October 10, 2007. My 19th birthday. I happened to wake up before my alarm went off, so I was at a bit of a loss for time. Try -- and fail -- to go back to sleep? Or boot up the internet on my PSP? With a sigh, I opted for the latter, and with good reason: in those days, the gaming world had been caught up in the Smash Bros. Brawl fever. You may remember those wonderful days, checking the daily updates with fearsome regularity, eager to find the meaning of “The Subspace Emissary”, or wondering just what the Ice Climbers’ Final Smash would be, or praying with all your heart for Captain Falcon to make a repeat appearance.

But the master of the Falcon Punch wasn’t revealed that day. Someone else was.

“Sonic confirmed for Brawl.” Those four words erupted across the internet in a fiery blaze of fanboy delight. Sonic! THE Sonic the Hedgehog, brought to the gaming forefront once more! The blue blur so cruelly dangled before us in an EGM April Fool’s joke, now ready to fight against Mario for the first (important) time!

When reviews came out for Brawl, many a gamer rejoiced -- a 9.5, an A minus, a 5 out of 5. Damning Zero Punctuation review aside, everything seemed safe, and for the first time in ages, it seemed Sonic could finally appear in a good game.

Which had to be the most depressing news ever.



Sonic’s last, universally-considered-to-be-good game, a Nintendo game. No classic speed and loops (without hacks), no Robotnik to bop, no animals to save. Long-time Mario fans may have been stroking their mustaches in triumph, but Sega veterans wept silently. Time and time again, our beloved mascot had failed us: the blood-boiling inclusion of so many of Sonic’s annoying friends (EVERYONE loves Big the Cat!) in Sonic Heroes and beyond; the mind-numbing decision to give an anti-heroic hedgehog that can move at the speed of sound guns and a motorcycle in Shadow the Hedgehog; a disastrous love affair with a human automatically reset at the end in Sonic ’06; poor controls in most, if not all games, carrying over into Sonic and the Secret Rings; ASININE gameplay additions, chief among them the werehog in Sonic Unleashed and the sword in Sonic and the Black Knight. Thankfully we had a reprieve since those dark days thanks to titles like Sonic Colors (which I like, even if no one else did) and Sonic Generations; unfortunately, talk of a franchise reboot along the lines of the Skylanders toys -- along with some unflattering reviews for Sonic 4: Episode 2 -- does not inspire confidence. It DOES inspire utter confusion, gut-wrenching terror, and occasional bouts of suffocating rage, but I digress.

If I remember correctly, Sonic games are aiming towards a “new demographic” of sorts (commence the nerd rage). Though the developers and PR agents and everyone else involved with the blue blur’s bastardization admitted that it’s going to take time to fix Sonic, they also said something along the lines of “pleasing both fanbases is difficult.” So the problem may lie in appealing to new, or casual gamers, or kids, or whatever. Fair enough; still, why are they putting so much effort in appealing to them? Remember when we were all kids, and we didn’t give a damn about new gimmicks being added on a yearly basis? Remember when it was about the gameplay, with characters being added sparingly? Remember when Sega wisely decided NOT to give Charmy the Bee a voice?

So, just as there’s still hope, there are countless ways -- COUNTLESS -- for the game to fail horribly. On top of that, it’s possible that this is just an experiment, or a proving ground that shows Sega can take lessons from past successes. Or they can screw it up, and suddenly Sonic’s got eight new friends and decides to go save the rainforest or something. Don’t’ get me wrong, I want to believe. I really, really want to believe. I don’t want the hero of the first game I ever played to spiral into an abyss of mediocrity. I want him to stand on equal ground with Mario once again, and not be confined to tennis courts, Olympic events, or kart-racing (HE’S SUPER FAST! WHY DOES HE --?!)



To that end, in the event of another hedgehog humiliation (worst-case scenario), I’ve collected my own team of crack game designers, artists, directors, and writers. We’ve put our heads together, and -- for an exorbitant fee -- will sell our ideas and work to Sega, all for the sake of bringing Sonic back to the forefront of the industry.

Pitch 1: Sonic is Paralyzed from the Waist Down
Joe Swanson is one of my favorite characters in Family Guy. Despite being handicapped, he’s obviously one of the most capable cops in Quahog, and the fact that he’s voiced by Patrick Warburton definitely helps. It’s like an afterschool special gone right -- paraplegia can be cool! (Though the less said about the current, headache-inducing badness of Family Guy, the better.)

Now I know what you’re thinking: take away Sonic’s ability to run, and you might as well take him to the back shed with teary eyes and a hunting rifle, right? But think about it -- if Sonic’s legs can handle supersonic speed, then it follows that the rest of his body should be capable as well, right? True, he’d have to rely more on his arms, and essentially re-teach himself the art of extreme speed, but it could work. Plus, it would finally give him at least some modest rationality for EVER using a vehicle, planes notwithstanding.



And imagine the possibilities, Sega! A dark and gritty tale, starting with Sonic’s speed being taken by an unknown assailant, and Robotnik (we’re gonna start calling him Robotnik again, by the way) is behind a new scheme. Rush through cities and drift through the streets! Hit sweet jumps and blast through roofs! Upgrade your wheelchair with new armor and weapons! Unravel the mysteries behind Sonic’s assault! (Spoiler alert: Tails did it.)

“Game-saving” Mechanic: Sonic must explain the details of his handicap to children, using branching dialogue like Mass Effect. Players can choose either a neutral response, a noble, detailed scientific response that inspires hope, or just run them over with his upgraded spike wheels.

Pitch 2: Sonic and Master Chief Cross Paths
Sega. Listen to me. You’ve done some good things recently -- had it not been for you, we might never have had Valkyria Chronicles or Madworld or Bayonetta. And again, Sonic Colors and Sonic Generations (though opinions may vary). I give my thanks to you, and hope you can pull off this whole “restructuring” business without too many issues. But still, I think there’s something that needs to be said -- something on the minds of every Sonic fan alive, regardless of age.

The guns. Never do it again.

They’re ridiculous. The fans say they don’t work well. They add meaningless tripe to a once-pristine formula (a formula already covered in grime, for that matter). It’s ridiculous to try and make a three-foot-tall talking hedgehog with a head the size of a watermelon some sort of badass gunslinger. The answer, then, is DO NOT TRY IT.

And what better way to emphasize your reformed ways by having Sonic face off against the face of the first-person shooter, Master Chief?



The story should be simple enough: the Chief and a few of his buddies crash land on Sonic’s planet, and seeing plenty of anthropomorphic critters running around (there are no humans, by the way) doesn’t sit well with the space marines. What unfolds is an epic tale, a struggle between two heroes and two armies fighting not for glory or conquest, but for survival (for argument’s sake, let’s just say Big the Cat went and killed one of the Chief’s…guns or something).

You play as Sonic, and maybe Tails, and maybe Knuckles. They all run really fast, and glide, and fly, and bop marines on a regular basis. Boss fights occur. Robotnik, being a bastard, teams up with the humans. You collect the chaos emeralds and why are you even listening to this? It’s SONIC versus MASTER CHIEF. It will sell like the iGrail -- that’s Apple’s Holy Grail, by the way, coming 2019. It’s a crossover battle. And it will be epic, by the sweat of 343 Industries’ brow.

“Game-saving” Mechanic: Sonic’s vast army of friends is controlled via real-time strategy commands. Each character controls a different type of unit, for a grand total of 873 unit-types. Unnamed characters count too, in case you were wondering -- bet you’re regretting bopping all those robots from the Genesis days, aren’t you?

Pitch 3: Sonic the Secondary School Teacher
All right, you’ve got me Sega. I’ll concede if you decide to focus on the younger audience; they ARE our future, after all. And they’re going to be the next generation of gamers once we’re all wrinkly, senile, and walking into kitchens with our pants around our ankles. Therefore, if you’re going to do this thing, I only ask that you do it right.

Make the next Sonic game a…hold on, there’s something in my eye. Oh, tears. Okay, got ‘em.

Okay. So make the next Sonic game an edutainment game. (What the hell? Edutainment is actually getting cleared by Word’s spell check?) You already gave the green light on it once -- and lightning always strikes twice, right?



All right, next step. Gameplay should be a breeze; Sonic and company are the teachers, have some sort of Mii or Avatar support system, and plug those babies in for some hardcore learning. From primary school to middle school, you get to answer questions from Tails, have gym class minigames with Knuckles, resist peer pressure from Shadow and the rest of the cool critters, and show Principal Robotnik that school is about having fun, too -- via some wacky egg-throwing showdown. Or a mock quiz show. The point is, it’s impossible to screw up thanks to some bad controls or a wonky camera.

“Game-saving” Mechanic: Moving your Mii/Avatar around the classroom is an exercise in frustration due to the new “Speed Boost to Class so You Won’t be Late” system. Selecting answers to the teachers’ questions requires five separate motions of the control stick. Perpetual waggling with the Wii Remote/Sixaxis/Move/your body are required to keep the console on.

Pitch 4: Sonic Rush…off of a Cliff
I’m sure this is pretty much a given, but Sonic’s downward spiral has probably alienated a lot of fans over the years. Some are nicer about it than others; some wait in front of their computer screens, hands locked in prayer for the next Sonic to be the turning point. Some take note of new info, but keep the blue blur an arm’s length away at all times.

Some want Sonic to die. And I say, let them have what they want.

3D Sonic games -- the disastrous ’06 chief among them -- have an undeniable stigma. What gamers need is a streamlined experience, a single, overarching goal that overcomes all others. Therefore, sending Sonic to his doom -- repeatedly -- is as simple a task as any other, with immediate satisfaction for the players. Throw him off a cliff! Fling him into traffic! Dodge a firing squad (unsuccessfully)!



Graphics are the name of the game here -- not brutality, but with so much horsepower devoted to killing Sonic in this straightforward experience, it’s only natural that the murders are done in true HD quality! Top-notch animations with maximum production values…even if the game sucks, it’ll be the most beautiful death(s) ever brought to the small screen!

“Game-saving” Mechanic: Sonic is given some rationale for his continuous suicide attempts. Big the Cat is involved in more interspecies romance.

Pitch 5: Sonic the Legal Disclaimer
Sonic. His name once evoked the joys of high speed and aerodynamics. Bashing robots, leaping off springs, collecting chaos emeralds, and transforming into the hyper-kinetic Super Sonic.

Now? Now, he can turn into a werehog. Damn it all.



But even so…even so, I will not abandon hope. Even if my nights should end with tear-soaked pillows, and my sunless days filled with bleak lamentation, I will believe. I want to believe that Sonic can bounce back -- that after countless tries and countless promises, we’ll have our blue blur back in full form.

I want to help, Sega. And that’s why I suggest Sonic the Legal Disclaimer.

Sonic isn’t controlled in a traditional way; his movements are transmitted via the player piecing together a puzzle. The puzzles in question? Excuses as to why the Sonic games are suffering. Put together a logical argument, then add a disclaimer at the end, and BOOM! Sonic performs every action onscreen the way it was meant to be. And not just on a set animation track; countless solutions and possibilities, opening up opportunities for speed runs, no-damage runs, all the best moves and flips and tricks, and -- should the player wish -- the chance to meet with Sonic’s friends on branching paths.

“Game-saving” Mechanic: I don’t know. Big the Cat wants to go fishing. That fat bastard’s always mucking things up.

That’s it. I’ve done all I can do. It’s in your hands now, Sega; I’ll believe in whatever you put out, but should it fail, then I’ve got your back. I’ll always…always be there.

Sonic…he can really move. Sonic…he’s got an attitude. Sonic…he’s the fastest thing alive. He’s the fastest thing alive.

He’s the fastest…*sniff* thing alive…

If there’s one thing I consistently do well, it’s get into trends years after their introduction. By the time I made a Facebook page, I was a sophomore in college. My cell phone is still as much as two generations behind. TV shows? Pffft. Don’t even bother; if you asked me what I thought about Hershel and his farm or Don Draper’s latest escapades, I’d only be able to give a nod and a derpy, five-word answer.

Such was the case with Minecraft. I’d heard about the game, of course, but never looked into it in any grave detail. I was a console gamer, and to this day my laptop’s little more than a typewriter with a screen duct-taped to it. I didn’t think ill of it; quite the opposite, as I spotted a few videos here and there that made me laugh. But I never thought too much about it. I resigned myself to the fact that I’d never get around to playing it, and I’d be no worse off for it.

And then my brother Rich downloaded the Xbox demo. I played it. And it made me question just what it meant for me to be a gamer.

Actually, scratch that. It was Starhawk, which I’d played days earlier, that set the stage; Minecraft only drew the curtains.

Rich had played the beta extensively; he reveled in the chaos and explosions, being able to build a base at his leisure, and even engaging in the occasional dogfight. “I’m so getting Starhawk when it comes out,” he declared weeks later, puffing out his chest and breaking into his customary jig. “Can’t wait to grab my jetpack!”

And I can’t wait for you to trade it in three weeks later, I thought. Still, I nodded politely. “Hope you have fun with it.”

“You’ll play with me, right?” It’s got split-screen multiplayer.”

I turned back to my laptop, hoping he didn’t catch a look at my uneasy face. He knew as well as I did that I was awful at shooters. I’d respawn only to get shot in the back in some endless loop; when I played cautiously, it only delayed the inevitable. When I finally started moving, it was usually into a hail of bullets. By the time I whittled an approaching enemy down to a sliver of health, he’d gotten in range to punch me in the face. “Sure, I’ll give it a try,” I told him. Maybe things will be different this time. Maybe I’ll actually be useful.

They weren’t. And I wasn’t.



In three separate instances of play, I got one kill between them. I got stomped on by robots, blown out of the sky, and an ally managed to drop some heavy machinery on my head. And building in the base? No chance. My brother wanted me to play at his pace, meaning I was just his patsy in a regularly-futile attempt to start a new outpost. When he cut the strings, I hardly had any idea of what to do. What do I build? Where do I build it? What if we reach the building limit? I can’t break down that guy’s creation, what if he gets mad at me?

I was a n00b in every sense of the word. I still am. I recognize that if I just played more, I’d get the hang of things (as Rich probably did). And I'm not so brazen as to say it's a bad game; far from it. But as it stands, I have no interest in ever playing Starhawk again. I’ll play if propositioned, but I don’t see that happening too often. I just don’t see the point.

I’ve actually been wondering that a lot recently when it comes to games. What’s the point? Just as he was with Starhawk, dear old big bro was excited for, preordered and picked up Max Payne 3, and is doing all he can to savor the game. I have a chance to play it right now, but instead I’m sitting at a computer tapping away. (Gotta put that semester of eighth grade spent playing learn-to-type games to good use.) I could -- and should -- be putting in some time in the combo lab so when we play Street Fighter X Tekken again, I won’t just humiliate myself. Bear in mind that I’m the guy who wrote poetry about fighting games, and I’m listening to a song from a fighting game right now, but can’t be arsed to boot it up.

At first I was worried that my tastes were changing -- that all of a sudden, I suddenly didn’t like combat in games any more. You may remember how I was talking about something like that with Mass Effect 3 -- how I wondered what it would be like if games didn’t have to rely so heavily on combat, and even proposed an alternate game starring a harmless researcher. That’s a possible theory, and a possible threat…buuuuuuuuuut on the other hand, I’m enjoying the hell out of games like Xenoblade Chronicles and Tales of Graces f. I even started up new playthroughs of the PS2 Kingdom Hearts games, and having a time (and a half) with it. So it’s not necessarily a matter of “story good, combat bad” -- though it certainly helps.



On the other hand, I’ve got this strange, blooming appreciation for games that take time out to be quiet. Peaceful. Chill. Going back to Tales, Rich and I did a co-op playthrough of the game. It starts off with a lengthy childhood sequence that sets up the characters and events to come. He hated it; I loved it. It was like a locomotive; slow to start, but once it got started it was pretty potent. I’m not saying it was perfect, but seeing characters change so much over seven years, and the actions they take as a result, had more of an impact BECAUSE of that slow opening. Meanwhile, with Xenoblade, there have been times where I just stop for a minute and stare at the surroundings. Say what you will about the Wii’s graphics, but I’m consistently wowed by these worlds. No, more than that; just the title screen, with the Monado in a grassy field with a gentle piece playing, made me stop. When I first booted up the game, I didn’t press a button. I just sat there, staring, listening, enjoying the simple sights and serene sounds.

So here I am, the Friday after Max Payne 3’s release. Will I play that again? Yes, probably; a quirk about my poor shooting skills is that I’m curiously good at scoring crotch shots. Will I finish it? I’m actually hoping I do; if reports of a good story are to be believed, it’d be an injustice if I didn’t. But even so, I’m in no rush.

What I AM in a rush to play again is Minecraft. So much so that I’m hoping my brother decides to download the full game ASAP.

I had an idea of what to expect from the game, but never did I expect…well, that. Much like Starhawk, I was thrown in without too much of an understanding of what to do. “Build stuff,” the game whispered into my ear. “Okay, what?” I’d ask. But outside of the tutorial, I was on my own. I was locked in the sandbox, and I’d have to imagine my way out.

I looked around for a bit, delighting in the simple visuals. It was a blocky but tranquil world, with music that wouldn’t make too bad of a lullaby. And there were animals, too. Cows and pigs and sheep and chickens, the latter of which I decided to provoke Zelda-style. There was sand and water and trees, and blocks that beckoned the touch of my right trigger. So I did what anybody would do in my situation: start bashing things like a caveman.



I made a few wisecracks here and there, managing to get a laugh out of Rich as he glanced away from his computer every now and then. Maybe it was a defense mechanism; maybe I just needed something to fill the openness, the loneliness of that virtual world. “I’ll build a castle,” I declared, taking note of the blocks I’d gained by bashing the earth. After some fumbling with the controller, I managed to put together a quartet of boxes. Hardly befitting a king.

So I wandered around, gathering resources. Wood from here, wood from there, a few dirt blocks from the ground…it was simple, but meaningful work. Soon enough, I’d managed to build a sizable structure, nodding in delight at my creation.

“That sure is a small castle.”

I rubbed my head in exasperation. “Okay, so it’s more of a rampart,” I admitted.

He nodded, and turned back to his computer. “You know, monsters come out at night and you have to protect yourself. I don’t think it turns to night in the demo, though.”

“I’ve heard about that.” I’d already gotten started digging my moat. All I needed was some water, and…my plans hit a snag. How was I supposed to carry that water? Bashing it just bashed the sand below it. No good. Maybe if I could dig a channel for the water to flow through…

Wait a minute. Would that even work? I shrugged. Well, time to put this game to the test. So I started digging a channel. Sure enough, the water spread through the groove I’d carved out. So I dug again. Still it spread -- but at a price. The water level…did it just lower? I thought. Damn. There’s only a finite amount of water, so it’s only natural that it wouldn’t reach. But I kept digging anyway, hoping to see just how far it would go. The answer? Not very.

Bucket. I need a bucket, I thought. Wait. Can I make a bucket? Will the game allow it? I looked to the right side of the screen. The tutorial I’d barely touched beckoned to me, giving me hints on how to crack the game’s code. A crafting table…a furnace…the ability to create tools that would speed up the process…more possibilities opened up in front of me.



Rich looked away from the computer. “Whoa! What is that?” he asked. He pointed ahead to the clear, yet pixellated cube taking up eighty percent of the screen.

“It’s glass,” I answered as I slid it into place in my bastion, forming a makeshift window. “There’s a furnace over there that you can use to make new materials. You put in an ingredient and use fuel, and you can make stuff like this.” I said it with almost tired nonchalance, as if it came naturally to me. It didn’t at first, but suddenly it made perfect sense. Everything started making sense. I had an axe, and a shovel -- and I would have made more, if my dogs hadn’t suddenly decided to go into a barking fit.

“I’ll take them out,” I said with a sigh. So we went outside, and I watched them spend five minutes barking at air and searching every inch of grass for a place to pee. And when I came back in, I found that the demo had locked me out. I’d have to get the full game if I wanted to experience the rest.

Not since the end of the Red Faction Guerilla demo have I ever been so bummed out by being taken back to the dashboard. After months of being locked out of the loop, I finally understood -- even just a tiny bit -- why Minecraft was…IS so popular.

Minecraft, I think, isn’t a game. It’s an experience. You’re essentially living through the dawn of man; you start out as a caveman, alone, confused, and largely helpless. You don’t know what to do, or where to go. But suddenly, your primal instincts kick in. You need shelter. Food. Safety from enemies. So you start going to work, gathering resources all around you so you can survive. At first you’re unsure of what to do with them, or in what capacity they can be used -- almost as if you’re a caveman trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. But eventually, after trial and error, things start to click. “I can put this here,” you say. “I can catch that,” you say. “I can use this to make that,” you say. You’re discovering new applications for items, and new configurations to ensure your survival -- maybe even before your closest allies. And while you manage to let prehistoric know-how guide you, your evolved reason is kicking in. “If I can build this with such meager tools, imagine what I can do with better tools!” you think, unable to hold back a devious smile. “I can make bigger buildings! Maybe a tower to protect myself! A haven for the treasure I’m bound to find! Maybe something to play with while I pass the time! There’s not a single monster that can pierce through my walls!” You start off as this confused, ignorant clump of digital flesh, but within you lays untapped potential and ingenuity. Given the chance, you can do more than just stay alive. You can remake the world as you see fit.



That, in a nutshell, is the impression I got from Minecraft. A mere demo played days, and my mind is still buzzing. And I know there’s more out there. Rich seems excited by the prospect of digging to the center of the earth (though of course, it isn’t quite that simple), and the details on some of the item descriptions suggest even greater existential adventures lie in wait. That’s something that I want to experience. More than fighting in an arena. More than a linear, A to B plot. More than anything else, I want to discover more.

I want to find out who I am as a gamer. I like combat, and I like stories. I like exploring new areas, and I like creating. I like games that make me get emotional. I like games where I can dragon kick some asses into the Milky Way. I like carving up monsters with my sword, enduring corny jokes from party members, and I’ve even taken to ceremoniously declaring “Crotch shot” every time I land the fabled hit. But what is it that I really enjoy? What is my ultimate be-all and end-all experience? If I had to pick one final game to play before swearing off the medium forever, what would it be -- what would be the last meal before I make my way to the electric chair?

There are a lot of questions that I need answering. Maybe Minecraft will answer them. Maybe it won’t. But at the very least -- at the end of the day, when I become all too aware of my shifting, divergent tastes -- I can say I got a glimpse of something special.

Also, I punched a sheep in the face.

Save the princess. Stomp on turtles. Gun down your creator’s rival and his robot servants. We gamers have covered a lot of ground in our time, but more often than not in a virtual landscape (though I suspect there are heroes of our realm who have gunned down zombies and detonated ancient alien super weapons). It’s a distressing dissimilarity between the real world and the game world, one that has already created self-image problems for gamers, men included. Think about it: how many times has a well-meaning, average college student saved the world with nothing but his standard fare wits and abilities? Now compare that to the number of hard-boiled, grizzled space marines of our digital fiction, or -- for maximum emasculation -- handsome sword-wielding young men who overcome all odds and tear apart dragons ten times their size…AND they get the girl.

Therefore, the only way to bridge the gap between the men of games and the men of reality is to emulate their actions; only by recklessly recreating their loveable antics can we possibly regard ourselves as worthy of saving the princess!

Satire or not? You decide -- though that decision may be based on how much of a NOT MAN you really are.

Step One: Learn to burst into flames.
Taught by: Captain Falcon (Super Smash Bros.), Bang Shishigami (BlazBlue), Kyo Kusanagi (King of Fighters), Fei Long (Street Fighter), Kratos (God of War), Guy Cecil (Tales of the Abyss)

Ah, fire. Is there anything more manly than a blazing wildfire? I say no, and so do a lot of the manliest of heroes. Hitting things hurts; hitting things with fire hurts even more, so it’s only natural that the mantra of “kill it with fire” becomes indoctrinated. Some warriors step up to the plate with flamethrowers or incendiary grenades in hand – but those men aren’t the ones who go on to memetic status and Photoshopped glory. No, the real men are those who, with passion ablaze, set their limbs on fire and remain unscathed, while their enemies are turned to ash in an instant.



Therefore, in order to become a true man, a gamer on the road to glory must train day and night, creating enough friction on his skin and generating enough heat to burst into flames. No force on earth -- bears, especially -- would be able to withstand the force of a man’s blazing heart made real; firemen everywhere would cower in fear, envious of your blazing might. The only drawback is the damage you might do to your surroundings, and your wardrobe in particular…but then again, if you had the patience to learn self-controlled spontaneous combustion, you’re not really worried about that, are you?

Step Two: ALWAYS enter a room as destructively as possible.
Taught by: Dante (Devil May Cry), Viewtiful Joe, Solid Snake (Metal Gear Solid 2), Kratos (God of War)

When was the last time you kicked a door down? If it took you any more than one second to answer that, then you need to become a man! A true badass rarely, if ever, knocks on doors; he just kicks them down, armed and ready for action. Can you blame him? Just think of the cathartic factor, the joy of busting through doors, walls, windows, roofs, and even dimensions with no regard for property damage (unless that property is yours, but a REAL MAN doesn’t own a house, so there). Therefore, one must cast aside his chains to the laws of physics, toughen his skin and legs, and learn to fly into rooms with foundation-shaking force.



You know how whenever you enter a room, all eyes are suddenly on you? And then seconds later, everyone’s back to their business? That won’t happen if you come in by crashing through the roof. All eyes are on you, and STAY on you – on the man who has killed at least half a dozen innocents with rocketing debris. But that’s to be expected of someone like you; you don’t have time to bother with something so trivial as “doors” or “other people’s safety”!

Step Three: Carry several tons worth of gear at all times.
Taught by: Link (The Legend of Zelda), Kratos (God of War), War (Darksiders), Marcus Fenix (Gears of War), pretty much any Level-Capped Orc (World of Warcraft)

Just how DO heroes gain their impressive physiques? Clearly, it should be beyond the limits of modern science and biology, and yet here we have beasts disguised as men with muscles so big that toddlers could hide in their biceps. And on the other end of the spectrum, we have svelte, graceful men with both androgynous beauty and the power to cut through massive mechanical monsters (and wielding a scientifically impossible sword, no less). The key to their strength and sculpture? The gear.



It has to be the gear. Carrying all that equipment -- guns, armor, grenades, swords, hammers, axes, invaluable -- and massive -- key items must be a back-breaking strain at first, but those who persevere day after day are able to obtain strength beyond their wildest dreams. Why, I reckon that hauling that gear around gives them pinpoint control over their muscles; therefore, Marcus Fenix can turn into a scar-faced Hulk to intimidate enemies, while Tidus can stay slender to appease his summoner girlfriend (and subsequently look like Hillary Duff for her pleasure). So that practice can easily be applied to our world, that we may become men of incredible strength – not to mention that women appreciate a man who doubles as a pack-mule.

The only drawback, of course, is the cost. Buying a replica sword – ONE replica sword – can set you back as much as four hundred dollars, and you can just forget about strapping a few Lancers to your back. The only alternative is to use what you have on hand, however degrading it might be. If you’ve got a dresser, a washer, a car, or an elephant on hand (as you should, if you’re following this guide correctly), then use it. Just be sure to start small, so you don’t throw out your back. That’s a major turn-off for the ladies.

Step Four: Speak softly, and carry a big sti -- SIZZLING SAUERKRAUT THAT’S A HUGE GUN!
Taught by: Gordon Freeman (Half-Life), Kratos (God of War), Solid Snake (Metal Gear Solid), Tai Kaliso (Gears of War 2), Master Chief (Halo), several protagonists (Shin Megami Tensei), Link (Legend of Zelda)

Nothing is more frightening than staring into the barrel of a loaded gun. Except staring at the edge of a giant sword. Or at a pissed-off tiger. Or a mountain that shoots volcanic boulders at you. Or…all right, screw that metaphor, the important thing is that there are a ton of downright frightening things in this world, stuff that can drive a man to his absolute limits. That’s what weapons were made for: so you could shoot that stuff in the face. Who’s laughing now, tiger?



Even so, there’s an unspoken rule in video games: the loud-mouthed idiot rarely makes it to the role of hero. If he’s a villain, it’s likely he won’t survive an encounter with our main character. The old adage rings true: the weakest dog barks loudest. So inversely, the strongest dog barks…softest? Can dogs bark softly? Somebody Wikipedia that.

Strong men need not boast about their strength; their actions alone are enough. That’s why you -- and your enemies, should you adopt this tenet as your law -- should always fear the quiet ones: they convert all the energy used for mouthing off into controlled bursts of badassery. Therefore, all gamers on the journey to ultimate manhood should take a vow of silence; in doing so, the wasted energy is redirected into countless instances of tiger-punting action. Of course, such a feat requires a bit of planning ahead -- how exactly will you order a Big Mac if the cashier can’t see your text box blipping away? Perhaps if you invest in one of those “sidekicks” everyone’s always talking about…

Step Five: ALWAYS. SAVE. THE GIRL. ALWAYS.
Taught by: Nearly every RPG hero ever, half of all Nintendo games, an ulterior motive of virtually all characters, except maybe (maybe) Kratos (God of War)

Mario saves Peach. Link saves Zelda. Leon Kennedy saves Ashley. Cloud…okay, maybe not Cloud, but he tried, and that’s what matters.

Blame it on the fairy tale paradigm -- the knight in shining armor always has to save the princess, right? Rarely, if ever, is this age-old schematic altered, and why should it be? It works, and it gives us just enough reason for some Koopa genocide. Ah, if only we could apply that paper-thin reasoning to our own lives…unless…we really CAN justify all our actions that way!



Yes, it’s perfect! All we have to do is have our significant other -- a girlfriend, a sister, a child, or if you’re desperate, a mother or cousin -- disappear thanks to some convenient evil down the street, and suddenly we have our chance to man up. Time to fight for the honor of our lady’s hand, and to hell with the rules! Would a real man worry about something like that when his beloved is on the line? Not a chance! And that’s what separates a man from a Goomba!

A word of advice, though: be ready with a game plan after you save the girl. You’re going to have a lot of enemies after all is said and done; plus, word on the street is that the Koopas don’t mess around when it comes to a vendetta.

Step Six: Be Kratos.*
Taught by: Do I really need to say it?



Kill your family, then the old god of war, then any other god who gets in your way. And be sure to have your family’s remains permanently bound to your skin. Ladies love that -- not the smell, I imagine, but the look is to die for.

Honorable MANtion: Travis Touchdown (No More Heroes), Dominic Santiago (Gears of War), Wayne (Lost Planet), Auron (Final Fantasy X), Ryu (Street Fighter), Iron Tager (BlazBlue), Jack Cayman (MadWorld), Nathan Drake (Uncharted)

Lifetime MANchievement Award: Mike Haggar (Final Fight)

And now, fair readers, you are MEN. Bulging with muscles; starting fires with every thunderous step you take; all too eager to sit on the mall benches with your significant other’s purse, if it means keeping a vigilant eye upon her. Now, give off a hearty laugh if you so deign; for those whose testosterone transcends godhood, you’ve earned it.



But don’t laugh too loud. I knew a guy who blew a few houses down. An unfortunate circumstance, that. On the plus side, he was better at being black than I’ll ever be.

*Warning: Being Kratos is to be done at the reader’s discretion, as it can lead to a life of eternal rage and misery, unrivaled deicide, and the general ruination of the world at large. So don’t do it unless you’re a generally benevolent chap, or otherwise just want to screw up the planet. Or if you just really, really like Kratos (and there's nothing wrong with that). It's just that a planetary wipeout would kind of suck.

It’s not often that I’m left baffled and speechless…well, barring the Percy Jackson movie from a few years back. But it’s not often where I can stare at a product -- story, video game, what have you -- and walk away from it without the ability to say anything meaningful about it.

That’s how I feel whenever I cross paths with Halo -- and consistently, at that.

I…just don’t get Halo, I guess. I had a GameCube last generation, so I outside of five minutes playing in the middle of the campaign with a cousin, I don’t have any fond memories of the original. When my brother got a 360, he grabbed a cheap copy of Halo 2 in preparation for 3 -- in spite of playing it maybe four times in all. We DID beat the campaign in 3 together, and played a fair amount of the multiplayer (like about half the planet), but there was still a big disconnect for a gamer jumping into the series so late. I think The Arbiter’s cool -- certainly helps that he’s voiced by the testosterone-laden siren Keith David -- but there’s still a lot I’m missing about him. Like a sheep (a sheep in the sense that he wasn’t a fan of the franchise and he wanted the game because…because), my brother grabbed Halo: Reach. It didn’t leave much of an impression, and that’s about the nicest thing I can say about it; it reached a point where, upon a visit to GameStop and spotting a Reach action figure with a soldier standing atop a rock, I joked that the rock was the most well-developed character and most noble hero of the bunch. Oh, and ODST was a thing that happened, I guess.



So yeah, I’m not exactly a storm of loyalty when it comes to Halo. I can’t bring myself to HATE it, because I recognize that it’s a series that brings a lot of joy to a lot of people, and as I understand it there’s been plenty of world-building to flesh it out beyond shootin’ and jumpin’. But I can’t bring myself to LOVE it, because -- and I stress this is opinion alone -- I find it bland and repetitive, and at least as far as the games go it’s an ultimately shallow experience. As an English teacher of mine would put it, it’s like popcorn; it tastes good and it’s a mainstay of certain experiences, but it’s a snack. Fluff food. Nothing more, nothing less.

And now Halo 4 is on the way. If I know my brother’s impulsive game-buying habits, it’s only a matter of time before he rolls home with a copy in hand. Right now, I can’t bring myself to respond with anything besides a resounding “meh.” It’ll be well-put together, and have some spiffy gameplay bells and whistles, and present everything in glorious HD graphics, but…I’m so neutral it’s almost painful.



I think the root of my problem is that I don’t really have a feel for Master Chief. I could take the scumbag route and say “It’s because he doesn’t have a personality; he’s just a cipher for gamers to superimpose themselves atop!” But I know that’s not true, and certainly not fair to the dedicated and knowledgeable fans. It’s just that often I find myself defining a game according to its main characters. It’s probably an underlying reason for my hatred of Final Fantasy XIII, but there are other applications. Like how I prefer Dante and his games over Kratos and his games. Or how I think Skyward Sword is actually a surprisingly deep game, in spite of -- or maybe because of -- the silent protagonist in a silly green hat. Or why BlazBlue has one of my favorite casts among any fighting game…and by extension, is a serious contender for my favorite fighting game. Characters can mold, if not completely decide, the shape of a story into something wonderful (like Ezio), or something horrifying (like Busby).

So what kind of shape does Master Chief impart on the Halo franchise? Even though I’m wildly out of my element, I could hazard a guess. The silent, stoic warrior; the masked man whose foot-thick armor pales in comparison to his hardened resolve; the soldier who always gets the job done, preferring to speak with his weapon, and knowing that diplomacy alone isn’t enough to turn the tide. Someone that appears to be colorless may be anything but; he’s just rigidly devoted to completing the mission (though his loyalty to Cortana speaks volumes). For that, I’d say he’s pretty admirable. Not my cup of tea, but admirable nonetheless.



On the other hand, he could be exactly what the naysayers suggest: little more than a blank slate. I’m of the opinion that FPSes in general don’t lend themselves to making players resonate with a character (though that’s a broad statement, and I know there are counter-examples out there), but Master Chief may have codified it. I’m having a hell of a time remembering anything substantial the Spartan said during Halo 3 outside of a few one-liners. True, actions speak louder than words, but that doesn’t mean words are useless. Even at their worst, silent protagonists like Link or several Shin Megami Tensei leads manage to create a character (Skyward Sword had Link’s personality conveyed through his expressions and reactions and a few dialogue choices; meanwhile, even games as low-budget as Devil Survivor had branching dialogue, and a few still sprites of the hero’s face). I think we can at least agree that a character, regardless of medium, needs to leave an impact on us. So why has Master Chief done nothing of the sort for me? Why is it that I find the people around the chief more interesting than the leading man himself? Come to think of it, doesn’t “Master Chief” sound bland at best and ridiculous at worst? And with his real name being John (as far as I know), does that really help things? Was his last name Generic at one point?

It seems like there’s a pretty big divide, now that I think about it. For argument’s sake, let’s have a look at Link through the years.



Now let’s have a look at Master Chief through the years.



There’s no denying that one of them has seen a lot more different art styles -- certainly because he’s spent a lot more time kicking around. But there’s one advantage Link has that Chief has yet to tap.

His face.

You never really realize how much you miss a face until it’s not there anymore. But supposedly, people are hardwired to recognize and find faces. It’s why we say there’s a man on the moon. It’s why as babies, one of the first things we learn to recognize is a face. It’s why there are disorders devoted to lacking an ability to recognize faces. They’re important. They show emotion. Thoughts, opinions, approval and disapproval. Now consider that part of the reason for The Wind Waker’s art style was to put an emphasis on Link’s expressions. Given that, consider that even in Halo: Reach, seeing one of Noble Team’s faces meant they were about five minutes away from death. Do you see why there might be a problem with Master Chief?

But it’s a problem that I don’t want to have. I want something to latch onto, just as others already have. What makes this character great? What makes him special? What makes him and his like-armored cohorts worthy of appearing in a couple of episodes of The Simpsons? I’m willing to accept the no-face thing (particularly if he looks like Deadpool or Darth Vader under there), but whatever the case I need something of substance. So if someone asks me, “Hey Voltech. What makes Master Chief so great?” And then I’d bust out a mile-long scroll of reasons why, in spite of his apparent shallowness, he -- and his game, by extension -- can actually be pretty deep if you give him the chance.



And I want to give him that chance. But I’ll need your help, Dtoiders. So let me hear it: just what does Master Chief mean to you?

I fancy myself as a writer, but it’s not often that I dream about any of my stories, or anything I could possibly write about. (Unless I just wrote about my gruesome, humiliating deaths, but that’d get boring after a while.) But one night, I had a flash of insight. I could see something that could propel me to the highest echelon of the literary world.

And then I woke up, and forgot about it. And when I slept again, I started dreaming about Street Fighter.

It was when I woke up that morning that I started to wonder: “Why isn’t there a good Street Fighter movie?” Or to be more specific, a universally-approved SF movie. While I wouldn’t call it “good” by any stretch of the imagination, I found the '94 movie to be an enjoyable (if moronic) romp with a fair bit of spirit. The Legend of Chun-Li, meanwhile, was a soul-sucking abyss. Boring, inaccurate, clichéd, and embarrassing for everyone involved -- actors and audience alike -- it’s become a cautionary tale on why you don’t make movies out of video games.

On one hand, a SF movie should be easy to make. People gather for a tournament. They fight. Military guys go up against supervillains. Fireballs are thrown, answers are found in the heart of battle, roll credits. Simple. Make it about the fighting, not about the military. Be decisive about how you use the spiritual aspects of the franchise (fireballs, hundred hands, etc.); don’t try to make it realistic yet feature a subplot about a child born by sacrificing your good half and winning the climactic battle by shooting bad CG effects. Treat the series with respect and decorum, but have a little fun with the proceedings; this is a series that now features a 500-pound karate man that can blast you into the stratosphere.



On the other hand, a SF movie presents a lot of challenges. Who do you put in the movie, out of the dozens of fighters available? How do you make some of the fancier moves viable and at least vaguely entertaining in live-action? How do you pound out a plot when Capcom itself is pretty meh on the subject? How do you add something meaningful to the characters without distorting them into, say, news reporters or pianists out for blood? How do you create something that appeases the fans, but doesn’t alienate people who aren’t entrenched in the franchise -- and therefore, earn those sweet, sweet Bison Dollars?

I have a few theories. And I stress theories -- these aren’t exactly foolproof guarantors of success, but I think there’s at least a little merit to them. After all, the last thing I want is for SF fans to inherit a big problem.



Man, that movie was painful.

Step One: Characters

This would be a movie that could thaw the hearts of twice-wronged fans; this would be a movie that they want and would approve of. Given that, every major player needs to be in the right place.

Ryu, Ken, Chun-Li and Guile are the four main characters. No exceptions. Likewise, Ryu is the main character. That’s the way Capcom’s playing it, and that’s the way the movie should, too. It’s not 100% his movie and no one else matters, but he’s given his fair share of the focus. The Four Kings are also necessary -- Bison, Sagat, Vega, and Balrog. Bison’s the villain, Sagat is Ryu’s rival, and Vega and Balrog make trouble with the rest of the Shadaloo force. Zangief, Blanka, Dhalsim and Honda would be there too -- gotta have someone to fight -- but they wouldn’t necessarily drive the plot. Cammy, Fei Long, Dee Jay, and T. Hawk would maybe get a brief fight in or a cameo, or a slight reference, but that’s it. Everyone else is banned from screen time. Maybe you’d see a picture of Dan in a flyer, or Guy and Cody in a quick shot on the streets, or Hugo on TV, but there needs to be a tight focus on the characters that matter. That (among other things) was a fault of the ’94 film -- shoving in a ton of characters, but making their overall impact negligible. Fans don’t need to see every character, because they have the games; newbies could get overwhelmed, and plot-wise the focus could get diluted. If Legend of Chun-Li did anything right, it was to hold back on shoehorning Birdie and Sodom into the run time.

Step Two: Plot

All’s well in New York City, and its dwellers are enjoying another cool night in the big apple…that is, unto Shadaloo forces start air-dropping en masse. Wreaking havoc and corralling citizens, it’s not long before the overwhelming Shadaloo numbers take the city. Leading the charge -- with his fellow Kings by his side -- Bison stands tall amongst his beaten foes, making sure to give one rebellious New Yorker a taste of his Psycho Power.



Flash forward a few months, and Bison’s control over New York -- which he’s renamed Shadaloo City (or something evil like that) -- remains undisputed. Repelling enemy forces by the thousands, he has his men construct new buildings throughout the city. While the world’s governments watch with frustration, and the people grow ever more fearful of the name “Shadaloo,” Bison makes an announcement: he’s hosting a tournament. Fighters from all over the world will be permitted to enter and compete against one another (including against Bison himself), all for the chance to earn a massive cash prize…and, as the dictator goads, a chance to unravel Shadaloo from the inside out. Wary but hungry for glory, it’s not long before fighters assemble and head into the city -- for money, for justice, and to a rare few, a good fight.

Bison’s real plan, of course, is to harness the energy -- the very souls -- of the incoming fighters and use it to power his Psycho Drive, a machine that will allow him to become an immortal, invincible god. Because…you know, power and insanity, and nothing’s ever good enough for these supervillain types. With his tech in place, Bison can remotely tell if there’s a strong fighter coming into town (like Ryu) or just some chump soldier about to engage in a mission (like Sawada), and have his soldiers off them from afar. So no cheating on that front; only fighters are allowed in.

Fortunately, there’s plenty of overlap between strong fighters and duty-bound soldiers. Guile and Chun-Li are sent in as representatives of their respective organizations, and quickly decide to work together -- outside of a clash here and there -- to stop Bison. Ryu’s heading there to fight a good fight (and save the world by happenstance, maybe), and Ken’s along for the ride too. Whatever the case, they’ll have to prove themselves and save the day the only way they know how: with some good ol’ kung-fu fighting.



Step Three: Setting

It’s New York City. Moving on…

…Okay, it’s a little more complicated than that. Believing that the environment draws out a distinctive reaction from fighters (i.e. more power to harvest for his Psycho Drive), Bison’s had his men litter Shadaloo City with special arenas -- synthetic creations that mimic a fighter’s homeland. Inevitably, there WILL be actual fighting in a street for once, but the idea is to create “stages” that make nods to the game series. A Japanese-styled arena for Honda (complete with bath house!), Balrog’s casino, Dhalsim’s…elephant garage, the works. Of course, not all the fighting will take place in these arenas; sometimes there just has to be a back-alley brawl, or a clash atop a building. What’s important is that these areas are diverse and vibrant; much like any SF stage, they’re pleasant to look at but don’t get in the way of the actual fighting.

Also, I would give any director fifteen million bonus points if they decided to set the movie in the nineties. Because…hey, why the hell not?



Step Four: Music

The themes we’ve been listening to for twenty years now, given a shot of steroids from Iron Man composer Ramin Djawadi. In case you didn’t know, he made a song like this.

Imagine hearing Guile’s theme set to the same style, exploding in your face like a flash grenade as the family man makes his stand. Or alternatively, have a gentler version of Ken’s theme play when he’s reminiscing about Eliza. Even a few notes from the song would be fine -- just enough for a fan to perk up his ears, and enthrall the average movie-goer. And the minutes leading into the end credits, unconditionally, would feature an orchestrated version of the Street Fighter 2 intro theme. Extended a bit, slowed down, and given all the bombast you’d expect from, say, a John Williams piece. There's no better way to celebrate when Bison's beaten and the good guys have won.

Step Five: Tone and Depth

Street Fighter is not a series to be taken too seriously (take notes, Legend of Chun-Li). As many of you know, this is a series full of wacky characters and happenings -- people who should be dead suddenly coming back to life, spinning kicks played straight, wrestler after wrestler after wrestler, and anything related to Blanka. There should be a spirit to it, a sort of tongue-in-cheek air about things. A bit of comedy here and there, an aside glance or two, something to inject the levity we expect from the series.

What I’m getting at is that the movie should have the same general feel as one of the Marvel superhero movies. Iron Man goes up against a guy with no shirt and laser whips, but that’s never played detrimentally. There’s a spirit of humor throughout, BUT it pays respect to the source material as it should. In the same sense that a red and gold suit of metal is shown as a viable weapon (superior tech, if you will), so too should a Hadouken be treated as an acceptable commonality. No need to resort to scientific mumbo-jumbo, or the power of another dimension; just say that spiritual power has been entwined within humanity for years, and street fighters are adept at drawing it out and developing it.



Of course, that’s not to say the movie should be a complete farce. Iron Man may have featured a man flying around in metal pajamas and a tie-flipping Jeff Bridges, but it arguably offered an examination of what it meant to be a hero, taking responsibility for one’s actions, and overcoming one’s weaknesses and vices for the sake of others. This movie should (and would) do the same. Besides the obvious need to adhere to canon -- Ryu as a con-artist is unforgivable -- there has to be something that gives it merit and gravitas. It’d be a movie based on a video game, but that shouldn’t be any excuse to treat it as a lesser product; fleeting as it may be, it still has a story. It shouldn’t just be one cool fight after another (though that’d certainly help). Who are these people? Why should we care about them? So what if there’s a supervillain on the loose? What makes all these people tick? Why is fighting so important? These are all questions that this hypothetical movie would have to answer. If it can’t, then it’s shallow and hardly better than the games they’re based on.

The movie needs to show what it’s like to be dedicated to fighting -- something that Ryu in a lead role could provide. What’s it like traveling from place-to-place, living only for the next battle? How does he survive from day to day? What has he had to sacrifice in order to adhere to that lifestyle -- a home, a family, a job, friends? What is it that he’s gained -- that any street fighter has gained -- from putting their faith in their fists? It’s a chance to examine the real-world applications of such a lifestyle, which can be used for both a few laughs or for some meaningful questions. Similarly, the characters could play off each other; Ken’s millionaire playboy lifestyle (and in the movie, a sense of practicality and pragmatism) could offer a contrast -- Ken has things Ryu may never have, but the reverse is also true. The same goes for Ryu and Sagat; Ryu could show the light side of street fighting, and Sagat, while not necessarily evil, can show just how easy it is to fall from grace. Guile, Chun-Li, and Bison can all play off each other, as the military-minded folks motivated by revenge, justice, or power. And in spite of their lesser roles, the other fighters could contribute something as well. They, like everyone else, can help answer the movie’s main question: what does it mean to be a fighter?



The end result should be obvious. Some people will see the movie and think, “That’s it! I’m quitting my job and becoming a drifting karate man/wrestler!” Others will see the movie and think, “Oh man…I had no idea Ryu’s life was so sad and empty…” It should be a movie that engages people, provoking them into asking their own questions. The fights themselves will be important (as they should be), but it’s those questions that’ll keep the movie and the SF mythos fresh on viewers’ minds.

Although…

Step Six: The Fights

You knew this was coming, right? I mean, come on…as if Vega and Zangief would resort to diplomacy to settle their disputes.

First of all, shaky-cam and Zack Snyder slow-mo are kept to a minimum. People want to be able to see the fights. People want the fights to be quick and effective, not slllllllllllllloooooooooooowwwwwwed doooooooooooooown then spedupreallyreallyfastholycow. The same applies to excessive CG and 3D effects; it’s all right to show things like a Hadouken or Yoga Flame, but I don’t want to see bodies going all Jar Jar Binks on me. The fights need to have a sort of visceral nature to them; they need to be crafted so that we feel every punch and kick. You know, something like this.

Each character’s fighting style and strategy has to be reflected. Consider Ryu’s stance versus Ken’s stance in the games; both have the expected bounce, but Ryu’s is slower and calmer, while Ken’s moves at a faster tempo -- he has more of a spirit to him. Nuances like that should be reflected, from stances to fighting styles. Zangief’s a wrestler that wants to get close to you and grapple, and show off his iron body. Chun-Li’s got those rapid kicks that batter anyone that underestimates her or her resolve. Honda can close the distance in a half-second with a hot-blooded charge. Guile keeps his guard up, but isn’t afraid to bust out his spinning backfist, rolling sobat, and of course his Flash Kick. Generally speaking, there should be a mix of those fantastic elements and realistic ones.

Also, weapons and special equipment are not to be used except by Vega and random Shadaloo soldiers. You’d think this would be obvious, but considering that we’ve had Balrog using a rocket launcher and Bison using hoverboots, I just thought I’d make that clear.

Step Seven: The Actual Movie Stuff

I’ll be the first to admit that this is where I stumble most. The nuances behind a story are what I excel in crafting, but when it comes to a movie’s particulars I’m out of my depth. I will say this, though: personally, I wouldn’t mind if the guys behind Kick-Ass handled the movie.

I found that movie to be surprisingly good (earning a strange look from my mom when I admitted “It was probably the best movie I’ve seen in a while). It was a good mix of action, comedy, and drama; while I haven’t read the comic book, the fact that these people could create an enjoyable (and presumably accurate) adaption makes me think that my faith wouldn’t be misplaced.



So who would play the street fighters? My answer is a resounding “I dunno.” The obvious qualifiers would have to be “can fight” -- though I guess they’d make use of stunt doubles in some cases -- and “can act” but I suspect there are a lot of particulars that need to be ironed out. Preferably, the actors should match the character’s nationalities (Ryu and Chun-Li should be Japanese and Chinese, or at worst someone of Eastern descent), but I suppose it wouldn’t be a total deal-breaker if they weren’t.

This whole section is tentative, so I’ll leave it to you readers -- and various dreamers across the net -- to make your suggestions. Perhaps Morgan Freeman playing Blanka would be a good choice…

Step Eight: Franchise Baiting

Hollywood gets a lot of flak, but in the end it can’t be helped; it’s a business more so than a creative outlet. Plenty of people want bankable names that can bring people in, and use it as a foundation for a fanbase. Street Fighter, by virtue of its recognizable and much-adored name, shows promise. And with the right moves, we fans could have a franchise that sees a sequel or two.



There’s a reason that I suggested a limit on the characters introduced in this movie; they have to save something for the sequel. If Cammy, Fei Long, Dee Jay and T. Hawk don’t get their dues in this movie, the next one can put them closer to the main four. Threads lightly touched upon in the first movie -- how far a fighter fan fall, and the darkness lurking inside Ryu -- can manifest into Akuma being the main villain of the second movie. With Street Fighter 4 taking place between 2 (memories which this movie is designed to invoke) and the vaguely-distant 3, it’s a chance to show the motion from one canon to the next…though hopefully, movie-makers will have the sense to stop before realizing that it’s time to put Necro and Oro on the silver screen.

What’s important, though, is that the first movie is good. It has to offer something that’d satisfy fans, but not utterly alienate the average movie-goer. It has to be something with spectacle, but a level of depth that the games haven’t focused on conveying. It needs to show respect to the source material and viewers alike; it needs to blend the real and the fantastic; most of all, it needs to be FUN.



That’s not TOO much to ask, is it Hollywood? So…that means you’re ready to give me money, right? Contact me on Twitter when you’re ready to pound out the details. Lord knows I've got plenty of ideas to milk…

I like manly things. Seeing hot-blooded passion made real; men (and women) who speak volumes with their fists; earth-shattering attacks delivered with enough gusto to power Brazil. It’s no small wonder, then, that characters like Ralf, Maxima, and Goro are among my favorite King of Fighters characters -- and why I like fighting games in general. The object of the game is to win, but there’s a secondary objective as well: looking as cool as possible at all times. (Well, unless you’re a scrub.)

I think we can all agree that, whatever our persuasion, whatever our favorites and preferences, video games are very good at making you look as cool as possible. Badass, even. Considering that I’m a featherweight reputed for his losing streak against the wind, most of the time I find this to be a much-appreciated quality.

And then there other times -- more recently -- where sometimes, I don’t want to be cool. Sometimes, being badass is detrimental.

What spurred this heresy, you ask? Believe it or not, it was Kingdom Hearts. See, I’d been meaning to get around to watching a playthrough of Birth by Sleep for a while; the plan was to own and play the game myself, but my PSP had to go and meltdown…so I figured it was up to YouTube to save the day. “It’s been too long since I’ve last experienced Kingdom Hearts,” I told myself. “I loved the first game, and the second…well, it happened. But this is a critical juncture in the storyline! If I don’t watch it, I’ll NEVER be ready for Kingdom Hearts 3!” So I knuckled down and started watching, hoping for the best.

To say that it’s a train wreck would be pretty harsh…but I can't think of any better description right now. Generally speaking, this is how my face looks whenever there's a...er, "development."



I can’t think of a single game -- besides Final Fantasy XIII -- that has made me facepalm so often, point out contradictions and idiocy, made me beg for an end to the inanity, and worst of all feel utterly indifferent to the proceedings. (I imagine this must be how diehard Star Wars fans felt when The Phantom Menace came out.) Granted I’m not done watching the game just yet, and I intend to see it to its conclusion regardless; I’m hoping that the game was just off to a rocky start.

I don’t like feeling this way about Kingdom Hearts. Unlike the searing hatred I feel for Final Fantasy XIII (where I delight in anyone who decides to shit all over its proceedings, a la the Jim Sterling review), I like Kingdom Hearts. A lot. I was one of the naysayers that thought it was a stupid idea at first, but when I heard favorable things about it I started to wonder; when my brother picked up a used PS2, I grabbed the Greatest Hits edition and was left enthralled. I was a fan within an hour of playtime.



Or maybe I should say, I’m a fan of the original. I am NOT a fan of Birth by Sleep. Watching the latter filled me with such depression and mistrust that I had to dig up the original game, pop it in my PS2, and start a new playthrough. I had to see if the game was as good as I remembered. If my love was deserved, or misplaced.

My findings? The camera is awful -- worse than I remember it. Goofy will still use items if Donald gets so much as a tap on the shoulder. The first boss is a pain in the ass if you’re playing on Expert mode (a choice I’m starting to regret). But in spite of that, Kingdom Hearts 1 is -- for now, and as far as I’m convinced -- the best game in the series.

Part of the reason, I think, is that Sora is decidedly non-badass. He’s just a regular, dumb kid way the hell out of his element. Consider that in the game’s opening, he’s in a realm of darkness, exploring a stained-glass world and being attacked by shadow creatures, all to [url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOpB12ow-VM ]an unsettling and mysterious tune[/url]. It culminates in a battle against a massive shadow creature, one that Sora can’t beat. As he backs off, cowering and unarmed, you can see the fear in his eyes, made all the more chilling by the threat of his childhood coming to an abrupt end.



What happens after that is a stark contrast, but earnest and endearing nonetheless. You get to see Sora run around his island, having fun, competing with his pals, and engaging in childish notions like building a raft and hoping to leave in search of new worlds. You get the sense that Sora, for all his cheer and optimism, kind of sucks. Fighting Wakka, Tidus, and Selphie is a quick way to learn how to get your face shoved into your colon. Go up against Riku, and even if you’re at the top of your game you’ll likely get hit by his drop-kick ukemi. Race against Riku, and it’s likely you’ll fall prey to any number of traps in the course while he performs flawlessly. Inevitably, he earns the right to share the destiny-bonding paopu fruit with your sort-of-girlfriend Kairi -- all because Sora was too weak. While he puts on a brave face (albeit one scene where he’s pouting childishly), there’s a scene where he’s in a cave and stares at a drawing of himself and Kairi. He grabs some chalk and continues drawing, etching a hand offering Kairi a paopu fruit. It’s a quick moment, but it’s surprisingly powerful and telling; I felt more in that scene than I did in the entirety of Ventus’ storyline in Birth by Sleep.

But just in case you thought Sora didn’t have it rough enough, his island comes under attack from the Heartless. Only this time it’s worse than before; you can’t even attack them. All you can do is run away as a storm tears into your island…and when you finally get the famous Keyblade, you have to put it to work against the monster you couldn’t kill earlier. The darkness nearly takes you (while Riku, tough guy that he is, remains unfazed and even welcoming). Your home is wiped out, and you end up warped to a strange new world…alone, confused, and with no hope of seeing your island’s splashing waters.

The gameplay reflected it as well. I know it’s commonplace to have a hero who starts at Level 1 (i.e. sucks), but the aesthetics and animations help convey Sora’s weakness pretty handily. He may have his universe’s equivalent of Excalibur, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to use it. He swings it how you’d expect any kid playing with a toy lightsaber would: with goofy, cumbersome motions. He doesn’t have a clue of what he’s doing, but he doesn’t have any concerns about finesse so long as he can club his enemies into oblivion. As he should; between his facial animations (which even to this day I adore in the series) and his goofy motions, you really feel like there was an understanding of how to fuse Eastern and Western sensibilities -- video games and cartoons.





And the story (at least, as I recall and interpret it) is quick to remind you of Sora’s weakness as well as his strength. Inevitably, Sora does get stronger, and uses the Keyblade to help out in the Disney worlds…even if that means spamming Dodge Roll so you can get the hell out of the way of enemy attacks. Unfortunately, this puts him at odds with the rapidly-improving Riku. He’s all too willing to call Sora out for being a hero elsewhere, helping strangers in isolated incidents, when the one person eh SHOULD be saving is more or less in a coma. Sora was something akin to the chosen one for a while, but Riku slaps that notion right out of him when he takes the Keyblade -- and as an added kick in the pants, Donald and Goofy -- and abandons Sora in Hollow Bastion, leaving him no stronger than he was in the game’s first hours. While you do eventually reclaim the Keyblade, you still have a mountain of work left to do; a boss fight against Riku will leave you as a bloody smear on the pavement if you can’t keep up. (Oh man, I am NOT looking forward to that fight on Expert…)

Kingdom Hearts 1 hammered in an idea in its narrative and its subtext for us gamers: weakness as well as strength can be vital parts of the overall package. Through strength, we gain spectacle and skill, and a belief that our actions can change the game’s outcome. Through weakness, we gain modesty and meaning, knowing that there’s always a powerful force waiting to snuff out our virtual lives, and adding tension to the package as a whole. Used effectively, weakness -- the antithesis of being a badass -- can make for a powerful tool.



A shame that Kingdom Hearts 2 throws that tool into a trash compactor. Right off the bat, Kingdom Hearts 2 gets it all wrong; yes, the Roxas prologue is…problematic, but in a way you might not expect. True, Roxas starts off with the same goofy motions as Sora, but he comes pre-equipped with one of the game’s many Reaction Commands -- he can slide behind an enemy and dispatch them handily. He gets to fight some of the kids around town, but failure isn’t an option; they’re just enemies to knock aside to continue the story. In a call back to the original game, Roxas goes to stained-glass land and fights a giant monster (with several of the shots reproduced); what was a desperate struggle to survive in the first game becomes a showcase of the awesome power of the triangle button. Press it when the prompt comes up, and HOLY COW ROXAS CAN SPIRAL THROUGH MIDAIR AND DODGE EVIL RIBBONS! AND THROW HIS KEYBLADE AND MAKE AN EXPLOSION ZOMGTEHHAWTNESS! It’s a shame, because that boss is actually kind of cool and creepy…but its effect is diminished when you have an Awesome Button that makes it less of a threat and more of a boneless clown.

After The Prologue that Never Ends, you finally get your hands on Sora -- and it isn’t long before he puts his Awesome Button to good use, too. Let’s put aside the fact that due to sleeping for a year in zero gravity, I’d wager he’d suffer from muscular atrophy or some form of osteoporosis (because, you know, magic). His new abilities give him the power to slash several times per press of the X button, letting him close the distance in a half-second and wail away at an opponent. His Reaction Commands let him do things like spike Heartless like volleyballs, swoop in and smash through enemies five times in a row, and teleport and kick sniper shots at enemies. To say nothing of the Drive Forms, which -- while cool in and of themselves -- turn the already mash-heavy combat into a whirlwind of lights, whooshing sounds, particle effects, and broken X buttons. The tension and desperation you feel in the game (in battle and outside it) are nonexistent when you can literally turn into an angel of death at will. It’s exacerbated when you realize that in order to turn Sora into a Super Saiyan, you have to sacrifice Donald or Goofy. You know, the pals who’ve been with you since the beginning, and helped you learn your way, and missed when they were gone, and had a multi-stage boss fight to regroup the last game. But hey, that was only a year ago.



Sora eventually became a fierce warrior by the end of the first game (sans the over-the-top superpowers), but there was a certain amount of levity and cartoonish flair in the fights. It was a game where the Disney villains were front and center -- enemies never encountered before, and certainly colorful, but far more determined and lethal than you. You start to have respect for villains like Jafar and Ursula after they hand you your ass on a plate; you wonder how Aladdin and Ariel ever pulled off a win against them. When you go up against guys like Oogie Boogie and the titans and Ansem and see their monstrous forms, you think, “Oh man, how am I supposed to beat THAT?!” Compare that to KH2, where it’s just a matter of waiting for a chance to use your Awesome Button and wailing on an enemy.

And then we come to Birth by Sleep. The Keyblades -- yep, plural -- are in no short supply. Not only do other people have them besides the king and the chosen one, but apparently villains have them too, and you find a field littered with thousands of them. (Why no one ever brought up a Keyblade War in previous games is a mystery.) The Keyblades barely even look like keys anymore -- just weird abstract or mechanical designs. The three main characters all have a bevy of superpowers designed to make them look cool. Awesome armor, awesome blades, awesome skills like the screen-clearing shot lock and transformative command styles, and -- get this -- their weapons transform into things like hoverbikes and hoverboards. But never when they might actually be useful, oh no; everyone always conveniently forgets they can travel through the universe at will at the best possible moments.

There are a lot of problems with this approach. First off, the ability to glide through everything with bitchin’ damn supermoves might work in other games, but when you’re a guest in a slew of Disney worlds it doesn’t mesh. There’s no whimsy anymore; the Disney worlds and effects pale when you can sprout sword-shaped wings and explode. Second, there’s a tonal inconsistency when you’re fighting a comedic swashbuckler like Captain Hook, and you can go boosh-boosh-boosh-teleport-spam-slash every other minute. I won’t speak for how challenging things are in the game since I haven’t played it, but when you’ve got one guy fighting like a pirate and the other being a supersonic jet, enemies are less of a threat and more of a nuisance keeping you from the awesome (HA HA HA) story. Third, the feeling of adversity and pressure you might find in other games -- in the original Kingdom Hearts -- is missing; you may fight a hard boss, but gameplay-wise it’s only a matter of time and button-mashing that you win, and story-wise it’s just another diversion from the main plot. Fourth, adversity builds character; with all these powers, you can’t possibly take a character’s desire to “become stronger” seriously. They’re already insanely skilled and powerful, and only getting stronger by default; if they’re up against a strong enemy, it’s because their bullshit powers are a cut above your bullshit powers. , and winning is a matter of out-bullshitting their bullshit. (Preferably, as flashily as possible -- gotta look cool for the kiddies, yeah?)



I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not done with BBS just yet. Nor am I done replaying the original game and seeing if it really holds up to a critical eye; doubtless I’ll be playing through KH2 eventually, because I’m an idiot that hates himself. I’d like to think that maybe there’s something I’m missing, some element that redeems the entire franchise -- or more immediately, makes BBS more enjoyable and less worthy of being renamed “The Three Idiots with Less Common Sense than a Brick.” Whatever the case, I’ve learned something today.

Cue the music!

Sometimes, it’s okay to be uncool. You don’t have to spend all your time showing off to us gamers -- sometimes, we like things to be simple and clean. Sometimes we don’t want to feel uber-powerful, or like nothing can stop us. It’s that sense of vulnerability that can create a powerful effect, or be used as part of the presentation. Sure, I like my Metsu Shoryukens as much as the next guy, but games can be a varied and effective medium. If I can have more fun playing as a weak, dumb kid with oversized feet than a knight that can fly around and shoot lasers, then maybe being cool means more than just the powers and skills you have.

Maybe what we gamers want -- once every blue moon -- is the chance to see something more than awesomeness. Maybe we just want to see something from the creators, not just the characters. Maybe we just want to see their creative vision -- and with it, their heart.



Whew. That was a long one, but I just had to get that off my chest. Still, it’s just an opinion at the endof the day; a part of me’s interested in hearing what you all think. Is there a point where being badass starts being detrimental to a game? Where do you draw the line? Are you a Sora/Ansem the Wise shipper?

I’ll let you mull it over for a bit. In the meantime, I’m gonna grab some hot dogs…and then proceed to watch people use “darkness” and "hearts" too many times in a single paragraph.