Now that The Last of Us 2 is out in the wild, a lot more footage is surfacing, which was previously nixed from coverage by publisher Naughty Dog. That in itself is its can of worms. Anyway, like any self-respecting Gamer Boi, I’ve been watching some footage for Sony’s latest exclusive here and there. There’s also a fairly favorable review up for The Last of Us II on NoobFeed.
Particularly because reading coverage before the release felt so vague, I wondered how the game could sit at about 95 on Metacritic. Now that I’ve seen the game in action, I’m left confused about what’s so special about Ellie’s murder adventure.
Nothing I’ve seen so far has stood out more than the ordinary blockbuster. The Last of Us 2 is stunning, surely, but the steps taken in the game appear to be anything I’ve seen from games in the last five or so years.
Ellie walks into a gorgeous set piece, and there’s a crafted combat arena. People die, and the cycle continues. Yes, that’s sort of cynical, but it’s also not untrue. Only because we’re not used to hearing the word “average” to explain this standard can I not really justify using it here. At least, let me say what I saw so far was “expected.”
So, to further my understanding of why Sony’s golden child is being put on a pedestal, I decided it was finally time: I called up someone with a PS3 copy of The Last of Us and started playing this classic release so I could see for myself.
Admittedly, the progenitor makes a powerful, punching start—much better than I was anticipating. For a PS3 game, this is beyond a regular presentation. Everything looks and sounds amazing, with some top-form acting to accompany this package. I couldn’t name five PS3 games that look this good without turning to cel-shaded releases. Maybe there is something to this franchise after all.
Once the controls are fully relinquished to me, however, the cracks start showing. The Last of Us comically prioritizes telling its story while giving the player the illusion of choice. Cars and debris are literally flying at the screen to precisely block off any freedom you’d like to explore. Going in a bit further, the reason for this ham-fisted design reveals itself.
When the Last of Us isn’t taking the wheel, that gripping edge-of-the-seat story falls to pieces. The game “breaks the immersion,” as they say. Any time protagonist Joel gets free rein in an arena, it is painful to stumble through the environments that were put in there to justify scope and get to the part with the prompt that advances the story.
It’s worse than just the awkward level design; however, what’s really bothering me about The Last of Us is my gripe with the sequel as well. As I mentioned, the game is hell-bent on pushing this narrative forward, so the player never gets any agency on anything worthwhile. Need to pass a certain section? Literally, just look for the prompt on the screen and press it. Need to find something? Look for the prompt and press it.
At the most, you are forced into combat areas where Joel fumbles even more, as this is clearly not a priority but rather a mechanism that justifies the atmosphere and the feeling of agency. Fiddling with an inventory is so comical that it breaks any tension.
Bumping into yet another clicker isn’t suspenseful; it is more than just a reset. Nothing the player is asked to do is that important. You do the shooty, stabby, crawly footwork, and then Naughty Dog will play the significant parts of the game for you in the same way an Uncharted would do it.
This grievance left me wondering: How much stock do we in the gaming industry put into just a nice packaging? The Last of Us is a fine game, sure, but the best bits of it are fed to us. It doesn’t matter if we do anything because the game does it for us. Click the thing, then get to the next thing.
Similarly, the Metal Gear series has this problem of letting the player run into a cutscene, doing a bit of busywork, and then concluding the vital parts in another cutscene. How is this a form of entertainment that we, as an active medium, can champion?
To each their own, of course, but the critical pushback on a major game of this scope seems, at the very least, skewed as opposed to your regular walking simulator. If I’d categorize The Last of Us, it would come pretty close to that genre.
Yet the latter needs to justify itself for a decent reception so much more. If we’re okay with doing virtually nothing in a game, it is not an equally distributed lenience. I love Proteus, but the majority of people I’ve recommended it to did not share this enthusiasm.
For reference, I’m also playing NeverDead on PS3 at the moment. This Konami game is notorious for terrible controls and awkward game design. In NeverDead, however, when I need to travel somewhere or fight someone, I’m the one doing it while grinding my teeth.
Yes, the boss will do an explosive flourish or whatever at the end, but I’m the person who climbed the stairs, opened the doors, and used my brain to overcome the world and do the damage. I’m not waiting around for the screen to tell me the next step. Neverdead is a game that should not be mentioned in the same breath as one of the glitziest titles in the PlayStation catalog.
Having tasted the triple AAA juice, I can’t say that my opinion of The Last of Us 2 has radically changed. If anything, I now have less leniency for a game that would rather show than tell through action. I’ll likely continue to see where the story goes, even if I can guess, but from a video game perspective, The Last of Us is definitely a video game in the way that it’s painfully average. It looks pretty, though, and I guess that’s all that matters in the end.
