Half-Masked

by Alex Hill

A lone paparazzi travels to a small town via helicopter, and plans to leave 3 days later in the same fashion. In the meantime, there is a zombie outbreak to contend with. Man, don’t you hate when that happens? Inconsiderate zombies.

Frank West decides to get the “scoop” of a lifetime, in-between pummeling, slashing, shooting, burning, clobbering, flattening, kicking, punching, tackling and sometimes admiring zombies. Because photographers are known for their robust strength and mastery with a wide variety of weapons. He and a small band of survivors attempt to uncover how this all started. They operate under the assumption that their shopping mall will have all of the answers relating to a bio-hazardous outbreak resulting in cartoon monsters. I don’t know all of the details, but bees are involved(those cunning bastards). This is a reference to the Emerald Jewel Wasp. I’ve noticed the disease also makes it so only the lower half of everyone’s faces will ever move, which effectively cuts the animation budget in half.

This is Dead Rising, a game which attempts to get just about everything wrong which it possibly could. I hated this game. I did not want to hate this game, dear reader. I wanted very much to like it, I certainly put in the effort. I made the attempt to draw blood from this stone. Know that it is not bugs or glitches that impeded my enjoyment, but a series of errors in judgment which lead to some of the least satisfying game design I’ve seen out of a big-name developer.

The major problem is the “controller-smashing” difficulty imposed on any player who has not already scoured and memorized the game’s item locations and rigid schedule. For anyone else(that is to say, anyone who plays this game for a first time) it is maddening. It leaves no room for exploration or training, if you want to keep up with the missions and rescuing survivors. The only time you are free to play the game unshackled is in the “Infinity mode”. But you have to see the main storyline through to completion before you are allowed access to it. I am here to tell you that any game which holds its own fun hostage like that is a game unworthy of your wallet.

At one point, let’s say about 2/6th’s into the game(as in: not even half-way through), I had to fight a man named “Carlito”. This is complicated by the fact that he has a high-powered sniper rifle that never runs out of ammunition, and I have a fragile baseball bat. It doesn’t matter how much I put into each swing. He’s all the way over there, and I’m all the way over here being shot to death. Sneaking up on him doesn’t work, because the AI for this character immediately brings the gun around and fires directly towards you whenever you move, even if the character model isn’t looking at Frank. Throwing the baseball bat is admirable, but Carlos’ bullets tend to be faster. He and all other bosses, known here as “Psychopaths”, have more health than 20 zombie or human character in this game combined. If my AI “partner” dies, it’s a game-over. If(when) Frank dies, it’s a Game-Over. If you take too long getting to the mission, or completing the mission, it’s a Game-Over. If you saved at a point and time too far away to get to the next mission, you have to restart the entire game if you want any hope at seeing the story through.

I believe there is room for challenging video games, but it has to be fair first. It’s not fair to fight a dual-chainsaw wielding clown with the athletic and damage-absorbing powers of Wolverine with nothing but a toy lightsaber and a handgun(which has surprisingly little effect, and takes three centuries to aim). All because I haven’t memorized the location of the battle-axes, shotguns and jugs of orange juice(three of the most useful items in the Willamette View mall).

Capcom, makers of the delightful(and you’ll note: fair) Mega Man games should know by now how to present a boss-fight. This game represents what is a (hopefully momentary) lapse in judgement. The odds are stacked so far in the Psychopaths’ favour, I had to wonder how it was ever expected for me to win. In the few times I did succeed, I was never sure of how or why it happened. The entire scenario is often made around something the developers most likely thought would be really cool in a feature film, and they unwisely assumed that they could shoehorn that into video game context as well. It’s less about skill and more about the game itself having pity on you after your 15th consecutive trip to the Game Over screen. And that’s not just if you die, either. God forbid I’m late to a mission by 12 seconds. It’s not like I have a wall of zombies, survivors to escort or convicts in a jeep with machine guns to contend with at the moment.

And Otis… Good lord. What did we do to deserve the hell that is Otis? Aside from having the impeccable knack for calling you at all of the wrong times, the game makes the startling idiotic decision to remove Frank’s ability to defend himself while answering his text-only, impossible-to-read phone-calls. And if you get attacked by the thousands of zombies in the area, go into a different part of the mall or activate a cutscene(even if it’s one that activates automatically no matter where you are), he calls back and berates you for “hanging up on him”. I tell you now, the most satisfying moment in Dead Rising is when you are allowed to murder Otis in Infinity Mode.

Much ire was raised for the one-save debacle. I understand why they chose it. They wanted to raise the stakes. One file means it has to count. In theory, it is sound. In practice, it is worse than I could’ve imagined. If any game needed the option to save multiple files for your progress, it’s this. I hope you like restarting and restarting the game over and over again, right back to the same Day 1, the same dumbass old lady who ruins everyone’s trip to the mall for her ridiculous zombie-dog, doing the same early missions, and reading the same, almost illegible text from Otis’ annoying god damned phone-calls.

There are several endings. The “main” or  “true” ending has the distinction of also being the worst of the bunch. While the main story itself isn’t bold or showing of intelligence, the characters and situations are by no means unwatchable. The canon ending however is as confusing, as lacking in clarification or even sense as the beginning to a new Halo game. Totally disconnected from what we’ve seen before and giving nothing in the way of explanation for what, how or why anything happens the way it does. Important characters’ fates are ignored for utterly no reason. This is not smart story-telling. This is incompetence.

Yes, it is possible to extract some small satisfaction here. There is a morbid pleasure in making Frank wear a dress and a Serv-bot helmet while smashing televisions over zombies’ heads. This enchantment wears off pretty quickly after Game Over #5, however. After that, it is not much more than an exercise in raising your blood-pressure. Keiji Inafune has expressed time and again that he wished he’d just been able to make another Mega Man Legends game. I’m not a fan of that series either, but at least Legends has an art-style.

END OF LINE

~A.H.

Here is a devastating group of photos from the riots in Iran. Be forewarned: a few of them show the bloody results, the kind of thing CNN will never have the journalistic integrity to show you. We NEED those “packaged pieces on water-skiing squirrels”, you guys. That is more important to us as a species, or at least televised news stations seem to think so.

Of those photos, I found the most immediately striking to be the pictures of supporters of the “defeated” Mousavi not only trying to calm down their outraged fellow seekers of reform, but also helping blood-soaked and most likely injured police -escape harm and death- from a crowd that hates them. Even in that chaos, there are people who are not willing to be reduced to violent anger, even when they’ve got a whole lot to be violent and angry about. That was more affecting to me than even the burning buses, and the sea of raised, open, welcoming hands around the man they believe rightly won the election.

People are dying in Iran because of what looks to be a monstrous abuse of imaginary power, but here we are, and right-wingers are still comparing the Obama presidency to fascism. That is a breed of childish, unhinged selfishness that can only from a rich, white American with no concept of a universe existing outside of himself. Or perhaps a dictator.

END OF LINE

~A.H.

(EDIT: I’d like to make clear that I don’t think Mousavi would be a great, sweeping, progressive change for Iran. From what I’ve heard, the “choice” presented to the Iranian people was between Emperor Palpatine, and Emperor Palpatine with a Snidely Whiplash moustache. And you know that Snidely was always up to no good.)

Did you know that today is “Autistic Pride Day”? I sure didn’t. We can argue the potential merits and backfirings of something like this all the live long holiday. I bring this up because I happen to be considered Autistic by the government of Canada. Of course, I’m just a wee bit skeptical.

See, the problem with Autism is that it’s really, really vague and difficult to pinpoint as being unique from a bazillion other, similar disorders. And that’s if the subject even has any disorder. And when you consider that not all forms of Autism are the same, there’s most likely a lot of improperly diagnosed people out there. It could be from doctors trying to make a name for themselves by “contributing” to the study of a slippery new health issue. It could be intelligent, experienced doctors making a calculated guess with what they see. Even the best of us are going to be wrong sooner or later. We may never know just how many of us are true Autists, and how many are just borderline, or similar.

Maybe they’re just shy and good with numbers. That’s something I heard recently: According to CP24, scientific studies showed that “diagnosed Autists are 40% faster at problem-solving than everyone else“. The first thing that came to mind when I heard that was a scene in Azumanga Daioh, where Osaka correctly answers a string of purposely confusing word-games by Tomo. Her answers are spot-on and instantaneous, while the same questions stump the otherwise sharp-minded Chiyo-chan. Many other moments in this show could reasonably paint this character in that light. It’s impossible to watch it and not think about it.

(I’m sorry, I know I promised I wouldn’t talk about AD anymore… Well actually, I promised I had no further plans to talk about it. I did not plan on this. This snuck up on me, and gave me another chance to examine, and perhaps understand this elusive and original character. And perhaps why I feel like I can relate so well to a character not of my gender, nationality or even world-view.)

Is Osaka Autistic? I don’t know. Does it matter? Perhaps not, but it’s been on my mind. Maybe she is, or maybe she’s just a weird, different gal. That’s good enough for me. Neither would detract from what this character offers: a fresh look at high school life.

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s just an interesting little lady. I believe those quirks are her own, and not the byproduct of some brain irregularity. To me, it is a matter of free will. It would be convenient to say that I am the way I am due to a disorder I have no control over. Too convenient. Then I would no longer be fully liable for my weaknesses or strengths. And then those weaknesses and strengths would mean much less than when they are of my choosing.

It's probably not helping that I chose some of the most retarded pictures of her imaginable.

But at the same time, I can’t deny that if she were presented to people in the field of medicine, or even just regular folks who’ve some experience with Autistic people, at least one would be confident otherwise. This show is wisely silent, unconcerned with trivialities like that. We’re left to draw our own conclusions, if we must.

-Further analysis of “Osaka”-

-My very best article-

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~A.H.

For the last two weeks I have been drawing a very small, 2-panel comic strip. I specifically wrote it so that it would be a lot easier for me to get done in the space of ONE week, as opposed to a text-heavy 8-panel strip I also have a script for. I figured I could get this one out the door pretty fast and have more time to work on the bigger comic strip to come.

The last panel has consistently dogged my efforts to see it to completion. It requires a drawing of one of my characters holding a hamburger, and I am having an unreasonably difficult time accomplishing this. I have tried drawing and re-drawing that panel over and over, and it just fucking refuses to be drawn. This is not a particularly difficult pose I am attempting here. There is no reason for it to be this hard, and yet here I am, inexplicably late to deadline over a stupid visual roadblock that was supposed to SAVE time for more complex scripts.

Goddamnit.

——

In other news, Bungie is holding a raffle for their fugly-looking “Recon” armour in Halo 3. The catch is this: To be entered, you have to play and complete at least one level in the single player mode on the hardest possible difficulty configuration imaginable.

Here is a list of the handicaps one must place on themselves if they wish to enter, which are not otherwise found in the “standard” Campaign:

• -Brittle shield technology
• -Increased accuracy from enemies
• -Non-existent health
• -Dying at any point makes you restart at the very beginning of the sometimes 2-3 hour long levels.
• -Enemies are better at evading projectiles, grenades and overall gunfire.
• -Enemies gain near-immunities to certain weapons(those with shields become impervious to standard bullets, for example)
• -Enemies(and allies) throw twice as many grenades as normal, and are much more accurate with their throwin’ arms too
• -You cannot see anything except the level and its characters. No gun, no H.U.D., no way to monitor how much health or ammo you have.
• -Shields that only recharge by punching enemies with the butt of your gun
• -”Rank Promotions” for nearly every enemy type(higher ranks are stronger and have more shields).
• -Increased damage from explosions(at the cost of melee-strength)
• -Huge increase in overall enemy health.
• -Drastically reduced ammo reserves in 90% of all weapons you find.
• -Listen to alternate “outtake” lines from all of the characters(which aren’t nearly as clever as Bungie thought they were).
• -And a delightful confetti explosion accompanied by the cheers of children for every head shot to a Grunt.

Oh, and it has to be done without dying once. Ever. It’s called the “Mythic” difficulty, and it is even more annoying than I have made it sound. It does not fuck around, folks. It is essentially you as Samuel L. Jackson’s character in Unbreakable versus an army of Incredible Hulks. With guns. And you need to send video proof of your victory via the Saved Films option and Xbox Live.

All for a microscopic chance at getting THIS.

Which everyone will be able to get in September anyway, once Halo 3: ODST comes out.

Demonstrating what may be an undiscovered brain disease, I made this attempt over the last 2 days. I’m not entering the contest however, since I do not have the means or desire to access Xbox Live. So even if, just for the sake of conversation I somehow won, I would have no way of claiming a prize I won’t want even when it is going to be handed out like candy. No, I went through this gauntlet of annoyance FOR MY OWN AMUSEMENT.

What does this say about me? My guess: that just about anything looks like a better use of my time after trying to draw that fucking hamburger panel.

END OF LINE

~A.H.

As is often the case, when walking back to my room or the computer room in my household, I will see the briefest flash of a dark spot on the wall and my brain will signal that it is a gross insect. Upon closer inspection, it is usually dirt or something.

This was not the case 5 minutes ago.

This time I thought it was just a bit of dirt or something, but decided to stop and check anyway just to confirm. It was a spider, with the fattest ass I have ever seen on an arthropod. It was struggling to get out of its own web. I think it was seriously that overweight by spider standards. This thing was inches away from my face every time I walked into the computer room.

Only after acquiring 4 sheets of paper towel did I muster enough courage to vanquish the Sir-Mix-A-Lot equivalent of Grendel. Keeping in mind this is only a couple of days after watching the remake of Charlotte’s Web(the one that tries to convince an audience that a realistic spider egg sac hatching, unleashing millions of baby spiders crawling all over the face of a horse played by Robert Redford is supposed to be “heartwarming”). I nearly lost it. What if a bunch of spiders burst from it, like the world’s worst pinata?

When I removed the paper towel, there were no legions of baby spiders attempting to devour me in blind retribution. Instead the wall was smeared in a gooey, uneven line of green and brown spider-gunk that splintered my soul, and made it scream for a merciful quick death. To be released from this knowledge. It was even more grotesque and emotionally unnerving than I have made it sound. I write this in a damaged trance, and I search for something to soothe my doubts that this is still a universe worth living in.

I was going to go to sleep about a half-hour ago. I don’t think I’ll be doing that for a while.

In related horror stories of spiders, the reason I stopped eating the most delicious cereal in the world “Cinnamon Toast Crunch” is because I found a spider in it. After I’d already eaten some of the cereal, tainted by the 8-legged illegal immigrant. I had consumed the spider-milk. There’s no going back now.

So, in conclusion, all spiders must die forever THE END.

END OF LINE

~A.H.

What a strange, unfortunate man. I’ve never seen anyone so uncomfortable in their bones, so desperate to find and be something resembling how he saw himself. Did he really want to be white? Is that why he became obsessed with plastic surgery to the extent that he did? Is it ever that simple? I’ll never know. I’ll never know if he really did abuse those kids. But the more I look at him, the more apparent it is that perhaps no one could have reached out to him. His visage has been called “alien”, and I think that slur says more than it means to.  This is someone, or something who only really existed on-stage, for which he was cruelly conditioned.

It’s one thing to want gender-re-assignment. There is no surgical procedure that could have given Michael Jackson the state of existence he wanted. We heard his music, but we could never have fully heard or answered his cry for help. I think he knew this early on, and to carry that across half a century is not a pleasant thought. There was a howling emptiness there, broadcast in a pitch invisible to us. If we’re deaf to that, is it any wonder he tried to find other ways to get that message out?

And yet, this weirdo is beloved. He never really spoke the same language as his fans, but he knew a more universal language: Dance. Music. He knew what struck the match beneath a lot of people. His fans are a wide and reaching squadron, that stood in his corner through every second of his highly-monitored, turbulent life. These are people so reached by his performance, they were content with the knowledge that he may have done terrible things to minors. Can any of us say that we will ever be as talented, as influential or as loved world-wide as Michael Jackson, even at his ugliest? His death is a cause for sadness, but not as much as his life.

Everyone’s favourite song by him seems to be “Billie Jean”, by the general response I’ve seen. Special nods go out to “Thriller”, and his time in the Jackson 5. The song I most vividly recall is “Stranger in Moscow”. I don’t think any example of his work so closely acknowledges what it means to be isolated in a packed stadium. The world is viewed through a bleak lens, when stage lights are your only substitute for the sun.

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~A.H.