SAINTS ROW: THE THIRD
PS3 (also on Xbox 360, PC)
know we’re never gonna survive, unless we get a little crazy – wise
words indeed from a Seal who knows how to haernk.
Obviously the bods behind this third incarnation of the anti-GTA
took heed as, basically, they’ve gone utterly bat-shit crazy
bonkers. Hell, these fuckers make Ken Bruce look completely sane.
But you likely know that already, what with all the press about
superstar gangstas wielding octopus guns, people cannons and wibbly-wobbly
purple dildo bats.
Arriving purpler than Prince’s undies, Saints Row: The Third
is Hot Shots! to GTA’s Top Gun. A wise
strategy, for it couldn’t match that other thing’s sandboxical
quality, as the cavalcade of ridiculous bugs, shitty graphics and
often woeful AI on display here attest. The humour, however? Sure,
much of it’s pure teenage Y-chromosome, but we challenge anybody not
to giggle at times despite themselves, be it a random aside whilst
Lebowskiing through pedestrians, or taking down yet another creepy
plushie. ‘Serious’ isn’t in the vocabulary.
“Won’t somebody think of the women?” the feminist-bots may bleat.
Perhaps surprisingly, there’s less sexism here than in most any
other nameable game, as the lunacy’s equal opportunity. Women or men
can rule the town, or be utter vapid bimbos. The character editor
even allows all physical attributes, be they generally considered
genderifically male or female, to be applied to whichever sex of
character you’ve decided to go forth with. Respect.
There’s no whining about lack of content, as variety flies thick ‘n’
fast. Ultimately though, fun that it can often be, SR:TT’s
ambition outweighs its creators abilities, as for every inspired
Tron-like excursion (ever wanted to be a dunny?) there’s a “WTF?!?!!!”
death or graphical glitch that’ll have you hurling your DualShock
like a hand grenade.
They shoulda made it a movie. Or played swapsies with Rockstar...