In This Space, Everyone Hears You Scream

Dead Space [XBOX 360/PS3]

9 / 10

by Jason Polansky

When was the last time any piece of interactive entertainment has made you jump off your couch and yell mindless profanity? Was it Silent Hill? Please; that series has been going downhill since the third entry in 2003. Could it have been Resident Evil 4? That survival-horror-turned-action series hasn’t been scary since that damn dog jumped through the window in the first installment. What I’m getting at here is this: If you haven’t played Dead Space yet, then you are missing out on what is perhaps the most frightening game to come along since the first Condemned hit shelves.

Essentially playing like a typical third-person shooter, Dead Space gives its players an overwhelming sense of paranoia and claustrophobia throughout the corridors of the Ishimura, a mining space vessel in which the bulk of our hero’s adventure takes place. In this future setting, the human race looks beyond Earth to other planets to find its natural resources. Using mining crafts like the Ishimura, planets are literally cracked open to have their resources extracted and utilized. Playing as Isaac Clarke, you are part of a four-person team that is sent to respond to a distress call seemingly relating to a mechanical issue. Once you arrive, however, things appear to be much more grim, as there is no trace of any surviving crew members. In their place is a vicious group of alien life-forms known as Necromorphs whose only apparent goal is to kill anything and everything. To reveal anything else about the plot would only hamper the enjoyment of watching it unfold, a key part of Dead Space and one of its greatest strengths.

Another key part is the game’s breathtaking visual presentation. Every section of the Ishimura is rendered to near perfection, giving you the feeling of being in a fully functional space craft that’s been terrorized by this mysterious foe. The lighting will flicker to give you a sense of unease as you traverse each corridor anticipating the next fright. The Necromorphs are horrifically rendered as they run towards you, grab you, and attempt to maul you to pieces during frequent encounters. Even the few human characters that are with you are brought to life through the combination of an excellent script and solid voice acting. No corny dialogue here, folks. If you want that stuff, stick to Resident Evil (“master of unlocking,” anyone?). One last bit that’s worth mentioning from a presentation standpoint is the lack of any heads-up display (HUD). Everything is managed through holograms that pop out of Clarke’s suit. This includes inventory screens, videos, and any other sort of management. Even when a video is playing, the game keeps going, leaving you open to attack at all times.

But how can you possibly feel vulnerable while sporting the stunning arsenal you’re presented with? Various mining tools, such as the Plasma Cutter, which lops off limbs with perfect precision, or the Ripper, which lets you to control a floating buzz saw, will allow fans of ultra violent films to act out their ultimate fantasy. Did I mention you have access to a flamethrower as well? These tools are essential to getting through the game by using what publisher Electronic Arts has dubbed “strategic dismemberment.” What this really means is that no enemy is truly dead until every flailing part of its structure is removed, including arms, legs, tails, and other indescribable appendages. Even if you cut both legs off some creature, that doesn’t mean it won’t attempt to crawl its way over to you. Luckily, you can always stomp on a Necromorph once it’s down to sever any limbs that may be left as a way to conserve ammo.

Conserving ammo is an interesting way to put it. I should say that this is where Dead Space starts to falter a bit in regards to being a true survival-horror experience and instead turns into a more horror-action title. Ammunition is quite plentiful throughout the experience, since each enemy you kill will either drop ammo or credits to be used at the plentiful stores to buy more ammo or upgrades. You are never left feeling completely helpless, like you would in, say, Condemned, where all you’re given is a metal pipe or a two-by-four to protect yourself. This detracts from the horror element slightly, but not as much as the sound does. There is one point in the game that truly made me jump in fear due to surprise. In nearly every other case, some sort of eerie music would be triggered to signal you’re not alone anymore, or a lockdown notice would play over loudspeakers to alert you that you’re screwed if you don’t bust out the big guns. This doesn’t necessarily take away all elements of fear. Though jump scares are almost nonexistent due to the audio cues giving every enemy away, a certain psychological element comes into play once you learn the origin of the beasts and how they travel about the ship. You may find yourself panicking as you see plenty of vents lining a room or stomping on the corpse of a recently deceased human so it doesn’t come back and bite you in the ass later on.

Dead Space is a gorgeous title that serves excellence in nearly every aspect of what it attempts to achieve. Whether it’s because of its fantastic production values, disturbingly realistic enemies, or the sense of unease that pervades the ten-plus hours of gameplay, Dead Space will have you constantly picking your jaw up off the floor and begging for more before its explosive finale. Something tells me there’s a something to this sci-fi story that we’ve yet to see, but only time and your support for this initial entry will determine that for sure. With that, I urge you all to play Dead Space so that we can see an even more kickass follow-up. What are you waiting for? Get this game, turn off the lights, and crank the volume up loud enough that the fact that you scream like a girl will remain a secret.

They’ve Got Smaller Balls

AC/DC - Black Ice

7 / 10

by John Hugar

Eight long years after the release of that forgotten gem, Stiff Upper Lip, the hardest-rocking band to ever come out of Australia, AC/DC, makes its triumphant return with Black Ice. I’m not entirely sure why it took them eight whole years. I guess the band decided to take the meticulous approach this time around, but how much effort can the AC/DC formula really take? Take some old riffs, add some lyrics about women, rock ‘n’ roll, and women who like rock ‘n roll, and voilà, a brand new, ass-kickin’ AC/DC album is ready for mass consumption.

There are some great times to be had. Like every other AC/DC album, Black Ice is full of killer riffs and sing-along choruses. AC/DC’s knack for hooks has not declined in the slightest. A prime example of this is lead single “Rock ‘N’ Roll Train.” which has already become a huge hit on rock radio, and has been played during ESPN’s college football broadcasts. This track exemplifies AC/DC’s ability to take the rather tired subject of rock ‘n’ roll, and make it seem like something fresh and exciting, as if listening to one song can make all your troubles magically melt away. This song is full of that spirit. From there, we go into “Skies On Fire,” which has an absolutely killer groove and a blistering guitar solo, a fine example of the power AC/DC is capable of bringing. Tracks like these are the secret to the band’s longevity. They can rock the doors off a joint like nobody’s business.

Unfortunately, the album is bogged down by one key problem: it’s just too safe. There are absolutely no songs about sex on this album, which is a major issue for AC/DC. After all, those are roughly half their repertoire, and without them, the only topic they seem to have left is celebrating the glory of rockin’. The problem with this is that AC/DC’s best songs are the ones that are filthy as hell. Who will ever forget where they were the first time they heard “Big Balls”? Without all of the suggestive material, AC/DC loses a critical element: their sense of humor. No one ever takes AC/DC songs and their ridiculously over-the-top lyrics seriously, and in the context of shtick, the lyrics seem witty, subversive, and fun. This time around, there’s nothing dirty or shocking, and the listener has to hear yet again about how great it is to rock ‘n’ roll.

The other strange thing about this album is the band’s choice of producer, Brendan O’Brien. After all, this guy got famous as a great producer for grunge bands, including Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots. Grunge was all about being sad and introspective, while AC/DC are all about the exact opposite: forgetting all your problems and traveling to a universe full of beautiful women where the music always plays loud. Under O’Brien’s production, the sound loses its raw, wild quality, in favor of a bit more seriousness and depth. One song, “Money Made,” actually has elements of country in the mix. It’s nice to see the band experiment a little bit, especially after so many years of making albums that sound the same. Unfortunately, in doing so, their sound loses its crucial edge, making the tracks seem mundane. The guitars aren’t as crisp and clean as they usually are, and the overall feel of the album is hurt as a result.

This album is still a fine effort, proving that after all of this time, AC/DC can still rock out as hard as ever. It’s not a classic like Back in Black or Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, but it is a quality effort and one certainly worth owning. If the band hadn’t played it so safe, or at the very least, been willing to bring the word “balls” into the equation just once, this might’ve been an album for the ages. They forget that they became famous because of free-thinking people who don’t mind a little eroticism in their rock ‘n’ roll. As it stands, AC/DC shows no signs of slowing down. If the band can add a little variety next time around, there’s no reason to believe they won’t bring another Back in Black with them.

Coulrophobia

Pink - Funhouse

5 / 10

by Dana Rosenwasser

Pink’s new release portrays an even angstier girl than her previous albums. At least, that’s what we gather from her empowering new single, “So What.” But the alternative pop star’s fifth album due out October 28, is incorrectly titled Funhouse, when in fact, it would be better named her original idea of Heartbreak is a Motherfucker or my personal spin on that carnival-esque motif, Dead Clowns and Broken Dreams.

Despite the façade, Pink first presents in “So What,” she ultimately breaks down throughout Funhouse to reveal what she describes as her “most vulnerable album to date.” Usually it’s hard to pinpoint the exact source of a musician’s inspiration, but Funhouse feels like it solely gives credit to Pink’s best friend and ex-husband, Carey Hart. Although she claims that other songs are about bad acid trips, being cool, overcoming, or whatever, the album sounds like it’s the product of her less-than-perfect relationship with the motocross star.

After “So What?,” her next single and second track “Sober” presents the depressing and heartbroken tone of the remaining tracks on the album. As she dips her feet into blues/rock with “One Foot Wrong,” which claims to be about a (wink wink) bad acid trip, it was co-written by Francis Anthony (‘Eg’) White, who also wrote Adele’s “Chasing Pavements.” Some songs, including “Please Don’t Leave Me” and “Bad Influence,” are bad attempts at showing Pink’s efforts at composing “happy tracks” to balance the album’s diaphanous theme of overcoming heartbreak.

As Pink detaches herself from collaborating with others, the album turns around. The acoustic “Crystal Ball” and “Mean” give a glimpse into the most honest tracks that have meaningful lyrics and decent instrumentals to support her heartbreak. “It’s All Your Fault” may stand out by providing a catchy electronica-based melody and passive-aggressive anguished lyrics. “It’s all your fault / you called me beautiful / you turned me out / and now I can’t turn back.” Towards the end, “Ave Mary A” is perhaps the only song whose subject doesn’t surround Hart, but recognizes the misfortunes of the world. This usually happens after couples break apart from their comfortable bubble and realize that there is a world full of pain and suffering that stretches beyond their own.

Marketed incorrectly, fans will find a more anguished Pink behind the tattoo “rock star” mentality. Don’t expect her humorous persona to shine through tough times past the first track, although she puts forth an effort.

Not Much Action for this Bush

W

5 / 10

by Natalie Schnorr

Considering Oliver Stone’s rush to get W. finished in time for the upcoming November election and all the hype and attention it was getting, it seemed safe to assume Stone had some wild, mind blowing statement to make. Well, W. started, W. ended, and unfortunately no such statement was made. In fact nothing was made out of W. except a mediocre movie at best.

W. is a loose retelling of the unfinished life and times of George W. Bush (Josh Brolin), which is a bizarre concept seeing as how the man himself is still all too prominently with us. W. opens at a post-9/11 cabinet meeting, and from there recounts the series of events that lead the little Texan with the silver spoon to become the 43rd President of the United States. The film continuously shifts back and forth between past and present day, with bits of Bush as the wayward rich kid, the drunk, the born-again Christian, the baseball team owner, the governor, and the man totally lovesick for Laura (Elizabeth Banks). Besides being a continuous barrage of pop-history, W. is mainly just a queasy melodrama about the relationship between father and son. The trials and tribulations of the relationship between George Sr. (James Cromwell) and George Jr. are seemingly interchangeable with those of any father and son, regardless of politics or the burdens of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Unfortunately, Stone uses far too much slow motion, cheesy music, obvious stylistic metaphor, and symbolism to point out this unremarkable fact.

To set the record straight, Josh Brolin is not Frank Caliendo; his portrayal of George W. isn’t a slapstick routine or SNL impersonation. In actuality, Brolin is mildly decent as both young and older George, and is one of the film’s stronger facets, alongside Elizabeth Banks, who mysteriously eked her way off the B-list to play Laura Bush. Toby Jones and Richard Dryfuss deliver fine performances as Karl Rove and Dick Cheney. At times, Dryfuss is more creepy rapist than creepy politician, but that’s easily overlooked considering the aesthetic value of his resemblance to Cheney. Jeffrey Wright and Ellen Burstyn are just really boring, undeveloped versions of Colin Powell and Barbara Bush. As Condoleezza Rice, Thandie Newton is the film’s worst player. Her portrayal of the then-National Security Advisor is overly exaggerated, and so ridiculous that we can consider it nothing more than a caricature.

Overall, W. falls incredibly flat due to Stone’s apparent attempt at an objective viewpoint, which comes as a surprise considering Stone’s public criticisms of Bush and his administration. Despite the controversial nature of George W.’s time in office, the film’s depiction of the rise and fall of President Bush is even more underwhelming and unimpressive than in reality, so much so that it leaves you wondering why Stone bothered with the movie at all. W. will not tell you or show you anything you haven’t already heard or seen before. So if all you want is a little Bush, don’t bother with Stone’s overhyped theatrics; stick with the one on the nightly news.

I’m Not Ryan When I Say This Album is Really Good

Ryan Adams & The Cardinals - Cardinology

8.5 / 10

by Nick Torsell

Since 2000 Ryan Adams has released an album nearly every year, including three with his backing band the Cardinals. On October 28, he continues the impressive trend with Cardinology, which showcases Adams at his best.

This past September, I saw The Cardinals in Syracuse at the Landmark Theatre. The audience was given a preview of three of the tracks on the album: “Fix It,” “Cobwebs,” and “Magick.” Live, the tracks were outstanding. I hoped that they wouldn’t lose their character on the album after reaching postproduction, I was not disappointed. “Fix It,” the first single off the album, proves that the Cardinals deserve to be talked about just as much as frontman Adams. Neal Casal’s guitar would be the perfect soundtrack for Clint Eastwood as he slowly walks to a high noon shootout. Adams has always had a country tinge to his music, even though it wouldn’t be anything you’d ever see on CMT or hear blasting out of a pickup truck in Texas. Adams’ fans are the type that say they will listen to anything but country, yet when he releases an album, they’re first in line to buy it. Even Adams himself says he hates country music. It’s baffling to me because you cannot listen to his albums without thinking of the genre. During the chorus of “Fix It,” Adams croons, “I’d always win in the end and you would always lose.” Some would confuse this line for overconfidence, but in the end it is merely an expression of Adams’ struggle to find peace of mind, whether from past addiction or lost love.

“Magick,” is one of the best in Adams’ catalog. The Cardinals let loose a barrage of sound that recalls their fall tour pals, Oasis. Adams and the Cardinals repeat “What goes around comes around,” before letting loose with “Turn the radio up loud and get down, let your body move, let your body sway. Listen to the music play, it’s magic.” It will put a smile on the face of anyone who comes across it. The next song, “Cobwebs,” continues Adams’ cleaner sound, while still retaining a charm that recalls his earlier work. On one of the more personal tracks on the album, Adams urges us not to “Confuse his love for the cobwebs” over Casal’s ascending guitar.

Adams has always been the outsider. He named the band the Cardinals because it was his high school mascot, and everyone on the football team wanted to “beat the shit” out of him. Adams has said, “I fucking really wanted to play football,” and with Cardinology, Adams may get the attention he deserves and finally step into the floodlights.