Inside my bathroom is a book by Roger Ebert; Four-Star Reviews 1967-2007, the perfect accompaniment to usual toilet practices. Usually, I'll read a couple reviews, acquire a molecule's worth of inspiration, and then watch it go down the drain as I shower. Though I credit (blame?) Ebert's work for convincing me to take on video game reviews, the truth is that I crave a purpose. These past couple years have exposed my work for what it is: self-serving, aggressively wordy drivel, with a meager explanation of the mechanics. I do not sell games, I sell pieces of myself, with the hope that they'll latch onto some unsuspecting reader, granting me a comfort that I might die as something more than just another pizza delivery guy. Huh. Perhaps the last website I wrote for had a point when they said to never use the word "I" in a review.
Part of this obsession with the self is reflected in the hobby that is gaming. It's isolationist in ways that we as a society don't confront often enough. In a movie, we're witnesses to humans - or animals with human voices - experiencing emotions and coming up with ideas. Games, or at least the ones I regularly write about, make us the sole participant. There's little room for interpretation when we're the catalyst of every possible event. Even narrative-driven games hinge on our decisions and are left incomplete if we lose interest in playing them. This is not to say that interactive works are in anyway lesser than passive works, but I contend that something is eventually lost when a lot of time is spent with games. We begin to lose sight of a person's worth; like an RPG character that isn't worth investing in because we know they'll die after 10 or 15 hours. Ultimately, the game mechanics usurp whatever else the game was trying to do, and we're just mashing objects together until the numbers stop rising.
That essence is what has carried me through Gladiator Begins for the better part of a week. In the colosseum, where the air reeks of blood, combatants vie for glory and freedom. Bodies collide until the flesh rends, bones break, and organs cease to function. After a night's rest, they do it all again. Once you've decided on your player-character's name, build, and stats; they'll be sold off to Magerius. He runs a ludi gladiatorii where slaves are trained to become combatants, though most of the "training" amounts to being told which end of the sword is the pointy one. Still, it's not a terrible tutorial, since the sessions are staggered over the course of a few days. You'll be taught the button-pressing basics, participate in a single show at the nearby colosseum, then head back to school to learn something slightly more advanced.
One aspect of the combat that stood out to me is that while gladiators can strike at the head, legs, and either the right or left arm; the dedicated "attack torso" button doesn't exist. Also, the specific body part you're aiming for is not often the one that'll actually get struck. This is important because the torso is the only part of the body that can't be covered by armor. Much like a certain Taito arcade game - which you've already guessed the name of - the results of a battle are determined by who finds or creates an opening, then continually slashes at it until their opponent can't fight any longer. An unhelmeted head is the most vulnerable, but the chances of landing a direct hit upon it are left up to a multitude of factors. Two warriors in constant movement are far more liable to hit an outstretched limb or the weapon it's carrying. Damage done to the torso is often incidental, a side-effect of blades dancing through the air as bodies constantly twist and contort. If your intention is winning, then all of your focus must be on the opponent. Watch how they move, pay attention to the position they're in after every attack, and vary your offense until a weakness is discovered. A heavily armored adversary might have a weak grip. Another could be an axe-twirling whirlwind but forget to protect his legs.
Success in the Colosseum also depends on your fighting style. At first, the choices seem pretty limited, and it's difficult to get excited about two variations of sword & board, dual-wielding, or fisticuffs. As the gladiator levels up their styles, new techniques are unlocked. These go a long way towards defining one's identity, provided they have enough endurance to make use of them. Challenging unique opponents can also lead to the acquisition of new basic attacks. Medeia has a rather eclectic array of moves for dual wielders. In time, I settled on a style that combines multiple spinning moves with a double-slash that looks like hedge-clippers. My dueling strategy is to push the opponent against the fence, bully them with a series of limb-targeting attacks, then alternate between the legs and neck. Once their helmet is knocked off, scissor-strikes will eliminate hapless warriors in seconds. Range is sometimes an issue, but I found that if I time my attacks as they're recovering from hitting the fence, then their live is forfeit. However, if I get parried, surrounded, or beaten to that first strike, then I'm probably in for a bad time.
Learning how to play defense just might be the hardest part of the game. It starts simple. Holding the R button puts the player-character in a defensive state, allowing them to block or dodge attacks with a high frequency. Parrying is performed by holding R and tapping L. The window is generous enough, multiple attacks can be parried at once, and it doesn't seem to matter if the player is even facing them. The troubles start when enemies regularly perform strong attacks. They're slow, but also impossible to parry. Multiple techniques - some of which are also unparryable - vary in speed, so have fun trying to react to them. On the slim possibility that a dedicated player will memorize every move, they can still get blindsided by a long string of uninterruptable techniques, courtesy of the AI putting their thumb on the scale. Normally, infinite endurance is a special ability that's only available to gladiators who have won over the crowd with a series of spectacular attacks and kills. It's also available only once a match. I can deal with cheating AI, but parries existing in a weird space where they're both required and a burden is really messing with me. Worst of all is when I successfully parry but then perform a second one that devours my counterattack chances.
If the thought of playing optimally just to see another day of enslavement fills you with dread, then you'll be happy to learn that Gladiator Begins is more a numbers game than anything else. Among the spoils of your last victory is the opposition's leftover equipment. If there's a specific weapon or armor piece that you've fallen in love with, then take it the nearby blacksmith and start tinkering. Explain how this system works would bore us both into an early grave, so my advice is to accumulate junk until it piles into a mountain, then bash them together until those +1s, +2s, and +3s create a beautiful work of art. The purpose of this entire bloody ordeal is to craft a piece that boasts incredible attack and defense yet is still weighty enough that it won't slide off of your body or out of your hand, when the pendulum swings the enemy's way. Also, that ideal armament of destruction should have several dozen points in strength, endurance, or vitality. One last essential detail is that equipment can't be too heavy. The gladiator's speed decreases as their weight limit approaches.
Some guy in the back just asked if this is all just a big fucking time sink. Yes, it is. Unlike life, tinkerers aren't cheap. Players who are serious about creating a half-decent sword or spear will spend millions, and that's just one part of a seven-piece set. Magerius also takes a substantial cut of the winnings, and it'll take more than a month (in-game time) to pay off his debt. I, a person accustomed to serving masters who don't actually exist, have already spent ludicrous hours sifting through menus in the hopes of causing a head-on collision between two unicorns. By unicorns, I'm referring to rare pieces of equipment that share the same set of glyphs and attribute-boosts, making them incredible crafting material, but you might've already figured that out. The thrill of battle and desire to see blood spill onto the sand have long disappeared. All my emotions - even the most twisted - are replaced with numbers, numbers that'll cease to exist the instant I publish this review.
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| Pictured: Two unicorns |
There is still more to Gladiator Begins that I've glossed over. As the days pass, various patricians will take an interest in the player-character. Completing special matches for them deepens bonds and leads to one of the four storylines. Once the bonding story is concluded, players are directed towards a meeting with Commodus. This is the endgame. Stay by Commodus' side and contribute to Rome's downfall, leave to go hang with the bestie you made a storyline ago, or finish paying off that debt and get as far away from the Colosseum as possible. First-time players may want to postpone that meeting to ensure their equipment and attributes are reasonable, as a few of the final battles are oddly over-tuned. In any case, these stories - while interesting - make up a shrinking portion of Gladiator Begins. Thanks to the start button, skipping previously viewed scenes is instantaneous. Sometimes I like to mash X through them. Characters usually just say "Oh" "Ah" or "Oy" when they speak. Mashing through their dialogue causes them to sound like something out of Banjo Kazooie. It's a small treat I give to myself.
Oh, and don't give too much thought on how many days the gladiator will spend as a slave. Hard mode does limit the number of days to 40, but that as well as all subsequent difficulties must adhere by New Game+ rules. In other words, if you're something between a maniac and an absolute sicko, you'll enter Hard Mode with godlike equipment that trivializes most everything. I've read that Despair Mode is where the real challenge lies, but I'm not so enamored by this game that I'd actually consider it.
Truly, there is quite a bit I enjoy about Gladiator Begins. It's clunky in all ways delicious. Battles have an inherent clumsiness to them, as combatants regularly stumble over armaments scattered across the sand. Each duel is a series of interactions that are simultaneously precise and unlucky. This, like so many of Acquire's other games, captures what I loved the most about the PlayStation 2 era. The Grand Theft Auto trilogy as well as Metal Gear Solid 2 & 3 were fine AAA distractions, but what really stoked my coals were all the games that hover in Metacritic's 50-60 sphere. At its best, this game is a mess of mangled bodies and dizzying numbers. That's my shit!
In the end though, it seems like all I've done is retreat further into the abyss. This is not what I would call a sharable experience. The typically ruddy PSP visuals and framerate won't impress anyone who doesn't already treat the 6th generation like a second home. There's nothing pretty about staring at menus with half-glazed eyes for several hours either. I might have even cheapened the experience of life a little by giving so much of my time of this thing, but... oh well. I chose the path of a games-writer, knowing full well it ends in failure, just to give myself legitimacy.
Shit. It's all pretty shit.
I should've learned how to draw a nice pair of breasts instead.
