I set the controller down, let the thunderstorm crackle over the distant peaks, listen to the chorus of square waves we have returned to a glorious past, when lasers were fiction and 2001 was the future. A foreboding synth wells up from the fragile void before crashing into warm amniotic pulse-fire: the theme from Australian instrumentalists Power Glove is a magic act, a time-travel siphoning of a sound long since gone. The title screen fades in on a purple vector mountain range, lightning crashing on the horizon. Ubisoft’s logo swirled in with pixelated imperfection. A mock-tracking bar replaced the typical loading message. The first sixty seconds of Blood Dragon was the tearful reunion I expected. Today’s modern games have left me as cold and uninterested as a humanoid machine walking down an Old Country Buffet line. But one grew up and the other didn’t, and I’m left remembering why so much of today’s modern games have left me as cold and uninterested as a humanoid machine walking down an Old Country Buffet line. I thought the two would meet and immediately fall in love -my childhood, entrenched in cybernetic organisms and glowing red eyes under glass, and this game, with a cheeky trailer as if produced by Lou Scheimer and playing from an old VCR.
The opening title sequence stands as one of my lasting memories as a child, watching the giant letters slowly unfurl across our 4:3 screen over and again.įar Cry 3: Blood Dragon is a sequel/reskin to the 2012 first-person shooter set in a neon-soaked apocalyptic future heavily under the influence of ‘80s sci-fi/action film nostalgia.
#FAR CRY 3 BLOOD DRAGON CRASHES ON STARTUP TV#
When my older sister popped her Poison cassette tape into the car stereo, I gazed at the cover of Look What The Cat Dragged In and wondered why these ladies sounded so much like dudes.įinally, when I was old enough to watch Arnold Schwarzenegger and Michael Biehn fight over Linda Hamilton’s unborn child, I scanned the TV Guide and recorded 98% of its 108 minute running time onto a blank VHS tape. For three straight years, I dressed up as Freddy Krueger for my elementary school Halloween parade. Soon I became addicted to drawing muscled aliens destroying skyscrapers à la Rampage. When James Cameron’s The Terminator released in 1984, I was a three-year-old from the suburbs who somehow hated oranges.
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