Baywatch, Brotha

There was a time when American drama series/quick-perv-before-teatime show Baywatch was officially the most watched television show on the planet, we like to call it "the 90s". During that time, David Hasslehoff (pre-obnoxious self-awareness) and his crew of red-suited beauties solved crimes, stopped drug dealers, reunited runaway children with their parents, dealt with earthquakes, found hidden treasure and won volleyball tournaments every week for eleven seasons.

Occasionally, they prevented someone from drowning. Y'know, their actual job.

I remember the show being on Saturday evenings, just before dinner and followed by a solid run of Blind Date, Gladiators and You Bet! Good times.
I didn't particularly care for the show as a must-see, but as a just-hit-puberty teen I had a bizarre need to tune in every week. For the same reason. Always:

Bleeth, in happier times.

At the shows series 5-7 peak, an abundance of cameos and special guests stopped by the Malibu shores, more often than not peddling some terrible product placement. Richard Branson even showed up to shill that Virgin Cola that you never bought.
In 1996, WCW had an idea to run a PPV event live from an actual beach, and somewhere the idea was formed to tie this event in with an episode of Americas favourite L.A lifeguard show.

All well and good so far, show some matches, bit of bad comedy, have Pamela Anderson stand around, fun for all, right?
But wait, what if we made the wrestlers an intricate part of the episodes storyline? Better yet, what if we juxtaposed it with a really serious storyline featuring one of the shows most important characters?

Let's take a look at Baywatch: Season 6, Episode 16: Bash At The Beach.

You're not watching Thunder in Paradise.

It starts off innocently enough, Wrestling legend and all round mega-ego Hulk "call me Terry" Hogan engages with the late, great and insane "Macho Man" Randy Savage in a "WaveRunner" race (jet-ski to you an I) complete with non-stop ADR dialogue. Things go awry however when Hogan is thrown from his WaveRunner and bangs his head, knocking him unconscious, this possibly being the only time Hogan has ever sold for anything.

We find out why when it requires no less than SIX babes to rescue him and drag the orange monster to shore.

The girls are stunned to realise it's Terry "Hulk Hogan" They all stare on, mouths agape.

Derp.

Even these three "Too unattractive to get dialogue or an individual closeup" girls.

I wonder why the lass in the middle got the role?

Savage makes it to shore and chastises Hogan for "checking out the babes" without him, this apparently being a euphemism for having a near-death experience. C.J (Pam Anderson) reveals that she is a "closet wrestling fan" So closet in fact, that when she was paid a fortune to appear at the 1995 WWE Royal Rumble and Wrestlemania events, she acted like a moody bitch for the entire duration of her meagre screen time, despite the oodles of dollar paid out to wheel her in.

Back at the beach, Caroline (Yasmine Bleeth) is forced to actually act turned on at the possibility that Hogan and Savage are gonna fight.
Wrestlemania V sister, I got the DVD if you wanna come over for an education?

This looks set up to be a fun episode. Ok, probably a bit campy but good for a silly laugh and forty minutes of carefree fun, right? a casual storyline and a bit of corny wrasslin' lulz.

Further down the beach mainstay character Stephanie (Alexandra Paul) is having a romantic picnic with her Doctor boyfriend, ah, I see, so a bit of a romantic sub-plot for the ladies to add to the wrestling action.

Dr. Gary Busey then finds a possible tumour on her leg.

                                                                  
..Oh.

Hogan and Savage are hanging down at the beach gym IN THEIR RING GEAR, Hogan explains how the gym saved his life, apparently it was this "or the streets." They then get down to pumping some serious iron and tuning those not-at-all-built-by-steroids-bodies.

Speaking of unnaturally built:

Jesus Christ Pam.

Hogan finds out from the overly Jewish stereotype owner that the gym is to be closed as the land has been bought by a greedy developer, who conveniently happens to turn up right then and there in his limo. Hogan tells the owner not to worry as he says he's gonna "talk to him a little" because apparently legally binding development contracts can be broken by having a wrestler shout at the signee.

Well, the wrestling angle of all this might be a bit hokey, but at least we have an antagonist now, and as long as the guy playing the land developer is slightly less histrionic and cheesy then hopefully we can get th....

...oh, for fucks sake.

So we got Flair, Kevin Sullivan in his full-on "Evil Taskmaster" gimmick and monster heel Vader who apparently all felt the desire to buy up a small beach gym so they can build "condos" (that's flats to you and I) in its place.
Imagine being the guy in charge of that deal, waiting in your boardroom office to draw up a contract  and these three fucking waltz in.

Kevin Sullivan constantly rubs his hands together and laughs throughout this entire scene, like he's a bad guy from Wizard of Oz or something.

Sadly, Kevin Nash doesn't make an appearance.

C.J informs Hogan that Vader is "a psycho", Vader himself proves this by performing a textbook psychopathic activity, popping a child's ball.

Move over Ted Bundy

Hogan challenges Flair to a match, with the winner getting the deeds to the gym and the WCW heavyweight title, because that's how life works. Somehow this becomes Hogan vs Vader and Savage vs Flair. We are sadly denied a Kevin Sullivan vs Pamela Anderson battle for the ages.

Sullivan expresses concern to Flair that Hogan will beat Vader, based on the fact that, get this, "Hogan's too agile" AGILE.
Flair reveals he'll secretly make it a cage match to aid Vader. This makes Sullivan laugh and clock the camera for the 345th time this scene.

Sullivan, planning Benoit family murders #ConspiracyTheoryBelievedByIdiots

The next morning, We are treated to Caroline applying Coppertone to her legs in extreme closeup.
This is the best bit of the episode, and makes me sob actual tears that widescreen television wasn't more prominent in 1996.

Damn you, 4:3

Stephanie comes out and severely chastises her younger sister for using a low factor sunblock. She doesn't however commend her for her excellent Cate Archer cosplay #truegamerreference

Stephanie then proceeds to reel off a bunch of torn-from-the-headlines statistics about the dangers of the sun, and the proper use of sunblock, with literally Quincy M.E levels of "the shows producers just read all this up at the weekend" statistics.

Hrmph. I guess this shot will have to do..

Stephanie reveals to her little sister that she may have cancer and how she isn't strong enough to deal with this situation at all, just wanting to scream and cry.

Caroline offers her support and says she'll be brave as she can be for the both of them. The sisters embrace.

More importantly, Hogan and C.J save some kids from some polystyrene rocks.

Wear it, WEAR IT DAMMIT!

Stephanie is having a hard time. Covered up to almost OCD levels by Baywatch standards, she patrols the beach laying into everybody about sunblock and sunscreen, hitting them (and the audience) with facts and statistics. Just to help the audience understand she's having a hard time mentally, they play not-at-all-offensive "crazy sounds" in the background.

Unfortunately, it's all for nought, Dr Busey/Dafoe comes back with the news that Stephanie's tumour is indeed malignant, and that they need to perform further tests to find if it has spread.

Naturally, showing a real command of dramatic direction, this leads to a three minute music video where Hogan works out to his excruciating WCW entrance theme.
This involves him pumping iron like he's about to lay a brick.

And ripping off Rocky II.

Meanwhile Randy Savage cuts a typically inexplicable promo where he uses the term "funky like a monkey" During this scene I noticed how natural lifeguard Cody looks as an interviewer, its like the wrasslin' business is his calling. Which led me to wonder, have he and WWE referee Charles Robinson ever been seen in the same room together?

Referee Charles Robinson?

Cody from Baywatch?

And now, NINE YEARS into this episodes run-time, we've come to the big showdown. Thousands of people have showed up to watch the battle for the tiny gym, and hopefully they're wearing full factor sunblock and reapplying regularly.

SEE? I learned something.

Flair takes to the ring looking like a million dollars.

Savage takes to the ring looking like a man who locks his wife in the dressing room during his matches, carries a gun in his locker, released a rap album when he was fifty years old and allegedly banged a pre-teen Steph McMahon.

Flair and Savage do battle. To add to the drama, the producers add kung-fu sound effects to the punches and kicks. No, really.
Despite no pinfall taking place, we are informed that Savage has won the match. Because that's how wrestling works.
Now its time to put the belt and the gym on the line. Hogan's doing some bad squat exercises when C.J notices that a cage is being assembled around the ring.

Anger? Fear? Joy? Gas?

Not just any cage, THE SLIM JIM CAGE: (Peperami to you and I)

Vader enters the arena/beach marquee, wearing his fanny-kicking, steam-spewing helmet. It totally works for me, despite what that mark on the right thinks. I bet he doesn't get The Wrestling Observer and therefore is no quantifier of what's good and bad. I bet he's one of those evil John Cena fans today.

Sorry son, It's Vader Time.

Well, Hogan does what he does best, rips off his shirt and beats the ever loving shit out of his opponent no worries. Hogan slams the monster to the mat, recreating the famous moment he slammed the 7000 ton Andre the Giant at Wrestlemania III.
It's a bodyslam the editor loves so much, he uses it again later in the montage.

Hogan drops the big leg, and wrestling purists the world over are disgusted as they realise that it's not the finish to the match!! Did this editor know nothing??

As before, we are simply "informed" that Hogan has won, and the crowd go absolutely home.

Hogan raises the belt and actually says: "We did it for the kids!" without a trace of irony.

He also says he did it "for the youth centre", now I'm pretty sure it was a small beach gym, so I'm just guessing that, in true Hogan fashion, the story gets slightly more embellished with each telling. If you asked him about this show tomorrow, he'd probably say it was a shoot and it was for the deed to the whole of California.

As Hogan leaves the ring, we catch a glimpse of basketball freak Dennis Rodman with him, for the uninitiated, this is one of a few appearances Rodman made for WCW shows, where he would turn up, get paid millions, and, just like in this episode, add little of interest and do nothing whatsoever.

"Check the script! Santa With Muscles is happening Brotha!"

Backstage, everyone laughs at Flair and Hogan grabs the deed to the gym and hands it to the owner who should say "Oy!" but sadly doesn't.
A ton of fans then invade the backstage area, breaking kayfabe way before Shawn Michaels and The Clique ever got the chance to.

All the faces run out to the beach and celebrate in the hot summer sun. (Terry) Hulk "Hogan" saved the gym, the youth centre, the WCW title, the kids, the world and ran off the evil wrestling land developers.

And they all lived happily ever after.
...
...
...
...oh, and then Stephanie finds out that her cancer has spread.

Now, we had a lot of fun today (results may vary)
But I wanna point something out, I don't think Cancer is funny. I think it's terrifying. I also think the topic should, especially when used in entertainment, be treated respectfully and carefully.
That's the fucking point.
If you are writing an episode of a TV show where one of your long term regular characters finds out she is terminally ill, why on earth would you co-promote that episode with some beyond hokey pro-wrasslin' storyline that wouldn't be out of place in an episode of Rock 'n' Wrestling?

Let's take a quick look at the amount of screen time given to these scenes:

Wrasslers arguing at the gym: 3:15
Stephanie finds out she has Cancer: 1:40

Stephanie finding out the tumour has spread: 1:10
Hogan's match: FIVE FRIKKIN' MINUTES

Didn't one person in the script meeting put there hands up and say "This is a terrible idea" Did Baywatch even have script meetings?
Why didn't they just shift the cancer storyline to the next episode? they could have replaced it with any other storyline, or just more footage of Bleeth rubbing down her legs.
I wonder what Alexandra Paul thought when she watched the episode back. To be fair, she works really hard to convey her fear and helplessness in the wake of the discovery, I can't imagine what it must be like to watch your performance back, only to have it cut to Kevin Sullivan's gurning face and pantomime villain acting.

Personally, I think it's one of the single most awkward, and ill-conceived pieces of television writing I've ever watched. Even if it is "only Baywatch"
Then again, maybe I really am asking for too much in the way of sensitive, logical writing, after all, if you want to talk about a show that really loses its mind, then we have the prize pig right here.
Who knew demon fighting, alternate dimensions and resurrection would get involved?

..But maybe that's a story for another day.

In any sense, I'd assume the producers probably learnt their lesson from this escapade and hopefully they stayed well clear of featuring pro-wrestlers in Baywatch storylines ever again..


Oh, for fu...

If that's his smile, I now know why he lost it.

The People's Bond

Active: 1995-2004
Appearances: Goldeneye (1995) Tomorrow Never Dies (1997) The World Is Not Enough (1999) Die Another Day (2002) Everything Or Nothing (2004) (Videogame)

2012 saw the fiftieth anniversary of the James Bond movie series, coincidentally, it was also ten years since the fifth actor to portray 007, Pierce Brosnan, had last appeared on the silver screen in the role.

I grew up watching Roger Moore and Timothy Dalton ply their trade as Britain's top secret agent/murderer on home video (remember that?) but Brosnan was the first Bond I ever saw at the cinema, and the moment is permanently affixed in my cranium.
I distinctly remember seeing the trailer for Goldeneye, (one of my favourite movie trailers of all time) and despite its hyper kinetic editing and soundtrack, it was all but confirmed there and then that Brosnan was the man for the job.

It had been a tough time for Pierce. Brosnan had been originally cast to debut in 1987s The Living Daylights, but a literal last minute renewing of cheese-fest Remington Steele crushed his hopes and the role went to Timothy Dalton instead. Then a few years later in 1991, Brosnans wife and former Bond Girl in her own right, Cassandra Harris, sadly passed away.
Around this time, the Bond series was in a dangerous hiatus, and for a while it seemed that Licence To Kill was to be 007s swansong.

Fortunately, one day word came back to Brosnan, it was on and he was in, and the rest is history.

Pierce Brosnan debuted as James Bond in 1995s Goldeneye, and with a gritty determination to prove the series was still relevant and bankable alongside with a good cast and a director (Martin Campbell) who had made it a personal mission to make the movie a complete success, Brosnan instantly took to the role he was born for and brought it blazing into the modern age. Goldeneye was an incredible critical and financial success.

"Campbell said to me: 'You better be fucking good, you better be good, you better be fucking good. Sharp as a knife' "

After Goldeneys runaway success, Brosnan went on to star in a further three films in the series. Unfortunately none of which received the same critical acclaim as his debut film, but this is where the Brosnan magic shows. Y'see, Tomorrow Never Dies and The World Is Not Enough are both flawed Bond entries, and Die Another Day may be the worst Bond film of all time, if not just the worst film of all time.

But Brosnan never sucks.

Fully understanding the characters psyche, wit, emotions, skills and mindset, Brosnan coasts through the films with an excellent portrayal of Bond despite, not because of, the flaws in the surrounding movie. Brosnan is a fantastic 007 in bad 007 movies.
Whats more, his personal portrayal of Bond has less of an "armour" than the other versions of the character. Brosnan is likeable, amiable, and witty. Brosnan's Bond is without a doubt the most relatable to the man in the street, appearing to be real enough that he could be your drinking buddy, but still maintaining that untouchable air of sophistication, class and arrogance that are the characters trademarks.

Physically, Brosnan is spot-on. The right age for the role but still great looking, he has a very believable physical presence in fight scenes and I've gone on record to friends that no-one in any movie ever "Runs-whilst-wearing-a-suit-and-firing-a-gun" better than Pierce. When it comes time to bed down with hot dames like Famke Janssen and Sophie Marceau, Brosnan is totally believable as a man that women would be head over heels for. As opposed to Tanya Roberts going gooey-eyed for 57 year old Roger Moore. Brosnan is arguably the best looking and most stylish 007 actor to this day.

Bond and megabitch Elektra King (Sophie Marceau) A great villainess and the best thing in TWINE.

Whilst a lot of the above could be construed as opinion, there is one level of Pierce' performance that's pretty much unarguable.

In those films, Brosnan clearly loves being James Bond. He is having an absolute blast, he is proud of the character he is playing without being too po-faced about it,. He's busting his ass to make the character and the film work despite some of the horrible dialogue and scenes he is working with and not once do you get the feeling that he's bored or regretful of the role. Brosnan, more so than the previous actors, cares what the fans think about Bond himself.

A trademark flash of glee from Brosnan in TNDs great car park chase.

James Bond is a dark, vicious, arrogant and aloof son of a bitch. Brosnan manages to display these qualities whilst still being an approachable, sympathetic and vulnerable hero.
Even when he's fucking kite-surfing with Playstation-era CGI.

Oh shit, son...

Brosnan revealed in recent documentary Everything or Nothing that he was let go for numerous reasons, one of which being a need to reinvent Bond to fit a post-9/11 society. The producers feeling that people couldn't really buy the sneery toff with a fucking battlesuit as a modern day villain in the wake of real world terrorist atrocities.

Brosnan explains what a hard call it was to take, and you can read that between the lines, he really would have liked to get a couple more Bond films in the can. I personally believe that he would have adored and jumped at the opportunity to segue into the brutal, conflicted Bond we see today in Daniel Craig, but sadly for Brosnan, this wasn't to be.


Pierce Brosnan had a tough run as Bond. The films weren't terrible (apart from DAD) but had a lot of terrible things in them, but Brosnan always rose above these flaws to make sure his mark on the characters legacy was indelibly stamped, and surely it was.
Brosnan's 007 was a cool-headed, warm-hearted, sexy motherfucker of a Bond who harnessed the best aspects from his predecessors and amalgamated them into his own personal portrayal, one to be remembered fondly throughout the next fifty years.

As a fellow Bond fan once said:
"Six men became Bond but it was always Pierce Brosnan’s destiny."

Street Fighter Cross Gamers

(Or: How following the wacky rules led me to CRIME. Or: Capcom? whut happen?)

I love fighting games. They're my favourite genre. I'll give them all a go, even if I'm really not taken in by the style or presentation of a new game, I'll always log it, because who knows what untold joys you could discover, and for every Rise of the Robots, there's a Skullgirls.
As a huge, life-long fan of the Street Fighter and Tekken series, I was surprised and intrigued by the announcement of Capcom's Street Fighter X Tekken, which planned to take beloved characters from two very, very different games and present them in the same scrap, on an even battlefield, in a bout of fisticuffs surely for the ages.
My interest went through the roof when some of the roster was revealed, I knew some of my Tekken faves were on board, like Lili and Asuka, along with Juri and Ibuki on the Capcom side.

For moar dollar, you too can have your favourite characters look like other characters. If you like.

The reveal of Poison, my favourite Capcom character of all time, took this to eleven. They stuck Cammy and Nina in for my good buddy, and with that, a really exciting game was on the horizon. I would not get my dream Zafina vs Rose fortune-teller wars, but I was good to go.

It had Poison. POISON.

Oh yes please.

Oh, but how it all went so very wrong, like, mind-screwingly bad in so many departments. SF x Tekken would turn out to be the first shot in 2012 that would secure Capcom a standing in the list of "Most-spectacular-tumble-from-the-top-in-a-single-year-by-any-company-not-called-WCW.
It was such a mess of a product that it's almost satire, and for those who didn't experience it, a quick opinion hunt online will tell you all you need to know.

I didn't make this.

The game was released, and I wasn't really feeling it, it wasn't bad per se, it was bright and colourful, had cool character models and somehow managed to make the full contact, hand-to-hand based Tekken fighters stand toe-to-toe with the cowardly, fireball-tossing Street Fighters. I've played much worse fighting games.
But it all felt like such an anti-climax, it was all so low-key, vanilla and bland.
I didn't like the lack of stages, some badly overpowered characters, nasty infinite combos, strict time limits and a dull, go nowhere storyline.
But way beyond that were the horrendous sound issues on Xbox, the terrible Pandora mechanic, the tacky costumes and, above all, the offensive, game-breaking Gem mechanic, where you could essentially pay to have ridiculously overpowered teams. With so many variants available it single handedly ensured you left your audience exasperated, bored and rolling back to their tried and tested fighting games where your opponents skill level didn't vary based on the amount of money the player had spent bulletproofing their characters.

On top of all this, the gaming community turned viciously on Capcoms ridiculous decision to lock an abundance of characters away on the disc, along with costumes and even edit colours, as if Ono has a copyright on Blue (the colour, not the circa 2003 boyband.)
The fans spoke with their wallets, or more accurately, on whiny forums, and Capcom eventually apologised for the abortion of a marketing disaster that was On-Disc-DLC. They made comment about the DLC having a different "Value" to the rest of the data which is why it was locked away. This would be hilariously right for the wrong reasons, as we'd find out when the PS Vita version was released.

Now that's the negative overview, and its a much-told and ancient story that you likely already know. But here's a more amusing, personal aside, and an incredible sign of how badly modern day publisher practices play out in teh reel wurld.

As I've mentioned, I love the characters in this game, and I like the games concept and can enjoy the fights themselves sans Gems/Pandora, but after trying the Xbox version and seeing the bugs, along with hearing how many characters were locked away on the £40 disc I did not own (apparently)
I decided to try and get the full experience, fairly, but as cheaply as possible, as any individual might.

Push on a year and the PC version of the game finally gets the extra character DLC, months and months after the console owners. As an apology for the delay, Capcom offers this PC DLC at a reduced price, but for two weeks only.
I can roll with that. I'm thinking, if I can get the game and all the DLC for about £15-18, then its worth the price.
So, I'll buy the PC version of SF x Tekken at a good price, add the cheap DLC and I'll have a fun, good value fighting game with a great roster that I can dip into a couple of times a year.

But the best laid plans of mice and men never encountered modern videogaming.
 
Firstly, I go to Steam, I cannot afford the base game at the time, but I reckon I'll pick up the DLC now whilst the offer is on and then get the base game in a couple of weeks when I can afford it.
Steam however, won't sell me the DLC because I don't have the base game.
Ok, so I buy a brand new copy cheap off teh intarwebz. When it arrives I sync it to Steam.
Except I don't, because the Games For Windows version isn't compatible with Steam.

Guess I've got to buy the DLC from within the game itself then? Fair enough.
Except, when attempting that, I find that going that route does not include the discount.

By now, I've spent way longer than I cared on the whole debacle, so, I go to a great Street Fighter modders site, download a couple of patches, break the game, and get all the characters and costumes free of charge.
Because in the face of all the hurdles, and despite trying to do things "the right way" they have made it so consistently difficult to actually go through the proper channels that I give up and just go down Hackers Boulevard.

Me and the guys, I'm the one with the bowlcut.

I was presented with so many fucking hoops to leap through, after they already had my money, that I was exasperated with playing within their wacky circus and eventually resorted to the generic "warez" culture that so many people live by daily when it comes to all their videogame consumerism.

So, to summarise:

-I bought the game brand new on 360, but it had bugs and missing features, plus Capcom wanted nearly 50% of money I'd already handed over for the game AGAIN to give me characters that were on the disc I'd already purchased.

-Nearly a year later, Capcom released those characters for the PC version at a cheaper price, provided you bought the DLC within their time limit.

-I tried to buy the DLC from Steam, but I wasn't allowed because I didn't own the base game yet.

-I bought the base game from Amazon (My second new purchase of the product)

-I then find I can't sync it with Steam. This deprives me, and anyone else who purchased a hard copy of the game, the DLC discount.

-I try to buy the DLC from within the game itself, but it's full price.

-I cheat and hack the DLC.

I'm not a hack/warez guy. All my games are legitimate copies, I've spent an abundance of money on games, accessories and occasionally DLC, so, regardless of how you view my decision, theres no arguing with the fact that I tried several times to do things by their ridiculously convoluted bullshit ways, but they just kept throwing up more barriers.

The mad irony is, I don't really care about SF x Tekken as a game. I just like its roster and can't turn down the opportunity to have my favourite Chick with Dick at my beck and call. Gawd knows I waited long enough for her playable debut (Not counting that unbearable Final Fight game for the Sega Saturn)

Oh no thanks

So, if I didn't even care that much about owning this game, and even I was turned off by all the barriers and BS, then how the hell are publishers expecting casual fans, newcomers or just "Oh, I'll give this a go" impulse buyers to make the same effort?

This is just one story, and its a totally unimportant one in the bigger picture of life, but I like it as a sign of how all the barriers put in place to prevent hacking and to make more money directly caused the opposite of said activity to take place.
As such you may see it from a different viewpoint than mine. Maybe you feel I've committed a crime, or maybe you feel that I should have just gone without, and yes, you would have weight to an argument as such.

Me, gleefully enjoying my HUGE saving of £4, despite paying twice for a game I feel so-so about..

But this isn't a tale about the grey areas of piracy, DLC, hacking or any of the above.
It's simply me suggesting to Capcom, if you had put all those costumes and characters right there, ready to play, for all to enjoy, on all formats, on day freaking one, you might not have looked liked total bastards in the eyes of the gaming community and maybe SF x Tekken would still be a semi-interesting game played in the Fighting Game Community today, instead of it being this dead-in-the-water, nothing niche title that is only referred to in mocking tones and pointed at as an example of everything thats wrong in modern day game marketing.

In the past I bought Capcom's Street Fighter IV, then I upgraded to Super a year later and then I purchased the Arcade Edition upgrade. This isn't about my financial commitment to Capcom, a company I've supported with my voice and my wallet on a variety of formats for over fifteen years.

People were sold a game at full price, had a huge, huge chunk of content locked away from them, got different characters in different versions, received DLC months apart from each other at differing prices, were given the option to pay money to make winning easier and, in the case of the Xbox version, had to suffer horrible bugs and even features listed in the manual that weren't actually available in the game.

These characters have no monetary worth in handheld form apparently

The ultimate hypocrisy faceslap was when all the characters came unlocked on the PS Vita release of the game day one, essentially calling shenanigans on the previous claim that the DLC has a seperate value, as clearly Capcom weren't losing out by having one format fully unlocked.

So the DLC is worth X on consoles, but a differing X on PC and is worth a big fat zero for Vita??

Want to have an issue with my morals??

This one, I see what they did.

This one, not so much.

Capcom have been playing sneaky games with the fans for a few years now, but 2012 was the year when the fans called them on it. The Marvel vs Capcom "Ultimate" upgrade, On-Disc-DLC and Pay-To-Win tropes all contributed to Capcom losing their "A" ranking on the Better Business Bureau website.
How can this be the same company that a few short years ago gave us Street Fighter IV with at least eight free, unlockable characters?
Last year we saw Capcom butcher a franchise, rightfully considered by many to be the company's crown jewel, with the abhorrent Resident Evil 6 and Raccoon City games.
The once mighty developer/publisher that was a flag-bearer for quality and excellence for so long has fallen hard from grace, and has been shit-listed along with internet favourite targets EA, Activision and Ubisoft.


The worst part is, I like Capcom and I love so many of their games, worlds, and characters, my youth was spent with Mega Man, Muscle Bomber and the Street Fighter series.
Final Fight is one of my very favourite games of all time. Same goes for Resident Evil II. And Rival Schools.
If you're reading this and thinking I'm just another Capcom hater then you're very, very wrong, I've always liked Capcom and I think they've produced some amazing games with incredible longevity to their franchises and great service to their fans.
And that's the problem.

How in the blue hell did we end up here?

I really hope that Capcom can step it up for the next generation and reclaim the throne, hit some real humdingers out of the park and restore the fans faith in both their games and their reputation as a solid, trustworthy company.

To be fair, given recent announcements, they might be off to a good start.....

I guess they can relate to this guy.

Pinbot.. Circuits.. Activated..

This is the story of my first pinball machine, my teething problems with pinball ownership. My feelings about pinball in general and a couple of mistakes I made that I hope other new buyers can learn from.
And, of course, some proud photos of my beloved.

So last year I took ownership of my first machine. Pinbot, from 1986, which I got for a very fair price from a member of the UK pinball community.
I love Pinbot, I dig the theme and the colours, the awesomesauce music and its great lightshow. I had played it a fair bit on Williams Pinball Classics, and had played it in reel lyfe at the UK Pinball Party in 2011.

I think for an earlier game there's a fair bit to aim for, and for beginners the challenge of reaching The Sun on three balls is mighty foreboding. (As of this date, Jupiter is my furthest journey) The visor and the multiball is the obvious gimmick, but I like the strategy of building up your multiplier via the back ramp, and the painfully angled targets that transport you THROUGH OUTER SPACE (or, more accurately, through a series of small lights on the playfield)
The Left Outlane is your nemesis, and costs you far many balls than the drain does.

I lived in a terrible, deathsville towerblock, a bit like the one in Indonesian rom-com The Raid. So I worked on restoring it to its former glory there but it never was up on its legs and playing.
Fortunately, my tower was deemed unsafe (rightly so) and destroyed. The council were kind enough to let me know first so I could move out and into my current abode at Christmas.
I don't know if there were any other survivors.

Since setting Pinbot up I've had a few friends over, and they are *instantly* taken by it, whether they have any interest in pinball or not. There's a lot to be said for flashing lights and shiny things.
My only problem with the game is he never says "I. Am. A. Robot." which as you know is standard script for any mechanical man pre-Terminator.

Anyway, back to last year...
Pinbot was in a dirty, dirty condition, I don't know the extended history of the machine but it hadn't had a rubber change in forever and the mylar had hard thick lines of dirt around the edges, all insert (lights on the playfield) were bubbled and there was some lettering loss.

Adding to this, The machine had recently had a fight with an exploding fire extinguisher (really) and was coated in powdered substance. On the plus side, the playfield was solid and there was no severe worn paint issues. The cabinet was also nice and bright and only had one or two minor scrapes. It had also had a couple of the score displays freshly replaced.
The flippers had been recently rebuilt and the boards had been checked over, so I knew I was good to go on an electrical and mostly mechanical basis

This was good as I wield a soldering iron with as much care as Farsight wields the funding of its fans #goodsatire

So I set it up (the head was disconnected, the only way I could get it in my home) took out all the connectors, cried, regretted buying it, manned up, connected up the head and turned it on.
Nothing. Just General Illumination.
So I checked all the connectors, checked them again, regretted buying it, checked them again, posted about it on Pinside.com, contacted the seller, checked them again. reconnected the ones I'D MESSED UP, and Pinbot sprang to life.

It was a *glorious* moment, more exciting than anything that had happened to me since Quorra. I'll never forget it.

As the following weeks went by I worked on the machine bit by bit. I took (almost) everything off above the playfield and polished it, giving it all a nice shine and wiping off the darkness on the underneath of all the plastics. I removed all the pegs, gates, bulbs, metal posts and starposts, The Bride and the translite, the siren topper, everything that could be removed or at least moved without disconnecting electrical wires was washed, cleaned and polished.

Whilst the plastics were off, I cleaned all the fire extinguisher residue from the machine, fishing it out of all the nooks and crannys. I also removed the rubbers, all of which were unusable, I ran a clean cotten bud through the sockets and cleaned all the bulb burnstains covering the lightboard.

After basic cleaning of the playfield, I decided to take the leap of removing the mylar. Mylar, for the uninitiated, is a hard clear film stuck over the playfield to reduce paint wear over the years.
Though I knew about the nightmare stories of doing this, especially on older games, the bubbling and flaking above all the inserts made all the polishing of plastics seem irrelevant. So, hair dryer and compressed air can in hand, I spent several days engaged in the miserable task of removing the mylar and a GOD AWFUL SPAWN OF HELL glue that comes with it. I tried a variety of products, but found a sharp credit card and Sticky Stuff Remover wasn't too bad, I'm sure theres better products out there.

It wasn't a perfect result, and some of the already peeled lettering came up with it, BUT, the playfield paint/wording was fine, only the insert lettering was damaged.
Underneath the mylar the PF was real nice, and I set about removing the thick outlines of dirt with a craft knife.

Satifyingly Gross. Like peeling sunburn.

Next, I used a cliched dollop of cleaning product Novus 2 (mmmm, carcinogenic) to give everything a good clean and shine, playfield, ramps, targets, the works. By this point Pinbot was looking pretty unrecognisable from when he first came walking into my bar (spare room)
When the playfield was clear of all goo and grub I took some paints and an uber-thin brush and touched up the few tiny spots that had damage, literally just marks of black or white here and there, as well as an insert outline or two.
I also touched up some of the black on the cabinet, but not the yellows and oranges, I need a better match first. "UsE ShaRpiEs L0L"


I went with Magic Eraser on the shooter lane, and took off a good shaving or so, this made it much cleaner and smoother. I dismantled the Plunger, gave it all a good clean and some new springs, the difference in action was night and day.
The apron has a scuff on the Williams logo, I started to touch this up but it wasn't working out, so I'll just get some metal paints or a new apron down the line. Oh, I also Brasso'd the section under the lockdown bar, which gave it a crazy shine like it was new.

When the chemical warfare was over and done with I hit the playfield with a solid coat of Turtle Wax. Once that had dried I did it again, this was more because I had become obsessed with the smell of Turtle Wax, its indescribable, but adorable. Try some today!
When this was dry I cleaned up the residue and applied some spanking new rubbers and bulbs to the game, as well as some new balls.

All the plastics and such were screwed back into the machine, I replaced quite a few screws that were iffy or rusty looking. Despite taking an abundance of photos and bagging everything together, I found this quite difficult. A word to all new buyers: YOU CAN'T TAKE ENOUGH PHOTOS WHEN DISMANTLING.

Eventually I botched the whole thing back together ("and I have all these pieces left over" ) then it was just a case of giving the PF glass a solid clean and polish.
Moving to the Backbox, I cleaned the back, removing some residue from parcel tape and general dirt and Brasso'd the backbox latch. I then used the mylar glue technique to remove sticker stains from the plastic atop of the Box.
I gave the Siren Topper a good polish inside and out before replacing it.

When I eventually moved house and got the space clear I picked up a new set of legs, the ones I had were a bit rusty and one of the levellers jammed solid.
I also changed the plug. Finally, after adjusting some iffy connectors and putting a new lock on the coin door, the whole shebang was done.

(Before/After)

 Now, its not finished, there are still a couple of cabinet scrapes, a few screws here and there, I also need to repaint the coin door and the apron.
As you can see he is unfortunately missing his helmet plastic. I found some new scorecards online which I printed out, they're kinda snazzy.

I should at some point replace the insert wording with a fresh set but to me, this kind of thing is a marathon, not a sprint.
It's hard enough having passion for an expensive hobby without all the penny-pinching that goes on in the market and the idea of spending £50/60 on importing a sheet of transfers because someone has decided they MUST try and squeeze money out of a niche market for a 20+ year old machine is bullshit.

To me, personally, the hilarity of someone threatening legal action against somebody for providing decal scans for these old games is off the charts. Are you kidding me?
"How dare you offer that 'Extra Ball' logo for free, I'll see you in court"
Talk about first world problems.
I can wait, and, if needs be, go without.

I'm very proud of my first machine and my misguided efforts to bring it screaming into 2013. Watching people light up when they press start and that old school robot voice kicks in makes it all totally worthwhile.

Now. I. See. You.

System Tragic

As of this writing, the high street here in Merrie old England is in total decay. A variety of once colourful and interesting stores are being beaten into submission through the digital age and terrible governing. As such, many towns are literally a rinse and repeat chain of Subway, Bookies, Phone shop, Greggs, Subway, Bookies, Greggs, Subway, Subway.

Primark.

Few independent video game stores exist from city to city, often with horribly outdated names like "Chips" or "Joystick" or just plain shit names like "Grainger Games"
Regardless, these humble franchises should be commended for manging to stay alive in the face of such a horrible economic downturn, and whilst ailing giants like HMV furrow their brows in a vain attempt to understand "What went wrong" (Your poorly stocked stores were 10x the price of teh intarnetz) These courageous young companies fight off rising rent costs and miserable sales forecasts to fight on, year after year.

When I was a wee lad, back before the weight of the world crushed my spirits forever, there was a suprisingly large selection of one-shop establishments with which to pick up terrible games for my Spectrum/Master System/NES/SNES (delete as applicable)
These were dimly lit, foreboding venues, often staffed by tie-straightening gamers and the precursor to the indie shop staple: The Comic Book Guy.

One however, held my attention more than the others, and ironically, it had nothing to do with actually wanting to shop there.
System Addict, no doubt named after the (s)hit song by bootleg Jackson 5 group  Five-Star, was a local videogame store in the very early 90s that fell into all of the cliches of any small run gaming proprietor, sparse shelves, sarcastic staff, roll-a-dice prices and a questionable trade-in policy.
It did however have one thing going for it, JAMMA.

Y'see, System Addict was a place where I'd never spend a dime of my not-so-hard-earned pocket money, but one day I waltzed in whilst my dad was in Kwik-Save to find they had taken in three JAMMA cabs, running at the 1992-1996 staple prices of 20p a credit (3 for 50p)
I was ecstatic. An arcade? five minutes from my house?? I was pretty much sorted for every Saturday from then on. Along I went, avoiding the dangers of playing out in the sun with my friends, or encouraging any artistic talents, to spend/waste much time and money on the three cabs that would have a variety of popular games installed on regular rotation.

Over time I honed my skills on Final Fight, Sunset Riders, WWF Wrestlefest, SFII, Vendetta (uncensored version), Cadillacs and Dinosaurs and many other fine classics, games that are often my go-to on MAME, showing how ingratiated they became in my psyche.

I also have to credit System Addict with the start of my love affair with Mortal Kombat, as I first experienced it beneath the flickering bulbs of this establishment.
I remember making the run between a newsagent and the shop, memorising Fatality codes from magazines and then performing them in all their gory glory on the arcade. (I couldn't do all of them though, System Addicts MK only had three buttons)
I was once even thrown to the floor by a proper adult (in reality, probably about 17) just for kicking his ass on said machine. The guy then turned the machine off at the power and left.
If it was 2011 it would have been a perfect time to say "U mad lol?" but it was 1992 and retardation hadn't been invented yet.

The draw of System Addicts three cabs took over the youth of Beeston, and they renovated a stockroom upstairs to furnish more cabinets, eventually taking the grand total to around nine.
They enlistied the MOODIEST GIRL EVER to sit in a booth and give change whilst eating coleslaw straight from the tub. She was truly living the dream.

Whilst all this arcade excitement did wonders for filling the shop, it did very little to fill the tills. I would visit the store every single weekend for arcade fun, but I don't remember once buying a single item from the store itself. Not Space Ace on the Amiga, nor Dynamite Dux on the Master System. Nothing.
System Addict was kidding itself. It wasn't a store, it was daycare. A place to offload your hated children whilst you went shopping or simply left the country. A place where you could get into fights over Knights of the Round or whether or not you mates dad "Brought him a prototype Sonic the Hedgehog for the SNES." (From America, of course)
It was a place to loiter, to make enemies, to waste time and money and to have some fun doing all three.

System Addict is long gone, it moved a little further into the High Street for a short while before vanishing for good. At the end of the day, when I remember the shop, my only memories are of playing the arcades, bypassing the shelves and counter completely, of it being a place to while away Saturday morning, but never of a place to buy games or hardware and certainly not a place to engage the staff in conversation.

I don't think it's missed by its patrons, not in a malicious way, but in the same way many arcades aren't missed. People, particulary gamers, have lost that need to go out to be entertained, and let's not forget that people like myself are old enough now that the gaming generation behind us never went out to experience arcades. They have all the entertainment they need at home, in tablets, smart phones, home cinemas and the like.

Which brings us full circle, to the digital age that's whipping the high street.
Whilst that appears to be an inevitability, I still hope that the few independent stores that do remain today fight on and always remain standing in some form, because they aren't all viewed like me and my friends viewed System Addict.
Many indies have a "home-grown" appeal, a place that is "yours" to shop at, where pre-owned prices can often be fairer, oddities and rarities can be discovered amongst the shelves, you aren't bombarded by talk of pre-orders and loyalty cards, and you can feel a sort of camaraderie between yourself and the humble staff behind the counter.

Oh, but as an aside, don't assume they love all the same games you do.

And, in name of all that is holy, if you call your local store for any reason, no matter how often you go in, no matter how long term a customer you are
Don't refer to staff on the phone by their first names.
Ever. 

Faith Connors

(First Appearance: Mirror's Edge)
PARKOUR!!!
For some time, Parkour was the future, it was how we were ALL going to be travelling around the cities we live in. Well, maybe not quite, but it damn sure seemed like you couldn't watch a movie, advert, or music video between '08 and '10 without feeling like a pretty unfit or, God forbid, UN-HIP person.

Parkour has appeared in videogaming in various iterations, and is currently the universal symbol for homebrew 360 drivel (apparently)

Faith Connors is Parkour's most recognisable connection to the videogame world, the beautiful Eurasian girl is the heroine of Dice's marmite game Mirror's Edge.
Faith is a Runner, an underground network of spritely hip young thangs who work as a messenger service for those who wish to communicate their business away from the prying eyes of the cities oppressive government. Runners utilise the rooftops, fire escapes, stairwells and construction sites of the city to move their correspondence quickly, efficiently, but hardly safely.

Faith's world is turned upside down when her sister Kate, a by-the-book cop, is framed for the murder of a promising politician. With the city at her finely tuned heels, Faith has to perform the run of her life, to clear her sisters name and expose some high level political corruption.
Keeping herself alive would be a great bonus too, I guess.

Regardless of the public perception of Mirror's Edge, which is very polarizing, I really like it. This is thanks in no small part to Connors, who is one of my favourite female protagonists in videogames. Faith seems incredibly real despite the game's Utopian, almost bizarre visual design. Faith doesn't have any super-powers or even a cool smart-mouth, she's just an incredibly fit and quick-witted girl who knows how to handle herself in any given situation.
Quick like a cat, graceful and determined, Faith speeds her way across the city environment, able to take care of business in both hand to hand combat and death-defying acrobatics. Unarmed, Faith can (and, in my opinion, should) be played without once resorting to a gunfight. Faith isn't a killer, and repeatedly pulling the trigger on a rifle feels like a complete betrayal of the character design. Ironically, Faith was originally to carry a handgun at all times, but this was removed during development. A brave decision that sadly, cost Dice many sales in a world of bloodthirsty modern gamers, who live to shoot first and ask questions later. Well, more accurately, shoot first, then sH00t suM m0ar.

Faith lives her life as a lonely individual, an isolated blip running on the sparse rooftops of the over-populated city, but is aware of where her loyalties lie and repeatedly risks her life at a moments notice for the protection of the few friends she has.
Though she is rewarded with betrayal not once, but TWICE over the course of the story, her steely determination, fast feet and survival instincts win through, leading to an ending that's just and fair for (almost) all involved.

Faith Connors is all the best parts of a perfect protagonist. Loyal, determined, brave, capable, but with that all important touch of vulnerability that makes her always seem that she's fighting an uphill battle against impossible odds, which, of course, makes victory all that much sweeter. I call that "Rocky psychology"

The supposed sequel to Mirror's Edge appears to be EA's favourite hostage game to tease its (admittedly small) fanbase with.
Whether Faith takes to the rooftops again remains to be seen but, for one game at least, we got a new female protagonist who was real enough to be human, but too perfect to ever exist in reality.

"Who's Next?.."

-"WHO'S NEXT?"-
(Slogan, WCW, 1998)
Around 1997, it seemed World Championship Wrestling could do no wrong. The Atlanta-based promotion was destroying rival WWF in the television ratings. But despite the steamroller success they were having, WCW needed a new breakout star, someone to place amongst the frankly geriatric has-beens that were making up their heavyweight main event scene.
They got their star, the star of David in fact.

Bill Goldberg, an Oklahoma native of Jewish ancestry was a pro-football player who had suffered a nasty injury whilst in the NFL. Whilst rehabbing said injury, Goldberg started attending WCW's "Power Plant" the training grounds for WCW wrestlers and the site of Louis Theroux's painfully unnecessary hazing. Goldbergs incredible physical strength and Spartan-esque body fast-tracked him through his training and he was on TV screens in no time.

The wacky soap-opera of pro-wrestling has a tendency to overthink its "angles", or storylines. Sometimes hella money can be made with the most straightforward and simplest of concepts. In the past, characters such as The Ultimate Warrior had been marketed as unstoppable forces, plain and simple. This approach had brought The Warrior much glory in the late 80s, regardless of his sloppy in-ring ability.
Although this was a very different pro-wrestling era, WCW decided to take a gamble on a similar concept, a gamble that would pay dividends.

Goldberg made his TV debut in 1997 against mid-carder Hugh Morrus. Goldberg didn't even get an entrance, or any music. but within scant minutes, he laid waste to Morrus and held a single finger to the camera "That's one." The audience were stunned, this nobody had just obliterated a named star, with apparently very little effort. Goldberg then walked to the back, refusing to speak to interviewer Gene Okerlund who tried desperately to get a few words with the mysterious newcomer.

With that, he exploded onto the scene. Goldberg was quickly established as an unstoppable, undefeatable DEATH WAGON as he chewed up WCWs roster, young stars and seasoned veterans alike. On commentary, the announcers would big up Goldbergs undefeated streak. Audience members would often bring signs simply stating the win/loss figure, which would over time build to an alleged 173-0 (emphasis on alleged)
And whilst all this went on, Goldberg barely said two words. Given an iconic entrance in which he would walk from his locker room to the ring, through pyro and explosions, all to a epic piece of battle music, Goldberg was simply a MONSTER. After destroying the opposition in double quick time, polishing off his opponents his awesomely satisfying Jackhammer finisher, Goldberg would be heading back up the ramp with the whole crowd, still on their feet from his entrance, roared his name.

Across '97-'98, this routine continued, eventually culminating in Goldberg flattening wrestling legend Hollywood Hogan in a sold out Georgia Dome show to capture the WCW title.
But the magic couldn't, and didn't, last forever. Through WCWs terrible final few years, they blew off most of Goldbergs steam and irreparably damaged his character. Announcers started lying about his win/loss record and Goldberg's unprecedented winstreak was finally ended at the hands of the God-awful Kevin Nash.

When WCW closed, Goldberg eventually turned up in the WWE. Goldberg was still popular and bankable, but the monster was no longer an unstoppable behemoth and he became just another wrestler in the eyes of the majority of fans. No mystique? Big mistake.
After a short year in the WWE, sensibly, Goldberg retired with full health to enjoy his fast made fortunes. Amongst other things, Goldbergs post-wrasslin' career has seen him star in a movie where, dressed as Santa Claus, he drowns Fran Drescher in eggnog after setting her head on fire. Yes.


Goldbergs short, but legendary, time at the top was accomplished in a few short years and is an example of how you really don't have to over-scrutinise these things. Sometimes, if someone has the look, the magnetism, and can get the audience in the palm of their hand with a minimum of effort, then that ALONE can be enough to make magic.
Magic and money. LOTS of money.