Sunday, October 16, 2011

Review // Shadows of the Damned

You're sitting at a bar, frustrated and burnt out, six drinks down with no signs of slowing. You signal the bartender for another. He hesitates.

"You all right, buddy?"

"I'll be better once this glass is full."

Behind you, the door bursts open. Through the fog and the blinding light steps a midnight woman with a brimstone fauxhawk and a Billy Idol sneer. Her shredded leather pants are falling apart at the seams, and she's wearing a studded jacket left casually unzipped with nothing underneath, illuminating ashen skin. Her eyes are fallen morning stars; her jaded gaze sweeps lazily through the bar. She doesn't see you.

But she does sit next to you.

This is what it feels like to play through the stellar, rock and roll opening of Shadows of the Damned, the latest peyote-infused trip from Suda51, the auteur behind Killer7, and Shinji Mikami, creator of the Resident Evil series. That opening was a breath of fresh air for me, a much-needed reminder that crazy Japanese games still exist in today's increasingly cautious market.

During that opening, I was introduced to "Garcia-fucking-Hotspur," a Mexican demon hunter on a road movie through hell to rescue his lady love, and Johnson, his easily excitable British sidekick (who's just a floating skull, by the way). I shot the lord of demons through Garcia's apartment window and into a portal to the underworld then dove in after him. I rode a chopper down a deserted highway and into a cobblestone hell. It's almost overwhelming how immediately cool this game is.

Here's the thing: that initial impression wears off quickly.