Why Ocarina of Time Isn’t the Best Game Ever

Ah, Ocarina of Time. The first 3D Zelda, and probably the most respected. Ocarina pioneered target-locking, context-sensitive controls, and other modern features, lifting the core gameplay into wider spaces with no loss of playability. It hit shelves in 1998, earning perfect scores from IGN, GameSpot, Edge, Famitsu, and numerous other sources. In that day, it probably deserved them. Countless developers cite it as an influence. At the time of writing, it continues to hold the highest Metacritic rank of any video game.

I first played Ocarina of Time in second grade. My parents ordered a GameCube from eBay, which shipped with a copy of Zelda: Collector’s Edition. It also shipped with a PlayStation 2 AV cable, which proved mostly incompatible. The screen rendered in sickly gray tones with lines of wavering static, as if struck by some digital pathogen. After placing yet another order for the proper AV cable, I popped the disc in around a week later. I tried all four games, but Ocarina was the first I made any progress in. The NES titles killed me too fast, and Majora’s Mask was too complicated. I got stuck at Death Mountain for several months, but a guide helped me enter (and beat) Dodongo’s Cavern, and I woke up early the next morning, trying to make up for lost time. When we moved the system to my room, I often played late at night with the speakers muted, sneaking paranoid glances down the hallway. I often turned in homework late, as well, but you don’t get that focused without making sacrifices.

Despite that, when Edge, IGN, or other sources called Ocarina the best game ever made, I never agreed. I considered it very good, and I still do, but “best ever” didn’t make sense to me. The story was a little too thin, the combat was a little too easy, and the Water Temple was a little too irritating for that award.

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Review: Observer

Observer

Genre: First-person adventure,
survival horror
Developer: Bloober Team
Platform: Windows, PS4, Xbox One, Mac, Linux
Release: August 15, 2017

Observer

Observer is an unusual beast. It’s a horror game that doesn’t let you defend yourself, but there are relatively few moments of danger, unlike, say, Amnesia. It also eschews supernatural threats. Instead, it takes place in 2084 Poland, an overgrown future technoscape. The game identifies as cyberpunk, and it takes all the classic elements to hellish extremes. Forget CEOs who bribe the government; in the Fifth Polish Republic, the Chiron Corporation is the official governing body. Chiron took power in the rubble of nuclear war, and they rule with iron force, segregating humans into castes with different property and voting rights. Cybernetics are common in 2084, and not always benign. Augmented people live in fear of the Nanophage, a disease that causes their implants to destroy their organs.

You play as Daniel Lazarski, a Chiron police specialist known as an Observer. He carries a Dream Eater implant, allowing him to invade human minds and experience their memories. The Dream Eater is useful for Chiron, but the memories arrive through terrifiying, surreal visions, eroding his sanity a little each time.

Lazarski spends most of the game in a class C apartment complex, home to the lowest of the three castes. He begins searching for his son Adam, but he quickly gets tangled up trying to stop a serial killer. Observers are prone to psychosis, so he isn’t allowed to carry firearms, and the game doesn’t provide any other weapons.

The complex is brilliantly realized, a den of drug users, VR addicts, and electronic ads and holograms. The halls are dim for a place with so many electronics, a depleted atmosphere consistent through Observer’s overgrown technology. You conduct your search by scanning the bodies and possessions of each victim, from computers and credit chips to globs of blood and tissue. Your findings establish them as a disenfranchised and questionable bunch. One abused drugs; another performed illegal cybernetic operations. One particularly tenacious resident managed to wound the killer with a sword cane, leaving a trail of blood. I enjoyed uncovering the trail, although you have three different vision types, and I had to switch too often for my tastes.

The residents fear you as a symbol of corporate power, and for your ability to invade their minds. When the main power cuts out, most refuse to open their door; they fear you’ll either violate or murder them.

You find many of the killer’s victims too injured to speak, and the Dream Eater allows you to gather evidence, recreating their darkest memories as nightmarish vistas. Many of the visions involve human and machine traits combined in sickening ways. You’ll witness disintegrating corridors, ghostly silhouettes, walls that pulsate like heart tissue, and appliances that cry, vomit, or fly through the air. The sequences are mostly linear, with a few mind-bending puzzles, but they bring cybernetic themes to hideous, literal form. Lazarski emerges from each trip gasping for Synchrozine, vision covered with blotchy digital squares.

It’s extremely unsettling the first few times. Still, you’re rarely in danger, and Observer repeats those tricks a little more often than it should.

On several occasions, you’re forced to hack into the brain of a corpse, overriding your A.I.’s restrictions. The first scenario is terrifying, a nightmare realm that will kill you if you fail to hide. Lazarski’s brain suffers each time, leading to hallucinations in real life. Observer has a particular fondness for replacing wires and cords with intestines or other warm, slimy organic parts. The blend of metal and gore becomes almost sexual, in the most revolting, depleted form. It’s a fitting symbol for the technology addicts throughout the apartment.

Horror is most effective when it spawns depression, and the initial half of Observer delivers in spades.

You’ll make some of your most interesting discoveries by reading computers. There are numerous character logs, ranging from critical plot information to male enhancement requests. The Chiron Corporation’s logo rests watchfully on every screen, and their boot echoes through the low-caste apartment complex, whose residents receive fewer votes per person than you. One computer throws in a piece of propoganda from the nuclear conflict with China. Some computers also contain a minigame where you navigate a maze full of spiders, collecting flaming swords as weaponry. The graphics are intentionally lo-fi, and each area reveals a new level or two. It’s a brief but welcome respite from the darkness.

Unfortunately, Observer loses steam in the final stretch. The first chunks of memory are unsettling, but after watching similar gore effects thirty times, it becomes hard to care anymore. Even toward the end, I met few enemies, and I had little trouble avoiding them; I snuck past one without ever seeing it. Lazarski’s scanning implants don’t function in cyberspace, so aside from the small enemy count, you’re free to avert your eyes. Ninety percent of the visuals pose no real threat. It sometimes feels more like watching someone play a horror game on YouTube than playing it yourself. The developers profess to favor psychological, reflective scares over survival challenges, and it shows, for better and worse.

Despite that, it is scarier than a normal game. From mind invasion to warfare, Observer lives in perverse grounds. Many cybernetic stories involve addictive technology, but here it’s downright intimate, overrunning humans in body and mind. It’s interesting, however twisted, and the backstory is very well-written. I hope the universe receives more content in the future; it deserves exploration.

But as Observer approaches climax, it starts caring less and less about anything other than scaring you. When horror fuses with other genres, it often consumes them, reducing science, technology, government intrigue, and family conflict into mere props. Observer straddles the line admirably at first, and then it dives headfirst into a very predictable sort of scaremongering near the end. Personal conflict boxes out higher social themes, and the body count becomes progressively cheaper, like some low-budget slasher film.

It’s a personal conflict Observer isn’t equipped for. Lazarski has some good lines, but he speaks in empty, wooden tones, and the side characters are almost universally more compelling than the primary ones. There’s a treasure trove of lore, emails, and backstory to uncover, but little connection or wamth beyond Lazarski’s interrogation scenes. I suspect the alienation was intentional, but the eventual plot requires personal intimacy and depth which never appears. One of the villains comes very, very close to receiving good development, but Observer jettisons it for a cheap horror persona near the end. The result is a dissapointing finale that overwrites some of the earlier intelligence. If this was a mindless zombie shooter, I wouldn’t care much, but it’s not. It’s a first-person adventure game with no combat and fairly easy puzzles. Story is much of the reason it exists.

In the end, Observer is a unique, unsettling sci-fi experience tarnished by repetitive jump scares and horror tropes. True darkness runs deeper than cutting everyone up. The developers seem to understand this, but where the setting of 2084 Poland delivers, the human component falters. It’s a good game, but it threatens excellence, which makes the shortcomings harder to bear. Still, it’s refreshing to find a cyberpunk game where you aren’t a superhero. If you have $30 and a strong stomach, there are worse purchases.

Final Score

review scale bA strong effort with a few notable flaws or limitations. The beginning of the “good” rankings, and time well spent. Won’t change the world, but deserves respect nonetheless.

Review: Frantic 2 (Web)

Frantic 2

Genre: Shooter
Developer: polymerrabbit
Platform: Internet
Release: September 1, 2009

Frantic 2 is a game I’ve played for years on Kongregate. It’s a bullet hell shooter notable for how easy it can be. You pilot one of five ships through patterns of geometric enemies, destroying as many as you can. The game contains fifteen levels, split into three episodes that can be played in any order, and there are four additional game modes, two of which must be unlocked.

The sheer number of enemy projectiles can be daunting, especially when joined by opponents who carry lasers or homing missiles. Each level throws a mini-boss at you around halfway through, and a boss at the end, which spew enough geometry to fill the entire screen. They often carry missile or laser turrets, sometimes both at once, and survival requires careful maneuvering that limits your chances to aim clearly.

However, unlike many shooters, Frantic 2 allows your ship to survive multiple hits, and you can fly over enemy vessels without harm. Even if you die, you begin each episode with multiple lives, though the highest difficulty offers only two. By killing enemies, you slowly fill an adrenaline meter, which allows you to slow time, shield yourself, or unleash massive attacks that destroy enemy bullets. It makes for a refreshingly approachable experience. You increase your score multiplier by flying next to bullets and killing enemies at close range, but it gets sliced in half when you take a hit, so you’re still rewarded for mastering dangerous actions. By selecting the right card, these actions can also provide extra adrenaline or bonuses to weapon power.

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First Impressions: Observer

Genre: First-person adventure,
survival horror
Developer: Bloober Team
Platform: Windows, PS4, Xbox One, Mac, Linux
Release: August 15, 2017

I bought this game off Steam last Friday after reading a handful of reviews. The PC version fell short of an 80 on Metacritic, but that isn’t a failure condition like when I was younger. I’ve played nine hours so far, and it seems decent, although I haven’t reached the ending yet. I’ll post a full review after I finish.

An epilepsy warning. Global war between East and West. Cybernetic implants, and a plague that makes them consume your organs. A corporation so powerful it governs a nation, dividing humans into social castes with different voting rights. Your character introduces himself before the title screen, delivering a monologue on the game’s backstory. It’s an effective introduction, although I could imagine some players accidently skipping it.

You arrive in the first gameplay scene slumped back in a car, injecting Synchrozine to stabilize your mechanical parts. Your vision blurs when you go too long without it, and after memory sequences. My supply of the drug has never run low, but it makes your powers a little more threatening. It’s a classic cyberpunk setup, but it’s refreshing to find a game where you aren’t a super soldier.
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New Year, New Blog

Hello, reader. Welcome to Amphetamine Dawn.

My screen name is Adenosine. I’m a programming student from a small city. I’ll have a degree in four or five years, if I don’t fuck up too severely. When I finish, my goal is to develop computer games and other software. This website will contain reviews, gameplay opinions, and narrative analyses for video games, many of them older or less-known. I’ll also write about technology, fiction, autism, stimulants, college, sexuality (without explicit images), and other topics of personal importance.

I’ve wanted to be a game designer for as long as I have solid memory. From ages six to thirteen, I went to a small charter school made from repurposed mobile homes, and I spent five of those years being shuffled to childcare facilities every afternoon. First my sister’s preschool, then my own former education site, then a YMCA in another city. I had difficulty matching eye contact or facial expressions, and other children were not fond of me. I drew my only excitement from the games in our living room. Descent 3, Wind Waker, Majora’s Mask, and FreeSpace 2, when we finally bought it. They were compulsive, but they brought my life color.

This is my second attempt at creating a blog. I wrote both fiction and nonfiction in high school, but I quit in my final year, because it became a source of isolation. When I walked past my eighteen year-old classmates in the hall, I heard tales of truancy, birthdays spent in spring water, cannabis-fueled oral sex, and long car rides warped by LSD. I was friends with these people, but I wasn’t invited, and I grew tired of the nights I spent typing alone in my room. Their activities were unhealthy, in some ways, but they also had freedom. Warmth for each other. Connections I’d never felt. Even sharing dinner was foreign to me, like my brain tissue to theirs.

When my friends graduated ahead of me and left, I tried to become a different creature, one fit to enter that world. I quit writing, shut up about psychology, and spent many afternoons in houses with people who vaguely resembled them. But I mostly failed, and when I didn’t, I sometimes wished I had.

I also grew embarrassed by how many Internet arguments I’d joined. Before I wrote this post, I considered scrapping Adenosine for some other handle. But it’s a part of me, good or bad.

In any case, I’m back now. Because of my classes, I’ve been forced to write numerous essays in academic style—Times New Roman font, MLA format, citations in every paragraph. Compared to that, blogging is almost easy. Much of my work is shaped by college, and I want an environment I have control over, where I can share what I’ve found. Dungeon Crawl. System Shock 2. Both FreeSpace games. Two-dimensional flash RPGs from Kongregate.

I also want to share some of my darker experiences. Many blogs about autism—or culture, or homosexuality, or other human variations—strike me as quite bitter. When others fear you, some venom is inevitable. And likely valid. But humans are more likely to listen if you don’t push them away.

I hope I can bridge the gap, in a small way.