I'll be honest, Tales From Space: About A Blob, this game's PS3-only predecessor, completely passed me by. Pity, as I expect it was pretty good given the follow-up has turned out to be the hidden gem of Vita's launch line-up.
The developer, Canadian indie Drinkbox, may not be doing itself any commercial favours with a title as forgettably generic as Mutant Blobs Attack. But it fits the game's shtick snugly enough, spoofing as it does '50s sci-fi while gobbling up ideas and mechanics from familiar games. It's part LocoRoco, part Katamari, and yet the end result still proves coherent and distinctive: a cleverly designed, wryly amusing, just-one-more-go platform-puzzler made to measure for Sony's handheld.
You control the blob - initially as tiny as teeth - after it escapes from a lab and begins devouring everything in sight smaller than itself, its size and appetite expanding exponentially across the game's six zones, with 24 levels in total (plus optional 'Tilt-A-Blob' stages, which I'll come to).
Within each level, progress is routinely impeded by a cork in a passageway you cannot pass until you have scoffed enough stuff in that you're sufficiently proportioned to devour it. You move, you eat, you get bigger, you move and eat some more. It's as easy as that. And it's terrific fun while it lasts.
We humans are not portrayed in the best light, which is probably for the best given how the game ends.
The physics-based action is broadly divided between roll-jump-and-gobble and fly-and-gobble, the latter bestowing the gelatinous glutton with rocket power. The two styles seamlessly interchange throughout, with layers of complexity added in as you go.
Best of all are your ovoid over-eater's magnetic abilities. The left shoulder button attracts it to, and right shoulder repels it from, metallic objects. Simple enough. But the ingenuity of the design delivers some fantastically tense moments, such as when you are tasked with balancing the opposing forces of hazard-lined objects, and the physics are exploited to great effect.
Similarly, certain platforms can be moved using the touch-screen. Early on, it's just dragging something to an obvious point and moving on. But delve deeper and perfectly timed multi-touch manoeuvres are required.
Speaking of which, the game gets a big tick for resisting the temptation to force every last Vita feature down the player's throat - all too often the curse of a new console's launch range, and the occasional scourge of other early Vita titles, such as Uncharted with its oh-god-how-many-more-rubbings and oh-jesus-who-approved-these swipe-to-hack-sequences.
Touch-screen play is limited to the previously mentioned platform manipulation, worked with frequent flair into the puzzling, demanding sharp reflexes and a keen eye.
Magnetism is deployed brilliantly throughout. A quick zap will attract these blocks towards you.
It can feel a little imprecise from time to time - which may be the hardware rather than any design flaw, as I've had similar issues with Escape Plan - but it's generally used smartly enough that you won't mind the odd fluff.
Rear touch is only squeezed in as an alternative boost control - normally activated via the shoulder buttons - and can be disabled so you're not setting it off all the time with twitching digits.
Five of the six zones also feature a bonus tilt-control game - one of those top-down, roll-around things - which I ignored at first, since they begin with a dull maze navigation mini-game that feels out-of-place and gimmicky.
It was a nice surprise, then, when I returned after finishing the game to discover the retro gaming looks lavished on later rounds. The gameplay still doesn't add much, but the rounds are optional and your curiosity is more than rewarded by the consolation of nostalgia.
The game can be tricky, but never stupidly or unfairly so, and restarts are always only moments away from where you screwed up. The studio's evident creative self-assurance ensures the team avoids the trap a more insecure developer might have fallen into: arbitrarily and artificially drawing it out in the misguided belief that bigger is better. Size matters in Mutant Blobs Attack - it's the entire point - but not the size of the experience.
And anyway, given the budget price tag, there's more game here than you might imagine. Moreover, leaderboards and the urge for another quick bash add decent replay value.
Jason Shiga is a bit of a genius. As if being a Berkeley-educated maths whizz isn't enough - it's certainly enough for me, Jason - Shiga's also a wonderfully inventive comic book writer and artist. He's come up with weekly strips about finding yourself sealed in a phone booth (Fleep) and one-shot stories about the gritty world of library detectives (Bookhunter). My favourite of all his works, though, is probably Meanwhile, a colourful and rather strange sort of book with tabbed edges and glossy pages. It's interactive fiction in comic form, and it's now available on the iPhone and iPad. Hooray!
Even when bound in cardboard, Meanwhile doesn't look much like other comic books. Shiga's trademark round-headed heroes peak out from a familiar collection of panels, perhaps, but those panels are connected to each other by a dense, criss-crossing network of pipes - pipes which often race from one page, over a tab, and then onto another, before snaking back again. The pipes are how you follow your story through Meanwhile's non-linear layout. With the hardback, it can be something of a dexterity test as you run your finger around the paper. With the app, it's a far simpler matter of heading from one highlighted panel to the next. Tap tap tap. Ugh! You died. That was stupid of you.
Shiga specialises in sadsack everymen who are thrown into weird situations.
The app's greatest achievement, perhaps, is in redesigning the entire layout of Meanwhile so it now works on a single master canvas - one on which you can zoom in and out as often as your heart desires. It gives you a lovely sense of Shiga, putting his narratives together with paper and scissors and thumbtacks. The story itself starts fairly simply - you're buying an ice cream and you're given a basic choice between two different flavours - but chances are high that, if you play through the narrative more than once, you're going to find it taking some weird leftfield turns into science fiction, philosophy, and even a cute strain of nihilistic horror.
In a submerged world, the man with the oil is king. He is the one who controls the flow of a battle. In Unigine's game, making mad grabs for oil derricks is something that you absolutely have to do, and that it ties into the theme so neatly is admirable. You send out your units and they grab. Derricks, nodes, factories, helipads. It's all quite elegant. It just took me a little while to figure out why.
Most games have silly names: Chronicles of Atalur or Call of Honour. They don't really mean anything. They're about evoking an idea, setting a mood, or if you're particularly lucky, establishing a premise. That's why I think I can be forgiven for ignoring Oil Rush as a title. I figured it didn't really mean much of anything. Also, the very last thing I ever want to do is rush.
When it comes to real-time strategy games, I'm a turtle. I hunker down, hoping the outside world will just go away so that I can carry on building my walls higher and my turrets bigger. I want to create a great big blob of men with guns, and then fling my arm in the general direction of the enemy, and have my horde cut a swathe through them.
A waterpocalypse can be so beautiful.
Oil Rush is not made for turtles. It's very much in the hare school of strategy games, as most are. But here, the blitz is king more than most, and if you dawdle for a second you're punished severely. It's a game about momentum and how hard you can swing that big old metaphorical pendulum around.
Oil Rush has no base-building; the bases are already built. It doesn't have production queues or any resource management. Each base churns out a specific unit type, from jet skis to boats to planes to helicopters, and they churn them out until they reach their specific unit cap. If any of their units get killed, they churn out a fresh one. So each game starts with a mad grab, a scramble for all of the best nodes, an attempt to consolidate and expand.
It's made for speed, both in how it plays and how long you play it for. Games are quick, clocking in at just over 20 minutes, and they operate at a breakneck pace that relies on you constantly switching between defending your bases and attacking new ones.
For a game where you can only ever control the base-nodes that litter the map, it's remarkably fluid. It's about managing your troops as a resource, knowing when and where to send them, and not being indecisive for a second. But it's quick-fire in the most powerful sense, because every decision is something you're locked into; there's no bottling and pulling your men back once they've been sent. Every trigger-pull is final.
Even after the world is screwed, we still love nukes.
You can say how many of your troops you want to send, (25, 50 or 100 per cent of those at each node), but once they're gone you don't get control over them until they've arrived. Retreat really isn't an option. It's about creating little hordes and sallying forth hoping you won't get cut up in their turrets and defenders. Knowing which troops to send, too, seems essential early on, when each unit type seems to counter another, but soon enough you'll have enough of a mix in each group that it becomes redundant.
There's an extra layer of strategy in a tech tree, unlocked by earning experience from kills and capturing nodes, and it gets pretty crazy pretty quickly, with nukes, submarines, giant gunships and napalm strikes all unlocked fairly easily. But the early skills, like radars, propaganda and demoralisation, are the ones that you'll be using the most to turn the tide of fights.
And that's what the oil is for. It means that you'll always have units to send off, regardless of whether you've got a proper supply of oil going, but if you want to do the really cool stuff, if you want to reinforce and use those skills, you need a derrick or two. It necessitates aggression right from the start, and it's only because I'm stubborn and thick that I didn't realise that.
The fleets that form are so wonderfully ordered.
My thickness isn't entirely to blame, however. The campaign does a poor job of properly introducing its mechanics beyond the bare minimum, and the first few levels are so easy that turtling is a perfectly valid tactic. While admittedly they're a kind of tutorial, it meant that by the time I got onto the campaign proper, I had an entirely false impression of the game in my head.
It doesn't help, then, that it seems like the AI is cheating the instant things get tough. And it especially doesn't help that it punishes certain types of aggression even though they should work. Instead, you have to be aggressive in a very specific way that the game wants, rather than the way that feels like it makes most sense. The campaign is a bit of a misfire, despite having some really lovely environments such as sunken cities and rocky outcroppings covered in ramshackle housing.
Then there's the acting and script. All you need to know is that the hero is called Kevin and his commander is called Commander.
It's not immediately obvious to everyone, but to us beardier, strategier PC types, the ongoing lack of a decent fantasy grand strategy game makes for a painful hole in our collection. While a spellcasting setting might have suited all sorts of RTS and turn-based titles, more than a few weary wizards will point an aging finger all the way back to 1994, to Microprose's Master of Magic, when they want to cite the definitive example of fantasy empire building. Paradox is hoping to finally change that with Warlock: Master of the Arcane.
"There is always the spirit of Master of Magic wandering out there," says senior writer Pavel Kondrashov, whose own brand of magic might be necromancy. "This spirit is demanding to be brought back to life. Although we started as a developer of sci-fi games, fantasy worlds seemed to have claimed us as their servants." That would explain the towns populated by rogues, ratmen or the living dead, all of them researching new spells or constructing strange magical apparatus under the orders of their Great Mages. Outside their city walls, ogres and giant spiders roam the lands.
If it moves, then it's probably going to try to kill you.
Much as Master of Magic resembled the original Civilization, with magical research in lieu of technological and elves instead of Europeans, Warlock is clearly inspired by the latest in Firaxis' series, though from the very start the game's world of Ardania is not only prettier but also much more dangerous.
It's thick with monsters and their lairs, more than a few of which will take a sustained effort to fight past, while the Great Mages of the land cast spells as if from on high, raining fire upon each other's armies or bolstering their towns with special abilities. A little adventuring reveals portals to other planes, entirely new maps which exist in parallel and are often even more diverse in their deadliness.
While each Great Mage will have the ability to ultimately research their way toward a world-conquering spell, if thinking your way to success doesn't appeal then violence solves all kinds of problems. "You could also capture all of the Holy Grounds, the special locations where temples can be built," says Pavel, "Or you could defeat an avatar, a personification of one of Ardania's gods."
There are many neutral towns and monster-spawning lairs to be found.
Warlock is looking very polished indeed, although it remains to be seen exactly how well it will balance the finer points of its elves and economics. At the moment, it's lacking some of the depth that makes other 4X games compelling, with only rudimentary diplomacy and limited unit customisation. Its AI also remains alarmingly indifferent, though perhaps I'm just too boring a target.
But I hold out hopes for it, because it's bravely testing waters that have long been choppy, perhaps even cursed. Attempts to create either a definitive or spiritual sequel to Master of Magic have failed several times. Original developers Simtex closed after they announced Master of Magic II, while Quicksilver Software's subsequent sequel deal fell through. Then there was Stardock's recent attempt to re-imagine it with Elemental: War of Magic, a failure that cost them dearly.
Due for release this summer, Warlock is presently only a single-player experience, though Pavel adds that multiplayer support will be added after release with, of course, the potential for DLC too. Meanwhile, aging fingers are being crossed, including my own.
On paper, 2008's Prince of Persia revamp was a pointless game. Don't get me wrong, it had every reason to exist, but its story and mechanics were essentially a long, meandering path back to square one.
Critics and players alike took the game to task for a Prince who didn't so much walk the fine line between rogue-ish charm and loudmouthed dickery as he did wall-run right over it and into Nathan Drake's dirty, half-tuck-stained laundry. He never grew or changed, they said. Worse, he overshadowed the far more interesting Elika, whose grim determination to face her self-sacrificing destiny felt far more at home in POP's equal parts desolate and gorgeous world. And then there was the structure of the game itself, which - among other alleged crimes - traded Death's cold touch for an omnipresent helping hand from Elika. That's right: the Prince couldn't die.
He also, incidentally, wasn't really a prince, which resulted in a chorus of cries from the same folks who get all bent out of shape when they realise that Apple Jacks don't taste like apples.
Regardless, where's the fun in playing an unlikeable, unchanging main character? And with the looming threat of death out of the picture, why even hand me a controller in the first place? The Prince may as well be out for a slightly-more-apocalyptic-than-usual evening stroll - you know, up the side of a building. However, while I acknowledge that Prince of Persia had its fair share of shortcomings, I wouldn't have loved it nearly as much - or, for that matter, at all - if its two most glaring 'flaws' weren't part of the package. The point, so far as I'm concerned, was pointlessness.
From the get-go, the Prince was self-serving, and intentionally antagonistic. He showed up sniffing for gold and ended up chasing tail instead. All throughout the adventure, his go-to line was a melodramatically sigh-stuffed "How did I get myself into this?" I couldn't stand the guy. His game was a high-flying rollercoaster ride through a world one part Ico and 37 parts Okami. He himself, however, was a chore, an out-of-place Nathan Drake clone (voiced, of course, by Nolan North) with precisely none of the charm.
But he was also different. Gaming's past is littered with goodie-two-shoes. Nowadays, meanwhile, edgy anti-heroes are all the rage. But even Renegade Shepard has (so far) managed to save the universe. The Prince, meanwhile, rendered all of Elika's self-sacrifice - and pretty much the entire game - moot by re-releasing the dark god Ahriman, aka the apocalypse just before the credits rolled. Why? Because locking away everyone's favorite world-ending sensation that was sweeping the nation required Elika's death, and when faced with a choice between the whole of humanity and one girl he was crushing on, he picked the girl.
That whole dynamic was made all the more convincing by the Prince's special brand of immortality. If his back was against the wall in combat Elika would channel the powers of a million glowsticks to warp him to safety. If he leaped into one of the game's many colourful, rather pleasant-looking infinite abysses, she'd quickly clasp his hand and bring him back from the brink.
The quiet physicality of their relationship spoke volumes. It was, of course, inspired by Ico, but there are far worse teachers from which to take lessons in believable sincerity. Most games tell us that Lead Male and Lead Female would very much like to play a particularly contact-heavy game of tonsil hockey - usually about five seconds before they proceed to do so. Prince of Persia, however, embedded that attraction into platforming's very core.
Elika regularly saved the Prince, and - if he was nearby - the Prince would gently catch Elika if she was dropping off a ledge or let her hold onto his back while his Man Arms delivered them across some precarious web of vines. Banter-filled dialogue, on the other hand, gave those actions motivation - even if, in the Prince's case, they weren't exactly pure-hearted or altruistic. It was an intelligent use of both show and tell, which also managed to explain away (though not radically alter) game tropes like double-jumping and constant death with magical realism.
And so, love him or hate him, you can't claim that the Prince ever pretended to be something he wasn't. He started out a thick-skulled, self-serving jerk, and pretty much stayed the course in both word and deed. Instead of trite character transformation, the Prince's feelings for Elika emphasised his ugliest flaws. He wouldn't even let Elika take matters into her own hands and save everything she held dear because he had the gall to think he knew better. "Why?" she asked wearily as he scooped her off her Snow White-esque death display table. He merely kept on walking without a word.
Which is not to say that Prince of Persia was some immaculate gem overlooked by the unwashed, apparently blind masses. It was equal parts forward-thinking and a mish-mash of cult hits from gaming's recent past, but in both cases, it near-unanimously missed the point. Its combat attempted to do away with the idea of trash battles by consisting of a series of one-on-one duels to the death, but it couldn't cover up the fact that these 'boss fights' generally required incredibly similar strategies, so they didn't really fix the problem at all.
Parkour-influenced platforming, meanwhile, looked absolutely stunning, but had all the depth of a sun-baked puddle. That in mind, collectable Crackdown-esque 'light seeds' may have seemed like a good idea on paper, but linear level structure spat out that experience's meat, leaving only a carcass of rote backtracking and repetition. And while the otherworldly art style often left my jaw quivering in a crater of its own drool, it was constantly undercut by an oddly modern script that gave Prince of Persia: Warrior Within a run for its money in terms of jarring out-of-placeness.
The list goes on, but the point remains that Prince of Persia was a misshapen Katamari of good ideas precariously held together by what was - in all likelihood - an act of divine intervention. It was an experience constantly at odds with itself, more prone to stumbling over its own two feet than clearing a corpse-ridden deathtrap and sticking the landing.
But I still love it, because it tried incredibly hard to be something special. Compare Prince of Persia to, say, the Legend of Zelda or Ubisoft's own Assassin's Creed franchise. While those two (and many, many more) opt to merely stay afloat year after year for fear of sinking in uncharted waters, POP tossed out its tried-and-true mechanics before they had the chance to become tired and trite. It wasn't entirely successful, but it tackled issues (convincing main characters, death in games, filler battles, etc) head-on that other games are still too afraid to so much as even glance at.
In an era where backwards compatibility has either been completely abandoned or stripped away via revised hardware, HD remasters make for an excellent alternative: why not take the games of yesteryear, port them over to current-generation consoles and make the most of precision high-definition visuals, higher frame-rates, cleaner artwork and improved texture filtering? In titles such as the God of War and Metal Gear Solid HD remasters, we've seen how, with careful nurturing, original PS2-era artwork can shine when rendered in high definition.
There's no reason why the Silent Hill HD Collection couldn't have joined the ranks of those highly acclaimed titles, but unfortunately it's a deeply disappointing release - and the game's fanbase is not happy at all. There's actually an argument that the first game in the collection - Silent Hill 2 - has its unique atmosphere diminished in the transition to high definition. This is a game that is defined by its lo-fi visuals, where detail that isn't obscured by the thick, murky darkness is blended away to certain extent by an intentionally aggressive grain filter.
The original artists at Konami would have built their artwork around this presentation, and the net result is that the HD version is unintentionally compromised as a result - the lack of texture detail in some areas becomes over-exposed in a way that was never intended by Konami's artists, and the game has a pin-sharp, pristine look entirely at odds with the ambience generated by the original release. Elsewhere, other effects (such as water) look fundamentally broken.
Just as bad - if not worse - is the way in which the game's fog effects have been handled in both Xbox 360 and PlayStation versions of the HD Collection. Thin, wispy and insubstantial as opposed to thick and cloying, the look of the outdoor scenes is fundamentally transformed, with far-off detail that should never have been seen now painfully visible. It's almost as though complete layers of fog are now omitted from the overall presentation, meaning that the sense of real volume to the effect is now fundamentally lacking.
To illustrate the complaints levelled at the work, here's how the Xbox 360 version of the game compares up against the original PlayStation 2 version running on a PS3 via full backwards-compatibility. A PS3 mirror of the video is also available, as well as a head-to-head of the two HD remasters - not that there's actually much to tell them apart in terms of image quality.
"Silent Hill 2 is a rare example of an HD remaster that is actually less satisfying to play than the original PlayStation 2 version of the game."
At a basic level, conversion-smith Hijinx has opened out the field of view to accommodate a 16:9 presentation, and used original PS2 artwork assets in their entirety - little or no work appears to have been carried out to ensure they look good when rendered in HD. Aside from typography and UI elements, there is very little evidence that there has actually been any kind of actual "remastering" of original artwork at all - a far cry from the kind of extensive touch-up work carried out, for example, by Just Add Water with its superb Stranger's Wrath HD. Indeed, sometimes we get the impression that textures are actually being omitted - for example, the ground frequently looks bare compared to the PS2 game.
The original Silent Hill games ran on hardware that didn't enjoy the benefits of hardware anti-aliasing and it appears that Hijinx hasn't made any effort to introduce it here. Resolution is confirmed at native 720p, but there's no evidence of any edge-smoothing as such. It's more than a little disappointing when directly compared with Bluepoint's work on the Metal Gear Solid HD Collection, where both MGS2 and its sequel flowed smoothly at 60 frames per second with multi-sampling anti-aliasing adding greatly to the quality of the overall presentation.
Another disappointment concerns the video cinematics. Hijinx appears to have had no access to high-quality assets, so clumsy upscaling has been performed on the original videos, and in the process the aspect ratio has been shot to hell - expanded sideways in order to fill the 16:9 screen. These FMVs segued into gameplay almost perfectly in the original PS2 title, but the jump from muggy, badly blown-up video to ultra-pristine HD is very jarring on 360 and PS3.
Where there has been a genuine attempt to refresh the game is in the inclusion of new voice acting, re-recorded from scratch with new talent for both Silent Hill 2 and its sequel. Opinion is somewhat divided on which version is best, but the good news is that Silent Hill 2 offers players the choice between both renditions.
Bizarrely, the same choice is not afforded to players of the remastered Silent Hill 3, where only the re-recorded voices are an option. It's a frustrating inconsistency between the two games and an inexplicable decision certain to annoy the Silent Hill fanbase. It's a shame because, in a great many other respects, the HD version of Silent Hill 3 works rather well. Konami significantly upgraded the engine in the original game, allowing for higher-quality models, improved animation and more detailed artwork.
Freed from the resolution constraints of the original hardware, the artwork has much more room to breathe and often looks quite impressive running at native 720p. While the remastering work is as basic as it is in Silent Hill 2, there's never really the sense that the original vision of the developer is being compromised - the thick grain filter of the previous game is gone, for example, and while the fog implementation remains an issue, the fact is that it is deployed in far fewer situations in the sequel and isn't a fundamental element of the game's visual make-up this time around.
Here's how Silent Hill 3 looks compared between the original PS2 game and its PS3 counterpart. As with the previous comparison we also have an Xbox 360 version, plus an HD Collection head-to-head.
"With Silent Hill 3, Konami significantly upgraded the engine, allowing for higher-quality models, improved animation and more detailed artwork, leading to a more successful HD port."
Performance is an area in which the Silent Hill HD Collection has also received plenty of criticism, specifically from PlayStation 3 owners. The original PS2 titles operated with a 30 frames-per-second cap but were prone to dropping frames. However, in our tests the Xbox 360 version acquitted itself well, adhering to the same 30FPS limit as the original game and providing an absolutely rock-solid level of performance throughout.
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the PlayStation 3 game. Similar to the other versions, v-sync is engaged but, for reasons unknown, frame-rate is completely unlocked. This results in a wildly varying performance level that changes at any given point - frames rendering either at 16.67ms or at 33.33ms, providing an inconsistent experience. Adding to the problem is the 4GB HDD install (yes, a mandatory install for two PS2 ports). Remarkably, reading in data from the hard drive appears to impact frame-rate during gameplay, resulting in a perceptible dip in performance when background assets appear to be streaming into memory.
The result is that while average frame-rates are at their highest on PlayStation 3, the experience is deeply unsatisfactory, manifesting as a near-constant judder with many annoying pauses - something that is completely alien to original Silent Hill gameplay.
One of the more curious elements behind the Silent Hill controversy is the delay in fixing issues brought to light by the gaming community. Remarkably, there's already been a patch for the US PlayStation 3 version, which apparently does very little at all (our UK version hasn't asked to be updated thus far) and, certainly, the notion of introducing a frame-rate cap shouldn't be too difficult - after all, it's already present on the Xbox 360 version of the game.
"An unlocked frame-rate in combination with frequent stutter makes PS3 performance jarring and inconsistent. The games feel worse to play than the PlayStation 2 originals."
The real question though is just how nobody at Hijinx HQ noticed this glaring difference between the two SKUs before gold masters were sent off. It's also equally difficult to imagine how most of the other glaring bugs made it through the quality control mechanisms of both Konami and the platform holders. It boggles the mind how the PS3 version's hard-drive-induced frame-rate drops, along with sections of out-of-sync audio, could have made their way into the final game in the first place.
The lacklustre implementation of the fog in the two games is a little more understandable, but only up to a point. Transparency effects on the current-generation consoles are relatively expensive to implement. By comparison, the PS2 is a bandwidth monster, with the benefit of operating at a much lower resolution. That said, we have to remember that GPU resources elsewhere are hardly being taxed - these games utilise low-poly models by today's standards and the original textures would need to have been crammed into just 4MB of video RAM. Also, with a set 30 frames-per-second performance target (on 360 at least), it's difficult to imagine that there's anything other than a surfeit of rendering time considering the relatively basic level of the visuals on offer here.
Complaints have been levelled at Konami that the development studio tasked with carrying out this HD remaster doesn't have that much experience with high-profile Xbox 360 and PS3 projects, and there's certainly a feeling that the power of the current-gen platforms isn't being tapped that much here: the notion of PS2-era games requiring a 4GB mandatory install on Sony's current console rings alarm bells, and when compared to the Metal Gear Solid HD Collection in terms of frame-rate and image quality, the technical inadequacies of these Silent Hill ports are swiftly brought sharply into focus.
In the past, we've raised concerns about the lack of effort being put into some of these HD ports. Sometimes the quality of the original assets just isn't good enough for an HD presentation, while on other occasions the original games have simply aged very, very badly and simply can't compete with modern games. With titles like the recently released Devil May Cry: HD Collection, there's the sense that very little effort has gone into the conversion work and the games simply deserved better treatment. But with Silent Hill HD, we see something arguably worse: a port that doesn't play as well as the original games.
On paper, Blast Ball sounds like it shouldn't work. It's a mish-mash of game concepts - a physics-based football game infused with arcade platforming and a high-score chasing spirit similar to Super Crate Box. But a few minutes spent playing Blast Ball is enough to alleviate any concerns about mixing together such eclectic genres. The game's sporting, arcade and action ingredients quickly blend into an enticing peanut butter and jam sandwich experience, which is to say that it shouldn't work, but it does. It's a lot of fun.
Blast Ball's action takes place across three rather rudimentary maps, also reminiscent of Super Crate Box, with that game's original Mario Bros. influence still shining through in both level design and basic controls.
Notching up points requires you trundle variously shaped balls into goals at either side of the screen, while an endless stream of enemies marches down from above. You kill them by manipulating the ball into their path, their spindly 2D bodies breaking apart at the seams, or you can simply avoid them. The majority of enemies differ only in their size and speed, with more advanced variants colour-coded and harder to avoid, in another nod to Mario Bros.
Only Spanish commentary could make this wackier.
The game keeps a tally of your kills and survival time, but the only points that matter are the number of consecutive goals you can score in a round before dying, whether by kicking, rebounding or simply barging balls into the net.
'Soccer' balls are the easiest to control, while the oval-shaped American football variety can cause a problem when you're trying to strike them in a straight line. Rubber ducks, unlocked later, pose an even greater challenge, their bright and bouncy anatine bodies often rebounding around the level. Quack.
Poor old George Lucas. It's easy to forget that in 1997 he used computer technology in a way that arguably enhanced the original Star Wars trilogy (leaving Greedo and that dodgy bit with Han Solo walking on Jabba's tail aside). I watched those films at the legendary THX-equipped "Wycombe Six" cinema in the town of my birth, and remember loving every cleaned up frame, fade and transition.
But then, it is easy to forget that, and the reason why is because over the last 15 years Lucas has barely paused in an apparently relentless campaign of tinkering, tampering and, of course, franchising. We like to imagine Lucas sat behind a desk in an office piled high with pod racers, Trandoshans and Crystal Skulls, while a succession of increasingly unlikely marketing executives file past with licensing contracts for him to sign.
The frustrating thing is that surely at this point we should be safe? There isn't much more damage left to do to the original trilogy - touch wood - and if he wants to spend the next decade and a half updating the prequel trilogy then he's perfectly welcome to do so. He can't exactly make the scene where Natalie Portman and Hayden Christensen fall in love next to a fire any worse, after all. And let's not talk about the one where they cavort with a space cow.
But apparently we're not safe. Not while there are more "Yodafone" adverts to get paid for, or while there are lucrative video game tie-ins to negotiate.
You can understand why Microsoft wanted a Star Wars game for Kinect - Jedis were the original controller-free players, waving their arms around to throw rocks, crush throats and hurl lightning - but it hasn't really worked out well for either party. For Microsoft, it's another game that highlights the lag inherent to Kinect controls that so frustrates core gamers, and for Lucas it's another royalty cheque attached to something that makes people laugh at the universe he created. This time it's thanks to Darth Vader dancing like a tit.
Weirdly, as it turns out, the fabled "Galactic Dance-Off" mode in Kinect Star Wars is one of the best things about it. "It's silly, camp and - perhaps not unrelated - the only part of Kinect Star Wars that feels like a throwback to the Star Wars of the 1970s, back when it was a genuine mainstream pop phenomenon embraced by all and not a nerd ghetto swamped by its own pompous mythology," Dan Whitehead wrote in our Kinect Star Wars Review. But it wasn't enough. "Kinect Star Wars is an incoherent and clumsy compilation, one driven more by brand synergy than any creative imperative."
Maybe Lucas will stop now. Of course he won't.
Some memories are better best forgotten, then, although there's fat chance of that happening in a world of reboots. They're not all bad, though, as this week's Devil May Cry: HD Collection proves, although that's only because the strength of the original content manages to transcend the quality of the conversion. "Like most Capcom oldies given the HD treatment, Devil May Cry HD is a job done the simplest and quickest way - that is, the original assets are displayed in higher resolution and in widescreen, but minimal work is done on the assets themselves," Rich Stanton noted in our Devil May Cry: HD Collection Review.
But despite this, and despite a wobble in the middle, the HD Collection still has Devil May Cry 1 and 3, and that's enough. "As a package it offers two fighting games of exceptional quality, with Devil May Cry slick and stylish enough to overshadow its creaky camera, and Devil May Cry 3 still one of the genre's highpoints."
Neither game is our Game of the Week, though, because that accolade goes to a 3DS title which calls to mind fonder memories while creating new ones.
Western developers like Sony Studios London, Harmonix and Neversoft would eventually bring the music game genre to mass market attention - albeit not forever - but the Japanese have been doing interesting things with it for much longer. Masaya Matsuura gave us PaRappa The Rapper way back in 1996, Tetsuya Mizuguchi fused music to dancing, shooting and puzzling with games like Space Channel 5, Rez and Lumines, Sega caught the bug and delivered Samba de Amigo, and Nintendo has given us some intriguing examples, too, like the marvellously lunatic Donkey Konga.
One of our favourites was the DS title that would later make its way west in adapted form as Elite Beat Agents. The original Osu! Tatakae! Ouendan was about striking dots within collapsing circles in time to a furious beat, and occasionally scrubbing the screen madly, while bizarre comic narratives unfolded on the DS' top screen.
Rhythm Thief and the Emperor's Treasure, from Sega, is cut from a similar cloth, but as a game in a post-Layton world it's also bonded strongly to a single story - a rather enjoyable one that sees Raphael, an infamous Parisian thief, exploring the French capital in a Da Vinci Code-style burglary crawl on the trail of his missing father.
"The simplest of your tasks work the way the mechanics of a very simple adventure game might, as you record various sounds to get past various obstacles," Christian Donlan explains in our Rhythm Thief and the Emperor's Treasure Review. "Beyond that, there are also little pattern-matching sections as you bust open ancient locks and deactivate security terminals, and then you get to the main events: a range of over 40 action sequences in which Phantom R - and occasionally other members of the quirky cast - work their way through extravagant set-pieces by matching beats."
It's the sort of game that brings to mind a lot of things we've loved and championed over the years, but does so in a way that feels fresh and exciting. Or, as Donlan puts it, it's "stylish, personable and effortlessly idiosyncratic". Sounds like just the ticket.
Amid all the guff about Fibble being a totally new direction for Crytek, adding a new string to its bow and whatnot, it's interesting to note that it actually shares plenty of common ground with the developer's previous work.
Sure, it's light on nanosuits and shooting guys in the face with big guns. But look at the evidence: it's a capable entry in the dominant genre on its host format, and while it has a couple of new ideas it mostly sticks to established formulae, with its most noteworthy feature being its immaculately rendered - if slightly charmless - visuals. In other words, Fibble is pretty much exactly what you'd expect if you were told the guys behind Crysis had made a kid-friendly physics puzzler for iOS.
For a debut on an unfamiliar platform it gets a lot right. Controls are simple and intuitive: you slide your finger backwards from Fibble to propel him, the speed determined by the length of the slide. The physics are pleasingly robust as you roll and bounce around a series of obstacle courses, and there are plenty of shiny things to collect on your way to the glowing exit portal.
Bonus stages give you multiple slots to place your allies, which means they're more interesting to solve than the regular levels.
It lobs in new ideas at just the right time, too. After a couple of levels of pinging Fibble about you're introduced to Byte, a three-eyed alien who can lift his rotund chum to new heights with a simple tap anywhere on the screen - as long as Fibble is within range, denoted by a bright circle. Crytek doesn't bother to patronise you with a tutorial, describing Byte's role in a few short words before letting you play around with his skill. This is basic stuff but many smartphone developers get it wrong.
A major new Infinity Blade 2 update due to go live on 12th April adds an ambitious new "ClashMob" mode to Epic's hugely successful iOS sword combat title.
As detailed by IGN, you'll be able to team up with thousands of other players to slowly chip away at huge bosses boasting a massive amount of HP. Should the enemy be toppled in a set period of time all those who've fought it will be rewarded with exclusive loot.
Developer Chair Entertainment hopes to have around three challenges ongoing at any one time, each of which will take on a slightly different form.
One example offered was a scenario in which the player is tasked with doing as much damage as possible to a Titan in 30 seconds. Their results are then totted up and added to the cumulative total.
Another challenge has you trying to hoover up as many treasure bags as possible in a 30-second-long on-rails sequence.
Should you manage to recruit more of your connected friends to take part you'll be rewarded with various extras, such as additional combat time, bonus cash and more ClashMob attempts.
Some ClashMobs will be limited to more advanced players to ensure novices don't win powerful, potentially game-breaking weapons.
The free update also adds 24 new pieces of equipment to get hold of, a redesigned gem swapping interface and a new gem forge feature.