Instead of coming of with different ideas for a new generation, Sochi 2014 opts for another round of motion control minigames and only adds a manic insistence on a revolving door of controller hardware. It's unfocused, uneven, and typically not much fun thanks to the transient nature of most of its content. For kids it might not matter and for a party it may last an hour, but most will find Sochi 2014's as appealing as bringing their Wii out of the closet.
Rivals serves as a refinement of ideas and principles established over the last three iterations of Need for Speed. This can lead to a feeling of sameness bleeding over Rival's rough edges while also serving as a condensed interpretation of the series' better ideas. In this regard Rivals acts as a natural step forward, lessons learned and amended properly. For an annual franchise to arrive harder, better faster and stronger than the previous version is no easy feat, but for Need for Speed it's increasingly becoming part of the game.
Super Motherload communicates a desire for players to learn its regimen while simultaneously uncovering its content. It's a neat balance, one that rewards acquired skill with valuable efficiency, at least until its disparate final act trades musing discovery for twitch reaction. "What's at the bottom" was a force that drove me to Super Motherload's completion. Learning the answer diminished a desire to return.
Tearaway is a unicorn the Vita has ached to capture. It's an original concept from a world class team created specifically and exclusively for the Vita. It's beautifully rendered in a papercraft art style all its own, and its theme and disposition are unique in its field. Best of all, it interprets the hardware's peculiar control options not as a dutiful obligation but rather as leverage for original ideas; there isn't a single part of the machine that feels wasted. Tearaway comes together by showing its player a good time, and it's intimately focused on driving that final point home.
Playing and enjoying Octodad: Dadliest Catch seems to require an active narcotic influence; however, thanks to deliberately obtuse controls and a conscious sense of humor, even the most capable operator will inevitably render their invertebrate avatar a hilarious mess of tentacles and destruction. In a game like this there's careful line between frustration and elation, and Octodad walks it (or slides down, falls along, slithers against - whatever) with appreciable balance.
Expressed in modest trappings, Nidhogg quietly aims to recast the mold of a competitive fighting game. A deliberate lo-fi aesthetic and input limited to the absolute basics cleverly mask engagement as hardcore and contemplative as any of its peers. By opening its boundaries past the usual static fighting arena, Nidhogg transforms from another one-on-one fighter into something more akin to a goal-oriented sport. It's a fighting game simplified without feeling dumb, a multi-staged combat arena with no particular advantages, and as much a battle of wits as an all-out brawler. Nidhogg is an almost-perfect competitive game.
Jazzpunk projects exactly what its eccentric name implies; a hilarious adventure with an unwieldy rhythm and paradoxically predictable narrative-uncertainty, all of which draws fuel from a seemingly endless source of energy. Jazzpunk may share its mission with the likes of Incredible Crisis or LSD: Dream Emulator, but as the titular flag bearer for its invented style, it's now the standard. Jazzpunk is so jazzpunk.
Plants vs. Zombies: Garden Warfare is a skeleton made of borrowed ideas, but its bones are wrapped in a body of earnest tomfoolery and relentless positivity. It functions best as a sanctuary for disenfranchised shooter players, the equivalent of a safe place where it's OK to be weird and goofy amidst the tension of a competitive game. The most interesting thing about Garden Warfare is there may be enough of an affected crowd to actually make it all work.
The perfect way to play Resident Evil 4 requires a time machine back to its time and place in 2005. For many of us this arrangement is impossible, and Resident Evil 4 Ultimate HD Edition defaults as the best way to enjoy a modern classic. The entire package aches for better consistency between its original modes and suite of upgrades, but these are minor complaints; from a historical standpoint or modern approach, Resident Evil 4 remains one of the finest ways to survive horror.
Luftrausers' success is its addictive duel between confidence and doubt; what's the best option when every choice is conceivably the best option? Providing the player with heaps of ways tackle problems is nothing new, but creating a large number of choices and making each one uniquely viable? That's special, and it's Luftrausers' specialty.
The lengths to which Burial at Sea: Episode 2 goes to distance its gameplay from BioShock Infinite's blueprint is outmatched by the indulgent spectacle of its writhing narrative - a risk not fully conscious of its consequences. Through success, failure, and to simply admire the sunset of a generation, the conclusion of Burial at Sea remains a worthwhile experience.
Trials Fusion seeks to layer a true stunt system through its maniacal blend of physics-based motorcycle racing, all the while leaving room for a mixture of surreal weirdness and circus sideshows. Unfortunately, these ideas feel like disjointed appendages to a perfect body, leaving Trials Fusion potent on paper but incomplete as a realized game. It's everything you loved about Trials, just with some roughed up baggage that should have been better.
There can never be another Dark Souls. From Software's Magnum opus required years of King's Field and dry run in Demon's Souls before visions of Dark Souls were made a reality. A sequel owes an allegiance to its ascendant, and it's doubly-hard trying to improve upon a game many feel was born perfect. Dark Souls II, as its blessing and its curse, is not another Dark Souls. It is, however, more Dark Souls - and it makes good on its hallowed name.
Transistor's nuanced world-building and clever storytelling render its narrative original and intriguing. Its combat system presents a myriad of viable choices but remains indifferent toward how the player chooses to engage them. Its painterly visuals and pitch-perfect use of musical themes call to mind the greatest moments of 90's-era Japanese role-playing games. Its attention is focused on the first time through the game, but not lost on the second or third. Completing any one of these objectives would have been enough to satisfy those with a particular affinity toward a specific style, but watching them succeed as parts of a larger game widens its appeal and makes a declarative statement; Transistor is how games should be made.
Monochroma isn't shy about its influences. It looks like Limbo. It features an escort mechanic similar to Ico. It yearns to express a fraternal bond like Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons. By defining its look, play-style, and passion through a buffet of modern classics, Monochroma's identity is left to the strength of its execution. Unfortunately while Monochroma's story manages some delicate moments, its gameplay can't escape obscene points of needless frustration and mechanical tedium. It's the latter that comes to define the experience.
Among the Sleep puts the player behind the eyes of a two-year old and tasks them with surviving a series of wildly traumatizing scenarios. Careful hands and compassionate minds push Among the Sleep's delicate subject matter away from abject immorality, however, not with enough guidance to pivot an honest story into a capable game.
Infinity Runner boasts an attractive premise - a werewolf must escape a space station - but its thinly sliced narrative doesn't contain any satisfactory hooks and its moments of player agency rarely reach any sort of plateau. Infinity Runner's beautiful premise isn't an invitation to something greater; it's an excuse for an otherwise incidental experience.
The versatility of Dark Souls' appeal is directly related to the adaptability of a strong willed player. The Crown of the Sunken King, Dark Souls II's first issue of downloadable content, engenders and engages this philosophy as well as any challenge in the proper game. In a certain light The Crown of the Sunken King actually does it better, employing different constraints and driving new ways to explore and appreciate Dark Souls II's finer details.
In an era when re-releases are defined exclusively through a hurried assemblage of post-release content, it's nice to see a developer make a genuine effort to improve the whole game and not simply bolt parts on and call it a day. Guacamelee was already a great game, and while not all of the extras for Super Turbo Championship Edition are beneficial, it's tough to say the grand experience isn't better for their inclusion.
Genuine art is meant to evoke a response from its audience, and Hohokum's diverse assortment of imaginative endeavors makes it easy to get lost inside its world. It's effective union of art, activity and music, managing a progression of open personal responses without the weight of a direct narrative or dissonant mechanics. If you're out there looking for the holy grail of emotive game design, Hohokum's declarative statement to the power of amusement is worthy of consideration.