People often say to me, "Yahtzee, your support of VR as a concept seems rather incongruous
with your established tendency to neophobically reject gimmicky hardware.
It seems odd that someone usually so mindful of the slightest flaws in games can forgive
a gaming system whose fancy plastic eye troughs could be repurposed as a sick bucket at any
moment.
Also, Veni Vidi Vici."
And I say "Well, the ghost of Julius Caesar.
Have you ever thought that maybe we're the ones who aren't meeting VR half way?
We're going to have to suck up this whole vomiting nonsense if we want to be serious
about immersion tech.
When the hyperintelligent alien whales declare war on our society and we have to assault
their undersea cities in giant torpedo-equipped mechasquid, the remote control operators in
their sensory deprivation pods aren't going to be able to turn over and complain that
their tummy hurts."
So I've been fiddling with the Oculus Rift lately, and have been playing a new game that
the Oculus people seem to be really trying to push: Wilson's Heart.
Not to be confused with Wilsons Hearth, which is a fireplace especially for former presidents
named Woodrow.
That wasn't exactly A-material, was it.
Fuck it, move on.
This was also my first time using the motion controls, or to use the proper name, the "fucking"
motion controls.
I'll admit the touch devices are an improvement on waving dildoes around 'cos the Oculus constantly
tracks your hand and finger positions rather than trying to interpret the spastic flails
as they come, but at the end of the day, whatever buttons you're pushing or titties you're fondling
in VR magic land you're still groping empty air and getting constant reminders of the
real world where you're just a twat on a couch with bills to pay and two pounds of plastic
strapped to your eyeballs.
But immersion aside, so you're looking down and seeing your hands inside the VR world
reacting and moving in perfect synchronicity with your meatspace ones.
What then?
You're still rooted to the spot and can't even rotate without the risk of making a confession
to the church of Armitage-Shanks, so the potential for deep gameplay is limited.
It's more suited to the sort of thing that's euphemistically billed as an 'experience'
rather than a 'game'.
Where there's a fruit bowl, and you pick up a banana, and then you look at the banana,
and then I guess that's where you're supposed to reach orgasm.
Wilson's Heart is an attempt to get a full-on narrative adventure game out of that setup.
It's a horror game where you wake up in an abandoned hospital with no memory of how you
got there.
What bold new strides we're taking with this new technology.
Next you'll be telling me it's dark and raining outside and the electrics are on the futz.
Oh, wow I didn't even mention the lightning storm.
I think that fills out my Bingo card.
To it's credit, though, the game's not asking to be taken seriously, which is just as well.
It's all in black and white and it's deliberately evoking old horror B-movies in a Universal
Monsters sort of area.
Think vampires, werewolves, the creature from the African-American lagoon.
The main character is Wilson, cantankerous old fart and former neighbour to Dennis the
Menace, who acquires a whole new suite of problems when he discovers his heart has been
removed and replaced with a weird mechanical device that looks like the puzzle box from
Hellraiser had sex with a magic 8 ball.
This device has many strange, gameplay convenient powers, such as the ability to fix malfunctioning
light fittings.
What do you mean, call an electrician?
How's that easier than selling my body and soul to channel the forces of a capricious
ethereal netherworld?
Alright, how do we play this game then.
Well first you need to stand up in the middle of your living room - let me stop you there,
game, with a hearty bollocks to you.
I went through this already with Rise of Nightmares.
I'll only stand around getting my feet sore for hours if I'm at a rock concert or a cattle
auction or anywhere else where there's a non-zero chance of getting laid.
I'm going to sit on my nice comfy couch, tell the game that I'm standing, and we can just
roleplay that I'm sitting in a very high wheelchair, OK?
"OK, but don't come crying to me next time we need you to open a drawer on a low desk
and you crack your knuckles on your coffee table."
So there we are sitting three feet off the ground in an abandoned hospital, and the true
horror grips us as we look around the room and see a number of ghosts peering interestedly
at doors and furniture.
Until we realise, oh wait, that's the user interface.
This is how we're bypassing the motion sickness problem - instead of free movement we jump
from position to position like the original Myst.
But hey, there are people who still think of Myst as a classic, generally people who
haven't played it lately.
And I don't feel nauseous!
I'm just getting a headache like I'm stuck in a metal lift with a concert brass section.
I think that's because I'm constantly having to twist my neck around to look for travel
points behind me.
Guess you should've stood up after all, Yahtz.
Oh, sure.
If I were standing I could've turned all the way around and then throttled myself with
the Oculus cord.
So the puzzles are pretty standard timewasting fare for a modern adventure game - there's
an obstacle, there's at best three rooms to explore, and the solution for each obstacle
is obvious as soon as you've explored everything.
There's a randy stallion in one room and a pair of sturdy wanking gloves in the other,
that sort of thing.
I guess it's the 'Experience' thing again that's less for the intellectual challenge,
we're supposed to still be creaming ourselves over the fact that we're actually using our
own hands to jerk off a horse.
There's also the occasional combat section, the mechanics for which change from battle
to battle, but they generally start with you getting instakilled three or four times before
you figure out what particular gang sign you need to throw up to deflect the attacks.
I suppose there's some catharsis in repeatedly punching the air as the air squeaks and makes
fleshy noises, but things fall down a bit whenever you're called upon to accurately
throw something.
Throwing accurately with motion controls is more art than science.
I watch my missile bounce off the ground three feet away and I'm right back at middle school
Rounders practice.
Terrifying, yes, but not in the right way.
Wilson's Heart in summary is harmless enough with decent production value but will seem
adorably quaint when-stroke-if and that's a massive pulsating 'IF' VR moves out of the
experimental phase, like watching a 3D movie from the 80s without the 3D on so you're left
wondering why the actors keep pointing things at the camera and acting like you're meant
to be shitting yourself.
With that in mind, making the rest of the game as quaint as possible was smart, although
not as smart as it thinks it is.
Spoiler warning, you know the drill, buckets on heads.
Throughout the game we find bodies drained of blood and conclude there's a vampire about.
Now, one of the NPCs is tall, thin, with a Widow's peak and pointy ears and is named
Bela, as in Lugosi, no seriously.
Of course he's not the vampire, but what bothers me is how, after that's revealed, the game
seems so fucking pleased with itself.
"Bet you thought he was the vampire, you silly sausage!
Har har crow crow."
Actually I didn't, Wilson's Heart, because I was giving you one nanoangstrom of credit.
And now to solve the mystery of Mr. W. Erewolf and his fondness for tennis balls.
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