Music: Klaxons - Myths of the Near Future

Klaxons
Myths of the Near Future
[Rock]






Klaxons really shot themselves in the foot when they coined the term 'new rave' to generate pre-release hype for their relatively conventional take on dance-punk. Despite singer/bassist Jamie Reynolds' admission that the term was used as an in-joke - an idea backed up by the hilariously inappropriate use of a klaxon (geddit?) in the opening seconds of 'Atlantis to Interzone' and a cheeky cover of rave music's official anthem, 'It's Not Over Yet' - most of the criticism aimed at the group's first full-length record, Myths of the Near Future, bemoans the lack of whack.

Stylus Magazine, for example, noted that it "clearly isn't rave, or even a reinvention of rave...[it's] a half-decent gimmick", while Rolling Stone contested that the sound is "suspiciously indie-ish". And it gets worse: desperately attempting to cling to a "movement" in order to counter plummeting sales, the NME even sponsored a new-rave tour in honour of the non-existent genre.

One would have hoped that, even if the above clues as to the tongue-in-cheek nature of the phrase were overlooked, the prevalence of glowsticks at the band's shows would have pointed unbelievers toward the obvious irony. Alas it didn't and, as a result, Klaxons appear to have been judged according to their credentials as field-filling drug-pushers rather than the quite good indie rock 'n' rollers they have always proved themselves to be since the initial release of their first single, 'Gravity's Rainbow', a year ago.

When they get it right, as on four of Myths' five singles ('Atlantis to Interzone', 'Golden Skans', 'Gravity's Rainbow', 'It's Not Over Yet') and 'Two Receivers', they really get it right, concocting a delicious musical salad of schizophrenic guitars, thick bass and multi-layered falsetto sweeps ready-made for chart consumption. For instance, the "oohs" and "ahhs" providing the wordless chorus on 'Golden Skans', the unjustly funky rhythm of 'Gravity's Rainbow', the relentless locomotive clatter of opening couplet 'Atlantis to Interzone' and 'Two Receivers' and the teary-eyed chorus of 'It's Not Over Yet' are all perfect examples of pop perfection.

Elsewhere, however, shockingly poor production, a definite lack of ideas and an inescapable sense of over-familiarity combine to undermine the ferocious punch of the fantastic five. It is difficult to overstate just how terrible James Ford's studio work is on Myths, but suffice to say that at least three or four songs are completely destroyed by the Simian Mobile Disco man.

Perhaps keen to express his fondness for beats (he provided the album's drums and percussion), he has ramped up the drumming to such an unnecessary volume that the trio's glorious, interlocking harmonies and manic squeals are often completely drowned out. In addition, the guitars are sometimes stretched to ear-splitting frequencies ('Magick', 'As Above, So Below', 'Totem on the Timeline') while the bass is usually far too loud ('Isle of Her', 'Four Horsemen of 2012'). At times, Myths' forceful tone borders on unlistenable - certainly not something that strict adherents to the mathematical formulas of The Manual - as Klaxons have confessed they are - would have wished for.

Where the band occasionally bail themselves out of Ford's atrocity exhibition, though, is with some inspired literary lyrics. Naming their album and (at least) three songs after cult works by Ballard, Burroughs, Pynchon and Crowley may appear to be a Maximo Park-esque plea to be recognised as well-read, but a quick run through of the words suggests otherwise. Lines like "Krill edible oceans at their feet / A troublesome troop out on safari / A lullaby holds their drones in sleep" smack of pretension in a way that Paul Banks could only ever dream of. Not convinced? How about "All ships of sense on hyper ocean / All Kytes of chaos still in motion / My culture vulture such a dab hand / I'll steal you from the year 4000" for size? In a British music scene where reading books is commonly considered to be an unspeakable hate crime, Klaxons' fantastic blend of the surreal and the absurd is so refreshing as to be virtually cathartic.

Unfortunately, however, Myths' weaknesses are just too apparent for it to be considered an essential record. In fact, taken on its own terms, the finished product is little more than a slightly quirky but fairly weak indie album. Rather, my reserved fondness for the band is significantly (and perhaps wrongly) based on their initial intention to do something challenging and original, their instigation of the 'new rave' obsession in the media, their impressive run of artistic videos and their incredible knack for crafting excellent singles. So they failed with a whole album's worth of material - does it really matter that much? For certain, the British music scene is a far better place with Klaxons that without them. 60

Film: Dir. Sam Raimi - Spider-Man 3

Dir. Sam Raimi
Spider-Man 3
[Action]







The plot: Peter Parker (Tobey MacGuire) and his girlfriend Mary Jane (Kirsten Dunst) experience problems with their relationship while a mob of dastardly villains cause mayhem in New York. In an attempt to win back her heart, Parker once again dons the red suit and attempts to keep the peace, but he soon finds he isn’t strong enough to deal with them all. So what does he do? That’s right - he turns to the dark side! Whatever will Peter’s impeccably moral pals think of that…?

Considering it is the most expensive film ever made, Spider-Man 3 is a remarkably unspectacular affair; while there may be endless shots of Spidey swinging from building to building, collapsing scenery, high-speed chase sequences and oodles of green screen, the overall feel of the movie is one of conspicuous regularity. It is a two-and-a-half-hour slog through tired conventions, awash with missed opportunities and painfully aglow with all the requisite glitz and glamour of a summer blockbuster.

Maguire’s typically understated potrayal of the series’ withdrawn, bespectacled, slightly kooky (anti-)hero is again impressive, delivering appropriate helpings of self-conscious cool without ever venturing into the dreaded realm of geek chic. Unfortunately, however, he is forced to spend the majority of the movie’s duration spluttering lazy one-liners at the camera as the eponymous protagonist. Even more disappointing is the lack of scientific evidence to substantiate the implication that donning a tight-fitting, blood-red spandex two-piece is a one-way ticket to effortless charisma, intoxicating sex appeal and faultless integrity.

The plot holds together reasonably well for the first sixty minutes, documenting the questionable origins of the Sandman and providing an uncomfortable insight into Peter Parker’s now fractious relationship with Mary Jane, who is once again competently played by Kirsten Dunst (in case you hadn’t realised by now, she does ditzy and doe-eyed very well). However, after a bright start, things get very messy indeed as too much side-plot, too many villains and far too much Hollywood schmaltz (redemption, valour, patriarchal dogma!) overwhelm the strong sense of subtlety established in the opening hour.

Then again, considering very silly cult vanguard Sam Raimi was at the reigns, some may be willing to believe the rushed, tiresome and clichéd finale to be the machinations of a post-modern, absurdist masterpiece steeped in cultural ironies. I didn’t, though I have to admit that when, in order to authenticate his turn as ‘dark Spider-Man’, Maguire’s preppy mop was immaculately glued into position as the universal badge of post-millennial alienation - the emo fringe - I was partly convinced. 50

Music: Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare

Arctic Monkeys
Favourite Worst Nightmare
[Rock]







When Arctic Monkeys took over the world with the Best Album of all Time in early 2006, I must admit it took me by surprise; the brand of stripped-down, up-tempo indie rock ’n’ roll and trite social commentary practiced in their early singles certainly didn’t bode well for a great album. Those in the know revealed all, however, letting us all in on the big secret that, in fact, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not was a cracking first try. Despite their record only featuring a handful of solid tunes, team Arctic Monkeys (consisting of the band members, their record label, the NME, Radio 1 and the most expensive non-existent hype machine ever built) made sure everyone knew Whatever... was a winner. Dissenting voices were silenced, skeptical reviews were swept under the carpet and negative media coverage was simply not permitted. And people say Kim Jong-Il is bad.

A little over a year later and they’re back with Favourite Worst Nightmare: a different, more mature, considered, polished, wide-reaching and inward-looking follow-up, surely? Well...no, not exactly. It’s still the same Monkeys we’ve been told to love, only this time with slightly better songs and a slightly stronger dose of the self-important machismo and blasé chauvinism so beloved of their debut. Jeremy Clarkson, eat your heart out.

Of the twelve songs on offer here, two are great, four satisfy and the rest should be condemned to the fiery depths of hell. So, while they’ve managed to double their previous success rate (only ‘When the Sun Goes Down’ stood out on Whatever...), the saving graces of being naïve, young, poor and misguided are unfortunately no longer on hand to assist.

Starting at the top, ‘Do Me a Favour’ is a cracking slower number where Alex Turner - for once not in his guise as a wannabe stand-up - muses on a previous relationship. “As she walked away / Well her shoes were untied / And the eyes were all red / You could see that we’d cried” laments the initially regretful frontman over a gentle guitar line, appreciating the smaller details during a short-lived reprise. The rolling drums kick in again before too long, though, allowing the song to resume its sorrowful tumble. The real high point comes two minutes in, however, with a striking change of gear as the mood becomes darker and the music heavier. Turner then reconsiders his position with the thought that “To tear apart the ties that bind / Perhaps ‘fuck off’ might be too kind”. Damn right.

‘Old Yellow Bricks’ is the other highlight, essentially a Long Blondes song for ninety seconds with its insistent drum beat and single note guitar line. “You can’t kid us and you couldn’t trick anyone / Houdini? Love, you don’t know what you’re running from” is the standout line, a rare example of Turner’s occasionally brilliant wit. The latter half of the song features some of the only experimental moments of the album as the Monkeys show some great musical chemistry, perhaps best characterized by the commendable incorporation of the Knight Rider melody into a truly hair-raising riff.

Of the numbers worth saving, lead single ‘Brianstorm’ is the best of the bunch: a funky enough slice of pure aggression that unfortunately thinks it’s a lot funnier than it actually is. Elsewhere, ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ is a charming comment on getting old (“Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness / Landed in quite a common crisis”), though it does outstay its welcome. Eighth song ‘This House is a Circus’, in spite of being Monkeys-by-numbers for the most part, can’t help but raise a smile with the line “This house is a circus / Berserk as fuck”, while ‘If You Were There, Beware’, despite its terrible title, offers four and a half above average, musically progressive minutes which stand in stark contrast to the majority of Favourite Worst Nightmare.

The rest of the album ranges from inoffensively tedious guitar rock filler (‘The Bad Thing’, ‘Balaclava’, ‘D is for Dangerous’) to criminally poor, duration-lengthening ballads conveniently placed at the end of each half (‘Only Ones Who Know’, ‘505’) to the abomination against humankind that is ‘Teddy Picker’. “Let’s have a game on the teddy picker / Not quick enough can I have it quicker / Already thick can you get any thicker?” rails Turner against the ambitionless working classes. “Who’d want to be men of the people / When there’s people like you?” he continues, fist pumping in self-righteous indignation. Chances are, if the previous two lines haven’t got you seething, you’ll love the song’s no nonsense, up-tempo chug. However, for those of us who didn’t think ‘chav’ bashing was funny when it was trendy five years ago, ‘Teddy Picker’ should induce a snort or two of disgust. Sorry Alex, but any credentials the Monkeys had as a people’s band just disappeared out the window faster than you can say, “Two Big Macs please.”

All in all, then, Artic Monkeys have produced a predictably satisfactory second album. The music’s still OK, the lyrics are still smarmily unfunny (for the most part) and it’ll sell millions. There’s a lesson to be learned here, surely? 52

Games: Ubisoft - Tom Clancy's Spinter Cell: Double Agent

Ubisoft
Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell: Double Agent
[Stealth Action]







For a few years now, Ubisoft’s Splinter Cell franchise has carved out a nice little niche for itself on PS2 and Xbox, shifting just enough copies to warrant a yearly sequel without setting the world alight. The premise is always pretty simple, generally focusing on a bunch of guys who don’t like America getting hold of a weapon and threatening to use it, at which point the decidedly gruff Sam Fisher (complete with troubled past, no less) goes in, kills them all and saves the day. It’s not life-changing stuff by any means, but it knows what works and sticks to it faithfully.

What also works very well is the game’s stealth system -- constituting a light meter, noise meter, fantastic acrobatics and a tantalizing assortment of fictional gadgets -- which, having been upgraded with gradual tweaks in true videogame style, culminated in an excellent third installment known as Chaos Theory.

Though the expected improvements to the game mechanics did contribute to the game’s success, what truly separated Chaos Theory from its two fairly good predecessors was some fantastic level design. Promising variety around every turn, levels included a bank, a rooftop apartment, a Chinese countryside retreat and a naval bunker. As well as the exciting locales, the developers had evidently worked hard to ensure each mission would enable Fisher to utilize his full range of moves, resulting in fantastic options for the player. As well as the obvious shotgun-toting brute force route, an array of carefully positioned vents, pipes, rails and ledges, along with generous helpings of darkness, ensured there was always the option to do missions the proper, Sam Fisher way. A strict mission rating system also rewarded stealthy play, penalizing players for excess noise, kills and general clumsiness.

What a disappointment it is to find, then, that the fourth game in the series is a let down on almost all of these fronts. Feeling like a backward step in gameplay terms, Double Agent has some really dull, featureless levels (a warehouse, anyone?) that rarely allow our hero to exhibit his impressive athletic abilities. Not only that, but a lot less shadow and the removal of the mission rating system mean brute force is often the most worthwhile path through missions. In addition, the long load times mean slip-ups are punished severely, discouraging players from risking a stealthy takedown when they could opt for the more reliable machinegun.

The story is a marked improvement, however, told via a series of flashbacks and revealing Fisher’s recent involvement in an elaborate plot to infiltrate a terrorist organization. Only Fisher and his old pal Colonel Lambert were aware of the mission’s finer details, meaning that throughout the game’s levels Fisher is obliged to sabotage parts of the JBA’s plan and risk blowing his cover in order to please the suits back at HQ. This idea is implemented in the game with a simple trust meter that shifts position every time you complete (and thus consequently also fail) an objective for either side. In order for a smooth progression, you are required to keep the apparently mathematical ‘trust’ value in the middle of the bar -- upsetting one side too much could result in them asking you to complete a spontaneous sub-mission which, if not completed in time, results in failure.

While this system has the potential to be great, it hasn’t quite been implemented well enough. To give one example, during my first time through the game I managed to sink a tanker full of 3,000 passengers and let a city get nuked while still comfortably maintaining the trust of the good guys. Now I’m no diplomat, but surely a death toll in the tens of thousands can’t be considered a job well done?

That said, the various split paths in the game do warrant repeat plays and the stealth mechanics are grounded on a solid enough foundation to still make the game an enjoyable experience. With some more attention to detail in the environment s, a few more missions and a bit of tweaking to the trust system, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell: Double Agent could have been one of the best games on PS2. As it is, it’s still good, though the aforementioned shortcomings mean Chaos Theory remains the best game in the series. 61

Film: Dir. Edgar Wright - Hot Fuzz

Dir. Edgar Wright
Hot Fuzz
[Comedy]






2004's Shaun of the Dead was rightly regarded as one of the most accomplished spoofs in recent times. Bringing Simon Pegg and Nick Frost's irresistible brand of humour to a wider audience, it was consistently funny, well structured and also handled more serious moments with ease. Though it never quite reached the dizzy heights of This is Spinal Tap, even king of the absurd Christopher Guest could have learned a thing or two from its superb bastardization of the ridiculous (pool cues, anyone?).

Given the vast success of their first foray into film, it's hardly surprising the duo are back for more with Hot Fuzz – an attempted send-up of the countless police buddy movies out there – and the film studio evidently has more faith this time too, splashing the cash on the likes of Timothy Dalton, Jim Broadbent, Steve Coogan, Bill Bailey and more. And though the bigger budget, slicker direction and more accessible gags will obviously win the pair a larger audience (and, you guessed it, loadsa dosh), something has undoubtedly gone missing along the way.

However, identifying exactly what makes Hot Fuzz so inferior to its predecessor is no easy task. Is it the unnecessarily long, self-indulgent running time (director Edgar Wright has admitted deliberately stretching the film to make it exactly two hours long)? Is it the plethora of tired jokes (cops putting on shades and folding their arms, wow...)? Is it the fact that many of the big stars have clearly turned up for the money and can't be bothered to act (a sequence with Coogan, Freeman and Nighy is almost unbearably bad)? It's probably a combination of the three, though Coogan's performance really has to be seen to be believed. Hot Fuzz is also notable for its many missed opportunities. To give one example, parts of the film make effective use of extreme violence, yet the inevitable shootouts are almost entirely bloodless; anyone's who's seen Evil Dead 2 will appreciate the comedic potential of a crimson tide.

Elsewhere, Edgar Wright is keen to show off his new camera, putting together some great fast-paced montages, over the top zooms, swoops and pans that really complement the preposterousness of the mood. Yet about half way through the film the visual effects vanish almost entirely, and with them goes any possibility that some reasonably funny scenes could be made much more memorable.

As it stands now, a week after I saw the film, the majority has been completely forgotten.It's not that Hot Fuzz isn't funny - it made me laugh out loud three or four times - it's just that, after exhibiting such talent in Spaced and then Shaun..., we had a right to expect much more from one of Britain's brightest double acts. At least it's better than Hyperspace. 56

Film: Dir. Kevin MacDonald - The Last King of Scotland

Dir. Kevin Macdonald
The Last King of Scotland
[Thriller]





The Plot: Scottish student Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy), having just gained his degree in medicine, chooses a random place to fly to and exercise his new found skills. Ending up in Uganda, he finds himself employed as Idi Amin's personal physician and confidant. Things start to go wrong shortly after the genocide commences.

Much has been made of Forest Whitaker's headline-grabbing portrayal of the headline-grabbing Idi Amin in The Last King of Scotland and, without doubt, it is a great performance. The story may be mediocre, the politics clumsy and the supporting actors disappointing but, yes, Whitaker is great. So too is James McAvoy as a slimy, often repulsive misogynist, exploiting the privileged position he finds himself in as Amin's personal physician, thankfully making it easier to overlook Gillian Anderson's abominable, gooey-eyed, one-dimensional temptress.

Where the film fails is in trying to cram too many minor characters and unnecessary subtext into a very basic plot – Amin was a bastard and we put him there, watch how the white man takes advantage when opportunities present themselves. It should either be more focused and twenty minutes shorter, or much heavier and forty minutes longer, yet it settles for an uncomfortable middle ground, resulting in a film that feels both rushed and, at times, plodding. It fails as a thriller by not being nearly thrilling enough, and it fails as Hotel Rwanda 2 by not being nearly deep enough. Honestly, The Sound of Music had more important things to say.

As mentioned previously, however, the two male leads are on good form and just about manage to hold the thing together; in particular, the scenes involving only Whitaker and McAvoy as Amin's mental stability deteriorates are frequently compelling. It also gets extra marks for ripping a particularly gruesome scene straight out of Cannibal Ferox and for avoiding what I thought would be a tiresomely predictable climax. 63

Music: The Long Blondes - Someone to Drive You Home

The Long Blondes
Someone to Drive You Home
[Guitar Pop / Indie]








Something that really irks me about modern British "indie" music is the prominence of substance over style. The seemingly endless procession of scrubbed-up, safe, mirror kissing rock and rollers has really hit a high point in 2006, and sadly looks set to continue. It is fair to say that, since the release of Silent Alarm in early 2005, only North American music has really mattered, seeing strong releases from Joanna Newsom, Sufjan Stevens, Animal Collective, The Decemberists, The Hold Steady, The New Pornographers, My Morning Jacket, Sleater-Kinney, Wolf Parade, Antony and the Johnsons, TV on the Radio...do I need to go on? Even Belle & Sebastian, traditionally one of the shining lights in British indie, served up an underwhelming effort with The Life Pursuit.

That said, it's even more annoying when my ingrained elitist preconceptions about British guitar bands are found to be fallible, as was recently the case with the Long Blondes. Sure, they attract innumerable scenesters, fit snugly in the NME and will be forgotten as quickly as they arrived, but their music displays qualities traditionally associated with good bands. Yes, really. Though singer Kate Jackson's shy introvert shtick is about as transparent as Larrikin Love's...well...everything, her strained Debbie Harry-style histrionics are pleasantly alluring. Some of the songs have irresistible hooks and, while shortlived, certainly leave an impression.

Someone to Drive You Home may not be the most sophisticated music you'll hear in years, but then the Long Blondes are not a sophisticated band. That said, on the odd occasion the band do attempt to break the mould, they are surprisingly successful. The one-two punch of "Swallow Tattoo" and "Weekend Without Makeup" provides the album's strongest sequence, and elsewhere "Giddy Stratospheres" and "Once & Never Again" feature soulful, believable vocals and strong melodies. What is noticeable on each of these songs is that, though playing pretty safe music, The Long Blondes are an extremely tight unit. Each instrument is clear and the sounds mesh together nicely without ever sounding over-produced or artificial.

Despite these four noticeable highs, however, The Long Blondes appear to be on auto-pilot for much of their debut. Many songs on Someone To Drive You Home are indistinguishable from one another, following the same structure, repetetively musing on the naivety of youth and sounding pretty much identical. Only the aforementioned "Weekend..." has lyrics of interest, with Jackson refusing to play the role of "some kind of 50s housewife" and heartily bitching about her man until the realisation hits: "I've got you, got you under my skin". Elsewhere, it's all boys, girls, lipstick and giddy-eyed romance. Snooze.

So, while Someone to Drive You Home may not be the indie masterpiece the British scene badly needs, it's a pleasant enough surprise to warrant a knowing wink of approval. Well done, chaps. 61

Games: Revolution/Sumo Digital - Broken Sword: The Angel of Death

Revolution / Sumo Digital
Broken Sword: The Angel of Death
[Adventure]








For reasons known only to the worldwide gaming press, the Broken Sword series has never quite garnered the praise it deserves. The first game in the series, 1996's The Shadow of the Templars, set new standards in cinematic adventuring, and follow-up The Smoking Mirror, though rushed out in little over a year, was a similarly excellent game. The move to 3D in 2003's The Sleeping Dragon was practically seamless, featuring gorgeously realised environments, a typically diverse collection of characters and a strong storyline.

However, there was something quite unusual about BS3 in that, despite an already strong fan base, modernised controls and simplified puzzles, the game sold poorly, shifting barely any units on consoles. This has led to something of a knee-jerk reaction from Revolution, who have not only decided to return to the traditional point 'n' click interface of old, but have also taken the decision (or been told) to make BS4 a PC exclusive. This decision has backfired severely, resulting in a game that feels tired and dated, though one which admittedly retains just enough retro charm and tricks of the trade to avoid being a total disappointment.

The starting point in assessing any adventure game is obviously the strength of its story and, surprisingly, the plot in The Angel of Death is much weaker than one might expect. Discredited after the "Glastonbury incident" in BS3, chiselled chump George Stobbart is now working as a bail bond clerk in New York. One day, a mysterious and suspiciously buxom blonde goes to see George about - you guessed it - an ancient manuscript which she is hoping to decipher. An offer of $10000 is enough to convince George that he should come along for the ride, but before he can dust off his adventuring cap, the office is invaded by an unpleasant-looking crew of Italian mobsters. They appear to be pursuing Anna Maria and her manuscript and thus, without hanging around to peruse the finer details of the thugs' intentions, George and his sidekick escape the office and seemingly head off on yet another journey brimming with elements of history, mythology and intrigue.

While this might sound exciting, the beginning of the game develops slowly and, despite occasional twists and turns, predictably. In an attempt to counteract this, the second half of the game is something of a mess, with numerous loose ends, unexplained motives (for example the sudden and inexplicable appearance of Nico), and an unsatisfying conclusion. The final third of the game also feels far too short, while the opening two thirds feels too long, creating a sense of imbalance. In addition, certain characters are unnecessarily overdeveloped, with key proponents in the game's storyline easily mistaken as minor characters. Whether this is a technique deliberately employed in order to deceive the player is unclear, however what is perfectly lucid is that Revolution have not given certain characters the attention they deserve.

Furthermore, the cutscenes of the game present the idea of a thrilling chase across Europe, with all sides caught up in a race against time to stop their adversaries from succeeding. While this approach certainly pays dividends in the movies, it does not lend itself well to the ambling pace of point 'n' click adventure games. Whereas previous games in the series saw George strolling around, picking up the odd clue and engaging in casual conversation, BS4 fails to successfully tap in to the mechanics of the genre. It is quite ridiculous, for example, when the player is forced to postpone the relentless pursuit of the bad guys in order to decide which item to combine with the paperclip.

Though The Angel of Death's story might not hold your attention, the puzzles certainly will, with a terrific blend of traditional "use x on y" situations and arguably the finest logic and riddle-based puzzles ever seen in a game of this type. While there are inevitably going to be one or two puzzles where the solution may seem a little obtuse, for the most part each puzzle strikes a perfect balance between difficulty and achievability. For example, one section of the game involves deciphering riddles from a manuscript by cross-referencing cryptic imagery with information available on an internet database (one of the many functions of the new PDA gadget). This is the first game I can recall where using Wikipedia might be considered a genuine (though by no means necessary) path to a solution!

It is worth mentioning at this point that The Angel of Death is the first game in the series that hasn't been developed by Revolution. Though Charles Cecil and co. are behind the story and the puzzle mechanics, it was Sumo Digital's responsibility to bring the project to life. And they certainly came on board with a glowing reputation: an amalgamation of Infogrames and Gremlin, they've produced recent hits TOCA Race Driver 2 and Virtua Tennis: World Tour. However, both the graphics and the gameplay of BS4 fall substantially short of the mark, with the latter in some cases reaching almost game-breaking proportions.

Considering there are so few environments in the game, it is disappointing that all of them look extremely washed-out, uninspired and insipid. The graphics are substantially worse than those found in the previous game, leading this reviewer to wonder why on earth Sumo were needed in the first place. That said, how the game looks is largely irrelevant, given the genre of game, and at least the graphics are functional enough to avoid hindering the puzzle solving.

What is a complete disaster, however, is the game's control system. Returning to the point 'n' click style of old, what Sumo have failed to successfully achieve is incorporating the classic controls into 3D environments. They do not help themselves by modelling almost all of the interior environments on an exact ninety degree axis, meaning that going through doors at the left and right of the screen can be, at times, extremely difficult. Add to this the fact that, in the larger outdoor environments, the camera is almost constantly in motion and BS4 makes for a frustrating experience to say the least. Just moving George from one building to another feels as though it is taking twice as long as it should, and our hero's movement is again hindered by the 'speed of movement' defaulting to walk every time the player interacts with the environment.

In contrast, the audio of the game continues the impeccably high standards set by Revolution in previous titles. The quality of the score means it now merits its own release in an official soundtrack and, despite an appallingly amateurish turn by Nico's actor, most of the characters are done justice with some compelling voice work. Rolf Saxon again excels himself as George Stobbart, now the suave, charming adventurer as opposed to the bumbling fop of old.

On the face of it, then, it doesn't look all good for The Angel of Death. The game feels rushed and unbalanced, the plot is unsatisfying, the controls are abhorrent and the environments look decidedly dull. However, as a long term fan of the series, it is hard to deny that there's nothing quite like a Broken Sword game. Yes, here comes the old allusion that "they don't make 'em like this anymore", but it's true, and in one sense the archaic, challenging and insular nature of adventure games is part of what makes them so appealing. Broken Sword: The Angel of Death is the most niche title in the series, demanding the most patient and unassuming of gamers, however if you fit that description, you should find yourself having more fun than you might expect. Otherwise, stay well clear. 59

Film: Dir. Rian Johnson - Brick

Dir. Rian Johnson
Brick
[Neo-noir/School]






Rian Johnson is a film-maker with an astonishingly original vision. For eight years he laboured to assemble the small budget necessary to bring his stylised high-school detective story to the screen. The results show a confident first-time director assembling an unclassifiable, strangely intriguing film.

Brendon is a tough but honest kid who stays outside the shady drug dealings of the so-called "Upper Crust" at his california school. Taking place in a semi-fantasy vision of a school which pays homage to the classic noir films, (The Maltese Falcon, Marlowe etc.) Brendon is thrust into a world of mystery, double crosses and intrigue. The cast talk in a mesmerising dialect full of outdated or imaginary slang; it's immediately clear that this is not a film which wants to make any sort of hard-hitting point about teenage substance abuse or the like. It's purpose is simply to enertain, and perhaps make a point about how magnified in importance school life can be. The eponymous "Brick" is a solidified block of heroin - and it's at the centre of a network of double-crossings involving Brendon, femme-fatale Laura, hired muscle Tug and the sinister "pin" or kingpin of all the dealing at the school. Assisted by sage-like geek Brain, Brendon's out to find the truth about his ex-girlfriend's death. The film opens with a haunting score, reminiscent of spaghetti-westerns, as Brendon discovers her body lying dead in an evocatively shot drainage channel. Cut to a couple of days earlier, and we see Brendon receiving an impassioned call for help from Emily.

Unfortunately, it's largely downhill from there. The more the plot unravels the more confusing it becomes, due in part to the lingo, some of which proves indeciphrable; it is often not couched in enough context or spoken clearly enough to be intelligible, and ends up impeding the story. Were it not for this layer of smoke and mirrors, the cliched plot would doubtless be utterly predictable; even as confused as I was, one could smell the twists a mile off; the hero playing the villains off against each other, the inevitable backstab from a hard hearted dame, and so on. Further, whilst at best, the high-school parallels with classic noir fit nicely, some of the more obvious scenes (the interrogation by the vice principle, for example) seem rather contrived to fit with in the confines of the genre. "You've helped this office in the past" bawls the VP, and one can't help being reminded of every confrontation between a washed-up detective and the local police chief in the history of cinema. The characters, too, are halfway between caricatures and fully-realised portraits; confronted with an array of dull archetypes, the viewer is never entirely engaged. At least the music, stylish cinematography and production design manage to provoke emotion, to an extent, but this is very much a film for the head, not the heart. If Johnson's next film-school exercise in style and genre-bending can manage to speak to us emotionally, he will have made a great film. As it is, he's only written and directed a pretty decent, very unique one.

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Music: Peter Bjorn And John - Writer's Block

Peter Bjorn And John
Writer's Block
[Guitar Pop / Indie]






Over the past few years, Sweden has certainly had a lot to offer to the world of indie and alternative music. Bands such as The Hives, The Concretes and The Knife, for example, have all enjoyed degrees of critical or commercial success. However, no act has, of yet, successfully transcended the divide between acclaim and sales. It comes as no surprise, then, that on their second full-length release, Peter Bjorn And John attempt to fuse friendly, bitesize guitar pop with occasional (yet substantial) experimentation. Needless to say, while this approach is at times triumphant, it can also lead to some decidedly mixed results.

However, that is not to say that the trio have particular difficulty in either field - as the two opening songs immediately demonstrate. "Objects of My Affection" is bombastic, loud, messy and soulful, recalling My Bloody Valentine and Neutral Milk Hotel in equal measure. Crashing guitars, pounding drums and distant whistles provide a suitable template for Peter Bergsman's forced, slightly offbeat tone. 'I laugh more often now / I cry more often now / I am more me' is one among a host of memorable lines, all of which fit the defiant, emotive nature of the song.

Following on from such a strong opener is the tune that, I would hazard a guess, is the reason most people will buy Writer's Block. "Young Folks" has been on extremely heavy rotation since the summer, and deservedly so. Unfolding as an awkward, idyllic conversation between two...young folks (with The Concretes' Victoria Bergsman on hand to add an even dreamier touch), it's infectious whistled melody, groovy bass line, bongos, maracas and simple, programmed beats combine to gorgeous effect. While I wouldn't go as far as calling it pop perfection, it's damn close.

The sludgy "Amsterdam" then provides an interesting diversion, combining withdrawn vocals, another good backing beat, more piercing whistles and prominent bass to create an eerie (yet strangely relaxing) song quite unlike anything I'd heard before. Fourth song "Start To Melt" is the first disappointment of Writer's Block, attempting to recycle the overblown guitars of "Objects..." but coming off as slightly lacking in structure and direction. The lyrics also leave a lot to be desired; 'I start to melt / With your arms around my waist.' It's two minutes are easily forgotten, especially given the calibre of superb album centrepiece and last song of Part A (more on that later), "Up Against The Wall".

At seven minutes in length there is certainly room for creative manoeuvre, yet it is the song's charming simplicity that makes it so memorable. Pulsing drums and a gently plucked melody form the foundation for the verses, in which Bergsman details a difficult relationship: 'Bones are trembling, hands are cold / You don't know how it feels / You got me up against the wall'. In between each section, an additional guitar overlaps and winds around the main melody while moody synths hover in the background. It is at this point that Writer's Block (albeit briefly) achieves the ideal balance between creativity and accessibility, and when the spiralling extended outro then kicks in with two minutes remaining, it is a challenge not to grin with unbridled joy.

And so ends Part A - not a PB&J label but one which I have applied myself, one which describes what could also be known as "The Good Part of the Record". You see, Writer's Block is an extremely top-heavy record, to the point where roughly 80 percent of the latter half is completely disposable. "Paris 2004" tries to be sweet and ends up sickly; "Let's Call It Off" is barely listenable, early Beatles mimicry; "Roll The Credits" is over six minutes of strummed guitar, poor lyrics and dull vocals, and "Poor Cow" is more of the same but at an even slower pace.

Only "The Chills" - a song which easily matches the calibre of Part A - is a worthwhile listen on the second half of the album. Combining dense bass, an unconventional beat and frantic "shh-shh-shh-shh-shh"-es, it is certainly the most interesting song musically on Writer's Block, despite the fact that the chorus is quite weak and does nothing but restrict the momentum of the song.

In conclusion, it would be easy to write off Peter Bjorn And John as yet another group with a strong single, some bright moments and lot of dull ones; and perhaps that is what they deserve after producing Writer's Block. However, with such substantial and inspired creativity brimming in certain songs, it is puzzling as to why more of that energy could not be expended on every track. Whether that's down to writer's block, or just plain laziness, I guess we'll never know. 68

Music: The Pipettes - We Are The Pipettes

The Pipettes
We Are The Pipettes
[Pop]






This review is a bit late in coming, however I feel it is necessary to expose one of the biggest missed opportunities in 2006. You see, The Pipettes have put out some of the sweetest pop songs this year ("'Dirty Mind", "Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me", "Pull Shapes"), yet this half-hour collection of post-trendy, 60s girl group-aping nostalgia trip fever features a stunning percentage 0f stunningly dull filler. I mean at least half the record's running time - now that's stunning.

In addition to the aforementioned singles. the genuinely funny "It Hurts To See You Dance So Well" ('Half-past one on the dancefloor / And my thoughts they turn to murder') and bully-baiting "Judy" are highly memorable moments among the new material. Sadly, however, the majority of We Are The Pipettes opts to coast along on a wave of mid-tempo mediocroty and features extreme repititions on a theme ("Tell Me What You Want", "Sex", "One Night Stand" - have you guessed it yet?) that quickly becomes dull after repeat listens. It is especially puzzling to listen to sequences of bouncy, proto-feminist, sugar-sweet indignations only to be reminded in a lonesome ballad such as "Winter's Sky" that, actually, men might be important after all.

That said, I have perhaps been overly harsh in my criticism of the entire output from what are, in essence, a harmless singles band who'll be fortunate to make it beyond a third album. Nevertheless, after seeing Brighton's premier vocal trio aiming (and reaching) so high with their early singles, it is disheartening to hear such an underwhelming full-length from The Pipettes. 63