coat of paint on the bar walls, the care taken when stitching a patch into a ripped piece of clothing--this system provides a fork in every road. How these decisions affect actual change in the grand scheme of things isn’t always clear, but they do act as a silent, day-to-day means of communication between you and Ortega.

Much of the storytelling in this first-person experience is visual, but Angela’s running monologue provides direct context for each week’s happenings and her current feelings toward Ortega. In addition, Angela can sit on a canvas-wrapped chair located within the apartment at any time to begin scribbling notes into her diary. Beyond questioning Ortega’s intentions and worrying for her rebel brother’s safety during the conflict, she digs deeper into her interpretation of Ortega’s art, the social differences between Anchuria and her hometown of Baltimore, and her place in this unstable country. This is where the superb writing shines brightest, and while the text’s sluggish scroll quickly drains precious minutes before the sun sets, it’s worth your time to drink it all in.

Depending on how often you complete tasks and reply to notes with a warm sensibility, a strong romantic bond begins to form between tenant and housekeeper. It starts as an innocent flirtation, but as the revolution escalates, so do their feelings toward one another. And while the passion isn’t capped by a nightly embrace and kiss goodbye, watching the unspoken dance grow and evolve into something deeper is satisfying. It’s hard to know whether or not it’s a kinship born from tragedy and stoked by fear, but they find comfort in each other’s presence--even if that presence isn’t physical.

For the most part, the deliberate pacing benefits the relationship’s establishment. However, the steady climb toward a resolution is occasionally broken by days of inactivity and narrative stagnation. More than a few visits feel like filler, with no notes to respond to and few tasks to complete. These periods slowly drag you away from an otherwise compelling story. Sunset excels at using subtlety to build tension and curiosity, but when the progression halts, the activities start to feel like exactly what they are--chores.

Running Sunset on higher graphical settings can also be called a chore. Even after experimenting with a handful of different option combinations, I couldn’t find a mix that permanently steadied my framerate or prevented hitching. The presentation--from the glamour of the sky’s often-lavender glow to the dark smoke billowing from the buildings in the distance--is salient but often muddled by technical inconsistency. It’s a shame, too, because when Sunset does run smoothly for a visit or two and the powerful, orchestral soundtrack booms across the household, it can be an audiovisual marvel.

Sunset presents so much, all while asking you to do so little. A revolution burns, bombs burst just out of sight, and all you can do is decide if your boss would rather have a fancy dinner or a hefty portion of macaroni. The complexity of your decisions is occasionally greater than setting the table, but Sunset succeeds at making each small action feel significant by giving them all similar weight. Though the story is peppered with periods of inactivity that are detrimental to the pace, Sunset acts as a thoughtful, pensive walk through social themes and struggles not often explored in this medium.

Added: 27.05.2015 0:37 | 4 views | 0 comments

In Sunset, you sweep dusty floors, wash spotted windows, and fold a stranger’s well-pressed, tailored clothes--every week for a full year.

These acts might sound routine and tedious, but when you’re rooted in the fictional Latin American country of Anchuria during a 1972 military coup, a ritualistic comfort goes along with carefully making a bed or unclogging the upstairs sink. Still, uncertainty lies even within these constants because the man whose house you maintain has ties to the political and cultural turmoil engulfing the streets. Sunset beautifully pairs its dull corners with a sharp, sociopolitical edge, and while its inconsistent pacing and nagging technical hiccups blur the vision, there’s an unquestionable beauty in watching the sunset kiss the tips of skyscrapers as another somber day comes to a close.

You'll spend Sunset's four-hour run with Angela Burns, an African-American engineer working as a housekeeper to cover her hefty school bills. Angela works for the affluent art collector Gabriel Ortega, whom Angela gets to know solely through his surplus of sculptures and paintings, his eclectic taste in literature, and a series of notes on which you can write personal responses. You become most intimately acquainted with the actual apartment, though, which both subtly and dramatically morphs as the revolution outside its walls progresses. It’s a character all its own, and you grow accustomed to its many distinguishing features--such as the deep closet dug into Ortega’s bedroom, the neatly prepared chess board in the game room that pines for players, and, maybe most importantly, the wide windows by the patio that act as a thin veil between calm and chaos.

How this apartment is decorated and what you do during each in-game hour is up to you. If you feel compelled to go above and beyond the to-do list and hang up pictures of Ortega’s accomplishments, you have the option. If you just don’t feel up to lifting a finger on a cool September evening, you can simply turn around, open the elevator doors, and call it a night.

You do work within boundaries, though. You can’t throw a chair in the fireplace or send the grand piano out the window and into the streets (I tried), but the chores you’re assigned have variations. You’re given a warm and a cool option when you hover your cursor over a task, which determines whether you want to add some personality to the work or complete the task plainly. You can decorate the second floor with bright, floral wallpaper or slap on whatever drab design Ortega has tucked away in the closet. The material of the rug in front of the fireplace, the color of the fresh coat of paint on the bar walls, the care taken when stitching a patch into a ripped piece of clothing--this system provides a fork in every road. How these decisions affect actual change in the grand scheme of things isn’t always clear, but they do act as a silent, day-to-day means of communication between you and Ortega.

Much of the storytelling in this first-person experience is visual, but Angela’s running monologue provides direct context for each week’s happenings and her current feelings toward Ortega. In addition, Angela can sit on a canvas-wrapped chair located within the apartment at any time to begin scribbling notes into her diary. Beyond questioning Ortega’s intentions and worrying for her rebel brother’s safety during the conflict, she digs deeper into her interpretation of Ortega’s art, the social differences between Anchuria and her hometown of Baltimore, and her place in this unstable country. This is where the superb writing shines brightest, and while the text’s sluggish scroll quickly drains precious minutes before the sun sets, it’s worth your time to drink it all in.

Depending on how often you complete tasks and reply to notes with a warm sensibility, a strong romantic bond begins to form between tenant and housekeeper. It starts as an innocent flirtation, but as the revolution escalates, so do their feelings toward one another. And while the passion isn’t capped by a nightly embrace and kiss goodbye, watching the unspoken dance grow and evolve into something deeper is satisfying. It’s hard to know whether or not it’s a kinship born from tragedy and stoked by fear, but they find comfort in each other’s presence--even if that presence isn’t physical.

For the most part, the deliberate pacing benefits the relationship’s establishment. However, the steady climb toward a resolution is occasionally broken by days of inactivity and narrative stagnation. More than a few visits feel like filler, with no notes to respond to and few tasks to complete. These periods slowly drag you away from an otherwise compelling story. Sunset excels at using subtlety to build tension and curiosity, but when the progression halts, the activities start to feel like exactly what they are--chores.

Running Sunset on higher graphical settings can also be called a chore. Even after experimenting with a handful of different option combinations, I couldn’t find a mix that permanently steadied my framerate or prevented hitching. The presentation--from the glamour of the sky’s often-lavender glow to the dark smoke billowing from the buildings in the distance--is salient but often muddled by technical inconsistency. It’s a shame, too, because when Sunset does run smoothly for a visit or two and the powerful, orchestral soundtrack booms across the household, it can be an audiovisual marvel.

Sunset presents so much, all while asking you to do so little. A revolution burns, bombs burst just out of sight, and all you can do is decide if your boss would rather have a fancy dinner or a hefty portion of macaroni. The complexity of your decisions is occasionally greater than setting the table, but Sunset succeeds at making each small action feel significant by giving them all similar weight. Though the story is peppered with periods of inactivity that are detrimental to the pace, Sunset acts as a thoughtful, pensive walk through social themes and struggles not often explored in this medium.