The greatest thing ever

The new-and-vastly-downsized E3 is over, and while there were few surprises to be had (aside from Mario Party DS, which is something I've been waiting for), I now have confidence that Super Mario Galaxy could be the greatest thing ever. And, even if it's not, this particular picture unquestionably is:


It's Bee Mario. Bee Mario has just made my year.

Compleet

With yesterday's acquisition of Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, I now have every GameCube game I've ever wanted, and can officially declare that tiny corner of the collection complete.

I'm close to wrapping up Chibi-Robo, and I plan to run through Tomb Raider Legend and Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles before moving on to brand-new pastures. Chibi-Robo deserves a blog entry all its own, but I haven't finished it yet, so that'll come later. In the meanwhile, here's another game I've been putting some time into lately.


Star Fox Command is the debut of Star Fox on the DS. I've had this game since Xmas, but haven't sunk much time into it until recently. One very, very big reason for this is that it uses the stylus entirely, which means -- if you're an adult -- you will need a stylus large enough to hold comfortably, and not the microscopic stylus Nintendo steals away in the side or top of your DS.

Basically, you steer, map your course, speed up, slow down, and turn around/loop-de-loop all with the stylus, which sounds like a really terrible idea when spoken out loud. In practice, it's not so bad. The big thing with this game is, it's set up more like a tactical strategy game, where shooting and piloting skills really take a back seat to how well you plan your assault. The shooting sections merely require you to defeat certain enemies and collect stars as proof of your actions; again, a concept that sounds worse than it really is. I think Nintendo realized somewhere down the road that stylus-based control would be extremely painful if prolonged, which is why the shooting game play has been compressed into chunks rather than forcing you fly through lengthy stages. Oh, and the game itself is a pretty short run the first time through, but you're given a key afterwards that lets you open up branching paths, ultimately leading a considerably higher number of stages. It's highly story-based, too.



As enjoyable as the game ultimately is, I'm not sure how highly I would recommend it to others. You see, as most long-time Nintendo fans know, the Star Fox series has more or less fallen out of grace. Oh, sure, the first two games were excellent, but Star Fox Adventures took Fox and friends out of their Arwings and stuck them on the ground, where they did not belong, and basically forced them -- and you -- through an obnoxious fetch-quest. And then there was Star Fox Assault on the GameCube, which took the game back to its shooting combat roots, but again forced you to spend the majority of the game on the ground, NOT in the air. Big, big mistake. Needless to say, it's been hard to take this IP seriously after two poor games in a row.

Star Fox Command is a step in the right direction. Though everyone loves Star Fox and Star Fox 64, I don't think it would have been a good idea to go back to that exact same formula. The strategy element gives the game a stronger sense of urgency, and the multiple paths are good, too, though you don't really have to do anything to earn your way off the beaten path, like you did before. I would just prefer a more comfortable, more traditional way to control the game should Nintendo decide to go ahead with a follow-up.

Prime roast

In preparation for Metroid Prime 3, the big Wii game this summer, I went back and played through Metroid Prime 2 on GameCube, a game I had played mostly through in years past, but just now played to completion.


Metroid Prime 2 is... well, it's not fundamentally different from Metroid Prime 1, in regards to presentation, game play, controls... everything, really. You can fall off of ledges and hurt yourself now; scanning things is easier; there's a few different weapons, though they function with frightening similarity to the weapons from Prime 1; fewer Metroids; and it goes on in that fashion. Small things, really. This time, Samus gets her stuff stolen in the game's opening sequence, giving you your reason for having to hunt it all down yet again. Each stolen implement is held by a boss, and that's where the main difference in Metroid Prime 2 becomes apparent: this game is much harder than its predecessor. Really, some of those bosses border on sheer unfairness. My completing the game last night came from the lucky break that continuing allowed me to resume the fight with the second final boss, rather than start over against the first. Had it not, I would have quit right then and there.


So this one has some frustration that the first one didn't. Then there's the fact that the first game feels more -- I don't know -- Metroidy? -- than this one. The game is fun in regards to the fact that it's still Metroid, but it's not a new experience like the first game was. Moreover, the game uses the light/dark dichotomy to create two worlds, each a mirror image of the other, as well as a "dark" version of Samus. This must be a Nintendo thing, because they do this in a lot of their main franchises, particularly Zelda.

Time for a brief installment of Spoiler Theater, so cover your ears and sing loudly if you don't want a more-or-less predictable revelation to be ruined for you. Dark Samus IS Metroid Prime, which doesn't make a lot of sense given that Prime got atomized at the end of the first game. Oh, it's never definitively stated that DS is MP, but the Luminoth lore gives it away, talking about a cataclysmic meteor crash that began all their problems with Dark Aether, which is exactly how Tallon IV is described as going down the toilet in the first game. When you get your last look at Dark Samus before the final battle, it's pretty obvious.

So that's that, and Metroid Prime 2 goes back on the shelf until I revisit it again in a few years or so. I'm in the process of rounding out my GameCube library (while there's still time...) and have picked up a few older titles at budget prices. I've just started Chibi-Robo, which is a game both adorable and... and... I'm not sure. I'll have more to say about it some other time.

Ratted out

I saw Ratatouille this weekend and enjoyed it thoroughly, and was perfectly prepared to make some comments about it. But the incomparable Jeremy Parish, on his blog at gamespite.net, already has said more than I ever could, and his words are as follows:

The Iron Giant was Brad Bird's loving homage to classic sci-fi and '50s Cold War paranoia; The Incredibles was an affectionate tribute to Silver Age comic books by way of Watchmen. Ratatouille is something completely different, and maybe a little bit disappointing in its predictability: Bird crafting a by-the-numbers contemporary animated feature. It's the story of your average talking critter who just isn't like the rest of his kind, who finds himself suddenly thrust into a new situation, who eventually comes into his own and everyone learns to accept him for who he is. Like A Bug's Life. Or Antz. Or Madagascar. Or Happy Feet. Or... ho hum, everything, really. Seems like a trite premise for a Bird film, so good thing it's absolutely the most beautiful CG animated movie ever, right?

Or at least, that's what I'd say if I were a complete moron. I mean, yes, Ratatouille is the most beautiful CG animated movie ever, and yeah, the premise is a bit trite -- but it's the results that matter rather than the concept, and the results are incredible. Of course, this is the Internet, so I'm sure we'll see raging screeds from horrible people who set out to hate the movie sight unseen (and presumably a lengthy diabtribe by John Kricfalusi about how horrible its animation was -- not enough pea green!!). But normal people, the ones who aren't socially retarded and can appreciate beauty when they see it, will rightly love Ratatouille.

It's a great movie because of all the things it doesn't do. It's full of fuzzy little mammals, and they're animated gorgeously and have distinct designs... but they're not especially cute or marketable. The main character, Remy, is scrawny; his brother is obese; his father is lumpy and gnarled. When the rat colony moves together, it's revoltingly realistic, sickening in the way that only a swarm of rodents or insects can be. I'm sure there are Ratatouille plushes on sale at the Disney store, but I rather suspect the manufacturers were forced to take some liberties with the designs. This movie, unlike, say, Cars, was not created to sell toys. (I would, however, be more than happy to buy a copy of Anyone Can Cook, the book that provides so much of the film's impetus.)



It's a movie about rats, living in sewers, foraging for garbage, but there's not a single fart joke to be found. No scatological humor anywhere, in fact. And even though the setting -- modern-day Paris -- and the topic -- fine cuisine -- are ripe for pop culture parodies, the film never rises to the bait. No Iron Chef, no Julia Child, no Emeril references, nothing. Even the one dig at the French is given equal time by a dig at Americans. The humor is classy, and it's internally consistent; where most animation has degenerated into the likes of Family Guy and Shrek, which can't actually be enjoyed unless you're familiar with 40 years worth of TV, movies and music, Ratatouille lets its jokes be about the characters, about the situations. It's never laugh-out-loud hilarious, employing instead a quieter sort of humor. And while a few celebrities lend their voices to the production, none are cast as animated versions as themselves. There are no fish with Will Smith's face, no bees that look alarmingly like Jerry Seinfeld. This is a movie that dares to pay Jeneane Garofolo and Sir Ian Holm for their talents, then makes their voices unrecognizable with thick French accents -- because it's their talent that counts, not their celebrity cachet.

It's almost... it's almost as though Brad Bird actually respects his audience. Like he remembers that animation doesn't have to be an uneasy mix of dumbed-down base-level comedy (to keep kids alert) and "witty" quips (to keep their parents from slipping into a coma) and celebrity pandering (to justify those celebrity paychecks). Like he remembers that every part of a good story can be appreciated by anyone, because good storytelling is universal.

In that post from a year ago linked above, I compared the comedy and motion in the Ratatouille trailer to the bygone days of animation, and that's what makes the final movie so good. It upholds those ideas, the standards of an era before Robin Williams' big blue Genie sent animation down the path of shallow parody, before the convenience of CG art made animation studios forget that craft and care are more important than technical prowess and toy-ready character designs. Take away the beautiful, luminous 3D visuals and you have a movie that could have been made in Disney's 1940s heyday, a film that could be one of Hayao Miyazaki's less crotchety creations.

I can't help but think that food critic Anton Ego's story arc is supposed to be representative of the movie at large, that his reaction to Remy's cooking was intended by Bird as a statement of intent for what he wants this movie to provoke in its viewers. Which is actually pretty cocky of him, when it comes down to it -- but acceptable, because he pulled it off. This is a beautiful movie, and in more ways than just its romantic visual depiction of Paris. They don't make 'em like this anymore, but Ratatouille proves that they could. If only they had the integrity.



So run, little guy, run. Your kind is all but extinct these days. We need you to live, to be an inspiration to the rest of the world.