Half Minute Hero offers a number of different gaming experiences and genres, however, the main meat of the game is traditionally RPG in the Hero 30 mode. It condenses a typical part of an RPG into a 30 second session, from the experience of grinding to completing quests and beating bosses. It even manages to throw in the full game credits at the end. On the surface this sounds ridiculously simple but Half Minute Hero packs in a surprising level of complexity to proceedings.

Each mission is more of a tactical puzzle game than simply a 30 second RPG. In order to make things a bit more achievable, players are able to pay for the use of a Goddess of Time statue which resets the clock to 30 seconds. The more times you use the statue though, the more it costs to reset time, making events a constant balancing act. Frequently things do become a matter of trial and error in order to figure out the best way to approach a problem in each level but it never feels irritatingly so. The game encourages players to return to previous levels in order to complete additional side quests and gain extra items of equipment. While the character’s level and gold is always reset to the minimum amount, equipment transfers between missions which can become extremely useful later on.

A number of side quests also open up new paths within the Hero 30 mode, making the full number of missions increase to a respectable 50. Obviously once you know what to do, it doesn’t take long to traverse Hero 30, but figuring out what to do next extends longevity hugely. I still found myself frequently returning to previous missions to determine the quickest way of completing the levels thanks to most stages offering multiple ways of completing them. Crucially the very nature of Hero 30 means that it is the perfect game to drop into for short doses as a lot can be accomplished in a brief amount of time.

Frequently the game becomes a matter of trial and error but never irritatingly so.

Half Minute Hero provides more than just the rather meaty Hero 30 mode. There’s also the Princess mode, my second favourite of the selection. It’s a button mashing shoot em up where players control a princess and her soldiers to complete various objectives within the customary 30 seconds limit. It’s quite simplistic compared to Hero 30 but it’s good fun and gets quite frantic. Throughout the side scrolling levels, various different surfaces affect the speed at which you can move so fast reactions are often needed to avoid being slowed too much. It doesn’t take long at all to complete Princess mode but it’s well worth a look for more than just the fact that completing all the original modes unlock new modes.

Evil Lord Mode offers a 30 second Real Time Strategy game. You play a mage who must summon monsters in order to clear each stage of enemies. Much like Paper Scissors Stone, each monster has its own advantages and disadvantages. Although it was probably the easiest of modes to complete, I didn’t find this as enjoyable as the others. There wasn’t enough depth to it to keep me interested yet it didn’t feel as frantic as Princess Mode which piqued my interest. Knight mode is also rather weak whereby players control a knight who must keep a mage safe from enemies for 30 seconds.

It’s worth playing through all these modes to completion however as they unlock Hero 300 mode. This allows players to complete Hero 30 mode again with 300 seconds on the clock. The downside to this is that there’s no sign of the Goddess of Time to reset time, all players have is 300 seconds. Some missions are significantly easier with that much time, but others are much more challenging. Once Hero 300 mode is completed, Hero 3 mode is unlocked. Hero 3 mode is rather self-explanatory and also ridiculously hard. Good luck to the hardy souls who actually persevere here! You’re braver than me.

Half Minute Hero is a brilliant parody of all the genres it offers. It’s particularly tongue in cheek when it comes to its portrayal of the RPG which is immensely refreshing to see. It’s also an ideal game for portable gaming. With each level only taking a brief time to complete and no sign of pesky, excessively long cut scenes, Half Minute Hero is the perfect RPG to play on your daily commute without fear of losing your progress due to a hasty exit. Seriously, just go buy this. It really is rather good.

Tetris

Being stuck on an island would naturally come with an entire host of problems– where would my fresh water come from? How long would it take me to become sick of eating crabs caught in the nearby lagoon? What happens when I run out of SPF 40? A more serious issue than all of those is, what three games but I possibly want to bring with me? Being the sort of gamer who generally plays through something once and then never touches it again, this question was especially difficult.

The first thing that popped into my mind was Tetris. Truly one of the enduring classics that will never, ever feel out of date or irrelevant, Pajitnov’s creation would be my first pick because it’s one of the very few things that I can play over and over and over without ever really getting tired of it.

Although the graphics aren’t flash and there’s no DLC to be had, each individual session is unique and an experience unto itself — sometimes the blocks drop in your favor, sometimes they don’t. Racking up great screen-clearing combos Can make you feel like a champ, but one wrong slip of the finger invites catastrophe. Recovering from such setbacks with blocks shaped like ‘L’s is a real challenge, and a skill to be honed over time. Deep enough for long-term strategy and acute enough to induce panic attacks once the pace picks up, Tetris is a title that I’ll be able to return to indefinitely.

Culdcept Saga

Vaguely in the puzzle genre, but offering an entirely different kind of play, Culdcept Saga would be another perfect game to have along in the tropics. Being a brilliantly inventive blend of Magic: The Gathering and Monopoly, well-balanced sessions can last for hours with many dramatic triumphs and comebacks before a winner is finally crowned. The way the cards interact with each other is masterful, and players have enough freedom within the system to craft an incredibly varied number of strategies. Depending on how long it would take a rescue plane to arrive, a player could potentially spend years and years crafting their perfect decks in different combinations of color, offense and defense.

For obsessives (*koff*) there’s a huge number of cards to collect, providing ample reason to play the story mode if no one else is around, though the game also sports the ability to accommodate up to three other live players, in the event that some game-playing, bikini-wearing companions can be located on the atoll. Even better, in the absence of any companions, the optional AI bot characters can have their strengths, statistics, and strategies fully tweaked in incredible detail, meaning that Culdcept Saga has the potential to offer an infinite number of unique matches without repetition.

Fallout 3

Although the two games I’ve already brought along would certainly provide an astonishing amount of gameplay to keep me busy underneath the palm trees, I know myself too well to think that I’d be able to retain my mental health without the ability to go on a cracking adventure once in a while. I’ll definitely be craving something juicier; something I can really sink my teeth into. I would sincerely hope that one of the survival crates washed ashore would contain a copy of Fallout 3 and preferably its DLC.

There are plenty of games that are big, but I can’t think of any that possess the proper scope and detail to justify the virtual acreage. The harsh Wasteland outside the security of the Vaults may seem barren and desolate at first glance, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Each overturned crate holds a secret, and each cluster of scattered buildings has its own story to tell. With so many choices to make, so many people to meet, so many quests to undertake, and so many instances of ambient storytelling to be found, and there are few games that beg to be pored over in painstaking detail like this one does.

After spending close to a hundred hours fighting off mutants and scavenging for usable relics in the rusted-out remains of civilization my first time through, I honestly felt as though I had only scratched the surface of what the game had to offer. Being able to be fully immersed in such a rich, wonderfully-developed world and have the time to poke around in every corner to my heart’s content would be the perfect complement to lukewarm coconut juice, I’d think.

Check back next Tuesday for another three picks from another writer… In the meantime tell us what you would take in the comments below or check out previous entries.

Well Rebellion and Sega have not shied away from the task at hand, instead taking on the hefty challenge of three campaigns each with different mechanics and controls for the characters. The story itself features the unearthing of an ancient Predator tomb by an all too familiar Cyborg. The individual campaigns all exist within this same story but follow alternate paths. It does lose itself on a few occasions but in my opinion all the little details from the films help bolster it to something better than it actually is.

Each campaign thrives on fear, whether you are experiencing it as a marine or causing it as an Aliens or Predator. The Marine campaign is genuinely scary in the first few chapters as you, like the characters in the films, have to learn what’s out there and how to kill it. The darkness is near impenetrable to your unrealistically bad torch and the constant hisses and creaks really set you on edge. The first beep-beeps of the motion tracker warn you that something is coming towards you, closing in at an unnatural speed and just when it’s about to hit you, it stops. Nothing. Leaving you an adrenaline filled mess, spinning around, squinting through the blackness hoping to find a target.

Your first fight against the Aliens would be an awkward bullet filled affair, with most spraying far wide of the mark. As you work your way through the game, however, and get your hands on some meaty guns like the rifle and the lovely M56 Smart Gun – fans of Aliens will remember these belt fed monsters – this feeling of fear is lost as you blast your way through waves and waves of Aliens and cyborgs. Once the campaign loses that fear it quickly becomes a standard FPS, which is a real shame.

Once the campaign loses the fear it quickly becomes a standard FPS, which is a real shame

The non-human campaigns are brilliant for one reason: the movement. Playing as an Alien is a nauseating, yet beautiful experience, as Rebellion have captured the feeling of freedom, allowing you to run up and around the walls and ceiling. The controls are a little difficult to get used to, often finding yourself running up the wrong wall, but once used to it, many evil opportunities will open up to you; creeping along above a guard, listening to him panic and sweat before dropping down behind him and ripping him to shreds. Getting to do this, play as the monsters that scared the living daylights out of the younger me, was a truly great experience, possibly the highlight of the game.

The Predator’s movement offers up even more avenues for evilness as they really are the ultimate hunter. You cannot run as fast as the Alien but you still have a mighty leap at your disposal to reach advantageous positions. Fans of the film will rejoice as you use gems such as the cloaking, heat vision, plasma caster, and even being able to mimic the enemy’s voice patterns – luring guards out from safety and into your trap. Oddly enough, getting to actually do what the game promises, fight an Alien, is not fun at all. It’s actually a complete mess, as the Aliens spring past you with each attack leaving you no option other than spamming light attack – unless you get to use an execution move, making the combat fun again.

Execution moves are available to both Predators and Aliens, and are activated by pressing the X button when you are either in front of a stunned opponent or behind an unsuspecting one. They take many forms, each one as wonderfully gory as the last. Memorable kills include severing the Aliens mouthed tongue and using it to stab the xenomorph in the face, or severing a Marine’s head and slowly cleaning the blood of the “trophy” spinal cord. They sound horribly violent, and they are, but it makes you feel like a real killer, as they were conveyed in the films.

Yet Rebellion have tried to make the characters more human by giving them an emotionally driven story, and it hasn’t worked, I garnered no real connection with them, preferring to run around and kill people. The Marine campaign, in terms of story, was definitely the strongest out of the three as it had the humanity, it had the relationships, yet it was not as fun as the other two. If they could have combined this feeling of freedom and fun with a realised story then it could have been something very special.

They sound horribly violent, and they are, but it makes you feel like the real killer, as they were conveyed in the films

The game also features an online mode, allowing you to compete in a mixture of multi-teamed deathmatch and objective games. If you get to be the Alien then you have the advantage of movement but no long-range weapons, forcing you to get in close and personal. If you are the Marine then you have the firepower, yet limited movement and health with no execution options. The Predator, on the other hand, is an over powered killing machine; coming with invisibility, speed, and an extensive range of one hit kill weapons; quickly making him the best of the bunch. This makes the whole thing completely unbalanced; if they made it so the teams switched species throughout the round then maybe it would be better.

Two of the game modes do salvage the multiplayer, Predator Hunt and Infestation, both capturing the fear and tension that made the early Marine missions, and the films, so good. Predator Hunt is similar to Halo 3’s Juggernaut mode, with eight players and one of them becoming the Predator. What makes this game mode so good is the twitchy fear that resides in the seven Marine players. With every shimmer of a cloak causing someone to open fire, forcing everyone else to start firing wildly into the distance – remember the scene where Blaine dies in Predator? Even when you are the Predator you have to constantly watch out for motion trackers and torches, patiently waiting for your prey to split from the group. Similarly, Infestation starts with one Alien but with every kill the number goes up, ending up with one or two marines fighting back to back against the never-ending horde. If the rest of the multiplayer could have hit these highs then the online would have been brilliant.

It really is a game of near misses; so many excellent little details are just let down by simple errors. If it did not have the source material that it does, instead using new creatures and original weapons, then it would not be half as good as it is. Fans of the films will get a kick out of all the great details but newcomers might be let down by what becomes a thoroughly average shooter.

The Top Ten With A Twist articles were amongst my favourite on the old site and we all thought they deserved another run and that’s exactly what we’re doing. For the three remaining Fridays in March we’re republishing these excellent pieces. This week ten separate writers tell us of their favourite cinematic scenes within games. -Sam Morris

Adam Standing – BioShock

Writer for Game People

No-one cut a more imposing figure in the game of Bioshock than its founder, Andrew Ryan. From the moment you set foot onto the lighthouse that takes you down into Rapture he’s there, his proud statue declaring, ‘No Gods or Kings. Only Man.’ it might as well of said ‘Only Andrew Ryan’. His confident, arrogant tone follows you every step of the way as you descend into his underwater utopia, ever patronising, always accusing and yet oddly charismatic. It’s impossible not to be swept up in every dramatic speech that he delivers. What would his next sneering remark be? What threat would he dare to unleash as I tried to unravel the mystery of Rapture and the vision of perfection he so desperately clung to?

All this culminated into an epic meeting with the man – the perfect denouement of the previous hour’s tension and drama wrapped into a brief minute of in-game cinematic. What made this so impressive was how well it stayed within the confines of the world. There was no 3rd-person highly-rendered cut-scene to take you out of the moment, no dramatic camera angles or swelling music, just the same view you’ve been used to but with one critical aspect changed. For those brief moments when Ryan opens his office door, control is suddenly taken away from you. But he demonstrates that although you’ve had free movement in the past you’ve been nothing more than a pawn in a power struggle, going from objective to objective under Atlas’ ‘guidance’, and fulfilling the role of a mindless assassin.

So when he tells you to run, and then to stop and face him, all by using the ‘would you kindly’ phrase, it suddenly threw the last few hours of gameplay back in my face. The curtain was pulled back and I realised how utterly I’d been fooled by my own assumptions. It was this stroke of genius that made me squirm as Ryan handed me his golf club. Although my aim all along had been to kill him, I was suddenly disgusted with the thought of carrying it out.

‘A man chooses, a slave obeys.’

Being forced to watch as I beat Ryan to death against my will was a shocking moment. I have never felt so useless within a game before and the emotional weight of this moment made it the most powerful in-game cinematic I’ve experienced.

And just as Andrew Ryan loomed large over the entire city of Rapture like a steely father, this scene eclipsed the rest of the game. But for me Bioshock was always about this moment; a meeting that revealed so much about the game and left me in awe.

Jared Newman – No More Heroes

Writer at Gamercrave

Amped up and showered in blood, Travis Touchdown points his beam katana at the last of three suit-clad henchmen, who is now crying in fear, arms raised in surrender. Travis demands: “Where’s this Heavy Metal dude?” And when the henchman can only manage a frightened whimper, Travis wields his katana and cuts through the baloney that so many other video game cutscenes put on display.

Normally, I don’t envy the makers of cutscenes. Somehow, they have to weave a thread of humanity into characters who are mostly preoccupied with killing everything that moves. This is especially true when the opponents are human, for instance in Uncharted 2: Among Thieves. As Penny Arcade so eloquently put it, Nathan Drake suffers from “his unique sociopathy, the one which allows him to crack wise between genocides.”

But while Uncharted 2, Grand Theft Auto IV and so many others simply hope you won’t notice the glaring discrepancy between the emotional character in the cutscene and the one who’s piling up dead bodies by the hundred, No More Heroes balances the scales. Travis Touchdown isn’t a sociopath, he’s just not human. He’s a construct, a vessel that delivers the player to the game.

Accordingly, Travis acts more like a gamer than a character. The phrase “this Death Metal dude,” and earlier in the cutscene, his referral to Sylvia Christel as “an agent of this whatchamacallit association” illustrates how a player can disregard the finer details of a game’s story and still have a good time. No More heroes is different because it forgets the details intentionally. I won’t argue that video games don’t need narrative, but if you can’t throw away a game’s plot and still enjoy the remainder, it’s probably not worth playing.

Think I’m blowing hot air? Consider also the many instances, in the game’s first cutscene and beyond, where Travis takes a sledgehammer to the fourth wall. “I know a lot of gamers out there don’t much patience, at least that’s what Bishop the dude at the video store said,” he remarks before speaking of “the deathmatch bar” and compelling the player to join him and “just press the A button.” Again, he’s not so much a hero as he is one of us.

All this brings us back to that brutal moment where Travis arrives on the scene of his next assassination. I really expected Travis to let that last henchmen go, because that’s what happens in a cutscene where the protagonist’s humanity is under a microscope. Instead, Travis splits the man along the torso, kicks open a door and yells, “It’s game time!”

At that point, I was thinking the same thing.

John Cranston – Lost Odyssey

Blogger

As a gamer of over twenty years, I’ve had the opportunity to see a lot of cinematics, from the explosive action of futuristic battlefields in Dawn of War, to the cheesetastic Resident Evil with its hammy dialogue and terrible acting. Today’s technology means cinematics can now be infused with almost life-like reality.

So, when I settled down to play Mistwalkers second game, Lost Odyssey, I almost didn’t know what to think, feel or believe when introduced to the first of their “Thousand Years of Dreams” sequences. It was unlike anything I’ve come across before and has become my most important cinematic moment in gaming.

Let me add some context. Lost Odyssey is a Japanese RPG by Hironobu Sakaguchi, in which you play as Kaim Argonar, an immortal mercenary travelling the world in search of a purpose. After meeting other immortals and questing with them it becomes clear that they are all suffering from the same problem – they are missing portions of their memory.

As you venture out onto various missions there are inevitable cut scenes dealing with the exposition of the situation at hand. However, whilst exploring towns and villages, Kaim and the other immortals can sometimes find an item or overhear a fragment of conversation which will trigger one of their lost memories.

These memories are presented in the form of an interactive short story, with transitional animation, animated backgrounds and expressive music (by Nobuo Uematsu) that reflect the tone of each section of text. You can read through these stories at your own pace, and at first they seem bafflingly obscure. I first thought to myself “why is this game making me read?”

But despite this initial objection, the first flashback was able to do something no game has ever done before – it made me cry.

“Hanna’s Departure” is the tale of a young girl, born with a degenerative illness. She is housebound at her parent’s inn and will not live to become a woman. Travellers that stay at the inn tell her tales of the world she will never experience, with any of her limited senses. Kaim is one of these travellers.

Having an immortal life and in his capacity of a mercenary, he has travelled far and wide, first hand experiencing the beauty of the world and the depths of human ugliness. You can’t help but warm to this aloof and initially bland character as he recalls his final trip to visit Hanna, and the story he tells her as she lies sleeping in her death bed.

To some it might seem like an overblown PowerPoint presentation, but I admire the way this game deals with real human emotions – the sadness of a loved one dying, the regret of a life not lived to its potential, the humility of your own actions and the loathing of the seedier side of the human condition. It truly struck a chord with me and I’m not ashamed to say I wept.

Lewis Denby – Pathologic

General Freelancer and Editor of Resolution Magazine

I suspect this may be something of an oddity on this list, as it’s a cinematic that doesn’t actually appear in the game.

Remember the good old days when a game’s opening cinematic came before the menu screen? That’s kind of the case here, except that there’s another, more relevant one at the start of the game proper. This one, the one that plays as soon as you double-click your way into the application, is actually rather arbitrary, and has very little to do with the marvellous, philosophical and terrifically disturbing plot that emerges once you get really stuck into the broken but beautiful gem that is Pathologic.

But what’s so thoroughly excellent about this half-minute introduction is that… well, it serves as just that. It’s not cluttered by exposition, and you won’t really miss anything should you choose to skip it. What it does is cement a bleak atmosphere from the outset, while tapping into some of the aesthetic themes from which Pathologic cancerously grows throughout its turbulant duration.

A funeral procession ambles through the rain. As the camera focuses, we see that the procession is made up entirely of children, suits and ties replaced with torn, tattered rags. They carry no coffin. Instead, it’s a ragdoll, equally torn and tattered. Ragdolls become a significant element of Pathologic’s twisted approach, but that’s not relevant for now.

The kids bury the doll. They walk off. The menu screen beckons.

What does it all mean? Well, on the surface, not a lot. But pretty soon we understand that Pathologic’s self-destructing village is home to an enormous orphanage, and that a terrible disease is sweeping the area, with hundreds of people dying every day. The children, with no homes to go to and nothing else to do, are partaking in their own version of the terrible situation that the town’s adult population has no choice but to deal with.

It’s subtle, but brutal and tragic. It is exemplary of the game as a whole – exactly what the best introductions should aim for. Marvellous.

Jennifer Allen – Bioshock

Writer for many places & Blogger

I was a strange one back in August 2007. Bioshock’s demo had just been released and every gamer on the planet seemed to be excited about it, except for me. I’m desperately trying to remember why but I can’t come up with a good excuse other than it just seemed to have slipped my radar. Fortunately a friend ensured that I didn’t miss too much by loading up the demo in front of me. Within seconds I was hooked and knew that I had to buy this game no matter what.

The opening cut scene really wasn’t very long at only a couple of minutes long, but it gave away just enough to make me very intrigued. Starting out on a plane in 1960 going across the Atlantic Ocean, you see the protagonist looking at photos of his family and then a blue package with a gift tag stating ‘Would you kindly not open until…’. Something that seems very innocuous at the time but is instead extremely sinister as events unfold. The next second the plane plummets out of the sky and into the Atlantic Ocean. Miraculously you survive and you come up from the water to see fire everywhere and the plane’s tail sink further into the murky water. At the time I was surprised to see how quickly the game had gone from pure cut scene to being able to control the action and swim to safety. It was a great example of just how hooked I was to the action unfolding before my eyes, I’d nearly forgotten it was a game. The first person perspective helped hugely, I wasn’t watching a man on a plane, I was the man on the plane. It all made things feel so much more personal and I had to see what would happen next, which is exactly what an opening cut scene should do: hook you and never let go.

I was a little worried that it wouldn’t hold up having not returned to Bioshock in a long while. But as soon as I loaded up the sequence again on my 360, I was hooked once more and I’m strongly contemplating experiencing the game again. It is amazing how one small cut scene can change your view of a game so hugely from total disinterest to a near addicted urge to find a copy. I dare anyone reading this who somehow hasn’t played Bioshock yet (shame on you if so) to view the opening scene and not have a desire to play longer. It might be brief but it does everything required of a good opening. It gives you reason to keep playing by tantalising your curiosity.

Christos Reid – Grim Fandango

Freelancer and wordsmith & Blogger

Have you ever thought about what it’s like to die?

In fact, have you ever thought about what it’s like after you die?

Grim Fandango, as a concept, is pretty dark. You’re essentially a travel agent for the souls of the dead, stationed in the afterlife working endlessly to pay off some horrible misdeed you committed whilst in the land of the living. Your job sucks, your customers hate you, and you’ve got no friends, because, well, everyone hates you, and you’re dead.

This is life for Manny Cavalera, the poor schmuck who finally wrangles himself a great client, fluffs the job, and ends up making a four-year pilgrimage across the land of the dead to save the person whose case he mishandled.

The cutscene takes place near the end of the game, so it’s quite a controversial choice; it’s not completely spoiler free, if you count bad people going to Hell as a spoiler. Manny begs the gatekeeper to stop a train granting criminals access to Heaven, but is told to wait, as it is revealed that the train will pass its own judgement on whether or not its passengers deserve to enter.

The train gleams in the winter sunlight, frosted windows giving way to the sight of one of the game’s many antagonists before the camera pulls back to give us an idea of how few moments there are left before judgement is passed by the wheeled beast. Suddenly, the train glows red, and the engine turns into a leering daemon, before leaping from the tracks into a fiery pit that opens up to let it through.

It’s hard to describe, simply because so much happens in the space of ten seconds. But it’s an amazing cutscene because it’s a relief for the player whilst still being a terrifying experience if you’re willing to immerse yourself within the collective consciousness of the criminals on the train. As the train soars into the depths of Hell, frantic faces and hands are pushed against the windows, decrying their sins as they are taken, mere yards from the paradise they stole from others.

Tim Schafer has something of a gift, when it comes to dialogue, but for once, it’s not really necessary. Every aspect of this half-minute of cinematic tension is purely visual, a rare treat after three years of guiding Manny through the various pitfalls and misadventures of the afterlife. It begs the question: are those who are morally tainted – but keep quiet about it – really safe from judgement? Or are the fates saving their ultimate retribution against those who would disadvantage others to further themselves for the last possible moment?

In a game all about morality being a very grey area, it’s reassuring to witness such a strong, visual statement indicating that the difference between the two isn’t so hard to perceive after all.

Well, that and the idea of daemon train is completely fucking awesome.

Brad Gallaway – Shenmue 2

Writer and Editor at Gamecritic.com & Blogger

I have to admit that I cheated a bit when I selected a series of scenes from the end of Yu Suzuki’s masterwork, Shenmue II. The images that sprung to mind hearing of the ‘Twist’ topic are technically gameplay, yet are so calm and expository that I think it’s entirely fair to say that they’re closer to being cinematics than anything else.

For those not familiar with the Shenmue series, it tells the story of Ryo Hazuki, a young man whose father was murdered before his eyes. Over the course of two games, Ryo struggles to unravel the events that drove the killing, and in doing so, is led on a journey of personal discovery and maturation into adulthood. Although Shenmue is frequently misunderstood by players who wanted it to be something it wasn’t, some of its most powerful moments are not of action, but of stillness; of introspection and of being part of a larger whole.

The perfect example? After an exhilarating end-boss conflict, most players (including myself) expected to see credits roll and have the adventure come to a close. However, Suzuki surprised everyone by slamming on the brakes and taking Ryo to a remote rural area where he must walk a considerable distance to a village deep in the mountains. There are no shortcuts, no passing cars to commandeer, and no warp areas to expedite the player from point A to point B. There is no way to ‘hurry up and get to the good part’. Simply being there is the good part.

Much like anyone would be wont to do after significant events in real life, Ryo counts his footsteps by contemplating things that have occurred along the way; where he’s been, and where he’s going. What it all means.

After searching, struggling, and enduring the violence necessary to achieve Ryo’s goals of bringing peace to his father, I felt as though this simple, idyllic trek through verdant fields and across bubbling streams was the best possible reward, both for Ryo and myself– slowing the pace down and featuring an entirely different, almost meditative experience for the player to participate in was Suzuki’s way of addressing that the character he created is multifaceted, just as we are in life, and deeper than the simple series of actions and reactions games require players to perform.

The richness on display is comprised of no more than discussions with a girl who acts as his guide. There’s no fighting or conflict. No struggle, save perhaps an internal one. Really, these scenes are never anything more than two people communicating and discussing life, but in them, Shenmue II provides more in a moment contemplating the intrinsic beauty of flowers than most games do with hours of bleeding-edge CG and top-dollar voice acting.

Thomas Worthington – Majora’s Mask

Nintendo Editor at That Gaming Site

As with any list or top 10, when it comes to the Zelda series, the words ‘Ocarina of Time’ are never far behind. In contrast, Majora’s Mask is the under-appreciated younger brother of Link’s Nintendo 64 debut. Starved of the respect it’s deserving of, I couldn’t refuse it a mention here.

Allow me to set the mood for you by briefly re-telling the events leading up to this classic introduction. Travelling back and forth through time to defeat Gannondorf, save the princess and Hyrule, accepting his destiny as Hero of Time, the events that transpired in Ocarina of Time might have been a little too much for young Link to deal with.

Stepping out of the lime light and into the foggy depths of the Lost Woods, we find our hero atop his trusty steed Epona strolling cautiously in search of an old friend. From a nearby tree, two fairies are watching Link and plotting away. It isn’t long until the mischievous duo startle Epona knocking Link to the ground and into unconsciousness.

In the distance, the outline of a mask and shadow of its owner appears revealing the ringmaster in this master plan, the Skull Kid. It’s here we’re introduced to the strange but hilarious mannerisms of the antagonist. He’s a change of pace from the traditional Gerudo tyrant, Gannondorf. He shuffles towards his prey, prying the Ocarina of Time from Links’ pockets, giggling at the sounds it makes and playfully hiding it behind his back when our hero awakes to find this obscure scene.

Scoring a quick getaway by stealing Link’s horse, our hero chases his foe through the forest and into a dark cave not seeing the ledge and falling into a dark abyss. Landing in a dimly-lit cave, the Skull Kid is basking in the spot light. Epona is nowhere to be seen. The Skull Kid tells Link that his horse was useless so he disposed of it from him. The Skull Kid now bemused by Links anger decides to knock him down a peg.

Sending Link to a nightmarish world, surrounded by Deku Scrubs, Link runs for his life trying to shake off the echoing sound of rustling. The horror isn’t over for Link however, as he awakes to discover the Skull Kid has transformed him into a Deku Scrub. Peering at Link’s new look, the Skull Kid falls back laughing uncontrollably.

No longer in the world that held him up as the hero of time, reduced to a mere Deku scrub, no horse, no Ocarina and with a foe for a companion, Majora’s Mask is an introduction that tears its hero down to rags. It’s a storytelling device used over and over by Nintendo, (for reference see the opening of every Metroid Prime game) but Majora’s Mask did it with such style and emotion that falling from hero to zero never felt so brutal. It paints a picture of how dark, twisted and at times haunting Link’s adventure is going to be.

Steve Wright – Final Fantasy 7 (There had to be one)

Budding writer for Nidzumi

Let’s rewind back to 1997. I was a 12-year-old lad who, when not playing footy in the rain, would waste many an afternoon on my Playstation. I had played and loved many games, but no game had affected me as much as Final Fantasy VII did. I remember playing FFVII through summer and winter, friends pleading me to play football, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to get my hands on that black Chocobo.

As all gamers know (who has not played this? Seriously) FFVII is filled with majestic moments and great cut scenes – Sephiroth walking through the flames, explosion over sector 7, oh, and that girl dying – but the one memory that stands out as clear as day is the escape from the Shinra headquarters.

After rescuing Red XIII and escaping Sephiroth, Cloud and his band of misfits have to escape. Cue what Christos Reid called “Cloud’s most badass moment in the FFVII universe”. While the rest of the team mount into a strange-looking blue pickup truck, Cloud comes flying down the steps in a rather awesome looking motorbike. They smash through the window and (in a Michael Bay fashion) speed onto the freeway to fight off the pursuing enemies.

Why do I love this scene so much? I think Christos could have been spot on in his quote. For a hero, Cloud was, well, a bit of an emo. Up until this point Barrat was the man, he had more machismo in his left elbow. Like an average 12-year-old boy I was drawn to heroic muscle-bound men…this is sounding a little wrong. What I’m trying to say is there was not much to inspire you about Cloud; he had a big Sword, yes, but as for sheer badassness (sorry), he was solely lacking. That was until he came thrashing down those steps in that bike, stopping only to strut heroically. Now he is a hero, now he is cool, now he can take down Sephiroth.

Before writing this piece I went back and watched this scene again. What was once jaw dropping, friend impressing visuals is now very underwhelming. It’s a great testament to how far gaming has come in terms of graphics, but also how many moments in our gaming careers will never be forgotten, no matter how rough around the edges they are.

The cut scene has taken a bit of flack in recent years but I say keep it. Cut scenes should be used to convey something that can’t be shown in gameplay: epic explosion filled endings, character deaths, character romance etc. Simple. When you find yourself trying to skip a cut scene by pressing every button on the pad like an uneducated Tekken player then it’s not needed. Developers need to look back to games like FFVII, where they were used to perfection, and stop giving cut scenes a bad name.

Dillon Andrews – Dungeon Keeper

Co-Editor of Ve3tro

What makes a cinematic great? What is it that causes a cinematic to standout from the rest and stick with us like childhood memories so that when asked “what is the greatest cinematic ever?” we can reply with a grin and a re-telling of our favourite video game cutscene. For me (a cinematic enthusiast), I get pleasure from anything containing comedy, good graphics, excellent writing, and of course nostalgia.

Like wine, good cinematics age gracefully and can be enjoyed after many years have passed. Let’s select a 12 year old gem, taking us back to June 26th , 1997 for my selection; Bullfrog’s Dungeon Keeper. What scene sticks out the most? Well I can’t say any in particular as all are relatively short and all excellent in production, so I’m going to break the rules of this top 10 list and expand my selection of ‘favourite’ to ‘favourites’ and select them all. However, to confine and limit myself from an endless ramble, I will simply choose the one that started them all, the Dungeon Keeper Introduction.

Running a quick breakdown, you can see why I look to this game with such high regard. Allow me to take your hand and walk you through the beginning 2 minutes of Dungeon Keeper.

A knight gallops towards the castle gate with torch in hand and a burning desire for conquest in his heart. Wind gusts shake a corpse silhouette in front of the moon as the illustrious Bullfrog sign swings from the local tavern. Fighting the temptation for a brew, the knight marches onward through a forest littered with rodents and decaying bodies.

Finally the knight reaches his destination and kicks in the door, startling a little imp who scampers past troll guards who prepare for the confrontation and epic battle. The knight hastily slays the patrol (whose backup are indulging in a game of cards), and then heads towards the core of the building—the dungeon.

Fortunately the big badass, Horny—the Horned Reaper sneaks in and beheads the crusading hero, ushering in a new level of confidence to the evil minions in the Dungeon Keeper universe… and of course riling up me, the player.

Tell me how that doesn’t get your adrenaline pumping, your inner self sinisterly rubbing your hands together as you let out a unruly ‘Mua ha ha ha’!

Check back next week for another Top Ten With A Twist.

You don’t get to rewind time. You don’t actually get to do much with time at all, actually, which is a bit odd when considering that’s the main concept. You’re given ‘time bounces’ to play with, with each one giving you a variable amount of the world’s most precious commodity – it depends on what level you’re attempting – to beaver away at progressing. When the time is up, or you’ve done all you want, the game then rewinds back to the beginning and you control another of the series’ recognisable wireframe marionettes. Your previous attempt, however, remains in the game as a shadowy figure that goes about and does all the actions they did when you were controlling them. And so on. You might press a row of buttons to the left of an object with one shift and then all the buttons on the right with your next  and then use a third shift to make a dash for the exit. It’s like playing a co-op game with yourself.

You’ll find yourself having to use multiple shifts due to levels being much too big to get through in one life, with simple progression challenged by pesky coloured – colour also happens to be new to the series – walls that stand in the way between you and the exit. These are removed by pressing the corresponding coloured switches. As you’ve probably already twigged, it doesn’t take long for the game to start intertwining its switches and doors – combining them with drops, stairways and jump panels – into an indecipherable web of nightmares and confused train journeys.

The game is played solely from a 2D perspective, unlike Echocrome’s quasi-3D Escher effect, but it inherits the same visual style as its spiritual predecessor. Like Echochrome, the levels quickly become really bloody hard.

It’s like playing a co-op game with yourself.

There are 56 in total, and the game generously allows you to progress with a fair bit of freedom. Completing one level usually unlocks two or three more, meaning when you end up giving yourself a headache from the confusion you can back out and give something else a try.

Each level also has two extra puzzle variants attached on top: Key and Illusion. Key levels chuck in a key that must be found by your final character before they can open the door to the exit. Illusion levels allows you to pause time for up to 3 seconds with each shift, which means you can maximize efficiency, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Where the game starts to falter is when the game starts to rely on luck rather than clever thinking: you’ll often see rows of coloured switches, but only one of them will cause the wall to vanish. This might appeal to some players, but with puzzle games I want success to be based solely on lateral thinking instead of whether your fourth shift was lucky enough to hit the right random button in time.

There are also objects that must be thrown off by repeatedly hammering the X button, a feature that would be more at home in God of War than in a purportedly cerebral think-‘em-up.

With puzzle games I want success to be based solely on lateral thinking instead plain old luck.

And, for a game that’s entirely based around trials and errors, the interface completely fails to be nimble. Levels take a long time to load, each new shift comes with a lengthy pause and restarting the level takes a fair amount of time. It doesn’t break the game, but when you hit the game’s trickier puzzles you’ll be retrying stages countless times and loading screen fatigue will quickly make its presence felt.

Still, the puzzles are – for the most part – superbly designed and almost all of them have a definite Magic Eye effect: initially daunting challenges will slowly focus in your mind’s eye to become easily surmountable. This, I find, is always satisfying. Niggling design flaws and technical issues drag the game down, but there’s more than enough food for thought within Echoshift to keep PSP owners scratching their heads for a good long time.

Starting out is a bit of a slog. Although the character customisation options are quite varied, it all feels a little standard with a few choices of class and race that everyone has seen countless times before within the genre. Of course that doesn’t matter if the story is compelling, but unfortunately this isn’t the case in Phantasy Star Zero. It all feels a little predictable. Some efforts are made to make things more interesting, such as the different branches taken depending on what race you have chosen, but ultimately it’s all been done before.

The core of Phantasy Star Zero, much like PhantasyStar Online, is the ‘grind’. As much as attempts have been made to cover up just how grind heavy the game is it’s still quickly apparent that this game is all about repetition. As a foundation to compare to, think Diablo or Torchlight rather than the sweeping epic tales of the Final Fantasy series. Players will frequently find themselves doing the same thing over and over again. Each quest, although offering slightly different objectives, mostly involves fighting your way through a number of randomly generated areas while collecting key cards to open gates to move on. At the end of each of these stages is a boss battle. That’s it for the most part. At first, it is quite enjoyable and is in keeping with the Phantasy Star that we saw on the Xbox 360, but when you stop and realise just how predictable this is, the fun factor fades fast.

The combat system is easy to learn and works well with rhythmic button presses required to pull off appropriate attack combos. The dodge ability also works well and is much needed when having to rely on the DS’s d-pad which feels rather dated for a game that works so much better with an analogue stick. Plentiful loot also ensures that your attention is kept and it kept me hooked for longer than Phantasy Star 0’s single player really deserved. The urge to get that next handy item was just too great even if it was ultimately not that impressive. The single player element certainly needs something to keep players hooked as it doesn’t take long for the diabolically friendly AI to drive you insane and desperate to switch to the online side of the game.

When you stop and realise just how predictable this is, the fun factor fades fast.

The much anticipated online side of Phantasy Star 0 is actually pretty good. It’s held back by the fact that it’s so awkward to add friends thanks to the Friends code system but that’s Nintendo’s fault, not Sega’s. Once you manage to get grouped up with a few friends via the easy to connect system, it becomes quickly apparent that this is how Phantasy Star 0 is meant to be played. With a mostly lag free experience, it’s immensely more enjoyable to play alongside real people, people who know how to react to situations. Crucially, people who you can chat with. Chatting being the slight down fall here as the chat system is restricted to a Pictochat-esque system where you draw messages to send to your allies. This isn’t so bad in itself but if you’re playing alongside random people who are not on your friends list, you’re restricted to using preset images to communicate. So close yet so far.

I felt restricted to waiting to play with friends for the sake of convenience, ruining the chances of a really strong community developing here. Fortunately when playing amongst friends, it was still great to be able to drop into the online mode from any Wi-Fi based location while on the move, and grind through a few quests. However to gain new friends, it’ll be easier for me to use internet forums first to get to know people rather than use the chat system here.

Its things like this that mean Phantasy Star 0 just didn’t quite hit the spot. The online mode is fun when able to play alongside friends but the restrictive chat system and Nintendo’s awkward friends code system makes playing harder than it should. When everything works well, it’s terrific but you really need a group of friends already interested to make a purchase worthwhile solely based on the multiplayer aspect. Phantasy Star Online Dreamcast veterans should coerce their old friends into a mass purchase as the multiplayer side will bring back some fond memories.

However the single player side of Phantasy Star 0 is far too generic to be worth recommending, especially when considering the great RPGs already available for the DS such as Chrono Trigger and the numerous Final Fantasys. Even as a fan of grind heavy MMO-esque games, it was all too much for me and ultimately just a bit dull.

As Napoleon grows, so does his power. From a student of the battlegrounds to the all encompassing general we know of now, he takes his army across Italy, Egypt and Europe. It seems everyone is the enemy; any movement on the strategic map is someone who must be dealt with if Napoleon is ever to become a masterful tactician. There are plenty of battles to be had, although it can be tempting to let fate decide and allow the battle to play out by itself.

Land battles are masterful chess battles of pitching and wheeling troops into the best position to take down your enemies. A grand general will watch all of his troops with a keen eye, making sure they are behind cover or have the higher ground. If you have selected an easy opponent then it’s unlikely you will find much challenge, but regardless of the difficulty of war, the enemy troops are never the smartest. At times it’s easy enough to hold back and allow them to storm into your frontline whilst unleashing your cannons into their ranks.

Battles at sea are awkward affairs that leave you wishing that each battle was fought with solid ground beneath your feet. The slow trudging movement of your fleet is meandering and dull, though still tactical each battle feels lacklustre. The real battle is found on the hills and fields surrounded by the smell of gunpowder and the heat of the cannon fire.

The slow trudging movement of your fleet is meandering and dull, though still tactical each battle feels lacklustre.

Each conflict is dramatic and bringing your view down to the ground heightens the theatrics. There is always so much going on throughout the ranks, men loading their weapons or readying their bayonets and even horses galloping away from the fight dragging their lifeless rider behind them. There is passion here and it’s shown in the details.

Despite the dramatics, however, the war can become a little boring as each engagement plays out. It’s a very repetitive experience in its nature and after several hours of Napoleon: Total War it becomes all too tempting to hit the simulate option and wait for the result. Regardless of how pretty everything looks and how things may have changed since Empire, one has to wonder what we will see next.

The inclusion of teaming up with friends is an interesting prospect although it could not be tested in my time with game. This doesn’t appeal to me as a player though; part of Napoleons charm is following your general around the world and creating an attachment to them. If any defeat takes your generals life, there is a spark of sadness, knowing that they fought for you and inevitably died for you.

For me, there is a lack of any real emotion throughout the game, this is a title that could take you on a dramatic journey that engages you at every turn but other than your relationship with your general there is a detachment to what’s happening. The battles are fun but there is no real feeling of pride when you win as all you are greeted with is a victory screen and a question as to whether you want to loot the town or capture it peacefully.

This is a title that could take you on a dramatic journey that engages you at every turn but other than the general there is a detachment to what’s happening.

There is a want to just keep on fighting in the mud, never wanting to be dragged out of the passion and dumped on a sterile map screen that’s full of menus and options. When Napoleon: Total War is about the blood and tears it’s a wonderful experience but the monotony of planning a war takes you away from that experience.

This was an overarching issue for me as I played; as much as I was wowed by the war I never really felt a part of it. I was just the man at the desk clicking the mouse and pressing the buttons, merely a controller. War evokes emotion and Napoleon: Total War never really delivers on that.

1: Pokémon Silver

I’ve started to reach the end of my tether with the Pokémon series. I persisted in playing a majority of the titles since I got hooked on Red & Blue but Diamond & Pearl the most recent duo left a bitter aftertaste. Not one to lose a loyal fan, Nintendo quickly remedied the situation by announcing remakes of Pokémon Silver & Gold.

For me, the recent sequels had been a series of disappointments but Gold & Silver were different. The new elements like Night and Day, Pokémon Breeding and the Pokégear were vast improvements on the originals. They even added 100 new Pokémon that weren’t completely dreadful.

I guess depending on the timing, I’d pick the upcoming DS remake of Pokémon Silver because the obviously the addition of online capabilities and the visual touch up would give me even more time and enjoyment out of it.

That said, be it DS-remake or Gameboy Colour original, I’d be happy to lay hours into travelling around Johto and Kanto to become a Pokémon Master all over again.

Oh and if you’re wondering, I’d play Silver. Why? Look at the front covers and tell me you’d pick Ho-oh over Lugia?

2: Sonic Jam

I don’t blame you if you haven’t heard on Sonic Jam.

At the current rate that Sega pumps out archives of Sonic’s best and worst, they are beginning to outweigh the number of actual sonic titles out there. If you wade through them, Sonic Jam might not look like the most appetising collection but it’s easily the best.

For those who don’t know, Sonic Jam was one of the first all-in-one collections of the Sonic series bringing Sonic 1 through to Sonic & Knuckles to the Sega Saturn, a system so short lived and underappreciated that seeing one in broad daylight is a spectacle to say the least.

On top of having those four games at my disposal, the option to swap and combine carts using the Sonic & Knuckles cart opened up new possibilities like playing Knuckles in Sonic the Hedgehog 2.

And then there’s Sonic World, a brief foray in to the 3D realm offers up galleries, soundtracks and more importantly a cinema to view the best and most hilarious Sonic clips from movie trailers to Japanese commercials.

It’s simple a memory of a better time and a better Sonic. Sega might say the blue hedgehog is on the mend with the announcement of Sonic the Hedgehog 4 but some things are hard to forgive…like Shadow the Hedgehog…and Sonic Unleashed.

3: Final Fantasy X

Now there’s a tale to this one. Back during my early university days, a very good friend handed down to me his Playstation 2, my first PS2!

At this point in my gaming career, I’d amassed a long mental list of PS2 titles which I promised myself I would one day play when I finally acquired the system and enough time to play them and as anyone studying university knows, the first few months are full of free time.

Games began to flood into my collection and with it Final Fantasy X soon became a time sponge on my life. Whilst other went out to get wasted during fresher’s week, I plundered through its hours and hours of story, levelling up and quite frankly loved every second of it.

Then university work kicked in. As inevitable as it was, there was less and less time to spend wasting bosses and exploring side-quests.

As close as I was to finishing the story, time to dive back in just never happened and when it did I was onto different things. Since then Final Fantasy X has not been touched and remains one of my biggest gaming shames. It sits on this list because if I ever had the free time, I would go back and start the journey from the beginning all over again, I owe it to Tidus and the crew.

Check back next Tuesday for another three picks from another writer… In the meantime tell us what you would take in the comments below or check out previous entries.

Any questions, queries or general mail send it to podcast@nidzumi.com or drop us a comment below this post.

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Unsurprisingly, you play as P.B. Winterbottom, a pie thieving miscreant who will stop at nothing to get his hands on a freshly baked and steaming one. The game recounts Winterbottom’s shady past through a well designed montage that ends in P.B. developing the ability to create clones at will. Unfased by weird circumstances, he abuses his newfangled ability to naturally steal more pies while chasing the Queen Pie.

Stealing the pies on the way aren’t as simple as taking them from a windowsills like cartoons would have you believe. Nope, apparently the only way is to abuse clones. Your clones will naturally take lead after you, you hold down a trigger to record an action and then your clone will repeat it. It’s fairly simple stuff but this is an indie game, it needs simple and smart ideas, and P.B. Winterbottom doesn’t disappoint.

Switches, clone only pies, recording portals, fire along with a plethora of other smartly conceived traps and pitfalls will have to be mastered if you want to progress through the game’s five chapters. Each individual chapter will introduce a new mechanic and completely turn the game on its head. Just as you feel comfortable with what you are being asked to do, you’re thrown a curve ball. The same kind of game design that made indie darling, Braid, excellently paced and constantly challenging.

Winterbottom has the long-lasting appeal, technical know-how and refinement that most Arcade games can only dream about.

Akin to Braid and similar indie games, P.B. Winterbottom doesn’t let up on the artistic execution either. The entire story is told through silent movie style slides between each level with humerous poetic verses describing the goofy story. Meanwhile the levels themselves are just as smartly designed, not just from a technical or gameplay perspective but from an aesthetical point of view. It’s this sense of artistic style, that is very unique to the game and something that carries over to the top-heavy, top-hat-wearing P.B. himself. Who could hate such a character? Needless to say, it has the charm to complete the triple threat.

Where Winterbottom starts to tower above the rest of the crowd is with its polish, I could dribble on for ages about how crisp that giant clock looked or why Winterbottom’s film grain makes WET’s grain look amateur but I won’t. The point is that The Misadventures of P.B. Winterbottom has that extra class and finesse that makes it look so much better than your average Arcade game.

Admittedly the game isn’t for everyone, those with a short fuse will hate Winterbottom’s unforgiving challenge but anyone who loved Braid, the platformer turned puzzle game, will instantly be straight at home. P.B. Winterbottom has enough charm, clever design and lovely visuals to beat a majority of the games on the Arcade and at a price that beats the flock as well.