That's a reference to DmC to those who aren't avid readers of Virgil's Aeneid. A game that got a lot of stick, rather unjustly in my eyes.
I can sympathize with a beloved franchise being twisted and bastardized, of course. If Uncharted's Nathan Drake suddenly rebooted into a blonde, overly short Tin Tin with the features of Kurt Russel, I'd be upset too.
But it wouldn't drive me to lunacy. Despite nostalgia and despite familiarity, innovation and the rare refresh are needed. Creativity must strive and new ideas put forth. I think that Ninja Theory did a damn good job. I applaud them for all their worth, and their sly slip in of a Union Jack on Dante's coat.
But most importantly, I know my games are still there. The games that I love and have played and cherished; haven't gone anywhere. They're still there, in my old draw, where I emphatically keep my old PS2 games and think 'yeah, these were far better', yet never actually play them.
Current generations have, and quite rightly, spoiled us. Going back to the original DmC now, with it's gut busting difficulty would put me off. Not that I think it's any less of a game, it's an absolute treat. But technology has improved, interfaces and controllers too undoubtedly so.
To put it simply, it'd be like an early adopter of Windows 95 hating the ease of use of and functionality of Windows 7. It's not a perfect analogy i'll give you that, it's probably absolute shit. But it works for me, and maybe some of you.
So before we spew our completely justifiable twoddle because who are these shit fucks who want to REMAKE/REHASH/REBOOT our favourite GARM, just think.
Would you truly prefer Resident Evi - actually scratch that. We don't adhere to anything after No.4
Ahem, erm...Indiana Jones 4. Milked on. Same Concept, no reboot. IT WAS AWFUL.
See? Sometimes, all you need is to hit F5 for [s]my article view count[/s] FREEDOM OF CREATIVITY
One dark, stormy, reasonably temperate night in the UK, me and my friend were playing the original Dead Space on the mother of all difficulties. Horror had found a new place to burrow inside our ears, through our shared play through with headphonses. Dead Space had thrown curveballs at us all night, and had finally reached it's apex at around 4am.
The apex of course was 12 fucking sugars.
During Chapter 9, where the USM Valor becomes a playground for the frighteningly deranged Twitchers, something peculiar happened. Something that not even Resident Evil 1's shabby yet rainbow filtered dialogue could have ever provoked from me. I laughed. We laughed. Uncontrollably for 5 minutes in what was supposed to be the voyage of the dammed from Isaac Clarke's perspective.
I'll set the scene. Remember the room with all the malfunctioning gravity plates? Wouldn't it be great if just one Twitcher ran into it after it's little Gaul charge? Well, yeah.
In truth, I wasn't the stalwart hero I had wanted to be. My health was low, I had 3 rounds in my Cutter, I was barely able to blink without the paranoia settling in. Then, from around the corner, it looks at me. Growling, frothing, sharpening it's Game Over claws; the Over part looked pretty certain.
Then it happens. It dies instantly upon touching the grav plate, and immediately gets shoe horned into the ceiling, Maybe it was the fart noise my mind instinctively brought into the fray, maybe it was the stress and tension of not dying, now suddenly have a release valve. It could have even been Police Academy 1 in the background, but what I do remember is nothing short of fantastic. The fact Dead Space, a prideful supporter of the horror genre, made my own body dreadfully unsure as to which orifice was next in line to do it's do, to this day, was one of my fondest memories in gaming.