Tuesday, August 23, 2005

There was a blueprint presented yesterday, its delineations written clearly in the best ink possible, and we both know promises declared on the Internet come true, every single one of them. If we were to make good on our original outline, however, it would require a state of mind unavailable to me right now.

You see, the shiny disc I mentioned beckoned to me late last evening. I heeded the call. Its tender ministrations were the same. They’ve always been the same: take a shotgun with barely enough slugs, run around terrifying locales, and don’t die a grisly death. But that’s a gross generalization. You’d do well to read any of the glowing trade pieces on the game–they’re all accurate–and you’d do even better to just buy it.

Resident Evil 4. I’m not sure why I enjoy action-horror so much, given my proclivity for gumdrops and sun-kissed ponies, but I’ve since made peace with myself. The 4 implies earlier episodes, which I can’t be bothered to remember. What I know is this one outdoes them soundly. It’s the production value. The solid controls. The glorious set pieces. The sheen, so polished it’s a veritable light source.

Most of all, it’s the pacing, the way an inconsequential chunk of plastic can simulate desperation in perfectly tense pitches. I’m convinced there’s a gnome in my Gamecube whose sole calling is to tweak the action to my exact frequencies. There will be moments when you carefully count and arrange your bullets as if they were precious birds. You’ll find yourself surrounded, yet you’ll miraculously prevail with a sliver of health, and the foul creatures you slew will thankfully, nonsensically leave the very bullets you covet. It’s a contrivance, sure, but it’s seldom done this well.

There’s also a lot of spoken Spanish in the game. This makes the experience educational, I guess, though I imagine the “I’m going to kill you!” dialect doesn’t immediately foster goodwill.

Monday, August 22, 2005

Thought I had abandoned you, yes? Left you in a lurch with naught but a stale cookie, pants wrapped tightly around your head, thank you ma’am, don’t trip on the doormat? Well, so did I. I had to entertain family, see, and although the plan was to resume our conversations tonight, there were moments when I gleefully envisioned a reality without our evening chats. That’s right, I wrung my hands mirthfully, until I came to my senses and felt a twinge of remorse for even considering such a possibility.

The first thing we need to do is conclude our recent arc and put this part of the narrative to rest. I don’t know if it was apparent to you there was more, but there you go. This is basically the only bullet point I have, because the rest of the agenda–that glorious space where anything can happen, so long as you believe–is filled with whatever it is we usually discuss.

Another thing I need to share with you is a shiny disc that’s enthralled me for the past week. It always seems as if I’m late to the table, which makes my adoration comparable to pointing and grunting emphatically. It’s like, “Oh, how sweet. The bandwagon not only left, it also broke down because, y’know, the wheels fell off a year ago.”

I blame this on my tendency to buy things with the intention of enjoying them later, “later” being that honeyed time when I stop buying things, and really it’s an impossible cycle. This is why I possess a large quantity of media, the likes of which I’ve begun savoring only recently. And you know what? When I discover something, it’s like Magellan claiming a fucking IHOP for the Spanish Main.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Secondhand Rants will return on Monday, August 22.