Perihelion Reviews

Case of the Missing “Snowpiercer”

FOR FANS OF A CHOSEN FEW niches (in no particular order: apocalyptic science fiction, Korean Cinema and French comics), “Snowpiercer” was a miracle baby. A collaboration between producer Park Chan-wook (“Oldboy”) and director Bong Joon-ho (“The Host”)—arguably the two biggest names to ever emerge from the South Korean film industry—“Snowpiercer” is everything an audience could want. It’s a slam-bang action picture; Captain America (Chris Evans) trapped on a future train that can never slow down. At the same time, it’s a dissection of social inequality, surging with Orwellian class-on-class rage. But wait, there’s more! The current talk around “Snowpiercer” is even loftier: it’s ushering in a new era of film distribution, via Video On Demand.

Now, if only we could see it. Today, we can—the film’s been a VOD staple for months, and in October it’ll be sliding onto store shelves in the home video market. Those interested in the film will have an ample supply of “Snowpiercer” to choose from. A month or two ago? Not so much. Few knew about the film. Even fewer knew how to find it. If you wanted to experience this much-lauded piece of Korean dystopia on a big screen, there’d be a considerable amount of legwork involved. That articles titled “Why is Snowpiercer only playing in two Portland theaters?” even existed was a particularly ill omen.

To figure out just where “Snowpiercer” was hiding (and why), the first step lies in its now-revolutionary VOD release. The film’s domestic debut was microscopic (that’s putting it generously); RADiUS-TWC (the VOD/indie branch of The Weinstein Company) opened “Snowpiercer” in eight theaters. A week later, “Snowpiercer” was playing in 356 theaters across the country (a big step up, but still a speck in the shadow of something like “Godzilla” and its initial 3,952 theater count). “Snowpiercer’s” domestic pull during that first 352-count weekend? $1.5M. Given the paltry few theaters it was playing at, that’s a win for “Snowpiercer.” Given the sums of money other films were raking in (once more, let’s go to the well of “Godzilla,” which pulled in $93M its first weekend), it’s a pittance.

That’s not where “Snowpiercer’s” industry upheaval lies. After two weeks at the box office, RADiUS-TWC debuted the film on VOD, where it stacked up $2M in its first week. Again, that doesn’t sound like much, but in VOD-land, that’s astronomical. “Snowpiercer’s” $2M is the highest VOD opening in Weinstein history.

And in the months since, “Snowpiercer’s” VOD gains have nearly doubled its theatrical gross (domestically, that is—outside the U.S. it’s an entirely different story). Theatergoers have given the film $4.5M. Those who stayed home? $6.45M. Combined, that’s not nearly enough money to recoup the film’s $40M budget, but the film crushed the overseas box office with an $82M gross—and with a traditional release model, to boot. Meaning: Bong, Park, and the Weinsteins are doing just fine, financially.

For VOD, this is a revolution. And it’s being hailed as such. Forbes stakes out that “Snowpiercer” will “likely go down as one of 2014’s most important films.” Business Insider echoes the rallying cry: “Snowpiercer” is “leading a revolution in the movie industry,” and “putting Hollywood to shame.” Look at the numbers, and yep—that seems to be the case. But “Snowpiercer’s” runaway success might not be the product of carefully planned strategy, as many attest. Just as likely, it’s a major studio tripping over its own feet and kicking lightning into a bottle entirely by accident.

Which would explain why the film remained hidden from the public for so long. Consider that about a year ago, Harvey Weinstein (founder of the Weinstein Company, which branches off into RADiUS-TWC, which distributed “Snowpiercer”) wasn’t seen as a Steve Jobs revolutionary; rather as the mustache-twirling villain strapping “Snowpiercer” to its own tracks. Early reports claimed Weinstein wanted to drastically simplify Bong’s cut of “Snowpiercer” so that “audiences in Iowa ... and Oklahoma” could still follow along. Weinstein wanted to strip twenty minutes of character development from the picture, paste over the gaps with a little voiceover, and brand his drastically simplified “Snowpiercer” as a straight-ahead action flick.

That cinephiles (especially those who’d already seen the un-tampered “Snowpiercer”) revolted is no surprise, but alongside them was Bong, putting up a brick wall; arms crossed, not moving. A few months of grueling debate later and a truce was struck. Weinstein would leave “Snowpiercer” alone, but at great cost: he’d only allow Bong’s original uncut work to release on a limited scale (Bong first signed on with the promise of a wide release). Fast-forward a little, and we’ve got that paltry eight-screen release (itself a hard-fought victory from RADiUS-TWC presidents Tom Quinn and Jason Janego) that expanded to a few hundred, and then into a VOD supernova.

Add in one more frustration—Bong’s victory over the editing process happened in February, but it was only in the beginning of July (after “Snowpiercer” was already in those eight theaters) that word got out about its expanded release. And even then, word was feeble at best (relying once again on the cadre of cinephiles pushing for its success than from any official outlet). People were scrambling to alert filmgoers to “Snowpiercer’s” expanded release during the weekend of that expanded release. Even if you had a “Snowpiercer” available nearby, chances are you might not have realized it until it was too late. No wonder those poor folks in Portland were so confused.

Yet “Snowpiercer” blew down doors all the same—just over in the VOD market, where no one was looking. Now, it’s the herald of future VOD releases to come. Makes sense, as there are vast benefits to going On Demand: Quinn told “The Wrap” that VOD is so cheap to distribute (in comparison to a theatrical release) that “every dollar is worth double because of the net return.” There’s also the ads—a crucial (and unbelievably costly) requirement for any decent-sized production. Bloomberg Businessweek asserts that marketing a wide-release “Snowpiercer” would set the Weinsteins back about $25M. On VOD, it cost them just $5M. These kinds of savings aren’t enough to recoup something like “Snowpiercer” and its $40M budget, but give the format a little time, a little outward expansion, and a couple of pics with budgets just a smidge cheaper, and VOD starts looking very viable.

“Snowpiercer’s” On Demand boom might have been the product of clairvoyant marketing gurus pitching a film for exactly the right format. More likely, it was a series of embarrassing distributor fumbles that still couldn’t kill the draw to a movie as solid as “Snowpiercer.”

***

Cutting the exposition out of “Snowpiercer” is the most ingenious thing director Bong Joon-ho could ever have done. This is not a film that requires excess backstory—the opening credits give us a quick textbook rundown (just enough so things make sense), and we’re off. Here’s what we learn: in one not-too-distant future, mankind has developed a miracle global warming cure, CW-7, designed to drop the rising temperature. CW-7 is deployed in the atmosphere, but someone’s calculations were off, because the planet is a solid block of ice. What’s left of life on Earth is crammed into the Snowpiercer, a train that never stops running. Thus, a small fragment of humanity is allowed to keep living.

When “Snowpiercer” opens, it’s mere hours before a bloody revolt, led by Curtis Everett (Chris Evans), one of the numerous hungry folk crammed into the train’s Dickensian back compartments by the snooty snobs of the front section.

Knowing so little about what’s happening is key to the “Snowpiercer” experience. This is a film meant to be peeled away in layers; Curtis and his motley revolt (including, but not limited to: Octavia Spencer, John Hurt, Song Kang-ho) claw their way from point A in the rear to point B in the front. And that’s the entire movie. But the joy in this dazzling work of science fiction comes from the gradual understanding that unfolds—what this train is, how it operates, and what it all represents.

To reveal any more would rob the film of its wonder, but suffice to say, there’s a lot to do between the back compartment and the engine room. As Minister Mason (Tilda Swinton, goggle-eyed, buck-toothed and nearly unrecognizable), mouthpiece for the upper class, proclaims to the proles: “when the foot seeks a place on the head, a sacred line is crossed. Know your place. Keep your place. Be a shoe!” Curtis, of course, is the shoe that wants to rest atop the head, and as “Snowpiercer” unfolds, we’ll learn just why the head is so desperate to keep the shoes in their prescribed position (also, as a testament to Bong’s uniquely Korean sense of weird, Mason begins her speech by balancing a shoe on the head of a lower-class passenger in the middle of gruesome post-apocalyptic torture).

That idea of social class and the argument “Snowpiercer” presents are embedded in every inch of the film. First, it’ll stick out visually, as the back end passengers are a pack of grimy transients that come in one color palette: a uniform, muck-stained brown. Bong packs them into the frame ingeniously—it’ll take a while for it to sink in, but the mutineers are never given a scene or a moment alone. Not a shred of internal monologue comes to the back passengers, subtly increasing the sense of worn life crammed in tiny spaces. Meanwhile, residents of the front are the pinnacles of excess—Mason’s first appearance is packaged in a broad shouldered, Hilary Clinton/Margaret Thatcher pantsuit, shrouded a second time over in a gargantuan fur.

The dialogue, the story, the conflicts within characters, the build and design of the train—all comes back to social class in a likewise manner. Half the fun of “Snowpiercer” are those ohhhhhhhh moments of dawning realization (that come through individual deduction or when revealed in gotcha! fashion by Bong).

The other half of the fun is the ride—because, despite it’s high ideals, “Snowpiercer” is a blockbuster action pic, through and through. The road from shoe to head is fraught with gunplay, axe-wielding maniacs, chaotic mass battles and tense mano-a-mano duels. The constant hurry to reach the front of the train gives the film its drive, and shapes “Snowpiercer” into the same kind of enclosed-space action darling as “Die Hard” or “Dredd.” And all is handled with the same deftness of Bong’s “The Host” and its monster attack sequences, and anchored around Evans’ lead. He’s a “Captain America” hero wrapped in bitter revolutionary; a violent, staccato-voiced, reluctant leader.

There’s no excuse not to see “Snowpiercer”—it’s far and away the year’s best science fiction film so far, and manages a marvelous best of both worlds approach: a screed on social stratification and an excuse for Evans to bury an axe in the brains of his enemies. Seek it out wherever you can find it. (“Snowpiercer,” directed by Bong Joon-ho, Weinstein Company)  —Adam Paul

 

Everyman Goes to War

AFTER A STINT IN THE MILITARY, KEN LIZZI took on a new self-appointed mission: to “infuse a pulp sensibility into 21st century fiction and provide literature a shot of two-fisted fabulism.” He does all that and more with the novel “Reunion.”

Never mind that the science is a little soft, the genre all over the map (“post-apocalyptic, science fiction action/adventure fantasy”)—“Reunion” is stellar, especially for military science fiction. I don’t even like military science fiction, but I love “Reunion.” Why? It’s the human component, namely a Portland cop, Nick Gates, who pulls me into his world even though it’s the last place I want to go as a reader. Battles, blood and mangled body parts? I’m outta here.

Nick is on night duty when the apocalypse begins without a single warning peep from scientists or doomsday prophets. He narrates events as they unfold, and even though “unreliable narrator” is my favorite kind, Nick seems so reliable, honest and sensible, I trust him implicitly.

His sense of duty and fighting spirit and all the usual virtues aren’t what kept me turning pages. It’s the simple, methodical way he thinks. Just when I’ve had enough of the casualties in chapter one, Nick finds his way home, his house intact, his wife sleeping through the alien invasion. His dilemma: “Do I shake her awake and pour out the story of a twisted cityscape and untold deaths? Or would waking her only serve to ruin what might be the last decent night’s sleep of her life?”

Now that’s a man after my own heart.

But it gets even better. When looters smash plate-glass windows, Nick is conflicted: “I was relieved by this additional sign of survivors, but the cop in me was irked at such lawless, uncivilized behavior. I mean, sure, people needed the supplies. But did they need to break the windows?” At that point, there was no doubt I’d keep reading. Without any vandalism, Nick and Trina manage to loot a liquor store. “The end of the world was nothing to face sober,” after all.

Line after line, page after page, Nick fires off random thoughts that show us something that’s all too rare in fiction: a regular guy.

Science fiction fans, however, will want to know about the irregular stuff. There’s plenty of that. A brief shiver runs down the brick walls of a building; a window quivers; a row of Victorian houses appears “to have birthed a—what?” Nick wonders. “A pyramid? A ziggurat?” Burning houses illuminate a surreally altered Portland. Strange, new, but ancient looking buildings rise from the Earth, merging with whatever is in their way, from people to cars and skyscrapers. A man’s head and shoulders emerge from the roof of a car, “torso melded with the front seat,” and a cow is similarly fused, head and front legs protruding from the hood and front bumper.

In a later scene, Nick’s friend shows off the six-pointer he’d bagged. “Then the air sort of thickened, like it became water or something. It rippled. And then, where the man was standing, there was a stone wall ... The ends of antlers still poked out, and below them, the tip of (the guy’s) nose and shoes. One second he was alive,” Nick explains, “the next he was part of a wall. No time to scream, no time to think here it comes.”

Three-fourths of Earth’s population is killed in this sort of Salvador Dali scenario or by the invaders who come “trooping lockstep down the center of the street” in a column, “wide-bladed pole arms glinting above them, like the flickering points of light across a river’s ever shifting surface, their armor rippling like the scaled fish darting below. The front of the column begins peeling off left and right, like the mouth of a delta, each separate strand flowing into a house. Blood then puddles from beneath the doors and out each window.” The soldiers smash open doors, butchering helpless old men and women in their beds. It’s all “remarkably vivid, a lucid daydream.” Except that it’s a living nightmare.

Unlike “The Chaplain’s War” by Brad R. Torgersen (Baen Books), which pits Earthly humans against a very alien race with superior military capabilities, Lizzi’s alien invaders look suspiciously like human beings. Clad in weird armor, their spears “big, ungainly things like something out of a badly dubbed martial arts movie,” they take no prisoners. Fortunately, the bizarre army seems to have arrived with no idea what guns are and what bullets can do. Nick is quick to teach them.

Bullets don’t work on their high priests, however, so things get hot and ugly for whoever shoots at the unarmed, weirdly costumed elite. Nick, who’s been taking down spear-bearers with his service pistol, witnesses this just in the nick of time.

It’s a given that military fiction introduces us to great characters with memorable personalities only to show them die heroically. Don’t get too attached to anyone. Nick’s assorted forays into battle keep his wife on edge, along with readers, but we know he’ll survive. He has to. He’s narrating in first-person point of view. If I suspect an author might kill the protagonist, I’ll skip to the end and skip the book if our hero is doomed.

Even though Nick planted in my mind the same “little horror docudrama” that won’t stop running through the projector in his head, I kept turning pages. The story is excruciating. I hate battle scenes. Part of it is the furtive little fear, deep down, that I could one day face armed soldiers at my door. Shouldn’t I buy a gun and learn to shoot accurately? Nick’s ragtag warriors have no training in weaponry. “C’mon Trina,” one protests. “I read. I watch the History Channel.” Another man after my own heart.

Part of the story’s appeal is that Nick is so easy to identify with. “I never worried about leaving the world a better place,” he tells Trina. “I just wanted to make a good life for you and me, and maybe help a few people, get a few bad guys off the street. But now, if there is any hope left of making a good life for us, I need to try to change the world. Or at least a little part of it.” Nick’s everyman authenticity wins me over in scene after scene.

In spite of being Portlanders, Nick and Trina have the good sense of rural Midwesterners. (I’ve been tempted to three-star a young adult novel just because the heroine sent burnt bacon down the disposal. Bad, bad, bad. Authors should never show teen readers such poor judgment without showing consequences. ) Washing the dishes before abandoning a house is absurd, Jim says. “But we’re going to do it anyway,” Trina firmly replies, and so they do, “washing, drying, and placing each plate, fork, pot and pan in its proper place.” Then they head out with the spang and click of arrowheads and wooden shafts glancing off their vehicles, driving past a “crazy-quilt patchwork of fused architecture,” burnt landscape littered with reeking dead bodies, skeletal frames of razed houses, until—well, see for yourself. It’s a long, perilous trek to Boise.

Nick and Trina hook up with an old friend who happens to study ancient civilizations and who happens to have escaped intact after a few weeks of lurking inside a ziggurat, where he happened to take notes in the invaders’ library. By now, I’m far too hooked to mind a few plot devices that demand lots of willing suspension of disbelief—and far too amused to mind if the scholar suspects that the apocalypse was triggered by my favorite scapegoat, the elusive Higgs Boson particle. In real life, the Chinese may or may not be experimenting with their own super collider, but in the novel, they’re the probable cause of that first seismic tremor.

What did they unleash? Well, the title is a bit of a giveaway. So is the title of Nancy Kress’ novella, “Yesterday’s Kin.” Both stories explore one of my most beloved premises, the “what if” divergences in Homo sapien’s family tree.

In short, “Reunion” is a fun, witty, genre-hopping, insightful and ultimately optimistic tale of humans surviving an enemy invasion. Never mind the sketchy science (“it isn’t magic, just manipulation of the current physical law paradigm”). Even for those who avoid military science fiction, I highly recommend it.

Now, to see what Kress did with her premise. (“Reunion,” Ken Lizzi, Twilight Times Books)  —Carol Kean

 

Invasion of the Unknown

WHEN ALIENS FROM OUTER space (as opposed to, say, Mexico) land on Earth, trouble is sure to follow. Why would technologically superior beings come here, unless it’s to pillage our resources and enslave our women? In Nancy Kress’ “Yesterday’s Kin,” the reason is just about impossible to guess. The Denebs arrive with one goal: To make contact with humanity. A peace mission, they broadcast to us. They say almost nothing else for the next four months while invisibly lurking behind a shield humans cannot penetrate.

What do they look like? How do they dress, eat and drink? Human reactions to the Deneb’s arrival are all too plausible, from runaway speculation to mob mentality and xenophobia. “A German fashion designer scored an enormous runway hit with the Deneb look, despite the fact that no one knew how the Denebs looked,” Kress reports with her usual unerring insight. “Late-night comics built monologues around supposed alien practices,” and bumper stickers promised to brake for Denebs or trade physics for food. DENEBS DO IT INVISIBLY is my favorite, and EARTH IS FULL ALREADY—GO HOME is all too familiar.

Four months of this pass, and “The aliens never commented on any of it. They published the promised physics, which only a few dozen people in the world could understand.”

Nancy Kress rules at packing such gems into a taut, slim novella.

The Deneb suddenly invite a few select Earthlings to their charming little embassy afloat in New York Harbor. The usual sort of United Nations representatives are summoned, but also, to the world’s surprise, a relatively obscure geneticist. Language is an issue, but the Deneb have computer translators that broadcast a robotic, mechanical English from speakers on the ceiling, which leads to some comic eye-rolling from the humans.

The Deneb look a lot like people. They have certain rituals that unite them and exclude outsiders. Their technology is more advanced than ours in some ways but they need our help with a little science project.

With clean, readable prose (such a scarce commodity, these days), word economy and boundless wit, Kress spins a suspenseful tale that advances quickly and inevitably to a startling conclusion. I’d love to talk about the big reveal, but this is the rare story that has me asking “and then what?” after every new development.

Because I cannot say what the Denebs really want (you know it isn’t peace on Earth and good will to all, right?) I’ll focus on character development. The humanity of Kress’ humans never fails to hit close to home for me.

Marianne Jenner is an evolutionary geneticist who may have neglected her children for her career, but it’s too late to worry about that now. Her handsome, alcoholic ex is gone. Two of her three children are firmly against the Denebs. Son Ryan is an environmental biologist on a mission to remove purple loosestrife, an invasive species of plant life. He views the aliens, too, as an invasive species. Daughter Elizabeth, a federal border patrol officer, wants the aliens to go home—after she appropriates their cool technology to surround herself with an invisible shield.

Noel, the youngest, has aways been a misfit, adrift, suffering an identity crisis, addicted to a drug known as sugarcane (and, yes, there’s a good reason this detail takes up valuable real estate in a novella). Oh, and he’s quite taken with the Deneb. As the Jewish father in “Fiddler on the Roof” laments children departing from the values parents instill in them, Marianne helplessly watches her “baby” gravitate to a really sketchy bunch of people who are only marginally human. Now that I’m a mother, I kinda/sorta get my dad’s angst over two daughters marrying foreign-born men. On the bright side, Dad’s sons-in-law were fully human and Earthbound, but the older we get, the more we spot the downside and the dark side. I absolutely love Nancy Kress for her spot-on dialogue and maternal inner monologues.

Kress’ love of science is manifest in all her stories, though the biggest impression she makes on me involves human relationships. Do we know our fellow humans? Do we really? Within families and communities, not just as a species, who do we trust, how far should we go, what must we do in order to fit in?

Marianne, whose three adult children argue with each other and her (everything is the mother’s fault, as all moms know) has my sympathy. The story ends on a rather bleak note, answering the big “What do they want?” while raising all-new issues for Marianne’s offspring. Kress poses the questions in an indirect way and lets us answer them for ourselves. 

As science fiction goes, this tale doesn’t invoke the “sensawunda” so much as the impact of science (and genetics) on everyday life. While I’ve vowed not to ruin the surprises that unfold in the narrative, I can’t resist pointing out that the title, “Yesterday’s Kin,” is a pretty big clue, as is “Reunion” by Ken Lizzi.

Obsessed as I am with genetics, I’m pleased to see so much of it in this year’s science fiction. Tam Linsey’s “Botanicaust” series and Amy Rogers’ “Reversion” (coming out in November) offer some wild and very engaging scenarios of genetic experiments gone wrong.

The sad note at the end of this story shouldn’t scare away those who insist on happy endings (namely, me). Ken Lizzi’s storytelling talent got me to devour an entire novel full of battle scenes—ugh! Nancy Kress’ keen insights kept me riveted to the emotional duress of a middle-aged mother of three—and I read fiction precisely to escape that scenario. Ultimately, Kress’ heroine does what so many mothers so stoically must, and I’m biting my tongue (er, keyboard fingers) to resist the urge to rejoice and say “Yes! Exactly!”

But that’s what all good writers have us saying when we reach The End. (“Yesterday’s Kin,” Nancy Kress, Tachyon Publications)  —Carol Kean

 

Destined to Kill Time

BUNGIE HAS BEEN AROUND FOR over twenty years now and have had a couple of successes under their belt. Most memorable was the “Halo” series. The “Halo” franchise broke all kinds of sales records, garnered massive critical acclaim, defined online multiplayer combat, and spawned a cult following. After making such a genre defining game what is a company to do? Combine a bunch of other genres, apparently.

“Destiny” takes place 700 years in the future. Mankind has gone through a new golden age colonizing the solar system. An entity known as the Darkness causes all of this to collapse. Millions die until the Traveler, an alien white sphere that hovers above the last safe city on Earth, saves what remains. Hostile aliens have taken over the fallen colonies. A few are chosen as Guardians, they have been charged with some of the Traveler’s power and set to protect the city. Now, the Traveler has fallen ill and the Guardians must seek out the Darkness at its source.

The plot is more than a bit vague and, as you play through and watch the cut scenes, it doesn’t get any less confusing or less vague. But some of the best games don’t have much of a plot.

As far as gameplay goes, the player has the choice of three races (that make no difference in gameplay) and three classes that only make a slight difference. “Destiny” is a combination of primarily first-person shooter, action role-player, and rounded out with massively multiplayer online game. It is an interesting idea but these genres have a bit of a rough time coexisting.

The campaign is pretty straightforward, "the world is going to end and you’re the only one who can stop it," kind of thing. You have four enemy races to fight on various spheres: Earth, Venus, Mars, and the Moon. The missions are a bit repetitive. You are charged with finding/stopping something, you fight a bunch of minions, and then a boss that is often super tough, but at other times you can kill with a few well-placed shots. All missions feel like this with different settings.

Bungie is known more for multiplayers. In player versus player, there is no real matchmaking according to rank or ability like in the “Halo” series. Put the game in your console and you could be pitted against players who have been playing the beta since its first release. You can level up your player as you go, but you don’t have access to the really good weapons or armor until you hit level 20. You will more than likely be pitted against players who are well above level 20 and they waste no time killing you flat, over and over. This is annoying, but skill can overcome raw power.

The cooperative multiplayer is still randomly assigned, but it is nice to have someone get your back when you are facing enemies that take up your entire TV screen. Because the world is shared, you can stop and help strangers, or they can help you. Strike missions fall somewhere between fun and irritating. The random assigning can work to your advantage if you get a high-level, powerful player on your side; on the other hand, you can have too many weak players you spend all your time reviving. There isn’t enough social interaction. It is a shared world but players can’t trade armor, weapons, or money.

Enough of the negative. The game does have a few strong points. The biggest being the visuals. I said earlier that plot isn’t always important, so why should visuals be any different? “Destiny” is beautiful to look at. The version on the current generation consoles (Xbox One and PS4) is better. Obviously, they had quite a bit more to work with: processing speed, RAM, greater internal capacity, better internet connectivity. Overall, the world seems real—not real-life real, but alive because of the level of details in the characters and background.

“Destiny” is also sprinkled with a few bonuses. Peter Dinklage voices the ghost, who is your guide throughout the game. The soundtrack also includes a song by Paul McCartney.

The game’s most appealing asset is “re-playability.” With the RPG elements, you can cycle through various classes and races, working up to their highest level. In multiplayer, once you figure it out and level up some, it begins to feel like “Halo” multiplayer. In other words, you can find yourself playing over and over again and then realize that it is six in the morning and you have to be at work in two hours. Although the campaign is lackluster, as are some of the strike missions, you can replay them, searching and discovering what you missed on the first go-through.

“Destiny” has its fair share of problems, but any game of this nature is bound to have a few. Bungie will most likely keep releasing it to both fix problems and add new features. It is definitely worth the sixty bucks, and will keep you playing much longer than you intend to. It is a lot of fun ... most of the time. (“Destiny,” Xbox, PlayStation, Bungie)  —Adam Armstrong