Mummy, clowns are yucky.
Well tough titties kid, for you are a clown. Not you personally,
rather the initial protagonist here is of the harlequinic
persuasion. More specifically, you’re a flame-haired clown – not as
in bloodnut, rather the hot stuff of which Kasabian were enamoured
enough to sing about - and he makes Ronald McDonald appear huggable.
There’s a needlessly macabre, fucked-up story that unfolds in
cutscenes – all the more curious as despite being creepy turned up
to 11, numerous F-words are politely censored. We’ve NFI what it has
to do with crashing assorted transportational means...
Yep, vehicular carnage is the go – as fans of the series on previous
PlayStations already know. Choose from cars through big rigs with
several other flavours in-between – even a helichopperator - all
more-or-less balanced somehow between speed, power and fortitude.
Then get let loose in any of 30 courses within eight giantesque maps
– locally or online - the aim being survival whilst smushinating all
opposition (and much infrastructure) with your tanks and your bombs
and your guns and your rockets and your... erm, you get the idea,
without us going the full Cranberries.
Bonus stuff litters arenas, bolstering arsenalality or replenishing
weaponry, health, etc. Get too beepy-beepy-oh-fuck-we’re-gonna-die
and you can retreat garagewards and go forth within another wheely
Eventual boss battles may break your brain, plus there are races,
which are gigantic rectum pains as opponents make a pinball of you.
That you must win to unlock ensuing playable bits is a horrid
throwback – actually, visually in many ways TM is that as a
whole. If this had rocked up on the PS2 it’d have looked the funk,
but on the PS3 it’s drabby.
Still, once you nail the convoluted controls there’s fun to be
had going hyper-destructive. Just take our advice – don’t stop for an