Let me begin by saying that I enjoy “Call of Juarez – Bound In Blood.” As far as Western-themed shooters go, I like it almost as much as Lucas Arts’ “Outlaws.” Almost. Which isn’t saying much, I suppose, since that was over ten fucking years ago. You have to understand that the pickings during that intervening decade have varied greatly: anywhere from utterly execrable (“Western Outlaw: Wanted Dead Or Alive”) to passably diverting in a bland, manilla envelope full of tapioca pudding kind of way (“Gun”).
The original “Call of Juarez,” of which “Bound In Blood” is technically a prequel, was a competent, not-too-hideous gunfight simulator marred by stealth sequences of the “stay hidden or die” variety. Still, it allowed you to shoot faceless goons in ten gallon hats with one hand while reading fire-and-brimstone verses out of a Bible in the other. There was no gameplay benefit to doing this, it was simply awesome. Sadly, the amusement factor of playing a fundamentalist lunatic on a rampage of revenge lost all of its charm after four hours of gooey controls, “Oh, who gives a shit?” plot, and plasticized, zombie-faced character models.
“Bound In Blood,” in addition to (marginally) improving these areas, is also a frank depiction of the hardships endured by two brothers cruelly stricken with Klumpke’s palsy.
Ray and Thomas McCall—our designated protagonists—both suffer from sudden-onset hand paralysis, kicking in every time there’s a one-on-one gunfight. Considering that every single mission ends in such a showdown, you begin to see the great hardship under which the outlaw brothers endure. The gunfighting mechanic is as such: the camera drops down to ass-cheek level, with your adversary in the center of the screen, and your character’s hand hovering over his holstered shooting iron. Your opponent moves right, then left. This goes on for an eternity until somewhere, someone decides to ring a church bell. That is the signal for you to reach for your gun by moving the mouse. The problem is that every inch of on-screen movement requires about a foot and a half of mouse movement, regardless of sensitivity. So the church bell rings, and your character begins to move with agonizing slowness toward the butt of his pistol, his hand jerking inch by inch across the seemingly vast interstice between man and victory. While you are dragging the mouse across your desk again and again like you’re reeling in a garden hose, your enemy has effortlessly unholstered his weapon and perforated your character’s spleen.
You will repeat this process many, many times until finally you get lucky and your ataxic character manages to grip his gun and bring it to bear on his opponent. Inevitably you will shoot as soon as possible, which has the hilarious side-effect of making all gunfights end in crotch shots.
Now, despite the crippling disability that nature has bestowed upon the McCalls, their true downfall is pride. They never turn down an offer for a gunfight, knowing as they must that every gunfight is an exercise in excruciating pain and humiliation. It is inevitable, in fact, that your character will die several times during these events, in what is either a clever parody of the wild west anti-hero’s eternal flirtation with violent death, or just REALLY SHITTY FUCKING GAME DESIGN, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES.
Every single mission in the game ends with somebody wandering out and demanding a gunfight like it’s constitutionally mandated. That the greedy, cruel and dishonorable McCall brothers heed these requests is all the more baffling. Solitary enemies stumble out from behind cover, outmanned two-to-one, and aren’t unceremoniously shot in the face from a hundred paces.
Nobody in this universe has ever been shot in the back of the head while playing cards.
Thus we come to my primary complaint, and it is the same complaint I have lodged against every western-themed game ever: this is not a depiction of the American post-Civil War frontier period. It is a depiction of what Italians in the 1970s thought the American post-Civil War frontier period was like.
Western shooters need to give up spaghetti like military shooters need to give up brown palettes, or RPGs need to give up Tolkien and giant spiders. It’s time to move on. A whole generation of homegrown western films have raised the bar, introducing some of the real moral grayness that characterized the period (beyond simple not-so-nice guys shooting at other not-so-nice guys).
Is it necessary to keep going back to the trough for grizzled, scarred and stubbled villain-protagonists to shoot historically inaccurate weapons at mighty Apache warriors over lost gold?
Hopefully not for much longer.
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