The clips we’ve seen in the past from Suda51’s No More Heroes have all been tiny snippets rife with hip surreality and stylized everything , but they haven’t really shown us much of the game. The denizens of the ‘net are happy to get excited over anything, so lack of meaningful content up until now hasn’t mattered much. Thankfully though, with the above clip we finally get a bit of what catchphrase-spouting undergrads all over the country would call “a bit of the old ultra-violence.”
Normally it takes more than just arterial spray to get my knickers inflamed, but when you combine more blood than Sissy Spacek left on the floor of that shower in 1976 with Suda51’s charming wrestling-meets-The-Matrix -meets-the-GHB-crowd style you get gameplay footage that looks simultaneously thrilling, visceral and sorta icky.
I’d be giddy as a drunk schoolgirl if the gameplay was as entertaining as the above clip, but short of adding a dongle to the Wiimote that microwaves a plate of nachos will giving you a hummer, I’m left thinking it can’t possibly enthrall a player to that degree.
Hit the jump for footage of the title’s intro.
A few things I like about this intro:
First, that tune the hero whistles while walking down the stairs is the exact same tune I whistle while walking down the stairs!
Second, I respect the man’s choice of transportation. It looks like he watched Akira repeatedly as a child and tried to build a replica of Kaneda’s bike out of milk cartons, old shoes and things left behind by the last Katamari ball that happened to roll too close to his home. If I was the sort to build replica motorcycles based on the possessions of fictional characters I would hope my effort was half as adorably inept as his.
Finally, once the voice over kicks in, the whole thing acquires a feel similar to what would happen if John Favreau remade Cowboy Bebop with an Executive Producer credit being handed to Quentin Tarantino. It oozes neo-cool, subtle drug use, and pseudo-futuristic, Stephensonian hipness and short of including a scantily clad woman with reflective lenses grafted over her eyeballs, they couldn’t have done a better job of appealing to the demographic that masturbates to words like “credstick,” “Metaverse,” and “street samurai” as often as they do to attractive women, men, combinations of the two, animals, incest fan-fiction, old-on-young lesbianism or the remembered sensation of a particularly rough piece of Velcro.
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