As I look back on my time with BioShock Infinite, I can't help but gravitate towards the brief moments of calm amidst the raging storms of Columbia. I don't dwell on the countless men I butchered with my Sky-Hook, set ablaze with Vigors, or picked clean using a swarm of crows. Instead, I remember the endless minutes I spent aimlessly wandering the streets of Irrational's impeccable world. I think of my carefree walk alongside Elizabeth on the beaches of Battleship Bay, and simply soaking in peaceful times before the fall of the floating city.
I don't think I'm alone in saying that many action games leave me feeling a bit combat fatigued. I can only pull the trigger and gun down so many enemies before the act of murder morphs into a glorified chore. That's why providing a brief respite is so key in keeping an action game from losing steam. Taking my time during those quiet moments of BioShock Infinite got me thinking about some of my other favorite moments of calm in otherwise action-heavy games.
The Call of Duty series has always used violence as a blunt instrument to beat its audience with. Whether you're fragging tweens in multiplayer or barreling through one of the campaign set pieces, the core strategy has been to fire as many bullets as humanly possible. So imagine our surprise when part-way through Black Ops II, we were given a solemn moment to share a Christmas Eve beer with our buddies and savor those rare slivers of tranquility during the din of war.
I'm still shocked at the poignancy of Black Ops II's brief chapter that takes place in Panama. With Woods, Mason, and McKnight silently drinking a beer in the backyard of a military base bungalo, my only thought was that things were about to go terribly awry. Somehow violence would erupt, and I'd have to pull out my service weapon and dispatch waves of faceless boogeymen. But it never does, and the scene simply fades to black. I have to give Treyarch credit for willing to stay their hand for the duration of this memorable moment and completely defy my expectations.
As arguably the pinnacle of one of gaming's most revered franchises, Metal Gear Solid 3: Snake Eater is an experience bursting with iconic moments. One need only to mention names like The Sorrow, The End, or The Boss to immediately evoke memories of truly unforgettable battles. But despite how prominently those encounters are etched into gaming history, it's a seemingly endless ascent up a rusty ladder that remains synonymous with Konami's classic game.
Depending on how you look at it, the ladder sequence immediately following your epic battle with The End is either one of Hideo Kojima's litany of mind games, or a therapy session where Snake, and ultimately the player, are forced to reflect on the horrors they've committed, and the ones they'll soon be forced to commit. It's hard to imagine what's going through his head during the climb, especially once the Bond-inspired cheese of the "Snake Eater" theme begins to assault your senses.
For a series that hinges on maintaining the charging inertia of a freight train, the Tibet stage of Drake's sophomore outing was one of the rare instances where Naughty Dog pulled back on the throttle and simply allowed players to engage in a peaceful walkabout through one of their finely crafted environments. Midway through your journey, Drake is given the opportunity to holster his weapons and wander around a Tibetan village, and the results are strangely beautiful.
Shaking hands with the locals, waving at chickens, and petting giant yaks proved to be a surreal, but much-appreciated palate cleanser in between Drake's usual routine of mass genocide. It' so out of place that I half-expected the scene to culminate with Drake waking up from a fever dream and realizing that he's never even seen a yak before.
Finding moments of solace during our first few trips to Raccoon City was a difficult feat. Between the living dead, government conspiracies, and some of the worst acting in video game history, it seemed like the entire world was against the brave men and women of S.T.A.R.S. Lucky for them, the games featured a sprinkling of rooms that provided a bit of comfort removed from the apocalypse.
For all intents and purposes, the save rooms were your church; rare sanctuary from the hellscape of the outside world. Most of the rooms were populated with typewriters and item boxes, two of the series' early staples that became your greatest ally against the waves of the undead. But Capcom wisely pulled the rug out from under us in Resident Evil 3 by presenting the Nemesis, an unrelenting enemy who has no qualms with Kool Aid Man-ing his way through a brick wall and completely destroying all notions of comfort. After that first instance, those quiet moments weren't quite so calming anymore.
Samus can't seem to catch a break during her inaugural adventure on the GameCube. After suffering a suit malfunction that strips her of most of her powers, she's forced to combat wave after wave of violent critters on the surface of Tallon IV. It's a lonely expedition for the bounty hunter, but lucky for her, there's a serene moment of beauty amidst the sci-fi madness.
The moment you land your ship on the primordial planet, you're given free rein to explore the unknown world at your leisure. Enemies will attack you once you venture too far from your spacecraft, but those like me who were in awe back in 2002 simply took a moment to soak in their surroundings. Craning your neck upwards and seeing an array of tiny raindrops splash against your visor is one of the most engrossing moments I've ever had in a video game. If it weren't for the infestation of man-eating insects, I'd say that the initial grove is as good a place as any for the cosmonaut to rest her weary head.
Marty Sliva is an Associate Editor at IGN. If any of these quiet moments sound appealing to you, he strongly urges you to go see both To the Wonder and Upstream Color. Follow him on Twitter @McBiggitty and on IGN.
Source : ign[dot]com
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