Condemned: Criminal Origins was a launch title for the Xbox360. The game is played using a first-person perspective although it emphasises melee combat over the usual running and gunning. The storyline seems firmly camped in the horror genre - it refers to itself as a psychological thriller, with your character Ethan Thomas, a FBI agent, initially on the trail of a serial killer who poses his victims in gruesome scenes with mannequins.
The first level of the game functions as the tutorial, introducing all the key game play mechanics and setting the storyline rolling. Your character, Agent Thomas, arrives at a crime scene where a serial killer, the Match Maker, has struck again. You are lead to the crime scene by a fellow officer and introduced to the standard console FPS controls; the only time you will digress from walking or jogging is when you have to traverse one of the few passable obstructions in the game, you accomplish this by pressing the A button. Along the way to the crime scene you are given a flashlight, this pale circle of light is how you will view a majority of the game. Eventually you reach the crime scene and you are introduced to the much-touted forensic tools the game has to offer.
When you reach a crime scene or an area containing hidden clues, you are prompted to press the 'X' button which will bring up one of the three automatically selected tools; a laser light used to detect evidence invisible to the eye, such as chemicals, fingerprints or smears of liquids; a UV light that detects blood; and a gas detector that is used to locate the methane coming from dead bodies. Once you have located the point of interest, you are prompted to hit 'X' again to sample or capture the evidence; you do this using either some kind of sampling device, a 3D scanner or a regular digital camera. Once you have obtained the evidence it is sent back to the lab using your mobile phone, there the data is analysed and the results are fed back to you - it is through this dialogue that the most of the plot is advanced.
The common enemies that you face in Condemned appear to be the local vagrant, drug-using population. Later in the game, more disfigured individuals attack you that appear to be some sort of zombie or mutant - I do not believe their appearance is explained in the main storyline, it may be in supplemental information. When fighting the common enemies they display a limited amount of intelligence; they will upgrade their weapons before attacking you if a better option is available - including your own discarded guns with leftover ammunition; they will attempt to retreat and hide around a corner if they take several hits in succession; they will feign attacks to attempt to make you prematurely block and therefore leave yourself open to an attack; and they will also attack each other if you leave them alone for a short while, this is handy when you are low on health or when multiple enemies have guns.
Combat in the game focuses mostly on melee combat - guns are available but ammunition is scarce. Melee combat, using various objects including shovels and fireplace-pokers, relies on countering enemies attacks to gain the advantage, however timing blocks can be tricky and the range of some attacks are difficult to judge - you will think you are stood clear of the attack, yet it still hits. Clicking the right-thumb stick will result in your character kicking, reminiscent of Doom; this can be used to perform a quick follow up strike after using a melee weapon. The animation changes in relation to the angle you are looking in, looking upwards will result in a high side-footed kick that seems incongruous with your characters appearance in cut-scenes. Occasionally when you have inflicted enough damage to an enemy to floor them, but not kill them, they will kneel-up and you are provided with several different options to execute them, such as slamming their head into the floor, snapping their necks or head butting them; these actions all seem quite sadistic and brutal to be employed by a police officer.
The guns included in the game feature a semi-automatic pistol, a pump-action shotgun, sub-machine gun and a few others; very little weapon-bob is included whilst your character moves around - this always annoys me for some reason. Aiming in the game is tricky due to sluggish controls using the default settings; the inclusion of accelerated-turning after you have rotated 45-degrees also hinders aiming attempts by making it easy to swing your crosshair completely over an enemy. Whilst ammunition for guns is scarce throughout the game, you have a taser with infinite energy in your possession for the majority of the game. The taser has a decent amount of range and will stun a single enemy for a short amount of time - whilst stunned you can steal their weapon, hit them for a fatal blow or just watch them fall over. It proves useful when attacked by multiple enemies so you can temporarily incapacitate one and dedicate your attention to another.
The level design in Condemned is strictly linear, the only time you can easily careen off the intended path is when you become disoriented after loading a checkpoint and end up tracking back through the level - this is due to experiencing most locations through the circular beam of light your flashlight produces, routinely the only usable source of light for long stretches of the levels. Locales featured in the game include a subway station, a school, a department store, and a library; all are rendered using a dark-palette and the yellow lockers in the school are one of the few exceptions. All of your activities throughout the course of the game seem to take place at night or in the late-evening, the main character needs to readjust his body clock. At several points in the game, all colour drains from the game world as the main character undergoes some sort of experience - the walls disappear and are replaced with an outdoor landscape and a distorting filter is overlayed, I don't really get why.
The story told in Condemned is not ground-breaking or revolutionary, it is left open for a sequel at the end and many issues are left unresolved and unexplained: why is a police-officer slaughtering hundreds of tramps and drug-users whilst trying to find a serial killer; what is going on with the hallucinations or whatever are occurring; who is the man in the coat and why is he interested in you; why do the police seem to be out to get you. The last three points are almost certainly related and the first point just confuses me, these questions might be answered in the sequel - I do not know and I do not intend to find out. Achievements are offered for collecting dead birds and pieces of metal that are scattered through out each level, there is also a television and Xbox360 hidden in each level that you are rewarded for finding - these might improve replayability, although you could use a FAQ on your first run-through to make sure you collect them, the risk of storyline spoilers is quite low and the puzzle solving in the game consists of finding a fire-axe or sledgehammer to gain access to the next area of the level.
I played through the game on the hardest difficulty setting, it presented no problems throughout the game apart from the occasional annoyance of passing through a checkpoint with low health and then being promptly ambushed by multiple enemies - this is my own fault though. I did drop the difficulty during the final boss fight due to being outflanked by multiple enemies and having to restart numerous times, I lowered the setting just to plough on and complete the game - I was getting tired of it and wanted to finish. Generally I am not a fan of dark games that rely on things leaping out of shadows to generate frights and Condemned has not changed my opinion; it was an inoffensive game that had no crippling bugs and the graphics are still tolerable. I feel no urge or need to replay the game although for the price I paid, £6, I got around 10 hours of playtime from it and that represents fair value.
Showing posts with label review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label review. Show all posts
Monday, 27 July 2009
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Westons Premium Organic Cider
The house is in darkness, everyone is out. The journey up four flights of stairs is treacherous yet uneventful, navigating stair-gates and miscellaneous clutter. With laptop retrieved, the reviewing process can begin.
Round 1
This weeks cider is Westons Premium Organic Cider, 6.5%, 500ml. It calls itself a flavoursome organic cider produced from organically grown cider apples, fully matured in old oak vats to develop its rich smooth character. The tall bottle is made of brown glass, with a pale yellow label applied which bears a minimalistic rendering of a cider apple - I assume it is a rending of an organic cider apple but I am not able to discern the difference. When the bottle is returned to a recycling depot in South Africa, you will be given 5cents.
The drink itself is still and offers a much less offensive scent than Savanna Dry. It leaves a sour taste in the mouth after each sip, this must be the taste of real apples grown upon a real tree by a real British farmer - I assume it is grown in Britain as the bottle says produced and bottled by H. Westons & Sons, Herefordshire, it could have been made somewhere else and driven to the bottling site in a tanker, I don't know. It proves easy to drink, the first bottle from the marvellous "3 for £4" offer disappearing in about thirty minutes. I am fairly certain of this timing as the soccer is on TV - I started at the half-time interval and the game clock has now reached the fifty seventh minute.
The game is open and end to end, an early goal for the away team in the first match of a two-leg fixture, has opened up the game. One of the players is nicknamed "Hulk" and has this nickname printed on his shirt in place of his actual surname, the commentator objects to this. A player attempting to take a throw-in creeps forward around 15 yards from the spot where the ball goes out, the referee penalises him for it. Another player falls over under very slight contact and the referee rewards him for this. Sloppy clearances and misdirected passes mean alot of possession changes but few clear chances on goal. Long range shots trouble both keepers but are parried away.
Substitutes are brought on to relieve the fatigued and injured as the clock hits 70 minutes. A man falls down and the referee deems that it was a fair challenge, the player is unimpressed. Another player is hacked down just inside the penalty area, he is not rewarded and is also unimpressed; meanwhile play continues and a counter attack is mounted. The crowd's shouts for hand-ball all evening are finally answered and a free-kick is given just outside the penalty area. Number 7 stands with both feet planted slightly wider than shoulderwidth - the ball strikes the wall and bounces out into open play. A good cross from the right glances off the strikers head and flies off for a goal kick, firmer contact would have resulted with the ball in the back of the net. The commentators babble on and show replays of the earlier penalty appeal when the ball is played out for a throw-in. A tattooed man is substituted off, a man in long sleeves replaces him - he could be equally well-tattooed under the sleeves and we would never know. The away goal scorer is also taken off - he receives a round of boos from the home crowd for his trouble. The hoardings around the edge of the pitch passively display their advertisements for credit cards, cars, lager and mobile phones. The lager advert is mostly taken up with the phrase "Enjoy responsibly", the credit card advert has no such advice.
I am typing as a goal is scored, the first I know is the shouting of the commentator and the roar of the crowd. 5 minutes to go, the crowd are now singing an indistinct chant. A player receives a pass 10 yards outside the penalty area, the paying fans implore him to shoot and he obliges - the keeper is not troubled. The away side has equalised, the majority of the crowd fall silent apart from the small contingent of travelling fans. Regular time is about to expire, there is to be 3 minutes of injury time. A player has his nose bloodied and the physio is summoned to the pitch to escort him to the touchline, the crowd show their disapproval. Number 7 wins a freekick just outside the penalty area, he stands over the ball in his trademark fashion. He is not happy with the wall creeping forward. Number 11 takes the kick and places the ball over the bar. The goal keeper is cautioned for time wasting, 3 minutes of added time has turned into 5. The final whistle goes and the cameras focus on the pale and disappointed faces of the home fans.
Round 2
With most of the absent residents now returned, the house is mostly illuminated, making the journey upstairs easy. A sibling is in my room making use of the Xbox. I remove the cap of the second bottle; it has a brushed steel top with black, crimped edges. Whilst iTunes loads, I check my email for a message that will probably never arrive - once again my pessimism is rewarded. I choose Warren Zevons eponymous album. On the TV screen a figure moves around, practicing an art that is of no employable use; I am in no place to criticise him. The second half of "Frank and Jesse James" kicks in and then makes way for "Momma Couldn't Be Persuaded" which I find slightly grating, perhaps it is the Violin/Fiddle or maybe the verbose chorus. The cider persists in leaving its bitter taste after every mouthful. The music is punctuated by syncopated dull thuds and groans from the television's speakers. The album is bookended by two four-minute forty tracks, the rest don't trouble the four minute mark. "Hasten Down The Wind" includes a nice lap-steel guitar which is rewarded with a solo; the song reminds me of "The Eagles".
"Poor Poor Pitiful Me" is a great Zevon track - a good guitar riff and dark, cutting, sarcastic lyrics. I put my head on the railroad tracks to wait for the double-E, the railroad don't run no more, poor poor pitiful me. A sigh emerges from my brother meaning he has lost a close fought battle to a random person over the internet. The next track is "The French Inhaler", I am not familiar with this song. It features the nicely overdriven guitar I associate with Zevon's work, halfway through it raises to a rousing chorus and then cools down to simmer before a lifting guitar solo and a subdued ending. "Mohammed's Radio" follows, proving nothing is sacred to Warren. "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" begins and my brother makes his exit.
I restart the previous track. The first couple of verses remind me of older times, with the sheriff and the village idiot making appearances - however this is incongruous with the later verses about gasoline and Mohammed's titular radio. I give the song a third listen and punch the title into Google in order to bring up the lyrics to aid my digestion of the songs meaning. I would wager that song is about the unfulfilling nature of the working man's life, never having quite enough money for gasoline and meat, and how music is a release and escape.
"I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" starts with a stomping drum beat and fills out to include a harmonica taking the bridge lead. Sadly Mr. Zevon is now acting upon this songs message and that is a great loss to us all. A gentle arpeggio on an acoustic guitar introduces the next song, "Carmelita" - this has long been one of my favourite songs, I am not sure why. Again it has vague hints of "The Eagles", but with sharper lyrics than they could ever manage. Carmelita, hold me tighter, I think I'm sinking down, and I'm all strung out on heroin on the outskirts of town. I imagine that Carmelita wears a red dress. I am unfamiliar with the next track, "Join Me In L.A.", it is rather funky and swaggery for Zevon, with a clean, single note guitar and a staccato synth, combined with backing singers high up in the mix. A Saxophone takes a solo three-quarters of the way through the song.
"Desperados Under The Eaves" is the last track, and also the longest of the album. It begins with a string section intro before the electric guitar and piano introduce themselves. All available instrumentation is thrown at this song, aswell as some fine lyrical wordplay - a verse identified as the humming of an airconditioner, mimicked by Zevons humming and a swelling string section. The final refrain of "Look away, down Gower Avenue" continues until the song fades out and ends the album. A good album by a great artist. Only the dregs of the second bottle remain, I strike out to obtain the third and final bottle.
Round 3
I select Neil Young's "Zuma" album and skip to the track "Cortez The Killer" - I have long admired the seven and a half minute track, it was one of the tracks on my iPod as I travelled to L.A. I recall listening to it whilst coasting above the clouds and looking out, over the planes portside wing - looking down upon landlocked America. Young's guitar playing is simplistic and uncomplicated, yet I find it mesmerising - the combination of the chords and guitar tone. The lyrics are blatantly falsified - insisting that "hate was just a legend, war was never known" to the Aztecs, however the last couplet before the final refrain "I still can't remember when, or how I lost my way" resonate with me. The final track of the album plays and I decide to start again from the first track, I decide it is to raucous for this time of night and this state of mind. I settle for Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins album, a much gentler experience. I post something witty on Facebook, I hope they appreciate it.
Men are recommended 3-4 alcoholic units daily according to the bottle, and I am now at 6.6 and heading towards 9.9. A life of reckless excess, I may die before I get to collect my state pension, and it would only be my fault. "Happy" from the Jenny Lewis album is a nice song. I have yet to watch yesterdays Daily Show. I watch a video about a man who died at the G20 protests of "natural causes" being shoved down by police, from behind - he lands heavily and dies a few hundred yards down the road. I don't know what to think and unpause the music. Jenny Lewis has a small amount of the witty and biting lyrical style of Warren zevon, sometimes you need pessimism and sarcasm. I enjoy the minimalism of the guitar parts and the music in general - I was going to called it simplistic but that seems slightly demeaning. A Travelling Wilburys cover plays, I agree with the sentiments. There is still no email and there never will be. Midnight, and the wind is howling - infrequent drops of rain bombard my windows. The good weather of the last week has departed, summer could be over.
The album ends and so does the bottle of Westons. I would recommend Savanna Dry over this, purely as it was easier to drink and had a sweeter taste. This could be the best cider in the world and at this time I would have no way of knowing, a future retaste will be required when my palette has expanded. In a battle of price versus performance, the three bottles obtained for four pounds have made me sufficiently happy, not to the point of self-endangerment but instead to the point of self-contentment. Overall I would avoid this drink and I am now dubious of the value anything that claims to be organic.
Round 1
This weeks cider is Westons Premium Organic Cider, 6.5%, 500ml. It calls itself a flavoursome organic cider produced from organically grown cider apples, fully matured in old oak vats to develop its rich smooth character. The tall bottle is made of brown glass, with a pale yellow label applied which bears a minimalistic rendering of a cider apple - I assume it is a rending of an organic cider apple but I am not able to discern the difference. When the bottle is returned to a recycling depot in South Africa, you will be given 5cents.
The drink itself is still and offers a much less offensive scent than Savanna Dry. It leaves a sour taste in the mouth after each sip, this must be the taste of real apples grown upon a real tree by a real British farmer - I assume it is grown in Britain as the bottle says produced and bottled by H. Westons & Sons, Herefordshire, it could have been made somewhere else and driven to the bottling site in a tanker, I don't know. It proves easy to drink, the first bottle from the marvellous "3 for £4" offer disappearing in about thirty minutes. I am fairly certain of this timing as the soccer is on TV - I started at the half-time interval and the game clock has now reached the fifty seventh minute.
The game is open and end to end, an early goal for the away team in the first match of a two-leg fixture, has opened up the game. One of the players is nicknamed "Hulk" and has this nickname printed on his shirt in place of his actual surname, the commentator objects to this. A player attempting to take a throw-in creeps forward around 15 yards from the spot where the ball goes out, the referee penalises him for it. Another player falls over under very slight contact and the referee rewards him for this. Sloppy clearances and misdirected passes mean alot of possession changes but few clear chances on goal. Long range shots trouble both keepers but are parried away.
Substitutes are brought on to relieve the fatigued and injured as the clock hits 70 minutes. A man falls down and the referee deems that it was a fair challenge, the player is unimpressed. Another player is hacked down just inside the penalty area, he is not rewarded and is also unimpressed; meanwhile play continues and a counter attack is mounted. The crowd's shouts for hand-ball all evening are finally answered and a free-kick is given just outside the penalty area. Number 7 stands with both feet planted slightly wider than shoulderwidth - the ball strikes the wall and bounces out into open play. A good cross from the right glances off the strikers head and flies off for a goal kick, firmer contact would have resulted with the ball in the back of the net. The commentators babble on and show replays of the earlier penalty appeal when the ball is played out for a throw-in. A tattooed man is substituted off, a man in long sleeves replaces him - he could be equally well-tattooed under the sleeves and we would never know. The away goal scorer is also taken off - he receives a round of boos from the home crowd for his trouble. The hoardings around the edge of the pitch passively display their advertisements for credit cards, cars, lager and mobile phones. The lager advert is mostly taken up with the phrase "Enjoy responsibly", the credit card advert has no such advice.
I am typing as a goal is scored, the first I know is the shouting of the commentator and the roar of the crowd. 5 minutes to go, the crowd are now singing an indistinct chant. A player receives a pass 10 yards outside the penalty area, the paying fans implore him to shoot and he obliges - the keeper is not troubled. The away side has equalised, the majority of the crowd fall silent apart from the small contingent of travelling fans. Regular time is about to expire, there is to be 3 minutes of injury time. A player has his nose bloodied and the physio is summoned to the pitch to escort him to the touchline, the crowd show their disapproval. Number 7 wins a freekick just outside the penalty area, he stands over the ball in his trademark fashion. He is not happy with the wall creeping forward. Number 11 takes the kick and places the ball over the bar. The goal keeper is cautioned for time wasting, 3 minutes of added time has turned into 5. The final whistle goes and the cameras focus on the pale and disappointed faces of the home fans.
Round 2
With most of the absent residents now returned, the house is mostly illuminated, making the journey upstairs easy. A sibling is in my room making use of the Xbox. I remove the cap of the second bottle; it has a brushed steel top with black, crimped edges. Whilst iTunes loads, I check my email for a message that will probably never arrive - once again my pessimism is rewarded. I choose Warren Zevons eponymous album. On the TV screen a figure moves around, practicing an art that is of no employable use; I am in no place to criticise him. The second half of "Frank and Jesse James" kicks in and then makes way for "Momma Couldn't Be Persuaded" which I find slightly grating, perhaps it is the Violin/Fiddle or maybe the verbose chorus. The cider persists in leaving its bitter taste after every mouthful. The music is punctuated by syncopated dull thuds and groans from the television's speakers. The album is bookended by two four-minute forty tracks, the rest don't trouble the four minute mark. "Hasten Down The Wind" includes a nice lap-steel guitar which is rewarded with a solo; the song reminds me of "The Eagles".
"Poor Poor Pitiful Me" is a great Zevon track - a good guitar riff and dark, cutting, sarcastic lyrics. I put my head on the railroad tracks to wait for the double-E, the railroad don't run no more, poor poor pitiful me. A sigh emerges from my brother meaning he has lost a close fought battle to a random person over the internet. The next track is "The French Inhaler", I am not familiar with this song. It features the nicely overdriven guitar I associate with Zevon's work, halfway through it raises to a rousing chorus and then cools down to simmer before a lifting guitar solo and a subdued ending. "Mohammed's Radio" follows, proving nothing is sacred to Warren. "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" begins and my brother makes his exit.
I restart the previous track. The first couple of verses remind me of older times, with the sheriff and the village idiot making appearances - however this is incongruous with the later verses about gasoline and Mohammed's titular radio. I give the song a third listen and punch the title into Google in order to bring up the lyrics to aid my digestion of the songs meaning. I would wager that song is about the unfulfilling nature of the working man's life, never having quite enough money for gasoline and meat, and how music is a release and escape.
"I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" starts with a stomping drum beat and fills out to include a harmonica taking the bridge lead. Sadly Mr. Zevon is now acting upon this songs message and that is a great loss to us all. A gentle arpeggio on an acoustic guitar introduces the next song, "Carmelita" - this has long been one of my favourite songs, I am not sure why. Again it has vague hints of "The Eagles", but with sharper lyrics than they could ever manage. Carmelita, hold me tighter, I think I'm sinking down, and I'm all strung out on heroin on the outskirts of town. I imagine that Carmelita wears a red dress. I am unfamiliar with the next track, "Join Me In L.A.", it is rather funky and swaggery for Zevon, with a clean, single note guitar and a staccato synth, combined with backing singers high up in the mix. A Saxophone takes a solo three-quarters of the way through the song.
"Desperados Under The Eaves" is the last track, and also the longest of the album. It begins with a string section intro before the electric guitar and piano introduce themselves. All available instrumentation is thrown at this song, aswell as some fine lyrical wordplay - a verse identified as the humming of an airconditioner, mimicked by Zevons humming and a swelling string section. The final refrain of "Look away, down Gower Avenue" continues until the song fades out and ends the album. A good album by a great artist. Only the dregs of the second bottle remain, I strike out to obtain the third and final bottle.
Round 3
I select Neil Young's "Zuma" album and skip to the track "Cortez The Killer" - I have long admired the seven and a half minute track, it was one of the tracks on my iPod as I travelled to L.A. I recall listening to it whilst coasting above the clouds and looking out, over the planes portside wing - looking down upon landlocked America. Young's guitar playing is simplistic and uncomplicated, yet I find it mesmerising - the combination of the chords and guitar tone. The lyrics are blatantly falsified - insisting that "hate was just a legend, war was never known" to the Aztecs, however the last couplet before the final refrain "I still can't remember when, or how I lost my way" resonate with me. The final track of the album plays and I decide to start again from the first track, I decide it is to raucous for this time of night and this state of mind. I settle for Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins album, a much gentler experience. I post something witty on Facebook, I hope they appreciate it.
Men are recommended 3-4 alcoholic units daily according to the bottle, and I am now at 6.6 and heading towards 9.9. A life of reckless excess, I may die before I get to collect my state pension, and it would only be my fault. "Happy" from the Jenny Lewis album is a nice song. I have yet to watch yesterdays Daily Show. I watch a video about a man who died at the G20 protests of "natural causes" being shoved down by police, from behind - he lands heavily and dies a few hundred yards down the road. I don't know what to think and unpause the music. Jenny Lewis has a small amount of the witty and biting lyrical style of Warren zevon, sometimes you need pessimism and sarcasm. I enjoy the minimalism of the guitar parts and the music in general - I was going to called it simplistic but that seems slightly demeaning. A Travelling Wilburys cover plays, I agree with the sentiments. There is still no email and there never will be. Midnight, and the wind is howling - infrequent drops of rain bombard my windows. The good weather of the last week has departed, summer could be over.
The album ends and so does the bottle of Westons. I would recommend Savanna Dry over this, purely as it was easier to drink and had a sweeter taste. This could be the best cider in the world and at this time I would have no way of knowing, a future retaste will be required when my palette has expanded. In a battle of price versus performance, the three bottles obtained for four pounds have made me sufficiently happy, not to the point of self-endangerment but instead to the point of self-contentment. Overall I would avoid this drink and I am now dubious of the value anything that claims to be organic.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Savanna Dry
Round 1.
Savanna Dry, Premium Cider, Product of South Africa, 500ml, 5.5% volume, contains Sulphites, best before March 2010. All of these facts were gleamed from the bottle, they were all printed directly onto the clear glass surface instead of a label. The lower half of the bottle is a standard cylinder with an abrupt curve into the neck. Crowning the bottle is a brass coloured cap with the logo printed upon it in dark green.
The liquid went into a pint glass with little fuss and minimal head generated. The audible fizzing of bubbles bursting tailed off quickly. A steady stream labours their way up from the centre of the glass bottom. Under an energy-saving lightbulb the drink appears to be a pale amber colour, a much better idea could be gained with sunlight. It smells much like the champagne we drink at christmas lunch, only slightly weaker. I don't know what that says about either of the drinks or my sense of smell.
Trying to navigate their flash based website with the touchpad turned off is a no-go. I am asked to verify my age and the default age is set to sometime in 1991, can they really drink now? There is some sort of terrible mandolin song playing, it is clashing with Earth, Wind and Fire's greatest hits. I mute the audio from the browser. It turns out this isn't even the main website, merely a promotion. I am directed to what I assume is the main site and asked to verify my age again. I was born on 3rd January 1990. It wants my nationality and I oblige. More flash based navigation, more audio, this time the background noise from a bar. I can't find where to mute it. Product info - Savanna Dry. A drinking ritual entreched in the Savanna experience, a wedge of lemon placed in the neck of the bottle and the beverage consumed straight from the bottle. Oops. It is naturally brewed and matured and is made from Granny Smith apples grown in the Western Cape. I don't know what this means. I close the page.
The only thing that I know to compare this to is apple tizer, it is perfectly drinkable, perhaps it leave a little tart taste at the back of the mouth. I find nothing majorly offensive yet nothing worth promoting, perhaps further tastes will unlock more insight.
Round 2.
For this round I relocated to the lounge, in order to gauge how the cider would fare for TV or perhaps movie viewing. It seems to perform well, I rectified my serving suggestion errors from the first drink and took it straight from the bottle, a lack of lemon in the household prevented my from meeting the ideal conditions. The bottle's diameter provides an easy grip.
Round 3.
Back to my room and the comforting glow of a notebook screen reduced to minimum brightness. It is currently plugged into the mains so I am unsure why this is. Save the polar bears. After ingesting two bottles in the space of ninty minutes I have a faint buzz. I select The Four Tops greatest hits in iTunes, Reach Out, I'll Be there; the unrelenting drums, the strained voice. Over half the bottle gone, nothing outstanding has hit me yet. A pop comes out of the speakers and it is someone messaging me on facebook. Youth footballer, long talk. Bottles gone. Four Tops play on. Midnight has struck on the clock, do I leave it at 3 or go for a beer and fataly mix drinks?
Old Speckled Hen; Strong, Fine Ale. Tinned. 5.2% volume. Leaves a bitter taste compared to the cider, maybe thats how it's supposed to be. Facebook conversation continues, I let forth more information than I would to most people. Will have to see how much of this gets around to other people. Filled up car for the first time at the petrol station, £20 took it from the petrol light being on to just less than 7/8 full. Will have to see how many miles it gets out of that. The Four Tops continue to play, he still has much pain in his voice. Surely there is a limit, I skip back to "(Thats the way)Nature Planned It", probably my favourite song of theirs. I don't know what it is about this song that I like in particular, just something clicked and I am unable to shake it. Part of me wonders what it was like to be one of the backup singers, complimenting the lead of Levi Stubbs. They mostly seem like good songs so I can't see the problem. There was '(Going) Loco In Acapulo' which I guess was a hit, the music video on youtube appears to be from a Phil Collins movie, Stubbs' voice still seems to be in fine form though, assuming he was still the lead singer at that point, I will admit at that I am ignorant of the groups later, and indeed earlier, history. I conclude from the video that technology had just surfaced that allowed the resizing of individual clips to allow them to be squeezed into one frame and provide uncomfortable collages of the Four Tops and Phil Colliins.
In conclusion, I can see no reason not to purchase Savanna Dry, yet also I can see no reason why you should purchase Savanna Dry unless the comparably priced Ciders are that much worse. Only future reviews will tell which is the King Cider in the 3 for £4 market.
Savanna Dry, Premium Cider, Product of South Africa, 500ml, 5.5% volume, contains Sulphites, best before March 2010. All of these facts were gleamed from the bottle, they were all printed directly onto the clear glass surface instead of a label. The lower half of the bottle is a standard cylinder with an abrupt curve into the neck. Crowning the bottle is a brass coloured cap with the logo printed upon it in dark green.
The liquid went into a pint glass with little fuss and minimal head generated. The audible fizzing of bubbles bursting tailed off quickly. A steady stream labours their way up from the centre of the glass bottom. Under an energy-saving lightbulb the drink appears to be a pale amber colour, a much better idea could be gained with sunlight. It smells much like the champagne we drink at christmas lunch, only slightly weaker. I don't know what that says about either of the drinks or my sense of smell.
Trying to navigate their flash based website with the touchpad turned off is a no-go. I am asked to verify my age and the default age is set to sometime in 1991, can they really drink now? There is some sort of terrible mandolin song playing, it is clashing with Earth, Wind and Fire's greatest hits. I mute the audio from the browser. It turns out this isn't even the main website, merely a promotion. I am directed to what I assume is the main site and asked to verify my age again. I was born on 3rd January 1990. It wants my nationality and I oblige. More flash based navigation, more audio, this time the background noise from a bar. I can't find where to mute it. Product info - Savanna Dry. A drinking ritual entreched in the Savanna experience, a wedge of lemon placed in the neck of the bottle and the beverage consumed straight from the bottle. Oops. It is naturally brewed and matured and is made from Granny Smith apples grown in the Western Cape. I don't know what this means. I close the page.
The only thing that I know to compare this to is apple tizer, it is perfectly drinkable, perhaps it leave a little tart taste at the back of the mouth. I find nothing majorly offensive yet nothing worth promoting, perhaps further tastes will unlock more insight.
Round 2.
For this round I relocated to the lounge, in order to gauge how the cider would fare for TV or perhaps movie viewing. It seems to perform well, I rectified my serving suggestion errors from the first drink and took it straight from the bottle, a lack of lemon in the household prevented my from meeting the ideal conditions. The bottle's diameter provides an easy grip.
Round 3.
Back to my room and the comforting glow of a notebook screen reduced to minimum brightness. It is currently plugged into the mains so I am unsure why this is. Save the polar bears. After ingesting two bottles in the space of ninty minutes I have a faint buzz. I select The Four Tops greatest hits in iTunes, Reach Out, I'll Be there; the unrelenting drums, the strained voice. Over half the bottle gone, nothing outstanding has hit me yet. A pop comes out of the speakers and it is someone messaging me on facebook. Youth footballer, long talk. Bottles gone. Four Tops play on. Midnight has struck on the clock, do I leave it at 3 or go for a beer and fataly mix drinks?
Old Speckled Hen; Strong, Fine Ale. Tinned. 5.2% volume. Leaves a bitter taste compared to the cider, maybe thats how it's supposed to be. Facebook conversation continues, I let forth more information than I would to most people. Will have to see how much of this gets around to other people. Filled up car for the first time at the petrol station, £20 took it from the petrol light being on to just less than 7/8 full. Will have to see how many miles it gets out of that. The Four Tops continue to play, he still has much pain in his voice. Surely there is a limit, I skip back to "(Thats the way)Nature Planned It", probably my favourite song of theirs. I don't know what it is about this song that I like in particular, just something clicked and I am unable to shake it. Part of me wonders what it was like to be one of the backup singers, complimenting the lead of Levi Stubbs. They mostly seem like good songs so I can't see the problem. There was '(Going) Loco In Acapulo' which I guess was a hit, the music video on youtube appears to be from a Phil Collins movie, Stubbs' voice still seems to be in fine form though, assuming he was still the lead singer at that point, I will admit at that I am ignorant of the groups later, and indeed earlier, history. I conclude from the video that technology had just surfaced that allowed the resizing of individual clips to allow them to be squeezed into one frame and provide uncomfortable collages of the Four Tops and Phil Colliins.
In conclusion, I can see no reason not to purchase Savanna Dry, yet also I can see no reason why you should purchase Savanna Dry unless the comparably priced Ciders are that much worse. Only future reviews will tell which is the King Cider in the 3 for £4 market.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)