This is the most horrendously mismarketed product I’ve ever seen.
I have only one real quibble with it, actually, but it’s a big one. You see, Diablo II presents itself as a “game,” which is flagrant false advertising. A game implies an activity that is amusing, diverting, and perhaps even engrossing. And, as any person who has ever played Monopoly and yet retains even a vestige of higher brain function can tell you, a game is also something that becomes boring after a time. It does not imply the brain-withering, strength-sapping, artery-hardening absorption of the ultimate and total surrender of will and dignity that Diablo II will eventually demand from you.
This is not a computer game, people. It’s heroin in digital form.
But for the life of me, I don’t know why. Why is this game so addictive? The game itself is almost ludicrously simple—you talk to this person, he tells you to go to a certain part of the map, and off you go on your merry way, slaughtering the minions of darkness as you go. You kill everything that breathes (and a lot of things that don’t), destroy the occasional bit of architecture, and report back for further instructions. Lather, rinse, repeat. Truly, you are a hero.
For those of you fond of RPGs, there’s nothing resembling dialogue here. Oh, some of the townsfolk give neat speeches, and the main baddies have a few good one-liners (When your speakers suddenly roar at you in a voice deep enough to shatter the stale cookies laying on your shelf, you squeak a little. Just a little), but you never reply. For people who like strategy games: there isn’t any, get used to it. You hack, you slash, you run. Oh, and die. Most people die a great deal in this game. Which itself isn’t so bad, considering that you’re brought back to life only slightly less often than a James Bond villain.
And yet . . .
And yet, for all its flaws, the game is undeniably engrossing, especially when it’s played online. In the end this is a powers and loot game, where you don’t care so much about story, or character development, or anything other than increasing your character’s abilities to god-like levels and finding him similarly god-like equipment. Then bragging about it to your friends, of course, many of whom seem to live online.
Speaking of being online, the game is best experienced while playing online. Having additional players in the game increases the difficulty (and hence the amount of experience and loot you can snag from them), as well as exposing you to witty repartee such as “scru u 2!” (1) after you refuse to help them retrieve their body—which they lost when they charged headlong into a pack of enemies fifty levels higher than they(2), screaming ineffectual battle-cries as they’re ripped no fewer than nine new ones. Not that I’m bitter.
Okay, admittedly there are some polite, benevolent, and somewhat awe-inspiring players with so much stuff that they simply drop it on the ground for anyone to take. But they are—sadly—far more rare than the assholes. Still, if you have friends with money to blow on the game and a fairly fast connection, online play works well enough.
I’m rather torn on whether to pimp this or not, actually. One the one hand, despite seeming like a promotion for the Paint Driers Entertainment Association, it is a freakishly enjoyable game. On the other hand, it is a freakishly enjoyable game. Soon you’ll find yourself neglecting your family, your children, your pets, and your bathing. You will abandon everything you’ve ever loved for this game, and weep like a little girl when it is taken from you. (3) So, in the end, the choice comes down to which part of me is stronger—the rational, thinking man, or the Diablo slave within.
Hmm. Tough call. I wonder if I’ll ever know the answer. (4)
Play the game.
It commands you.
(1)*You know, I can’t think of anything really witty and sardonic to say about netspeak. Because whenever I see it, I don’t feel amused; rather, I feel like boring my eyes out with something dull and rusty.
(2)You know, I always knew you were a geek, what with the box full of dice and the constant muttering about hit points, but I never knew you were a game geek. I thought you were, you know, more medieval than that.*
(3)You wept like a little girl when mom took your ice cream cone away. When you were twelve. Because it had bugs on it. Face it, you’ll weep like a little girl over anything. Quit lying to these nice people.** **It was contaminated. (4)I know the answer. But you’d hit me if I said. Yep, you’d hit me real good.*** ***Yep. Now, where’s my plus three Mace of Sister Smiting . . .