God Of War III Review

Story by Adam Templeton 

| Published Sep 7, 2010

Historically, the “God of War” franchise has never been one steeped in compelling narrative. Its greater fiction – a hyperviolent pastiche of Greek mythology, tits and improvised optical surgery on reluctant Cyclopean patients – has always been little more than a playground for its sociopathic star Kratos to kill everyone. For the most part, that's not really a problem.

I mean, the world is objectively a better place with fewer minotaurs. Additionally, the dozen or so innocent characters murdered for the simple crime of asking Kratos for help should have known that a guy painted in the ashes of his dead wife and child (whom he also killed) probably has better shit to do. Prior to “God of War III,” the adventures of Kratos had no need for any plot devices more transcendent than “Go Here, Kill This” and “Go There, Fuck That.”

“God of War III” ramps up the intensity in all departments (one boss is so big, pulling off a fingernail takes 10 minutes), save for its narrative. During the first level, a balls-out assault on Mount Olympus lead by Kratos in attempt to break his own record for “Most Exorbitant Deicide,” the lack of story didn't really bother me. But after the onslaught inevitably ends in failure, the need for a more robust plot emerges.

Perhaps, robust “justification” would be a better choice of words.

See, “God of War II” ended on a cliffhanger, the resolution of which found Kratos and his merry band of Titans comin' round the Mount. While that initial chaos is unfolding all around you in “God of War III,” you know deep down that Kratos can't really put it off: successfully ending the reign of Zeus would also end the game. After Kratos is flung from the mountain, killed and forced to go on a journey to regain all his powers (y'know, like... again), you're not surprised. Just exasperated.

Don't get me wrong; game has its moments. I derived immense pleasure from carrying around the God of the Sun's head like a flashlight. I laughed like a maniac when I clubbed a certain snarky, deific messenger to death with his own legs. And I revealed in the irony that – given how many times I wrestled away a foe's weapon and stabbed him with it – my enemies tended to last longer when they came at me unarmed.

But through it all, I had to wonder, “Why am I doing this, exactly?”
Imagine a roller coaster. You ride it once, and its like drinking from of those cupholder hats, only the straws are directly attached to your adrenaline glands, and you're also getting a blowjob somehow. Basically, it's awesome. That's the ending to the original “God of War.”

It's so awesome, in fact, that you didn't mind the arduous wait in line, nor do you mind standing complacently for another six to eight hours so you can experience that thrill ride again. After strapping in a second time, the cart clanks slowly up the track; tension is mounting. As you approach the peak of that first hill – your stomach knotted like the left arm of a 19th century child textile worker with subpar reflexes – you anticipate the coming drop, already debating if flipping double birds for the camera at the end is the definition of “trying too hard.”

And then, without warning, the cart stops abruptly. Backtracking anticlimactically, the entire chain of cars rolls into the station. Once there, the awkward attendant – who's been to third base as many times as you've been to the G7 summit – issues an ultimatum: If you want to enjoy the exhilarating conclusion promised you during that second roller coaster ride, you've got to endure a third one, along with another tedious bout of line-standing. The third ride is more than worth the wait, but you're still vaguely aware all that excitement could have been packed into the first two trips with minimal effort.

At the end of the day, I can't fault “God of War III” too much. The game is fluid and polished; mindless id-satiating fun. There aren't many mix-ups to its formula, but the new additions (such as 2nd person death scenes, wherein you watch Kratos hand your ass to you) are inventive enough to avoid feeling tacked on. Sure, the rest is really more of the same, but – unlike Kratos – I ain't even mad...