I think I found the most pretentious video game review site ever.

[BGH122]

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?

Snipped for Sanity

Oh dear lord its spreading!

Also, how long did it take you to write that? Good effort.

OT: I didn't think it was too bad. It wasn't so much a review, more pointing out the whole "city revolves around you" aspect, but it wasn't too 'pretentious'.

Must ... Resist ... Urge ... To ... Prose ...

*sigh*

Took about twenty minutes or so.

I'm not sure how to classify the review to be honest. It was certainly way, way over-the-top and totally bereft of anything that'd make a review of any worth to the public i.e. assessments of gameplay, graphics, story etc. It read more like an over-analytical English Lit. graduate's interpretation of the game than a review. Posted more for the reviewer's sake than the readers. I guess that makes it somewhat pretentious.

 

[Quazimofo]

That review...

It was a horrible review.

But an excellent piece of writing.

pretty much this.

Capatcha: beerling skingi
anyone know what the hell that is? the spell check says beerlings are real, but i havent a clue what it is

 

[Torrasque]

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

Rofl, oh man, you remind me of a friend of mine I haven't seen in high school, who's term paper was all he needed to get into university. At first my teacher gave him a failing mark, but thats just because she couldn't understand it. It was way above her reading level, hell, even I had trouble reading it (not trying to make me sound like the smartest person ever)

He's always great to have as DM because he is so very descriptive, and he can make you feel the grime on the rocks, and smell the breath of the mob sneaking behind you...

 

[Woodsey]

I think its funny. I also think it isn't serious. Someone linked his review of Stacking. Read it, because I chuckled.

Funnily enough, this does bring out a serious point: the amount of people on this forum that seem to think that because its "just a game", its not deserving of any in-depth critique outside of the mechanics, is a little perplexing.

Maybe if people did critique the living shit out of game writing (and the player's role in a game), we might actually get good writing more than once in a blue moon.

But still, not serious. Or perhaps, somewhat serious, somewhat purposefully overblown.

And actually, I thought he communicated his points pretty well. Very well in fact.

 

[BGH122]

Rofl, oh man, you remind me of a friend of mine I haven't seen in high school, who's term paper was all he needed to get into university. At first my teacher gave him a failing mark, but thats just because she couldn't understand it. It was way above her reading level, hell, even I had trouble reading it (not trying to make me sound like the smartest person ever)

He's always great to have as DM because he is so very descriptive, and he can make you feel the grime on the rocks, and smell the breath of the mob sneaking behind you...

That reminds me. I damn sure need to find some new D&D partners since all my old nerdy mates buggered off to higher education.

Will no-one think of we wilfully undereducated!?

 

[HerbertTheHamster]

I thought extra credits already had the pretentiousness covered.

That was pretty bad though.

 

[ninja51]

Hes probably one of those guys who jack off to The Great Gatsby and The Catcher in the Rye for their complex "symbolism"

 

[Ursus Buckler]

I quite liked it... but, at the same time I'm not an avid gamer. XD

 

[Viking Incognito]

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

That was amazing. Especially coming from a guy with Pedo Bear for his Avatar.

 

[The Apothecarry]

A "paranoid existential videogame freakout?" What does that even mean?

He based his review on speculation about Cole Phelps' past?

Yahtzee goes over flaws in game design. This guy...I have no idea what he's criticizing.

 

[BGH122]

Spoiler

50 out of what?

Out of what? Out of what?!

"Out of what?" the words coursed their way through my caffeine addled brain until nothing but their haunting echo resounded in my mindspace, reverberating off the boundaries of my cerebrum like a ricocheting bullet twisted with a mystery.

"Out of what?" the words barked their dull cry at me, over and over again, pressing ever harder for an answer to a question that shook me to the very depths of my waking being; the demanding crack of a cocked pistol, the suffocating silence of the aftershock as the question ricocheted on.

"Out of what?" ... A tingling in the depths of my consciousness, a whisper from a flash of thought already lost amidst the depths of my brooding soul. Suddenly an image drifted before my mind's eye, the number 50 lost amidst a sea of digits cloaked in impossible geometry, a colour without form. Red.

With a sudden yearning rush the cogs creaked into action, complying finally with the siren's call. The bullet came to a stop. It had found its home amongst the dessicated wreckage of my subconscious, lost deep beneath the waves of my peripheral thoughts.

"Out of nothing!" I erupted. All at once a wave of dizzy nausea swam throughout my hunched form, neurotransmitters breathing their lifeless breath into my core. My heart sped, racing away from me like the explanation ever ahead of my reach. Always one step ahead of my reach.

The sunken vessel of my subconscious let sway its hold over one survivor, one insignificant morsel in the endless, infinite seas of buried secrets lying tantalisingly just outside my realm of cognizance. The thought bobbed up to crest the waves and, for a glimpse of a second, the rays of my sentience probed its tattered ethereal outline.

My heart now raced like never before, a steady, well oiled machine pumping nicotine and caffeine throughout my shaking system. Numeracy was a lie. The sudden snap of realisation forced the bile up my throat. The bitter taste of the truth burnt ever higher towards my gasping mouth, sucking desperately for air that wouldn't come. Air that was just out reach.

Just out of reach. The thought seemed peculiarly inviting, but I knew at the end of that thought lay something from which I instinctively wanted to turn. A burning bright light too terrifying to look upon for fear of blinding, too bold to ignore.

I faced the light. The world around me squirmed and dissolved like a worm in an acid bath. The clawing, hungering fingertips of the truth beyond eschewing my naive beliefs, my pathetic fantasies of reality.

I turned away. I was too afraid to go on.

"Out of what?" the question squealed.

Maybe now his review company will hire me to do reviews? See? I can type like a paint-huffing paranoid schizophrenic who's just been rejected by a publisher too.

That was amazing. Especially coming from a guy with Pedo Bear for his Avatar.

Glad you enjoyed it. Doubly glad that the Pedo Bear Suit threw your expectations and made you feel like, for a brief period, you were living in some bizarro alternate dimension where suddenly the people who went to college and the people who sat around jerking off had switched places.

That's why it's there.

 

[ohngec07]

I totally expected you to link this site: http://bit.ly/13gH7c (don't get me wrong, said site is my favourite one, but I still think it's pretty damn pretentious)

But the one you actually linked is really much worse...

 

[Woodsey]

A "paranoid existential videogame freakout?" What does that even mean?

He based his review on speculation about Cole Phelps' past?

Yahtzee goes over flaws in game design. This guy...I have no idea what he's criticizing.

The feel of the city, the game's difficulty (and lack thereof), issues with the animation and the restrictions placed upon you, and problems with how the story is told.

 

[NJ]

IMHO, sometimes they have very good points, and at worst they re-iterate someone else's good points. I agree with you on the whole "gamifying" thing, though.

They're nihilists, Donny. They don't care for anything.

*hangs head out of shame*

 

[The Apothecarry]

The feel of the city, the game's difficulty (and lack thereof), issues with the animation and the restrictions placed upon you.

So...things that I don't really care about or things that the designers chose not to focus on because, in my opinion, they didn't need to?

LA Noire to me looks like a game that is all about story. Not about environments, not about difficulty. Animation issues may break immersion, but I just had too much of a hard time reading his review because he buries his points in fancy writing.

 

[Allan53]

I enjoyed it. It's an alternative look at an aspect of sandbox games as well as mystery games that you don't see often.

Wow, I've never seen someone drag out "the citizens make comments about what you do" into such pathetic pseudo-intellectual-sounding bullshit in my life. It's just a game dude, you don't need to make it sound like you're righting a book on human psychology.

This is probably going to start a fight, but I won't be able to move on until I make these points.

1. It's 'writing', not 'righting'. Petty, I know, it's a thing.

2. Please tell me you were just in a bad mood when you wrote that? "It's just a game, why are you thinking about it?" "It's just a movie, why are you thinking about it?" Some pieces of media attempt to be more than just fun, and tell a story in different or subtle ways. If people choose to take them at surface, great, good for them, I wish them well. However, if someone wants to dig a little deeper, than there's nothing wrong with that either.

 

[Ryengu]

Usefulness as an actual review aside, it's kind of a fascinating observation. I agree it doesn't do much as a review, but as a little story to itself it was kind of interesting.

 

[Reyalsfeihc]

Wow, it looks like Yahtzee has lost the pretentious bastard of the year award to who ever wrote that. that guy is a grade A twat.

Check out his review of stacking...look how he formatted his paragraphs.

http://killscreendaily.com/articles/reviews/review-stacking

I feel like this review is far more prickish than the other one. Especially since he's revolving his score he gave the game around the fact that he got motion-sickness while playing it. Seriously? Stop your whining and do your damn job.

 

[jpoon]

Wow, that shit was hard to read, no thanks buddy...no thanks!

 

[Woodsey]

The feel of the city, the game's difficulty (and lack thereof), issues with the animation and the restrictions placed upon you.

So...things that I don't really care about or things that the designers chose not to focus on because, in my opinion, they didn't need to?

LA Noire to me looks like a game that is all about story. Not about environments, not about difficulty. Animation issues may break immersion, but I just had too much of a hard time reading his review because he buries his points in fancy writing.

Well he also mentioned the problems with the interrogation mechanics, so there you go. I'm not really sure what's so difficult to grab from it.

And I care about those things, and the designers very obviously did - that's why they scanned in all the clothing into the game, that's why they painstakingly recreated LA from that time period, that's why they went through all the trouble of mo-capping people so that you could judge their reactions and be a detective. His point is, that is pointless if you can progress through the game regardless of what you actually do.

He also links the difficulty to the issues with the story, in that, "No one questioned my meteoric rise through the force". If you're getting everything wrong then you wouldn't expect to keep shooting up through the ranks.

2. Please tell me you were just in a bad mood when you wrote that? "It's just a game, why are you thinking about it?" "It's just a movie, why are you thinking about it?" Some pieces of media attempt to be more than just fun, and tell a story in different or subtle ways. If people choose to take them at surface, great, good for them, I wish them well. However, if someone wants to dig a little deeper, than there's nothing wrong with that either.

Ah but don't you see? Games are just for fun! Unless Roger Ebert says they aren't art of course, then absolutely everyone knows that they are most certainly very serious business.

People are just pissing in the wind with this whole thing. At one point they're bordering on anti-intellectualism, at others they're defending the artistic merit of Mario to death.

(Funnily enough, I don't think games are art, but I don't think they should be "just for fun" either.)