By BraindeadRacr 6 Comments
The melodramatic twat who wrote that Splinter Cell: Conviction review returns. If the expression "has a chip on his shoulder" were written for me, the guy would've just put his palm on his face and said "Who am I fuckin' kiddin'...". Anyway, I moan alot. As proven by all my blog posts and the likes. And I needed a good reason to use Modern Warfare as a punching bag so hey - Why not, right? Oh... And seeing as I'm as bitter as the grumpiest ol' sonuvabitch; Don't expect sweet talk, son.
The Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 - Oh Dammit, We Need a SequelYeah, shit. We made something we thought that was good, turns out it was platinum! I always felt like the modern takes on Call of Duty were like forcing a one-hit-wonder band to churn out another song on the basis; Make it bigger! It's more or less beating a horse with a stick, just to have it fall over dead after. It's something that just blew right up in their faces. I suppose to a certain extend we can call Call of Duty 4 "Stephen Hawking"; A physically limited but mental mastermind. It was a okay looking game that threw us a bone time after time with it's limited toyset. Like Counter Strike, achieving the most with the least.
Modern Warfare 2? It's as if someone carjacked Stephen Hawking's wheelchair and is now doing donuts on the NASA parkinglot while giggling like a schoolgirl, creating dirty lines with the speechbox. It looks fun it plays the same but no-one can look past it's critcal flaw; They killed it.
Lets be critical here, we're talkin' direct sequel. It's about different of a game, or as OXM(or some twisted magazine, I ain't Wiki-fuckin'-Pedia.) said it in the most delightful but oh-so-insanely-overreacted-way "a revolution" as the movies Saw III and Saw IV. Fuck, it's about as much of a sequel as Skate 2 and Skate 3. Although I call shenanigans if they were aiming for a serious, up-to-date, to-the-core, hard-rock, soft-porn, cheese-in-the-centre sequel.
Hell, I'll say it again. The feeling I got when I spun that little Mexican-crafted-disc(literally, printed Meccchhhiiicooooo!) was the following:
I was playing HEAT, Soap suddenly turned into a balding dislocated Al Pachino and Michael Bay set off car explosions and screaming civilians around every street. Shit went down, Scottish accents went up and WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMM - Washington D.C. got jacked all to hell. Oh and then there's this bit about some Makarov and how (Commander) Shepa(E)rd goes all dandy evil. Whoops, spoiler? :3
Did you lose track of yours truely right there? Good. Cause that's what the plot is. It's Swiss cheese with a side order of insane confusion. It's got more plot holes than a Ford engine block. It's about as serious and mature as a Tom Clancy novel on high-school bullies. It's a story that is dazed and confused like a 12 year old boy after his first porn flick at night. It's all over the place, it leaks, it's full of holes and you secretly wish someone could explain the shoddy plot between the waitress and the German who came to ficksen ze kabel.
They were really pushing the limits on what they could get away with... I'll bet someone had to chain Robert Bowling to a radiator halfway through development so he wouldn't promise Flash Gordon to occasionally come up and zap the shit out of a Ruskie.
Oh, and the "CONTROVERSIAL SCENE, DO YOU WANNA SKIP? YOU SURE? IT'S PERFECTLY FINE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO. YOU OKAY WITH IT? REALLY? YOU VERY SURE? Ok." was about as emotional as watching a white wall. So we mercilessly killed about fourteenhundred Russian civilians who all were very sadfaced. Yes, truely emotional. It's not real, you absolute dipshit. The only controversy to it is that somewhere, some fuckwit is thinking "I could buy a military grade M240 light machine gun and plow down La Guardia Airport cause I'm so upset with everyone!" and ends up shooting an armored guard with a pellet rifle. Not to mention the golfclapping audience in court who eye down the lawyer defending this said moron.
So I just completely beat all the candy out of the Ford Utility Van-slash-piñata that is "Single Player".
Multiplayer? Oh lord. You see, it's infantry combat. And for the first ten hours, harriers, Predator Missiles, chopper gunners, AC130s, Stealth Bombers who are as stealthy as Margaret Thatcher is pretty and easy to listen to, Pave Lows and the oh so lovely game ending-regardless-of-score nuclear blast - Are a bundle of joy! The following 100 hours this crack-esque addictive game will be absolute torture due to 'em...
Only two are controllable, why yes. So we're not borderline Battlefield 2 on maps the size of a common New York City backyard - But there's another side to this coin that just simply refuses to fall flat... If getting a tactical nuclear strike is such an achievement, should I mention you only actively got the first seven kills yourself? Y'know, that unusually painful way of pointing your rifle at a bad lookin' mofo' and unloading a couple of stoppers in his fleshy body? The rest was all done by either the gigantic fortress that hovers the sky like a rabid dog runs up and down a chainfence trying to bite your arm off.
Besides, it's easy to hide from a helicopter with explosive rounds that practically parks in your face for convenience, right? Or the ass-clapper one-thirty that rains more hell on your parade than a malicious ex wife. Or that Predator missle that always seems to aim for you, making you wonder if your enemies are little Satans.
I'll stop moanin'. I clocked 23.000 kills, 'bout 7 days logged and I feel like as that one fella' elequently put; Like I should shove my timecard into the stamper, call it a day and ask myself repeatedly why I played it for so damn much and still end up having so much... negativity. I'll let you in on a secret, my brotha - Battlescars. I've been there for so long, I've gone Vietnam vet on it. 'Tis all bad.