Game Review: Fallout New Vegas

Fallout New Vegas, follow up and temporally-concurrent sequel to Fallout 3, now set in Nevada's Mojave Desert.

NOTE: I only play on maximum difficulty, or in this case, Hardcore mode. Hopefully you'll realise my sheer gaming excellence and virility far outweigh the self-aggrandisement of this statement. Hardcore mode in any game is for Titans like me amongst the softcore men.

First the obvious: the game is almost identical gameplay-wise when compared to Fallout 3. It's still the same combination of first person shooter with role-playing game elements. The RPG elements have been tweaked to increase the importance of skills (e.g. explosives, speech, barter) and decrease the importance of SPECIAL stats (charisma, strength etc); the idea being that you can't just pump all your points into charisma and have awesome speech skills because of it. The game forces you to specialise rather than be a jack-of-all-trades like you could in the prequel. I guess they thought that a power-armoured super-soldier who could talk, sneak or shoot their way out of any situation broke the game somewhat.

Graphically there's very little difference between New Vegas and 3. There are a few more character models and some new baddies but other than that it's the same. However, NV is vastly superior in terms of atmosphere and setting - the Strip, the desert and the rural locations are far more interesting to behold than anything from 3 - it was the greatest relief to not have to spelunk through the same rancid sewer systems over and over. It took me 6 hours to encounter the first sewer, and having progressed another 12 hours I've yet to have the misfortune of further sewer surfing.
The desert is also more densely packed than ever - there's no more pressing down the forward key with a nearby paperweight and then going for a can of Schweppes Traditional, returning and finding Mr Wanderer halfway to the destination - only 10 or 15 seconds in any direction will arrive at something new, like a gas station, raider encampment or hapless town. It's a little strange that a desert would provide far more entertainment than a game set in Washington DC. I guess not having every building being a shade of gunship grey is a big plus.

NV suffers from the same problem that 3 had when it comes to voice acting - there are like 4 guys who do every voice and they were all recruited from the Naruto-dub studio. There's nothing wrong with the quality of the voice actors but the fact that Lieutenant Asshat sends you to Seargeant Jerkoff and they BOTH have the same voice is as cringeworthy as dead baby jokes at an abortion clinic. The worst situtation was in an army camp where two pairs of troops were chatting, all with the same voice. At first I thought there was something wrong with my audio but it turned out that there were several Tyler Durden situations going on.

In 3, aside from health you also had to worry about radiation - too much of it and you would lose health and eventually die. Evidently some genius at Bethesda Softworks thought that having to watch a geiger counter was awesome gameplay fun and decided to put in several more of the same - dehydration counter, starvation counter and sleep deprivation; meaning that if you don't sleep, drink and eat like a regular person, you can't play due to a bad case of deaditis.I know it's more realistic but I came to Nevada for some good wholesome post-apocalyptic raping and pillaging, not a lesson in mad survivalism in the wide west. For a game so obsessed with drinking water, it doesn't provide many ways to get water - I seem to spend all my time drinking out of toilets. Like I said, I play this game for fantasy, not reality.

The music is far superior - there isn't too much variety but the music is laid back and really sets the scene of a rustic desert country who have an identity; by the time I'd finished playing Fallout 3 I'd heard "I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire" so many times I think I'd have rather listened to Simple Plan, Black Eyed Peas and Justin Bieber on repeat.

My last thought is that in this game, this guy's limbs are made of wet tissue paper - geckos, rats, hollow-point bullets, missiles, golf clubs, base jumpinig without parachutes, bear traps and soft mountain breezes are capable of breaking your limbs equally well. It breaks the immersiveness when (and this has happened to me) an angry praying mantis the size of a shoe can fracture your skull and give you a concussion.

Still it's good fun. I do enjoy watching guys perform biforcatory splits because I sneakily planted a live frag mine in between their buttocks. I also persuaded a guy to build me a laser-armed sexbot and a machine gun that fires grenades, so I'll just enjoy myself for now :)

Game Review: Alan Wake

Every so often I'll feel the urge to play a solid and scary horror game in an attempt to force some kind of emotional reaction from myself, thus I tried Alan Wake, the "intense psychological thriller". Somewhat odd to have a tagline as a subtitle for a game, though I can understand given that the cover art is merely a silhouette of a dude with a flashlight.

The game opens up with a guy driving into an idyllic mountain town with his wife in an attempt to have a holiday from writing so he can catch up on his writing. I can relate to Alan in his psychotic rage against his wife when his holiday from writing becomes a holiday FOR writing. It was all a trap and now Alan must escape the evil clutches of his ball-busting wife who demands that he works for a living.

Okay maybe that isn't exactly what happens but the initial plot setup makes so little sense that I thought of a more plausible scenario. In any case, after arriving in town and seeing some suspect old people, Alan and wifey get into their secluded holiday home where it promptly explodes and "something" takes his old lady to parts unknown. Alan loses consciousness, wakes up a week later with convenient amnesia and now has to find out what happened in that week and then to rescue the incessant nagger.



Gameplay is in third person adventure style shooter, more like Max Payne than Gears of War. Your primary weapon is not a gun but your handy Everyready-battery-powered torch; the main danger in Alan Wake is "the darkness" - an amorphous and ill-defined entity that can possess anyone wielding an axe or pipe wrench. Whenever you shine the light on one of these dark guys they freeze like a freshly shaved husky in the Arctic and you are free to blow chunks out of them with your pea-shooting pistol.

The horror aspect isn't too bad as the scenery is very atmospheric - moonlit mountain trails with rustling leaves and shifting shadows, welcome lodges (which are inherently creepy) and run-down motels, forests and eerie mines. The enemies are less scary though - the same 3 character models armed with the aforementioned farm implements charge at you and attempt to whack you like a baby seal at a Marilyn Manson concert; it's more frustrating than scary when your torch runs out of batteries and you are forced to run.

I have to spoil part of the story now as it really pisses me off. You eventually find out what happened in that lost week - you were writing. The darkness tricked Alan into writing his book. For a whole week. Not that he erased his memory to cope with the horror of his actions, or that he skipped out for a delightful vacation at Disneyland, or even that he was kidnapped by kung fu fighting brothel workers. Instead he sat at a desk and wrote. Shock! What an awesome revelation! Perhaps Alan Wake 2 can have him waking up after a night with his face in a bowl full of pudding and the mystery is that he got drunk and ate pudding!

It's strange that the worst part of the game about writing is the writing itself. If the story made more sense and the characterisation was better - I find it very hard to care about Alan or his fat comic-relief friend (who shows up when the plot starts to drag) considering they're jerks, and this can't be excused because they aren't funny.

I'd give the game an average rating - not good, not bad - worth playing if you enjoy horror games but will never hit a top ten list for anything.

Perhaps it would have been better if Alan had wanted to write and his wife wanted him to give up on his dreams, and he uses his writing to materialise the darkness to take the nagging wench to Disneyland for a week.

Chivalry

I used to believe in chivalry - to act with nobility, courtesy and charity of heart. The knightly qualities especially pertained to interactions with women; that they were deserving of greater levels of respect and civility - in general society, this would be opening doors, paying for dinner, letting her go first etc.

A few years back a met a girl who thought this type of behaviour was completely retarded - a feminist to be sure, but thought that that type of gallantry should be reserved for when true charity is felt in the heart. For her, feminism was about all types of behaviour - undeserved treatment was just as bad as misogyny. Her idea was that the same set of rules should apply to everyone. To be nice to someone because they are a girl was sexist for her.

I came to agree with this assessment though it never ends well in public; I wait in line for my turn, I let people in while driving and I don't hawk for car parks. And yet women still give me dirty looks and say I'm a dick because I don't enact their form of chivalry. I don't open doors for women, I don't let women go in front of me and I don't automatically pay the bills for women. I do do these acts but they never have anything to do with sex. Well, gender anyway.

This isn't a conundrum for me - it does make my life somewhat more difficult owing to these jerks who think I should treat women better than men, rather than treat all people equally.

People say cynically that chivalry is dead but they're only partly correct. The type of chivalry where we treat women as delicate little flowers unable to stand up for themselves is dead. The type where we treat people better to be generous or charitable is alive, if young.

Politics, Australians and Participation

Winston Churchill once said that democracy was the worst form of government apart from all of the other ones. Never has such a cynical statement been more accurate.

The sheer number of people I talk to who not only don't care about politics but actively attempt to sabotage the democratic process by donkey voting is astounding.I should clarify at this point the dim view I take of donkey voting - the type of voting where you intentionally choose to not choose a poltical party; and instead pick the first name on the list or perhaps they remember the neat hair on one of the politicians and votes for them.

Australian laws states that all citizens must vote; the purpose being to encourage involvement in the democractic process.

Bogus.


Why must we involve these troglodytes in the process when they care so little as to know nothing about their government? Why is it necessary for us to require every uninformed idiot with a driver's licence to be involved? We have millions of voters who dilute the outcome so greatly as to make the winner have no mandate for governing; in other words, the new Prime Minister has no imperative to do anything except gear up for the following election. We have no poltical direction and nothing will ever reform or evolve.

We should have an experiment for several decades - remove the necessity for people to vote, and then institute a requirement for understanding the politics before you can vote. A failing grade in Politics 101 will make you ineligible to vote in the next election.

There is a form of government known as an Oligarchy - the rule of the elite. If only those who understand the issues and have opinions on them can participate, the quality of the democracy will dramatically improve.

It's our fault that the state of politics is so poor - much like the media. It reflects what the public wants, not what it needs or deserves. Perhaps after having it taken away for a time, the people will come to value the right to vote once again.

Cinema seating

I fear that the theatre's sojourn into online convenience has had some unintended consequences.

Though it's been around for a while, you can book your specific seats online ahead of time so as to reserve the best spots; the idea being that you can avoid being stuck at the front row when you see the latest Harry Potter.

Problem is that it's being used by a very different sort of cinema-goer, namely, the seat Nazis. These are the dickheads who will tell you "hey that's my seat! See! My ticket says J-10 and you are in J-10!"


For many years I have gone to the cinema and when I arrive inside, I look around for a seat to my taste that is unoccupied and then avail myself of it. If there wasn't enough seats for my friends, or strangers required more, I'd happily move over or similar so that we may coexist in peace and love.


Nowadays I will be sitting in an empty cinema when one of these jerks will ask me to move out of his seat. I am completely bumfuzzled as to why they can't sit up or down a seat, or next to me. Why are all these people so childish and unable to communicate or simply be reasonable?

I think the online seat allotments is drawing in the library computer-booking people - the asshats who demand their 10:15 computer at spot 2A rather than just waiting in line.

Why not wait in line? Why not trust in the fairness and sanguinity of your fellow man? Must I really jab my movie drink straw through your right eye socket in frustration?

Travel: Nimbin

My recent visit to Nimbin left me highly unsettled - if I'd stayed the night there I have no doubt it would have ended much lik a Lovecraftian nightmare.

Nimbin is an aberrence in space in time as it links the free-spirited sixties together with a dystopian parallel future wherein something has terribly corrupted the citizenry and their purpose.


After driving for several hours inland from the upper New South Wales coastline, you come across the town without any real warning. The town itself has little more than a few token stores filled with drug paraphenalia and marijuana-themed novelties. This is a little dirtball that celebrates its proud past of radicalism and protest. The murals, graffiti and stores are all colourfully decorated and no doubt are spectacular viewed while under the influence.

The sense of anxiousness you develop isn't because of the town's isolation or it's single-minded devotion to an incredibly pidgeonholed way of life; what makes you uneasy is the people.

There are two types of people there - the aging hipsters, and their descendents.

The first type are people who undoubtedly smoked entire bushels of finest farm-fresh wacky-tobacky while singing their songs of love and peace. They hang around the town like living attractions to personally demonstrate the virtues of a life free of material wealth and attunment with nature. Personally I loved these folks - they are friendly, talkative and generous, if a little burnt out. They'll tell you stories of life as a protester, escapades from police and hairy situations they faced.

The real issue is the offspring of these people. Unlike their parents, these people are bitter, angry and seemingly ill-educated. Most of them appear to have been raised and taught in this place but have little understanding of what their parents refused to fight for. Drawn to your tourist-like appearance, you will be accosted at least twice per hour by young natives who will attempt to vend their illegal wares to you. They speak gruffly and underhandedly, and refuse to be dissuaded by even the most fervent rejections of their offers.

Every so often a police patrol will mosey on throughto deter the sale of drugs and when they do, the place becomes a ghost town - you wouldn't be able to tell that anyone lives there for their proficiency at hiding and the lack of upkeep on the storefronts.

There is one thing there most definitely worth visiting however - the museum of marijuana. It depicts the brief history of Nimbin and the involvement of the drug in its past. The museum itself is a marvelous achievement for the citizens as it hosts some truly fascinating artwork - paintings, sculptures, murals and poetry.

Just try not to make eye contact with the "salesman" hiding in the dark corners of the room. He'll try to sell you something that you really don't want to buy.

You don't understand - what would you know?

I watch a lot of anime and have had frequent interactions with Asians over the course of my life, and one particular sentiment that is expressed by this ethnic group is "you don't understand!", or "what would you know?" At first I thought this was a normal expression of frustration but the more I consider it the more I think this is wrong.

The reason I'm starting to think I was wrong about this is the fact that it is NEVER followed by a true declaration of intentions, feelings or thoughts. They never deign to express themselves after saying this.

Usually it's a second- or third-string character that says this; it's a weak comeback to a brutally honest accusation. "What would you know about it?" isn't even a denial - it's a fearful response to the blinding face of truth. Only minor characters use this rhetorical question as any main character always knows where they stand - they have no need for such an underwhelming rejoinder. Even the primary antagonists will never say this - they have resolve and (typically) an evil determination. The hero, when faced with a harshness will either proudly declare their belief, or they will be stunned into catharsis.

A teacher, a leader, the determined, the proud - these are all people who never say "you don't understand". In Western culture it tends to be used only by whiny teenagers stricken by angst over adolescence.