Mass Effect: Andromeda – A Rising or Fallen Star?

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PLATFORMS

Microsoft Windows, PS4, Xbox One

 

IN A NUTSHELL

Kiss, kill, and glitch your way across a whole new galaxy.

 

Game Review

 

CONTENTS

Intro

1. Six Hundred Years Later… | Story & Missions

2. Brave New Worlds | The Andromeda Galaxy

3. Neither Paragon Nor Renegade | Dialogue

4. Something For Us | Characters & Romances

5. Fight Like a Krogan | Combat & Gameplay

6. The Sounds of Space | Music

7. My Face is Tired | Animation & Glitches

8. One Small Step | The Future of Andromeda

Conclusion

 

I came to Mass Effect: Andromeda like the sleepers of Ark Hyperion came to the Heleus cluster. After what felt like six hundred years since the last Mass Effect game (in actuality five years, but whatever), another adventure was about to commence in a new galaxy. There shimmered the promise of “golden worlds” and the exciting prospect of the unknown. But upon arriving (slightly late to the scene, as I usually am), I discovered that things weren’t quite so golden after all, and that there’d been an uproar of discontent from a once-believing following.

 

The fan base, as you might already know, is not one to quietly accept whatever they’re given. Remember what happened when Mass Effect 3 served up its unsatisfactory – and borderline nonsensical – ending? Only an extended cut and a DLC chock-full of unabashed fanservice-y goodness could (somewhat) placate us.

 

On one hand, the outcry against Andromeda was understandable. The game lacked polish, to put it lightly. Furthermore, it would have to withstand a gruelling test of worthiness if it truly wanted to join the ranks of its predecessors. The original Mass Effect trilogy brought us the legendary N7, Commander Shepard. It brought us the Suicide Mission. This was the series that brought us Garrus freakin’ Vakarian, for goodness’ sake. Andromeda had shoes of astronomical proportions to fill.

 

On the other hand, it’s hardly fair to compare Andromeda to three games’ worth of character arcs and epic exploits. Many of us knew to rein in our expectations – but even so, is the game such a glitchy, tedious mess that it deserved the backlash that it got? Is it a blemish on the beloved franchise? Or is it a good game that only seems ugly when viewed through the rose-coloured glasses that some nostalgic Mass Effect fans wear?

 

I’ll admit that my own lens are very rose-coloured, but I will try to level out my bias with fair assessments in this review. Although Mass Effect: Andromeda was less-than-stellar in some areas, it still shone in others, and I believe that it holds the potential to rise as the original trilogy did, if just given the chance.

 

1. Six Hundred Years Later…

 

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The game reveals that, during the era of the original Mass Effect trilogy, thousands of Milky Way citizens, human and alien alike, signed up to an Initiative that would whisk them light years away to a new life in the Andromeda galaxy. Mass Effect: Andromeda kicks off roughly six hundred years later, when Ark Hyperion, carrier of the human voyagers, arrives to chaos. The Heleus cluster, their new would-be home, is wracked by a mysterious and dangerous phenomenon called the Scourge, which has made the planets of Heleus uninhabitable. You play as Ryder, the Pathfinder for humanity. Your job is to make the cluster livable again by activating the technology conveniently left behind by an advanced but long-gone alien race (Heleus’ equivalent of the original trilogy’s Protheans). And as with the original games, you have your ship, your motley crew, and the fate of a galaxy in your hands.

 

It’s a strong premise, and the interwoven story threads layered over it make things even more intriguing. One of the main story threads leads you head-on with a race of hostile aliens called the kett, led by the big bad Archon. Another thread takes you on a journey through memories to uncover Ryder’s surprising family secrets. Yet another beckons you to find out what happened to the turian, asari, and salarian arks that were meant to arrive alongside the human ark. Andromeda boasts a wealth of promising material, more ambitious in its scope of content than I remember the first Mass Effect game to be.

 

However, this ambition buckles under the weight of its swathes and swathes of side missions. There are simply too many that are inconsequential, with little to no material or emotional reward. If you want me to to go planet-hopping to scan every strange rock and edible plant in the cluster, I’m going to need more incentive than a pat on the back and a handful of XP and credits. (The original Mass Effect had me rock-hunting as well, but at least the number of side missions in those games was manageable.) The prospect of sinking time into these “Additional Tasks” just distracted from what really mattered to me – like gathering snacks for a movie night. (Saving the galaxy can wait; Blasto films are the priority, hands down.)

 

Even more frustrating is the fact that many of the missions seem to send you from Point A to B to C for no reason other than to extend the mission time, and the space you cover while completing them. You’ll have to endure countless instructions to “go here” or “go there”, only to find when you reach your destination that your target has already moved location – and when you reach the next location, they’ve moved again! Exasperating.

 

Simplicity can be underrated, and perhaps Andromeda could have benefited from trimming the fat. At times the game droops into tedium, the pacing disrupted by pointless, uninteresting, and unnecessarily prolonged tasks. But thankfully, there are also high points to offset the dips – critical plot points incite suspense and shock, some of the loyalty missions strengthen your investment in your crewmates, the final mission drives the game to a truly engrossing speed, and the ending leaves tantalising loose ends to be picked up in the future.

 

2. Brave New Worlds

 

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When I heard that the new Mass Effect game would take place in an entirely new galaxy, I was pretty excited. I had hoped to relive the sense of wonder I’d felt on my first visit to the Citadel, way back in the very first game. That was the moment that drew me in – seeing the vibrant diversity of aliens, and learning about each of their fascinating characteristics and backgrounds. How long I must have spent conversing with everyone in sight, from the jellyfish-like hanar who communicated through bioluminescence, to the militaristic turians, to the slow-speaking, elephantine elcor. Whole planets’ worth of imaginative cultures, all gathered in one place – it solidified the feeling that, no, you definitely weren’t in Kansas anymore.

 

So I was disappointed when I realised that the Heleus cluster would only introduce me to two new alien species – the angara and the kett. The angara’s culture has decent depth and nuance to it, and there is potential to bring it out to greater effect in sequels. But the kett seem flat and unengaging as enemies, apart from the dissension that we later see arise amongst their ranks. Their culture may be richer than it appears on the surface, and this is probably detailed in the codex entries unlocked throughout the game. The problem with world-building through text like codex entries, however, is that most players aren’t going to read them. Let’s face it – most of us are too lazy for that. It would have been nice to see a little more of their backstories emerge through the dialogue, actions, and movement of the story.

 

The concept of a galaxy central hub is recycled – so while the original games had the Citadel, Andromeda has the Nexus. But unlike the Citadel, over half of the original trilogy’s alien races are not present. The quarians, the volus, the hanar, and elcor, the drell – all on arks that also went astray, and all sorely missed. The absence of the volus, hanar, and elcor deprives this galaxy of more golden opportunities for comic relief. At least the asari, turians, and salarians are still around, yet even then, there are hitches. For one, the asari all look identical except for Peebee. The original Mass Effect games gave each asari a unique face, but in Andromeda, even your crew’s doctor, Lexi (voiced by Natalie Dormer AKA Margaery Tyrell), is a carbon copy of those asari clone extras roaming in the background. Come on, guys – Natalie Dormer deserves better than that. These factors contribute to the appearance of monotony where we should find thrilling novelty.

 

On the bright side, the worlds themselves are sights to behold. Each planet has its own distinctive look and peculiarities: you can’t stay out long in the bone-chilling cold of Voeld, and the planet Kadara is pocked with acidic pools which can make your vehicle literally explode (yes, I may have parked in a pool of sulfuric water just to see what would happen). Having to brave these environmental hazards makes it even more rewarding when you activate the alien “Remnant” technology and start taming the planets. Funnily enough, activating this tech comprises of solving some alien sudoku, which, while not being the most original minigame, provides some relaxing and stimulating downtime (unless you’re a sudoku hater).

 

And you can’t help but admire the graphics of some of the landscapes. Havarl’s jungle surroundings were my favourite, with their overgrowth of gorgeous blue-and-purple jewel tones. You’ll also be treated to views of stunning skies as you’re driving through Andromeda’s worlds.

 

Your trusty vehicle, the Nomad, is a new and improved version of the original Mass Effect’s Mako, and thankfully doesn’t replicate the issues of the Mako in the first game. (One of my fondest Mass Effect memories was the first time I tried driving that beast, when the slightest tap of a key sent it rocketing off a cliff edge, to my characters’ early demise – good times, good times.) Although the Nomad doesn’t do sick flips or defy physics quite like the Mako, it has some tricks of its own. You can switch between four-wheel drive for flat land and six-wheel drive for uphill slopes, and add upgrades to improve the vehicle’s shields, speed, and so on. Unfortunately, the Nomad doesn’t have guns, but you can still mow down your enemies with the ol’ hit and run. You also get to change up the Nomad’s paint job, so you can look stylish while roving around. Some looks are inspired by previous games, such as the “N7” and “Archangel” paint jobs. My personal choice was the “Midas Touch” paint job, which turned my Nomad into an obnoxiously blinding, pure gold monstrosity. Nothing screams “saviour of the galaxy” quite like that. All in all, the Nomad is a smooth-cruising steed that makes it relatively fun to travel across new alien terrains.

 

3. Neither Paragon Nor Renegade

 

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The Mass Effect games have always been dialogue-heavy, and the original trilogy excelled in this area. Part of the games’ brilliance lay in the fact that you moulded your Shepard through the dialogue choices you selected. Andromeda likewise gives you dialogue options for Ryder – but rather than being divided into goody-goody Paragon, neutral, and hard-ass Renegade, your options here generally fall into four quadrants: “emotional”, “logical”, “professional”, and “casual”.

 

The dialogue therefore shapes the demeanour of your Ryder without the emphasised moral slant. This avoids a simplistic black-and-white approach to ethical questions, but it also makes for less dramatic encounters. The difference between goofball Ryder and professional Ryder isn’t quite as sharp or entertaining as the contrast between I-want-to-help-everyone Shepard and I’m-going-to-shoot-you-in-the-foot-then-push-that-guy-out-of-a-window-and-punch-a-journalist Shepard.

 

This is not to say that you aren’t confronted with moral choices. Andromeda asks you to make some tough calls, and many of them are not clearly delineated as “right” or “wrong”. Your actions have an impact on the direction of your interactions, and while some may not seem to have long-standing effects in this game, it’s implied that there will be ramifications in sequels. The moral greyness of Andromeda’s scenarios make great food for thought, and heightens the challenge of decision-making. This is commendable in the way it forces us to gaze deeper into how we define heroism.

 

But let’s take a look at the writing itself. Andromeda has been criticised on numerous occasions for having stilted dialogue. If you read the dialogue in isolation, it sounds fine for the most part. There’s a mixture of serious notes and cheeky banter, and the lines usually don’t sound too cheesy or overdone. And yet, when placed in the game, something doesn’t seem quite right.

 

The other day, I was playing an old “Mass Effect Trilogy Funny Moments” YouTube video in the background, and the difference in tone between the original trilogy and Andromeda struck me harder than I expected. Maybe it was just my rose-coloured glasses warping my view again – because I really was enjoying the nostalgia trip – but the dialogue in the original series somehow seemed more natural and, when appropriate, avoided taking itself too seriously. Even when it tripped into Clunkyville, it had heart and a naive charm which resonated with me.

 

In her review of Andromeda, Brenna Hillier speculates that the dialogue’s stiltedness in Andromeda may have something to do with mistiming, and in a separate review, Alex Donaldson points out the jarring clash when light-hearted lines are delivered within heavy contexts. To add to the list, I suggest that perhaps the writing plays it too safe at times and tries too hard to make the main characters likeable, rather than letting the dialogue be a natural expression of their personalities, whether we end up liking them or not. Joker from the original games is a prime example – his sharp tongue made for hilarious quips as well as stinging observations, but they all extended with ease from his wise-ass self. Ryder can be a funny character as well, but I have to agree with Alex Donaldson that some of the lines just don’t sit right. There’s a moment just before you make first contact with the angara, when you can choose a “casual” dialogue option. Ryder will say with a playful wave of a hand: “If this goes badly, if I get eaten alive by aliens – even if it’s hilarious – please, destroy the vids”. The line by itself isn’t terrible – light humour like this can be excellent – but this example of comic relief doesn’t feel entirely comfortable coming from a figure in leadership like the Pathfinder, and at the brink of such a momentous occasion as meeting a new alien race.

 

This isn’t to say that humour has to be avoided in serious situations – it just has to be executed in the correct way. Take this example from Mass Effect 3. Shepard and two squadmates are battling their way to their objective, while a massive machine called a Reaper tries to crush them and blast them with lasers. Another squadmate’s voice crackles through the receiver: “Shepard, get that second hammer going!”, to which Shepard replies, “THERE’S A REAPER IN MY WAY, WREX!” Wrex banters back, “I know; you get all the fun.” The interaction perfectly hits an amusing note without diminishing the tension of the situation. Largely thanks to Jennifer Hale and Mark Meer for their incredible voice performances as female and male Shepard, Shepard’s dialogue and the delivery of the line still conveys the appropriate urgency, while Wrex’s contrasting laid-back manner suits his personality and the fact that he is not in the thick of it at the time. Here, the comedy works.

 

The original Mass Effect crew also expressed their inner struggles in ways that hit home more frequently for me. In Andromeda, comparable moments sometimes seem like robotic and transparent attempts to prompt a sympathetic response from the audience. Cora’s reaction after the completion of her loyalty mission, and even Jaal’s displays of emotion, did not strike a chord in me.  I was starting to think I was just a heartless jerk, but others seem to agree that something is off. As YouTuber YongYea suggests, the emotional scenes may be falling flat due to a combination of factors – the dialogue, the voice acting, and the facial expressions. I only disagree with his negative appraisal of Peebee; out of the Andromeda cast, I actually felt that Drack’s and Peebee’s dialogue and performances sounded the most convincing.

 

All that being said, the writing isn’t completely bad. You’ll catch snippets of funny conversations as you wander past your squadmates on your ship, and while driving in the Nomad. The occasional stiltedness may just be a mild case of first-game-awkwardness that will correct itself as the series progresses. I can see the future holding more lines that will become classics just like Garrus’s “calibrations” – which, while not being exactly Shakespearean, contributed to the original games’ iconic humour without clashing with the gravity of the story.

 

4. Something For Us

 

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As with the rest of the Mass Effect games, you get to customise your Ryder – their gender, appearance, and training. I was pretty stoked that I could finally make an Asian character without her ending up looking like an alien herself (which is what would have happened when creating Shepard in the original games). Even better, you also have the opportunity to customise the protagonist’s twin, who is the opposite gender of your Ryder. That’s right, double customisation! As a character creation addict, I was in heaven. Your customisation can inform the appearance of Ryder’s father as well, so that there is some consistent Ryder family resemblance.

 

It’s hard not to compare Shepard and Ryder at times, but comparisons may be unreasonable (unless we’re talking about their dancing ability – that’s pretty similar). Unlike the seasoned N7, Ryder is relatively inexperienced, trying to muddle their way through the monumental task that has befallen them, and for which they have not been prepared. It’s almost a “rise of the underdog” story – a formula that we all know and love. Most of us enjoy cheering on the little guy in fiction, and watching them prove others wrong against all odds. Ryder is perhaps more privileged than your typical underdog – especially since they were thrust into the role through straight-up nepotism – but I still felt growing satisfaction following my Ryder on her journey as she slowly but surely earned her title. I didn’t feel as much of a bond with Ryder as I had with Shepard, perhaps due to the inconsistency of characterisation in the dialogue and its delivery, but there is definitely potential for Ryder to grow into a strong, well-rounded, and beloved figure.

 

And then there’s the staple of every Mass Effect game: your dysfunctional space family, otherwise known as your crew. The original Mass Effect trilogy had a memorable cast, with each set of traits standing in sharp relief against the others. The personalities of Andromeda also show individuality, but some do feel like echoes of the old crew: the irreverent krogan and the cool turian, for example. Are they as well-developed as the original cast, though? Is Vetra truly “the female Garrus”, as she has been called? And did I feel as connected to my Ryder’s squadmates, Peebee and Jaal, as I did to my Shepard’s ride-or-dies, Garrus and Tali? Well, no, but I won’t hold it against Andromeda. After all, the characters of the original trilogy had three whole games to flourish and become fan favourites, whereas the members of Andromeda are still in their budding phase.

 

One of my main issues with the characters in Andromeda is that they were treated as if they had virtually reached their full potential by the end of the game. The cast of the original Mass Effect started off awkward and vulnerable, and retained some of those qualities even by the end of the first game. This gave them room to grow. Andromeda’s characters, in comparison, seem too self assured, too early on. It felt like the writers were trying to deliver a whole series’ worth of character arcs within one game, and they felt unnecessarily rushed.

 

But what bothered me the most was the failed attempts to portray moments of bonding between Ryder and their crew. My favourite part of any RPG is the silly stuff – the downtime where you get to see the characters mess around and you can connect with them on a more relatable level. As I hinted at before, I don’t care as much about saving the galaxy as I do about movie nights and alien parties and heart-to-heart conversations over drinks. Andromeda tries to incorporate these moments to give us insight into the characters, and to establish the family-like ties of the crew – but as with the character arcs, most of these scenes feel too rushed and ultimately lacking in substance. A side mission given by Drack was one such disappointment. Drack invites Ryder to play a game usually enjoyed by krogan children, and of course the game bears the ridiculous name of “Firebreathing Thresher Maws of Doom”. You meet Drack at the bar, and he explains some of the game’s elements while you wait for the other krogan to arrive. Except they never do. Drack stops speaking, the cutscene ends, and the mission is complete.

 

Excuse me?

 

You can’t just entice me with a game involving mini flamethrowers and not show me how it actually pans out. Or better yet, why not turn it into a minigame and let me play it for myself? Man, I was really looking forward to setting the bar on fire while laughing with my krogan buddies. Half-baked “character bonding moments” don’t do anything but build up false expectations and frustrate players.

 

Thankfully, there are some bonding moments that were done well. Vetra’s side mission, “A Moment Planetside”, sees some friendly competition between Ryder and the turian, and a touching moment as they take in the scenery. More scenes like this would have made players feel more deeply for the game’s characters.

 

But let’s turn to the fun stuff now – the romances. The Mass Effect games have jokingly been referred to as “alien dating sims”, thanks to the likes of Garrus, Thane, and Liara sweeping gamers off their feet in the original trilogy. Mass Effect: Andromeda promised to heat things up even more, since the developers are clearly aware that their fan base is mainly made up of xenophilic perverts (not me though, of course). From what I can guess, the non-human and non-asari romance scenes are still kept pretty tame, but I can’t actually confirm because I have not watched any of them outside my romance choice in the game, and I don’t particularly feel like wading through that much space porn. (I know, I know; how can I even call myself a Mass Effect fan?)

 

From the moment I watched the trailer, I had already decided on Jaal – because who doesn’t want to date a purple lion alien? Unfortunately, I found the romance kind of … boring. Jaal was one of those characters who felt too forced, as if the developers had listed all the things they thought fans would find romantic and likeable, and crammed them into this character to the exclusion of almost all else. The way the character was written was sweet but bland, and this made for a sweet but bland romance. I much preferred the sarcastic wit and adorable awkwardness of Garrus, or the dangerous yet sentimental tortured soul that is Thane. But that is just my opinion, and I do not mean to offend any Jaal fans out there!

 

The romantic exchanges were hit and miss, and I hear that female Ryder fares worse with awkward dialogue than male Ryder. While looking up other people’s reviews of the game, I had the displeasure of watching female Ryder’s confession to Suvi – and let me tell you, “cringeworthy” does not begin to cover it. I strongly related to the onlooking pilot, Kallo, who reacted with the classic: “Kill. Me. Now.”

 

I can’t comment on the other romances, having little knowledge about them, so perhaps they had more sparks and heart-melting moments. From what I have seen, there seems to be a need for deeper connections forged through more genuine encounters, and greater attention paid to the finer details. Sometimes it’s the small things that matter the most.

 

5. Fight Like a Krogan

 

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The combat is where Mass Effect: Andromeda shines the brightest. It’s good fun and smoother than in previous games, with some tweaks to make the experience more versatile. You can still sprint and duck behind cover as you did before, but you can now also do things like cloak and use your jetpack to hover while raining bullets from above. Battles flow at a satisfyingly fast pace, and the visual and sound effects seem to have improved as well, adding a dramatic flair to powers unleashed.

 

As with the original trilogy, there are three main areas of specialisation: Combat (which focuses on your prowess with weapons), Biotics (think along the lines of telekinetic powers), and Tech (which allows you to utilise technology to assist you, and sabotage the enemies’ technology too). You can mix and match skills from each area to suit your play style – and although you choose your character’s training background which dictates your starting abilities, you are not locked into playing any particular class. Rather, you have “Profiles” which you can switch between throughout the game, and even mid-combat. There is a different Profile for each specialisation, as well as their hybrids. Each profile has its own strengths, but you can still unlock abilities outside of your specialisation by spending Skill Points. This allows for some experimentation and flexibility on the battlefield – unless you’re boring like me and stick to the same Profile and loadout for basically the entire game. (My Ryder was a staunch Infiltrator – a tech/combat hybrid – with a penchant for sniper rifles.)

 

Unfortunately, you have limited control over your squadmates. Although you can choose how to spend their Skill Points, the choices are restricted to a mere handful for each squadmate. You can’t choose their weapons or armour, and while in battle, you can only instruct them to take up certain positions on the field, but not which abilities they use. You’ll therefore have to count on your Ryder to execute battle strategies on their own. This didn’t bother me at all, since I prefer to fight solo anyway, and my strategy is simply “spam as many bullets and abilities as often as you can”. But for you tacticians out there, it may be a disappointment that you can’t utilise your team more efficiently.

 

The game has a decent system for crafting and customising your armour and weapons, with augmentations and modifications available as well. Be careful though – for some unfathomable reason, a few of these add-ons actually make your weapons weaker. (I’m looking at you, “Electrical Conduits”. Firing electrical projectiles sounds so cool in theory, but sadly, it is pathetic in practice.) Naturally, I really only used the crafting system to create asari swords, because nothing is more wicked than swords in space.

 

My only real complaint here is the user interface. Can someone please tell me why it is so difficult to tell what I already have equipped? It is also inconvenient that you can only swap out your gear when you loot something new, or on the “loadout” screens – yet not on your regular menu. If we can change Profiles and skill sets on the fly, why not armour, weapon wheel options, and consumables too?

 

Even with these slight issues, battles are an enjoyable experience, especially when the game throws a particularly challenging enemy your way: taking down one of those gargantuan mechanical alien-made worms sure is satisfying.

 

6. The Sounds of Space

 

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I was surprised to hear that Jack Wall and Sam Hulick were not reprising their roles as composers for the newest Mass Effect game. Instead, the mantle was picked up by John Paesano, composer of the Maze Runner movies. He brought a different sound to the game, setting it apart from the original trilogy, while incorporating elements that still manage to establish some continuity: the orchestra-and-synth combination has been carried over for that epic science-fiction vibe.

 

While re-listening to the soundtrack on YouTube, I was scrolling through the comments (a dangerous place, I know) and saw a flood of complaints about Andromeda’s soundtrack being stale, forgettable, and underused. Unfortunately, I have to agree for the most part, but we should recognise that there is a degree of subjectivity to these judgements. As with a lot of modern games, there is a move towards sweeping orchestral scores where instruments blend into each other for an ambient effect, rather than strong melodies. Ambient music is more familiar to us in the context of cinema, and may not appeal to those of us who prefer the catchy, hummable tunes gifted to us by games like The Legend of Zelda and Final Fantasy franchises. I prefer video game tracks which I can listen to on repeat outside of the game itself. But that isn’t to say that this is the only worthwhile type of music. Some may prefer music to be less “in your face”, relegated to the background to complement the experience without distracting you from the task at hand. If you have this preference, you probably won’t have a problem with Mass Effect’s score. If you’re like me, however, you might wish that the music wouldn’t slip so far into the background that it sometimes fails to be noticed.

 

I wouldn’t call myself a music expert, but I’ll give my two cents anyway because, hey, what else are reviews for? In my opinion, the battle music has oomph, but greater variation and less repetition might make it even stronger. More synthetic sounds could be woven into the orchestral, to really make the music pop. A focus on developing the melodies and motifs would make for more iconic tunes so that gamers within earshot would immediately sit up and go, “Yep, that’s Mass Effect!” To some extent, the song “Heleus” has this recognisability, and the main theme of Andromeda, “A Better Beginning” – the first song you hear – builds a sense of mystique and grandiosity to set the scene. But even they just don’t have the same uniqueness and melodic impact as the main theme of the original Mass Effect. That section at the 1-minute mark of the song is so thoroughly “Mass Effect” that you could never mistakenly associate it with another game series.

 

Most importantly, I want the music to make me feel something. Make me hold my breath in suspense like “Suicide Mission” did in Mass Effect 2. Punch me in the heart like “I Was Lost Without You”. Make me bawl my eyes out as I did when I heard “Leaving Earth” and “An End, Once and For All”. Andromeda’s “A Trail of Hope” does hit the affective notes wonderfully – uplifting and soaring, with a twin sense of wondrous hope and impending danger. The game would have burst with a lot more emotional colour if the soundtrack had contained more songs like it. But with some optimism, we can hope that any sequel games will bring raised stakes to the story, and more emotive tracks to match.

 

7. My Face is Tired

 

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When talking about Mass Effect: Andromeda, there’s no ignoring the elcor in the room. If you were following gaming news after Andromeda was released, you may have heard of “Facegate”, the term slapped onto Andromeda’s facial animation fiasco. I only started playing the game after multiple patches had been released to help fix the mess, so I missed the worst of it – but some of the issues persisted even in the updated version of Andromeda.

 

The poor quality of animation manifested itself in both entertaining and immersion-breaking ways. For example, Ryder would bear an almost creepy smile while delivering what should be devastating news. I’ve seen other players’ Ryders plagued with bulging eyes, making them look permanently stunned – but one advantage of having a Ryder with Asian eyes was that I didn’t have to suffer through that same ordeal. However, my character did keep threatening to do an Exorcist-style 180-degree headspin, even during the most serious conversations. And who could forget Foster Addison, the character who became the icon of Facegate-related memes, with her disturbingly wooden expression and hilariously fitting line of dialogue, “My face is tired”? (What does that even mean? Can someone enlighten me? Anybody?!) In terms of the widespread reactions from fans, memes sat on the relatively harmless end of the spectrum, but on the other and more worrying end of the spectrum, some fans targeted Andromeda’s animators in despicable acts of harassment.

 

Jonathan Cooper, an animator for the game developer Naughty Dog who had worked on the original Mass Effect trilogy, jumped to the animators’ defence by explaining what may have gone wrong. In essence, he pointed out that a game like Andromeda, with so many diverging dialogue branches, is very different from a game with set dialogue and cutscenes. If there is only one possible piece of dialogue and reaction for every instance, the facial and body animations can be tailored to suit every beat. But in Andromeda, the sheer variety of possible character responses made things much more complicated, and demanded a different method. Cooper surmised that the game probably ended up relying too heavily on rough algorithms due to time constraints.

 

It seems that rushed production was one of the biggest tethers that held Andromeda back, resulting not only in subpar animations, but also a myriad of glitches. Characters would spawn clones; enemies hovered and T-posed in the middle of a battle (very considerate of them, since it made them easier targets for me), and my squadmates seemed to gain ghostly powers at random and walk through solid walls. There were a few bugs I didn’t encounter but wish I did, like Ryder scuttling around on bent legs like a crab, Sloane Kelly showing off her bizarre contortionist skills, and non-playable characters blasting off into the sky while you’re trying to have a conversation with them (quite rude, if you ask me).

 

For the most part, the glitches didn’t bother me – after all, glitches can be beautiful things, as Bethesda games have shown us. However, there were some glitches in Andromeda that detracted from the experience. Some were nuisances – such as the time I got stuck in a plant and had to reload my game. (Plant = 1, Jump-Jets = 0.) More damagingly, some glitches deflated the emotional impact of certain scenes. In a flashback of Ryder’s family, my Ryder’s twin was completely missing from the cutscene. Every time it was his turn to deliver a line, the camera swivelled to a blank space and played silence; and as Ryder walked out of the room, she put her arm around thin air where her twin should have been. What was intended as a sad and somber moment devolved into unintentional comedy.

 

Even so, I believe that the backlash from fans was blown out of proportion. Yes, the animation issues and bugs were disappointing, and should not have been as numerous and frequent as they were. But I believe that the issues around the writing and the characters were the true problematic heart of the game – not the animations or glitches. The latter problems could presumably be curbed in the future with more care taken to refining the details, more rigorous quality assurance, and less impatience to usher a game to release. I’m sure that most of the gaming community would agree that a high-quality game is worth the wait.

 

8. One Small Step

 

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Although patches were made to fix the main offenders in the game, the development team announced that they would not be releasing any single-player story DLC. This was a missed opportunity to capitalise on some of the hanging strands left at the conclusion of Andromeda – in particular, the hint of finding the Quarian ark. In the same announcement, it was promised that comics and novels would fill in the story gaps instead. I still believe that it would have been more rewarding and suitable as playable content. Furthermore, the future of Mass Effect: Andromeda seemed uncertain, with fans fearing that any plans for a sequel would be dropped, or indefinitely delayed, following the negative response to Andromeda. The shakiness of the sequel’s future, along with the cancellation of DLCs, exacerbated the feeling that fans were being let down. It almost seemed like the team had accepted defeat and was giving up on the franchise, inciting even more backlash from the fan base.

 

But hope rose anew on November 7th 2018, N7 Day, when BioWare released a video to mark the occasion. It announced a patch for the XBox One X which enhances Andromeda’s graphics – a reassuring sign that BioWare hasn’t forgotten about the franchise and is making strides to improve it. But the focus of the video was a question: “What does N7 mean to you?”. The video features different responses from different people, but fans’ ears would have pricked up at the final response, given by the General Manager of BioWare, Casey Hudson, who drops the teasing line, “It means coming into the studio every day, dreaming about what the next great Mass Effect game will be”. We can only guess that this is a sly hint at a sequel for Andromeda. It may be a while before we get any confirmation, especially as BioWare is currently concentrating on its latest ambitious project, Anthem – but we can expect that there is at least a whisper of a plan for something in the pipeline.

 

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Mass Effect: Andromeda may have been far from perfect – and yet it was still a decent and enjoyable game. It had its strengths, such as the fast-flowing combat and beautiful sceneries, as well as a gripping premise and vision behind it. There is courage in trying something different, and we should still applaud the risk taken in attempting something bigger and better. Such potential lies in the series to improve and mature as the original trilogy did – the developers have planted the seeds of many interesting story concepts to be explored, and intriguing questions begging to be answered. I’m personally hoping for new characters to add more pizzazz to the cast, and more species and mysteries to set this galaxy apart from the Milky Way we left behind.

 

If the development team takes on-board the constructive criticism it has received – and if they return to the franchise with renewed resolve, belief, and life – then a sequel could shoot to new heights and take its place among the stars that Andromeda had hoped to reach.

Doki Doki Literature Club!: A Postmodern Horror … Dating Sim?

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This game is best experienced spoiler-free. Since this is a review, there will inevitably be spoilers, though I’ll try to avoid too many specifics – that is, until section 8 of this post, where I dive into much deeper detail. If you don’t want anything ruined for you, play the game before reading on. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then please proceed …

 

PLATFORMS

Microsoft Windows, macOS, Linux

 

IN A NUTSHELL

Poetry and pretty anime girls have never been so disturbing.

 

CONTENT WARNINGS

Doki Doki Literature Club! has some very disturbing content. Please heed the following message from the game: “Individuals suffering from anxiety or depression may not have a safe experience playing this game. For content warnings, please visit: http://ddlc.moe/warning.html

 

Game Review/Analysis

 

CONTENTS

Intro

1. Love Me | Dating Sim

2. Save Me | Horror

3. Load Me | Postmodernism

4. The Cute and the Not-So-Cute | Art & Graphics

5. Warping Melodies | Music & Sound

6. Write Your Way | Poetry

7. Inside My Head | Themes

8. Portrait of Markov | A Certain Theory …

Conclusion

 

Bet you never thought you’d see the words “postmodern”, “horror”, and “dating sim” strung together – especially not in reference to the picture above. Absurd as it seems, Doki Doki Literature Club! is all that and more. For those of you who haven’t played or heard about it, you might look at the game’s screenshots and trailer and wonder why you should take this game seriously. Isn’t it just anime-style visual novel dating sim fluff? You might also be thoroughly confused about its 10/10 rating on Steam and about how it won the 2017 IGN People’s Choice awards for “Best PC Game”, “Best Story”, “Most Innovative”, and even “Best Adventure Game” (I’m still pretty stumped on that last one, to be honest). There’s evidently more to it than meets the eye. As we hear in the game itself, “don’t judge a book by its cover”.

 

This game fascinated me. I previously talked about games venturing into the Land of the Experimental and Strange, and Team Salvato may just have built its throne there with Doki Doki Literature Club!. Let me tell you why.

 

1. Love Me

 

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The game’s first half pans out like your typical Japanese visual novel/dating sim. You’re an average guy, coasting through your average high school life. Your close friend and neighbour, Sayori, drags you into joining the after-school Literature Club, where you meet other potential love interests. Each exhibit stereotypical anime girl traits: Sayori is sweet and sunny; Natsuki is the cute one with a spunky attitude and is clearly a “tsundere” (i – it’s not like she likes you or anything!); Yuri is shy, bookish, and mysterious; and Monika is the club president and perfect all-rounder. As time passes, you learn more about the girls, win them over (or drive them away) with your poetry, and help the club prepare for the upcoming school festival. All seems well – for now.

 

If it carried on as a dating sim all the way through, it would probably earn a solid 7/10 from me. The poetry mechanic is an innovative and fitting element of gameplay – after each club meeting, you go home and compose a poem by selecting a bunch of words, each of which correspond to a particular club member. Your choices dictate who you spend time with during the next club meeting, and who will be most impressed by your poem. To get the desired result, you must pay attention to each girl’s preferences. The only disappointment is that you don’t actually get to read the finished products. (I’d be really curious to read a poem that combined the words “heavensent”, massacre”, and “boop”.)

 

The characters, despite their initial flatness, are likeable and gradually show more depth. It’s enjoyable to watch their personalities and quirks emerge as scenes unfold.

 

The scenes themselves are hit and miss. Some are humourous or touching and spark interest (with a healthy dose of foreshadowing), while others feel like inconsequential filler that leaves you wanting to speed-click through the dialogue to get to the “interesting part”.

 

But when that “interesting part” finally hits, you might just start wishing you could go back to the cutesy fluff.

 

2. Save Me

 

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Once you reach that turning point, the frothy façade fizzles away, and things turn real strange, real fast. I went into Doki Doki Literature Club! knowing it was a horror game, but the exact route it took surprised me.

 

Sure, there are jump scares, and some of them are what you’d expect from a horror game – the type of nightmare fuel that your brain will thoughtfully recall just as you’re trying to fall asleep. But others are more unusual, more unnerving. They give a sense of wrongness that may not make you scream in terror, but will make your skin crawl. This game’s brand of horror is at once more cunning and creepier than what you’d expect. It’s scary creative.

 

Although “dating sim” and “horror game” seem to be polar opposites, the first and second halves of the game are not disjointed – a thread binds them together, fostering coherence between the two. And that thread is the running theme of “love”. It first manifests as something playful and naïve, only to be twisted grotesquely in the second half of the game. The horror of Doki Doki Literature Club! revolves around love in it most demented and destructive form. The game’s take on a usually pleasant subject, along with its deformation of the dating sim format, are master strokes – blindsiding players and making us rethink what we define as “horror”.

 

3. Load Me

 

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I’m not going to get too theoretical here, but I am going to use “postmodernism” as an umbrella term to discuss some of the weird and wonderful techniques that Doki Doki Literature Club! uses to disarm (and alarm) us.

 

Most conspicuous of all is its insistent self-awareness. The Stanley Parable punched through the fourth wall, Undertale shattered it to pieces, and now Doki Doki Literature Club! has crept right through the hole in the wall and caused chaos. Not only does the game refer to itself as a game (which can be disconcerting in itself); it pushes things further. Just as the postmodern novels might play with their medium by messing around with formatting and colour, so does Doki Doki Literature Club! exploit to an extreme the fact that it is a computer game. If you keep an eye on your game folder while playing, you’ll notice suspicious files appearing, disappearing, and altering. The game is making changes to your computer itself, in accordance with your progression through the story.

 

As a horror device, it’s incredibly effective. Most works of horror amplify your paranoia by trying to flicker the barrier between themselves and your reality. Many horror stories choose ordinary, everyday settings to give the sense that the terrors they describe could invade your own ordinary, everyday life. Horror games in virtual reality are so much more petrifying because they are no longer contained on a screen; they seem to surround you and fill your senses. Similarly, with Doki Doki Literature Club!, things do not stay where they should. They creep in and out of your game folder as they please, sometimes leaving a freaky message or image for you to find. The game addresses you – not the character you play as, but you the player – and it chillingly cites information you didn’t even know it had. The horrors of the game invade your digital reality.

 

More than that, the game’s toying with the medium wrests control from the player. Many horror games hinder your control over situations to make you feel more helpless (and hence more scared). They might deny you weapons for self-defence, limit the amount of available light, or restrict your movement, as we see in games like Five Nights at Freddy’s and Neverending Nightmares. Doki Doki Literature Club! has a more startling way of hindering your control – it breaks itself. Your choices cease to matter. You can’t rely on the safety net of a previous save because saving and loading don’t work as they should anymore. You are no longer in control of the game; it controls you.

 

There is another postmodern feature in this game – perhaps the one used most brilliantly – and that is “intertextuality”: the presence of other works (or “texts”) within the game. This has to do with some of those freaky messages we find in our game folder and elsewhere, but more on that later …

 

4. The Cute and the Not-So-Cute

 

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At first, the art style seems quite standard for a Japanese visual novel – pretty, bright, and polished. Its characters are decked out in the usual trappings of an anime school girl: cute uniforms, violet or bubblegum pink hair, unnecessary accessories (yes, I’m talking about that useless ribbon-clip in Natsuki’s fringe) – but as a fan of anime and manga (and useless accessories), I can’t fault the art or character design. The backgrounds, too, are nicely rendered, with lighting that enhances the atmosphere. Doki Doki Literature Club! is a good-looking game …

 

… Until it starts collapsing in on itself. The graphics crack into glitchy, haunted versions of themselves – and very observant players may at times notice something odd about the backgrounds. For those of you who haven’t seen these parts of the game yet, I’ll let you discover them for yourself. Let’s just say they grab your attention. It’s amazing how a few modifications can turn the girls of your dreams into the girls of your nightmares.

 

5. Warping Melodies

 

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As with the art and graphics, the music starts off as innocently as can be, lulling unsuspecting souls into a false sense of security. It’s boppy and cheery and ridiculously catchy – seriously, I’ve had these songs stuck in my head for days now. As a deft extra touch, the music also reinforces the personalities of the girls. Each time a girl’s poem is shown on the screen, the main melody is inflected with a different sound: breezy for Sayori, playful for Natsuki, elegant for Yuri, and solo piano for Monika. What’s more impressive is that Dan Salvato, the founder of Team Salvato, not only conceptualised, designed, programmed, and wrote Doki Doki Literature Club!, but composed these tunes too. (Talk about multi-talented!)

 

Once the horror kicks in, however, the cheery tunes become distorted and hollow. Like creepy lullabies, they intensify the feeling of “wrongness” seeping through the rest of the game. Sometimes the music is punctured by manic giggling, or gives way completely to the sound of a heartbeat (and not in a way that the “dating sim” disguise would lead us to expect). The degenerating music and sound effects in the game definitely succeed in making us players squirm.

 

6. Write Your Way

 

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Despite all the madness, the game reminds us that we’re still in a literature club. There’s actually some useful writing advice and discussion that may be valuable to all you writers out there. But I want to pause briefly on the game’s poems in particular.

 

Each club meeting ends with poem-sharing time, where you get to read each of the girls’ poems. This is a fairly normal affair during the first half of the game. As poetry can be used to express what is hidden beneath the surface, the poems are clever inclusions that add depth to the characters, giving further insight into the girls’ minds – and more specifically, the darker facets of their personalities that will later evolve to full form. The poems play a crucial part in foreshadowing.

 

Of course, the poems later become … less conventional, shall we say? I didn’t think I could be spooked by poetry, of all things, but this game manages to do a lot of things I could never have foreseen. Just make sure that you pay close attention – there may be secrets hiding between those lines.

 

7. Inside My Head

 

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In case you couldn’t guess from all the content warnings, Doki Doki Literature Club! is no light-hearted romp. Without spoiling too much, there are serious themes that deserve some consideration in this review. Other pieces of media have come under fire for handling such issues inappropriately, by treating them disrespectfully or glamourising them in some instances. There is a tricky balance to strike between raising awareness and harm or exploitation.

 

Horror stories frequently take dark themes as their subject matters, such as murder and torture, and these are usually used as elements of the genre to frighten and disturb. Doki Doki Literature Club!’s portrayal of its darker themes – most prominently those pertaining to mental health – does at times shock the player and contribute significantly to the “horror” of the work; but it balances this with surprising sensitivity for a horror game. Its portrayal of its characters encourage sympathy and understanding, not only fear. If you’re patient enough to hear the game out, it has some pretty poignant messages about being more attentive, more caring, and kinder to others – and to yourself as well.

 

8. Portrait of Markov

 

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If you haven’t played the game yet, this is a good time to turn back or skip to the conclusion because this whole section is MASSIVE SPOILER TERRITORY. So spoiler-y, in fact, that I’ve chucked it onto a separate page. If you’re absolutely sure you want to read on, then click here for the 8th bit of this post, where we move on to a certain game theory …

 

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And there you have it: possibly the weirdest game I’ve played to date. Thank you, Team Salvato, for the weirdness. Thank you for blowing my mind. Un-thank you for the nightmares. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.

The Last Guardian: A Legend in Hushed Tones

 

PLATFORMS

PS4

 

IN A NUTSHELL

Tricksy puzzles encircle a subtle but touching tale of friendship between boy and beast.

 

Game Review

 

CONTENTS

Intro

1. Be Among the Chosen Ones | Story

2. A Ghibli-esque Dream | Experience

3. Beast Friends Forever | Characters

4. Every Room a Riddle | Puzzles

5. Climbing Chains and Cursing Cameras | Gameplay

6. Beauty of the Beast | Art Style

7. Music for a Myth | Sound & Music

8. Though We Are Far Apart | Themes

Conclusion

 

Now, I live under a rock most of the time, but even from my rock-dwelling I caught wind of the hype around this game’s release. Long-awaited! Highly anticipated! The latest work of art from Fumito Ueda! It had high expectations to live up to, being the spiritual successor of Ico and Shadow of the Colossus – two critically acclaimed games which director Guillermo Del Toro once deemed the only video games that were also “masterpieces”. I expect that many waited with bated breath to see if The Last Guardian would reach the same lofty heights, or if it would fall meekly under the shadow of its colossal predecessors.

 

Never having actually played those predecessors, I approached this latest game fairly blindly. I’d only heard enough about the earlier games to anticipate that The Last Guardian would be good. When I did eventually play it, I was taken by its unique storytelling and puzzles – but what stood out to me most of all was its mood. It isn’t particularly flashy or action-packed, but it patiently builds, layer by layer, a sense of quiet wonder. While my limited knowledge of Ico and Shadow of the Colossus means that I can’t draw many comparisons, I can say that The Last Guardian does a fine job standing on its own.

 

1. Be Among the Chosen Ones

 

 

You are a young village boy who finds himself in an unfamiliar cave. Upon awakening, you realise you are covered in tattoos of mysterious origin. Beside you is a giant creature you’d been taught by your elders to fear – Trico, the man-eating beast. The creature is injured and in chains. After you tend to its wounds and free it, you begin your search for a way home by exploring the surrounding towers, accompanied by your new furry, feathered friend.

 

It’s a simple but intriguing premise, and the storytelling follows the principle of “less is more”. Cutscenes of significance are carefully placed to great emotional effect, though they are used sparingly. I almost wish there were more, but then again, I’m the type of person who doesn’t mind frequent and dramatic 30-minute-long cutscenes (which would probably have spoiled the refined style of the piece.)

 

Explanations of any kind are rare, and questions remain unresolved even by the end of the game. How did Trico come to live here, amidst architecture that seems to be made for humans? What are those ghostly suits of armour, and why are they trying to carry you away through strange blue doors? What is the bright light that lies beyond those doors? Also, who does “The Last Guardian” even refer to – Trico, the boy, or someone else entirely? The game abounds in these and other secrets. Although there are numerous theories fluttering out there, devised by ever-analytical members of the gaming community, we can never know for sure.

 

2. A Ghibli-esque Dream

 

 

The denial of certainty might frustrate some of us curious souls who just want a concrete answer. But maybe we don’t need one.

 

In many ways, The Last Guardian reminds me of a Studio Ghibli film: in its mood, in its imaginative surreal quality, in the purity of friendship between its lead characters, and also in its darker touches. And like Studio Ghibli films, the game prioritises an almost subconscious vision, perspective, and emotion over logic – including the logic of explaining and connecting all the dots. As Hayao Miyazaki has said: “There are more profound things than simply logic that guide the creation of the story.”

 

The world of The Last Guardian seems to be the realisation of such a vision unrestrained by logic: mystical and symbolic. Because we see most of the game through the boy’s perspective, we only understand what he understands, and so we can only assemble a skeleton of the full story. The world retains its magic of the unknown for us, as it does for the boy.

 

Its emotional core is expressed in a distinctive way. As I had just emerged from the heartrending inferno of NieR: Automata before beginning The Last Guardian, it became obvious to me that the two games projected different sides of a spectrum. If NieR: Automata’s emotional tone is fire, then The Last Guardian’s is water – a calm and steady pull. There is unforced empathy and affection as the boy’s (and the player’s) bond strengthens with Trico. Even when the game takes its most confronting turns, it resists melodrama – though you will feel a pang whenever Trico is hurt, or unease when certain revelations are made.

 

Another Ghibli-esque trait of The Last Guardian is its relishing of quiet moments where “nothing really happens”, yet best reveal the heart of the work. In a Ghibli film, it may be a scene where a character is gazing into the distance, deep in thought. In videos games, we are more accustomed to near-constant action – gunning, blasting, or slicing your way through enemies. But The Last Guardian takes a different approach. Most of your time will be spent wandering through the ruins, contemplating your surroundings to find the puzzle solutions, and observing Trico as it interacts inquisitively with its environment. The game teaches you to appreciate the small details.

 

This is why I was surprised to hear it described as an “action-adventure” game. It certainly has both action and adventure – including exciting battles and daring escapades – but these (at least to me) aren’t the focal points. It could be said that The Last Guardian offers not so much a fully realised story or even a game, but an experience: the experience of a friendship blossoming throughout a dream-like journey.

 

3. Beast Friends Forever

 

 

Out of the two main characters, Trico is the one who has stolen hearts across the fanbase. Initially, it cuts an intimidating figure, watching your every move and snapping at your approach, until you are careful to keep your distance. After you prove yourself to be an ally, however, it transforms into the most loyal and lovable cat-dog-bird you could ask for. Its personality shines through in its actions and its expressive eyes, which change colour according to its mood.

 

Trico isn’t one of your typical AI party members who trails after you robotically, eyes glazed over – oh no. This companion is startlingly lifelike, exploring the territory like a real animal, sniffing the air, pawing at curious objects, and sometimes adorably sticking its head through too-small openings to see what you’re up to.

 

I regret that during my playthrough, I was overly preoccupied and impatient with the puzzle-solving aspect of the game, and failed to notice Trico in its most endearing moments. For example, it was only after watching another’s playthrough that I found out that upon finding a pool of shallow water, Trico proceeds to roll and splash in it like a playful puppy. Moments like this are what make Trico, and the game as a whole, truly special.

 

Although many consider Trico to be the star of the show, the boy’s character should not be overlooked. In an interesting move by the game’s creators, his character is split between the young boy who we see onscreen, and his older, wiser self who provides the voiceover narration. Not much is shown regarding the boy’s identity – we never even find out his name – but there are hints that despite his humble background, he is in some way unique: a “chosen one”. From the beginning, where we see his persistence in nursing a seemingly terrifying beast, we also learn that he possesses unusual compassion, resourcefulness, and fearlessness. And even though he speaks in a fictional language that often goes untranslated, his voice acting conveys his innocence and gentle sympathy. We can’t help but care about his character.

 

Trico and the boy are bestowed with further individuality through their beautifully distinct animations. The boy moves with the clumsiness of the child he is – he falls, he fumbles, and he is precisely imprecise in his movements. Trico, on the other hand, is reminiscent of a lion – powerful and sleek. You soon come to recognise its rhythms, such as the waggling of ears and snaking of the neck before it makes a leaping bound.

 

Independently, they’re strong characters, but together, they make up the memorable duo that defines this game. Their interactions are the reason that the experience is so moving. The pairing plays off the charming dynamic of giant-beast-tiny-human, and it will make you want a giant beast companion of your own.

 

4. Every Room a Riddle

 

 

To progress through the game, you’ll have to solve a series of environmental puzzles, figuring out how to use the things around you to move from one area to another. Each stage brings new obstacles and challenges to keep things fresh. The Last Guardian is markedly different from puzzle games like Portal, where the puzzles are also stimulating, but more “in your face”. Here, they are cleverly disguised in your surroundings, giving them a more “natural” feel. They test your patience and powers of observation.

 

Being a dismally unobservant person, I struggled more than once. The puzzles can be devious, especially when you’re not yet sure of the rules that govern interaction with objects. Is it possible to climb this? Is there a way to move that over here? My biggest mistake was to simply assume that I couldn’t interact with things the way I wanted to – so don’t fall into the same trap. The answer may come to you through experimentation or even by pure accident. As you gradually learn the rules of interaction, solutions will begin to jump out at you more quickly. If you really get stuck, the narrator will helpfully nudge you in the right direction. Also, be sure to pay attention to Trico – it may just be the key.

 

5. Climbing Chains and Cursing Cameras

 

 

As appropriate to his character, the boy’s abilities are restricted (so no double jumping, I’m afraid). You’ll be relying on Trico to reach places that the boy can’t reach on his own. That being said, for all his flailing and fumbling, the boy proves himself to be an astounding stuntman at times, confidently tightrope-walking hundreds of feet in the air and dangling precariously from ledges with an iron grip. (It’s especially amusing to see him hang on, one-handed, to a single tuft of fur on Trico’s back leg while Trico goes leaping from pillar to pillar over a yawning chasm.)

 

While combat is a staple of most action-adventure games, The Last Guardian inverts expectations. You aren’t the hero who swoops in to save the damsel in distress – you are the equivalent of the damsel. The worst damage you can do on your own is a two-handed shove that makes your enemy stumble for a second. Your path to triumph usually amounts to calling out, “Save me, Trico!” and finding a way to let in your much larger, stronger friend to finish the job. (At particular times in the game, you can also guide Trico to use its special attack, which I’ll leave as a surprise to discover for yourself). Although you aren’t the one charging into battle, victory still feels pretty satisfying.

 

Trico will be rather distressed after a fight, but you can stroke it to comfort it and soothe its wounds. You can also make it happy by feeding it barrels which are littered throughout the areas. The barrels can be difficult to find and transport, but seeing Trico’s eyes light up at the sight of them makes it all worthwhile. These features add a nice touch to the game, making us participants – and not only witnesses – to the growing bond between boy and beast.

 

For every bit of fun in the game, there is unfortunately also frustration. I’m not the first person to complain that the controls aren’t always fantastic. The boy might overreact to your slight sway of the joystick and launch himself into the abyss – or sometimes his grip is a little too strong and he’ll cling to Trico for dear life despite your desperate attempts to make him jump off. The awkward controls could be a result of the game’s long development cycle (almost ten years!) and the consequential struggle of continuously updating mechanics according to the changing times.

 

Another source of frustration is the command system for Trico. Further into the game, you’ll be informed that your bond with Trico has deepened enough for you to issue commands to it. The developers wished to strike a balance between making the game playable and giving Trico realism (and so not having him obey your every order). At times, it seems that they favoured the latter too much. Trico often ignored my commands, or got easily confused. There was nothing more exasperating than pointing in one direction, only to see Trico happily hop away in the very opposite direction. (That being said, I’ve heard a theory that your displays of affection towards Trico may impact on his willingness to listen – so maybe it’s my fault for not giving it even more treats and pats!)

 

Along the way, you’ll encounter hostiles who’ll try to kidnap you or harm Trico, but the worst antagonist of all in the game might be the camera – that thing really wants you to fail. Try repositioning it to secure a more comfortable view, and you’ll be rewarded with the camera flipping backwards without warning to show you a zoomed-in feather, or even less helpfully, a totally black screen.

 

The erratic controls and camera break immersion at times, but thankfully they aren’t enough to ruin the experience. The game’s charms make up for its flaws.

 

6. Beauty of the Beast

 

 

The unique art style of The Last Guardian is characterised by its muted beauty. While not showy or always brilliantly coloured, the landscapes of ruins and misty mountainsides have a sombre majesty, and the building interiors seethe with the same mysterious air that permeates the story.

 

The boy is stylistically shaded, giving him a “flat” cutout look, as if he’s just walked out from an illustrated book. Trico, with its detailed feathers and fur, has more visual depth. The incongruence reflects the meeting of two worlds: the simplicity of the boy’s village life, and the legend that introduces him to a new fantastical reality.

 

The graphics may not take your breath away, and surfaces aren’t always perfectly textured, but one thing that can’t be faulted is the lighting. The contrast between light and shadow is used to stunning effect, comprising part of the magic in this game’s world. Peer out from gloomy tower rooms to bathe in the heavenly daylight; radiance gleams off the grasses, the boy’s clothes, and Trico’s feathers, infusing the game’s environment and characters with divine auras of their own.

 

If I had a Virtual Reality system, I’d play the VR demo in a heartbeat – I can only imagine how incredible it would be to drop yourself into those surroundings and behold Trico standing over you in its full glory.

 

7. Music for a Myth

 

 

In keeping with the game’s minimalist style, the sound and music are understated. The focus is on ambience. Many scenes are steeped in near-silence, punctured only by the serene sounds of nature. Music is rarely placed in the forefront, but plays a more modest role, building atmosphere from the background. “Sentinel I” and “Finale I Apex” are brilliant examples of this in the ways they heighten suspense. The most conspicuous use of music occurs in the game’s opening – as the title appears onscreen, a few soft, clear notes play, gradually swelling with choir voices and the sound of other instruments, enigmatic and rich, to set the scene perfectly.

 

However, there is a downside to the tracks being so matched to their contexts: they aren’t as enjoyable to listen to on their own. What’s missing is a standout melody or two that dazzles even outside of the game, like “Sunlit Earth” and “Swift Horse” from Shadow of the Colossus. But I’m making this comment from the perspective of someone who regularly listens to video game music by itself – and so it is not a critique of the music’s implementation within the game itself. In all fairness, composer Takeshi Furukawa did say that he “wasn’t consciously aiming for the music to independently exist outside of the game”. The soundtrack of The Last Guardian is still, in any case, far from mediocre.

 

8. Though We Are Far Apart

 

 

The Last Guardian leaves a lot open to interpretation, but a few important themes can be sifted from its many mysteries. Despite the disparities between our world and the mythical world of the game, we can apply some of its lessons to our own reality.

 

Friendship is clearly a central element of the story. Although the boy has been taught to fear Trico, and both boy and beast are wary at first, they learn to accept, help, and care for each other. And even though they do not share a common language, they develop a bond which allows them to communicate beyond words. There are valuable messages here about giving others a chance, looking past first impressions and what you’ve been told, and making an effort to understand that which is different from you.

 

There are hints of an environmental message as well: the bond between the boy and the beast can be read to symbolise the potential relationship between humankind and nature. Forceful control and subjugation of beasts in the game is shown to incite fear and violence – a warning against trying to assert our dominance over the natural world. Meanwhile, the boy and Trico embody the true partnership and harmony with nature we should strive for.

 

These messages are never overtly stated, but they are implicit in the flow of the story and in the feelings that it imparts to its players.

 

 

As a newcomer to Ueda’s work, I was surprised by – but came to appreciate – the nuanced story and unique pulse of this game. The Last Guardian may not be perfect, and whether or not it lives up to the hype is a contentious issue. Regardless of all that, it skilfully manages to provide both respite and adventure in a land that captures the imagination, in its own humble way. Not an epic thunderously recounted with fanfare, but a legend told in hushed tones, with secrets whispered beyond the edge of hearing.

NieR: Automata – A Wondrous Ghost in the Machine

 

PLATFORMS

PS4, PC

 

IN A NUTSHELL

Play this game if you enjoy shooting, slashing, having existential crises, and getting your heart ripped out.

 

Game Review/Analysis

 

CONTENTS

Intro

1. More Than Just a Tale about Killer Robots | Story & Structure

2. Changing Form | Modes of Storytelling

3. The Minds That Emerged | Characters

4. Android Aesthetic | Character Design

5. A War-Weary Wonderland | World

6. Destruction is My Job | Combat

7. Songs from the Ether | Music

8. 2B or not 2B? | Philosophy

Conclusion

 

Warning: Minor spoilers ahead.

 

More and more, we see video games that strike out into the Land of the Experimental and Strange, stretching the medium beyond what we thought it could be. NieR: Automata boldly charges into this territory, and what it achieves there is spectacular.

 

This is primarily a game review, but it’s also something I had to write: a way to wrap my head around the experience that still holds me spellbound, even now, weeks after completing the game. So prepare for digressions, speculations, outpourings, and ramblings (as the title of my blog warns) because that’s just what NieR: Automata inspires, gripping the heart as well as the mind. In a market where games are so often over-hyped, NieR: Automata actually delivers more than it promised.

 

1. More Than Just a Tale about Killer Robots

 

 

Let’s open with the game’s story:

The year is 11,945 AD. Thousands of years earlier, aliens had invaded Earth and taken over using machine lifeforms, forcing the surviving humans to evacuate to the moon. This led to the formation of an android army, YoRHa, who are tasked with defeating the machines and aliens, ultimately to reclaim the planet for humanity. You begin the game as 2B, a YoRHa combat model sent down to Earth for just this purpose, and you are soon joined by fellow YoRHa member and Scanner, 9S.

 

My first impression? Typical action RPG – interesting take on the sci-fi genre, but probably going to be pretty conventional and predictable. (Yeah, you might’ve guessed I’m new to Yoko Taro’s work.) Gradually, the game chipped away at that impression until it shattered completely.

 

Before going on, I need to share an important piece of advice: when you think you’ve reached the ending and the credits start to roll, DON’T STOP PLAYING. If you do, you’ll be missing out on being emotionally scarred for life two whole thirds of the game. In fact, you can’t say that you’ve finished the game until you’ve seen all five main endings. That’s right – that first ending is just the completion of Route A. You still have a long way to go.

 

Route B follows the same timeline as Route A, but from 9S’s perspective rather than 2B’s. It brings in different story elements, new side quests, and an alternative mode of combat to switch things up. Many of the main quests will remain largely the same, and you might find the repetition tedious – but this route is not redundant by any means. It introduces further layers to the plot, and I for one bolted upright in excitement every time a fresh scene was introduced, each with its own startling revelations. And you don’t need to worry about starting again from scratch – all your EXP, weapons, items, and money are handily carried over from Route A. The game also remembers which side quests you’ve already completed, while allowing you to go back to side quests you missed in the previous route.

 

Crucially, the combination of Routes A and B strengthens our connection to both the characters of 2B and 9S. This sets the pendulum of the narrative in just the right place, giving it the momentum it needs to swing forth and deliver the crushing impact of the third and final route.

 

Route C: where the game ascends from good to great. This is an entirely new chapter following on from endings A and B, and it brings another character to the forefront: the enigmatic A2. Most importantly, this is the route that grabs you by the throat and hurls you off a cliff – and just when you think you’re done falling, the ground splits open beneath you and the sky starts spitting fire and the game is stabbing you fifty times in the heart oh my GOD.

 

The fun just never ends. (And even after all that trauma, you wouldn’t regret a second of it.)

 

Still, NieR: Automata isn’t all gloom and doom. There are funny exchanges, cute characterisations, heart-warming moments, and plenty of quirks. Some of these quirks lie in the 21 “joke” endings (yes, that does mean there are 26 endings in total). You can get a good chuckle out of them – I know I did when reaching that one ending where I died eating a fish (#PoorLifeChoices).

 

The side quests, too, add vibrancy to the overall experience. The tasks themselves aren’t particularly enthralling, as they follow the basic JRPG patterns of fetch quests and other such chores. But they are often rewarding in unanticipated ways. Almost every side quest tells its own little story, with its own twist, flourish, or significance. If you want to deepen your understanding of the characters and their world – or even if you just want to watch a bizarre rendition of Shakespeare that involves robots and explosions – then do the side quests. They are well worth the chores.

 

But don’t fret if you don’t manage to dust them all off. After finishing Route C, you unlock Chapter Select, which lets you go back and “clean up”. It’s a godsend to all of us who overlooked those missable moments because we were blazing through the main quests, too eager to see where the story would take us next.

 

2. Changing Form

 

 

Yoko Taro (the mad genius and director behind NieR: Automata) has said that he “would like to make games that are unexpected, games that keep changing form”. Well, he has certainly accomplished this in NieR: Automata.

 

I’ve already covered how the unconventional narrative structure masterfully weaves together a multi-layered experience. And if you love plot twists like I do, this game does not disappoint.  But let’s turn to the other means by which the game is “unexpected” and “changes form”.

 

Most games do integrate other forms of media – among other things, the video of cutscenes, and the nuggets of lore presented in text format. NieR: Automata takes this a step further, incorporating what it calls “weapon stories”, “novels”, and “picture books”.

 

Every weapon in the game has its own “weapon story”, told in four parts. Upgrading your weapon unlocks another piece of the story. These may only be a few words long, but each story has its own unique charm. A few read like Brothers Grimm fairy tales (these were some of my favourites), while others take the form of logs and radio broadcasts, among other things. They provide a nice incentive to upgrade your weapons, while painting vivid little details into the game world.

 

The “picture books” are brief cutscenes offering glimpses into the machines’ history. Bestowed with stylistic art and evocative voiceovers, they heighten the whimsy of the narration. Despite their brevity and their apparent disjointedness from the rest of the game, I was enchanted by them and what they told of the machines.

 

The “novels” serve yet another purpose. They are the game’s method of handling flashbacks, memories, and moments that occur inside the characters’ heads. We’re probably accustomed to seeing flashbacks in video form (sometimes vignetted with a shimmery quality to imply distance in time) – but these put the audience (or players) on the outside: we view the scenes externally, interpreting the thoughts of characters by what they do and say. The advantage of text (as it is in actual novels) is the window they create into the characters’ internal lives. Unless a video is given continuous voiceovers, or is abstract enough to represent mental states, it generally does not allow for the same delving into the mind. Moreover, text (more than video) can remove some of the immediacy of actions and events, granting the appropriate distance to flashbacks, and emphasising the personal perspective by which a memory or internal struggle is held.

 

The “novels” of NieR: Automata are series of text passages on the screen that, while thankfully not actually being novel-length, may still take a few minutes to read. Sometimes they are accompanied by visuals; at other times they are displayed on a colourless screen. Sometimes they even resemble choose-your-own-adventures, letting you pick a character’s response. Although the advantage of text is its capacity to reach new depths in portraying the internal, the game does not always use “novels” to their full potential. In places, the writing can be stilted and overly focused on surface details. But there are times where the “novel” format truly shines. In the “novel” titled “Memories of a Songstress”, the writing perfectly encapsulates the character’s psychological deterioration through striking internal monologue. It’s a superb demonstration of how multiple modes of storytelling can enrich our experience of a game, its universe, and its inhabitants.

 

The game is also “unexpected” in the ways that it breaks the fourth wall. I was reminded of Undertale at some points, though NieR: Automata does not push this aspect to the extent that Undertale does. Nevertheless, it surprised me with its attention to detail, as when it recorded the screen while I fiddled with some settings, and played this back to me later on. The player is even addressed directly at a certain point in the game, and asked to make a difficult decision that has consequences for other players of the game. (Those who have played the original NieR might know what I’m talking about.) Finally, the game shows its self-awareness through cheeky self-deprecating humour. In letting us leave messages for other players at one stage, it gives us the option to proclaim things like, “Shitty world, shitty game!” – not that I think many players would hold that opinion after seeing NieR: Automata through to the end. (And by “end”, I mean the fifth ending. Let me say it again: don’t stop playing before that!)

 

NieR: Automata’s innovations may not always be executed flawlessly – but when they are, they are flashes of brilliance – provoking, deep, dazzling, hilarious. It’s a call to other game creators not to shy away from being weird, because it’s usually the weird moments that are the most memorable.

 

3. The Minds That Emerged

 

 

NieR: Automata has a compelling story, but a story is nothing without its characters. Fortunately, the game has compelling characters as well.

 

2B is a calmly efficient android whose cool exterior falls away to expose a sentimental core. 9S provides the needed contrast with his happy chatter and expressive, boyish manner. The characters’ personalities balance and complement each other’s. As their interactions and relationship grow in poignancy, we too become attached to them. A2, the third main character, inspired somewhat less of a connection – but I suspect this was only because the game spent too little time on her. This is a shame, since the intrigue and depth of her past offers a lot of potential. (Hopefully a future DLC will explore this and develop her character further – or maybe I just need to play the original NieR game for some hints!)

 

The cast of side characters are a diverse and interesting bunch, from the irreverent Jackass to the sweet-natured Pascal. The game’s creators have a talent for imbuing personality and heart into those we ordinarily wouldn’t perceive as thinking, feeling characters. Even the Pods (floating rectangular robots that assist YoRHa units) earn our affection after a while. Those initially labelled as “enemies” soon begin to grow on you as well, and even the villains do not feel like true villains. They are difficult to hate because the game resists making a simplified black-and-white divide between “good” and “evil”, instead dealing in moral greys. Adam and Eve, who are presented at first as the game’s most obvious antagonists, seem detached from their cruelty, similar to the way predatory animals lie outside the moral sphere because they have no concept of it. Eve, in particular, has a child-like naiveté which sits in unusual juxtaposition to his violent nature. Reprehensible actions are generally not motivated by malice, but rather curiosity, grief, hopelessness, madness, fear. These actions sometimes also come from surprising sources.

 

An honourable mention should go to the voice actors for breathing life into these characters (although I can only comment on the English voice actors, since the English version is the only one I’ve played or can understand). Kyle McCarley, the English voice of 9S, was a standout. His performance was powerful, chilling, and brimming with raw emotion where it needed to be, resulting in the game’s most soul-wrenching scenes. And now I’ll shut up before I give away any more spoilers.

 

4. Android Aesthetic

 

 

Some may complain that the main characters look “too anime”, but in my opinion, looking too anime is never a bad thing. (It’s a JRPG, after all.) The YoRHa androids have slick designs: black uniforms in stark contrast to snow-white hair – but some of the design choices were clearly served up as fan service. Where are your clothes, A2 – did you leave them behind with your old life? Why do 2B’s skirt and 9S’s shorts blast off into oblivion after self-destruction (even though the rest of them remains intact)? And is it really the best idea to do battle with giant tanks in the desert while wearing stiletto heels and an underwear-flaunting Gothic Lolita dress? Then again, I’m a long-time Final Fantasy fan, so I’m used to seeing ridiculously impractical clothing on video game characters. I can forgive the crimes as long as they look cool, and for the most part, the characters of NieR: Automata do.

 

The game also allows casual customisation as you collect wearable items. You can spiff up your characters with giant bows to wear on their heads (9S rocks these the best), full military gear (if you get sick of fighting in the Lolita dress), and even special goggles that actually let you see 2B’s and 9S’s eyes!

 

But why do the YoRHa androids wear blindfolds, anyway? Although it appears to be yet another impractical design choice, this particular accessory is cleverly symbolic, representing the characters’ journeys as they learn to stop blindly following their given paths, and instead “see” truths for themselves. The symbolism is reinforced by the black-and-white palettes of their designs, denoting their black-and-white roles as soldiers for humanity. This explains why the Bunker, YoRHa’s base, is depicted in greyscale, while Earth gets the full-colour treatment. The black-and-white “safe space” is revealed to be an incubator of carefully preserved lies, while the removal of blindfolds might be said to mark the unravelling of those lies and the forsaking of old paths.

 

The attention to detail given to their designs extends to their animations as well. Their movements are embellished with a fluidity that shows off their inhuman athleticism. While in control of the androids, you can run like the wind, somersault in the air and land with a smooth roll on the ground, dismount from the top of a ladder with a graceful flip, and slide back down the side, bypassing the rungs. All of these details – which prioritise dexterity and elegance – make it a thrill to move around the game world.

 

5. A War-Weary Wonderland

 

 

Visually, the game world didn’t blow me away – there’s no Skyrim-level eye candy to be found here. But what it does have is atmosphere, and the game benefits much more from this than it would from pretty graphics alone.

 

As you might expect from a post-apocalyptic Earth, the setting is a sombre one. This is a world marred by endless war and littered with the memories of long-lost civilisations. Shades of brown and grey dominate the landscape, sometimes dulled further by a misty effect. However, we do find relief in the greens of nature, sprawling untamed over the city ruins.

 

Moreover, this is not a flat and empty wilderness: despite the apparent desolation, it is also a wonderland of oddities. The dreary atmosphere is momentarily punctured by fireworks bursting over the machines’ very own Disneyland, by moose peacefully wandering on the grass, and by – wait, where is that loud cheery music coming from?

 

The thing that struck me the most was the scale and layout of the land. NieR: Automata is an open world game, but not typically so. Here you have the dilapidated city, which opens up into the vast desert – then just over here you have the Forest Kingdom, and – what seems like a stone’s throw away – there lies the ocean. Everything is linked and incredibly close together. While it makes no geographical sense, it suits its purpose well. As Skill Up mentions in his own review of NieR: Automata, the world resembles a theatre stage. (This just happens to tie in nicely with certain themes in the game – “all the world’s a stage”!) In addition, the proximity of locations grants the boon of convenience. You can sprint (or ride a moose or boar, if you like) between locations with relative ease; and once you unlock the “Transport” feature on Access Points (i.e. save points camouflaging as vending machines), travelling becomes even more of a breeze.

 

The game does not suffer from its relatively small play space. Its landscape doesn’t remain static, but transforms at various plot points: breaking apart, or raising structures, where more secrets dwell. The world encourages endless exploration, with its nooks and crannies and seemingly unreachable places.  Even the map was designed to be deceptive so that players would have to rely on their own senses and explore the terrain for themselves, rather than relying on visible paths marked out for them. In other words, remove your blindfolds and forge your own way! (Still, the map is extremely useful for completing quests. No need to scour high and low for those requested items or lost characters – the map helpfully highlights their locations in bright red.)

 

As we unearth secrets about this game world, we sense that it spans wider and runs deeper than it appears. Scattered around are shining mementos hinting at the rich history behind NieR: Automata. They hark back to the game’s predecessors, Drakengard and the original NieR. These mementos and clues are especially useful for those of us who haven’t played the previous games before, and are left to piece together the puzzle of this reimagined Earth’s history. What we see is only the end product of millennia of strife and strange happenings. (If you can believe it, there was even a dragon involved at one point! Truly amazing.)

 

In NieR: Automata, there is always more to explore: more secrets to learn, more hidden rooms to stumble upon, and most importantly, more fish to catch. (What? Even android soldiers need some downtime every now and then.)

 

6. Destruction is My Job

 

 

If you like shooting, slashing, and blowing things up, then you’re in for a treat.

 

It’s been mentioned more than once that PlatinumGames know how to make a riveting combat system. From what I’ve heard, fans of Yoko Taro are elated that the director finally gets to have his creative vision and storytelling matched by excellent gameplay.

 

NieR: Automata is a hack and slash game with shooter and bullet hell components. As soon as you begin the game, you are thrown into three successive modes of combat. While in your “flight unit”, your first mode is a basic shooter where you have limited control over your movement and shooting direction. In your second mode, your flight unit rearranges itself into a giant mech, and you gain greater freedom of movement. Your third mode is the one you’ll be using most of the time. No flight unit for this one – you’ll be on the ground, brandishing a weapon or two to bash up machines while your Pod shoots at them relentlessly. And when the machines to try to bash you in return, you can take advantage of the stylish evasion system – dodge like you’re in The Matrix and slow down time so you can dish out a powerful counterattack. I’ll admit, it’s pretty satisfying to watch enemy machines explode spectacularly upon defeat.

 

During the game’s second route, you’ll get to access a fourth mode of combat: 9S’s “hacking” ability. This bullet hell mini-game reinforces the uniqueness of 9S’s perspective, while adding fresh mechanics to keep the combat from getting stale. It mitigates the repetition of fights already fought and won in Route A, as it gives the player another way of engaging the foe. Personally, I loved the precision and focus that “hacking” involved (though smashing things with giant swords can be fun too).

 

The different modes take some getting used to, but you’ll soon find yourself switching between the gameplay styles easily. You can also adjust the game’s difficulty at any stage, so you may want to start off on an easier setting and bump it up as your confidence grows.

 

You can further customise your combat experience using “plug-in chips”, which is the game’s equivalent of equipment. You can add and remove chips that enhance your strength, defence, and speed, as well as other abilities. There are even chips which allow you to customise your HUD. The game limits how many chips you can equip at a time, but by purchasing new slots, you can release the cap until you reach the maximum capacity. This gives you plenty of room to build your character according to your preferred play style. If you don’t want to be bothered with organising the chips yourself, there are default arrangements you can select. And if you don’t want to be bothered with combat at all, you can equip “Auto” chips to do the work for you while you sit back and relax (mind you, this does take some of the fun and challenge out of the game). Be aware, though, that you will lose most of your equipped chips when you die. Once you respawn in a new body, you’ll then have to backtrack to where you fell in order to retrieve those chips from your lifeless former body.

 

Customisation goes beyond plug-in chips, and to your Pod as well: you can choose which special ability – or “Pod Program” – it unleashes. These can range from destructive laser beams to defensive barriers, and are powerful enough to turn the tide of battle. So don’t underestimate your little trigger-happy companion – these guys can do some real damage.

 

And finally – the weapons! As 9S, you can only equip one at a time, but as 2B and A2, you get two: one for your Light Attack and one for your Heavy Attack. There are four classes of weapons: your decent all-rounder Small Swords, your slower but hard-hitting Large Swords (some large enough to rival Final Fantasy VII’s Buster Sword), your elegant Spears, and your swift-punching Combat Bracers. Each weapon has its own strengths, combos, and special features, so be sure to test at least a few of them out. Unfortunately, I was lazy and stuck to the same weapons until the final stretch, so I only discovered far too late that my favoured pair was actually a supercharged spear and a short sword like a beast claw.

 

You’ll be able to hone your mastery over weapons pretty quickly, as the game constantly throws more new enemies your way. These enemies are diverse, each with their own set of moves, and they become increasingly tricky just to keep you on your toes. Expect epic encounters while navigating around the world, and even more epic boss fights.

 

With ever-evolving challengers, shifting combat modes, and numerous customisation options, the battlefields of NieR: Automata are dynamic places indeed.

 

7. Songs from the Ether

 

 

The music. Ah, the music. This is what made me want to play NieR: Automata at all.

 

When I first learnt about the game and watched the trailer, I thought, “Looks cool, but whatever, I’ve got other games to play.” Then I came across some of the tracks online – and I changed my mind. It’s rare for a song to move me to tears without any context, but “Vague Hope” did just that. This was the song that made me think, “No, I’ve got to play this game after all.” The soundtrack alone makes it worthwhile.

 

The music of NieR: Automata has a haunting, ethereal beauty, especially when lent the exquisite vocals of Emi Evans (honestly, the phrase “sings like an angel” does not do her voice justice). What’s even more impressive is that the lyrics are sung in an entirely fictional language. Without a translation, you are forced to rely on the emotive qualities of the songs to form your own interpretations.

 

Occasionally, the transitions between songs can be slightly jarring – but most of the time, the music is used expertly to bring the emotion or exhilaration of scenes to new heights. It also helps to build the atmosphere of locations, from the eerie playfulness of the Amusement Park, to the lively and joyful children’s chorus in Pascal’s Village.

 

Some tracks have 8-bit versions which are played during 9S’s hacking sequences. As a huge fan of chiptune music, I adored these versions, sometimes even more than the originals (and trust me, the originals are hard to beat). With their memorable tunes, they’d tug at the nostalgic heartstrings of any old-school gamer’s heart.

 

NieR: Automata’s soundtrack only bolsters my belief that Japanese games have some of the best music around. You could listen to it forever without getting tired of it. In fact, I’m listening to the NieR: Automata concert tracks as I type this. (Please come perform in Adelaide, I’m begging you!!)

 

8. 2B or not 2B?

 

 

Although the world of NieR: Automata is one of androids and machines, it is in no way lacking in humanity. Characters display the emotional depth of humans, grapple with what it means to be human, and question if non-humans can possess a soul.

 

The game takes a closer look at these matters through the lens of philosophy. Philosophy exerts its pervasive presence throughout the story. Sometimes it manifests in an overt form, such as the character of a pompous philosopher machine. At other times, it is more subtly implicit in the overarching themes, such as the meaningless of war and the tenuous distinction between “us” and “the bad guys”.

 

The issue of identity, as another example, has a noticeably philosophical slant. Androids are very similar to humans, but while humans speak of minds and souls, androids have data. Death of the body doesn’t necessarily mean the death of the android – their data can be uploaded into a new body, granting them conditional immortality. In the game, the role of memories is central to personhood: if you lose the past experiences which have shaped you, you are not really “you” anymore. Interestingly, this brings to mind the philosophical theory of narrative identity – the idea that the self is a narrative of your remembered past, your present, and your projected future, all strung together. Data – which contains both personality and memories – seems to be the most significant part of an android’s “self”.

 

Being a moral philosophy nerd, I was most fascinated by the game’s moral dilemmas. In some morality-driven games, decisions are unambiguous: “do this if you want to be a saint; do that if you want to be the devil”. NieR: Automata doesn’t make our lives so easy.  As I mentioned earlier, the game deals in moral greys, not in blacks and whites. And every moral question thrown at you has substance; there are no clear “right” answers, as there may be bitter consequences whatever you decide. Sometimes you are made to choose between your head and your heart – or between your head and your head, or your heart and your heart. This game made me struggle – more so than any other I’ve played before. The real world isn’t simple, and NieR: Automata’s world isn’t either.

 

But the question that the game asks repeatedly is the biggest question of all: “What is the meaning of existence?” Now, I don’t know the answer to this (probably because I missed that one “Meaning of Life” philosophy lecture at my university – typical), and the game doesn’t pretend to have an answer either. But if the characters are an exploration of the human condition, the game does seem to posit the things that we find meaning in – the things that we think are worth existing for. And out of these, there seem to be two main pillars that hold up the characters’ (and perhaps our) will to exist: the meaning found in purpose, and the meaning found in others.

 

Machines and androids alike are generally focused on a major goal in life, whether it’s taking back the Earth for humanity, or becoming the strongest fighter in the land. It is usually this purpose that defines them and gives them something to strive for – something to give their lives meaning. Some also ground the meaning of their existence in their relationships with others. Like humans, they may place immense value on family, friendship, love, and community.

 

For the characters of NieR: Automata, the removal of one or both of these pillars typically results in a total collapse. What emerges from the rubble is a desire for self-destruction or the destruction of all else. Nihilism and annihilation, hand in hand.

 

At one point, a character reads out a quote from Nietzsche: “where the state ceaseth, there only commenceth the man who is not superfluous”. This character then goes on to say that Nietzsche must either have been “profound” or “crazy”. I’m no expert on Nietzsche’s philosophy – I only have a very shallow understanding of his ethics and view of the “state” – but in hindsight (and through my own interpretation of it), I found this quote to be quite thought-provoking in the context of the game’s existential themes.

 

Perhaps we can take the “state” to represent familiar structures that govern our existence – in effect, a protective bubble where we can be sure of ourselves and those around us. What happens when these structures fall apart? When all that we know – or think we know – and everything we care about are snatched away? Is it “profound” or “crazy” to carry on even after this? NieR: Automata takes these questions to the extreme. We feel keenly the pain of loss that the game’s characters endure, and their fury and despair at the seemingly meaningless world they’re left with.

 

On a less extreme level, their sense of hopelessness may resonate with us as well, in our own losses and feelings of being lost. We might lose those dearest to us, or find ourselves falling off our set paths in life, or we may not be able to see a path at all. The struggles of androids and machines may not be so alien from our own.

 

NieR: Automata tells a melancholy tale. At times, it seems to take the side of existential nihilism. But despite all the suffering and the elusiveness of meaning, it ultimately leaves us with a “Vague Hope” – a ray of sunlight, a brush of growing green, amidst the crumbling ruins.

 

 

You may have recognised the title of this review/analysis as a reference to the philosophically debated concept of mind and body being separate entities – hence the “ghost in the machine”. This concept appears in NieR: Automata in its talk of android bodies and data and souls. But the game itself can also be described as a ghost in a machine. Those pixels on the screen carry a spirit of their own – a spirit of humanity and creativity that reaches out to its players and keeps haunting us long after we put down the game. It is rare to find an experience which leaves such an impression, and which is such a testament to the fact that originality is not, after all, dead. We can only hope that game developers continue to roam in the Land of the Experimental and Strange to produce more wondrous ghosts.