Look, I know it's highly unlikely that I would have ever been Batman, but I just didn't think the option would be completely off the table at this point in my life, you know? Yes, I'm poor, cowardly, out of shape and the only thing I want to "avenge" is that time somebody took one of my beers out of the company fridge without asking. But I guess I just figured that there was always time for my parents to be murdered, to win the lottery, and maybe to take a few karate classes. And that should be it: That's all I would need to successfully Batman myself. All the rest of it -- the mentality, the plans, the drive -- that's stuff I already have. But now that Batman: Arkham City is out, and has proven to be a rather effective Batman simulator, I realize that there are so many other factors to being a Batman, and that I am just fundamentally terrible at all of them. Sadly, what follows are the myriad ways Arkham City has finally convinced me that it's time to scratch "Dark Knight" off the list of things I want to be when I grow up.
5I Got No Rhythm
The fighting sections in Batman: Arkham Asylum, and again in Batman: Arkham City, are rhythm-based affairs. That's not an observation I'm making up: During development, the devs initially planned the whole game to be a kind of gritty Dance Dance Revolution. Wait, no: Put the knife down and stop googling "batman devs address." That concept is not as stupid as it seems. Jackie Chan himself once described the inherent rhythm involved in being a great fighter. To paraphrase: If you don't feel it inside, get a sense of it while the fight plays out, find the song narrating each battle, you can't win. If you don't have music in your soul, you're going to get your ass beat.
And I absolutely do not have music in my soul. My rhythm's so bad I need sheet music for clapping. I'm so musically retarded that I thought a diminished fifth was a half-empty liquor bottle. I understand music so poorly that when I first heard the rhythm was gonna get me, I asked if it was a visual hunter and smeared myself in rotten offal just in case I was wrong.
In short: My ass gets beat routinely, and with much vigor.
Like this, except right afterward I trip, fall into a dumpster and get beaten to death.
And it's not that Arkham City's fighting is objectively hard -- you can flail at buttons and win most melees. But the point of such a basic fighting system is mostly to show what a badass Batman is: He makes short work of his foes no matter what, and if you do it right, they'll never even touch you. If you do it wrong, you still win, of course, but a lot of the savage, balletic fight scenes get interrupted by an awkward punch to the back of the head. The thugs doing the punching seem just as surprised as you when this happens. They stand there giving you a look like, "Re- really? Man, if I knew that was gonna connect I would've put some heart into it." If you ain't got no rhythm in your bones, the fighting in Arkham City feels less like a barbaric waltz that you're conducting, and more like you're the special class in the school's football championship.
You're doing your best and you should be proud, but come on; nobody's really been trying to tackle you.
4I Do Not Understand People
When I said that the fist-fighting in Arkham City was easy, even if you're terrible at it, that doesn't mean the game lacks for challenge. It just means that some poor bastard brought a fist to a Batman fight. No, the challenge, rightfully, comes from the armed enemies. Guns in the game are almost instantly lethal. To defeat a roomful of armed hooligans, you'll need stealth, agility and an understanding of basic psychology -- especially that of fear. You play with their minds, get them to separate, and then take them down one by one in the dark, because you're the fucking Batman. You're what nightmares have nightmares about.
Or at least, that's how it goes if you do it right.
So far, my experience in Arkham City has mostly been setting up brilliant traps -- lines of psychological dominoes that will all fall at just the right angle to terrorize and incapacitate my foes in one fell swoop -- and then charging into them myself while screaming my own name.
I used to blame the stealth genre in general for these aborted schemes: "It's the game's fault," I'd say, "if your gameplay relies on psychology, you're going to need more impressive AI to deal with the stuff I dish out."
But after decades of failed espionage, I'm starting to realize that is not the case: The ninjas aren't eating that poisoned rice ball because the item is useless, but because you threw it into their abdomen from a shadow three feet away. They knew it was you that stabbed the guard because the crowd you were hiding in turned left five paces back, and you were left standing in the middle of an empty road with a bloody knife. You failed the stealth mission, Robert, because you covered the ceiling with explosive gel, stood directly on top of it and then detonated it so you could "jumpkick everybody through the flames on the way down," instead of just ducking into the vents, like you were supposed to.