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» MEDIA (2)

Dear Star Trek: Legacy
,
I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s working out between us. I want to like you, I really do. The thought of hurting your feelings makes me feel terrible, and I wish I could say that it’s not you, it’s me. If you deserve anything though, it’s to hear the truth, which is to say: it is you.

I’m not saying you’re completely to blame. My expectations for you were very high. I mean, your previews were so beautiful, so breathtaking in detail, I knew that the months awaiting your arrival would feel like years. In those days I thought only of you: your voice work from every actor to play the captain of a series, your promise of playing a fleet commander, sending specific ships off to face threats as they arrive in real-time. Your expanses of dangerous and exciting nebulae, begging starships to enter and carry out their cat and mouse games, their life and death marco-polo. You promised all this and most importantly of all, you promised an immersive, visually stunning, robust starship combat platform from which I could reenact the best battles from Trek history for hours and hours of replay value.

Maybe I was foolish to believe these promises, but the differences between what I thought you were and what you actually are were apparent from our first moments together. The first thing I noticed was your daunting need for control. Now when I get to know a new game, the first thing I like to do is set up my keyboard or my gamepad, get the controls where I like them, and get comfortable. I may not read the manual, but I’m no man to go flying blind into the cosmos without knowing stop from go. This is how I found out you wouldn’t let me assign my own controls, which is a feature so basic I was taken aback by your complete lack of it. I searched though your menus repeatedly, thinking I’d missed it somewhere, thinking it was me.

This, of course, might have been a forgivable sin if your control scheme were intuitive and easy to use. Sure, it’s learnable. So is the cockpit of a 747. Still, I’d be willing to bet that the 747’s controls were designed with efficiency and logic in mind, unlike yours, which gave my left hand cramps as I searched like a nervous cadet mashing every button but the one I needed. It’s a miracle I didn’t blow the thing up.

As if that weren’t bad enough, you lack something that you’d think any game about flying through space would have: a 3rd dimension. Sure, I could go a little bit up and a little bit down, but I soon found myself confused as my ship, pulling up, seemed to get stuck against an imaginary ceiling. It took me a while to figure out that not only was there a claustrophobic limit to how far up or down you’d allow me to go, but that you wouldn’t let me pitch my ship more than 90 degrees vertically. No looping back my enemies. No cool maneuvers besides ever turning left or right.

Do you realize how much this limits not only the illusion of space flight but the simple fun as well? Instead of concentrating on out-turning my enemies to line up the weapons and hide my weak side, I also had to keep in mind where I couldn’t go and what I couldn’t do, or else I’d find myself wasting valuable time bringing my ship back around. Were you brought up as a flight sim when you were a kid? Didn’t your developers hug you enough?

I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’ve known a couple of flight sims that handled space very well.

I’m not trying to be mean. I’m telling you this because I think it’d do you good to hear it. Some games have it all, yes, but some get by because they’re purely fun to play. You’re not. Other games, while not as instantly fun and easy at the start, are rewarding in other ways. Depth of gameplay, for example, or an intriguing plot. The obvious thing you could have offered was an immersive experience within the rich Trek universe you inherited. Unfortunately, you don’t have that either.

As I went through your missions, acquiring points for my performance, I could “buy” and “sell” ships, which then joined or left my “fleet”. I’d just finished saving a space station from Romulans and was given the opportunity to change my fleet at your perverted starship bazaar. At the beginning of the next mission, the ship I “bought” suddenly joined us, no explanation given, as if it had always been there. I know, it was my choice, but it still jarring. It felt less like we were commanding ships in Starfleet and more like we were kids skipping school, picking up and losing members of our little gang as we kicked around the neighborhood looking for things to do. At this point, Legacy, I couldn’t take you seriously anymore. I had to laugh. The glories of piloting a Federation Starship had been reduced to an episode of Little Rascals.

And you know what? You don’t even look that good. Okay, so I’m not running you on the best system in the world, but there’s some fundamental flaws to your design that take away from the immersive experience you could have been. For starters, there’s your goofy explosions. When a space station or other large object is destroyed, it looks like a large block of cheese breaking apart, and inspires just about as much awe. Yes, your ships are wonderfully detailed, with phasers and photon strikes creating dynamic lighting effects that are impressive. Unfortunately, your strange and difficult camera doesn’t allow for much enjoyment of the view, all the while giving the impression that these space battles are playing out between micro machine scale miniatures, not skyscraper sized battleships.

See, deep down, what turned me on about you was the promise of majesty. Why do Trek fans love Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan so much? It’s not the action packed script, though that helped. It’s not those creepy ear worms, though they helped too. And no, it’s not Ricardo Montalban’s plastic chest. It was the epic space battle between two Federation Ships, and when the camera panned slowly across the bow of the Enterprise, we knew, no, felt she was huge. When a torpedo slipped through the shields and blew through the saucer section, pieces went flying into space. It was a big deal, and the ships limped away, bearing bleeding wounds. It was the first time we witnessed a starship bear the ultimate of indignities: losing a warp nacel, and it was absolutely breathtaking. How did you fail in creating and capturing that same beauty?

First, you let your ships give up their wounds too easily. Early in any engagement the ship’s hull is nicked up and bleeding like a 14 year-old’s face after his first date with a razor. By giving it up to quickly, you cheapen it. Second, your scale in space is inconsistent. Planets look to be the size of grapefruit. Ships bounce off each other with all the weight and grace of rubber duckies in the bath.

Finally, and most annoyingly, your idea of space is simply too busy. Have you been outside after dark recently? When you look up, what do you see? Black, with some white dots? Me too, along with pretty much everyone I know, as well as the dudes from NASA, the telescopes we’ve put in orbit, and the probes we’ve flung across our solar system. Real space is dark and empty, with some bright things here and there. Your space is ever colorful, milky and cloudy, as if it were hollowed out from cotton candy. The lovely detail you’ve put into your ships is lost, along with any chance for them to seem grand, when they’re set against this constricting background. Space never felt so small.

I’m sorry. I really am. You don’t know how badly I wanted things to work out. In the end though, It wouldn’t be right to force it. It wouldn’t be fair to me or you. Especially me. Don’t get too down about it though. I’m sure you’ll find someone special who will love and cherish you. Try hanging around the bargain bins, and wearing $15 stickers.

Don’t worry about me, either. I’ve got a date lined up with someone already. Maybe you’ve heard of her: Star Trek: Tactical Assault. Oh, wait, that’s right. That’s your sister, isn’t it? Ouch! Sorry again.

Happy Valentines Day,
-Millroy.

(We can totally still be friends if you want)