SEASIDE HILL (for the sixth f&^%ing time) — Aaron Webber has just confirmed on Twitter that we are not, in fact, in 2013, as Sega of America had previously claimed. It turns out, we’re in 2019! Two-zero-one-nine! Six years have passed! In that time, we’ve apparently received only a single main series title, and it ended up being a sloppy Generations sequel. What? What is this trash?
As Aaron Webber is now stating, it turns out the past six years weren’t just a bad fever dream: there was indeed a villain in the Sonic series named Infinite—a villain Sega is completely glossing over for TSR in order to cram in the fat cat who ruined Sonic Adventure 1 and the grumbly red guy from that one Wii game no one remembers. Wait, was it a Wii game, or a Wii U game? Wasn’t the Wii U just DLC for the Gamecube?
Anyway, none of that matters. What matters is the horses#!% going on with Team Sonic Racing. What is up with that roster? They included Vector, but not Espio or Charmy? That’s like including just one of the Three Musketeers in a Disney movie. Are they f&^%ing stupid?
Also, where is my boy Metal Sonic? No, not that Metal Sonic. And no, definitely not that one. Nor this one. No, I’m not talking about that one, either. This Metal Sonic. How could they forget a character so primed to satiate the game’s fan service quota?
And while we’re at it, what’s up with the game’s title? Team Sonic Racing? Not “Sonic Team Racing,” the perfect title pun for an imperfect developer that had minimal association with the game itself? Not “Sumo Digital Racing Feat. Sonic and Co.”? Not “A Sega Production by Sumo Digital with Sonic Team’s Ideas and Jun Senoue Playing Guitar”?
Sega, you’ve disappointed me for the last time. After writing you a blank check for the next three installments in the franchise, I’ll consider being done. Maybe.
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This company is a heroin addict who needs its IP children to be adopted by a caring foster parent before it’s too late.
Ubisoft, a company whose mission statement is mediocrity first and players second, has decided Wildlands will be the next installment in the Ghost Recon franchise. From high atop his ivory tower of corporate villainy, Yves Guillemot cackles deviously as he knowingly squanders 4 years of developers’ precious time on this planet, forcing them through wage slavery to produce yet another copy-and-paste open world borefest, squandering his underling artists’ valuable talents on a project he knows a disabled infant could produce comparable results for.
Where’s the issue? Is it the bland, uninspired open world? The wonky, B-grade shooting? The physics-less vehicles? The complete and utter lack of anything inspiring or original under the hood of a bland third-person shooter masquerading as a beloved tactical stealth franchise?
Could it be all of these things, perhaps?
Yes, it could. Now we’ve got another The Division, Far Cry Primal, Watch_Dogs 2 to add to our collection of generic Ubisoft garbage.
Capture outpost A, slink around to outpost B. Use a helicopter to fly to outpost C and liberate the resistance. Protect a VIP as you escort him back to outpost A. Rinse and repeat for fifty hours. Jesus Christ, what a downgrade from Future Soldier, a game that came out over half a decade ago. Trading a tight, engaging and tactical linear narrative for a blase open-world snoozer is the dumbest yet most frequent misstep Ubisoft seems to love to make these days. Hope they love making it without my $60.
Fun fact: Antoine Fuqua, the director of this two-hour snooze fest, is getting to handle the Scarface remake. That’s right, from one pointless and decidedly inferior remake to the next, this guy has us covered.
Here’s the deal: it’s not an offensively bad movie. It’s just got a piss-poor script, a weird tonal structure and some of the worst pacing I’ve had to suffer through in a long time. I fell asleep twice, for frame of reference. Fuqua allows so much time for pornographic shots of mother nature and pointless banter between characters that any space for real character development is completely wasted. But make no mistake–there could’ve and should’ve been time for it. Easily. As it stands, the only two characters who get any real development are Goodnight and Billy, the sharpshooter and assassin respectively. Even when it came to the villain and side characters, all were paper thin archetypal cut-outs. Though, in the cast’s defense, all of them clearly gave a good effort.
As far as that tonal complaint went, here’s why I’m pissed: the trailers sell it as a fun western. The original Magnificent Seven was a fun western. This thing, on the other hand, takes itself waaaaaaay too seriously towards the end. Like, Batman V Superman sort of serious. Ugh.
Honestly, I recommend you just ignore this movie all together and not waste any money, but if you’re really, really hankering for some form of a western, well, who am I to stop you?
This whole thing is literally just an experiment by Seth Rogen to see what shit he can cram into an R rating. Graphic juice box vaginal rape? Yep. Explicit living potato skin peeling? Check. Three minutes of nothing but literal, unadulterated food porn featuring quadruple penetration by none other than Seth himself? You bet your sweet tear ducts.
Some sick part of me wants to show this to an Amish community just to see how much PTSD can be wrought by a single film. Continue reading ““Sausage Party” Review”
I can’t boycott DC movies. I just can’t. Even though they’re perpetually shit, they’re still a great time killer with friends and for that reason I either give up socializing and maintain my morals, or vise versa. Enjoy the blood money, WB.
If you haven’t guessed, Suicide Squad is the deliciously fruitless follow-up to BvS, two hours of proof that Warner Bros. still doesn’t have a fucking clue what they’re doing. Continue reading ““Suicide Squad” Review”