West of Dead
Exploring the Frontiersman’s afterlife.
West of Dead’s combat marries twin-stick shooting to a cover system, and throws in a few extra tactical wrinkles like lights in some rooms that stun nearby enemies and loot charms that might, say, halve your reload time or recover some health if you manage to dive into cover soon after taking the hit.
My first two or three runs in the Crypts felt like stumbling disasters, but gradually the pace and nuance of the combat started to sink in. I noticed exactly how many hits it took from my six-shooter to stun gun-toting enemies, and how many shots from them it took to destroy the cover I tended to cower behind. I realised that the zombie-like melee foes tended to follow you back into the previous corridor, where they’re easier to takedown.
West of Dead is brilliant at telegraphing every small detail of combat, from the moment an enemy’s alerted to your presence to the moment they’ve locked their aim on you and only a frameperfect dodge roll will stop you taking damage if you’re not behind cover. When all the timings permeate, you start to play reflexively, rather than consciously. You’re always in cover, always aware of how many empty chambers are in each gun, always looking for the next safe place to roll into.
If West of Dead’s combat wasn’t sewn so artfully into that enigmatic world, though, it wouldn’t be anything like as easy to hit ‘New Run’ after another heartbreaker down the Mines. The visuals are arresting, and appear to be true celshaded, from objects to lighting. Hearing Hellboy’s voice while you’re inhabiting a shadowy underworld of inky black outlines feels very Mike Mignola, and the sombre guitar lines, circling crows, and whiskey-gargling voiceover build a genuine sense of atmosphere.
Other games have explored the same themes and mechanics as West of Dead, but rarely has it all come together with such cohesion. The fight’s always fair in here, however difficult it may be, and it always feels like you’re enduring it for a reason.
PHIL IWANIUK