(The following is an
old, old, old man file I had stored away on my laptop -- but the principles
still apply. Read on and let me take you
back to the simpler time of 2010...only...remixed, with images and captions and on a blog now. So...not really all that different.)
Lucky, or unlucky? That’s the biggest question here. On the one hand, today I don’t have school
thanks to a pleasant snowstorm. On the
other hand, that gives me time to scour the movie channels for something to
watch. As fate would have it, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li happened
to be on. I knew from the instant I saw
the sublime SF logo mixed with text
so bland even I could generate it (or anyone with Word, for that matter), I
wasn’t just about to view garbage. No,
this was a rare opportunity – it IS a rare opportunity, because as I’m writing
this, I’m watching the movie in question.
Oh great. Lana Lang is back.
Despite being a
part-time follower of the SF mythos,
I had no interest in seeing the movie when it came out a year ago. I knew it’d be bad – a special kind of
bad. It seemed impossible for so many
screw-ups to appear in such a short time span.
For exa-
Oh crap. Vega just appeared onscreen. Or at least, someone like Vega. His mask is all shiny, he’s wearing all black,
and memories of Vega’s ASIAN actor popped into my head. And – oh boy, Chris Klein just made his first
onscreen appearance. “Call me Nash,” he
says. As in Charlie Nash? Hell no!
You put on the glasses and throw a sonic boom, and then we’ll talk.
“You just inherited a
big problem,” he says. I lol’ed.
He stepped away from the
boardwalk’s railing and walked towards his next conquest, making sure to wear
his infamous, heart-melting smirk.
Doubtless this young lady would fall to his charms; already he could see
her face reddening, her breaths quickening, and her legs weakening. He had her in his grasp -- if he asked her to
jump, she would fling herself atop a skyscraper.
How could she resist his
charms? He stood among plebeians as a
crown prince -- a tall, lithe young man whose every motion flowed like a silken
cloak. His plum-hued hair glimmered, and
bounced just enough to give him a wild mane.
His sharp face and sharper eyes focused on his prey, his hazel eyes
targeting her from behind low-cut glasses.
Each strut-laden step teased his shirt, daring to undo another button
and exposing another sliver of his chest.
Yet not a wrinkle teased his outfit; as a prince should be, his dress
shirt, his khakis, and his Oxford loafers had been cleaned, pressed, and straightened
to perfection. Only his bracelets moved
out of line, chiming and gleaming in the setting sun. But even the shine of his jewelry proved
inadequate -- no force on earth, or heaven, could resist that flawless smile.
He seized her hands in his
own. He could feel their warmth, and the
quivering of her skin as she stared into his eyes. Yes, he had her now. Her blue eyes glazed and widened, unaware of
the trance he’d placed her in. Even as
the hot summer wind ruffled her blonde hair and rosy sundress, she remained
still. Fortune was on her side; any
given vampire would have plunged his fangs into her neck.
But he was no beast -- merely a man
out for this girl’s heart. “Your name,
my dear,” he said in a soothing voice.
“I would like to know the name of the girl who so touched my soul.”
You'll forgive me for this quick little diatribe, but I just can't help but discuss this. Maybe complaining a bit, but I'd prefer to remain optimistic and call it an...observation.
A new trailer came out this morning, and the title of several posts on other websites demanded a click. "Bayman's back?! Mommy yes!" I cheered to myself, frantically mashing my left mouse button. "More grapplin' action! More ninja-strangling! More rolling on the ground and grabbing dudes with my legs! Oh, and Christie's back too, but who cares! IT'S A BAYMANANZA!"
Note the orange vest. It's critical for any social arrangement with the suffix "nanza."
So I booted up the video, my optimism mounting. And to my surprise, it was more than just a showcase of the updated characters. It was a chance to show off the new level, the "Hotzone."
And...well...it looks very familiar.
I'd like to think that, even though I take shots at Call of Duty every now and then (like any rational gamer), I'm still mostly tolerant of the franchise. I don't like it per se, but I do respect the fact that it can make so many people happy, and put video games in society's limelight for something besides Prostitute Buster 2000 (better known as Grand Theft Auto). But when you're showing off a fighting game and the first thing that gamers think of is Call of Duty, I have to raise a yellow flag.
Part of the joy of fighting games is seeing those colorful, active stages. Street Fighter 4 has the Solar Eclipse stage, featuring an African Savannah, observant hippos, and the titular eclipse while you shoot fireballs in the foreground. Tekken 6 has the Fallen Colony, some funky floating area with a tilted capital building in the background, with clouds and a bit of vegetation boxing you in a two-tiered arena. From Street Fighter Alpha 3's stormy, grassy arena where you face off with Bison, all the way up to Street Fighter X Tekken's Pandora's Box stage (which must be seen -- and heard -- to be believed), it's traditional for fighting games to have stages as lively as its cast.
Maybe so, New Bayman, but without that vest you'll never enjoy another party.
Which brings us back to DOA5. It's looking at that stage that I realize that Japanese developers' attempts at westernization -- appealing to their perception of CoD-loving Americans -- are more real than they've ever been before. The stage is given that CoD-inspired disarray, sacrificing its color in the process. Bombast typical of the series (of a Michael Bay movie, if you prefer/really want to spew bile) swarms the arena, making sure to include explosions, radio chatter, smoke, gunfire, explosions, collapsing buildings, and explosions. It's part of Tecmo/Team Ninja's aim of delivering "fighting game entertainment" which I admit I'm curious to see more of; yet, the fact that their idea of entertainment includes emulating one of the most loathed names in the past fifty years makes me want to boot up my Street Fighter Anniversary Collection and head to Dudley's stage.
Is DOA5 codifying the trend? Is it really helping bring about the end of Japanese-style games as we know it? If you're a cynic, Bayman's redesign, the shift from stylized characters to realism (faces and breasts alike), this stage, the need to make the game -- a fighting game, dependent on player input and reflexes -- more cinematic and set-piece-heavy, then yes. If you're an idealist, then the fact that there's still a semblance of style, other colorful stages, and Akira Yuki means there's still hope and lots of it.
He shoulder-checks any argument in his favor.
Is DOA5 going to be awful? If you're a cynic, then the fact that the game has a bad reputation for being casual-fare button-mashing combined with these (as far as some are concerned) unneeded flourishes, combined with the perceived ineptitude of the company after "ruining" Ninja Gaiden 3, then maybe so. But if you're anything like me -- the Eternal Optimist -- then you look at this game with apprehension, but also great anticipation. It's another fighting game, one of the last great bastions of Japanese developers. It's bound to have its strengths, only improved, and delivering a flavor only DOA can tap.
And with any luck, I'll get to smash ninjas out of the sky with my man Eliot. If he's in, it'll be an instant buy.
I hope you’ll forgive me
for bringing the FF13 hate train back
to the station so late. As you’re no
doubt aware, I had to make a brief stop at Birth
by Sleep Junction. I’ll return there
soon enough, but I figure I should take this one step at a time.
It’s the only way to
keep my blood pressure down. It’s a
hereditary thing -- stories that irritate the hell out of me shorten my life
span by several years. Given that, I’d
wager I only have six minutes left to live.
So I’m going to make them count.
It’s time to discuss one of 13’s
most divisive characters.
And who knows? In my discussion, I just might find something
to make me feel better -- something to boost my lifespan, like some holy elixir
of li-
I’m starting to suspect
that Square-Enix is the patron saint of faffing about.
Since my PSP fatally
overheated a few years back, I haven’t been able to get my hands on Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep. A shame, really, because between me and my
brother that was the only game that could convince us the PSP had any games
worth buying. I still had fond memories
of the KH series, if a little tainted
at that point; the first one was great (in my opinion, of course), and I
remember how eagerly I awaited the second game.
And I remember how, by the end of the second game, I was sorely
disappointed.
But I was willing to
love again. I remembered the wonder I
felt from the first game -- of a simple, lighthearted tale hearkening back to
my days as a Disney-watching lad. Of an
honest search for Sora’s friends, combined with the ability to tag-team with
Aladdin and Tarzan, and take on Cloud and Yuffie. It was a crew of Disney villains teaming up,
and my best bet was to rely on Goofy and Donald -- and my Keyblade -- to see me
to victory. I could fight. I could glide. I could roll and jump, guard and even deflect
blows. I took on enemies as simple as a
Shadow, and as monstrous as the titans from Hercules. Like the theme song suggested, it was “simple
and clean.” Nothing too overwrought,
nothing too complex. It was just a story
of a kid visiting strange new worlds, making new friends while searching for
old ones.
Such sweet
memories. So much so that, years later,
I decided that even if I didn’t have a PSP I’d experience Birth by Sleep the best way I could. I’d watch every last bit of it online.
I took the beatdown of a lifetime when I tried online play today. No matter what I did, nothing seemed to go right with my Heihachi/Marduk team. You could argue that it was because of lag that I couldn't get anything started (and indeed, that probably factored into it a bit), but all too often it seemed like my efforts were thwarted by
a) mashed-out jabs and reversals
b) shenanigans with Hugo, Rolento, and/or Ryu
c) me trying to anti-air an opponent, but eating a cross-up for my troubles
d) a never-ending string of attacks
e) my utter confusion as I think to myself "Where did all my health go?"
To be fair, this was the first time in about a month I'd played the game. It was the first time I'd tried online play. And I'm still trying to get used to an old MadCatz pad. But all those are just pansy-pants excuses; I lost, and if I'm ever going to figure out how to turn my luck around, I need to figure out why. And how to get better. And fast.
In spite of all my losses -- or maybe because of them -- I'm already thinking about jumping back into the fray. I need to fight harder, and smarter, and fiercer; I know I can win if I just go a little bit farther. I just need something that works.
But enough of that. I've got some more new content coming up soon -- as you know, I've got the market cornered on Final Fantasy XIII hate, and rest assured you'll have a new post on that by...no later than Tuesday, in the worst-case scenario. And I've got some chipper little fiction ready for you to read, if you so desire.
Back when I was in high
school, I was under the impression that I had to hide my enjoyment of
anime. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t
all that smart; if I’d been honest, then yeah, I probably would have scared off
a few people. But on the other hand, I could
have grouped up with fellow anime fans -- between casual and hardcore viewers
in my class and an actual club that met Fridays in the art room, I missed out
because I was too embarrassed to be open.
(Incidentally, my plight would be mirrored by Sasahara from the manga series Genshiken -- heh, imagine
that.)
While I’m more open
about my…dissident tastes more than I used to be, I’m not about to go yelling
how awesome it was when Heroman finally managed to push back the Skrugg
invasion. Because -- most of the time --
I have a little thing called common sense.
I know what I like, but I’m not going to force people to like anything
they don’t want to. I know there’s a
pretty big difference between Western and Eastern sensibilities; I learned that
very quickly when I brought some manga to school for a project. I handed a volume to a girl sitting next to
me, and (rookie that she was) she started reading it backwards. What was the first thing she asked?
“Why is this girl in her
underwear?”
Twelve years old -- just the way you like it.
Yep. A middle school girl in her underwear -- in a
series ostensibly about a loser forced to become a mafia boss by way of a
talking baby hitman-turned home tutor.
Remember how I said anime is weird sometimes, and listed that as a
positive trait? Yeah, nobody’s gonna
think that’s cool when they’re still wrapping their heads around baby
hitmen. The sad thing is, it’s actually
one of the tamer stories in terms of sensibility; there’s much, much, much,
much, MUCH weirder out there.
He fights with his nose hair. How very...rational.
You could argue that
she would have thought more highly of anime if she knew the story (or if I had
the foresight to NOT bring a volume with a non-decorous tween within spitting
distance of the cover). That’s likely
the case. But even fans have to admit
that, even though anime can provide inspiration, entertainment, awesomeness,
and just plain fun, there are a LOT of issues.
There are times when everything just falls apart, or there’s some
attribute that makes even zealots groan and facepalm.
So here I am, ready to
regale you with another list -- an anti-list, as it were. So hold on to your hug-pillows, guys --
things are about to get messy.
My brother and I went to the mall earlier today. Just a typical GameStop run, of course; we weren't exactly there to line our pockets with jewelry, and I'm more than willing to wear my clothes until they're just a handful of cotton threads. Along the way, we went to the pet store to look at the animals; my brother was (jokingly, hopefully) trying to coax me into bringing home a third dog. I...objected, knowing how much of a hassle two could be. We're like an old married couple sometimes.
Whatever the case, everything was going great. We saw dogs. We saw cats. We saw hamsters and gerbils, and birds unfortunately classified by the color of their butts. And then we went to the aquatic pets section -- otherwise known as the topmost layer of Hell.
I never realized how impossibly ugly fish are -- that is, until you get nice and close to them. Empty eyes. Wobbling bodies. Cheeks, puffing in and out. If there was ever an argument to disprove the existence of God, it would be the fact that fish exist.
And then there were the sea anemones.
Let's pretend for a moment that sea anemones were, in fact, more popular than dogs or cats as a pet. Pretend that you bring one home in a tank, set it up in your room, and decide to call him Fido. Imagine waking up not to the jingle of your dog's collar as he shakes his body, or his paws as he stretches his arms atop your torso, but the sight of this:
Tentacles. Gaping maws. Stems that keep them rooted in whatever they're latched onto, rendering them immobile. Some species are even poisonous.
DOES THAT SOUND LIKE A GOOD PET TO YOU?
Man, forget what The Little Mermaid taught you about the sea. The moment you go below the surface, you're in their house now.You don't want to be there. Horrible, awful creatures live under there -- and in some places, you'll find the Portuguese Man-o-War, a creature that (if I ever saw one) would haunt me till the end of days. Its tentacles -- the stinging, paralyzing tentacles -- can grow up to fifty feet long.
FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU--
And lest you forget, there are still your standard fare giant jellyfish.
My opinion? Mankind would do well to stay away from water. The land is ours, but only because that's where we're safest. The more we dabble in the affairs of Poseidon's kinsmen, the more likely we are to be swallowed by the crushing, godless, bloodstained azure depths.
...You should not go scuba-diving, is what I'm trying to say here.
...and other things to follow. But first, what you all came here for:
If I have one regret in this world, it's that I didn't get into One Piece back when I had a fairly reasonable chance. I opted to become a Bleach fan, and at the time the path served me well. It was a road filled with swords and spirits, souls and samurai; it taught me the glory of bankai. Before the Great YouTube Crackdown of 200...whatever year that was, I watched entire seasons of Bleach in the original Japanese, and would watch the episodes again when they came to the States in English via Adult Swim. I was an impressionable teenager; when I said (to confidants so close you'd have an easier time spray-painting The Noid across the walls of the Oval Office) I loved Bleach, I meant it.
Now? Now my passion's cooled. I still like it, mind, but I'm never in any rush to catch up on the latest happenings. I've stopped watching the TV broadcasts entirely, outside of one or two isolated incidents. I'd hardly call it my favorite anime anymore. Maybe it's because I'm growing long in the tooth, and Bleach offends my old-man sensibilities. It's very possible, I think. Or maybe it's because Bleach has some really freaking stupid developments at times.
I know it's par for the course for shonen, but it seems like far too often the only way to beat the bad guy isn't through ingenuity or planning ahead (unless you're Shikamaru), but by how much bullshit level-grinding you've done beforehand. Bleach's lead has had no less than five separate training arcs of varying length, yet his tactics haven't evolved past "move super-fast" or "shoot sword lasers." There have been one or two points in the series -- early and late -- where he's actually taken note of enemy attack patterns, which is awesome...and then other times it's just a matter of blowing them away with raw power and steely-eyed resolve. It creates an endless cycle of "I'm not strong enough! Now I'm strong enough! I'm not strong enough! Now I'm strong enough!"
But it's okay, because he's beautiful.
The second problem with Bleach -- and a lot of anime, by extension -- is that too often they go out of their way to introduce character after character, and then try to manage them all at once. Fans will latch onto the most obscure character they can find sometimes; they need to know who's doing what, and when, and how early they'll be available for some "close-quarters combat" with the lead. Bleach started off with about five core characters, a few side characters for comic relief/development, a mascot character, and a few nasty monsters. In the next arc, a bare minimum of twenty-six characters were introduced. In the next arc, there were twenty more new characters -- and make no mistake, that's not including cannon-fodder enemies and henchmen that take multiple installments to dispatch. In the next arc, there were another nine introduced. Now in the latest (and final) arc, there's undoubtedly going to be some new characters.
The problem is that out of the fifty-plus characters now gallivanting about, most of them are just placeholders, exhibitions for cool designs or powers, or -- again -- just cannon fodder. That won't stop Tite Kubo from trying anyway; when (if) he focuses on characters, it's the latest ones, and shallowly at that. It's hard to get a feel for far too many characters, and the attempts that fleshing out/molding opinions are either contradictory fluff or rammed in like a rhino shoving its face into a Prius. Meanwhile, characters that have been around since the beginning and have either unexplained, untapped powers and backstories continue to grow less and less important -- a fault only multiplied by one character going into god-mode against another god-mode villain while the others get to faff about and go on cheerleader duty. To say nothing of fans begging to see their favorites return.
More popular than reality itself.
This is why I should have gotten into One Piece. As far as I can tell, it's the strongest and most competently written of the Big Three (alongside Bleach and Naruto, in a spot once occupied by Dragonball). It's also got a MASSIVE cast, but focuses more heavily on a core few, and even minor characters and details make reappearances. (As the meme goes, Oda never forgets.) While it's no stranger to tear-jerking scenes, the amount of comedy and levity is almost staggering compared to its brothers. Most of all, even at a cursory glance it offers a sense of fun and adventure that neither Naruto nor Bleach have even tried to match; invariably, it's a series featuring superpowered/skilled individuals duking it out, but the places they visit and the experiences they have are more important than fights you can set to Linkin Park and post on YouTube.
Supposedly, liking One Piece in Japan is synonymous to liking water. You just do, and no one bothers questioning why or how. And I feel like I'm missing out big time. I made my choice -- and if I want to bounce back, doubtless I'd have to go through some six hundred fifty chapters, or some four hundred episodes, or spend hours upon hours reading wikis and summaries and oh god I'm having a panic attack just thinking about it.
And you know what? The worst part about it is, even if I spent every hour for the next month catching up, even if it meant losing sleep, I know it would be absolutely fucking worth it.
Well, that's enough of a rant for now. Anyway, a few things!
1) I'm working on a few things right now outside of Cross-Up, so if updates seem a little thin for a few days, that's why. In the meantime, why not enjoy some delicious hot dogs of the other posts I have on the site? They're just as lengthy and rambling as you desire.
2) In spite of that, my plan is to write the darkside version of "Why Anime is Amazing" very, very soon. Just because anime CAN be good doesn't mean that it always is -- and trust me, if you don't know much about the medium and/or its faults, you will. Also, more Final Fantasy XIIIhate analysis.
3) Go buy Xenoblade Chronicles if you haven't. It's great.
