Afro Samurai will take a giant size bite out of your wallet, reel you in, then annoy the living hell out of you!

User Rating: 6.5 | Afro Samurai PS3
This game, well, it could have owned you. Beautiful contemporary graphics, superb voice acting, intriguing characters you want to get to know. The story line submerges you right from the off. The charater (afro) you play is cool, and on a mission. With Samuel L Jackson doing the voice of this chain joint smoking MoFo, it was always going to be hard, to go wrong!
The game play is fairly simplistic, bit of a button bashing hack n slash. Now, theres plenty of leveling up to be done, but its just working out what the 'ell has been leveled up sometimes! Pressing select takes you to a moves screen, which gives you almost infinite (told you a million times not to exaggerate) button presses for moves.....but just what do you do, use, know, unlock? There are prompts on screen when you reach certain areas, but if you miss that small bit of text, theres no way of knowing what you need to do to get by a certain area or enemy. Still, the game keeps you coming back, because you want more blood, you want more revenge, you want more random upgrade, even though in your heart of hearts, you don't know what your doing! (Crys for a little while, then returns to lap top).
The killer end. Now the killer end could be a mighty good thing, splattering badies guts all over your HD tele, while your one and only controller squeals with delight....and plastic cracking pain, but its not I'm afraid. I didn't finish the game. That saddens me, because even when I don't like a game, I get the burning desire to beat it, so I never have to play it again. Bit of OCD, I don't know, but I've always been the same, Its the save points, theres no manual saves, it does it for you, when it likes, and sometimes it can be on the brink of 30 minutes gameplay, gameplay where your not at your happiest. So, on dying for the third time, after trying to button bash for so long, against so many enermies, I jibbed it, like a fat chic trying to come home with you from the club. Binned, not to be thought about again.
DAMN YOU NASTY SAVE POINTS! Could have been an eight.