I'm sure trying to tap into the early '90s fascination with CD-based technology seemed like a safe bet to the Tramiels. After all, computer CD games and the Sega CD had already paved the way into the gaming mainstream. Competitors 3DO and CD-I both made the technology readily available in their products (albeit at a much higher price). Even Nintendo looked eager to introduce CD technology into its home console market, partnering with Sony on a SNES CD add-on project prior to a breakup that would result in the PlayStation a few years later. CD was all the rage.

Unfortunately, at the time, CD just wasn't the right decision. Despite widespread marketing, Sega's CD unit sold very few units relative to the installed base of the Genesis console. Nintendo decided not to go with an add-on, instead focusing on upping the size of its SNES cartridges and pushing 16-bit to its limits (the products of which were the highly successful Star Fox polygonal game and CGI-based Donkey Kong Country). Plus, Atari simply did not have the manufacturing know-how of a Sony, whose PlayStation would be the first truly successful introduction to CD-based console gaming.

Even worse was the idea of an extremely complex, motion-tracking VR headset, much publicized at trade shows but which never surfaced save for incomplete prototypes. Again, the idea itself was novel—in the same way Sega's ill-fated hologram arcade titles seemed novel—but the demand for VR technology wasn't strong enough to account for Atari's research and development focus.

Atari's doomed love affair with relatively high-tech upgrades should have signaled to all companies then and there that risky moves rarely pay off. Still, game companies continued to introduce all sorts of wacky and unnecessary add-ons and gimmicks to the market. Sega's 32X add-on for the Genesis was a tragedy of brand mismanagement and stillborn technology. Nintendo's Virtual Boy was an overpriced and headache-inducing experiment in 3D monochrome graphics. Neo Geo experimented with the release of two CD versions of its console (in single-speed and double-speed drive forms) so as to push its exorbitant software prices down. Microsoft made a deal with Toshiba to introduce the now-defunct HD-DVD technology to the gaming market in the form of an expensive add-on drive. And so on.

Sometimes, almost by serendipity, these experiments turn out well. Most recently, perhaps motivated by the enormous success of the DS's stylus-based controls, Nintendo has made a hit out of its Wii's motion controls, combining inexpensive gyroscopic technology with an inclusive, family-friendly design concept. If the price for the Wii hadn't been just right, it's a technological experiment that could have just as well ended up in a heap next to the unappreciated GameCube.

Nevertheless, Atari's Jaguar serves as a reminder that while safe bets don't always break the bank, they rarely break a company. In the case of Atari, unnecessary risks in technology resulted in an inattention to key problems the company had suffered since the decline of the 2600.

Bits, Bytes, Whatever

The Jaguar's infamous claim to 64-bits worth of processing power is not only laughable; it's perhaps the key reason why we no longer care about "bits" or even the necessity of power in modern gaming.

Whereas the previous 16-bit generation had built its success upon rival claims to hardware power—illusory "blast processing" on the side of Sega and true hardware superiority on the side of Nintendo—and seemingly arbitrary boasts of large cartridge sizes (16mb, 32mb, or even whopping sizes in the hundreds of mbs in the case of Neo Geo games), the Jaguar helped to usher in an era of processing irrelevance.

No one cared that the Jaguar had 64-bits of processing power (which it didn't; it used two 32-bit RISC processors, codenamed "Tom" and "Jerry," concurrently and arguably delivered 64-bits worth of graphics processing), just as no one cared about the 3DO's then-mindblowing 32-bit power or the CD-I's crystal clear delivery of full motion video.

Why? Because 1.) these systems were priced so highly that no one could afford them, and 2.) they simply didn't have the gameplay or exclusive licenses to back up the technological claims. True, the Jaguar featured one of the best and most technologically proficient ports of Doom at the time, but by the time Doom arrived on the Jaguar, it had already run its course of fame and media obsession on the PC, long before PC-centric gamers began to move to consoles.

Unlike the 3DO and CD-I, however, the Jaguar emphasized its processing power in every way it could. Atari commercials asked gamers to "Do the Math," comparing the 16-bit processors of the SNES and Genesis with the Jaguar's supposedly mighty hardware. Once again, Atari put all the emphasis on all the wrong things, and the gaming market's mass rejection of Atari's claims would serve as a harbinger for console wars to come.

Nintendo's N64 marked the last system to make explicit reference to the number of "bits" powering a console, and no evidence shows that the "64" moniker resulted in any distinct preference for Nintendo's cartridge-based system over Sony's 32-bit PlayStation, a console that outsold the N64 over 3:1.

But Nintendo learned its lesson. Today, a relatively underpowered Wii handily outsells Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3 hardware. Nintendo's DS stomps the PSP in sales 2:1. When it comes to processing power, David steadily trumps Goliath in 2009... because David tends to be more affordable and better marketed.

Pre-Xbox: The Death of the American Game Console

Even though America is the originator of Computer Space and Pong, and game companies regularly look to Europe and America for their most profitable sales territories, game players and critics alike have a tendency to look to Japan when discussing the roots of modern gaming.

And rightfully so. While the Atari 2600 was the first truly successful home console, it was Japanese companies Nintendo and Sega who revolutionized the business, introducing new technology, game genres, and some of gaming's most hallowed and venerable properties—including Mario, Sonic, Donkey Kong, and Tetris—to households the world over. America invented the RPG; Japan made it a viable game category. America started the arcade and multiplayer crazes; Japan turned gaming into an entire way of life.

So I look back on the death of the Jaguar with a bit of sadness, not just because it represented the death of an American icon, Atari, but because Atari itself represented America's last best chance to be relevant in the video game market. After all, the Jaguar and Lynx featured mostly Western-designed first and third party games from primarily American publishers. Art styles and gameplay types, while often off-kilter (anyone remember Kung Food on the Lynx? Ultra Vortek on the Jaguar?), stood apart from their Japanese counterparts in a way that made one feel like there was still such a thing as an American influence in gaming outside of the PC market.

Today, Microsoft represents the major American presence in gaming, yet it's hardly the same. Game development and publishing has become such a global, ubiquitous enterprise—and Microsoft itself is such a globally diversified force—that you can hardly call the Xbox 360 and its products the mark of a distinctly American viewpoint. It all meshes together... Halo reflects the American tradition of first-person shooters, yes, but the 360 equally relies on Japanese-style platformers, European role-playing games like Fable, and third party titles like Ninja Gaiden II, Resident Evil 5, Dead Rising, and Soul Calibur IV.

If Atari had gone on to survive as a hardware designer, who knows what different sorts of art styles and design viewpoints we would have inherited prior to the true globalizing of the video game?

Of course, such sentiment runs the risk of coming off as too nationalistic or myopic. Let me be clear, however: I am all for multiculturalism and thinking outside one's cultural box. I certainly enjoy the current state of the video game. I simply wonder what kind of intra-cultural sensibilities we have lost along the way.

And... there's nothing wrong with a smidgen of home-team pride.

The Atari Jaguar as console artifact

It's no secret that the Atari Jaguar was a terrible failure—one of gaming's worst. The last dud in the sordid history of Atari's Tramiel family ownership, the Jaguar followed the Lynx's underrated hardware debut in the late 1980s with an early '90s abomination of poorly designed hardware and software that barely competed against its 16-bit forebears, much less the higher-tech Neo Geo, 3DO, CD-I, Sega 32X, and Sega Saturn technologies against which the system was supposedly targeted.

Whereas those systems also underperformed in an increasingly crowded home console market, the Jaguar's true achilles heel was its total lack of support... support from consumers, 3rd parties, and even 1st party games that were consistently delayed (some to the point of such obscurity and derision that they easily could have been seen as the predecessors of vaporware like Phantom console games and Duke Nukem Forever). While a handful of titles (namely Tempest 2000, Battlemorph, Wolfenstein 3D, Doom, Iron Soldier, and Aliens vs. Predator) rose to relative critical acclaim, the system itself never became so much as a blip on most gamers' radar. According to GamePro, the Jaguar ended up selling less than 250,000 units. To put that number in perspective, that's less than half the number of CD-I consoles sold, around one-tenth the amount of 3DO and N-Gage consoles sold, and even one half the number of original Xbox consoles sold... in Japan. The system is infamous among critics and game historians and is well known for its cult homebrew following, but for the average gamer, the Jaguar hardware is obscure to say the least.

So why bring up this sore spot in 2009, roughly 16 years after the Jaguar's ill-fated launch? Because as an artifact of video game history, the Jaguar speaks volumes about where we've been, where we are, and where we're going.

That Controller!

Depending on your age and tolerance for design whimsy, the sight of the overly complicated Jaguar controller either conjures fond memories or churns your stomach. On the one hand, the part of the controller that was utilized in almost every game is nicely set apart from the phone pad and resembles the simplicity of Sega's original Genesis controller. Moreover, those unfortunate enough to have owned a Jaguar will recall that despite its plasticky appearance, the Jag controller was a sturdy and extremely comfortable piece of hardware. So comfortable, in fact, that I have yet to hold another controller to equal the Jaguar's in terms of weight, shape, and ergonomics. Gamers tend to shy away from large controllers—the original Xbox's "Duke" controller was perhaps the last of a now dead breed—but it is undeniable that human hands hold up best when they are able to grip a molded, fairly sized controller... rather than, say, struggle to maintain an awkward and unnatural grip such as that needed for Nintendo's various DS models. (I continue to marvel at the fact that two of gaming's most comfortable controllers, those of the Jaguar and Virtual Boy consoles, belonged to two of its least successful systems; and that some of the most successful systems have had some of the least comfortable controllers.) Surely, modern console designers could stand to learn a thing or two from the Jaguar's gamepad.

On the other hand, there's that hideous phone pad, complete with space for the various cheap-looking (and often useless) overlays packaged with Jaguar games. While the phone pad and overlays represented an interesting throwback to the button arrangement of consoles like the Intellivision and Colecovision, it was also aesthetically unpleasant, distracting, and relatively impractical. The last part was evidenced by the sheer number of Jaguar games that barely utilized this part of the controller. Did Tempest 2000, for example, really need twelve additional buttons?

We've learned now from Sony's PlayStation and Nintendo's DS and Wii that a system's controllers should be designed around its preeminent first-party software. Sony's shoulder-buttoned and, later, dual-sticked PlayStation controllers functioned perfectly for movement in the kinds of 3D environments its PSOne was pushing (e.g., Jumping Flash, Warhawk, and Ace Combat). The Wii's wiimote and nunchuck don't work perfectly for every game type, but they work for the games that best demonstrate the system's design sensibilities. By comparison, the Jaguar's controller worked for... nothing. A cute yet completely extraneous anachronism.

Thus, the Jaguar controller itself is a bridge between gaming past and history. It borrowed novel ideas from both successful and bizarre design antecedents, blended them together in a controller as comfortable as it was unappealing, and continues to serve as one of gaming's most unfortunate symbols of form over function. (Take note, PSP Go!)

The Add-Ons

As represented by its complicated controller, Atari's Jaguar was a vehicle for a company trying to do too much. Instead of focusing on quality control for its games, pushing design teams to meet release dates, and proper advertising, the Tramiel family focused it attention on bridging gaps with future technologies. The most famous of these were the Jaguar CD add-on, released far too late in the system's brief stay on the market, and the proposed $250 VR helmet.

The CD add-on, of course, was far less risky than the VR helmet, but that didn't make it any better a strategic decision for an already obscure console. While the system was always designed with the CD expansion in mind (represented by the grooves in the middle of the console itself), the fact that the CD player was not present at launch, added little in terms of gameplay advancement, was far too expensive at $150 (over the already inflated launch price of $250), made the system look bulky, and had very little in the way of software support, all contributed to the appearance of the Jaguar CD as an excessive afterthought. By the time the CD player arrived in 1995, the Jaguar was on its last legs, and an expensive piece of technology didn't help matters at all.

The chinchillas are on fire!

HIGH It's a natural fit for the Wiimote, and a great concept.

LOW The graphics are going to be hard to get past for some gamers.

WTF You expect me to risk my life for some chinchillas?

As frequent readers of this site may know, I'm not the Wiimote's biggest fan. Why? In the vast majority of cases, Wii developers tend to create titles that use its motion control capabilities in annoying, inconsequential ways, or they try to shoehorn its functionality into places it was absolutely never meant to go. Although expectation for this new method of control was quite high at the Wii's debut, I think time has shown that very few minds have figured out legitimate uses for the device that truly enhance the gameplay experience. There are some, however, and Real Heroes: Firefighter is one of them.

The first retail game coming from Epicenter Studios, Real Heroes: Firefighter puts the player in the role of the "Probie"; a new recruit assigned to battle-scarred Company 13. A recent graduate of the Academy, he's got to learn the ropes quick when it comes to putting out fires and saving civilians.

Epicenter's concept of creating a non-combat FPS (first-person shooter) is a brilliant one, and proves to be a perfect fit for Nintendo's hardware. After all, what's more central to fighting fires than a hose? Replicating this real-life functionality with the Wiimote's core use as a pointer makes total sense. Other pieces of equipment vital to the job (axe, jaws of life, etc.) are implemented through brief, mini-game-ish motions. Thankfully, Epicenter knew better than to try and cram unnecessary waggle into every aspect of the game. It only appears where the player would naturally expect it, and for those players (like me) who like it kept to an absolute minimum, there's a control option that simply removes most of it in exchange for the press of a button. Extreme thanks for that one, Epicenter.

In terms of design, the levels are surprisingly lengthy, yet manage to keep a fairly high level of action and intensity. Exchanging realism for a certain degree of facility and arcade-like thrill-factor, the pacing feels right-on for the most part—there's always a civilian who needs an assist, or a blazing pyre that needs extinguishing. Superfluous padding doesn't exist here, and that's a very good thing.

Also serving to keep the energy high, the developers add unexpected little twists throughout each scenario; things like clearing a path through a blaze for a teammate on a lower level, or hopping on a ladder truck for some exterior action. The game trips up a bit with some of the sillier objectives like rescuing caged chinchillas, but these lightweight bits are few and far between.

In terms of presentation, it's a slightly mixed bag. The elephant in the room is, of course, the graphics.

In an appreciated and frank gesture, the developers are quite upfront about acknowledging that the visuals aren't what they could be. Rather than regurgitating some PR babble or trying to ignore it, they've stated several times that as a smaller studio, they simply did not have the budget to push the graphical envelope as far as it needed to go... and it's true. The visuals are certainly nothing to write home about. Taking this unavoidable fact into account, they wisely chose to focus on the overall experience and lowered the MSRP as well. Although I don't usually cite purchase price in most reviews, this was a very sensible move and one certainly deserving of praise in a market that seems to assert any game coming down the pike should start at $60.

Graphics aside, the controls are solid and can be adjusted to player preference, and the voice acting is of a surprisingly high quality. Starring recognizable talents like Jamie Kennedy (my favorite performance of the game), Jenette Goldstein (Private Vasquez from Aliens), and James Marsters (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). I certainly wouldn't have minded a little more story and interaction with my fellow firefighters, but what's here is well done.

The chinchillas are on fire!

HIGH It's a natural fit for the Wiimote, and a great concept.

LOW The graphics are going to be hard to get past for some gamers.

WTF You expect me to risk my life for some chinchillas?

As frequent readers of this site may know, I'm not the Wiimote's biggest fan. Why? In the vast majority of cases, Wii developers tend to create titles that use its motion control capabilities in annoying, inconsequential ways, or they try to shoehorn its functionality into places it was absolutely never meant to go. Although expectation for this new method of control was quite high at the Wii's debut, I think time has shown that very few minds have figured out legitimate uses for the device that truly enhance the gameplay experience. There are some, however, and Real Heroes: Firefighter is one of them.

The first retail game coming from Epicenter Studios, Real Heroes: Firefighter puts the player in the role of the "Probie"; a new recruit assigned to battle-scarred Company 13. A recent graduate of the Academy, he's got to learn the ropes quick when it comes to putting out fires and saving civilians.

Epicenter's concept of creating a non-combat FPS (first-person shooter) is a brilliant one, and proves to be a perfect fit for Nintendo's hardware. After all, what's more central to fighting fires than a hose? Replicating this real-life functionality with the Wiimote's core use as a pointer makes total sense. Other pieces of equipment vital to the job (axe, jaws of life, etc.) are implemented through brief, mini-game-ish motions. Thankfully, Epicenter knew better than to try and cram unnecessary waggle into every aspect of the game. It only appears where the player would naturally expect it, and for those players (like me) who like it kept to an absolute minimum, there's a control option that simply removes most of it in exchange for the press of a button. Extreme thanks for that one, Epicenter.

In terms of design, the levels are surprisingly lengthy, yet manage to keep a fairly high level of action and intensity. Exchanging realism for a certain degree of facility and arcade-like thrill-factor, the pacing feels right-on for the most part—there's always a civilian who needs an assist, or a blazing pyre that needs extinguishing. Superfluous padding doesn't exist here, and that's a very good thing.

Also serving to keep the energy high, the developers add unexpected little twists throughout each scenario; things like clearing a path through a blaze for a teammate on a lower level, or hopping on a ladder truck for some exterior action. The game trips up a bit with some of the sillier objectives like rescuing caged chinchillas, but these lightweight bits are few and far between.

In terms of presentation, it's a slightly mixed bag. The elephant in the room is, of course, the graphics.

In an appreciated and frank gesture, the developers are quite upfront about acknowledging that the visuals aren't what they could be. Rather than regurgitating some PR babble or trying to ignore it, they've stated several times that as a smaller studio, they simply did not have the budget to push the graphical envelope as far as it needed to go... and it's true. The visuals are certainly nothing to write home about. Taking this unavoidable fact into account, they wisely chose to focus on the overall experience and lowered the MSRP as well. Although I don't usually cite purchase price in most reviews, this was a very sensible move and one certainly deserving of praise in a market that seems to assert any game coming down the pike should start at $60.

Graphics aside, the controls are solid and can be adjusted to player preference, and the voice acting is of a surprisingly high quality. Starring recognizable talents like Jamie Kennedy (my favorite performance of the game), Jenette Goldstein (Private Vasquez from Aliens), and James Marsters (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). I certainly wouldn't have minded a little more story and interaction with my fellow firefighters, but what's here is well done.

Although it's unavoidable that some players won't be able to get past the graphics, those that do will be treated to an entertaining and worthwhile experience for a system that currently boasts the highest shovelware-to-keeper ratio I think I've ever seen. It's certainly rough in parts, but it's got a lot of heart and makes the right moves where it counts. Quite honestly, I'd say it's the best firefighting game created thus far, and I've played them all. With Real Heroes: Firefighter turning out so well on a shoestring, I'd love to see what Epicenter is capable of doing with more funding. Can someone please spare the studio a few million? Rating: 7.5 out of 10.

No More Heroes

An unconventional game warrants an unconventional review, and I can think of few experiences in recent memory more unconventional than No More Heroes.

Equal parts inspired genius and wretched inadequacy, the product of writer and director Suda 51 is a confused, clumsy attempt grasping for the next level in the evolution of videogames. Not just a simple "product," No More Heroes is a statement; one of the first games I've played where I can honestly say that the creator's voice is heard and felt in every aspect. No matter that the voice's message is contradictory, cracked and incoherently bizarre—the auteur is absolutely present. For this fact alone, No More Heroes is worthy of note and discussion.

Remorseless and nihilistic to the extreme, No More Heroes's tale of an otaku and his lightsaber on a quest to become the world's top-ranked assassin is more correctly defined as an avenue for the game's creator, Suda 51, to piece together bits of attitude and strings of meta-commentary; a screed in electronic format or a spleen-venting given structure. However, although the cockeyed genius and revolutionary approach are undeniable, No More Heroes's rudimentary, repetitive gameplay and sub-par production take away from what the end result could have been. The brilliance is still there, but will be found obscured and unappealing to all save those who are prepared to squint through the static to find a hint of videogames' potential as something other than simple entertainment.

Comprised of idiosyncratic scenes and flashes of insight from what might make up the mind of a ‘hardcore gamer' and how it relates to vicarious pseudo-protagonism, the events unraveling over the course of the adventure are random and disparate when taken within the context of the game as an inclusive experience. Examine the references, asides, visual cues and sheer incongruousness of it all in the context of a larger setting—game culture—and it all starts to form a clearer picture. Note that I said clearer and not clear. I sense the message, but I don't quite think Suda 51 (or anyone else, for that matter) has quite yet figured out the technique.

Considered as a canvas from one rather than the usual committee creation aimed at mass consumption, Suda 51's awkward strokes and crude technique fail to communicate in an effective, cogent way. However, the fact remains that the attempt was made and in my view, it's one of the most compelling leaps I've ever seen to try and take the concept of what a game is or what a game can be and push it into territory that few have dared explore with threat of retail failure and a publisher's bottom-line guillotine constantly overhead. Regardless of whether this particular effort is seen as crafted with a steady hand and the finest oils, or with crayon scribbles from a 64-bit box, it is a real step towards progress and must be recognized.

However, though No More Heroes strives to make heard its author's voice through inchoate "deep" statements about the nature of videogames (and players) in general, any potential commentary is negated by the very fact that it forces players to partake of the qualities that it appears to ridicule.

The result is that the substance of No More Heroes communicates fear more than the hip, sardonic attitude initially implied; perhaps fear of leaving behind the conventions that it mocks. If it did leave those behind, perhaps it would fall short of its audience's expectations of length and content? Rather than being truly bold and abandoning the pointless artifice it seems to be pointing fingers at, the unnecessary elements like the empty free-roaming environment and simplistic mini-games fly in the face of the piss and superiority its intellectual side exudes. Rather than courage, it's hypocritical capitulation.

Making this bitter pill even harder to swallow is the fact that the energies behind the ideas completely outshine their lackluster tactile embodiment; No More Heroes's cumbersome controls, crude visuals, toothless level design and repetitive, shallow combat convey a sense of shoestring budgets and lack of technical skill more than defiance of conventions and intentional artistic choices.

It serves little purpose to revel in the mud while pretending to be above it, and the low quality of the gameplay is a concrete manifestation of the fact that the intelligence and criticism supporting the theoretical design are completely undercut by Suda 51's inclusion of their opposites as core elements. How much bolder would it have been to make the same statement and then relegate the subjects to the sidelines—or better yet, to have removed them altogether?

I'm sure the concept behind No More Heroes was a difficult one to bring to fruition, but unfortunately, videogames are a unique medium and artists choosing to work in it will have to accept the challenges and limitations inherent. Wide swaths of style can only cover so much—the emperor needs to have more than a dirty T-shirt and socks before he goes strutting out to survey his kingdom.

Although there are many, many complaints that can be fairly leveled against No More Heroes, the most important thing to take away from this madly inspired experiment is that regardless of the pathetic technical elements and unhinged cutscenes, the game is first and foremost an attempt to translate thoughts and images on an intimate, direct level from one person to another through a controller and a screen. If you squint past the explosions of blood, forget about being forced to earn money, and ignore the brainless enemies waiting their turn to be slaughtered, it's hard not to admire the cackle and curled lip of a creator who's got big ideas and isn't afraid to use them. Rating: Chartreuse

Zombies, bikinis and swords, oh my!

HIGH Going into "Rampage" mode and unleashing a serious can of whoop-ass on a horde of zombies while watching their blood and limbs splatter across the screen.

LOW Wasting too much time trying to execute a "Cool" 12-hit combo before realizing it's insanely impossible for gamers without super-human timing skills.

WTF Where does Aya find the time to wax between all the zombie slaying?

OneChanbara: Bikini Samurai Squad is a game that's begging to be loved and panned at the same time. I'd have to be dead inside if the thought of Aya, the game's string bikini-feather boa-cowgirl hat-clad-samurai-sword-wielding zombie hunter didn't crack a smile on my face. What I find even more ironic is that developers didn't think that was enough crazy for one game. Instead, Aya's tag teamed with her jailbait sister, Saki, who fights the undead in a school girl uniform, and Annna (the triple "n" is not a typo on my part) the mysterious cop whose plunging neckline and heaving cleavage would make J-Lo blush.

The whole premise of OneChanbara is deliciously absurd, and there's also no denying that it's blatantly perverted and exploitive—the kind of game that reinforces anti-social gamer stereotypes. Outside of the models of curvy women, the graphics are unremarkable and the simplistic rooms-connected-by-corridors layout of the stages feels suffocatingly linear, looking like a low-rent port of a 5-year old PlayStation 2 game. If there was a porno parody to a popular video game series (Resident Anal? Sorry.), OneChanbara would be it.

Yet after hours of hacking and slashing my way through legions of zombies and unlocking halter tops and hot pants to play dress up with the girls, something unexpected happened. I actually started to like this game. Against all odds, there were several redeeming and addictive qualities that drew me in.

Beneath the deceptively mindless button-mashing lies an unexpectedly layered and complex timing-based combo attack system. "Cool" combos (as they are called) require a series of precisely timed button presses to unleash, and they are faster and more powerful than normal attacks. Every swing of the sword becomes an opportunity to do something spectacular, and as a result these combos feel deeply satisfying when executed properly.

In terms of rewards, OneChanbara also incorporates an Xbox Achievements-like Quest feature, where players are tasked to complete random objectives like completing a stage without taking a hit, or performing a special attack a specific amount of times during a stage. Players are rewarded with clothing items to customize the heroines' outfits and profile achievement points for completing these objectives. This is by no means an innovative feature (and some of the Quests are near-impossible for gamers that don't have super-human timing ability) but like a good pop song, they provide a good hook and add a degree of depth to an otherwise monotonous game.

The final thing that stands out to me about OneChanbara is that its creators seem to really care about its characters and the gameplay. Aya and Saki, despite the ridiculous fetish-driven outfits, come across as dignified and strong-willed protagonists. The designers have incorporated some feel-good gameplay in the hack n' slash style—even if it's targeted at the hardest of the hardcore. This isn't great art, but it's clear that the developers love the subject of their game and OneChanbara is worth playing for that reason. Rating: 6.5 out of 10

The cluelessly misguided sequel to a fantastically frightening game

HIGH The new and improved forensics procedures.

LOW The laughably bad plot.

WTF Practically everything good about the first game is bungled here.

Although the first Condemned from developer Monolith had a few rough edges, it still ranks with me as one of the most interesting, compelling games of the current generation. In addition to being fantastically frightening and atmospheric in a way that most games can only hope to achieve, its unconventional serial-killer subject matter was smartly capitalized on to create a stunningly memorable experience. After such an effort, it was clear that the Condemned 2 team had their work cut out for them. Unfortunately, from the mess on display here, it seems that they didn't even attempt to clear the bar they set so high for themselves the first time.

Picking up where the first Condemned left off, officer Ethan Thomas is on the skids. Left broken and disturbed by the events of the previous game, he's turned to the bottle in an effort to self-medicate and forget what he's seen. However, as crime begins to rise in the city, local authorities pick him up out of the gutter to help with their current investigations, leading him into a tangled web of brutal, bloody intrigue.

From a storyline perspective, I thought the premise of a ruined cop getting dragged back into the nightmare he's running from had a lot of potential. Even better, the previous title's plot was one of its strongest elements, and the nihilistically enigmatic endgame was left wide open for a continuation. I honestly couldn't wait to see where Monolith was going to take Bloodshot, but I never would've guessed they'd take it straight to the toilet.

Without spoiling things for people who haven't yet experienced either of the Condemned games, Bloodshot's plot stumbles from the start and never recovers. Lacking the tense, desperate pursuit of a murderer to hold it together and drive it forward, Monolith instead gets caught up in unrolling an absurd supernatural mythology that doesn't make a lot of sense, and certainly doesn't have the gravitas needed to complement the dark tone they're going for. Although some of the elements between the two games seem to connect, my impression was that certain bits of Bloodshot undercut or even contradict things previously established—and quite frankly, fear of the unknown is a great source of unease for people who play horror games. Explain too much, and you risk losing the chilling mystiques that the best of the genre foster. In Bloodshot's case, not only is the mystique gone, but the revelations are so cliché, nonsensical and lightweight that the dramatic core of the game is eviscerated by inanity.

Beside the game's silly story, progression from level to level is equally poor. Almost none of the environments have the same potency seen in the original, and they certainly don't have the same cohesion. Struggling to make sense and justify themselves, the piecemeal locations might work in some other horror game, but certainly don't here. In one of the most egregious displays, Ethan becomes separated from the officers he's on a mission with and ends up in a burning doll factory. Diverging from the gritty quasi-realism previously established, he fights off exploding kewpie dolls and a female cosplayer with a giant lollipop. Not only did this level make absolutely no sense in the overall context of the adventure, when Ethan returns to headquarters, he inexplicably continues the investigation without comment!

Intellectual concerns aside, the play and design of Condemned 2 is lacking in every respect. Although it focuses on hand-to-hand combat like its predecessor, there's no heft or weight to the fighting. It's just not convincing. After hitting an enemy in the head with a lead pipe or frying them with a taser, they shouldn't be able to shake off the damage in a fraction of a second and keep throwing punches with the same ferocity they did a moment before. Instead of being visceral and immediate, the combat felt very artificial and overly dependent on performing "gamey" combos to do real damage.

Interactions with the environment were equally unsatisfying. Ethan is unable to duck or jump, often blocked by low obstacles or pieces of furniture that any normal human being with working legs would be able to navigate past. Exploration is practically nil, each level being full of dead ends and locked doors without keys, impervious to any and all efforts to open them. Although I have nothing against linearity in general, the developers channel players down the only correct path in blindingly obvious, clumsily overt ways. Honestly, the only thing that's improved about the experience are the forensics.

In the first Condemned, Ethan would occasionally search for clues or do something equally detective-like in pursuit of his psychopathic nemesis, SKX. The sequences were original and fresh, and I do give credit to Monolith for expanding on them here. After finding some telling evidence or locating a crucial crime scene, Ethan's liaison back at base will often require him to photograph victims, gather evidence, or poke around and make logical guesses based on his observations. These too-brief sequences are the sole bright spot in what is essentially a complete misfire.

I sincerely wish I could find more things to praise about Condemned 2: Bloodshot, but I'm simply at a loss. Nearly everything that was great about the first game is now absent, replaced by choices and decisions that consistently miss the mark. Cheesy "boss" encounters and murky graphics that weren't worth a paragraph compound the already gimmicky combat, out-of-place levels, nonsensical plot elements and confused "dramatic" progression... it's as if the developers genuinely have no idea what made the first Condemned so good and instead chose to focus on a slew of things that run counter to creating a similarly grim crusade. If the first game was a chillingly-black horror to be feared, Bloodshot's a pretender in a goofy rubber mask, making funny noises and stumbling over its own feet. Rating: 3.5 out of 10.

Proving that horror isn't based on guns and gore

HIGH Refreshingly different and mature on a kid-centric console.

LOW The lack of play variety may put off some players.

WTF Do religious artifacts really need more powerful upgrades?

Players who favor the scary side of gaming may have been finding themselves quite disappointed lately. In recent years, horror has been almost completely supplanted by survival horror, and although related, they're not the same thing. For example, I don't believe that packing big guns and spending my time scrounging for ammunition are necessary for a frightening experience. In-your-face levels of explicit violence and piles of dripping gore aren't, either. Although I can certainly appreciate the more bombastic side of the spectrum, I don't want the understated, more cerebral approach ignored at its expense. I believe those types of subtle, quietly frightening games still have their place. Evidently, Deep Silver agrees.

Taking an entirely different path than recent survival horror entries like trigger-happy Resident Evil 5 or alien dismember-fest Dead Space, Cursed Mountain is the lonely tale of a seasoned mountaineer named Eric Simmons. Suggestive and atmospheric where other games trot their sanguine wares out on full display, Eric's goal is a simple one; to discover what happened to his brother Frank. Also a climber, Frank was hired to retrieve a sacred artifact at the top of a remote summit. Instead of returning from the mountaintop victorious, Frank disappeared. Soon afterward, an aether's worth of hungry spirits appeared and now ravage the villages below.

The premise I've just outlined could be taken a number of ways, but Deep Silver went with what was probably the most bold—forgoing the standard combat-oriented, locked-door scenario, Eric's path up Chomolonzo mountain is one of mood, atmosphere, and a constant questioning of sanity. Although some may claim that it's too linear and narrow in scope, in Cursed Mountain's case, the game is the journey itself.

I'm certainly no expert on Buddhism or Tibetan life, but to my eyes, Deep Silver has done an excellent job of capturing elements of the culture and crafted them into an immersive, convincing setting. Starting at a small town nestled in the rocky range's surrounding foothills, it's clear to see that setting rules all. Gray and cold, the decrepit buildings and ramshackle appearance of the lower dwellings soon give way to rocky paths, endless vistas, vertical spaces, and isolated monasteries sequestered far away from civilization.

It was easy to imagine the sort of hardscrabble life these people must lead in such harsh conditions, and the foreign iconography carries mysterious significance all its own, completely apart from the game's plot. These alien, yet entirely believable elements do a fantastic job of reinforcing Cursed Mountain's aim of keeping the player constantly off-balance and fearful by maintaining a toehold in the real world. Although I wouldn't say it was jolt-inducing or shocking in the way other, flashier games tend to favor, the overall sense of unease permeates the experience.

Though the setting itself is powerful, the quality that drives Eric's adventure further into the dark is the constant sense of self-doubt and insanity that dances around the edges of every scene. Thanks to some clever choices in visual presentation and the developers' choice to often strip away certain aspects of the player's perception, Eric's long, slow trek up the mountain often feels like a descent into madness. Is Eric sane? Can he believe his eyes? His ears? Is he imagining the events before him, or is reality truly falling apart at the seams? Certain moments capture the very Lovecraftian theme of man struggling against a hostile, malevolent universe, and it was a quality I savored.

As much as I admire Cursed Mountain—and I do—that's not to say that it doesn't have its share of issues. Primarily, the game's potential feels limited by underpowered Nintendo technology. Deep Silver did an admirable job presenting the unique architecture of the territory and teasing drama from the content, but there's no question that the project would be intensely stunning on a more powerful machine. I hesitate to even say it, but since so much of the game is based on environment and mood, there's no getting around the fact that the machine doesn't do the game justice.

Speaking of technology, I need to note that the Wii's motion-sensing abilities are an issue. When ghosts are encountered on the way up Chomolonzo's peak, the player can perform certain motions to put them to rest. Although I only died a small number of times due to my motions failing to register, it was always extremely frustrating to repeat the same sort of gesture over and over again, and have it work only half the time. For such a central, repeated function, the sensitivity fending off phantoms should be more dialed-in.

Production issues aside, I have to admit that I was also a bit puzzled at Cursed Mountain's pacing. The game gets a proper start and builds suspense admirably, yet just when I felt the game should be coming to its natural conclusion, there was still about a third of the adventure left to go. Unfortunately, things started to lag a bit in the tail end as I kept waiting for a resolution that was postponed a surprising number of times. I'm not sure whether the developers were nervous about having the game perceived as "too short" on top of all the other comments that were sure to be made, but I have to admit that the last leg's arc did feel needlessly padded.

Despite those issues, there is no question that Cursed Mountain is not only one of the finest titles currently available for the Wii, it's a welcome detour from the well-worn survival horror path that so many developers seem only too happy to tread. In my opinion, the pursuit of its unorthodox approach and its character's tenuous lucidity has paid off in spades to create a gripping, frequently brilliant title that is in no danger whatsoever of being mistaken for anything else. In today's too-safe, too-similar development environment, something that manages to be unique as well as successful should be recognized. Rating: 8.0 out of 10.

Decisions, Decisions

Women aren't Vending Machines: How video games perpetuate the commodity model of sex

Or: Why I am dreading Alpha Protocol.

This post requires a bit of background. I highly recommend reading Thomas Macaulay Millar's essay "Toward a Performance Model of Sex", from the recently published anthology Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape. You can read the essay on Google book search. This post intends to look at video game relationships in the context of the two models Millar describes, so please read it if you have the time.

In short, Millar describes how society sees sex as a commodity, and argues that the commodity model—which enables rape, allows the concept of the "slut" to exist, and frames consent as "the absence of no", rather than "the presence of yes"—should be replaced by what he calls the performance model, where sex is seen as a collaborative effort between two equal participants, like two musicians playing a song together. In this excerpt he describes the commodity model:

We live in a culture where sex is not so much an act as a thing: a substance that can be given, bought, sold, or stolen, that has a value and a supply-and-demand curve. In this "commodity model," sex is like a ticket; women have it and men try to get it. Women may give it away or may trade it for something valuable, but either way it's a transaction. This puts women in the position of seller, but also guardian or gatekeeper … Women are guardians of the tickets, men apply for access to them. This model pervades casual conversation about sex: Women "give it up." men "get some."

The commodity model is shared by both the libertines and the prudes of our patriarchy. To the libertine, guys want to maximize their take of tickets. The prudes want women to keep the tickets to buy something really "important": the spouse, provider, protector.

(There is a LOT more to the piece, and it's fascinating and clear, so definitely read it.) To give an example: a guy I know once received a call from a couple of his friends, who asked if he wanted to go to a strip club. He said something like, "Why would I want to go to a shady bar and pay a random stranger to show me her boobs when I can have sex with my girlfriend?" And his oh-so-clever friends informed him that Hey! When you think about it, you are still just paying to see boobs! Except the payment is in dinners and dates and compliments, rather than dollar bills.

Ha. Ha. Get it? Because all women are prostitutes.

There are so many things wrong with the "joke": it ignores the fact that the girlfriend likely enjoys sex, too, and that the guy also gets companionship, stability, love and attention out of the relationship, in addition to sex. It ignores the fact that theirs is a sexual and social partnership, not some kind of transaction or business arrangement. But the relevant part here is that the "joke" just doesn't work if the participants aren't invested in the commodity model of sex described by Millar.

So what does this have to do with video games? Well, some video games allow the player character to have sex with NPCs; even more allow the player to have romantic relationships with NPCs. What the vast majority of these games inevitably do is present relationship mechanics that distill the commodity model down to its essence—you talk to the NPC enough, and give them enough presents, and then they have sex with/marry you.

This design approach is extremely simplistic and perpetuates the commodity model of sex—the player wants sex, they go through certain motions, and they are "rewarded" with what they wanted (like a vending machine). Furthermore, when sex is included in a game, it is generally framed as the end result—the reward—of romance, rather than one aspect of an ongoing relationship/partnership. For example, one gamer commented that the romance in Mass Effect seemed like the romantic interest was really saying, "Keep talking to me and eventually we'll have sex". The relationship is not the goal; the goal is the tasteful PG-13 sex scene. The NPC's thoughts and desires aren't relevant; what matters is the tactics you use to get what you want. This is a boring mechanic in games and dangerously dehumanizing behavior in real life.

Where the simplistic relationship mechanics really get problematic is when someone makes a game where your protagonist is a James Bond-wannabe and there's an achievement for sleeping with every woman in the game. I am talking, of course, about Alpha Protocol. The quotes in the linked MTV Multiplayer article are infuriatingly sexist (as well as displaying insultingly limiting definitions of masculinity), but the relevant part is the bit about the "Ladies' Man" achievement.

It is seriously problematic to have a game where the male player/avatar can have sex with any and every woman in the game. On top of reinforcing the commodity model of sex, it is desperately heteronormative. For all the player's "choice" of with whom to engage, there's no possibility that the player might want to have a relationship with another man. It also shows that lesbians just don't exist in this world, if every single woman is open to a sexual encounter with a man. In addition, it perpetuates the narrative of the Nice Guy (described in Millar's essay, and elsewhere): that men are entitled to sex from women if they follow the rules and do the right things, or in the case of Alpha Protocol, "select your responses wisely." It is not only dangerous but just plain unrealistic to portray a world in which every single woman is a potential sex partner: in the real world, there are lesbians, and there are straight or bisexual women who won't sleep with you no matter what you do, because they are human beings with their own preferences and desires and interests. (If I remember correctly, a counterexample may be The Sims, where often certain personalities just won't get along well enough to develop a relationship no matter how hard you try.)

So what can video games do to portray better relationships? For one, they can stop being so goddamn heteronormative and allow options for queer relationships. And secondly, designers can start thinking of sex as a collaborative performance between two equal partners, and romantic interests as actual human beings with lives and thoughts and preferences outside of where they intersect with the player, rather than as conquests. And everyone would do well to read Millar's essay!

The Heavy Iron team also made sure the pair’s relationship came through whenever possible: “The characters need each other,” says Wiklem, “not just in the physical challenges, but emotionally as well. They have a ton of bantering back and forth in the game, some of it just in the nature of their personalities, with other bits in the same tone but disguised as hints and tips for players.”

Top of a Tepui. Russell and Carl negotiate vertiginous territory.

Tools of the Trade

Carl and Russell’s backgrounds also enabled Wiklem’s team to introduce tasks and challenges geared specifically toward the characters: Carl smashes spiders and collects his late wife’s mementos, which fell out of the house as it descended from the sky, while Russell catches rare bugs and completes the tasks that earn him more Wilderness Explorer badges. As both characters accomplish their goals, you’ll unlock cheat codes, bonus content, and video clips.

Our heroes’ possessions also play vital roles: Carl’s cane serves as a weapon and a tool, and he can use his hearing aid to stun enemies, while Russell’s mirror blinds opponents. In addition, they rely on other objects found along the way, including a magnifying glass and a pick axe, with Dug and Kevin providing specialized support at opportune moments. “Dug and Kevin appear just when players think they cannot go further, or a challenge seems impossible,” Wiklem says.

Biplane Battle. Take to the skies and engage in aerial duels against friends.

Capturing the Top of a Tepui

The tepuis fill the game’s primary underlying function, as they do in the movie, Wiklem explains: “After we saw the first cut of ‘UP,’ one of the aspects continually hammered on by the film team was how high up a tepui is. The film team thought we captured that sense of height and vertigo perfectly.”

He concludes: “Our goal was to make the player feel they were not only part of the Pixar ‘UP’ movie world, but that they could really be in a South American jungle. The joy of Pixar’s films is that they create these worlds so full of color and life that the audience is taken in and wants to be part of that world, even for just a short period of time. It’s a formula that has consistently worked, and we’re proud to have been part of the ‘UP’ process.”

It's a tireless task parents have keeping their kids safe. Graphic TV programs, sexually explicit magazines and alcohol all must be kept out of reach. Unfortunately, parents must add another pop culture challenge to their list: video games. A recent study by the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) shows that more than 90 percent of parents don't monitor ratings on the video games played by their kids. Many are unaware that a ratings system for video games even exists, and children probably know more about the rating system than their parents do. Worse yet, parents may not know that the content of certain games could affect the social and emotional development of their child, and may even be hazardous to children's health.

Unfortunately, parents must add another pop culture challenge to their list: video games. A recent study by the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) shows that more than 90 percent of parents don't monitor ratings on the video games played by their kids. Many are unaware that a ratings system for video games even exists, and children probably know more about the rating system than their parents do. Worse yet, parents may not know that the content of certain games could affect the social and emotional development of their child, and may even be hazardous to children's health.

Violence is the most prevalent health risk for children and adolescents. Homicide, suicide and accidents are the top causes of death for 15- to 24-year-olds. Each year, more than 150,000 adolescents are arrested for violent crimes; more than 300,000 are seriously assaulted; and 3,500 are murdered. Violence done to and by America's young people is a public health emergency that must be addressed by parents, physicians and policymakers.

More than 3,500 research studies have examined the association between media violence and violent behavior. All but 18 of the studies have shown that the more violence one sees, the more likely one is to be violent. According to the AAP, depictions of violence that are realistic, portrayed without pain and suffering, and experienced in the context of good feelings are more likely to be emulated.

On April 20, 1999, two heavily armed adolescent boys walked into Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado and shot 12 of their classmates and a teacher to death. Then they killed themselves. When authorities investigated, they discovered that the boys had played thousands of hours of a "first-person shooter" video game that had been modified to occur in a layout identical to that of their high school, with yearbook pictures electronically pasted onto the game's imaginary victims. What led these boys to deliberately kill their fellow students is complicated and no single reason has been identified as the cause.

One of the questions parents asked after the Columbine shooting was: "How could it be that the parents did not know their children were playing such heinous video games?" The answer is that parents are not familiar with video games because they don't play them.

Parents don't know that video games that have a mature rating may contain content that is entirely inappropriate for children under the age of 17. They don't know that a child playing an M-rated game can actively participate in the simulated murder of police officers, women, minorities and innocent bystanders. These acts are graphically depicted and include victims being shot, beaten to death, decapitated, burned alive and urinated on. These games may also present favorable depictions of prostitution, racism, misogyny and drug use.

Parents do know that children learn by observing, imitating what they observe, and acting on the world around them. According to child psychologist Michael Rich, children develop what psychologists call "behavioral scripts." They interpret their experiences and respond to others using those scripts.

One can easily see how repeated exposure to violent behavioral scripts can lead to increased feelings of hostility, expectation that others will behave aggressively, desensitization to the pain of others, and an increased likelihood of interacting and responding to others with violence.

Violent video games are an ideal environment in which to learn violence. Violent video games:

• place the player in the role of the aggressor and reward him or her for violent behavior.
• allow the player to rehearse an entire behavioral script from provocation to choosing a violent resolution of conflict.
• are addictive — kids want to play them for hours to improve their playing skills, and repetition increases learning.

Parents already know they must be aware of the television and movies their children watch. Now they must be aware of the content of the video games their children play at home and in the homes of their friends.

To educate parents and guardians about the content of video games, Mothers Against Violence in America invites parents to join the Campaign for a Game Smart Community and learn about the content and rating system. There are hundreds of video games available; selecting the right game for your child is very important.

1. The availability of video games has led to an epidemic of youth violence.

2. Scientific evidence links violent game play with youth aggression.

3. Children are the primary market for video games.

4. Almost no girls play computer games.

5. Because games are used to train soldiers to kill, they have the same impact on the kids who play them.

Grossman's model only works if:

• we remove training and education from a meaningful cultural context.
• we assume learners have no conscious goals and that they show no resistance to what they are being taught.
• we assume that they unwittingly apply what they learn in a fantasy environment to real world spaces.

6. Video games are not a meaningful form of expression.

7. Video game play is socially isolating.

8. Video game play is desensitizing.

Following settlement with Microsoft, Palktalk Holdings files complaint against makers of PS3, WOW, COD, Guild Wars, LOTRO, and Runescape.

In March, Paltalk Holdings leveled a hefty $90 million lawsuit against software giant Microsoft. Paltalk's claim centered on two of its patents, which create a solution for computers to effectively communicate with one another in online-gaming situations. As it turns out, Paltalk's claim stood on strong enough legs for Microsoft to settle the case for an undisclosed sum, midway through the trial, in June.

Paltalk certainly has an opportunity to cash in.

Now, Paltalk has its sights set on a number of other game-industry heavyweights, including Sony Computer Entertainment and several of its divisions, Activision Blizzard, NCsoft, Turbine, and Jagex. At issue, again, is Paltalk's computer-to-computer synchronization patents, which, as noted by Paltalk's lawyer Max Tribble as part of its Microsoft suit, involve "technology for ways to control interactive applications over multiple computers."

Paltalk's current suit doesn't shy away from the high-profile games in each of the aforementioned company's catalogues. Games specifically named in Paltalk's suit that are purportedly in violation of the company's patents include Guerrilla Games' Killzone 2, Evolution Studios' Motorstorm, EverQuest I and II, Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare and World at War, World of Warcraft, Guild Wars, Lord of the Rings Online, and Runescape.

Notably, Paltalk's suit notes that Sony, Activision, and Blizzard had previously been licensees of the technology, which it bought from Mpath Interactive in 2001. The suit notes that as early as 1997, Sony had allegedly used Mpath's technology as part of its Web site The Station. Likewise, Activision had allegedly begun using the technology in 1997, while Blizzard had purportedly employed the same patents since 1995.

Due to what it claims to be a willful violation of its patents, Paltalk is seeking damages that total three times what they would normally be against Sony, Activision, and Blizzard. The company has also petitioned the court to prevent the companies from continuing to violate its patents, among other requests.

New Avatar Video Game

We recently got our first look at the official video game for the upcoming sci-fi blockbuster, Avatar, when director James Cameron appeared at Ubisoft’s E3 conference. Along with a lot of details on what the game will involve (and how it’s being developed at the same time as the movie), we got three cool looking images from it.

Freeze, sucka'!

Beast and machine battle...

Although I’m not a huge gamer, I still look forward to playing the Avatar video game. The primary reason being because it’s being developed alongside the movie, with Cameron taking a personal interest in seeing it turns out to be good. Also, Cameron has said that certain elements that were created for the game were actually incorporated into the movie itself, which sounds very promising indeed - I would think it would normally and logically be the other way around.

The images so far for the Avatar game have looked pretty damn sweet, and out of these three newest ones I’d lean towards the first one as my favorite. Something about the machine directly opposing that monster looks extra badass. Here’s hoping the actual game itself turns out to be at least decent (although I certainly hope for a lot more from it).

For a few more Avatar game images, as well as info on the movie from the E3 conference, you can take a look at

What do you think of what we’ve seen of the Avatar video game so far, particularly these three images? Do you think the game will turn out to be well done and not just rushed like most movie-to-game adaptations?

Avatar is scheduled to hit theatres on December 18th, 2009. The game is expected sometime early December, also in 2009.