Any readers who were looking forward to the follow up to
last week’s piece on Assassin’s Creed and damselhood, I apologize. I’m running up against finals pretty hard
right now, and I just can’t get myself to a place where I can write the piece
that needs to follow up what I’ve already written and still finish up the work
I need to complete this semester. So, in
that article’s place, I offer this:
I’m not sure there are enough heist games for there to
actually be a heist genre. A handful of
incredibly uneven titles come to mind.
The superlatively shitty Pay Day, which took a bundle of the least
inspiring aspects of first person shooters and put them in a slim, unappealing
package. Kane and Lynch’s multiplayer,
which has some heisty elements to it.
The Thief series, which features a number of heists, but sort of turns
on a very different central conceit from other heist games in that it is
largely centered around never being noticed, and every other heist game focuses
on the part of the heist where you are both noticed and where everything goes wrong.
So maybe it’s not saying much to call Monaco the single
finest heist game I’ve ever played. I
mean, if there isn’t a heist genre, or even subgenre, I don’t think that’s that
big a deal. And I can’t call it the best
cooperative puzzle game I’ve ever played, thanks to Portal 2, which still
reigns supreme. But I can say that it
ranks up there close to Portal 2. That
sounds better, more impressive, doesn’t it?
Maybe I should change my approach completely and simply say that Monaco
is a fucking incredible game.
With a single player, I’m not sure I’d say that. In fact, I think it’s kind of bad with only
one player. But that’s not how it’s
meant to be played. With its sleek
interface and ample matchmaking services, Monaco wants you to play with other
people. It’s willing to make it
easy. And many of those people will be
kind, pleasant people who will talk you through their plans. Others are callow dickheads who expected you
to know what to do in a given level without speaking to you, and will scream at
you over VOIP after a mistake (oftentimes theirs) has been made. The experience is still something quite
remarkable, either way.
But the best way to play Monaco is with friends, over VOIP.
There you’ll find the debates on who gets to be the Cleaner
this time, who has to be the Lookout. Do
we need a hacker? Do we want a
Mole? I guess we could use a
Locksmith. I guess. What does the Gentleman do? I think we should find out. There’s no reason to use the Pickpocket, I
can tell you that. We still don’t have
the Redhead, I’m curious what she’s good at.
Isn’t the Lookout technically a redhead too?
The conversation, the jockeying for position, the arguing
over who fucked up how: these are the elements of Monaco that make the game
great. There’s a decidedly old school
feel, not simply because of the game’s reserved, pixily essentialist
graphics. But this old school feel rests
in a new school shell of complex systems interacting in a nuanced, but simple,
way. Bump up against objects to
interact. Click to shoot your gun or use
a wrench. Actions are so easy to
perform, you might perform them accidentally.
Like when I accidentally shoot a guard in the face. Grab coins.
Grab all the coins, if you can.
To call it a shell for social interaction is
inaccurate. It’s a game. A game that relies on cooperation and excels when
things go wrong and the players in the game bicker. The play remains core at all times, and
completing the heist is a rush: even when repeating a mission, the feeling is
one of achievement, accomplishment, righteous excellence in the face of
overwhelming odds. And there’s potential
for speed runs after you’re done earning trophies. Wink wink.
If Monaco has flaws, I haven’t noticed. It’s simply so charming. So tiny.
So grand. If you don’t have it
yet, buy it. Play it with friends. Unless you don’t have friends, in which case,
hire three prostitutes. Monaco is worth
it and so are you.
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