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Action-lines are used to approximate motion in comics. The trick works in all directions across a two-dimensional plane, but it’s especially effective when the movement is towards (or away from) the reader. It often becomes a matter of point-perspective — a technique commonly associated with the Renaissance, though its origins go back further — but rather than mathematical precision, the comic version skews geography, as if to move the reader along with the heroes. It’s a snapshot of motion in a static medium, though when the effect is translated to a moving picture, the result is kinetic.Point perspective is common in cinema too, mastered by the likes of Kubrick, but Into the Spider-Verse employs the technique in a manner that blends both art forms. While present in the film’s imagery throughout, it’s especially potent during key moments when Miles swings into action.
The lines that frame this perspective are sometimes themselves in motion. Whether beams from Wilson Fisk’s supercollider, or simply New York’s trains and taxis, the living environment enhances Miles’ motion either by moving in the same direction as him — allowing him to overtake the lines in question — or by moving in the opposite direction and enhancing the exaggeration.
The action lines even apply to the characters themselves, re-creating the effects of the comics. Some, in the vein of ink-line smears in hand-drawn animation, approximate rapid movement.
Others approximate impact, imitating sharp sounds on the page.
Some approximate the feel of anaglyph 3D — the good old red-and-blue.
And some moments of impact are even punctuated by comic-appropriate onomatopoeia.
Occasionally, the lines aren’t used to punctuate movement at all. The introduction on Peni Parker (Kimiko Glenn), for instance, echoes the stylizations of Japanese anime and manga, as if light itself is being bent around her.
Peni’s movements, along with those of Spider-Ham’s (John Mulaney), are emblematic of the exaggerated styles to which they pay homage. The hyper-expressiveness of anime, and the hyperactivity of old Warner Bros. toons, are each blended seamlessly into a world of more “realistic” motion.
Also worth noting: Spider-Man Noir (Nicolas Cage) on the far right, posed like an old Sandman comic from the 1930s. He’s even textured as such.
The comic flourishes don’t just exist to remind viewers of the source. When Miles first deals with getting his powers, his invasive, paranoid thoughts begin to manifest as comic book paneling. As he moves through physical space, the narration boxes shift into the background — another great use of 3D — and they’re replaced by new ones that are equally impactful.
Transposing these elements to film ends up uniquely transformative. Motion allows the narrations to forego a traditional left-to-right, the western orientation of the page. We don’t need to see the boxes in a familiar pattern, since we track the order in which they first appear and read them accordingly. The final image, when read as a singular panel, is chaos — “IN MY HEAD why is the voice Wait! So LOUD?!” — not unlike Miles’ state of mind at this point.Another example of this effect is Miles moving through his school hallway after an embarrassing encounter with Gwen (Hailee Steinfeld). Rather than narration boxes however, his thoughts are invaded by overlapping panels that exaggerate background details; bits of information of which he’s now hyper-aware thanks to his Spider-sense. A clip of this scene isn’t available online, but to illustrate, the effect also shows up during the film’s backstory recaps.
The characters’ quick-fire origin tales are often told through inter-locking comic panels, some even framed by webs. This allows for multiple stories to be illustrated in quick succession, while also painting a portrait of a full life of Spider-hood that we haven’t seen.
Not only are these montages a fun visual shorthand — Peter (Jake Johnson) stomps on a glass at his wedding; he’s finally Jewish in the text! — but the presence of these origins for each new player helps establish them as experienced Spider-people. Not just through action, mind you, but through the loss they inevitably experience. As even casual fans know, given the character’s omnipresence in popular culture, a death on one’s conscience is an inescapable part of Spider-Man’s mythos.Minor spoilers to follow.Miles, unlike the other heroes, is just starting out — both as a crime fighter, and as someone with lots to lose. Spider-people from various dimensions comfort him after the death of a loved one, and of course, his subsequent guilt. Even if we don’t see every death they reference, mere hints of Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben, Peter B. Parker’s Aunt May and Spider-Gwen’s best friend are enough to make the weight of Peni’s, Spider-Man Noir’s and even Spider-Ham’s respective losses feel tangible.One of the film’s most affecting moments is so ridiculous on paper — an anthropomorphic, Looney Tunes-inspired pig voiced by a stand-up comedian joins in the collective mourning — but it expresses, with devastating clarity, the idea that mortality and death are inescapable facets of even the most escapist fantasy.”You can’t save ’em all.”The divergent animation styles serve to punctuate this coming-together, as if the notions of heroism, guilt and loss connect them beyond universe and style and genre — the very webs that frame each origin stale also appear to physically connect their universes when the dimensions open up. As the Spider-folk commiserate, telling Miles they’re probably “the only ones who do understand,” the emotional heft feels earned.We’ve seen flashes of the lives they’ve lived, and we’ve likely seen a full version of this story on screen at least once. Given the film’s multiversal concept, their tales are variations on a theme that’s now culturally ingrained — a story perfected by Sam Raimi fourteen and sixteen years ago with the first two Spider-Man films.In contrast to our heroes’ collective mourning, however, the villain Wilson Fisk (Liev Schreiber) lacks the same mechanics and support system to deal with loss. This also happens to be the very impetus for his dimension-hopping scheme. His grief is so unmitigated and so un-confronted, forever trapping him in the bargaining phase, that it endangers the entire world. The result of his experiments is a kaleidoscopic mish-mash of crumbling buildings, as if giving physical form to Fisk’s erratic emotional architecture; an ugly embodiment of using great power irresponsibly.
Eventually, once Miles rises to the occasion, his coming-into-Spider-hood is punctuated by him finally getting his own comic. The moment he arrives, all decked out in a sure-to-be-iconic look, the film even tweaks the way it presents him.For the majority of the runtime, our heroes are brought to life in the vein of traditional cel animation, in which frames of characters were often repeated. For instance, two identical character frames for every one frame of moving backdrop.
In technical terms, it’s animating movement “on two’s.”This effect is re-created in Spider-Verse whenever Miles moves through space. The technique isn’t usually employed by CG animation, so its presence helps grant the film a unique visual aesthetic.
Occasionally, even as other Spider-characters move a frame at a time, Miles’ frames still double up — like he’s lagging behind the more seasoned heroes.
However, once when Miles finally takes his leap and harnesses his powers, the film presents him in slow-motion, which necessitates smoother movement. Both Miles and his surroundings begin progress at the same speed, and even when he isn’t slowed down (for instance, his free-fall), his movement is more harmonious, more in tune with the surrounding animation.He feels like he belongs.
What’s especially notable about Miles’ big “arrival” is the form his costume takes. The comic version of Miles — more interesting in concept than execution — has always felt lacking in this department. He gets his red-and-black suit readymade from Nick Fury, rendering it just another standard outfit. In Spider-Verse however, Miles spray-paints over the existing Spider-Man design and makes it his own — as if in tribute to his uncle, and the creativity they shared.It’s the perfect expression of Miles’ artistic spark coming to fruition, not to mention the perfect dramatization of the idea at the film’s core: that “Spider-Man” is about what each unique individual brings to the table. Each Spider-person in the film has their own set of skills; Miles’ talent is expressing himself visually through paint, and his costume being a unique artistic creation speaks volumes about his arc.Miles’ most important moment isn’t that he decides to take action — he’s enthusiastic to help the other Spider-folk from the get-go — but rather, that he’s finally able to do so. His turning point comes not through answering a call to action or through finding some hidden bravery, but rather, through his father Jefferson (Brian Tyree Henry) finally expressing his belief in his son.Miles not only has to overcome lofty expectation, but his father’s disdain for Spider-Man. The young hero arrives at this emotional point shortly after being told by the other Spider-people that he isn’t up to the task. Peter reminds him being ready would require a leap of faith — a lesson he reflects back to Peter to quell his fears about failure — but Miles isn’t ready to take his leap until his father stands outside his bedroom door. Jefferson, who often struggles to connect with his son, uses the language of an out-of-touch parent trying desperately to nurture creative talent:”I see this spark in you. It’s amazing.”Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse is a story about art, taking shape as an ode to the very art forms that birthed it. It’s a Spider-Man movie that pays homage to other Spider-Man movies, a Spider-Man cartoon that incorporates elements from Spider-Man cartoons, and a moving, breathing Spider-Man comic that brings to life — in composition, texture and most importantly, theme — the very pages that have made Spider-Man so enduring.Ultimately, it’s a story of why Spider-Man, in concept, will continue to endure, circling all the way back around to Stan Lee and Steve Ditko’s original idea. That anyone can wear the mask, and anyone can be a hero.

During 1935 the palaeontologist Gustav Heinrich Ralph von Koenigswald visited a Chinese apothecary shop in Hong Kong and discovered an unusually large molar, a tooth similar to the large flat ones that you have towards the back of your mouth.
Fossils like this are often found in Traditional Chinese medicine where they are called ‘dragon bones’, but this tooth did not come from a mythical creature, instead study revealed it to have come from some kind of gigantic ape.
When describing it as a new genus the choice of name was obvious and so von Koenigswald created Gigantopithecus with literally translates as ‘giant ape’.
Since this first discovery over one thousand three hundred teeth have been tracked down, many of them from the Traditional Chinese medicine market.
More excitingly however are the discoveries of some lower jaws which have allowed palaeontologists and primatologists to infer a little about what Gigantopithecus might have been like.
Unfortunately this is where the clues stop as so far no other parts of the skeleton or even the skull have so far been found.
The most famous species of Gigantopithecus known is G. blacki which seems to be the largest of the known species.
This was the first species to be named and so far is known from caves in South East Asia and is represented by both teeth and mandibles.
Another species is G. giganteus, but this is something of a misnomer as it actually seems to be only half the size of G. blacki.
This species is however known from India, and the size difference might be down to a different climatic adaptation, even though there is evidence to suggest that it also inhabited parts of China.
Another Indian species is G. bilaspurensis and this species really stands out from the other two because its remains are dated to as far back as the late Miocene period, extending the temporal range of Gigantopithecus for many millions of years between the Miocene and Pleistocene periods.
Because no complete or even partially complete skeleton is known, reconstructions of Gigantopithecus are highly speculative, but the parts which are known do reveal a surprising amount of information.
Reconstructions of Gigantopithecus are often of a gorilla like ape because gorillas are the largest apes that we know today, but the lower jaw structure is actually much closer to that of an orangutan.
This is why Gigantopithecus is classified within the Ponginae group of apes along with orangutans (which are actually classed under the genus Pongo). It is also for this reason that what are considered to be more accurate reconstructions give Gigantopithecus a more orangutan-like appearance.
Reconstructions of Gigantopithecus are usually of an individual in an erect upright posture so that the full size of this ape can be more easily appreciated, for example, when you see a bear on all four legs it looks big, but when it stands on its back two it gives the impression of a considerably larger animal.
However the wider consensus amongst researchers is that if Gigantopithecus was like other known great apes (a theory that is supported by current fossil evidence) it would have mostly supported its body with all four limbs in a hunched quadrupedal posture, although bipedal locomotion would be occasionally observed, particularly as part of displays or moving short distances.
Assuming that the rest of the skeleton of Gigantopithecus resembled the skeletons of other great apes, then it simply would not have the skeletal posture or musculature to maintain a bipedal stance without additional effort.
There is one theory that was proposed by the anthropologist Grover Krantz that was made to support the idea that Gigantopithecus was primarily bipedal.
Krantz noted how the known jaws of Gigantopithecus widen towards the rear and proposed that this widening occurred to allow for the housing of a trachea (the ‘windpipe’ that connects the lungs to the mouth opening) when the skull was placed directly in top of the head like a human and not carried forward like a great ape.
It’s possible however that Krantz’s thinking was skewed by his desire to connect Gigantopithecus with ‘bigfoot’ stories from North America when he tried to prove this supposedly bipedal creature’s existence.
Most animal jaws widen as they approach the point of articulation regardless of how the head orients to the neck, which is why the vast majority of researchers consider this to be a flawed theory at best.
It is actually a lot easier to infer what kind of things that Gigantopithecus ate and analysis so far reveals a picture of it being a strict herbivore.
Like with orangutans the lower jaws of Gigantopithecus are very deep and robust which hints that they are built for strength in chewing tough fibrous plants.
The molars of the teeth are also low crowned with very thick enamel, yet also show excessive wear, all further signs of a browser of tough vegetation.
Further in depth analysis of phytoliths (silica deposits from plant cells) has revealed that dietary staple of Gigantopithecus was likely bamboo, a very common plant in areas where Gigantopithecus fossils are known from.
Additionally there also seems to be the remains of fruits such as figs associated with Gigantopithecus fossils suggesting that this ape also ate fruits when it was able to find them.
This might also explain occurrences of cavities in Gigantopithecus teeth which could have been caused by acidic fruit juices wearing away the tooth enamel.
Granted this is a slow process, but a diet that incorporated a regular intake of fruit would allow for the teeth to come into near constant contact with these juices.
Further support for bamboo being one of the main foodstuffs that Gigantopithecus relied upon actually comes from deformities in some of the Gigantopithecus fossils.
These deformities are most likely caused by malnutrition, an inability of the individual to gather the minimum necessary food to maintain a healthy body.
Bamboo forests that can cover vast areas of landscape will periodically go through what is termed a mass ‘die off’ every few decades.
Although the exact timing of this die off is hard to predict with certainty as the time between occurrences can vary considerably, it can be relied upon to happen and when it does it causes a mass shortage of available food for the animals that live on bamboo, today an occurrence most commonly mentioned in studies of wild panda (Ailuropoda melanoleuca).
As large apes it’s presumed that even in the wild that Gigantopithecus would have lived for at least several decades so it is very likely that they would live to see at least one bamboo die off which resulted in the deformities.
Palaeontologists will tell you that what caused an animal to go extinct is probably the most difficult question to answer.
Sometimes you can tie in the disappearance of an animal to an event such as an asteroid hitting the planet, or the arrival of a new species in an ecosystem, but there does not seem to be any one event that could help palaeontologists to get an idea why Gigantopithecus disappeared.
Quite often early humans get the blame for wiping out the worlds megafauna during the Pleistocene but this doesn’t seem to be the case for Gigantopithecus.
Around eight hundred thousand years ago Homo erectus arrived in south East Asia, but Gigantopithecus does not disappear from fossil deposits until three hundred thousand years ago, something which reveals that both Homo erectus and Gigantopithecus co-existed for some five hundred thousand years.
Habitat loss could be a better answer, but there is currently not a lot of evidence to support this beyond the regular die offs that are occasionally observed.
Unless die offs began occurring with greater frequency over the course of several hundred or several thousands of years, this might not be enough to explain the disappearance.
Another and often used fall back theory is that of the emergence of a new strain of disease that proved particularly lethal to Gigantopithecus.
This could have been further exacerbated by a small population that had a limited gene pool that resulted in less genetic diversity for a few to have been resistant.
Counter to this idea of course is the naming of three separate species that would have been genetically different enough to have different forms, so unless a disease was particularly virulent this idea is not all that likely either.
A fairer approach is not to look for just one unique cause in the extinction of Gigantopithecus (or any animal for that matter).
A number of small things are more likely to affect the population numbers of a species and together they can unify to be just as devastating as a single freak event.
For example, the arrival of Homo erectus did not have an immediate effect upon Gigantopithecus, but their presence in the ecosystem meant that there was less food and other resources like sheltered areas to go around other animals.
When food became periodically scarce this would have caused greater competition between the species for what little food was left pushing those that could not compete as well closer to the brink of extinction.
For Gigantopithecus this competition would come from many other kinds of creatures that ate the same food as it did and when these animals finished what little was left of the remaining food, Gigantopithecus would end up starving.
This is also where the large size of Gigantopithecus would have significantly counted against it because such a large body would need significantly more food in order to get the minimum level of calories to survive.
Remember, what little fossil evidence we currently have does suggest that malnutrition was a real problem for these apes.
This is of course all theory, no one person can yet say for certain what happened, but with this in mind extinction could have either been a gradual event where population numbers reduced to the point where the species could no longer be maintained, or that the population grew weaker and smaller to be finished off by a final event such as disease or a significantly bad upset to the ecosystem that sorted itself out after Gigantopithecus vanished.
Despite the lack of fossils in any deposits more recent than three hundred thousand years ago however, there remains a few people who are vocal about their belief that Gigantopithecus is still alive.
The chances are that a lot of people reading this article found it either from a link from another website or doing a web search about the yeti, bigfoot or sasquatch and it’s supposed connection with Gigantopithecus in cryptozoology.
Well this connection is very controversial and most, palaeontologists, anthropologists, primatologists and even many Bigfoot researchers consider it unlikely to impossible.
Supporters of the idea began to make the connection not long after Gigantopithecus was described but first a little history upon just what these other creatures are supposed to be.
Across Asia and North America there are many stories about giant apes that are described either as human-like apes or ape-like humans that are much bigger than people are today with heights being estimated to be anything from around two to two and a half meters, or bigger depending upon the witness.
These creatures occasionally feature in folk stories passed down from generation to generation and the creatures in them have almost as many names as there are variations of the stories from Yeti to Bigfoot to sasquatch to grassman, the list goes on.
Many of these stories are now in the public consciousness and today there have been countless sightings by eyewitnesses, photographs and plaster casts of footprints, possible hair samples, sound recordings to most famous of all the Patterson-Gimlin film that supposedly shows a Bigfoot walking away from a video camera.
The problem with the above body of evidence is that it is not enough to convince ardent sceptics. Eyewitnesses will sometimes be accused of misidentifying something else or rather more unkindly just making things up.
Footprints and sound recordings also get labelled as being fake or misidentified because no one was around to see who or what made them.
Hair samples are usually deemed inconclusive as well and the Patterson-Gimlin film is usually accused of being a guy in a suit because the creature walks like a man and not an ape.
Because this body of evidence cannot conclusively prove one way or the other that bigfoot-like creatures are wandering around, some researchers have tried to ground the stories in scientific fact.
Apes are an obvious choice because they are supposedly the most bigfoot-like creatures that are known without doubt to exist.
The main problem is that they are much smaller than the creatures of legend, but when Gigantopithecus entered the science of palaeontology many researchers immediately started talking about how there was now fossil evidence to prove that Bigfoots existed.
As you can probably already appreciate this is a very reckless way of proving the existence of a creature and when you evaluate the Gigantopithecus fossil evidence and combine that with Bigfoot folklore the two just don’t go together.
Back in the 1950’s theories started to be pieced together that stories of Yeti and Bigfoots were actually descriptions of encounters with relict populations of Gigantopithecus that had survived by isolation from the changing world around them.
Although not given much serious thought at the time, some quite well known anthropologists such as Carleton Coon and Grover Krantz (previously mentioned above) began to push their minds to finding form to the idea.
Krantz in particular is known for dedicating a lot of serious study to proving the existence of Bigfoot, even though initially he was sceptical of claims and evidence.
Krantz proposed that Gigantopithecus had crossed over Beringia (also known as the Bering Land Bridge) from upper Asia into North America.
Krantz also tried to formerly assign Bigfoot to Gigantopithecus blacki in 1985 but was rejected by the ICZN (the body that governs the naming of animals) on the grounds that there were no Bigfoot body parts that could be attributed to the existing G. blacki remains.
Krantz later tried again but this time calling it a new species, ‘Gigantopithecus canadensis‘ (from Canada), but again this was rejected because the plaster casts that he was trying to have treated as holotypes were not considered credible.
As already mentioned above, Krantz was an early proponent of Gigantopithecus being bipedal, but the reasoning behind this was discredited on the basis that the jaw features alone are not a distinguishable enough feature to conclude that Gigantopithecus was a purely bipedal animal.
This is the most obvious problem of the Gigantopithecus-bigfoot connection theory because Bigfoot is supposed to be a bipedal creature with feet similar to a human (but of course a lot bigger) as well as a walking gait similar to a human.
The great apes however have very different feet with elongated opposable big toes that help them to hold things with their feet.
Also while they can and sometimes do walk on two legs, their preferred mode of locomotion is to walk on all fours.
Supporters of a Bigfoot lineage often say that you cannot claim that Gigantopithecus was not bipedal because the feet have never been discovered.
By this very logic however you cannot say that it was either, but additional support against it comes from other known parts.
As mentioned above, the lower jaw of Gigantopithecus is very similar to that of an orangutan to the point that it is classed within the same great ape family.
This means that it is much more likely that Gigantopithecus had the same kind of grasping feet as an orangutan rather than human-like feet.
Not only would this make footprints different to what have been called Bigfoot prints, these feet are not that very well adapted for supporting the body of a creature during bipedal walking, an important part of the reason why great apes will most often walk on all fours.
Another argument against a Gigantopithecus-bigfoot lineage is the huge gap in the fossil record that marks the most recent Gigantopithecus fossils and the present day.
Some supporters of the theory have made claims varying from no one has bothered to look for Gigantopithecus in other areas like North America to even Gigantopithecus being discovered but hidden away by palaeontologists so that they don’t have to change their theories.
To begin with the first matter, palaeontologists cannot find fossils on demand, discovering a fossil is unfortunately not that convenient. The best that palaeontologists can do when looking for a certain kind of animal is to look for a deposit that ticks the right boxes.
For example, if you want to search for Triassic age ichthyosaurs you would first need to identify Triassic age rocks that were formed from a marine environment (Shasta County of California, USA springs to mind here).
This does not guarantee a discovery, but it does maximise your chances for finding something along the lines that you are looking for.
For Gigantopithecus you would need Miocene to Pleistocene age formations, from areas that had dense growths of bamboo during these times.
These deposits are well known from south East Asia where Gigantopithecus fossils are currently only known from, but North America has different deposits.
These deposits are still Miocene to Pleistocene in age, but the habitats are more like grassy plains instead of the bamboo forests of Asia.
For the sake of argument, a Gigantopithecus would have to radically adapt in form and behaviour to move into this new environment to the point where it would not be a Gigantopithecus anymore.
The idea that palaeontologists deliberately hide fossils to protect their teaching is basically laughable.
Theories in palaeontology are changing all the time with new discoveries and ideas that were standard teaching a few decades ago already being challenged by new discoveries today.
Also a palaeontologist that discovered confirmed Bigfoot remains would receive instant fame and recognition for the discovery, so nobody has any reason to hide anything.
It is the likelihood that Gigantopithecus was almost certainly a great ape similar to a large orangutan that leads sceptics and many Bigfoot enthusiasts to the conclusion that Gigantopithecus is not the mysterious Bigfoot, Yeti or whatever from legend.
Should a Bigfoot ever actually be found however and the eyewitness reports and footprints have all been correct, then we’ll probably find that the creature is no more related to Gigantopithecus than what humans are.



The handful of games released years after a console’s demise normally aren’t known for their quality. Typically, this window of time features the worst of the worst: Games so bad that they’re barely worth acknowledging. (Oh yeah, and lots of sports.) This might be a reliable niche if you’re a publisher looking to make a quick buck off a system destined to end up a hand-me-down to a younger sibling or Gamestop, but for those keen on grabbing attention over a non-budget release, pulling the press away from those new, shiny consoles can be an impossible struggle.
It’s a testament to Persona 4’s greatness, then, that it managed to find an audience much bigger than the standard Atlus RPG crowd. Granted, at the time we believed our seventh generation of consoles would likely have the same shelf life as the previous set, so the idea of a major PlayStation 2 game releasing in the final days of 2008—two years after the PS3, and three after the Xbox 360—felt just the teensiest bit preposterous. But players with enough courage to brave the dust bunnies and cobwebs surrounding their abandoned PS2s not only discovered a fantastic RPG with Persona 4, but what many have called the best of an entire generation.
Of course, Persona 4 didn’t just spring into existence. This sequel largely draws most of its inspiration from 2006’s Persona 3, which divorced itself from the rich, but slightly unintuitive mechanics of past games in the series. Even so, Persona 3 and 4 are still Shin Megami Tensei to the bone, and their more streamlined forms work in tandem with the surrounding pop art aesthetic for an RPG experience that feels slick and snappy—even if you’ll likely spend more than 100 hours with each game.
And the secret to Persona’s success can be found in how its ongoing story breaks itself up into manageable, in-game days. Seeing those months stretch out in front of you (and with no defined end) when starting Persona may seem daunting at first, but each day offers a wealth of different activities that make the time fly by: diving into dungeons, working part-time jobs, shopping, hanging with friends and developing those all-important social traits, and fusing monsters in your party to develop some new and terrifying abomination. Persona has the same “just one more day” effect found in other life sims like Harvest Moon and The Sims, but with a meaty core that reaches straight into the hearts of RPG fanatics.
What makes Persona 4 truly special, though, is how much it improves upon the already refined formula of its predecessor. Atlus trimmed the fat on an already lean experience by cutting down on all of the needless traveling from Point A to Point B: Areas are now much more compact, and a single-button shortcut can zap you to a chosen destination—sure beats the long, daily trudge up to your dorm room in Persona 3. And Persona 4 makes another change for the better by going for a more rural setting than the trendy city found in the previous game. Both backdrops might be foreign to American players, but the sleepy town of Inaba definitely presents a more unique and charming atmosphere that’s easy to lose yourself in.
With all the previously mentioned qualities, Persona 4 would be a great RPG—but it’s the story and characters that push it past “great” and into “phenomenal.” Rather than concentrating on world-building and long, boring speeches full of needless and confusing neologisms, Persona 4 plays out like a modern, serialized murder mystery. Just as each day gives you plenty to do, every 24 hours yields the chance to watch just a little more of Persona 4’s plot unfold. And, even if the murders have a certain supernatural quality to them, the characters and their actions remain grounded in the reality of situation—with high schoolers and other citizens of Inaba being snuffed out around them, the stakes are incredibly high from the start.
It’s been a long, hard near-decade without another Persona game, but in that time, love for the rebooted form of Atlus’ series continues to thrive. Even after spending hundreds of hours with these characters, fans still don’t want to see them go, and Atlus has been taking advantage of this lucrative situation with enhanced portable remakes, fighting games, and even an upcoming rhythm game. No one could have predicted such a late PlayStation 2 release could have such longevity, and, with any luck, Persona 5 will have the same appeal. Just don’t expect the cast of Persona 4 to go away anytime soon.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Persona 4 is one of the best RPGs of the past 15 years. It can certainly claim to be the best JRPG, though it sadly hasn’t had enough competition in that regard. It took everything that was great about Persona 3 and pushed it one step further with its outstanding cast, well-defined setting, and outright weirdness. Moreover, it drew you in and made you feel like part of the group. I actually got a little choked up in the final moments as I waved goodbye to the characters that I had grown to love over the course of 70 some hours – an extreme rarity in any game for me.
Bob has done a good job of outlining the qualities that makes Persona 4 stand out, but we’d be remiss if we didn’t mention Persona 4 Golden – the port that arguably pushed Persona 4 over the top. Before P4 Golden, a lot of Persona 3 fans that I knew tended to disdain it simply for being different, and for being… well… really yellow. The Vita port was akin to the moment when the Persona 4 cast tried on their glasses and saw the TV World clearly for the first time. For new fans, it was a chance to play an RPG that had gotten a little lost in the dying embers of the PlayStation 2.
On top of luring in newcomers, Persona 4 Golden brought a great deal to the table for returning fans. Its clever “thought bubble” system relieved some of the anxiety over what to do next by crowdsourcing what everyone else’s move had been, and it added in a pair of intriguing social links. For good measure, Atlus added in a couple more months of game time that served to round off the story in a satisfying way. It is the definitive version of Persona 4, and it is still regarded by many as the Vita’s best game.
I personally have a tremendous amount of respect for what Atlus has accomplished with Persona 4. It hits what I might consider the holy trinity for RPGs – it tells a great story, offers compelling mechanics, and gives you free rein over a deep and nuanced setting. It’s rare to find an RPG that hits two of those elements, let alone all three. Even well-regarded games like Fallout 3 don’t really manage it. But in Persona 4, I’m just as likely to find myself completely engrossed in the complexities of Demon Fusion as I am in a random social link. We haven’t even gotten to the marvelous way in which Atlus fuses the social links that form the story’s emotional core with the mechanics of Demon Fusion, unlocking new and more powerful demons as you steadily build up your presence in Inaba.
There’s so much to this game that I could probably write another thousands word on it. But instead I’m just going to encourage you to pick it up yourself if you haven’t already given it a shot. And hurry, because Persona 5 is just around the corner. It’s going to have a lot to live up to.
Resident Evil 4 Remake is NOT a Masterpiece, it’s PEAK Remake Culture. It’s one thing for Capcom to constantly churn out mediocre remakes, it’s quiet another though for IGN, the Twitter-sphere, and most other gaming journalists to claim that Resident Evil 4 Remake is somehow a “Masterpiece” better than the original. In this video I do not focus on the story, or the voice acting, or politics, or Ashley’s skirt, I discuss the actual elements of this game’s composition like the combat changes, parry, movement inertia, gunsway, level design, camera system, stretched out pacing, lame stealth, and how by throwing together a bunch of trendy mechanics over the top of a shell of what was once an amazing combat system, the devs are not “remaking” anything and they certainly are not improving it. In this video I also talk about what I call “Remake Culture,” which is the attitude I see all over the place that games of the past were designed with certain restrictions or elements because they are “outdated,” like Resident Evil 4’s original camera system is Windows 98 and modern generic camera system is Windows 11. The effect of this Remake Culture is the full on acceptance of creating fan fiction versions of already existing games and believing them to be objective improvements because they now abide by generic current gaming design, even if the shift to generic design completely obliterates the core of the game play. The end result of this Remake Culture attitude is to remove any unique game play elements a game may have (like Resident Evil 4’s camera and hitstun), and to hammer down all great games of the past into a generic sludge of the same game with a different coat of paint. Somehow Capcom have taken Godhand with guns and turned it into the the Last of Us Part 3, Knife Parry Edition. Visually they have taken art direction inspired by Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Eyes Wide Shut and replaced it with a lame Marvel Saturday Morning Cartoon aesthetic.












Burrard Street is a major thoroughfare in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. It is the central street of Downtown Vancouver and the Financial District. The street is named for Burrard Inlet, located at its northern terminus, which in turn is named for Sir Harry Burrard-Neale.
The street starts at Canada Place near the Burrard Inlet, then runs southwest through downtown Vancouver. It crosses False Creek via the Burrard Bridge. South of False Creek, on what used to be called Cedar Street before the completion of the bridge in 1932, the street runs due south until the intersection with West 16th Avenue.
The intersection of Burrard Street and Georgia Street is considered to be the centrepoint of Downtown Vancouver, along with the more tourist-oriented and upscale shopping-spirited intersection of Burrard Street and Robson Street to the south. At and due northeast of the centre is the heart of the Financial District. Further down closer to Vancouver Harbour stands the historic Marine Building, an Art Deco masterpiece, opened in 1930, two years before the Art Deco pylons of the Burrard Bridge at the opposite end of the street. Finally at the Harbour lies Canada Place and the Vancouver Convention Centre.
Nearer to Burrard Bridge is located St. Paul’s Hospital, established on Burrard Street in 1894.
Burrard Street served as the dividing line between the two district lots laid out on the downtown peninsula in the second half of the 19th century: District Lot 185 (now West End) and District Lot 541 (granted to the Canadian Pacific Railway). The two grids were oriented differently, with the result that only every third northwest-southeast street in DL185 actually continuing southeast beyond Burrard into DL541. Burrard currently serves as the boundary between West End and Downtown, as defined by the City of Vancouver.
Burrard Street is served by SkyTrain’s Burrard Station, located underground between the intersections with Melville and Dunsmuir Streets in the heart of the Financial District. Along the downtown portion, there is a bike lane on the southwest-bound direction towards the Burrard Bridge.

