[Rant] "Does it hold up?" is an argument for idiots.

I was very excited for Star Fox Zero. As a fairweather fan of the series, it was nice to see Nintendo finally coming around and developing a brand-new, fully on-rails Star Fox that many fans have been clambering for since 64 came out nearly two decades past. To top things off, venerable action studio Platinum Games would be involved in some capacity, so what could possibly go wrong?

Well--to be frank, that's a conversation for another day. The critical response to Star Fox Zero is something I could only describe as a quiet, but sufficiently wet, fart. The typical Nintendo crowd attempted to herald the game as a deep action title, but its flaws were far too immense and their numbers too few. With a short, irritating campaign, levels that ground the action to a halt, limited branches (possibly the hardest thing to screw up, yet here we are), annoying collectibles and a completely forgettable final boss, Star Fox Zero was simply not a good game. Be it executive meddling or Platinum having too much on their hands, not a single thing came to fruition with the game.

Among the criticism, however, one odd complaint stood out. Something so trivial, so mind-bogglingly pretentious, that it not only took me out of trying to criticize the game for myself, but somehow burrowed into my head like that gun from Turok 2--and like the cerebral bore, my brain turned into mush instantly. I've been trying to come to grips with why this has been bothering me so much, and now I think I can put it to rest.

In Giant Bomb's review for the game, professional dunce Dan Ryckert posited that "this limited style of gameplay feels dated in 2016." Of all the legitimate criticisms of Star Fox Zero, this one stood out as it's something I've heard quite a bit recently. From the legendary Final Fantasy VII to even venerable titles like Deus Ex or even Shin Megami Tensei Nocturne, discussion on many games that are beyond a few years old almost always tends toward "but how does it hold up?" While I tend to avoid getting into conversations with lesser minds, this stuff is just so fascinating to read that I sometimes find myself reading through opinions just to see where my peers went so very wrong. To see this line of thinking in a professional review was already pretty shocking, but what really got me was the postulation that this style of gameplay, as stated in the review, is somehow inherently less valuable because of its arcade roots and short, though replayable, run time. Keep in mind, this is the same website and same reviewer who gave the remastered version of God of War III not only a full-sized review, but also gave it a four-star rating. Despite this, Giant Bomb can't seem to escape its navel-gazing question of utter and absolute relevance, as in the same review we get "However, I can see how the game could be seen as a bit lackluster if you’re coming from a lot of time with more recent games like the aforementioned Bayonetta 2. Elements of God of War III seem dated now, especially the reliance on constant QTE prompts." I forgot Bayonetta 2 completely lacked quick-time events--oh wait! And don't get me started on this madness of "Ghost in the Shell doesn't hold up." Why are you like that, guys?

If there's anything I can give Star Fox Zero credit for, it's the immense replay value the game offers. 64 was already replayable enough, what with its vast combinations of branches and high skill ceiling to necessitate being rewarded with the medals in each level, and while I feel many of the collectibles in Zero are annoying, there's no denying there's just more to do if quantity is your thing. To say the entire game, the entire genre, is dated and "can't work because it's current year" is not only vapid and thoughtless, I would posit that it could lead to a destruction of creativity--a very niche type of creativity, but hear me out. This might be a big leap and it's definitely a slipper-slope argument, but it's one that actually bothers me.

Before I do that, allow me a jarring segue that hopefully pays off. In 2011, publisher NewSouth Books took on a radical, and highly controversial, move to publish a new version of the Great American Novel The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn which replaced a certain highly-recurring racial epithet with the word "slave." There are several problems with this, so I'll try to break them down in a concise and easily-digestible format for your stupid brain.

1: The word isn't just aimed at slaves.

Perhaps the most controversial reason behind the change is that hillfolk who use the offending word aren't referring simply to their own slaves or other people's slaves. This may come as a surprise given my beautiful and eloquent nature, but I am in fact a Southern man. I was born in a backwoods Texas town and still live here, and I can assure you with no pretense that my first reasoning isn't just hearsay or conjecture. The racial epithet in question is still very much in use today and I can also assure you that slavery is quite illegal in the United States. Said word isn't just a title like the NewSouth crew seem to believe, it's a blanket descriptor for black people. The stupid decision to replace the word with "slave" assumes that the bigoted speaker is directly referring to everyone of this race as a slave, which even I as a complete idiot in the field of history know is absolutely not true. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and while I know NewSouth probably didn't think about the implications at the time, that lack of foresight is what leads me to believe this is one of the most stupidly offensive and indefensible edits in the history of literature.

2: NewSouth assumes Mark Twain's sensibilities

As a creator, I can't imagine the horror of having my work (which some of you may see in the future) fiddled with by future generations. And I'm a complete nobody--imagine how Mark Twain, one of the most influential, intelligent, and guarded writers of all time must have felt when considering having his work tampered with. Twain, or Samuel Clemens, demanded that his own autobiography not be published until a full century after his death. Do you think a man who cares so much about the integrity of his life would be very happy with his finest achievement being tampered with? I'd argue not. Oh yeah, and there's this matter as described by BBC News: 

Twain himself was very particular about his words. He is quoted as saying that "the difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter". And when a printer made punctuation changes to A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Twain wrote later that he had "given orders for the typesetter to be shot without giving him time to pray."

Yeah, I don't think Mr. Clemens would be very thrilled by NewSouth's defilement of his work.

3: Censoring the word is erasing history

When you hear the "N-word," what is your first response? Well, on the internet that answer might be mixed, but for most people it's a skin-crawling word with centuries of violent history. NewSouth's edition of Huck Finn destroys the context of that time in American history, and by extension encourages the readers this edition is aimed at to themselves try to cover up the muddy waters of the past. You know that thing about those who don't know history? Yeah, please don't make a conscious effort to create that kind of world.

4: The precedent

One of the most horrifying possibilities of this edition of Huckleberry Finn is the precedent that publishers can latch on to a high-profile work of literature and change it to suit modern sensibilities. This is the most outlandish of my claims and the one that I might lose people on, but it's something I genuinely worry about moving forward. Twain created a novel about the rejection of racial and societal prejudices with Huck's adventures, but he doesn't magically know all the answers to solving society's woes. Nobody in the past magically stopped using racial slurs because it was "bad." Culture moved beyond that because they learned how to over time, and I would argue that Huck Finn is a tentpole of that growing conscience.

Luckily, the literary community completely rejected this travesty of attempted murder, but the book still exists. It will never go away. The damage cannot be undone. Forever, for all of mankind's history, the NewSouth edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn will still exist for the select group of people at whom this book is aimed.

So why even bother with this massive segue? Well, I won't lie and say I don't have a habit of complete topical swerves, but in this case the matter is still relevant. When asked why the publisher would do something so utterly moronic, editor and hopefully-disgraced Twain scholar Alan Gribben said "This is not an effort to render Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn colorblind. Race matters in these books. It's a matter of how you express that in the 21st century."

In as many words, this loathsome fool funneled the entire destructive process into the blithering argument of "but it's [current year]!" The unconscionable decision to censor one of the greatest novels of all time comes from the exact same place as the earlier argument. While I would agree that this exact same type of novel probably shouldn't be written by a modern author, at least with the same vocabulary and premise, it's more because there's nobody alive who could accurately dictate the topic and tone of Clemens while writing Huck Finn, though I'd also argue that you don't need to. Culture today has its own share of woes that deserve criticism and discussion much in the same way as race in the nineteenth century (and certainly the topic of race is still very relevant today, although not quite in the same discussion), but the topic there would be in how to approach the situation. If I were to, say, write a novel about the existential dread of living in a small, worthless Southern town, I would be disingenuous to not have characters use racial epithets because that's simply how the world appears. If you write around taboo rather than challenging it, that taboo will remain unchallenged for all time. It doesn't suddenly "hold up" or "age," it merely reflects the time in which it was written. Of course, the topic would have to be approached delicately, but that's a discussion for another time.

To compare one of the greatest works of art with a video game about anthropomorphic animals fighting in space is a completely moronic endeavor, but again, this is coming from the slippery-slope concern I mentioned earlier. This type of argument is getting more prevalent and luckily it's largely confined to the world of video games, but I'll just say outright that I believe this exact criticism is dangerous in the hands of critics who have a large following. It's hypocritical and probably ignorant of me to "tell others how to do their job," but I can't get over how disgusted I am with the possibility that the audience for critics with such a negative attitude to only absorb the negative aspects of criticism.

It seems that these days people have conflated criticism with just overall negativity; in fact, after a quick Google search the first definition to criticism is "the expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes." The actual first definition, and the one which I and many others attach to the concept of criticism, is actually the second result from Google: "the analysis and judgment of the merits and faults of a literary or artistic work." The internet fosters negativity and most of the people who seek criticism only care about the negative aspects of something. The analytical criticism is typically drowned out by general negativity and anger, rather than promoting critical thinking. Critical thought is criticism, but criticism is becoming merely "the expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes."

I'm not going to pretend that's all it is, but for the most part the negative aspects are what people really pay attention to. When Star Fox Zero came out, people flocked to the negativity, even when it was false or contradictory. The gamepad makes aiming difficult? Are you out of your mind? Yeah, when it's forced it's annoying, but that simple argument (which, to me, is no different than gyro aiming for games like Splatoon or the Wii U Zelda titles) completely droned out the actual aspects that needed work, such as the branching paths or slow, stupid helicopter levels. Criticism is not inherently a tool for destruction, but is rather a tool for those who are capable of critical thought to assist in the creative endeavors of others. For example, if I were to tell Nintendo "completely remove the helicopter stuff from the next Star Fox," it's because I think it would make for a better experience.

The same reviewer has a glowing review of Uncharted 4, but the only time I ever saw mention of that game's critical reception was when people on the internet got angry that their "masterpiece" got a lower score than they wanted. The critical, analytical review is becoming obsolete. Reviews themselves are more "buyer's guides" than an examination of something's merits and only reinforces that video games and movies are dumb products for your stupid face to shovel in without a thought or care in the world. Just keep stuffing your idiot mouth you gormless fool, don't think about it and don't contribute anything. Read my review and buy this video game for $60. Or don't! Who even cares anymore?

When I read that Star Fox Zero review, my first thought wasn't on whether or not I was going to buy the game. Of course I was going to buy it. Who cares about what a buyer's guide says? I'm not worried about someone else's opinion, but I am interested in their thoughts or analysis on the topic. My initial takeaway, and one which has more or less haunted me in the months after Star Fox Zero came out, was the argument that "the gameplay style feels dated in whatever current year who cares." 

Like I said, I've seen that question now pushed in nearly every discussion of games from I'd say the middle of the seventh generation--the same era I'd guess many people gained an interest in video games as a whole. It's when video games got mainstream and ubiquitous, when independent developers had enough tools to create their own projects and big publishers started to get worried about their narrow profit margins. It's also when idiots started getting very concerned with what "art" was in video games and when the same independent developers began pushing out pretentious arthouse titles that years ago would be met with mockery and derision.

To me, the biggest artistic expression in video game history is Silent Hill 2. I know many people would say that Metal Gear Solid 2 is when the nature of video games began to really change, but for me I don't think they really came into their own until a few months later with this title. Developed by a small team and published by Konami, this sequel to a PS1 horror title challenged story-telling in games to its utmost level. The player is tasked with finding the protagonist's dead wife in the town of Silent Hill, but the answers aren't as clear-cut and simple as they might seem. The final boss and ending change drastically based on actions the player can take through the course of the title, some actions being extremely nuanced: examining a knife subliminally gives the character the desire to commit suicide, which, if done enough, can cause the character to commit suicide in the ending. Interacting with certain NPCs, examining certain items too many times, even visiting certain locations too often might alter the game to one of several endings, all of which are just as likely to be canon as the last. The mature, dark, engrossing story of an everyman desperate to take control of his life is one which anyone can relate to, and I don't believe a game has come close to capturing the pure artistry of Silent Hill 2. No amount of a character walking around and muttering about their lives, telling the players how to feel can ever match the sheer horror of coming back to the first monster encounter and finding it covered in police tape.

Show, don't tell.

Of course, the aforementioned game review website also had an editor who once asked "if we should leave old video games like [Silent Hill 2] behind" when discussing the failed HD port of Silent Hill 2 and 3. I would be remiss if I didn't mention this individual gave Gone Home a five-star review. If I could spit at someone over the internet those opinions would be the catalyst for it.

If you want to navel-gaze about art and what video games really mean or whatever, how about stop approaching video games as a product? Just stop doing it. Stop worrying about "graphics aging" or "the controls holding up" or "what kind of gameplay genre does or doesn't work in current year." If it was that important, critics would have criticized the controls then rather than writing them off. Sure, PC games not defaulting to mouse look was pretty silly back in the olden days, but there are ways around that stuff now. You might not like have to rebind keys, but it's good to know why some features in games are ubiquitous.

In my review of Salt and Sanctuary (don't look it up, it's a trash review), I mentioned that because that game shares many common ancestors with Dark Souls, in particular games like Castlevania: Symphony of the Night and Super Metroid, the omission of a map is simply egregious. Salt and Sanctuary is trying its hardest to emulate Dark Souls in every way it possibly can, but in doing so forgot that Dark Souls in a 2D plane is simply a Metroidvania style of game; that is, it's an immensely vertical 2D platformer with dozens of shortcuts, alternate paths, secrets, and hidden areas. Since the player can't look around in a 3D space like a player can in Dark Souls, the path forward is even more obfuscated and frustrating to navigate--especially if your sense of direction is as bad as mine. Now, you can use the "current year" argument or whatever here, but only because there's a massive amount of very explicit evidence that I, the reviewer, am presenting: the common ancestry between certain games implies Salt and Sanctuary should have never run into this problem. Two centuries of games in the same genre should have tipped Ska Studios off to what the general norm for the genre was in terms of in-game resources for the player to look at, while the reasoning behind this design should be obvious. If you've gone back to play Metroid or Metroid II: Return of Samus you'd know that both of those games are nightmares to navigate because of the lack of a map, and the inclusion of one in Super Metroid was more of necessity and general quality of life improvements than simply dumbing down the exploration of the game. I didn't put this criticism together just to spitefully tear down the game, I did so in the vain attempt that if Ska ever heard this criticism they would make a conscious effort to patch some sort of map system into the game. Clearly, I failed.

If I wanted to, I could shorten that down to "it's 2016, where's the map?" I would never do that, however, because I want everyone to be on the same page as me. Life experiences and standards are different from person to person, which is why I'm so infuriated by the aforementioned Star Fox Zero review handwaving all of the complaints away with the statement that "overall progression of industry standards" is part of why it's a bad game. Although I generally understand the sentiment, I have no idea what the reviewer means by this as industry standard can mean literally anything. Some people may believe that the industry standard should be "third-person shooter with a dedicated crouch button and a ubiquitous control scheme" for every title, which is why those types of shooters became so prevalent with the seventh generation. I simply don't know what industry standards refer to in this case, and instead of elaborating on that the reviewer then goes on to make his statement about games of this genre in the current year. As far as I'm concerned, the review itself is a failure as it leaves me with more frustration at the reviewer than it did in enlightening me on an aspect of the game.

I've been building up to this for the entire post and I really didn't intend to keep stringing you along like this, but please take a moment to consider this scenario. Imagine you are the biggest Star Fox fan in the world. No, you're not thinking big enough. You love Star Fox so much you've wanted nothing more than to get into game development to create that specific style of rail shooter, and with game development tools more readily available than they've ever been, you finally have a chance to see your vision come true. Star Fox Zero comes out to middling reviews, and you believe it's now your time to shine. If Nintendo can blunder a Star Fox sequel with issues such as poor branching paths, terrible gimmicks and frustrating levels, you believe you can pick up the slack by putting together what you believe will be the best rail shooter of all time. You're going to release it at maybe fifteen bucks and it's going to expand on everything you love about the genre while having its own identity. You've been waiting for this opportunity for years, and it's finally time to put your vision to work.

Suddenly a loud, obnoxious, soda-guzzling, wrestling-loving manchild comes along to shatter your hopes and dreams forever. It's not Star Fox Zero, you see. It's not just one bad example of a rail shooter. You can't fix the problem because, as this reviewer notes, it leaves him "wondering what place Fox McCloud has in today's gaming landscape." It's you. It's you, your vision, the genre of game you're invested in, and it's now permanently dated because it's 2016. Why is it dated? Industry standards. That's it. Just industry standards. And because of this idiotic fixation on standards, of things "holding up" or "aging poorly," the gaming audience at large is now more concerned with the future of the medium rather than the present.

Of course, I don't believe anyone who really cares enough about their passion would allow this to bother them. As far as I'm concerned, this posturing is just a phase. The gaming press at large is a relic fighting to stay relevant with the ease of access to opinions on the internet, and because there are no specific credentials to games criticism the bar for entry is lower than it's ever been--especially for those with a following on Youtube. Pewdiepie shouting at a game can move more units than actual criticism will ever again, and the press at large is starting to feel it. Just in the past few years several game news websites have permanently shut their doors, all of which ranged in quality from pretty decent to just pure clickbait. Am I worried too much? No, not really. What concerns me are the dedicated audience, the tens of thousands of faithful readers who allow these big websites to do their thinking for them--I'm sure you know more than a handful of people whose entire political and entertainment opinions come exclusively from a website like Gawker (rest in shit, assholes).

I'll leave you with this: Don't concern yourself with asking whether or not something holds up. Just put it out of your head. Ask yourself instead whether or not you wish you'd come to something sooner. Last year, GameFAQs hosted a "best game of all time" tournament. I had no interest in participating, especially when rumors of a bot rigging the pole for Undertale came to light, but a Tumblr user put together a script that allowed anyone to take that list and create a fairly legitimate personal ranking. Try as I might I can't find the link so you can try it yourself, but I wanted to bring attention to a few of my top ten on the list:

1: Xenogears

4: Demon's Souls

5 (tied with Metal Gear Solid and Bayonetta 2): Red Dead Redemption

While there are several games I could point out on the list, I wanted to bring attention to these three in my top ten in particular--not because of their particular merits, but rather because of when I actually played these titles. The first time I played Red Dead Redemption was in 2013, three years after the game released. Although I played Demon's Souls when it first released, I didn't really get invested and went all in on the game in 2013 as well, after I exhausted Dark Souls of all the content I thought I could possibly squeeze out of it (Dark Souls, according to the list, is my second favorite if you were wondering) and fell utterly in love with the world building and level design. The big surprise for me, though, was the top spot.

I didn't play Xenogears until 2014. While I've always been a big JRPG guy, Xenogears was always the game that eluded me. Unbelievably expensive, nigh-impossible to emulate and surrounded by rumors of the budget collapsing before completion of the second disc, Xenogears was a game I was both horrified to play and completely convinced one I would never get my hands on. After some struggling and finally getting my hands on a PS3, I played the game all the way from beginning to end through the PSN Classic release--in fact, I played through the entire second disc in one sitting. The characters, setting, premise, and themes therein somehow converged into what I realized was the perfect video game for me. It challenged me to think while delivering on some of the most interesting visuals I've ever seen in a video game. Yeah, Xenogears and Dark Souls pushed my previous favorite game, Silent Hill 2, to the number three spot on this giant list. And had I not been willing to push past the "it's dated, it doesn't hold up," idiocy so prevalent in game discussion, I would never have been exposed to the most touching, most awesome game I've ever had the privilege to experience. All this sixteen years after the game's initial release. 

Stand tall, and shake the heavens.

I encourage you to not fall into the trap of concerning yourself over a video game aging, because I can assure you it's not a question that crops up in most other mediums. We still listen to Mozart, and some people even find ways to stomach KISS. I don't know how, but nobody ever sits around and postulates whether or not AC/DC "holds up" or not. AFI doesn't fidget and gaze at their navels over whether or not Citizen Kane is actually going to hold up in a few years' time, and aside from idiots at NewSouth people still read works like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, War and Peace, As I Lay Dying and Lord of the Rings today. Nobody outside of video games worries whether or not their field of interest has aged poorly or whether or not it holds up. Nobody questions if Jurassic Park holds up because guess what? Nobody cares! Quality will always be quality.

If that doesn't convince you, then let me put it into the ultra-negative terms you probably came here for. That super up-to-date favorite video game of yours, the one you're holding onto as some pinnacle of human engineering? It'll be "outdated" in "industry standards" next year. Uncharted 4 will be, to some people, laughed at as a relic before you know it (which some are already doing with Uncharted 2, the rubes). The latest Call of Duty is going to be a fossil in a year. If you're really that concerned with a video game aging, then I assure you every single one of your favorites will as well. Good luck with all that. I think I might go play Star Fox 64 again.

E3 2016 Day Three Wrap Up: Nintendo

After a ridiculous showing from Sony, it's hard to see how Nintendo could possibly face the onslaught of new game announcements. After all, they mentioned several months ago their E3 line-up was going to entirely be dedicated to the new Legend of Zelda, then later said they weren't going to have a digital event at all in favor of simply streaming the game. Look, we all know Nintendo cancelled most of their Wii U projects and shifted them to the NX, with only a select few dribblings of low-effort titles like Star Fox and the disastrous Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE. And what about the long-rumored NX console itself? Here are my impressions of the Nintendo conference.

Nintendo

E3 2016 Day Two Wrap Up: Microsoft, Ubisoft, Sony

After Bethesda and EA bored everyone--at least everyone with a functioning brain--to tears, yesterday brought us the first real day of E3. And what a day it was. Tons of release dates and announcements with games that I never thought I'd be so happy to see. It's a good year for video games, friends.

Microsoft

I have almost no interest in the Xbox, but I'm always open to have my mind changed. And while I didn't hate their show, Microsoft got me hyped for games that had nothing to do with their own console line. So when the show opened with the promise of a newer, slimmer, less ugly Xbox One that could output video at 4K, I'm pretty sure you could feel the wet fart coming from the stage.

To make matters worse, Microsoft then outlined their plan for all future digital Xbox releases to simultaneously release on PC through Windows 10. At this point I was convinced that Microsoft absolutely had to show their hand and somewhere down the line some poor fool decided this would somehow help their own console sales by begging people to not buy their consoles. Hey idiots, if I can have access to your entire line-up by building a PC with better performance all around, why would I waste time with your underpowered brick?

Following this announcement was some boring whatever about Gears of War because that series still has fans even after the pile that was Judgment. Then Rare completely turned me away from Sea of Thieves by drawing my attention away from the potentially interesting multiplayer sea combat with the most annoying group of teenagers they could possibly find to screech over the footage, thereby signalling that this game would give me a disease at random if I ever bought it.

God himself, Hideki Kamiya, then took stage to remind me I need to play Scalebound when it releases. Kamiya has never made a game that isn't the best game ever, so when Scalebound was a press-X-to-win action game with some dull shooting mechanics and no discernible depth, I was left cold. I'd like to believe this was just a cautious play style being shown or something, but it didn't leave me pumped up like Platinum usually does. And with the recent two or three games they've put out being stinkers, this is definitely not a good sign.

Recore and Final Fantasy XV went next--the first game seems boring and the latter is making me leery of my purchase of the wallet-destroying collector's edition waiting to be shipped. I just don't know about this game, and seeing more combat rather than exploration and more story makes me concerned. Final Fantasy XV's combat isn't the fast and loose Kingdom Hearts style I was expecting, but I didn't hate either of the demos like most seem to. This trailer put me off of the game more than any of the others because I just don't want to see anymore combat.

Dead Rising 4 looks great, if not treading the same ground as the last few. I like Frank West, he's a fun character and the series has always reveled in its silliness. I can't wait to play it on a PC! Oh yeah, and then a racing game. Someone cares deeply about these Forza games.

I have no clue what State of Decay even is and this stupid cinematic trailer didn't tell me a thing about it. I learned more about the following announcement, a stand-alone version of The Witcher 3's famous card game, Gwent, in the first few seconds than I did about the former. Halo Wars is getting a sequel as well, and I'm so happy we can play that game with a mouse and keyboard like God always intended. I won't play it, but at least it's a real video game this time.

The developer of Limbo is putting out another pretentious side scroller about the meaning of life and death or whatever, I don't care. A few more games were shown that I don't care anything about. I haven't played Killer Instinct yet; as much as I want to, revealing that the villain of the first Gears of War was being released into the game made me actually so confused I forgot who and where I was at the moment, so there's that.

Then Microsoft at last murdered their own credibility forever by announcing the biggest and baddest console ever created by gods or man, thereby destroying their current console line or the slim Xbox One model they announced in the same show. This was the most idiotic thing a hardware developer has done in years and I still think it's a joke.

All in all, a few of the games at Microsoft's conference weren't sewage water. That said, good job convincing me to just upgrade my PC. Hope your fans love your iterative consoles that are going to be useless in a year.

Ubisoft

Ubisoft didn't show a single new game and every year I find something new to hate about them. The only things of value were For Honor, a hectic melee game that will probably be the coolest thing ever and South Park: The Fractured but Hole, a sequel to one of my favorite role-playing games in recent memory. While the humor didn't play well out of context, the stream I was watching featured a grown man literally cry at the word "coon" and another starting screaming at his colleague because said colleague liked the last season of South Park, which apparently a certain internet crowd believe is going to cause the end of humanity as we know it. I wanted to bottle up their tears and ferment them to make salty alcohol. I hope you guys cry for the rest of your lives just so I can stay entertained by your petulant whining. That South Park trailer turned these grown men and half of Twitter into the most impotent crybabies in all of history and I want to see more of this game just so they might revert into literal babies and never be in my sight ever again. Seriously, this reaction to typical edgy South Park humor has so far been my favorite part of the show and probably my favorite moment from E3 ever.

Sony

Sony has had a pretty stellar E3 event in past years, and with the constant flow of diarrhea from other conferences I was sure that at least it wouldn't be the worst thing this year. The show kicked off with the most awesome symphony ever seen at E3, but I wasn't that impressed because it was the exact same orchestra that plays every time I do anything. I'm glad you could finally share it with the rest of the world, though.

After this we got to see the new God of War, featuring a new over-the-shoulder camera and a reworked combat system that was slow, clunky and boring. I saw a lot of people inexplicably excited over this dull mess and a few even comparing it to Dark Souls. You knuckle-heads seem to think every game with slow combat is Dark Souls, and I wish I could put you on a raft and send you off to sea for the rest of time. You're stupid and this game looks awful.

Apparently Sony grew a brain because, rather than lame skits like Microsoft's terrible live Minecraft presentation, a new trailer began right away with a very brief musical interlude. No business talk, no cringe. Shawn Layden did give a heartfelt tribute to victims in the Orlando shooting, like most of the conferences, but it needed to be said and he was classy about it while reminding us why we love video games.

Days Gone was unveiled and I thought it was a Last of Us spinoff. Ripoff is more apt. I hate the way this game looks and I'm sure it's going to be a trainwreck like all the other games following fads. I just don't care about open world survival games, especially after the second trailer which was just a guy shooting into a crowd of zombies for five minutes. It seriously might have been the most boring game of the show, and the overwrought melodramatic story they presented made me vomit all the liquid from my body.

Horizon got a new gameplay trailer, and they can really just stop showing this game. I'm going to buy it, you don't have to keep trying to convince me. The dialogue system was strange but not unwelcome. Just as long as it doesn't get delayed again, I'll be happy. Oh, and The Last Guardian. I can't remember a time when I wasn't excited to play that game, and now that it's been confirmed for October I don't think I can wait that long. It looks unbelievably good and I still think something horrible is going to happen to push it back another decade. Please just let me have it.

Oh, but keep that Detroit game. David Cage makes games for stupid plebeians to glaze their eyes over for one more pitiful day of their sad lives and I want nothing to do with his tripe. No amount of pretty settings and meaningless choices can convince me otherwise. Somewhere along the line Crash Bandicoot was revealed to have its PS1 trilogy remastered for the Playstation 4, and this overwhelming hype led to bitter disappointment when no new game in the series would be announced but instead Crash would be introduced into one of those dumb toy games. I'd rather have nothing.

And then it happened. The most beautiful thing to ever occur. While showing their stupid VR reel, a demo for a game came up that made me salivate so hard I died. When Konami decided to give up on life and prematurely killed Silent Hills, I was grief-stricken. The true revival of the survival horror genre died before it even got out the door, and I can't begin to tell you how utterly happy I was seeing that not Silent Hill, but Resident Evil--my one true love in life--was being given a similar first-person horror treatment with VR accompaniment. It looks great and I can't wait for my download of the demo to finish just so I can stare at it in awe.

That wasn't all. Hideo Kojima took the stage to tease his new game, Death Stranding. There are already dozens of theories on this short trailer being symbolic of Kojima's own exile from Konami and his emotional journey to a new studio, and of course there are simply others still piecing together if this is in fact just a trailer with no allegory. Nobody knows, but Norman Reedus and Hideo Kojima have piqued my interest in what could be a very interesting game. You guys do you and I'll gladly check it out.

That said, there wasn't too much else I was very excited for. I'm sure Insomniac's Spider-Man will be alright, and an off-stage Gravity Rush 2 demo reminded me that it was coming someday. Oh, and why was Nier Automata not featured on Sony's show? That game is probably going to cause an apocalypse of its own if it's half as good as I think it will be. Every game should be Nier, but then I guess not because not everything deserves to be the best thing ever.

The conference felt a bit short overall, but it gave me exactly what I wanted for a large majority of upcoming games. I'm bummed we didn't get news on Devil May Cry 5 which is absolutely definitely coming at some point, as well as the fact that those Red Dead Redemption 2 rumors didn't pan out. Overall though, Sony pushed back against the trite boredom of many of the other shows with tons of announcements and release dates.

Tomorrow's post: Nintendo

E3 2016 Day One Wrap Up: EA and Bethesda

E3 is like a game enthusiast's second Christmas. A week-long Christmas full of frustration and hope. The stars aligned and somehow the two conferences I was looking forward to the least started the week off, meaning that--hopefully--it can only get better from here.

EA

I care very little for EA Games. While they're far less offensive in their activities these days, far better than the miserable two years they deservedly won the esteemed Worst Company of the Year award, they're still churning out terrible reboots and killing studios just like in their heyday. That said, their E3 conference this year wasn't so bad.

I'll say up front that I have no love for sports. They're just not for me, although I'll quickly show my derision for the knuckle-draggers that think they're so clever using the term "sportsball." I get it, you're an ignorant moron. Good job broadcasting it to the world. I'll also say that my opinion on EA was soured even further particularly because of their FIFA line of games and, more specifically, the microtransaction "FIFA Points" implemented in the game. Earlier in the year my PSN account was hacked, and the hacker changed my email address to his own. If not for my genius intellect and quick thinking I'd have probably lost that account forever, but against all odds I got it back. A few months later that hack ended up getting my PSN account banned, and the ensuing chaos caused directly by that hack was one of the most frustrating experiences of my life. And it's all because EA and their scammy microtransactions. So when I see how proud they are of the story mode implemented in their latest FIFA game and all the money they're pouring into their yearly lineup of low-quality sports games, I think I'm deservedly a little bitter.

So naturally, about half of their E3 conference was sports. Sports that I just don't care about, so by extension at least half of this show was stupid. However, they did make a point to say Respawn gained a brain and Titanfall 2 will be shipping with an actual single-player campaign this time around. I haven't bought a Call of Duty game in a while, but as far as I can tell those games haven't had nearly the innovations in parkour mechanics that the original Titanfall brought. Oh yeah, and mechs. I love mechs and so should you. If they're actually going to put money into that single player campaign I'll eat that game up, but since it's EA I'm sure it'll be stupid.

Speaking of stupid, Battlefield 1 is a stupid title. Why not Battlefield 1919 or something? It fits more in line with Battlefield's past naming scheme and doesn't look dumb. Pass.

Mass Effect 3 was the closest I ever want to get to having a crap taken on my chest, and even then I can tell you I wanted the experience to end as soon as possible. Terrible partners, RPG elements all but stripped away, very little exploration, and the most contrived plot twist to crop up in modern science fiction since LOST made for a game that can eternally burn in a dumpster fire. However, something about Mass Effect Andromeda piqued my interest. The returning premise of humanity being the new species among alien life, a concept almost entirely thrown out with the second game, could make for an interesting conflict. Moreover, unexplored worlds and exploration featuring the series whipping boy, the Mako, convinced me that maybe Bioware isn't entirely dead. I mean, it's been dead since Dragon Age II, but maybe this will be a return to form. Doubt it, but I'm optimistic.

Star Wars, because of course. A sequel to Battlefront was announced before the first game had its DLC finished, and I would wager it'll end up being either an annual series or take turns with Battlefield for EA's premiere cash grab. But wait--Amy Hennig and Jade Raymond are both working on a third-person action game with Visceral? Teasing us with Mos Eisley, too? Guys, I don't want to make this statement too early but my eye is very keenly focused on this new game. I don't care at all about any of this other crap, just please let me see much more of Visceral's Star Wars. It's the most I've been hyped about the series since 1313 was unfairly canned.

Wrapping the show up, EA announced several games being the focus of a charity drive. That's cool, I'm sure it'll be very helpful to the charities involved considering EA's player base. Other than that, EA announced EA Originals, an Indie development platform that reeks of following a trend. I'd love to see EA throwing open its massive coffers to support independent development, but you'll excuse me if I'm reticent of their good will considering all the developers they've bought only to shut their doors when sales were low.

Overall the games shown gave me a little bit of hope for EA, but with all the sports and prior knowledge of their business practices I have to wonder how much they'll actually deliver.

Bethesda

Someone once told me Skyrim is the best Action RPG of all time, and I laughed at him so hard he turned into a tree. Like EA, I don't care for the direction Bethesda's flagship series are taking; I still haven't picked up Fallout 4 and I don't particularly care to, either. This isn't a review of Bethesda games, but I wanted to make it clear that I didn't come into this show with any interest in Elder Scrolls or Nu-Fallout.

While Dishonored 2 shows promise, I never cared to finish the original game. It seems interesting and much better than the new Thief game as a successor to that series--although that's still not saying much. Hearing that this game will come with a voucher for a digital copy of the original game perked me right up though, so I might just pick this one up if only to get a two-game experience out of it. If it's exclusive to the Collector's Edition, which I'm sure it probably is, then there goes my interest.

Prey is about what I expected from the reveal, if only for the fact that it's a reboot. The original Prey came out years ago and dropping a sequel to a sleeper hit like that seems like a bad idea, so merely rebooting it and retooling gameplay ideas from the canned sequel might just be the way to go. I like the premise and setting, but then I also liked the original game. However, we got no gameplay out of it unless you consider "cinematic" representations to be gameplay. I need to see more, but it has potential.

I don't care at all about Fallout, but I'm a bit disappointed in the direction for Quake: Champions. I was hoping for another glorious reboot like Wolfenstein and Doom, and if this turns out to simply be a hero-based arena shooter a la Team Fortress 2 or Overwatch then I just don't care. I also don't care about Elder Scrolls Online or its card game, and Skyrim Special Edition is the most obvious remaster in history. That said, I lost interest in the original release so I might pick this one up. It's just a prettier version of the game on PC with mod support, but that might be alright. So long as it's at a reasonable price, at least. Then again I got bored of it so quickly that I can see it happening this time around as well.

Finally, I'm disappointed that Doom had no Single Player content confirmed, but I'm glad they're opening Snapmap to be more like custom .wads from the original games. It'll give players plenty to do for some time in the future, so let us have it.

Overall, I went into Bethesda's conference with my hopes very low and came away with a bit of information that I didn't entirely hate. The remastered games are annoying, but Prey and Snapmap options are very welcome.

Stay tuned this week for my feelings on the rest of the conferences!

Review and Analysis: Berserk - The Egg of the King

I have a confession to make: Berserk is in fact the best fantasy story ever written. Retire your Lord of the Rings, put Harry Potter to bed, throw Game of Thrones in the garbage. Berserk is the absolute cream of the crop. Deep characterization, beautiful artwork, gruesome violence and a fully developed dark medieval world with some of the most striking grey morality seen in comics. It's a true masterpiece, one which I can totally accept waiting years upon years for twenty pages of very little plot development just to get more. Well, unless you're a poor soul whose first experience with the series is through the Golden Age trilogy movie series. Please don't do this to yourself.

Because of the size of this review I'll be splitting it into separate posts for each movie. If you actually want to watch the film trilogy for some reason or intend to read the excellent Berserk manga, I suggest you do so now. If you're unsure of how to break into the series, that's the route you should take. There will be spoilers for volumes 3-13 of the manga and the entirety of the 1997 anime. If you're still here, then please enjoy.

The Egg of the King

The first film of the trilogy, The Egg of the King, kicks things off with Guts in his mercenary group laying siege to a castle. I don't want to harp on too much about the big omissions made in the movies and would rather judge most adapted work on their own merits, but this film trilogy has a bad tendency of cutting extremely important details to shove in very poor CGI set piece moments--as it turns out, the first movie opens with this exact issue. Let me explain: Berserk, in both the manga and original anime, begin in media res with Guts, as the Black Swordsman, slaughtering his way through the Apostles in his quest for vengeance.

Establishing a fantasy series with the extraordinary is not simply an aesthetic choice; it's designed that way specifically for the audience to know exactly what they're getting into. In the case of Berserk, we know Guts is on a murder rampage fighting enormous monsters with a giant sword before stepping back and building the world with the Golden Age arc. Note that this does cause tonal problems in the first movie, and not in a particularly interesting way. Game of Thrones has a similar set-up as the very first thing seen are the wights, even though they're not a plot point until nearly the end of the first season/book. A viewer already needs to suspend their disbelief enough as is with a fantasy series, and bludgeoning them with an even more fantastical element does nothing to help that. As an added bit of hilarity with this analogy, Game of Thrones also just introduced an out-of-place tone annihilator that I'm still coming to grips with because, after six seasons, it's throwing in new concepts that seem out-of-place in the story.

This isn't a new concept; in fact, the strongest example behind this establishment is from the grandfather of fantasy, JRR Tolkien. In an essay, Tolkien wrote "[an author] makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is 'true': it accords with the laws of that world. ... The moment disbelief arises, the spell is broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed." So if you begin a story as a strictly low fantasy about orphaned child soldiers and medieval conflicts, throwing in evil Satan monsters from Hell out of nowhere ruins that internal consistency. It's like having a low fantasy in a setting where magic is dying and dragons are extinct suddenly introducing a convoluted time travel Grandfather Paradox. If your setting doesn't follow the rules established early on it becomes harder for the audience to suspend their disbelief; starting Berserk anywhere but the the Black Swordsman arc is a failure, in my opinion.

So when the first Berserk film opens with an irritatingly loud and ugly CG castle siege that drags on far too long and serves only to put Guts in front of Bazuso, expectations are justifiably low. These enormous battles occur often enough in the series and wasting too much time with one at the very beginning can only cause fatigue with later castle sieges. Considering the first two films are barely over an hour long, wasting time is hardly a great way to start the series. Then again, it's kind of hard to not call this thing a waste of time. The 1997 anime already exists and the movies begin with less content than that series, and by the end there's very little you wouldn't get otherwise. All the films needed to do was fill in the gaps but we're already wasting several minutes for a battle nobody ever wanted to see. As a comparison, the first anime opens with Guts as the Black Swordsman with his Dragonslayer sword laying waste to an Apostle before the scene flashes directly to Guts facing off with Bazuso. It's a better introduction to the story as a whole and wastes little time, unlike this thing.

Guts then just kind of leaves his mercenary camp, ignoring a vital character detail in which he hates being touched. That's fine though, because the film trilogy entirely removes that aspect of Guts's character. In fact, most characterization is thrown out the window in the film trilogy. Characters like Corkus and even minor characters like Gaston, who barely qualified as a character to begin with, are completely thrown in the background and do very little aside from fight and act like a one-dimensional cartoons. Part of the reason Berserk is so widely regarded as transcending its medium is its characterization; even if we see them very little, in the manga we can tell exactly how someone like Pippin or Corkus will act because their characters are developed. In the film trilogy Corkus just attacks Guts because he wants to and Guts just leaves the mercenary camp because he feels like it, there's no reason for any of these characters to be near each other aside from contrivances.

Guts easily defeats the Hawks before being handily beaten by Griffith, and in his ensuing feverish nightmare the viewer is given a tease about Guts's past. In my nightmares I'm not actually the best, smartest and strongest person who everyone admires. They're waking nightmares because it's every second of my life. What, Berserk? Oh, so Guts has these terrible nightmares that are apparently directed by an idiot who thinks the viewer can tell what this out-of-focus blurry mess actually is.

Can you tell what's happening here? Not

if you haven't read the manga!

So in a baffling display of complete ineptitude the film trilogy omits Guts's very tragic backstory involving patricide, the coolest tree ever, rape, and disease--although for some strange reason the rape is still shown without context. The only way to know what happens to Guts and why he hates being touched is to read the manga, but then what is the point of this film trilogy if not to fill in the blanks left by the original anime? I'd hate to posit the theory that it's entirely to get the viewers prepared for the disappointment of ugly CG in the upcoming Black Swordsman anime adaptation. Actually, I'm going to posit it anyway. This film series is supposed to replace the original anime, but all you get out of these first two films, at least, are a bad adaptation of the Golden Age.

The only people who have any idea what's going on in that above flashback are people who read the manga, but if these movies are supposed to catch up newcomers for the upcoming series then what is the point of including them in the first place? Guts also has nightmare flashbacks to Gambino and his past in Gambino's mercenaries, but there's absolutely no context. You can hardly tell what's going on in the flashbacks which entirely defeats the purpose. Maybe if they'd cut out the boring three minutes of fighting that started off the movie they could have left it in. Whoops. As an aside, in the manga this all comes full circle when Casca and Guts have sex, but we're not there yet. Just so you know, that's been omitted as well. Before we get there we have to parse a lot of elbow-deep stupid butt butter poopoo crap stupid

There's something I need to point out here after re-watching the film. There actually is some dialogue that gives greater context to the flashbacks, but I swear that you absolutely cannot hear anything because it's so muffled. So congratulations, Egg of the King. I finally deciphered your annoying flashback puzzle. I guess next time I'll watch the movies at three thousand percent volume with subtitles to make sure I don't miss critical plot details. Good job!

So after some annoying flashbacks with no context that are never, I seriously mean never explained during the course of the film trilogy, Guts is formally introduced to the Band of the Hawk. Guts is embarrassed to learn that he was kept from developing a fever with the help of Casca, a female member of the Hawks who was commanded to keep him warm after falling to Griffith in battle. Needless to say, she's pretty ashamed of having little choice in the matter and punches Guts in his wound before stomping off. He is forced to become a member of the Hawks after a second crushing defeat by Griffith, an ambitious young man who is given far more development than just about anyone in the entire series--at least, if you're only watching these movies.

At this point in both the 1997 anime and manga Guts is charged with leading a surprise attack on an enemy camp to judge his effectiveness, and after pleasing Griffith with his instinctual knowledge of battle Guts is promoted to captain of the Raiders, the Hawks' vanguard. Not only does this give the audience a great deal of character development in regards to nearly every member of the Band of the Hawk, what their roles are, how they interact and just how great of a tactical genius Griffith actually is, it also serves to give a bit of development to the Hawks who aren't entirely convinced by the inclusion of Guts in the group. It's a great character moment and serves as an interesting change of locale as the battle is largely a covert mission at night. Instead, in this movie Guts is just thrown into his spot at the Raiders and a few years pass.

I hate that this scene was cut, not in the least since it was cut to shove in another protracted battle scene in the middle of an open field with ugly CG. It's the same as every last battle in the Golden Age arc and after the first one they really start to blend together, and in the spirit of the films important character moments are thrown aside to show off laughable CG.

Casca nags at Guts--one of her few character traits--as she thinks he's reckless and is putting the Hawks in danger, and Griffith steps in to explain Casca's annoyance. At this time the larger conflict is introduced: Midland has been at war with Chuder in The Hundred Year War, and Chuder is gaining the upper hand. Griffith is knighted and his Band of the Hawk is semi-officially absorbed into Midland as the kingdom's premier army. As a quick note, the films at least do the honor of going into small detail over the different types of armies; for example, there's the Band of the Hawk, of course, but there's also the White Dragon knights, the Holy Iron Chain, Blue Whale Heavy Infantry, Black Ram Iron Lance--just about every army band has a specific title. It's a neat bit of world building that's so minor I'm surprised the film even took the time to bother, but it's all there. The Band of the Hawk, as it turns out, is perhaps the best of all of these army bands and the king of Midland is not lost on this fact. Many nobles take note of this and hold private meetings to discuss the Hawks' meteoric rise in power, although this really doesn't go anywhere in the films as the primary instigator behind the conspiracies, Minister Foss, is completely absent from the film trilogy. He's actually a very important character and without him, much of the undercurrent of the tension during Golden Age is entirely cut. Foss is a character that Griffith can't just deal with in battle, he's a tactical genius much like Griffith and it was always interesting to see the two moving their own chess pieces as the story progressed. But no, that's completely absent and it really does feel like something important is missing.

Before I move on, I want to bring detail to an annoying detail lost in the film trilogy: small moments with the Hawks that are mostly absent. These can range from funny to somber and the audience gets to really know the Band of the Hawk and all of its members, and you can really see the lack of development with them as the films progress. It's kind of a minor point and you get some of that as the films move on, but these movies are so down in the dumps and moody that a little bit of the tension deserves to be released every now and then. As it is, the films all have a problem with the plot being torpedoed into the next big scene from the manga, and watching a condensed version of a series I know so well does get jarring without any of these camp sections. Like many times these movies scenes are mashed together seemingly at random; for instance, right before Casca nags Guts and calls him a mad dog--a poignant detail you probably should keep in mind for later story arcs--an earlier camp scene is crammed here without much purpose and just feels terribly awkward.

During the Hawks' campaign, several soldiers are held up inside a castle and the Hawks are left without a word from them until one soldier escapes to tell them that a legendary warrior named Zodd is inside slaughtering literally everybody. In a frenzy, Guts charges inside and matches Zodd in blows. The latter suddenly mutates into a giant monster, tossing Guts around like a ragdoll. I like this scene. Zodd looks great and most of the scene is a direct adaptation of the events in the manga. There's good direction in the action and you can really see how intimidating Zodd is in his Apostle form. Griffith joins Guts and the two are injured; before Zodd can deliver the killing blow he notices a trinket Griffith wears and leaves Guts with an ominous warning of his death.

While I do enjoy this scene as a returning viewer, I just can't imagine what a newcomer to the series, whose first experience with Berserk is this movie, would think about this scene. It really is well-made and they translate the pages of the manga very well, but it's such a dramatic tonal shift that the stakes are completely shifted at once. More than that, it makes the Zodd moment seem like a complete swerve that seems to have little relevance to the story. Worse, this moment is essential to the rest of the story arc, so there's no way around it--so why not begin the movie with just a brief glimpse of Apostles like this? It's not like there's a shortage of them.

Just use this stupid loser, I don't care.

The shot at the beginning of the third movie would have been great to start this particular film, and it would definitely make the transition to the Zodd scene smoother. But whatever. I'm sure other people love this movie because of this. They're wrong, but it's cute that their brains still work.

After this Guts and Griffith have a quiet moment in Midland castle; Griffith finally shows his trinket, the Behelit (or, the Egg of the Supreme Ruler), which he received by a creepy old lady in his youth. He explains that, in exchange for something precious, the owner of the Behelit can achieve their deepest dreams. This moment also crams two entirely different scenes together, and all the details become difficult to parse with so much being thrown at the audience at once. There's also an entirely new scene here that I just adore: while Guts is inspecting the Behelit, its eyes begin to open. Horrified, he throws the Behelit in the air and falls back. Griffith catches the Behelit and, seeing Guts fall, turns around to grab him. Guts leaps up to grab his sword and sighs in relief.

Everything about this small character moment is unbelievably charming that I have difficulty determining if this was something Miura wanted to add or if the director had a moment of "not being an idiot" and created a masterful ten seconds of film on his own. Guts reacts with shock to the Behelit and, despite being at the peak of physical fitness, has a short bout of clumsiness. We see that Griffith is a capable leader who keeps the symbol of his ultimate goal, the Behelit, within his reach at all times. He has little trouble catching it in midair, and when Guts falls Griffith effortlessly turns and catches him despite both of their injuries. Griffith seemingly cares for his ambition and his soldier at the same time and, even though it could cause stress to his healing body, he still takes time to consider his men. Guts, on the other hand, has a negative reaction to the fantastical element of the Behelit and is nearly out-of-character in his clumsiness. While nearly falling off a staircase, he spurns Griffith's help (if he even noticed Griffith reaching for him at all) because the most important thing in the world to him, his massive sword, might fall to the ground and get scraped.

We see every single detail about both of these characters in a matter of seconds without ever having to be told their motivations or beliefs. Simply interacting with the environment, each other, and their belongings, we see through their actions and expressions what these characters cherish. Griffith grabs the Behelit out of the air first and even holds it close to himself for a brief moment before noticing Guts falling, and Guts ignores Griffith's help to reach out for the most important thing in the world to him. It's such a brilliant and poignant scene that I'm still baffled that it's in such an otherwise poorly slapped-together movie. This is the kind of stuff Berserk is at its best with: in a few seconds and with nobody speaking, we understand everything about these two. I'm a bit disappointed that the bath scene is omitted and much of it is halfheartedly grafted into this part of the film. That would have also helped to ease the tonal shift with Zodd's introduction since it occurs earlier, and up to that point we're given little knowledge of the Behelit as well. In any case, this is a great moment, and the rest of the film follows suit by actually following the manga very closely.

The king of Midland, a few noblemen, and Princess Charlotte pass by after the king exchanges words with Griffith, who at this point has been promoted to the title of Count. Charlotte trips and, seeing an opportunity to get close to her, Griffith catches her. One of the noblemen, Julius, takes umbrage with this act and chastises Griffith for laying a hand on the princess. Following this exchange, the Hawks are given an opportunity to assist in boar hunting with the royal family; Julius hires an assassin to poison Griffith, though this attempt fails when the Behelit mysteriously blocks the arrow. There are a few cute little moments with Griffith and Charlotte, but truth be told there's very little else between these two characters. I'll get into that more with the following movie, but in the film trilogy there are few interactions between Griffith and Charlotte and he really does go out of his way to charm the pants off her. Well...we'll get to that.

Griffith tracks the poison back to Julius and orders Guts to assassinate him in turn.While discussing the assassination there's also a funny scene omitted from the manga with Griffith passing Guts some Kama Sutra-esque sexual book and it gives the two some juvenile camaraderie, especially given that they're both still teenagers at this point. It breaks the dour tone of the series just for a little bit, and like the camp scenes you can clearly tell that something is missing. So Guts just decides to go murder Julius for fun and while there brutally murders Julius's son, Adonis. This is a defining moment for the character and begins the trend of his doubt for Griffith--it also reinforces that Guts is still a human who makes stupid mistakes. You can't really help but feel bad for Guts despite the fact that he just murdered a child; Guts is still a teenager himself despite looking like a bulking colossus, and this moment weighs on his conscious in fairly obvious ways as the story unfolds. Before he can collect his thoughts the guards find him and attempt to halt his progress, though most are slaughtered.

Another scene here that I absolutely despise being cut is Guts reflecting on Adonis and Julius's relationship before going in for the kill. Julius is a demanding parent who berates Adonis for being rather terrible at swordplay, and this reminds Guts of his past in Gambino's mercenary camp. He feels sorry for Adonis and empathizes with the little kid because he sees some of himself in him, so when he ultimately murders Adonis by pure accident he puts himself in the shoes of a monster. Guts dreams of himself as Nosferatu Zodd murdering a version of himself as a child, and it all comes back around to this one pitiful moment. The film completely skips all of this and I'd consider it a failure just for that alone. This is probably the most important development in Guts's character during the entire Golden Age arc and I can't help but feel it was skipped for some stupid CG battle. Hope you're happy, idiots.

I should mention here that the film actually rectifies one of my biggest pet peeves with the manga: in the original, Guts is one of the only people in the world who is shown effortlessly swinging around a weapon as huge as his sword. While he does clear out a majority of the guards, it should have been a no-brainer to connect the assassination with the only guy in the entire castle town who actually has a weapon that could cause such devastating wounds as Guts's sword. Instead they have him wielding a normal longsword and he's shown to be as proficient with it as he is with his normal greatsword, and I can't even begin to explain how grateful I am that they took the time to fix this small detail. In a world as consistent as Berserk, I always thought that Guts never once being questioned as the assassin was a massive oversight.

Who could possibly have stabbed Adonis

with a sword so massive it obliterated all of his internal

organs in one swing? Eh, whatever, guess we'll never know.

Guts falls into the castle sewers and interrupts the Hawks during a party. Casca begins to berate him for disappearing without a trace, but is visibly upset when she notices that Guts is covered in wounds and barely responsive. She tells him that Griffith is attending a party with nobles and attempts to stop him from going, but the barely-conscious Guts pushes on anyway. Griffith is courting Charlotte near a fountain and Guts nearly approaches the two, but Casca chastises him for potentially embarrassing Griffith in front of the nobles that are the key to his promotion; still, she tears her shirt to help cover Guts's wounds. Guts catches part of Griffith's conversation, in which he foolishly tells Charlotte that he could never consider his soldiers friends as they have no ambition of their own, and that a true friend would never follow orders blindly. Guts, crushed by the realization that Griffith only sees him as a tool, slumps away in defeat while Griffith grins upon hearing the news that Julius and Adonis have been found dead. Casca, overhearing the announcement, takes a final look at the wounded Guts as she realizes what he's just done. The first film in the trilogy ends with the expressions on the three main characters' faces: ambition with Griffith, concern with Casca, and defeated contemplation with Guts.

Verdict

I'm always okay with more Berserk, but this first film left a bad impression. Many scenes are cut and battle scenes are seemingly extended. The battles themselves are drab and ugly, consisting mostly of bad CG and overhead shots of generic mounted combat. It feels like a failed attempt at cashing in on the Lord of the Rings high fantasy war story, but Berserk has never really been about this stuff. Sure, fighting in Berserk is some of the best you'll ever see in the medium, but the merit of this being a long-running manga series is that there are no real time restrictions. In translating the hectic, sprawling political movements to a movie that's barely over an hour much of the depth is entirely cut away, especially in terms of small character moments that drive the Golden Age arc. The audience at this point should deeply care about the main cast of the Hawks, but there's nothing really here to grow attached to other than the three main characters. This movie is clearly intended to catch up older viewers and close gaps left by the cliffhanger ending of the original anime, but that doesn't mean it has to be a bad movie in the first place. This should have either been its own television series or the movies themselves should have been longer, because for this film there's nothing the viewer can gain by not watching the original series. Even small hints at omitted details, such as the Donavon subplot, are cut away so drastically that what should have been a defining moment for Guts is instead relegated to a blurry picture with muffled voices that make no sense without context.

This is a hard movie to recommend, especially considering it ends on a cliffhanger and serves mostly to reacquaint the audience to the series before the new anime begins later this year. If you can, just read the manga. If not, go find the TV show. This first movie, at least, offers very little for a returning Berserk fan, and for a newcomer, you're missing out on some seriously good fantasy drama.

The Walking, Shambling, Embarrassing Dead

The Walking Dead is an immensely popular television series, based on a graphic novel of the same name. While I admit to following the series since the early days of its paper publication, I absolutely cannot tell you if the last few weeks of episodes have been entertaining at all. At its best The Walking Dead is a shambling mess of overplayed tropes, stereotypes, barely-functioning heavy-handed thematic elements and one of the most brainless casts full of stock cardboard cutout characters ever seen on television. I don't dislike the graphic novel--in fact, taken on its own the comic series is a frantic and often very entertaining affair. No, I'm here to say my peace on the embarrassing schlock of AMC's TV version. There will be spoilers and borderline nonsensical rants for both the television version and the comics, but allow me to enlighten you on why this tripe is a special, insidious kind of bad.

Take note that I wrote a majority of this directly before the penultimate episode of season six aired, so much of this is frustration over the initial run of this season. After six years of giving the televised series an unwarranted amount of attention I will no longer support AMC's television show. I hope this gives you some insight into why you shouldn't return, either.

Empty Promises

The first season of The Walking Dead begins with one of the highest and most ambitious openings in recent television; on its own, the show's pilot episode is a harrowing zombie story about loss and isolation. Every last thematic element is presented and resolved in some way--Morgan's isolation involves the death of his wife and his attempts to kill her zombie while Rick's isolation is a separation from his wife and kid who may not even be alive. The episode itself ends with Morgan tearfully refusing to put his wife out of his misery while Rick stumbles into a situation which leads to another group of survivors, which then leads to the discovery of Lori and Carl. The first episode exemplifies what should have been the norm for a television adaptation of a comic book: comic book readers get new information and a new interpretation of the comic while TV viewers can appreciate the original story.

While the series was being announced many readers wondered how the show would adapt the comic, though the general consensus seemed to be that each season would likely--depending on the number of episodes per season--adapt one or two trade paperbacks of the comic. As of the air date, issue 78 (then-to-be-released trade 13) had just been released. Breaking it down further, the first season of the television series had six episodes: trade volumes have six issues, so the math would have definitely worked out. There's no way to tell how these things will turn out, but my own sinking feeling with the series began in the fourth episode of season one

To overly complicate the plot, one of the members of the Atlanta survivors is locked on a roof for the survivors to return to later. The survivor's brother, Daryl, demands Rick's group return to Atlanta immediately to find his brother Merle along with a bag of guns Rick had dropped. This is close enough to the comic to be an inoffensive change, but something happens in this episode--something sinister that nobody could have possibly interpreted as a problem. Well, I did, but I don't expect you to be as immaculate at critical thought as me.

At the end of the third episode Merle's amputated arm is discovered, and while I don't appreciate "filler" characters I was interested to see how this could be incorporated into the plot. If you've seen later season you know how it turns out, but Merle really compliments the Woodbury plot. It's fine, he's fine, whatever. The biggest disaster happens in the following episode, when a random group of thugs waylay Rick's group and demand his guns. What follows is an insufferably bland, useless side story that takes an entire hour to play out and by the end, nothing is resolved. Mainstream TV viewers likely don't know what the real problem is, but as someone with a passing interest in anime, I saw the seams immediately and realized that The Walking Dead was going to be utterly inundated with filler.

Filler Hell

Filler is the laziest tool a television writer can use and is absolutely antithetical to adapting written work. The entire reason to watch a television show or a movie adapted from a written work is to put less effort into absorbing the medium--with the exception of movies like The Godfather, The Shining, Jurassic Park or even Let The Right One In where a celebrated director cuts the fat out of a bloated novel most adapted movies or television shows are missing vital details. Months after The Walking Dead aired, HBO began airing their televised adaptation of Game of Thrones (from A Song of Ice and Fire). As of the time of this writing, season six of that show will be airing soon and spoiling a large amount of content in novels that have yet to be published. Opposed to The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones has not only cut vast swathes of content but also will be creating an ending that will be only remotely similar to what George RR Martin likely has planned. While characters have been switched around and events are somewhat different, Game of Thrones has avoided the drastic problem of filler in exchange for a tight, compact version of a story that, as a series of novels, goes into even minor details (many of which I feel make the novels overly bloated, but this is not a review of Game of Thrones).

There are two types of filler, and I've already described both of them. I genuinely enjoy filler like Morgan and his wife--it's in character, expands the story, and most importantly small moments like this don't eat into episode runtimes. While I enjoy having large amounts of episodes to go through, when it's all filler with no substance there's absolutely nothing to enjoy. Currently The Walking Dead has 16-episode seasons, and if they tried to make each episode correlate to one issue of the comic the show would catch up to the comics in just a few seasons. A perfect compromise would be to adapt two trade paperbacks per season, occasionally sprinkling in filler to compensate for the extra four episodes, either by adding in minor details or expanding upon subplots. I guess this is too intelligent for AMC, though, as season six ended with roughly the 100th issue of the comic series. Despite tons of filler, the showrunners have so little forethought that they sped through some of the more interesting story beats to rush the introduction of another major villain--but I'll get to that in a bit.

Long-time viewers of the show remember well the absolute disaster of the second season, but to give you a reminder, the entirety of the first half of that season involved a desperate hunt for Carol's daughter, Sophia. Sophia is still alive in the comic series, but as an interesting twist the AMC version kills off the little girl after the characters make several attempts to search for her. While I'd normally consider this an interesting twist, looking back on that season is almost entirely a negative experience. Entire stretches of episodes amount to characters just sitting around and moping while daytime soap opera-tier drama unfolds with characters who could solve all their problems by talking to one another like human beings, but even today most of the cast are brainless idiots who just watch as their lives crumble because each person has some stupid secret--in the zombie apocalypse. Where walking alone in the woods leads to disastrous results as exemplified by Sophia, who is revealed to have been dead the entire time.

While the twist was very welcome for the comic faithful, the truth of the matter is that the suspense was raised so high that it became utterly absurd. Half a dozen episodes for it to all end with "she was on the farm as a zombie the entire stupid time" might have made for good week-to-week tension, but the writers apparently either didn't know or didn't care that revisiting these story arcs would be a near waste of time. Compare that to the TV-exclusive quarantine story arc, which is rife with tension and meaningful character development. The most important twist in Carol's character happens here, which makes her arc in recent episodes frustrating as we've seen (especially in this case) that the death of Sophia has hardened her to a strong, while merciless character.

That said, even this story arc is marred by the presence of the Woodbury refugees, who make up a vast majority of the deaths when the flu hits. In trope terms, almost every death in the first few seasons are inconsequential "red shirts"--a term coined by the Star Trek fandom for no-name characters who are killed in order to create tension for the main cast. The Walking Dead always has a certain gravitas associated with the deaths of main characters, but having such an interesting story arc wasted by an entire army of red shirts ruins the suspense in repeat viewings. And that's not even to say say anything about the Governor, who AMC saw fit to completely water down to a point where he simply wasn't very imposing in the long run. The character of Merle is revisited here as the Governor's right-hand man due in large part to how completely nonthreatening the Governor ended up being portrayed. Rick's group lost everything by not agreeing to simply merging with Woodbury. Several important characters died and looking back, nobody has anything to show for it. The entire reason the Governor was such an interesting character in the comic series is because he was the first human shown to have become a complete monster from the zombie apocalypse while still retaining his humanity in the form of his (ironically) zombified daughter. In the show he's just a gentleman with a morbid interest in dead things stretched thin over uneventful episodes of negligible menace.

So why even have so many episodes per season anyway? Both Game of Thrones and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia run on ten-episode seasons and the best show in recent memory, Boardwalk Empire, ran on twelve-episode seasons (aside from the final season, which contained eight episodes and ran into severe time constraints). The Walking Dead has no reason to have seasons with so many episodes, especially considering so many episodes are absolute, pure filler. You (you, the reader) gain nothing from filler. It exists to waste time, both yours and the producers of the show. Filler exists entirely to kill time until the series can meander to its next plot points, which I still believe are genuinely well-done in AMC's interpretation of The Walking Dead.

Consider the loose adaptation of the Hunters story arc, embarrassingly fumbled into the Terminus arc in the television show. AMC could have easily turned this group into a frightening gang hot on Rick's heels, but they're almost completely wiped out within a few episodes' time. Why waste such high potential to then throw it away in favor of rushing to the next villain? It's complete, utter schlock.

Here's a recent example of pointless filler: episode 13 of season six involves the characters Maggie and Carol being captured by members of The Saviors, a gang extorting from The Hilltop and other nearby colonies. This episode contains zero plot development, opting instead to develop the characters. Character development is just fine, but this episode is an example of the bloated, pointless filler that serves nothing and just wastes the viewer's time. Several themes are explored which have already beaten the viewer to death: loss of humanity, survival at any cost, and nihilistic determinism. Carol's loss of humanity is a complete slog, especially given her dramatic character arc. Given characters like Michonne, Carl, Daryl, and especially Rick have explored this theme numerous times (as well as the theme of survival at any cost, for that matter) and at this point you, the viewer, should be sick of seeing it. You know what to take away from this theme, you know exactly what it does to characters. Seeing it happen to a character who has been dead in the comics for years and has come a long way to get to this point. Having her character flip means all that development has been a complete waste of time.

While it's interesting to see this unfolding with Maggie, especially given that she's pregnant, the viewer should really keep in mind that every single character on screen told Maggie to not come on this mission. This is the dumbest thing a character in her position could ever do, and her contribution is harmful at best. Maggie's development is "she is an idiot" and even after the episode is over there's no way to sympathize with her. Yeah, it's so horrifying that she can't listen to people tell her she's a liability and just has to get involved. Guess what? She's a liability and shouldn't have gotten involved. She gets herself and Carol captured because she wants to be helpful, and the viewer is supposed to sympathize with the fact that she had to mass murder a bunch of people who murdered, raped, extorted, and caused chaos across the countryside.

Boohoo.

Alongside this absolute slog of an episode is the most boring, cringey, edgy characters seen in the show's history. They laughingly throw around the most lame, hamfisted atheist insults seen in TV history (who thought that something like this could come off as so boring and one-note?); characters throw a fit, smoke, melodramatically talk about their history and act like actual teenagers. The entire motivation behind the leader of this small group is that she was a secretary whose boss just wanted coffee. That's it. That's all she ever says about him. Am I supposed to sympathize with a secretary who gets coffee for her boss? Is the implication that this is demeaning or evil in some way? She's forced to wait at her office when the zombie breakout occurs and it causes her to miss her son's death. And? Did she want to die with him? So she had to sit in an office with her boss she doesn't like because he likes coffee. Give me a break, Rick had to lay in a hospital while his wife was getting it on with his best friend. Comic Rick has to watch his wife and infant daughter get turned into paste! All I got from her was that she's a whiny, petulant idiot and nobody should ever have felt sympathy for her. This is all even more annoying given that the youngest person in the room, Maggie, is in her thirties yet acts like one of the few adults in the room. Wasting time with these characters is painful at best, and every one of them is killed in the episode's climax. What did we gain from this? Anything? Annoyance? Get out of here.

Compare to this to episode 14. Every single character gets development (especially Denise and Eugene), the plot dramatically moves forward, and some legitimately shocking twists pop off within seconds that even surprise comic readers. It's a great episode and I enjoyed watching almost the entire thing, more than most episodes this entire season. We learned things about some characters that weren't major revelations, but still made the character sympathetic (which made her death even more shocking). Before this, The Walking Dead was having a problem killing off pointless Red Shirts and for such an important character to die (at a different point from her comic death) was an interesting twist. Especially given that her death replaced a major character who died at this point in the comics.

So why does this make me so annoyed, aside from the obvious hour of my time wasted by s6e13? As soon as it aired I knew deep down it would somehow be one of the highest-rated episodes of the season, if not the entire show, because it tricks the audience into believing meaningful development and themes are being presented. And, of course, I was right--look at the Rotten Tomatoes scores for both episodes I mentioned. The "nothing happens" episode is sitting pretty at a 100%, while an episode with real character and plot development is barely over 53%. But it doesn't matter if you like it or not, because to viewers The Walking Dead appears to be a major critical success...because it's tricking you into this as well.

Critical Pandering

The Walking Dead has the curious (and dubious) "honor" of having complete media saturation, including its own hour-long pandering session hosted by the insufferable Chris Hardwick. As soon as every single episode ends this hyper idiot jumps around on camera screeching about how amazing and crazy and intense the thing you just saw was. For people who haven't developed critical thought, the first reaction they can ever have to The Walking Dead is complete adoration. But it's far more insidious than you might imagine.

See, the human brain is designed to make very fast decisions--typically, an opinion is formed after a first impression. Think about yourself; how many times have you argued against an opinion or stance merely because you were introduced to its counter-points first? Most people will say it's basically immediate: the first review you read for a movie is usually what you go into the theater expecting, for example, even if it's the unpopular opinion.

So you watch an episode of The Walking Dead and stick around for the credits to see a preview for the next episode. Your mind takes a moment to summarize what you just saw and forms an opinion based on that--but before you can critically reach a conclusion that vapid, obnoxious idiot immediately inundates the viewer with high praise no matter what happened in the episode, regardless if anything happened at all. Before most viewers can think of elements to criticize from the episode they're overwhelmed by this energetic moron convincing them that what they just watched was perfect, infallible high art.

Most people won't think any harder about The Walking Dead after the episode is over, and those first several seconds of "what an amazing/stellar/breathtaking episode" is going to be the point many viewers stop thinking critically. Even if you have no interest in the show's follow-up series The Talking Dead, it's very difficult to avoid the glowing critical praise immediately after the next episode preview. Take this and the immediate glowing reviews by websites such as IGN and The Walking Dead becomes this cynical, impenetrable wall of critical praise with very few outlets decrying its enormous shortcomings.

And that's not even the worst part. Beginning with season six Talking Dead has begun cutting into the main show's air time, particularly around the final commercial break, simply to plant those seeds in the viewer's head just in case someone with a brain criticized an episode before the credits rolled. To AMC, even the minute of credits is too much time for the viewer to form an opinion, and I won't be surprised if more commercial breaks are inundated with this complete schlock over time. Because of this The Walking Dead has met with very little real criticism, which is strange as the writers have taken every opportunity to indulge viewers with fanservice in regards to characters like Daryl.

Daryl.

I hate this character, and even worse I hate that I hate Daryl Dixon. Daryl is a fascinating example in a TV-exclusive filler character who has grown far past the source material; he's grown so popular, in fact, that Robert Kirkman has played with fan expectation about including the character in the comics (usually in the form of April Fool's jokes). Why is this a problem? Well, Daryl (played by the wonderful Norman Reedus) has a very big problem with being a huge Mary Sue.

For reference, a Mary Sue is a self-insert character who is seemingly flawless with an emotional past and is loved by much of their surrounding cast; if you want to be technical the male version of this is a Gary Stu, but let's not make this thing more convoluted than it already is. With few exceptions Daryl meets all these requirements: he's an unstoppable killing machine who is perfect at everything he does and compliments Rick as his right-hand man. Daryl is also met with the fan outcry of "If Daryl dies, we riot." As such, nothing of note has ever happened to Daryl. His brother and close friends have died around him, yet he's still an indestructible force of nature that everyone loves and at times pushes many of the show's numerous plots forward.

While I have my hopes for this character's demise, the truth of the matter is that I've never once felt tension when Daryl is on-screen because he is surrounded by the most ludicrous plot armor I've ever seen in a show this focused on keeping characters in constant peril. Carl can lose an eye, but Daryl can't even lose his leather vest or zombie-slaying crossbow for more than a few episodes. In fact, in the penultimate episode of the sixth season (s6e15) Daryl is ambushed and shot, point blank, in the chest. As soon as the episode ended I turned to my girlfriend and said "if Daryl isn't a corpse in the next episode they're outright lying to us." Not only is Daryl not a corpse, he's shown with a minor gunshot wound and appears in better shape than many characters who are sick or beaten. To have Daryl die at such a shocking and unexpected moment would have destroyed just about all of my points here, but instead reinforces all my complaints about the character.

Despite all this, I'll admit I was very excited when Daryl was pushed to the forefront in seasons two and three. I thought he had a great character arc and he contributed to the plot in a handful of ways. Over time, though, all Daryl began to stand for is massive fan outcry. The Walking Dead is surrounded by an echo-chamber preventing negative criticism from even forming for most of its audience, yet the show has cultivated fanservice in such a way as to be jarring compared to its main theme and Daryl symbolizes all of that.

After those first two or three seasons, Daryl became one of the main reasons I stuck with the series, but not because I have any particular fondness for the character. No, the interest in this character was that I believed that he would become a surrogate for another major character who meets a gruesome fate in the comic's one hundredth issue when Rick's party is finally confronted by Negan. You've seen most of this scene in the show by now, but I'll get to that in just a second. No, I was hoping that because Daryl had easily become the fan-favorite character after this long that AMC would dare brutally kill him off to punctuate Negan's arrival, a kick in the face to viewers who believed anyone was actually safe. But the season finale...oh, the season finale.

The Season Six Finale is Insulting Tripe and You Should be Outraged.

The season six finale is possibly the worst, most insulting thing I've ever seen in my life. Worse than the final episode of L O S T. It's worse than the Star Wars prequels. You know what, let's stretch this out a little further. The season six finale of The Walking Dead makes the ending of Mass Effect 3 look like a literary masterpiece. It's blatantly designed to be a spit in the face to fans, a cynical dangling-of-keys because AMC believes you, the viewer, are too vapid to think about what you just watched and you'll come crawling back to beg for their scraps.

So let's get into this. The crux of this episode involves the Alexandria group bringing Maggie to the Hilltop Colony; since Denise is now dead, there is nobody in town who can help her after she becomes violently ill. Fearing for her and her unborn child, Rick decides everyone needs to come along so not to be ambushed by Negan's Saviors and give some extra manpower. Or something. Frankly the premise is weak to begin with, but their journey is punctuated by some very menacing, very poignant threats by the Saviors. They're constantly blocked on the road by the armed gang, given harrowing death threats, and eventually are railroaded exactly where the Saviors want them. It leads to some of the most tense and striking visuals of the entire series so far, and I was almost prepared to give the show a pass.

I should also mention that the subplot with Carol and Morgan is somewhat wrapped up here, but the outcome is left to a cliffhanger. The entire subplot was a waste of time and will lead to nothing next season--aside from Morgan using a gun, but the only reason he wasn't using one in the first place is due to the influence of just some rando teaching him aikido (in an unintentionally humorous short span of time). We get closure between these two characters, but what's the use? Morgan isn't a pacifist now, but he shouldn't have been one in the first place. It's the result of a hamfisted filler subplot that went nowhere. All the characters involved in Morgan's pacifist phase are now dead (and all of them were filler, I should add), and Morgan's flawed reasoning is "Denise would not have been able to save Carl because she would have been killed by Walkers if not for Duane." Except she wouldn't have been out on the street at all, much less not in her clinic, if not for the fact that she had to cross the street and tend to Duane before he dragged her into the street in the first place. It's a complete mess of a story arc that contradicted itself in every single way and this was just a messy way to tie that loose end.

Then several minutes are spent wasted on Eugene, possibly the best of the main cast, as he tearfully forms a plan to have the entire group carry Maggie to Hilltop through the woods while he distracts the encroaching Savior party. This entire scene is set up to imply that this is Eugene's final stand, that his death is imminent and that we should prepare for the worst. Despite wasting a non-inconsequential amount of time on this brave sacrifice, he's captured by the Saviors and just gets a black eye from the ordeal. Why even bother wasting that moment and queuing up pointless "sad piano music" for this scene if it was going to lead nowhere?

That's not the real final nail in The Walking Dead's coffin, though. The climax of the episode finds Rick's group kneeling before Negan, played masterfully by Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who calmly (but firmly) reminds Rick that he has caused untold amounts of damage by interfering with his business, and this just will not do. JDM commands this scene, an intimidating and effortless reminder that Rick might not be the baddest dude around. All they had to do was just play this scene as it appears in the comics and you'd have me hooked. Instead some bumbling idiot at AMC thought the viewers needed an extra incentive to keep talking about the show until its October season begins, but if the official Reddit thread is anything to go by the only topic of discussion between fans is "how many of us are boycotting this travesty?" I don't even use Reddit and here I am, linking to their discussion page just to show how absolutely pissed I am.

In probably the most amateurish, embarrassing gimmick twists seen in any sort of filmed media, the moment Negan chooses Lucille's target the scene shifts to a first-person perspective. I'd read a spoiler before this but was hoping it to be fake, and I'll mention my girlfriend again by saying I wish she'd been filming the look on my face: enraptured by Negan, completely taken in by his on-screen presence; then confusion, followed by disappointment and eventual seething anger. It was like I experienced every single stage of grief in a matter of seconds because I knew, deep down, that The Walking Dead was treating me like a chump.

What follows is perhaps the sloppiest death scene in TV history. Negan swings his bat flaccidly at the camera, which shakes a bit. He says a few words but the entire cast is completely quiet as they watch their friend beaten to a bloody pulp by this complete stranger (who, for no reason at all, they believed was a collective of thugs or some stupid contrivance) who is determined to leave his mark. Slowly, a comical 2D blood effect that looks like it came straight from a decades-old After Effects release covers the screen as it fades to black.

The television equivalent of gunshot, cut to black is the season finale of one of the most-watched shows in recent years, one which ended on a cliffhanger adapting the most anticipated, most iconic scene from the comic book. And here it is. The moment I'd stayed on board for to see if AMC would actually kill off a character as big as Daryl, and some corporate goon decided to pop up and say "no, actually you have to wait six months. See you then ;))))))))))))))))))))))))))"

Imagine if the the first season of Game of Thrones ended right before Ned was executed, that when Ilin Payne brought down Ice the screen cut to black and the last few seconds of the episode were just screams from the crowd. How many people would have stuck around after that? Instead, the show presents this scene tastefully and continues into its season finale following the execution. The stakes are raised, the protagonist is murdered on screen, and viewers are treated to scenes of the villains having a victory lap before leading us into the following season. No cheap gimmicks, no lies to the viewer. But The Walking Dead? The viewers are stupid, a follow-up would just alienate them! Or something. Or did an exec believe that the viewers were too stupid to realize this wasn't the series finale? Either way, this is entirely the result of belittling the viewer's intelligence.

No. Nope. Not having it. This season alone lied to the viewers on more than one occasion. Glenn, in an episode before the mid-season break, appears to be eaten by zombies but miraculously survives by crawling under a dumpster. As stupid as this already is, especially considering he's a very viable candidate for Negan's show of power, it also lies by showing a terrified Glenn watching as intestines are pulled out and eaten by a herd of zombies. Oh, nope, that was actually some stupid red shirt who fell on top of him. Fooled you kids.

The second time I already mentioned: Daryl should not have even been alive for the season finale. He was shot point-blank in the chest and the episode ended on, you guessed it, a cheap blood splatter followed by a cliffhanger. Then we have this ending, where character dialogue is cut out to create an illusion of tension--go to that Reddit thread, someone found leaked audio from that scene before it was all cut out. The character Negan murdered outright has their name shouted in the clip, but it was cut to continue the false suspense. Another theory is that the audio was cut because AMC wants to consider who to actually kill in the next few months leading into season seven, but what kind of poor planning and judgment would professional showrunners have to have in order to blunder so heavily?

See, the reason why Negan's reveal was so mesmerizing in the comic is that he appears and, in the same issue, brutally murders one of Rick's most trusted allies and then gloats about it. He beats this character to jelly, and readers will tell you frankly that it left a huge impression. Here's a guy we were completely underestimating, especially compared to the much more intimidating comic Governor, who treats our already ruthless cast of characters like petulant children and gives them a lesson in humility. With the TV ending, the tension is dropped in that it could be anybody. He might be murdering that one guy from Alexandria whose name I forget. I'm not looking it up, either. Don't even bother correcting me. Negan's first appearance, and one of the most unforgettable moments in the comic, is utterly butchered by some studio suit who decided to give viewers further incentive to come back in six months.

A season finale should be a momentous occasion for any TV show: it's the last big hurrah before bowing out for a few months, the final punctuation to a season to wrap up its core themes and possibly hint at things to come. This finale literally cut out its own ending so you can finish the season half a year from now; what if season one ended with the CDC exploding but conveniently left out Rick's group escaping? That's the biggest tragedy of it all: if this played out like the comic, I'd be absolutely and totally on board. I might even have shelved this obsessively long blog post. Jeffrey Dean Morgan was the best fit for Negan they could have possibly picked, and without that ending--which itself is like the TV equivalent of trashy clickbait--season seven would be as hyped for me as the approaching season premiere of Game of Thrones. But instead AMC decided that this powerhouse character was not appealing enough, that viewers would simply have to come back after half a year just to see the conclusion to an episode they'd already been invested in. That's not gripping, it's insulting.

A major comparison to make is the ending of season five of Game of Thrones. A very major character is murdered at the end of the season, left to die in a puddle of his own blood. A second character allows himself to be killed and while the scene doesn't actually show his death, it's more than implied that both of these characters are dead and won't be back for the next season (one of which had the actor flat-out say he just wanted his character to have a small, glorified death off-screen). If these confirmed dead characters come back then that will be an actual twist to me. I'm not hanging on to my seat to find out if someone stabbed five million times in the heart is actually dead or not, as far as I'm concerned that's about as dead as you can get. It's not nearly the same as merely being dishonest to viewers to keep suspense. And of the over 75 hours of my life I've spent on this show, all I feel at this moment is empty, lied to and kicked in the dirt by some exec who sees their viewers as simple, brainless numbers.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The Walking Dead is a show that, despite its roots as an intimate, humble independent comic book, has grown into a disgusting machine, churning out crap for you to eat like a slave. The show has no respect for your time, your energy, or your dedication. What began as an interesting experiment is now a massive example of the worst aspects of media: bloated with pointless filler, teasing the audience with cliffhangers and no payoff, outright lying just to get buzz for an unneeded popularity bump--seriously, is one of the most-watched shows in television history not good enough?--and expecting absolutely no critical response because they've since fostered a toxic echo chamber of undeserved praise and hype that is finally appearing to burst. The Walking Dead doesn't respect you, and you shouldn't have to put up with this treatment from a show that subsists off its devoted fanbase. You should expect more than Mary Sue characters and a fade-to-black first-person cliffhanger. You deserve better than literal dumpster twists. I've stuck around this long, and many of the old faces give the illusion that the show is doing just fine, but the most important departure of all is coming from season six: mine.

Just read the comic.