PS3 (also on Xbox 360)
always thought Robert Smith was such a nice bloke. Klutzy with the
lippy, sure, but he sang about caterpillars and love cats, and
dressed in a sweetie-pie bear suit...
Turns out he’s a prick. Well, somebody who looks like a thin him is.
But we’ve jumped ahead.
So, take Buffy. Give her a lobotomy. Hello Juliet Starling, zombie
Not just putting the ‘bimb’ into ‘bimbo’, Juliet also stuffs in
every blonde, cheerleading cliché imaginable, enough to make any
rabid feminist, umm, more rabid. It’s her birthday and her world
turns to shit as Bob – or his thin doppelishganger - lets loose a
zombie apocalypse as big as, umm, the last fucking zombie
Just when she thought it couldn’t suck harder, a shambler chomps her
boyfriend. But she’s like all magic, so severs his head and keyrings
it. Somehow he remains sentient, just dickless, legless and mostly
armless... Well, unless he’s plopped onto a zombie bod for blue
meanie meat puppet actiontasticness.
A scantily-clad third-person comic-styled grindhouse
kick/pom-pom/saw romperama, LC oozed from Suda51’s wondrously
fucked-up bonce, so we had higher hopes of aceness than Cypress Hill
(insert preferred stoner gag if that’s too crapulent). It starts
promisingly, with wicked punk-infused humour, heaps of dishing shit
on emos and amusing combat with natty power-ups.
But, for some fucked-up reason, poxy minigames invade. Zombie
basketball’s passable, but zombie baseball’s more broken than any
Nickelback CDs that cross our desk. The default lock-on system is
stuffed, disable it and you’ve more hope of eventually conquering
definitively cruddy design. We believe they’re updating that heading
in the Funk & Wagnalls as we type...
Such ineptness torpedoes any willingness to forgive repetitiveness
for great writing – and loving hearing Toni Basil’s ‘Mickey’ when JS
goes all Ms Sparkle. We’re, like, totally bummed, y’know?
Juliet Starling. She saved the world. A little.