$8.99 is all you need
to own one of the most enchanting and rewarding games ever created.
…And now to spew six thousand words explaining my claim.
Nobody said that breaking bad habits was easy.
(My love for you is like a truck SPOILERS! And potentially, BERSERKER!)
I have to admit, first
off, that I never put much stock into the Ratchet
and Clank franchise. I didn’t have a
PS2 at the time when the series made waves, so I missed out on the duo’s
adventures and had no drive to pick up any of the games. The same goes for their PS3 outings. Beyond that, I always thought the pair was
more than a little redundant -- Sony already had a gun-slinging duo to its
name. Jak was a colorful, cartoony hero
exploring wild worlds with fantastic guns, and had his own (albeit radically
different) sidekick. What was the point
of having Ratchet around, if not to jump on the Me Too Express?
To this day I still
think that having both pairs on one system is a little excessive. But it wasn’t until semi-recently that I
started to see the appeal in Ratchet and
Clank. I played All 4 One with my bro and a buddy, and we all agreed it was a
fantastic game (not in spite of, but because
of its childish veneer).
Incidentally, that was supposed to be one of the weaker games in the
series; if that was the case, I told my brother mere minutes before popping Tools of Destruction into the console,
then this game would be “utterly awesome.”
And to my surprise, it
was. It was more than just better than
expected. Folks, we’re talking about a
game that may now be a part of my Top 25.
Maybe my Top 10.
I’m more than a little
eager to figure out why, because frankly I haven’t sorted out my final opinion
just yet (and probably won’t until days after this post). A part of me is worried that I just like it
because of a knee-jerk reaction to the games of today -- I’ve made my distaste
pretty clear for Halo 4, Borderlands 2,
Resident Evil 6, Darksiders 2, and Gears
of War 3. I’ve barely touched Assassin’s Creed 3, and I’ve seriously
considered dropping it. Even at a
cursory glance, Final Fantasy 13-2
…Well, I’m sure you can
imagine. But regardless of those games
or the industry standards, I feel pretty strongly about and for ToD.
Is it a perfect game? No, not even
close. But it is a very, very good game
-- it’s what I’d call a “game-ass game.”
What do I mean? Well, I’ll get
back to that.
Let’s go over the
basics first. As you can guess, this
isn’t the first game in the franchise -- maybe fourth or fifth, but it’s the
first to be featured on the PS3 (made all too clear by the old PS3 logo on the
side of the box). Here’s the story: one
day, Ratchet’s minding his own business working on his new vehicle, ready to go
for a ride on a machine his robot pal Clank has reservations about. Before they can have too much fun -- or
disaster -- with it, they get a message from the superhero pastiche Captain
Qwark, who calls on them to help with a robot assault in the city. What starts
off as a seemingly-simple rescue mission turns into a galactic struggle
(doesn’t it always?); the tiny tyrant Percival Tachyon begins infecting the
universe with his empire, eager to exact his revenge on the Lombaxes --
cat-like aliens, a species our hero Ratchet belongs to -- and spread his dominion
over all species and all planets. The
lynchpin of his goal? The “Lombax
secret,” technology left behind before the Lombaxes mysteriously vanished,
which could very well unravel the universe if used unwisely. Ratchet and Clank -- along with a slew of
friends old and new -- have to find the secret first, braving betrayals, ghosts
of the past, and even each other as they travel through the cosmos.
Remarkably (and
thankfully), you don’t have to know very much about the canon to play this
game. It’s a self-contained story that
you can jump into; no need to search codexes or read wikis online to catch
up. Ratchet is the spirited hero, and
apparently the last cat in the universe.
Clank is his best friend and a robot, and matches his hot-blooded partner’s
enthusiasm with level-headed politeness point-for-point. Qwark
is an on-again, off-again comrade who’s more cowardly than his physique would
suggest. The universe is full of crazy
planets, with technology that’s a blend of real-life concepts and fancy-sounding
gibberish. Robot pirates, alien
dinosaurs, and casual travel into black holes are just common knowledge in this
game. What’s important isn’t what
happened in Going Commando or Up Your Arsenal; what’s important is
what’s happening in the context of the game.
So give a point to this game for not requiring you to watch a miniseries
to know who some of these people are.
Okay, let’s get the bad
out of the way first. The biggest
problem with this game is that it was made in 2007 -- not a fault in itself,
but that means it’s likely to fall prey to certain trends. The trend in this case is Sixaxis motion
controls; at that point in gaming, I suspect that Sony pretty much required all
its games to have some form of it. And I
suspect every time it appeared when unneeded, it came off as a gimmick. There’s nothing Sixaxis adds to ToD that couldn’t be done with an analog
stick and buttons, but they’ll try their damnedest to try and outshine the
Wii with a last-minute addition prove that Sixaxis control is the way of
the future. You’ll do freefalls, hack
technology, fly through the air, and do a little dancing with pirates. While none of them are broken, none of them
(bar the dancing, because you use motion controls sparingly) are engaging or even
all that good. The precise motions
required for some of them don’t mesh well with what your body does; it’s not
uncommon to want to tilt a little bit while flying, but end up swerving way
off-course. And in the freefall
segments, making it to your destination is as easy as flailing about -- in
fact, that’s probably the preferable strategy.
And why they’d try and include a gun that’s controlled solely by the
Sixaxis -- in a game heavily dependent on movement and positioning and focus --
you’re better off never using it, and coming off no worse because of it. It’s a relic of the past, and it shows. Repeatedly.
I’m also not 100% sure
how I feel about the difficulty. It gets
tricky at times (and you’ll certainly notice it), but ToD is not what I’d call a hard game by any stretch. Part of the reason is because of your tool
set; in addition to getting lots of fancy, useful, and powerful guns, you’ll
also be able to upgrade them, get one-off items that shift the firefight in
your favor, and you can buy armor…AND your health levels-up as you play. AND your guns level-up even if you don’t
upgrade them. It’s still more than
possible to die, and you will run out of ammo for several of your guns, but if
you’re expecting a game to push you to your very limits, this isn’t it. Once you’ve upgraded, say, your Predator
Launcher to a certain degree, you can lock on to enemies with up to eight
missiles at a time and do some serious damage to them; you don’t even have to
aim. Your shotgun will eventually be
able to freeze enemies in place, you can throw out a disco ball that
immediately stops enemy attacks so they start dancing, and even your basic gun
eventually fires three shots per bullet while spraying magma all over the
ground. But the award for “Most Broken
Weapon” HAS to go to the Nano Swarmers; you throw out a ball that extends into
a mini-satellite, and focuses a laser on enemies. Once it does, it sends a swarm of bees at
them and keeps doing so until they’re dead, only to lock on to the next
enemy. And you can throw out multiple
Swarmers at a time. And you can upgrade
the weapon. And you can switch to other
weapons while the bees are still going.
Basically, you can think of the Swarmers as indestructible sentry guns
that rip the ass plates of enemy robots in two.
It’s worth noting that
the story -- and the gameplay tied to it -- is more or less “safe.” If you think I’m going to praise this game
because there was some incredible plot twist that left me speechless, you’re in
for a shock. This is a very
straightforward, very competent story, which is both a benefit and a
weakness. Other than the ending, there
aren’t exactly any huge surprises; it’s a WYSIWYG type of adventure. The
back of the box has a blurb where The New York Times calls it a Pixar movie in game
form, and it shows; you don’t go in expecting some massive upheaval in the
narrative, and that’s all right (I’ll come back to this point in a
minute). What isn’t quite as all right
is the way the game handles getting Ratchet from place to place. Yeah, you can backtrack at your leisure and
find hidden items, but going from planet to planet and plot point to plot point
has a pretty predictable pattern.
Step One: Ratchet lands
on a planet.
Step Two: Ratchet
explores a planet.
Step Three: Ratchet
finds a clue about the Lombax secret.
Step Four: Ratchet
heads to the planet hinted at by the clue.
There are variations,
but it kind of undermines the adventure when you start to realize that you’re
on a wild goose chase. There is a payoff
well before the game ends (the Lombax secret is actually a reality-warping
hat), but a big chunk of the game has a “The secret has to be here! Nope, not here -- next planet!” cycle that
lessens the impact of the planet you’re on.
It’s kind of like an amusement park, actually; you don’t get to enjoy a
single ride for long, because your aunt is shuffling you off to the next
ride. Now this isn’t exactly a
deal-breaker, because it gives the story a narrative and linear structure, and
I guess there isn’t a much better way to have what IS a galactic goose chase in
a game. But you start to take notice
when a cutscene or the voice of one of your friends tells you to head for the
next planet before you’ve even felt satisfaction for conquering the boss
beforehand.
There are a few minor
nitpicks I could make (some enemies are way too strong, the last level kind of
drags), but those points and the ones I listed above don’t do anything to lower my opinion of the
game.
Let’s start with a
definition. I mentioned this in a
comment a while back, but I want to start putting the phrase “game-ass game”
into rotation ASAP. The gist of it is
that a game-ass game this: it doesn’t try to put forth any delusions that it’s
an epic that’ll leave you breathless.
Nor does it allow conventions to dictate its motions. A game-ass game is simple and natural. It doesn’t have to try to be anything grander
than it is; it just is. It’s inherently simple, but all the parts
that comprise it are top-of-the-line -- even if there are only a handful of
parts to speak of. No delusions of
grandeur. No catering to tastes, be it
the creators’ or the consumers’. No fear
of being misunderstood. No excess, no
confusion, no disarray, no broken promises, no forgotten elements.
It’s focused on the
intent. The creative vision. The expression, and communication of ideas,
and invitation for the gamer to engage with those ideas -- the game, in every
facet. Context, challenge,
gratification, impact, sensory responses, everything comes together.
And if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that the game didn’t even
try. It just does its thing…and because
of it -- because it did so with skill and simplicity, almost by virtue of
existing -- you adore it. That is what I
call a game-ass game.
You can call that
definition a knee-jerk reaction, but it’s one that has merit, I think. And I think it’s a lesson that carries over
across every medium: if you have to try
to be epic, you’ve already failed. No matter what medium you’re working in, you
have to be honest with yourself and your work.
You have to know what you’re going for, what your work calls for, and
what your audience needs -- not wants,
but needs. Chase after something, or put up an insincere
effort, and you’re more likely to betray yourself, your tale, and your
fans. But do what comes simply or
naturally, and you’ve got a much better shot at making something better. If nothing else, you’re making something that
you (at least at the time) think is great.
If nothing else, you’re fulfilling your creative vision. And who knows? Maybe someone else will like that vision,
too.
Or you could screw it
all up. You could try and shove
everything at once into your game like Resident
Evil 6. You could make a gamer a
slave to numbers and loot like Borderlands
2. You could make your hero out to
be a messiah fighting singlehandedly in a war against the entire universe like Halo 4.
Or you could take an example from Final Fantasy 13-2 and
Well, you can probably
guess. But it’s not all bad news; as
long as there are games, there will inevitably be game-ass games. And Nintendo has practically made a business
out of putting out game-ass games. Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword? Game-ass game. Kirby’s
Epic Yarn? Game-ass game. Any given Mario
game since 1996, and arguably well before that? Game-ass game. In fact I’d argue that their biggest misfire
(besides the Virtual Boy) is Metroid:
Other M -- and that one pretty much speaks for itself. Too much.
There are other games
and other companies that have gotten it right, of course, and I could sit here
and rattle off names for quite a while.
But for expediency -- and because you’ve just hit the two-thousand four
hundred thirty-fifth word -- I’m qualifying Ratchet
and Clank: Tools of Destruction as a game-ass game. That’s made possible because of the two
points that are a decisive factor in plenty of titles: the gameplay and the
story.
Let’s focus on the
gameplay first. As I’ve said before, I’m
pretty bad at shooters -- my aim is terrible, I have slow reflexes, and while
trying to maneuver it’s not uncommon for me to walk right off the edge and into
the abyss. And while I happened to kill
myself more times than I care to admit in ToD,
I’d still argue that it’s not just a competent shooter, but one of my favorites
ever. Why, I can hazard a guess:
1) Maybe about ten
chest-high walls in the entire game, and no dedicated cover system.
2) The ability to jump
and double-jump freely.
3) Circle-strafing as a
viable (and sometimes preferable) strategy.
4) No regenerating
health.
5) The ability to carry
multiple -- and varied -- weapons.
6) Wide open
environments of varying size and shape.
7) A largely-solo
experience, NPC or otherwise.
See those points? Pretty simple stuff, right? Now here’s the thing: I don’t know if you’ve
played a shooter in the past six years or so, but there’s something pretty
interesting about ToD thanks to those
points. Basically it does the exact
opposite of everything the modern shooter does nowadays…and I’m convinced that
it’s better for it.
You get to move
around. You’re not hiding behind walls
for dear life, hoping that an enemy will pop out from behind their wall. You can maneuver as you see fit, moving side
to side and jumping over enemy fire to get in a clean shot. No regenerating health means that when you’re
down to your last few points of health, you’re starting to feel the pressure --
and the rush that comes with it. You
always have the right weapon for the job, all of which function in a different
but specialized category; there’s a certain element of strategy in picking the
right weapon for the right time (and even though I think the Nano Swarmers are
overpowered, you can’t just go BEEEEEEEEEEEES and win every firefight; its ammo
is extremely limited). That strategic
element is emphasized because you can hold Triangle to select the right gun for
the job, pausing the game in the process.
It gives you a breather, and time to plan your next move. You don’t have anyone, a friend or an NPC,
yammering or spouting off bad one-liners or making you unnecessary. This is your fight; you have all the tools
and skills you need, and conquering them comes down to using ingenuity, reason,
and quick thinking. You have to focus on
what you’re doing, and focus on ensuring your survival, or else you’re doomed
to suck down laser beams through your teeth.
It’s strange, because I
can’t say that the pace of ToD is
anything near breakneck. An enemy may
shoot at you, but you have plenty of time to move out of the way, be it
sidestep, strafe, jump, or just run away.
The speed of your shots varies from gun to gun; some bullets travel
nigh-instantly into enemy faces, while there are others you have a chance of
outrunning. And like I said, you pause
the action every time you switch guns with Triangle. But none of this makes the game bad; only
different, at worst. Actually it’s for
the best -- if the shots moved at the speed of a regular bullet, Ratchet would
bring about the extinction of cat-kind.
And between you and me, I would rather be able to brag about jumping
over a hell-storm of bullets from every direction instead of saying “I hid behind
a wall and pecked away at enemies whenever they popped up.” Besides, you’re a cat. You’re supposed to be agile. And that agility makes all the difference.
Okay, that’s not 100%
true. The guns go a pretty long way as
well -- and trust me, there are a lot of them.
Enough to fill three quick select wheels, literally; you get so many
guns and devices that by game’s end you have to decide which ones are in the
wheels and which ones have to be accessed from the Start menu. Each one is varied, colorful, and
customizable, just as you’d expect from/might have heard about the series --
but if you’re the traditional sort, many of the guns fit the expected
roles. The Shard Reaper works like a
shotgun, but its crystalline bullets can be upgraded to explode on contact (and
then evolve into the Nitro Reaper, which freezes opponents). You’ve got a pistol, a machine gun, and a
flamethrower, but the pistol can fire off three rounds per bullet, the machine
gun shoots ricocheting saw blades, and the flamethrower…okay, the flamethrower
just spews flames. But if you use a gun
enough and give it a little love -- i.e. money -- you can turn a simple weapon
into one that’s not only bonkers, but super-effective in certain
situations.
I remember shortly
after getting the machine gun (the “Buzz Blades”), I put in a few upgrades and
entered a room with a nasty-looking boss.
“So the Buzz Blades bounce off walls, huh?” I asked myself, readying the
weapon. So I unloaded with everything I
had -- and to my surprise, the saw blades tore the hell out of the boss. I didn’t even need to switch weapons. It felt like a victory, and a major one at
that; I’d not only figured out a surefire way to clear a boss and which weapon
to use indoors, but it opened my ideas to the possibilities. I was willing to play through the entire game
assuming that the starting gun was the best, but the fact that some weapons are
phenomenally more effective than
others against enemies (and I speak from experience) invites experimentation
for every fight. Add to
that the infectious drive to level up your weapons and see what they’ll become
or do next, and suddenly battlefields become a testing ground as well as a
proving ground.
Some praise has to go
to the game for offering something beyond combat, of course. The worlds are massive -- they look massive,
and feel massive. This may have been an
early PS3 game, but the tech was well-tapped.
There’s plenty of room to walk around and explore, but the worlds never
get so huge that you end up lost (and even if you did, there’s still a map to
rely on). You can explore, and of course
there’s plenty of incentive if you want to unlock skins and such, but it’s very
easy to move on with your mission if you prefer. Either way, each world is a visual treat;
colors everywhere you look. A menagerie
of flora and fauna. A seamless fusion of
technology and biological life. All
manners of climate and environments. If Skyward Sword left you wanting for an
ice level, you won’t be disappointed.
And if for some reason all that fails to impress you, there are space
battles.
Peppy, you wanna take
this one?
All right. That’s enough about the gameplay for now
(long story short, better than Halo 4). Now let’s talk about that story.
If you read my post
about “kids’ games,” you may remember me empathically asking why developers
aren’t trying to ape Pixar movies instead of summer blockbusters. It seems like the obvious choice --
multi-generational appeal, limitless creative potential, expression made
possible by virtue of the worlds needing dreamy rendering, levity as well as
drama and depth…all these things and more.
Of course one could argue that in order to make a Pixar-style game you
have to have talent, buuuuuuuuuut you
didn’t hear that from me. In any case,
if there was ever a company and if there was ever a game that managed to
capture that quintessence, it’s Insomniac Games and ToD. It’s a simple story at
its core, but the ideas and execution elevate it into something fantastic. Or rather, let me put it this way: in spite
of its childish veneer, ToD manages
to be more mature than half the games released this generation.
For starters, this may
be a galactic goose chase, but it’s just as much a story about interracial
struggles and the responsibility of one’s desperate actions. It’s very easy to assume that the Cragmites
are all planet-conquering assholes, and for the most part they are (especially
when Tachyon starts summoning with the Dimensionator to start his conquest of
the universe). But here’s the thing: the
Lombaxes aren’t exactly in the clear, either.
The Cragmites may seem like the bad guys, but as the story unfolds I got
a very “shades of gray” sense of the big picture; for one thing, it was the
Lombaxes who built such a dangerous device.
For another, rather than eliminate them outright, the Lombaxes banish the
Cragmites to a corner of the universe.
So no, they didn’t build a hyper-dimensional killing machine…they just
built a machine that exiles entire species to a different realm. Or if you prefer, deportation. And then rather than work to clean up the mess
the Cragmites made with their no-doubt incredible technology, the space-cats
apparently decided to leave the dimension behind and start anew somewhere else
(leaving Ratchet behind for reasons unknown).
All of this of course is glancing over the fact that there was a WAR
between the two species, and you can bet there were atrocities on either side
of the fence.
Things like that help
to explain Tachyon’s motivation besides “because I want to rule the
universe!” In spite of being raised by
Lombaxes, once he finds out the truth he decides to exact his revenge -- not
just by taking over the universe, but by making sure that every property he
owns and every soldier makes sure to put in effort trying to turn the last cat
in the universe into a taxidermist’s fantasy.
It’s a reasonable motivation, and I can buy it…to an extent. Revenge is a major motivation, as is the
madness that comes from learning the truth about your species. But Ratchet’s species had it rough too
(albeit on a different axis); you don’t see him deciding to wreck everything
that doesn’t suit him. No, Tachyon’s
issues run deeper, and that’s made clear from his introduction onward: he wants
people to take him seriously. And that
is a very, very hard thing to do.
He’s the villain, but
he’s a walking joke. Tiny, bigheaded,
surrounded by bumblers, and thwarted every other day, respect is something
that’s hard for him to come by. But he
wants it, and he needs it, and he’ll have it.
As you wander through levels you’ll find TVs that broadcast his image,
and spread his word as law. He’s quick
to aggrandize himself at every turn. His
personal mech is obviously (if you’ll let me make a tired old joke)
compensating for something…though one can’t help but wonder if Cragmites -- or
Lombaxes, for that matter -- have the same sexual characteristics as any given
Earth creature. In any case, Tachyon
wants people to see him as a big man, a threat, a true force of power and
prestige to be feared and revered. And
despite having the toughest boss fight in the game, it’s too little too late --
Tachyon’s beaten by the heroes, and specifically his foil Ratchet.
The last cat in the
universe is, as per his hero duties, doing what he can to stop the bad guys and
recover ancient technology. And while
he’s the typical spirited, leap-before-you-look type of hero, there’s more to
him than his voice actor would suggest.
For one thing, he’s clearly inherited the technological skill of his
Lombax forebears (the guy’s using a giant wrench like a sword, and he tried to
make “stunderwear”), so if nothing else he’s got enough knowledge to work a
machine. His hot-bloodedness isn’t a result
of being an idiot, but because he’s earnest in his pursuits. Like any good scientist, he’s always pushing
the limits and believing that nothing’s impossible -- and given that the
Dimensionator is not only an enthralling piece of technology but may help him
discover the secrets of his MIA species, it’s no wonder that he becomes
obsessed with finding and using it.
The problem is obvious,
isn’t it? Getting obsessed is very
rarely a good thing, least of all when it involves a verifiable doomsday device
you can put on your head. Ratchet gets
his chance to destroy the Dimensionator and keep it out of Tachyon’s hands for
good -- and even before he does that he likely could have destroyed any of the
clues leading up to it, just to make sure the emperor didn’t have a trail of
bread crumbs to follow. But he doesn’t. He just chases after it, and finds it, and
plans to put it too good use, in spite of his vehicle from the start of the
game nearly turning him into a well-cooked blood smear. The single-minded resolve that makes him a
hero very nearly makes him his own worst enemy -- and potentially, an enemy of
the universe.
Thankfully, Clank is
around to keep his buddy from going out of control -- or at least try to. Clank has his own issues in this game: he’s
apparently some sort of king to blockheaded creatures called the Zoni. Problem is, only Clank can see them, so
Ratchet thinks he’s just dreaming them up.
But they’re quite real; you’ll do a few simple puzzles with them
throughout the game, many of which involve Clank’s apparent ability to slow
time to a crawl (whether that’s an ability he’s always had or just one used in
conjunction with the Zoni is beyond me, but given that he only uses it when
they’re around I lean toward the latter).
If Ratchet is a leap-before-you-look type of guy, then Clank is the type
that doesn’t leap, period -- and his cautiousness and constant questioning of
Ratchet’s actions drives a wedge between the two of them. It’s actually something foreshadowed from the
first few minutes of the game, but has buildup and payoff later on; Ratchet
calls Clank out, and not long after the two get split up when Tachyon activates
the Dimensionator.
It’s when they get
separated that you really start to realize how much of a bond the two share --
both from a story perspective and a gameplay perspective. See, Clank is fastened to Ratchet’s back
throughout the entire game, giving him the ability to double-jump, high jump,
long jump, and glide. And then you lose
him and all the abilities therein. And
then immediately after you lose him, you enter an area that requires
platforming. The jumps you need to make
aren’t exactly difficult, but after spending at least a dozen hours with a
double-jump, you really start to feel
vulnerable -- incomplete, even -- without it.
Story-wise, as soon as Ratchet discovers Clank’s not on his back (the
guy who’s literally had his back throughout countless adventures), he feels the
pressure. Once he’s able, he lets his
comrades and the player know how important Clank is through his words and body
language. The cat-boy’s screwed up. He should have listened to Clank when he had
the chance, because in the end he was right.
It’s a simple scene, but an effective one -- and it makes their reunion
all the more poignant.
Except there’s a
certain imbalance to their relationship.
Don’t get me wrong; Clank is as glad to be reunited as Ratchet is, but
there’s a difference between the two of them.
When Ratchet gets split up from Clank, his tool set is cut in half. When Clank gets split up, his tool set expands.
Without Clank, Ratchet is utterly alone against the elements. Without Ratchet, Clank has the Zoni to fall
back on -- to the point where the little fairies will fight on his behalf. Ratchet’s destiny is unknown by virtue of
being abandoned by his people; whatever future he wants to have, he’ll likely have
to make it on his own. Clank’s destiny
is known by creatures more than willing to stand by his side and bring him to
some semblance of a promised land where he can rule and act as the chosen one;
whatever future he wants to have is a predetermined yet grandiose one…but
ultimately, one he’ll have to live without Ratchet.
That’s right. At the end of the game, when all is said and
done, Tachyon is defeated and the galaxy is moving back toward peaceful days,
this happens.
Of all the ways to kick
a player in the balls…
I’m not sure why, but I
actually don’t have a problem with ToD’s
ending. It’s sequel-baiting of the
highest caliber, yes, and to some extent it immediately undermines the work and
successes of the heroes. But even so, it
deals a surprisingly emotional blow to the player, and Ratchet even more
so. So for the most part it works; the
credits hadn’t even started to roll, and already I was thinking to myself, “So
do I need to get A Crack in Time or Quest for Booty?” The series is called Ratchet and Clank -- and I’ll be damned if those brothers in arms
aren’t reunited. (Though given that
they’re back on the front lines in All 4
One, I’d assume everything works out in the end.)
It’s a little difficult
to point out exactly why ToD -- and
by extension the entire franchise -- works.
Doubly so because my enthusiasm and praise is ultimately my opinion;
what you get out of it and how it affects you depends on your preferences. And on top of that, I still believe that this
isn’t exactly a complex game or a complex story. Like The
Avengers, this game is a sandwich -- a well-made sandwich, but a sandwich
nonetheless. But with that in mind, I
feel like I need to append my definition of a game-ass game a bit to accommodate;
it doesn’t necessarily have to be a sandwich, but by design it offers something
for a player to sink their teeth into. Speaking
from my perspective, there are three things that players can sink their teeth
into.
1) Ratchet, and by extension Clank.
Like I said, I haven’t played any of the other games besides All 4 One -- but if the wiki’s anything
to go by, Ratchet used to be kind of a jerk.
He started out as selfish, arrogant, and suspicious of everyone; thanks
to the magic of character development, he ended up becoming the character that I
know him as from ToD. It’s a change that I approve of; the main
character is the means for exploring and interacting with a world, and having
him anything besides energetic and adventurous would harm our ability to enjoy
said world, and the game at large.
Though on that note…
2) A world worth exploring.
I know I mentioned this earlier, but it bears repeating -- this game’s
world is fantastic. Even if you don’t
feel like putting in the work to track down every hidden item or Easter egg, you
can get plenty out of the world just by knowing that the option is there, or
forgoing it just to get to the ending faster.
Grind rails, catapults, and tubes that can only be navigated by
monocycles…imagination flows through each world, and endears merely by
existing. But even if you’re immune to
its charms, there’s always…
3) The humor. I’ve said
before that I don’t think I’m all that funny; I do all right, I guess, but I
know I can do better. But the reason why
I don’t think I’m funny is because I know for a fact that there are
significantly funnier products out there…and ToD is one of them. It’s
incredible how many jokes they managed to get in there, and how it’s not as
much a “hit-or-miss” situation as it is “hit-and-hit”. Part of the secret to good comedy, I’d argue,
is unpredictability -- and it’s that unpredictability that makes a gamer long
for every new cutscene. You might see a
boxing glove pop out of a ship’s console and knock Clank the hell out. You might find a clue to the Lombax secret,
and be greeted with a 50’s style PSA.
There’s a plumber that travels the universe via toilet, Qwark’s crayon
doodles, Tachyon bumping his ship into walls as he tries to make a triumphant
exit, an eye patch-wearing smuggler with two fully-functioning eyes, and in
case you missed it, the doomsday device
is a hat.
All of these things --
the characters, the gameplay, the world, the humor, the story, the
customization, the strategy, everything -- melds into one. It asks the player a simple question: “You
wanna have some fun?” And given that the
game handles every element with incredible skill and thoroughness, there is
only one acceptable response. Hell.
Yes.
This game is good. It’s likely that part of my praise stems from
my weariness with the gaming industry (though I think my problems are more than
a little justified). So you can read
this post and believe as much or as little as you see fit. If you’re like me -- if you think that this “buried
treasure from a forgotten age” is more precious than most things crafted today
-- then that’s all right. If you think I’m
lying or much too biased, that’s all right too.
But whatever the case, I think you know what you have to do. If you have a PS3, all the working
components, and ten bucks in your pocket, I think you know what needs to be
done. Track it down, bring it home, and
try it out for yourself. See if it does
for you what it did for me.
It’s a game-ass
game. And chances are you won’t be
disappointed.
And that’ll do it for
now. See you guys --
Ahem. As I was saying, I’ll see you --
I’ll…see…you…guys…
ALL RIGHT! FINE! I’LL
PLAY YOU! FUCK! Stupid friggin’ game won’t leave me alone…damn! And I was in such a good mood, too. Now I gotta play through that piece of --
Such
delightful misery -- pain and sorrow that remain inescapable, no matter which
way you turn.
Oh no.
Will you
look forward, and stare upon disasters anew?
Or will you turn your back, and gaze into the eyes of your dearest
friend? Your executioner made real?
Oh no.
I believe
you have a certain obligation -- a duty that you declared you would
fulfill. Surely you have not
forgotten? If you have, then allow me to
remind you…my foolish puppet.
H-hey, don’t get so
antsy. I haven’t forgotten. In fact, I’m just about ready to get to
you. So there’s no need for you to do
anything so unpleasant as…you know…dropping the moon on us.
You would
think that I would enact the same catastrophe twice? Such simplistic thinking…though I should
expect no less from a human. But no
matter; it is the weakness of humans that makes them all the more
entertaining. I welcome despair…and of
course, I do all I can to spread it.
I’ve noticed.
Oh? Have you found your resolve? Do you have the strength required to topple
me, and steal away my fun? My very life?
As a matter of fact, I
think I do. I’m not a hundred percent
sure I can pull it off…and yeah, I am a little bit afraid, but…
But you
would try, even if you know instinctively that failure approaches?
Not quite. I may not know what’ll happen, but if I can
do something to protect the world, then I’ve gotta give it everything. That’s what being a writing hero is all about.
And honestly? I think I've got as good a shot as anyone else.
Always the
showman, I see. Very well. Then soon enough, I shall return. And we will end this game once and for
all. For you see…I have a new game in
mind, and I am so very eager to test it.
Strangling the life out of you to do so is nothing more than a step
towards my ultimate elation.
Farewell, “hero”. I wish you the very best.
...Well, I guess I’m
never wearing these pants again. Or this
underwear. Or using this chair.