STORY

          So here we are again, a dumpling ickle agent trotting off into the mysterious unknown for the purpose of meeting gore. Of course the leading role knows this not, aims for it not, and planned not for such gunfire to follow, yet the player of Resident Evil 4 finds him/herself in the midst of fiends and folly -- joy! Story-wise RE4 hearkens to the days of its elder brethren, revisiting the hexing Umbrella storyline and zombifying habits, yet follows a character thus far unplayed and corkingly new, Leon Kennedy. To avoid giving away plot points (though presented early on), we'll keep the plot chatter to a simple summary: you've been dropped into modern-day Spain with direct orders from the United States president to fetch his chickadee whelp daughter. As most stories set in spooky woodlands do, quirky happenings go on, eeriness pursues, and not long after your cab drops you in your predetermined thicket, you discover the drivers' corpses are hanging from posts and being dumped in lakes. Time has now become "of the essence" to recover the Commander in Chief's young lass. In your search you begin to shake hands with Mary Shelly-like foes, reanimations' throes, and Satanic acolytes with skewed idealisms. From here the story arcs in yonder directions that further trade realism for the supernatural, mere edgy moments for "Holy crap!" cinematics, and continue to satisfy the game's morbid palette with things that bump the night. Eventually this woodwork of parasite plots and religious references spicing the story all convene with Umbrella once more. However, I shan't venture into how... So expect the usual neighborhood greetings of possessed townsfolk and frothing, writhing, conniving beasties. They are a riot, the lot! And when you play, remember, "Today is a perfect day for an exorcism."

          With personal regard for the plotline, the lack of cinematic abuse and subtle, keen integration of journals pocking the game satisfies nicely. Rarely does the game disappoint in becoming "storyline stagnant" for always a scrap of intrigue spurs progression. All the bases of the game's narrative seemed artfully covered - the who, what, when, where, and how - except for the why. This is the single pothole that RE4 takes a tumble across, the explanation why the player is trudging through his or her horrific combative toils. Though the game excels in the story's pacing (with regularly dolled bite-sized snacks and story gourmet summoned for chapter endings), it seems to falter with the antagonist's climactic schemes, once revealed. However, this single disappointment, though cheesy and unfitting, fails to hinder the game. Through believable dialogue and the occasional, more emotionally investing lack of dialogue, the characters become comfortable in the player's hands. By the end of the game Leon ascends to the flavor of the month B.A.M.F. (Badass Motherf******, for you Dane Cook fans) and the heroine is still likable after numerous recaptures. And these characters, ladies and gents, are genuine and human. No, the protagonist isn't the man-bull with the emotional depth of a brick. No, the damsel doesn't flatter the player with provocatively unrestrained character modeling. No, Leon hasn't had charisma applied to his flanks overzealously like frosting to a cake. And no, they aren't worse for it. Nay, they are fictitious by day, factually human by night.

          GAMEPLAY

          Now don't head into this "you must be this tall to ride" bumbershoot with the misconception of nursery-rhyme kindness stocked against you. Do not unto others what you wish for them to do unto you, kiddies. If you wish to make friends with a brain-batter villager's chainsaw finesse, you must unsheathe yon joystick and take up your lance. Luckily, sniping and hacking in Poe-esque, demonic, euphemism-inducing realism takes nothing more than user friendly point and click. Becoming accustomed to RE4's control system may first feel like trying to tie your shoes with your elbows - unnecessarily restricting, defiantly abusing obvious alternatives, and just plain clunky - but as the limbless become improv. gurus, so shall you. Movement works along your normal axes; left and right on the analog makes you turn, forward and back make you walk. Concurrently, while turning, a toggle button makes you aim while the secondary analog aims your cursor. While in firing mode, instead of up and down moving you forward and backward on the first stick, they now control tilt. Guess what that means... Quickly now Butch, calculate! Well yep, you can't moving while aiming. Pity, no? Tremble not in your Resident faith for being ambulatory isn't what the critics crack it up to be. This limitation, well, is born detestably from Leon's get-go and both cries and makes you cry like an disgruntled babe until the credits. Rather than smite you with a pitiless cackle at this disability (and rape your nerves with undead speedy leaps and bounds), your nemeses tend to play tortoise with you. In the end, Leon's scared-stiff cap-popping immobility fails to deter the player from success. Quite the opposite, really. The player is forced into paralysis and to endure the knowledge that no matter their own rocketing pulse, no matter the expansive Great Plains of leg room available, no matter Leon's professionally trained expertise in bloody combat, the **** zombie takes half a decade to reach hugging proximity. Leon's same repertoire of handicaps exhibit their brilliance in his cutlery artistry as well. Despite the assumed usefulness of a splintering blade in the hands of a governmental agent, the man just can't muster the gall to slash vertically... or diagonally... or thrust. Victory on the decandescant battlefield seems gameplay malpractice by the time the player can select New Game. The irregular schematics of simple motor functions and camera become, first, an enigma worthy of Dr. Jones' deduction and Lucas' tact; yet the player soon prostrates before the controls' emerging splendor. One can neither quickly change weapons like Bond can actors nor move backwards faster than a Tonka Toys dump truck, yet functionality requires no pruning and aches for no refinement. The player and the played become ensnared by a mutually unsacrificial, inexplicably instinctive physical symbiosis!... Well, I guess you can say you just get used to it and go home happy. The movements, plainly put, with both controller and character become second nature. In fact, just amputate a foot or two and exchange them for more hands; trigger-finger handling with the Wiimote is more fun than luring children into candied vans.

          Now that I've piloted my own diatribe into your patience, other elements may be addressed. I admit that my skepticism regarding this title was diligently shot in no less than an hour's drudge. One measly and embarrassing taste-test of Resident Evil (the original console release) on the Gamecube applied a vinaigrette's squeeze on my taste buds, and I've always been a ranch or Bleu cheese guy. RE4, however, met hesitant appraisal with instantaneous delectability. Nothing seems to enrapture the player more than three dozen or so raised corpses storming a shack when only a carton of handgun ammo populates it. The game worms Leon and his animator through enough bungalows, Dark and Dank newlyweds, unreasonably laughable Threshold Guardians, and eerie progressive stints to leave ho-hum interactivity at the door. For such an "It was a dark and stormy night"-intensive payload of entertainment, the montage of undead goonies and Lochness-like abominations don't make the player tire. On the contrary, RE4's pacing and repetition pat the player's game captivity on the back and proceed at what its good at - intriguing with shadowy spooks and giving you ammunition for them. This turtle's pace satisfies, feels invaluable, and eventually is yearned for in brother titles, for rather few releases have mastered the connoisseur's touch of slow-cooking the player's interest. Even more unexpectedly, the player's "turtle's crawl" through such zombified prisons finishes the race with a footrunner's feet for more track to traipse. The game comes to a close and both Leon and his host sit there wondering: "That's it? It's over? Well geez, I might just have to play that again!" And the luxury of convenient replayability is well-funded -- you'll know what I mean when you've beaten the game.

          PRESENTATION

          When you tote the "tumbleweeds" to plug in-game models into a cutscene, buddy, you deserve a jockstrap of marble. It seems like RE4 is getting its sportswear from Rome. Not often can you make a man double-take another man, but the character modeling and texture patching makes Leon quite the strapping beef jerky (they make the ladies' Kutcher cry for a second layer of mascara). Scrumptious deliveries appeal on other fronts as well, such as lighting, animation, and professionalism. This three meal consortium of essential appetites, plates, and sweet teeth make or break a game before fork and spoon can be fetched to devour it. Fortune smiles upon the Resident Evil 4 entrée, satisfying even the most emaciated and picky of starved critics. Every aspect ¬-- from simple menu navigation to more the complex recipes of cooperative environmental audio and visuals -- comply with a chef's interpretation of an immaculate feast. If I could figure out how, I'd be screenshotting a centerfold of Leon and pals and pinning it to my door right now. If I had the ethical rot, I'd be ripping the game's soundtrack straight from the zombies' esophagi and "buzzing" to it right now. And if I had time in that busy schedule, I'd also be stripping my house's wiring to leave a single flickering bathroom bulb alive. Everything becomes cooler when night reigns and you've no flashlight to thwart it! So not only should RE4's subtitle be "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?," but delivers upon its flaunted felicity. Really, the only room for improvement is up the stairs, to the left, around the escalator, through the vent... Well, let's just say you need he blueprints to find it. This well-rounded buffet package of solid attributes sends the player to the nearest Gap for a larger belt -- not many games bloat the player so sexily with presentational overfeeding. The music haunts, the visuals horrify, and the immersion factor places you directly in Leon's suspenders. And I played it with the lights on! So yes, this is the title to take home to your parents and yes it returns your calls after any amount of dates. It looks good in both a tux and an apron, and out of either one, hon. It's a keeper! Please make that purchase whether you're a Resident Evil fan or not, short or tall, big or large, ADHD-diagnosed or with dentures. You get the picture. Well, perhaps keep the high blood-pressured at bay for legal reasons. We don't want Capcom losing face.