Game Review: A Way Out

A Way Out is a strange game to grasp. On the surface, it’s an adventure game in the same vein as a Telltale game or Quantic Dreams. The plot is a paint by numbers 70’s crime drama. Not to say any of those things are bad, just not very memorable. What sets A Way Out apart is the decision to make the entire experience defined by co-op gameplay.
When I say co-op gameplay, I’m not talking about your run of the mill co-op. This isn’t a situation where single player is exactly the same as multiplayer except two Master Chiefs are running around. A Way Out is impossible to play without a partner and the game will make sure you remember this every chance that it gets.
The game follows two protagonists Vincent and Leo, two convicts who have wound up in prison and decide to team up, escape, and take revenge on a mutual enemy. There’s not much else to get into in terms of plot. It’s not very deep. To be honest though, I didn’t find this to be a bad thing. There was enough there to give the game a purpose, but the story is not the reason to play this game. Once again, for that we need to go back to the co-op.
It’s hard to explain just how devoted this game is to the concept of co-op gameplay with just words, but let me try. In one scenario the two “heroes” are chasing down a foreman through a construction zone. In the ten minute sequence both players trade off chasing the man down while the other overcomes an obstacle, one will control a crane while the other climbs over it, then the camera perspective will change to a top down perspective where the two players will have to communicate to orchestrate a pincer maneuver to trap their target in order to initiate a joint interrogation scene. Now this may seem like a set piece section right out of Uncharted, and in a way, it is. But remember, all of this is being done with two players operating independently with nothing in the game overtly communicating what needs to be done. All the communication has to happen between the player.
This right here is what makes the game so special. Never before have I seen a game that not only requires two players to speak and organize with each other but also do as little as possible to facilitate it. Other than voice chat, there’s no option to tap on walls, or set waypoints, or highlight objects. This is where the fun exists. Not so much in the game itself, but in cooperating with a partner to accomplish something in a setting that demands nothing less. This is where the emotional connection comes from, you don’t connect with the characters themselves but with the person who is inhabiting the avatar. Without realizing the game changes from a simple crime drama to a wholly personal experience with the person you’ve chosen to accompany through the 7-8 hour long plot.
All of the joy resides in the cooperative nature of the game, I can’t stress this enough, but it’s also the source of some issues. By hour two of the game, you’ve basically seen everything that the game has in terms of actual mechanics. After that it’s essentially the same actions just in a new scenario with a couple of one-off moments to spice it up. Also, it becomes very easy to see the contrivances in place to facilitate a cooperative approach to a problem. Even though the enjoyment exists so much outside the game itself, seeing the man behind the curtain still isn’t fun.
Technically, the game is just fine. The graphics aren’t stunning by any means, but seem perfectly adequate for the price. I didn’t encounter any glaring glitches during my play though but there have been some reports of bugs, so keep that in mind I guess.
I know it’s early in the year and I will probably have to eat some crow here, but for my money A Way Out is one of the best gaming experiences to be had this year. Just make sure you find yourself a good partner and make sure your tapping finger is strong.

A Small Town Wisconsin Crime

There’s nervous hands, folding over each other instead of reaching out for a partner. There’s innocent eyes, acting guilty. Of course there’s talk of topics that have nothing to do with what is desired. It’s rock and roll. It’s the movies. Maybe it’s in an empty house, or on the floor surrounded by others. If tradition is important then it’s happening in a car.  If luck is there, then there’s lips touched with the taste of stolen wine, beer, or candy flavored vodka. The only obstacles left are teenage nerves and the center console. Damned are those who drive stick shifts. The poets with their quills or guitars have already given the instructions. All that’s left is the kiss, then…

Everything.

None Of Us Did Enough (Tidbit Thursday 2/6/14)

None Of Us Did Enough

Sometimes intention is all that’s needed. Plans are for sensible acts and sensible people. When insanity is the goal, flying by the swirling winds of a Spring storm is the only acceptable approach.

“Rodney! What are you doing?” The boy asked.

It was a wonder he could even form a question at that time. Rodney always figured a gun pressed against a person’s head would leave them mostly speechless. If things went right, maybe this kid was destined for big things.

Too Much Has Already Been Stolen (Tidbit Thursday 1/23/14)

Too Much Has Already Been Stolen

           The smoke ventured out. It searched for any tucked away haven that hadn’t been tainted by its yellow stench. Once all the new worlds had been found, it hung in the air like a stalker without a beautiful woman to spy.

           A sweet memory of a song frolicked like a child, across the polished marble floors, around the crystal highballs and into the patrons lecherous and vicious ears. There were no such thing as speakers or amplifiers around, yet the notes had a hint of electricity to them. The piano played with the spirit of a powerful and primal muse: tips.

           Rhys hid behind the twirling flappers and pretty strings of pearls, pulled right out of old films and posters. It was all so forced. He grew nauseous thinking of all the disgustingly posh who chose this life. They called it homage. It was too selfish for that. Rhys knew it could only be called theft. He wondered if he was actually doing any good putting away the crooked souls he did. These fools were the real poison. How could they bring themselves to enjoy life, when they had to have known it wasn’t never meant for them to live.

           At least that’s what he thought when he walked in. When did he walk in? No, he still felt that way. Possibly.

           He did his best to choke down the amber concoction those thieves thought brandy was. No matter how many revolutions the liquid took as Rhys agitated the glass, it refused to improve. He quickly surrendered to drastic measures and gulped it down just eager to see an empty glass.

           She appeared like any other late comer: disruptive, magnetic and shameless. She pushed through the cold attempts at living like a warm front through December. There was no mystery hovering about her. She could only be there for one reason and she wasn’t the type to hold her cards to her chest. The daggers on her feet were aimed at Rhys and were going to carry her absinthe eyes to him no matter what.

           “You finally made it.” She purred.

           “That’s a funny thing to say for someone who just walked in.”

           “Don’t play with me. I know who you are. Is he with you?”

           “I think you may have heard wrong about me. I don’t keep much company.”

           “What’s your name?”

           “I thought you said you knew me. But regardless, a doll usually buys me a drink before she gets so cozy.”

           She rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if it was the only way to stop the crushing weight of revelation.

           “Please, just tell me and don’t be wrong about this, what’s your name?” She asked again.

           “Well aren’t you stubborn. Rhys, Rhys Trudeau, private investigator.”

           “Okay, one last thing. Where were you last night?”

           “Didn’t I just say I was the private eye? I’m usually the one asking the questions. So here’s one. Why are you so concerned?”

           “Please, just tell me where you were last night.”

           Rhys hadn’t had enough to drink to disregard his penchant for pretty women. He felt it swell in his chest, cheap and clichéd. He wanted to answer her. Hell, he’d tell her anything if it meant he wouldn’t have to suffer the steady march of night alone.

He just couldn’t find the words though, the memories were there, but they didn’t make sense. They had to be dreams, so vivid they were able to pass as actual events. Yet that was all Rhys could reach. Everything else, a lifetime of little victories and defeats were there just beyond the fantasy.

           “To be completely honest sweetheart, I can’t remember. But once again, why does it matter. You need my help or not?”

           “We did.”

She stabbed the floor with a gentle stiletto and turned away.

           The air in front of her crackled like a lackluster firework before the ghost of a face appeared.

           “Hope you have a better idea. The detective didn’t make the transfer. We’re getting a little short with the minutes.” She said.

           No one acknowledged the woman anymore. Not even a passing glance. Suddenly whatever was in front of them became too engaging to pry their fleeting attention spans away. Rhys included.

The brandy was tasteful and clearly from a vineyard that put value in craftsmanship.  The softly sweet flavor cradled his tongue and cheeks with smoky arms. It kissed his throat with oaken lips and a tenderness found only in the finest of grapes.  He had to know where it came from, he didn’t care the price, he needed to stock his office.

           “What brand is this barkeep?” Rhys asked.

           She moved away from the bar and Rhys.  She shook her head and prepared for her instructions.

           “Head for The Point of Decision. Make sure he meets you. They can no longer be saved.”

***

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