16-Feb-2004 Sometimes when a reviewer is giving a game a good solid kicking, they look down momentarily at the squirming piece of software beneath their feet and see a glimmer of what could have been in its petrified eyes. A sign that someone, long ago, once cared for it and felt that one day it would do them proud. It is then, with a sorrowful heart, that the reviewer bends down, reaches for its scrawny neck and puts it out of its misery.
There is no such welling up of tears for Celebrity Deathmatch. A marketing ploy for the semi-good claymation MTV show of years past, Celebrity Deathmatch is the worst fighting game (and pretty much the worst game) I have ever insulted my hard drive with. For a start, the fighters are barely celebrities: Jerry Springer and Marilyn Manson, they're acceptable. But Cleo, Shannen Doherty, Cindy Margolis, various Hammer Horror monsters and Carrot Top? My Dad was Sheep Farmer of the Year 1986, and that made him twice as famous on these shores than that lot put together.
But what about the fighting? Jesus! Not only did I complete all six episodes on medium difficulty in just over an hour, but the actual fights are such displays of mindless button-tapping hell that they do as much for the human spirit as the collected works of Nietzsche. The game is dire. Even the Mortal Kombat-styled finishers, in which spines are removed, heads explode and ribcages are played like xylophones, refuse to provide a laugh or a flicker of gameplay.
This is a lifeless corpse of a game. I'm giving it five per cent more than I should because Mr T is in it (and in any sane world all games would have Mr T in them). But be warned: even limited exposure to this atrocity will numb your soul for evermore.
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