|Shoot Club: Episode III: I'm Just So Tired of These Star Wars|
TomChick - Columns - Comments - 06/02/05
My friend Trevor is helping me finish the Episode III Star Wars game. I can't get past Cin Drallig, who has some kind of unblockable superfast blur attack. Plus I have to fight Serra first, so I never start out at full health. And then when Cin kills me, I have to play the part with Serra from the beginning. Sometimes I get killed even before I get to Cin. I know I’m a professional and all, but this is getting into Devil May Cry territory. So I've called in the big guns.
"Sorry I’m late,” Trevor said when he shows up. “I started working at a new office this week. They want me to stay until the end of the day, which really sucks."
He's looking over the control layout in the manual. "I presume you’ve leveled Anakin’s abilities?"
"Yeah. I put most of his points in Force Healing and Critical Strikes. I’m saving the rest.”
“You should have probably been more proactive. Force Lightning or Jump Attacks. We’ll see what we can do.” He’s looking over the list of attack combos and the Force powers. “Offensive shunts,” he notes, “Cool. Lightsaber plunging?”
“It’s not as cool as it sounds.”
“Hey, look, they’re still calling tech support ‘Yoda’s Help Desk’. Cute. Okay, first things first.” Trevor cruises over to the options screens. "I see you're playing at the easy difficulty," he notes with a little smile.
"I was on medium until the Dooku battle."
"Sure you were," he says, "Sure you were."
“So, you like it, your new office?" I feel like I might be interrupting. It’s like when the cable guy comes over. I’m not sure if he’d rather I ignored him or politely engaged in conversation. I usually alternate between the two, which just confuses both of us.
"Yeah, it's okay. But I have a bad feeling about the people," Trevor says.
"What's wrong with them?"
"Well, for starters, we had our first meeting today. Get this. We're having a meeting in this really cool conference room. It's got a big round table in the middle. It's black. There are black chairs and the walls are kind of metallic. It's really cool. I come walking in and I say, 'This bickering is pointless'. Not a single reaction. They just looked at me."
"Yeah, can you believe it?"
"I don't get it. They were bickering?"
"No, no. I say, 'This bickering is pointless'. Get it?"
"'This bickering is pointless'."
"I still don't get it."
Trevor sighs. "Okay, picture this. It's a big conference around a big black round table. There's a bunch of people sitting there. They got on, you know, suits. They look kind of official. And I come walking in and I say 'This bickering is pointless'."
"But they weren't bickering?"
"That's beside the point. But no."
"Then why did you say that?"
"Okay, I'll try one more time. Pretend they're in military uniforms and I'm Peter Cushing."
"Now do you get it?"
"Is it something from a vampire movie?"
Trevor heaves a great sigh.
"Oh, it's a Star Wars thing," I say. It usually is.
"Grand Moff Tarkin. Jesus, dude. Maybe you should come work at this company. You'd obviously fit right in."
"Why do you do that? Especially when it’s an obscure line like that."
"It's sending out a signal. You know, normally my Stardar is pretty good, but there are times you gotta go to active emissions. Okay, show me what level you're stuck on." He sets aside the manual, breathes into his hands, rubs them together, takes up the controller, and begins.