Burnout Paradise Toy Cars
Zulema Estabrooks
Yeah I'm pretty much over Burnout Paradise, sorry Criterion. It's a great game, I bought it twice, the year of paradise was awesome, played the game probably a hundred hours. But.. I'm bored of that map/road layout. Wasn't that crazy about it in the first place really, but the other elements of the game made up for it. NEXT
To some extent, I never really got way into the game when it was released but the proposition of driving around in what is essentially the Delorean is mad tempting. May well get back into it when this year's gaming season has died down a bit.
If it's substantial content like whole new levels, then yes, I'll pay for things like that. If it's just things like a new weapon, new car or skins, then no I won't buy those. A lot of this stuff is just cosmetic anyway.
I think I would have been ready to pay for the bikes+day/night update if it wouldn't have been free. New cars just isn't enough to get me back to the game let alone pay for those. If they give me something new which makes the whole game feel different again, I might pay for it. Hmm, actually just an update which would make the map bigger with new streets and challenges would get me to buy it, especially if there would be a new challenge type added ^^
When Burnout Paradise came out i really hated all the changes and just didn't buy it. I got all the other Burnout games but dont own " Burnout Paradise" . But now that they added all this stuff I might go buy the new boxed version in feb.
Stuff like toy cars and hovering back to the future look alikes is to hard to ignore and they are adding a restart race the #1 thing that pissed me off. I hated having to drive all the god damn way back every single time I don't have that kind of time to waste.
So yes interested since I have not played that much of it. What I did play of it I cared as much about it as i did Burnout 1, and that is like not that much I did not add burnout to my trfecta of top 3 race games next to wipeout and f-zero until burnout 2.
SO what happens when you crash the toy car into a full sized car does it get made into a pancake under the tires?
played the demo, although the idea of all the free additions they've made is interesting, there's nothing to do in the game except crash and i got bored of that in minutes.
granted, i don't know what you could do to the game to make it any more interesting to people like me so its not really their fault, its a dilema and i wish people would stop talking about burnout paradise so i'll never have to see it again.
No, too many other games coming out to pay for new content... on the other hand.. if gears2 came out with paid content, i'd surely get that... maybe i just don't like burnout paradise anymore... perhaps it was just the constant crashing... (oh no... i just suck at games...)
In this city, which is filled with thousands of cars (some parked, others in motion), there are no people. The cars appear to be driving all of their own accord. You might think they are robotic, but I'm not so sure; I've seen a few do things almost as crazy as what I'm doing now. Whatever the case, every single car I pass has an empty driver's seat.
So it comes as a great relief that no people are in the cars. There is an unintended consequence, though, which calls into question just what happened to the people of Paradise City. Why does no one walk the streets? And how do these cars, trucks, buses, and vans get around with no human intervention? More chillingly, why do they cruise the streets, if there are no people to transport?
I suspect that those who break the rules and drive recklessly are merely trying to escape their tormented existence. They've had enough of existing in a world with nothing but driving and street racing. When they were alive, crashing at high speed would have killed them. Now it transports them, seemingly by magic, back onto the road, with their car looking so pristine as if nothing happened.
Paradise City is anything but a paradise; it's a prison. A city of the living dead, everyone here is a ghost trapped in a car with nothing to do but drive and crash, and drive again, for all eternity. How do you win in a game of chicken against a ghost?
This was meant to be a piece on Battlefield 1. Then it was meant to be a piece on Titanfall 2. Then someone asked if I might fancy writing a little something about Mass Effect. No. I might not fancy that. I might not fancy any of that. Instead I will do what I have been doing instead of all those other things I should have done. I have been circling and circling in Paradise City, picking up speed and picking up speed until the whole place becomes a particle accelerator that I flow through, rush through, course through, travelling faster and faster, burnout piling upon burnout until time and space have been so roughly treated by proceedings that they break down completely and I collide with myself coming back the other way and then watch as the world fragments in a blinding pulse of white light. This will happen. I am certain of it. It's the Burnout Paradise end-game that I have always suspected is out there somewhere, lurking deep in the code just ten, twenty, thirty mph beyond my reach.
Burnout Paradise is a game that I feel bad for liking as much as I do, almost as if it were a chinchilla hair coat that, annoyingly, goes just perfectly with my favourite trousers. Many games come with a human cost, of course - the long hours of development, the neglected families, the unfortunate tantrums and the jumping up and down on other people's desks. But with a game as brilliantly machine-tooled as Paradise, that cost is suddenly unavoidably obvious. The way the arcing curves of its freeways meet up, ideal transitions you will rarely even notice as sheer speed spins you from one arm of the city to the next? These are elements that, in their near-perfect invisibility, nonetheless make themselves felt just enough to nod you towards the pain and suffering that must have been required in order to locate them and implement them. You feel the seams shifting in the concrete and are given pause. Someone must have seriously busted out the protractor and engineer's quadrille on this one.
Or, to put it another way, while I'll readily admit that I still understand very little about the practical business of making games, I realise afresh that I have absolutely no idea whatsoever how something like Burnout Paradise was put together. But I bet it hurt.
And it should have hurt. Because Burnout was already perfect. Burnout 3 was perfect, anyway: a game about driving badly, but driving badly well. A game in which driving badly sufficiently well - or driving well sufficiently badly - rewarded you with boost that allowed you to drive even more badly, even more well, at massively increased speeds. And when you crashed in Burnout 3, it wasn't the end of the fun. It was the start of the fun, as time slowed to become a thick gel through which sparks and shrapnel moved with a villainous apocalyptic sluggishness as you steered your wreckage - steered it! - towards the oncoming headlights of your innocent rivals. Testify! A stolen moment in which you could turn defeat into a bitter kind of rolling victory. A game which absolutely refused to pluck control from the player if there was still some fun to be had with it.
How to top that? With Revenge, of course, which built on perfection by doubling down on chaos. Burnout 3 offered a glimpse of this promise, I think. It offered a glimpse of the game that Burnout seemed to be headed towards becoming, and the glimpse was visible at a lazy corner of the road, say, taken at speed, late-on in a race, where a collision somewhere behind you might fling traffic hurtling through the air over your head, and you might suddenly realise that your particular hectic metal deadliness was only one part of a vast machine of screaming, accident-prone fender-bending potential. Revenge's means of getting at more of that stuff? It introduced traffic checking, in which any vehicles going in the same direction as you were suddenly fair game. Fair game! You could ram into them and they wouldn't hurt you. Rather, they would just bounce cheerily down the tarmac in front of you, taking out any unfortunates who might have had the gall, the temerity, to beat you into second place. (I realise at this point that I don't actually know what temerity means, but I refuse to look it up.)
Where to go from there? Katamari Damacy seemed the only option, right? Burnout's future trajectory was surely going to be about the cars themselves, clumping together to form larger and larger bait balls of chaos as they crunched around, eating up the oncoming traffic. I can see that game happening. I can imagine what it would be like to play, what it would look like. Cars battered and warped and softened until they look like metallic choux buns. Cars welded together by impacts, rolling down the street together like a new kind of animal. Amazing stuff, but it's not Paradise. Paradise did something equally audacious, but it went the other way.
Rather than zero in on the car, forever hurtling around a corner, forever poised between control and chaos, forever edging into the wrong lane where beautiful catastrophe awaits, Paradise pulled back to examine the world outside the car, the world rushing by regardless. What if that world was all connected? What if all the roads had permanent locations within the same space, and could be navigated as you saw fit? What - and this is blasphemy - what if you got rid of those glowing chevrons which fenced the courses off so that you didn't really have to worry too much about where you were going in the first place? These chevrons, I always think of them as the gutter guards they put up at bowling alleys when little kids are learning to play. They seemed like an essential part of what Burnout was: streamlined, pared down, relentless. Then, Paradise took them away. Suddenly, all of the races you were entered into were taking place in a wider somewhere. Suddenly, you couldn't just focus on the rival you were planning on barging into the spars of a concrete underpass, but you also had to leave a little bit of attention free for where the finish line was and which cross streets you were going to need to use to get there.