MEET WOMEN BY BEING A TERRIBLE PERSON AS HARD AS YOU CAN

There are certain things you would not trust Yahoo.com's advice columnists to teach you.  Like, if you don't know how to drive a car, you should probably have someone you know and trust teach you how to do that.  There are probably nuances to steering a Hummer H3 through Manhattan that a half-page "infotainment" article, sponsored by the world's Distant Number Two search engine, isn't going to touch upon.  Dentistry is probably another thing you wouldn't trust Yahoo's advice columnists to teach you about.  Sure, they may have useful suggestions about how to drill a deep cavity out of a molar, but the fact that there are medical schools that have four to six year programs dedicated to dentistry tells me that there is far more to professional tooth care than can be squished between dating site sidebar ads.

Another aspect of human life I personally would not consult Yahoo's "professional bloggers" about is romance.  Why not?  Well, while not as technically challenging as driving a car or cleaning teeth, dating is one of those things that still seems too important to the smooth functioning of existence to learn how to do from a site that most people only visit because it bought a license to the AP feed.  See, I can understand getting advice from Yahoo about how to clean your toilet with a toothbrush, or how to make your vacuum cleaner not smell like burning ass, or maybe which Wii games to buy your stereotypical white nuclear family (plus one inexplicable Southeast Asian guy).  All these things, while important in their own ways, are not the sorts of things that, if you fail to do them properly, will seriously mess up your life and the lives of people around you.  And while I'm not saying that following Yahoo's advice will necessarily lead to failure, I AM saying that any company who gives Microsoft a run for their money when it comes to terrible, spam-ridden email certainly does not have access to the secret wisdom of Odin.

So I am a tad perplexed that Yahoo has now "teamed up" (in that comforting, co-corporate-sponsorship kind of way) with Match.com to the end of giving the world more online dating advice.  Maybe they only did this because Match.com has a really good track record of helping people on the Internet find other people on the Internet to have real life sex with.  I don't doubt they're good at this, though I do wonder how this can be seriously termed "romance," which online, it is. I always thought genuine romance was something that relies heavily on pheromones and subtle body language and deep, meaningful, conversations, three things that simply cannot be conveyed across the globe at light speed with a semicolon and right parenthesis.  Maybe Yahoo and Match.com are trying to see if two wrongs can indeed make a right.  I suppose it's worth the effort, since the success of Facebook proves that not only can one wrong make a right (as far as 500 million people are concerned), it can do so while stealing private information and selling it to Google.

So understand that it is purely "scientific curiosity" that leads me to this post, in which I will "seriously analyze" a snippet of the Web 2.0 "romantic" wisdom dispensed by the Internet's oldest, barely-surviving search engine.  And its corporate partner, an "electronic personals" site that premiered a year before Yahoo, to finally give inexpensive sex professionals access to a greater customer base.  At least until Craigslist debuted two years later.

You'll forgive me for indulging in a bit of conjecture, but I'm guessing - on the basis of previous forays into Yahoo's advice columns - that the advice we're about to receive would no doubt be a lot more practical coming from Craigslist's top latex spanker.

'MEN: 5 LESSONS FOR MEETING MORE WOMEN,' BY EVAN MARC KATZ

The first issue I have with this column is that it's written by a guy I've never heard of, who wrote a book I've never heard of, who started an online dating site I've never heard of, which itself is owned by a company I've never heard of, which does not have a functioning website at the moment.  Okay, let me rephrase that: the first SEVERAL ISSUES I have with this column are the above.

Mr. Katz's personal website (the first link in the paragraph above) does not alleviate my concern.  Judging from the strange mid-page scroll bar, he has been "featured" on all my favorite morning shows (that was me being sarcastic), as well as my favorite show hosted by Tyra Banks, the Tyra Show (that was me being even more sarcastic).  Another problem is that Evan Marc Katz bills himself as a "personal trainer for smart, strong, successful women," so I'm not sure how qualified he is to give advice TO MEN about MEN TRICKING WOMEN INTO SLEEPING WITH THEM.  I guess it makes logical sense - if he knows how women behave because they behave the way he trains them, he'd be the best person to tell men how to manipulate that training to the advantage of their penises.  But on another level, that doesn't make very much sense.  Like on an ethical level.  And I question it on a marketing level, too, because I can't imagine the women trained by Mr. Katz will continue paying him for training when they start being manipulated by men who have clearly been trained by Mr. Katz to exploit the training they have paid Mr. Katz for.

Which begs the question: why has any woman, ever, paid Mr. Katz to train them personally?  Mr. Katz proudly links to his own site the following interview he did with a big-time corporate news outlet (I assume it aired at like 4 AM, because even Surfing Squirrel News has to have better things to air when sane human beings are watching it.  Like more clips of the Surfing Squirrel).  

To put it mildly, this interview does not successfully explain Mr. Katz's appeal.

View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

I am not exaggerating when I say that Mr. Katz would not be the first person I would pay to tell me how to live my life.  In fact, he would not be in the top ten (#1 is Batman, #2 is Dr. Phil).  Or the top twenty, which lists my car as #20.  And no, my car is not a magical talking car.  And the brakes are not that good.

But enough about Mr. Katz personally.  Not because I'm out of material.  It's actually the exact opposite: I could spend pages making fun of Mr. Katz, and it would be the easiest job I've ever had.  But it's his advice via Yahoo and Match.com that prompted this post, so it's about time I got to it.


Okay, one more note about Mr. Katz: before he FINALLY got married, he admitted that he'd never had a relationship last longer than seven months (see the video).  And I have a sneaking suspicion that he may have only gotten married because CNN so rudely pointed out that a guy who isn't capable of a long-term committed relationship should not be giving other people advice ostensibly about how to find one.


Okay. Done. Now on to said advice.

Lesson #1: Assume the answer is yes
Have you ever been sold a product before? Hair tonic, a car, bathroom tile? I can guarantee you that the salesperson didn’t pitch you by saying, “Um, excuse me… I hate to bother you… would you be interested in… I mean, probably not, but—” No! Any salesman worth his commission is not just selling confidence in his product, but confidence in himself."

Okay, right off the bat - who the fuck buys "hair tonic" from a "salesperson" in 2010?  Seriously.  Do they even make "hair tonic" anymore?  I thought that went out of vogue with German fascism and being able to support your family on one income.

Moving on.

Mr. Katz's first mote of wisdom is that a guy has to successfully advertise himself to a woman if he expects her to buy him.  I'm going to assume he's being figurative here, and not actually suggesting that successful long-term relationships are based on whether I taste better to women than New Coke.

You may be sitting there, wondering what the hell my problem is (about this specifically, although perhaps also in general, but one thing at a time, asshole).  When I want to date someone, OF COURSE I want to put my best foot and/or face forward.  Few women I know find drunken vomiting romantic, unless they also happen to be doing it.  And that's all Mr. Katz is advocating, right?  Just that I don't throw up on a potential mate?

Well, no.  He is clearly recommending that I advertise myself, as if I were "hair tonic, a car, [or] bathroom tile."  And advertising is in a lot of ways a synonym for lying (unless you're a marketing exec, in which case you unlearned the word 'lie' sophomore year).  Fine, so advertising doesn't mean you outright make things up about what you're selling.

 Except when it does.

But it often means exaggerating a product's best traits while downplaying it's flaws.  And as the existence of so-called objective product review sites and magazines prove, most people don't trust an advertiser's exaggerations and dismissals.  They consider them to be not-the-truth.  Which means, of course, lies.

So Mr. Katz's first bit of advice is that no matter how bad you suck, you're supposed to pretend you don't and be a swaggering Kevin Trudeau about it.  And this will get women to sleep with you.  On the basis of your lies.  Which, in the common vernacular, is called "tricking women into sleeping with you."


I suppose Katz is right.  I will certainly meet a lot more women that way.  Which is good, because I will continually have to keep meeting a lot more women that way.

Lesson #2: It’s not about you
I’m out at a big Hollywood scene with beautiful people. It’s getting late, towards the end of the night, and I ask my buddy Terrance which woman he’s got his eye on. He points to an attractive brunette talking to a cute blonde across the courtyard. Slightly bemused, I tell him that I will make the introduction. As I stride over, I rationalize that if my approach doesn’t go well, she’s not really rejecting me, but rather, Terrance. I know this isn’t true, but it gets me going...

...The moral of the story? Playing my little conversational trick in all pick-up situations can be really helpful. Just ask any married friend how easy it is to talk with women when you know that there are no stakes involved. If it’s not about you, you can’t possibly fail.

In case you're wondering, the part I cut out is the part where Katz uses his amazing powers of lying to get one of these women to give him a number where her booty can potentially be called.

Katz's first bit of advice was to trick women into sleeping with you by lying to them.  His second bit builds on this advice by giving you some pointers on how to lie successfully.  Namely, "pretend you're trying to get your stupid friend laid, and then you won't be ashamed to say ANYTHING."

I've no doubt this tactic works fine, especially at "big Hollywood scenes."  I don't think Katz is lying about what he's done.  I'm not questioning how effective this tactic is. I'm only questioning how ethical it is.

Now, it would be easy to take this opportunity to make fun of how shallow and skanky Hollywood scene girls are thought to be.  But honestly, I don't know any Hollywood scene girls personally, so it would be wrong of me to make fun of something that may be an unfair stereotype.  All I know for certain is that some of these women were hanging out at a party with Evan Marc "Lie Your Way to Orgasm" Katz, and he successfully tricked them into at least implying that they were going to sleep with him.  And I don't have to make fun of them because of that. Because just writing that makes fun of them all by itself.

One more comment on this reference to a "big Hollywood scene with beautiful people": I resent Katz for writing this.  No, not because I'm jealous.  There are plenty of physically attractive young women of varying degrees of sobriety clustered inside the tiny, obnoxiously loud hipster clubs that are WAY TOO CLOSE to were I live.  If I wanted to trick this kind of boring, self-obsessed scenester into bringing me into the Fraternity of The Almighty Clap, I'd be out there right now, doing it.  No, I resent Katz for writing this because I resent that he thinks I'm stupid enough to think that he, and therefore his advice, is somehow "cooler" than possible alternatives, simply because he hangs out where Heidi Montag and what's left of her natural bone structure do coke with tomorrow's Gary Buseys.

I know Katz is assuming I believe that "big Hollywood scene" beautiful people are by some degrees more beautiful than the "small Where-I-Live scene" beautiful people.  But I don't.  Because I know what healthy young human women are supposed to look like, biologically speaking, and therefore I understand that all healthy young human women, all over the world, have bodies that look about the same.  I realize that out in Hollywood, the healthy young human women like smearing stuff all over their hair and getting poisonous bacteria injected into their faces and plastic bags of wet rubber jammed behind their milk glands.  But what I don't understand is how putting themselves through any of this makes them more beautiful than those women who don't.  

I made fun of Heidi Montag (and RIGHTLY SO), but allow me to be serious for a moment.  Here is her side-by-side, before-and-after plastic surgery photo (taken from the blog tagged in the photo, of course):

All I'll say is this. The girl on the left looks like one of the local girls I could potentially sleep with.  The girl on the right looks like the kind of blow-up doll Evan Marc Katz might sleep with.  After the air compressor overheated.

Sorry, Katz.  If we're judging the quality of each others' romantic advice on the basis of the beauty of the women who live in the same cities we do, I would automatically win.  And I don't even give romantic advice.

And honestly, I don't know why we'd judge anything on the basis of something so irrelevant.  So stop scene-dropping, you douchebag.  Either way, it isn't helping your reputation.

Let's move on to "Lesson #3," and see if Katz has anything more to teach us about lying to women of questionable intelligence and/or genital hygiene.

Lesson #3: There’s power in numbers
Believe it or not, three is better than one. When you approach a woman who is by herself, she knows that you’re hitting on her based solely on your attraction to her. This increases the pressure in a way that doesn’t always make for a comfortable situation. That’s why the safest way to meet a woman is to approach her in a crowd of her friends...

...“By charming her friends and getting their approval, the one you like will be that much more open when you ask her out,” adds Charles.

"Charles" is only identified in the excluded part of this passage as "Charles, 36."  According to Evan Marc Katz's MySpace profile, he's 38.  So I'm just going to assume that "Charles, 36," is not in fact some real person who wrote to Evan Marc Katz to thank him for his helpful lessons on how to trick women into sex.  I'm going to assume it is in fact "Evan Marc Katz, picking an age he isn't, but only by subtracting 2 from his actual age, because he's not that good at making up pointless secret identities."

Honestly, Katz.  You've already made it clear that you expect me to think your advice is great because you live near the wealthiest plastic surgeons in the world.  Why would you further need to boost the quality of your advice by creating fake "real people" who found it helpful?  It's almost as if you're not very confident about how good your advice is.  Like you're not just trying to trick me into thinking you're smart, but perhaps trying to trick yourself, by creating an elaborate fantasy world in which people two years younger than you named Charles tell you how they got laid because of something you contributed to Yahoo Advice.

Not that I'd expect any better from a guy who thinks total dishonesty is how sex happens.

But enough about Katz's apparent self-confidence problems.  Is his "Lesson #3" good advice?  Well, it isn't expressly about lying to women, so--

Oh wait.  Yes it is.  I'm supposed to pretend I'm not only approaching a group of women to ask the hottest one out.  I'm supposed make her think I'm actually just a really nice guy, who randomly walks up to groups of women who are minding their own business at bars and starts "charming" conversations with them.  And because I'm also a sly bastard, I'm going to carefully orchestrate the conversation so that, if the woman I want to have sex with is evidently impressed by whatever the hell I'm pretending to do, I can eventually work in a line addressed to her alone that asks for sex.

Are you people keeping up with this?  Because I'm starting to get confused.  Goddamn it, Katz.  I want to bang that hot chick (possibly after letting her tie me to the bed; we'll see how it goes).  Why do I have to pretend I'm a hyena trying to pick off a wounded gazelle?  

Besides, women, having human brains, are not utterly stupid.  The woman in question and her group of friends are not going to be "tricked" by this tactic.  They're going to know EXACTLY why I'm sauntering up to them.  The only question they'll have is which one of them specifically my penis is aimed at.  No woman sitting in any bar, ever, has decided to sleep with a guy because he was desperately pretending to care about her friends as people.  Why would she?  Is this supposed to prove to her that I'm not a rapist?  Sure, because rapists NEVER pretend to be good people before they rape.

Katz, if I'm interested in a woman, sure, it's not a good idea to just cruise up to her and ask if I can stick my penis in her mouth (unless I'm trying to make some kind of artistic or political statement).  But it IS a good idea to get her attention, chat her up to see if she's interested, and then ask her for her number.  That's called "how to start dating someone," and it need not be any more complicated than that.  And if it seems that it should be, if the simple method keeps failing, it means I'm either constantly picking women who aren't interested, or I smell.  And there are ways of dealing with both things.  But in a rational world, none of these involve trying to confuse her and gaming her social circle.

"Lesson #4" can't be worse than "Lesson #3."

Lesson #4: It’s just that easy
If you ever doubt how simple it can be to meet a woman, this story should inspire you: I was at a party with some close friends and saw an acquaintance across the room. Late 30s, attractive, friendly, likeable. We’d met probably four times before through a mutual friend who was also at the party...

...But I had one more important question to ask her before we continued talking. “Is it really that easy to get a woman to talk to you...just by calling her over with your finger?”
 

She took a second to consider the evidence and replied, “Apparently, it is.”

So there you have it. We men have more power than we even realized.

...What?  What just happened?  Did I miss something?  We were just talking about how to manipulate stupid women into your pants with complex herding tactics.  When did you switch over to the finger-signaling thing?  How did you...why did you suddenly do that??  How was I supposed to know I could do that?!  WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!

I'll tell you what the hell is going on.  Katz's fourth lesson is "Ignore everything I've suggested so far, and just try to bed some late 30s-year-old woman you've met before.  Because her clock is a-tickin', so your cock gets a-stick-in!"

I guess I should be happy.  Sure, he's just announced that the FIRST THREE LESSONS WERE A COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME.  But at least he's no longer recommending wholesale deceit.  No, instead he's saying you should try to bed aging women who already kind-of know you.  Sure, it's still emotionally manipulative, but at least you're being a bastard  out in the open.  That's a small ethical improvement.  I mean, you're still being a callous, self-serving man-whore, but at least she KNOWS that's what you are.

Only because someone else told her.  Because you were too busy trying to convince her you were some cool new kind of hair tonic that doesn't directly cause baldness.  Perhaps the friend only inadvertently got the two of you talking when he tried to pull off Lesson #2 but got confused about how he was only supposed to be pretending to try and get you laid.

Another question. Katz says he's met this woman "four times," and he clearly noticed how attractive she was this time, so I assume he must have noticed her the other times.  Why didn't he try to bed her with lies then?  Or at least get her number so he could make a sales pitch over the phone?  Am I supposed to think that Katz gets so much ass regularly that he sometimes forgets he's met other women he could sleep with some day?  Why did it take him this long to try and nail this woman?

Get ready, ladies. This what 38 year old vaginas look like.

Answer: note how he specifies she's in her "late 30s." The implication is clear enough: this aging dowager and her calcified groin hole were not appealing to Katz, except during that one rare occasion when he obviously could not get laid by anyone better.  This is him undertaking what is known in man-whore circles (I checked their forums) as "pity sex."

Or, at least, that's the story he's telling.  Which I'm strongly tempted to assume is not 100% consistent with reality.  You know, that dimension of existence outside of Evan Marc Katz's head, where there is no Charles?  And probably no Terrance? But where there are certainly attractive women in their late 30s who will sleep with Katz, either because the specter of age is snarling behind them (possible, but unlikely), or because they've been watching him strike out with women all night and feel sorry for him (very possible and very likely).

Or maybe I'm missing another possibility.  Maybe Katz DID try to sleep with this woman before but she rejected him, because - being a woman in her late 30s - perhaps she was only interested in men of a certain level of maturity.  A level some steps above the one in which you call yourself a relationship expert, but then are publicly excoriated for never having had a personal relationship last more than a little over half a year.  Maybe that's why it took her until the fifth time she met Katz before she decided to give him a shot at her pubes.  Maybe she was hoping that by this point, perhaps he'd grown up enough to not think advertising and other forms of lying were vehicles to intimacy.

I mean, if she thought that, she was clearly wrong.  But good for her for giving someone with personal problems another chance!  If only we could all be so lucky.

I don't know what "Lesson #5" is, but I'm fairly confident that it will not help me meet women, let alone tell me how to get one to fuck me.  Unless, you know, I'm willing to execute a zany scheme that tricks scene girls into thinking I'm Josh Duhamel.  Incredibly stupid, desperate, or intoxicated scene girls.

Lesson #5: The outcome doesn’t matter
Maybe you’re not her type. Maybe she’s just out of a relationship. Maybe she’s having troubles at work. Maybe she’s not perceptive enough to recognize your worth. You never know why someone may not be interested in you. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. It’s more diminishing to your self-esteem to let fear run your life than it is to get rejected. Here’s one story below that showcases this in a big way...

I was going to wait until she came out of the supermarket and ask her out. And that’s what I did...

A big smile came across her face. “You are so cute and I couldn’t be more flattered, but I have a serious, live-in boyfriend. But I really want to thank you for asking. You totally made my day.” 

Okay, so it looks like Lesson #5 consists of another vignette from the Wonderful World of Evan Marc Katz Is Awesome, a world that possibly only exists in Evan Marc Katz's mind.  And I only say 'possibly' because it might also exist in diagram form on a legal pad in a drawer somewhere.  I've never invented a fake reality to make myself look awesome, but if I did, I imagine that I'd keep a written record of it.  Because the average human brain is not great at remembering elaborate lies that only occasionally get you sex.

Honestly, Lesson #5 contains a bit of actual, helpful advice.  Katz is right that you shouldn't let fear of rejection keep you from talking to women.  Most of us figured that out around the 8th grade, but for those who haven't, this is probably helpful advice.

The objection I would raise to this advice is the context in which Katz employs it.  Should I really have so little fear of rejection that I badger women for sex at the grocery store?  Clearly, I don't think that is a great idea.

There are a lot of places where trying to get yourself laid is okay.  Like at bars, parties, maybe a family reunion, depending on your family and your lack of dignity and respect for God's Law.  But there are a lot of places where trying to get ass is not okay.  Like at church, your kids' soccer game, or a family reunion, if you or your family has issues with incest.  I'd personally put 'grocery store' on that list.  People go to the grocery store to buy food.  Some of them bring their children.  There are old ladies and conservative foreigners there.  That does not strike me as the kind of environment where a randy, aging hipster can harass women he doesn't know for sex.  Mostly because I'm confident most women feel that way.  I don't know a lot about women, but what I do know leads me to believe that buying milk and fresh baked goods next to someone's grandmother does not make vaginas as juicy as an idiot might assume.

But I'm not Evan Marc Katz, and I don't live in places where Hollywood parties happen.  Maybe he DOES inhabit an actual reality where women are shopping for hook-ups at the supermarket.  And even if they're not, are flattered that random strangers come up to them and ask if they can take their pants off.

Knowing what the women in Katz's area look like, I'm not surprised they may live by different rules than other women.  When 20% of your body is composed of the same chemicals as hair tonic and bathroom tile, it makes sense to advertise your sexual viability at a Super Wal-Mart.

Just be prepared to be "purchased" by guys like Evan Marc Katz.  Sneakily, from the shadows, so you don't get spooked.  And he might try to pay for you with fake money some guy in his head "sent" him as thanks for teaching him how to treat women like dimwitted semen receptacles.

You want to get laid, and/or fall in love?  Here's how you do it: pursue your interests, be personable, and be honest with whomever you're attracted to about your intentions.  It might take some time, depending on luck and how much you go to the gym, but eventually, if you want to find someone to be intimate with, you will.  There are almost 7 billion human beings on the planet.  Clearly, finding someone to sleep with is not complex dentistry.

Finding love is obviously harder.  But it only gets more difficult if you act as st00p1d as Evan Marc Katz.

TheBluesader Classic: OH MY GOD!: FIREPROOF THE MOVIE IS ST00P1D

[Originally appeared Thursday, December 24th 2009 at 7:13am on my crappy Blogster blog.  Unedited to retain powerful awesome.]

Finally, a movie that isn’t afraid to portray the real America!  And by “real America,” I mean the perception everyone who voted for George W. Bush the second time has of themselves.

Before I tear into this drunken, limping baby gazelle, my integrity as an Internet movie-talking-about guy dictates I talk about the few good things anyone could say about this movie.  On TheBluesader’s Patented Sliding Scale of Christian Movies, Fireproof is a strong 8 out of 10.  A 10 would be Donald W. Thompson’s thrilling 1972 rockabilly-freakout A Thief in the Night, and a 1 would be Tim Chey’s 2002 direct-to-DVD Goliath pile Gone .  For those of you too unfamiliar with this shortbus film genre known as Christian Movies, an 8 out of 10 Christian movie is basically your average Hallmark Channel movie, minus the gratuitous nudity.  If you put Fireproof up against even the lamest Hollywood movie (just for the sake of argument, let’s use 2005’s Doom ),peoplemight say Fireproof is better shot and easier to follow, but that Doom has a better story and more believable dialogue.  Yes, I realize this doesn’t sound good.  But if it doesn’t, that simply means you haven’t sat through Gone .  With a rating of 8 out of 10, I’m basically nominating Fireproof for a Christian Oscar (which, if it existed, would be made of genuine Austrian crystal and have a really tiny Bible verse laser-etched in the center).

So what makes Fireproof an 8 out of 10?  Well, it was clearly shot and edited by someone who has at least seen a movie or really long music video.  The script was apparently written by someone who has heard of something called a “movie script.”  And the acting didn’t make me laugh so much I missed half the lines.  Kirk Cameron is certainly no Josh Meyers (there is only one Josh Meyers), but in Fireproof he demonstrates that after 30 years of acting he has learned how to not stare directly into the camera while pretending.  I can only assume he must have given pointers to the rest of the largely amateur cast, because a solid 90% of the time they also remember not to stare directly into the camera.  Basically, the entire cast deserves a finely cut Christian Oscar. On a brightly polished sterling silver chain.

Now that I’ve gotten all that vaulted praise out of the way, it’s time to go Hungry Crocodile on the remains.

Fireproof is the story of fireman Caleb Holt (Cameron), a moody peawit about to lose his wife because he has been a moody peawit the last seven years.  As Caleb can’t figure out what to do to stop this (because he is a peawit), his wife Catherine (Christian movie actress Erin Bethea) decides she wants a divorce. 

Complicating matters, Catherine has caught the eye of a doctor who works in the same hospital where she’s employed as an HR person.  I can’t remember if the movie actually says that she’s an HR person, but I figured it out when she walked on screen talking about how stressful it was setting up interviews, and then proceeded to not even pretend to work for the rest of the movie.  But the point here is that one of the doctors clearly wants to David her Bathsheba all night long.  Catherine, clearly suffering from Kirk Cameron In Her Pants Withdrawal, lets Dr. Wife-Stealer take her to lunch and make horn-dog eyes at her.  Because this is a Christian movie she doesn’t actually have sex with him, but because this is a Christian movie we’re supposed to think she might as well have.

Oh, and Catherine’s mother has had a stroke and Catherine visits her and cries a lot.  But this is only brought up at those times when the screenplay decides it needs to make Catherine look like less of a terrible, selfish person (which she otherwise is), so it’s barely worth mentioning.

The peawit Caleb Holt, not wanting his marriage to end but apparently having no impulse to actually do anything sensible and proactive about it, smashes a few inanimate objects with a softball bat and buries himself in his increasingly melodramatic firefighting.  In the midst of this, his father John (newcomer Harris Malcom) drops by the plot to lend a helping hand.  John suggests that before getting a divorce, Caleb should spend the next 40 days following a scheme John devised that will, in effect, help him trick Catherine into not hating him again.  John also encourages (some might say “browbeats”) Caleb into asking Jesus Christ into his heart, though he doesn’t explain why doing this would necessarily cause Caleb’s wife to suddenly stop thinking her husband is a moody peawit.  I guess the movie presumes I understand that an evangelical conversion mystically fixes complex relationship problems.  I’ve always heard that the divorce rate among evangelicals is about the same as the national heathen average, so I don’t know why the movie is so keen to throw Jesus at this particular problem and expects me to assume He sticks.  But as this particular point is not the only one the movie seems to expect me to take for granted, I’ll just add it to the pile.

Following his dad’s advice (because peawits rarely come up with their own ideas), Caleb decides to give the 40 day thing a try.  The rest of the movie is Caleb going out of his way – between dramatic firefighting, of course – to be nice to Catherine, while she consistently spits it back in his face and lets Dr. Wife-Stealer look at her like Eve looked at the apple.  When Caleb gets frustrated (and being a moody peawit, he does a lot), he calls Poppa John, who tells him not to get so frustrated, and to keep being nice to a woman who clearly hates him.  And so he does, to the tune of $24,000 in medical supplies for Catherine’s mother, and what is probably a $1,000 desktop computer which he smashes, yes, again with the softball bat. 

Apparently the computer kept forcing him to look at softcore erotica when he was just trying to masturbate to pictures of a yacht, and this made Catherine think she looked like a fetid cow carcass.  This is yet another plot point the movie expects me to accept without question, and one which makes me wonder just who the hell this movie thinks I am.

The following isn’t a spoiler, because, as this is a Christian movie not about the Crucifixion, you know this thing is going to have a happy ending.  Catherine finds out how much money Caleb has spent / flushed down the toilet on her account, and that he’s kept up this behavior for three days longer than his dad told him to (probably only because he’s a peawit and didn’t know what else to do).  Catherine, however, takes this to mean that her husband doesn’t actually want her to die screaming, and she decides to show her joy by making out with him in the firehouse garage.  She put on her engagement ring before she went down to the station and the movie took the time to show me that she’s been bawling since she pulled it out of her sock drawer, so I guess I’m supposed to assume the divorce is off and everyone lives happily ever after (by which I mean, Catherine gets pregnant that very night.  Because Muslims aren’t going to outbreed themselves, am I right?)

If you couldn’t tell from my award-winning objective plot synopsis (seriously, I just awarded it myself), Fireproof has a rather dim view of romance.  To state it plainly, this movie thinks men are oblivious tools who can’t be caring husbands until they’ve been tricked into going to church (why this should be the case is, again, not explained).  It thinks women are self-hating morons who will bed (at least, evidently want to bed) the first stranger who smiles at them, if their husbands haven’t spent enough money on them.  I realize that the movie itself doesn’t consider this a dim view.  The movie itself, and the people who made it, expect me to believe that its portrayal of marriage is so true-to-life that I will accept Jesus into my heart and buy my wife a new car before the end credits start rolling, for fear that she might already be dry-humping the guy in the pew across the aisle.  I’m not sure what bothers me most about this view: the blatant sexism, the fact that somebody actually believes this is how some people really act, the fact that they expect me to believe this is how some people really act, or the fact that maybe, as it applies to certain people, they’re RIGHT.

Fireproof did exceptionally well for a Christian movie marketed to Christians.  Why?  Is it just because it’s a rare Christian movie that doesn’t look like an intentional work of irony?  Or is it because a lot of Christians really do look at men, women and marriage the same way as Fireproof?   Are there people who really think this movie, with its shallow, self-obsessed characters, is the most accurate fictional representation of what goes on daily life since Everybody Loves Raymond went off the air?  Do certain Americans really hold this movie up and say, “Yes, this is who we are, and this is how we operate?”  I can understand certainly people praising this movie solely on the basis of its Evangelical Christian message.  There aren’t a lot of well-made movies out there that advocate this (a point that is very important to keep in mind).  But are there actually couples who interact like Caleb and Catherine, and believe that doing so is perfectly normal?

Clearly I assume there are, or I wouldn’t be so abjectly terrified that this movie is so damn popular.

Especially since Fireproof is not only sexist, but also racist.  African-American characters come in exactly three stereotypes in this movie: Fat, Funny Slang-Talking Guy (a fireman), Gossipy Woman with Sass (a nurse), and Sage Articulate Guy (another fireman).  You could argue that using three different black stereotypes isn’t a bad thing, since most Christian movies only use one, the infamous Noble, Charismatic Black Baptist Minister Who Sings and Fights Gangs.  And as it relates to Fireproof , you could also point out that every character in the movie, regardless of ethnicity, could be fairly called a poorly-conceived stereotype.  So why should I point out the black ones when there are plenty of white ones?

Addressing the first point: three times a negative isn’t a positive, it’s just a negative three times as big.  I don’t give bonus points to a movie that attempts to not be racist by being even more racist, and I don’t know why anyone would.  Addressing the second point: there’s a difference between a stereotype and a type of character we’ve seen before.  The white characters in the movie are certainly types that get used a lot – the Meddling Well-Meaning Parents, the Overconfident Rookie Fireman, the Needy Wife, the Idiot Husband.  But these personalities are not specific to any ethnicity.  Black men play idiot husbands as much as white men.  Black women play needy wives as much as white women.  But when was the last time you saw a fat, funny, slang-talking white guy character? Or a gossipy white woman character with sass?  These are personalities pre-packaged with ethnicity, just waiting for a bad screenwriter to scoop them up and sprinkle them into a script that could use a few black characters. Characters the writer can’t come up with on his or her own, because he or she apparently thinks black people are exotic energy beings from Neptune or something. 

To drive the point into the heart, these pre-packaged black characters are stereotypes, they are racist, and they are only used because the person who wrote the script is, willfully or not, a racist.  And sorry, but I assumed at this point in time we were all aware that black people are in fact human beings, and that anyone with a small amount of creativity should be able write an original black character, even if it happens to take a little bit of research (you know, the same amount of research necessary to create an original white character who may live a lifestyle that is different from the writer’s own).

So aside from being sexist and racist, what else is wrong with this movie?  Well, a lot.  For simplicity’s sake I’ll just list a few more problems:

-         For a movie supposedly about a firefighter, we sure don’t see a lot of fires being fought.  I think there are only three scenes in the whole movie when Caleb Holt and crew actually go out and do something with all their shiny equipment.  I know, this movie was made on a tight budget and firefighting scenes are expensive.  But the movie is called Fireproof , and it bills itself as being about a firefighter.  Let’s see more than 10 minutes of fires being fought, please.  Otherwise it looks like the writers made Caleb a firefighter only to have other characters continually point out how his marriage isn’t fireproof.   Which I sort of figured out the first time I saw his wife flirting with Dr. Wife-Stealer.

-         I understand that a Christian movie is more or less required to use contemporary Christian music as its soundtrack.  But I can’t think of a single time when the song that was playing fit the action on screen, in either its lyrics or its style.  And another thing: no sane adult listens to Christian rap-rock and likes it.  I don’t care if the character in question is supposed to be the comic relief firefighter.  This is too unrealistic to even be ironically funny.

-         While the people who made the movie understand that couples going through marital problems yell at each other, they don’t seem to understand how arguments actually work.  Caleb and Catherine’s fights are a mishmash of “you don’t respect me,” “do your own laundry,” and “damn that Internet porn.”  Which are all valid things to argue about.  The problem is, every fight they have sounds like all the above phrases were dropped into an Arguetron 5000 which then spit out what it assumes human arguments sound like.  Even people having a stupid argument try to advance whatever point they’re trying to make.  Yelling “Internet porn!” and countering with “Respect!” isn’t an argument, it’s an acting exercise.  How am I supposed to sympathize with these people when they don’t sound like real people?

-         If I were asked to diagnose the real problem with Caleb and Catherine’s marriage, I would say that they’re two young people with a lot of disposable income in a very big, nice house, who literally have nothing to do all day but pick at one another.  They don’t seem to have anything in common to talk about or do except sex, so when they’re not doing that, they just start screaming to fill the chilly silence.  The movie never brings this up as a possible theory, and I know why.  If two people share nothing but an income and liking sex, they probably shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place.  Catherine should divorce Caleb and focus on having fun and advancing her supposed career, and Caleb should thank God that the nagging is finally over, get a nice little apartment, and focus on buying that yacht he’s always touching himself to.  If my theory were right, that would be the real happy ending to this story.  Being a non-Crucifixion Christian movie, Fireproof needs to end with Caleb and Catherine reconciling, so it blames Internet porn, has Caleb smash the computer and buy his wife’s forgiveness, and then melts away all the lingering issues with a public kiss.  This is a movie, so I suppose Fireproof can get away with oversimplifying things.  Not as far as I’m concerned, obviously, but I wasn’t the intended audience.  So like me being on the fast road to hell, I guess it’s my fault for thinking.

-         One last, small thing.  The final kiss of the movie is not between Kirk Cameron and Erin Bethea.  Kirk Cameron refused to kiss anyone who wasn’t his wife, so Mrs. Cameron was flown in to kiss Kirk for the final scene, which was then filmed in silhouette.  Now I have no problem with Kirk’s fellow Growing Pains alum and baby-momma Chelsea Noble, which I freely admit is only because I know nothing at all about her except that she’s fantastically hot.  And as far as the scene plays out in the movie, I never would have known that Kirk wasn’t kissing Erin Bethea except that the Internet told me so .  My only problem with this, then, is that I find it rather creepy.  I’m not sure why and I suppose it isn’t even a real problem.  But the same could be said for Mormon underwear , and I’m certainly not going to be getting near a pair of those inexplicably terrifying things any time soon.

So that’s Fireproof .  A great Christian movie, but still a Christian movie, so not a good non-Christian movie.  If you voted for Dubya in 2004, you’ll probably like it anyway.  If, like me, you voted instead for that world-hugging Communist bastard John Kerry, you probably won’t like it.  If you’re the latter, skip Fireproof and read the Bible instead.  You’ll get the same message, and while it still won’t make any sense, at least the Bible has more realistic dialogue and a lot more action sequences.

TheBluesader Classic: TALE OF TALES IS ST00P1D

[Originally appeared Monday, December 14th 2009 at 5:08am on my crappy Blogster blog.  I also posted it as a user review on the Escapist's forums.  Unedited to retain powerful awesome.]

Believe it or don’t, but I’m in favor of low-key artistic games.  I do not need to kill something digital to have fun.  Killing things is of course very fun, in virtual reality at least, and maybe if I were a Viking and it were the Ninth Century.  I don’t know for sure about the latter, but certainly virtual reality killing is quite fun, though it is not the only fun I can have in virtual reality.  Low-key artistic games are pretty much defined as “fun without virtual reality killing,” and that is okay, as long as the alternative they offer to virtual reality killing is one of the many things you can do in virtual reality that is as fun as killing.

The problem is, there seems to be some debate on what exactly constitutes a fun action in virtual reality that isn’t killing.  Or maybe it is a debate on the concept of “fun” itself.  I’m not sure.  What I am sure of is that dev studio Tale of Tales is not very interested in joining that debate.  Or, perhaps, it is only interested in having that debate with itself.  If so, that means that Belgians Auriea Harvey and Michaël Samyn must have some pointless, extremely boring arguments at the office every day (and by “office,” I’m pretty sure I mean their basement.  Or possibly bedroom).  Here’s a glimpse of what these two self-styled digital auteurs consider “fun:” they put out a “game” in 2007 in which the player tunnels through a digital sculpture of these flabby two fucking upright. Andthe Museum of Modern Art in Antwerp (still Belgium ) loved it so much they put it on display so the whole family could pay to see it.

Perhaps I am simply not educated enough, Belgian enough, postmodern enough, douchebag gaming scenester enough to appreciate whatever it is Tale of Tales thinks it is supposed to be doing.  Or maybe the problem does not lie with me, but instead with their inability to program anything with clear objectives, sensible game play, or main characters with engaging personalities or at least funny one-liners.  I understand that “playable art” is going to be very different from corporate studio product, and that I have to have an open mind to appreciate it on its own terms.  But I also understand that making a reasonably paced game that runs reasonably well and plays reasonably straightforward takes a lot of time and play-testing, and that churning over-boiled crap out of your basement PC (or bedroom PC) and calling it"playable art” is a very convenient way to have your cake and enough money for nachos, too.  If I am simply too blue collar for Tale of Tales, that’s just the way it is, and it isn’t their fault.  But if instead I am thoroughly awesome and Harvey and Samyn are a couple of douchebags, they can upright-sculpture-fuck off.

The way I finished that last sentence should make my perspective on the matter fairly obvious.  To convince you that I’m right, let me tell you about some more of Tale of Tales’s “playable artwork.”

THE GRAVEYARD

You are an old lady in a graveyard.  You slowly (i.e., slooooooowly ) shuffle forward along a path in the graveyard.  You cannot go left.  You cannot go right.  You cannot stop and read the gravestones, because they have no legible writing on them.  So forward you go, until you eventually (i.e., Jesus Christ finally ) reach a tiny graveyard chapel.  You still cannot go left or right and there is no door directly in front of you, so you are not going in.  All there is is a bench along the chapel wall.  If you walk up to it, the old lady will turn around and sit down on it.

What happens next?  Well, if by “next,” you mean after 40 fucking seconds of nothing , a song starts playing.  It’s an alright song, if you like indie Europop.  If you do not, then it is a slow, boring song.  What is the song about?  Well, because Tale of Tales knew we would all want to know this, they put the English translation of the lyrics on the screen as a subtitle.  I use “translation” here loosely, in the sense that the song is in the language Belgians speak when they are speaking a made-up language.  What sounds like German, Dutch, or Belgian is in fact none of these, but is instead Nothing.  Trust me on this one.  No, if you listen closely you will not figure out something I could not, because there is nothing to figure out.  And because I am smarter than you, youshould know this by now.  So the subtitle “translation” is in fact just crappy English poetry about dying and not being alive and no longer existing, written by a Belgian pretending to translate a made-up language spoken by possibly the same Belgian.

What is that you say?  “Wow!  That sounds so retarded, it must mean something artistic and profound and possibly revelatory about the human condition!”  To which I say, “No, you douchebag gaming scenester, it is simply retarded.  And boring.”  But believe it or not, I am a progressively minded person.  Maybe we’re both right.  Which is to say, I think you are wrong , but I don’t care enough to write about it anymore.

The song in question, profound or not (stress on ‘not’), goes on for about 2 minutes.  Sitting through it, it seems to go on for about six and a half hours, but I knew it wasn’t actually that long.  This was simply the part of my brain that wanted to be entertained by this “game” reminding me that both of us were horribly, horribly misled by corporate game critics and douchebag gaming scenester blogs.  Which my brain also reminded me I should have suspected while I was wasting both our time reading those damn things.

Yes, thank you brain, I get it.  Now stop screwing with my concept of time and let’s finish this disaster already.

When the song finally ends, one of two things happens, and here we’ve finally arrived at the real meat of the “game.”  The first thing that may happen is that the old lady stands up from the bench, turns to face the other direction, and waits for you to push the button that will make her walk back the way she came.  If you do this, she will slowly (i.e., God-fucking-dammit-! ) shuffle back down the path until she gets to the end, at which point the “game” is over.

Stirring, isn’t it?  Don’t you just want to restart it right away, to see if you can get the second ending?  If you answered “yes,” change your answer.  Because the “second ending” is not an ending.  See, the only other thing that may happen (and I have no idea how the game decides when to do this) is that instead of sitting through the song then standing up, your old lady will in fact die during the song, and therefore just sort of keel over a little and stay on the bench.  And if this happens, the “game” does not end.  No.  If this happens – if the old lady dies during the song – the game basically freezes up.  It just sits there.  Oh, the footage keeps looping, so you still see the swaths of sunlight rolling over the scene, you hear the birds chirping, you occasionally hear agust of wind.  But you can sit there, watching and listening to this infinite loop for ten minutes, 20 minutes, an hour, 48 hours, and it will never end.  No menu pops up.  There are no credits.  Just perpetually looping footage of a dead old lady on a bench.

And don’t you dare try to hit the spacebar or escape key to try and escape this fucking purgatory.  It won’t work.  The game offers no way to close it if the old lady dies.  You have to Ctrl+Alt+Delete the godforsaken thing to get rid of it.

At first I thought this was a glitch so I looked around online.  But no, this is not a glitch.  Apparently this is a “design element” that is supposed to “give real weight to death.”

Know what else would “give real weight to death,” Tale of Tales?  The Blue Screen of Death.  But you didn’t program this “game” to give us one of those, for the same reason you should not have failed to give us a menu option at the death “ending” – it is fucking obnoxious.

Honestly, if this “game” had given a simulated Blue Screen of Death after the death ending, I’d actually give it a little more credit.  Yes, it would have been heart attack-inducing, but at least it would have demonstrated that a pair of brassy human gonads or the metaphoric female equivalent were involved in the production of this “game.”  As it is, the whole experience is just tedious, obnoxious, and completely ineffective.

And will cost you $5.  Because Tale of Tales thinks The Graveyard will give you half as many hours of gaming joy as AudioSurf, a game where you collect colored blocks with a little spaceship in sync with your own mp3s . 

Think about that sentence before you send Harvey and Samyn any nacho money.

Ugo and Wired talk about how “heavy” and “poignant” The Graveyard is.  I’m sure the illuminati over at G4 would probably be bowled over by it too, if they weren’t too busy mining YouTube for foot-in-balls videos to fill valuable basic cable air time.  Gamasutra posted an overly long and obtusely written introspective by the half of the Tale of Tales development team with a penis, in which he explains that The Graveyard is fantastic and wonderful, and can be quoted as saying that people who don’t like it are further down “the ladder of human civilization” than those who love it.

This wouldn’t be the first time a Belgian has called me unevolved.  In fact, it wouldn’t be the second.  But it would be the first time I’ve heard it from a Belgian who’s made a “game” in which I am expected to tunnel through a digital sculpture of him and his girlfriend going at it Russian Army-style.

It is times like these for which the cliché “consider the source” was invented.  Thanks, history of the English language!

THE ENDLESS FOREST

Slowly wandering around a low-res forest with a low draw distance, with no objective, is not fun.  Looking at pre-rendered 3D artifacts is only fun if those artifacts are interesting and/or interactive, and is not fun if they are illegible gravestones and low-res ruined foundations featuring zero interactivity.  There is only one thing that would make this less fun, and that would be if the player character were a human-faced deer that could only communicate through a series of pre-programmed behavioral animations, that would in fact only count as actual communication if the player were using them on actual deer who actually understood what the fuck they meant.

Guess who just described the entirety of ‘game play’ in The Endless Forest? (Hint: me.)

And you are not ‘playing’ alone, because, lo!, The Endless Forest is actually an MMO-RPG.  That’s right.  The eight or so deer expressions allow for such a wide variety of expression that Tale of Tales naturally assumed the only way people would want to ‘play’ The Endless Forest would be if they could invite their friends to come be silent, enigmatic deer-monsters with them.

I call this assumption ‘natural’ for the Tale of Tales devs, because their previous work demonstrates their natural predilection for not understanding how everyone but themselves and douchebag gaming scenesters define ‘fun.’  And understand how honest I am being when I say that The Endless Forest is not fun .  It is not fun because it cannot in actuality be played, because there is no mechanic for ‘playing’ anything.  You are a deer-thing, there are other deer-things, and you deer-thing at each other for as many hours as it takes for you to realize that you’ve just wasted however many hours deer-thinging at other deer-things, and you get up and do something infinitely more productive.  Like staring at yourself in the mirror, trying to remember the exact point where your life went completely off therails.

You may have noticed that I called The Endless Forest an MMO-RPG.  “What makes it an RPG?” you ask.  Answer: if you chance to use the right expression on the right deer at the right time – and as this is seemingly completely random, you will probably never get it to work – you and that deer can trade decorations for your antlers.  And by ‘decorations,’ I mean some flowers on some vines, and some vines without flowers.  And you will keep these decorations for as long as it takes for another deer to come up, make the right expression, and steal your decorations.  And no, you can’t do anything to stop it.

I read on the Tale of Tales website that they are at least savvy enough to not call this thing a game, but instead a “social analysis tool” or something equally bullshit.  I would just call it “a half-finished tech demo with severe framerate issues.”  But again, as an actual gamer, I don’t think I was the intended audience for this “social analysis tool.”

 

Unlike The Graveyard, The Endless Forest is free.  Which makes sense, as The Endless Forest features nothing anyone with any dignity would care to purchase.  The bigger question is why The Graveyard is $5.  At least in The Endless Forest you can go left and right and there isn’t a chance the game will lock up if your deer-monster dies.

Which it can’t.  Because that would actually be fun to watch.  Dear God, would that be fun to watch…

THE PATH

Ah, here is Tale of Tales’ piece de la resistance!   By which I mean, it’s a “game” about little girls getting attacked in the woods.  And you thought The Endless Forest had its deer-thing head up its own deer-thing ass…

Honestly, this is the best game Tale of Tales has ever produced, in that it’s the only thing they have ever produced that can be called a “game” with a straight face.  The player is given objectives – collect 144 floating flowers, look at trash dumped in the woods, get attacked – and meeting those objectives actually impacts the outcome of the game.  The fact that achieving the objectives leads to nothing but mystifying, hardly-interactive scenes at the end of the game, giving you no real sense of accomplishment or closure after several hours of game play is…worth pointing out.  That’s certainly a strike against this game.  But the very fact that there are objectives of any kind proves that this is in fact an actual game, so it’s also a point in favor.  In favor of it being an actual game, thatis.  Not in favor of it being an actual good game, which it certainly is not.

The Path begins by letting you choose to play as one of six girls, said to range in age from five to 15 (though all but the youngest two look like they could be a malnourished 20, so I don’t see why it matters).  All of them are dressed in some kind of red outfit, because as you may not have gathered from my earlier paragraphs, this game is intended to be a postmodern retelling of the story of Little Red Riding Hood.  Don’t let the amorphous word “postmodern” scare you – that just means all the little girls (but the littlest one) get sexually assaulted (she rides a werewolf which I think mauls her), and you have no fucking idea what you’re supposed to be getting out of watching any it, if anything.  And that it’s okay that you don’t get it, because you’re not supposed to.

Hmm.  Maybe “postmodern” is kind of a scary word.

To take the edge off, let me point out that the acts of sexual abuse (and the possible mauling) are only “shown” in the same way you “see” your Sims have sex in The Sims.  Your chosen girl either sits on a bench next to a creepy guy with a cigarette, says hi to another creepy guy as he’s chopping wood near his cabin, or watches a creepy guy play a piano to no other audience in a ruined bandstand in the middle of the shadowy woods, to name three of the five out of six possible scenarios that don’t involve werewolves (certainly a missed opportunity if ever there was one).  After the set up for some kind of abuse, the screen fades to black, and when it fades back up you’re watching a torrential rain soak your chosen girl as she lays in the fetal position in front of Grandmother’s House.  Being that this is supposed to be aretelling of Little Red Riding Hood, Grandmother’s House is the place you were supposed to be trying to get your girl to in the first place, but which you can only get to by way of implied sexual assault (and probable mauling).

See, you can just run straight along the road the game starts you on and go right to Grandmother’s House.  In fact, the only instructions you get at the beginning of the game tell you to do just that.  But if you do, you’ll meet Grandmother, the game will end, and it will tell you you’ve lost.  Which is pretty confusing, since you only did exactly what the motherfucking game told you to do.   But the game is lying to you.  What the game really wants you to do is run off the path into the creepy woods, look at trash and collect flowers for awhile, then meet some variety of strange man (or man-wolf) who will proceed to assault you off screen, then dump you in front of Grandmother’s house. 

It almost seems like one of the members of the dev team, or possibly one of their underpaid interns, got confused at some point, is just criminally stupid, or had a point to prove about his or her salary.  If a less angry / criminally stupid person was told to make a game about little girls going to Grandmother’s House through a pedophile / werewolf-infested forest, they would probably make a game where you have to lead the little girl to Grandmother’s House without getting assaulted.  Because, see, most people would not assume that anyone would want to unlock a “The Little Girl Got Fucked Up!” achievement point.  Except for those Xbox Live achievement whores, who would have to unlock it just on principle.  But The Path is a PC exclusive.  And a good thing too, because ever since the Hot Coffee fiasco,parents’ groups and politicians have been keeping a close eye on the Xbox.  Somehow I think they wouldn’t miss the game where you only win by getting little girls attacked.

Is Tale of Tales trying to bait the mainstream media?  The norms are already convinced that most modern games give you “points” for killing hookers and cops, having interracial and / or interspecies sex, and profaning the Holy Name of God.  Do we really want these people to know someone made a game you can only win after a little girl has had her innocence brutally stolen from her in Blair Witch country?

The only reason The Path hasn’t led to Congressional hearings is because it’s a PC exclusive.  Norms don’t know anything about PC gaming that doesn’t end with the words “Sims” or some other word after the word “Peggle.”  And the reason they don’t is because very few people bought The Path.  Because it’s a game that, in part, rewards child rape.

Wow.  So the free market does actually censor itself.  Who’d’a thunk it?

But I haven’t even gotten to the most moronic part of all this.  Even after the rape / mauling, Grandmother’s House is not a safe haven where your girl can snuggle warmly in a hand-knitted comforter and try to deal with the trauma she has just suffered, while Gram phones the police and Mom.  No, Grandmother’s House is actually the Hellraiser Dimension of Psychosexual Pain.  Minus the razor wire, chains and pins, and double the mood lighting and not making a dick-lick of sense.  When you finally walk your traumatized girl up to the house (and like The Graveyard, this purgatory of shuffling lasts about two excruciating minutes too long), she enters into a dark space of chaotic, unnerving noise.  Suddenly the game goes into first person perspective and just sits there until you start tapping the movementkeys. Then your view proceeds to hover along a pre-programmed path through a serpentine labyrinth that is only less unsettling than an evangelical Hell House because there’s no scene of a botched abortion.  Instead there are set pieces arranged in Escher-esqe rooms that, to repeat, don’t make a dick-lick of sense.  These vary from girl to girl, and what you see is contingent on what trash you looked at in the woods, which “rooms” you’ve “unlocked.”  There is a dining set at the bottom of a full swimming pool.  There is a flaming car sitting in the corner of an otherwise empty gymnasium, the walls and ceiling covered with tire tracks that make it look like the car somehow drove all over it.  There is a tight, quaking maze of wooden panels sprouting evergreen tree branches, accompanied by the deafening sounds of wood being chopped.  And each one of these paths ends with the hovering camera that is you getting smacked to the floor, in front of thingslike a tree growing out of a bed, a bed covered with rubble that spins around on a platform, and a draped coffin behind an open grave (that you fall into, the resolution of the werewolf-mauling game.)  These scenes speak for themselves in, to repeat for a third time, not making a dick-lick of sense.  I guess some of them are heavy-handed rape metaphors and the grave one is about confronting death.  But I don’t know for sure.  Knowing Tale of Tales, that mysteriousness is probably intentional, because if there is one thing hipster doofuses are known for (other than working for Tale of Tales and liking whatever temporary band Jack White is in at the moment), it’s being intentionally vague so they can pretend they’re being deep.  Because actually being deep would require talent and believing in something other than orgasms, and nothing gets in the way of a quick digital buck like actually having to know what the fuck you’re doing.

Despite how it sounds, The Path isn’t like all of Tale of Tales’ other “games,” in that it isn’t all terrible.  The art direction is nice, as the forest is atmospheric and stylized without being obnoxiously overdone, unlike everything Tim Shafer has ever “creative directed”.  There are some nice flickery graphical overlays that run throughout most of the game that effectively add creepiness without being too distracting.  The dynamic lighting changes based on where you are in the forest and what you’ve encountered, which is a pleasant diversion in a world of games that are either always too bright (Fable II, Halo) or always too dark and dingy (Gears of War, GTA IV, everything else). And the sound design is excellent.  The music is better at creating a sense of childhood nightmarishness than everything elsein the game combined.  And the cues are tied to the lighting effects, creating a great, eerie atmosphere.  If only they were linked to game play that didn’t destroy that atmosphere at every turn by being so tedious and bewildering (144 flowers?!, no minimap except when the game feels like quickly flashing it, the forest is huge and you don’t have markers for the trash you’re supposed to find until you find it, the scenes you see when you find the trash, every single ending).

CONCLUSION: TALE OF TALES IS STUPID

Auriea Harvey and Michaël Samyn are not utter hacks.  But they also don’t know how to make a game.  If you made them part of a dev team that was properly directed, they would no doubt contribute many good things to a game in progress.  Left to their own discretion, most of what they’ve made is overpriced, barely playable crap, overpriced primarily because it’s barely playable crap.  If for some reason you want to give them money, buy The Path.  At least it’s an actual game.  But I’d suggest saving your money for AudioSurf, or for a Tale of Tales game that may come out a few years down the road, hopefully after Harvey and Samyn get tired of jacking off for money and realize that they’d make a lot more making actual games for actual gamers.

But I wouldn’t hold your breath.  Remember, these are the people that made a “game” where the player tunnels through a digital sculpture of what looks like them fucking in a closet, and the city of Antwerp put it in a museum .  How much of an incentive do you have to change your business model when the international cabal of douchebag gaming scenesters is lining up to exchange cash for your digital toss rags, and then blasting the Internet with praise for it?

Maybe EA will buy them out and make them make a game about Vikings killing little girls who turn into werewolves.  That would be fun.