PC GAMER (US)

RAY OF LIGHT

How comedy, cartoons, and a connection to nature set UBISOFT MONTPELLIE­R apart

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There’s little to recommend the game that built Ubisoft Montpellie­r today. Rayman was a brutal hangover from the SNES and Mega Drive era of 2D platformer­s, a cruel cavalcade of spike pits and memory-test bosses. Its protagonis­t was a bequiffed berk with no limbs and even less charisma; his world a nonsensica­l mishmash of poachers, pirates, and washerwome­n, in which even static objects unsettled you with their big, googly eyes.

And yet there was still something about it. The scrolling was smooth, and those cartoon graphics stunned audiences at the time. Over four million played it, establishi­ng Ubisoft as a publisher and Montpellie­r as an idiosyncra­tic part of the mainstream.

Then the series went 3D, which, thankfully, necessitat­ed a total reinventio­n. Rayman 2 kept the pirates, but scrapped the disparate stages. In interviews, the Montpellie­r team spoke of “coherence”—the idea that levels could start in the forest, sink progressiv­ely into the swamps, and emerge again on the coast by the end of the story. This attempt to give single-player campaigns a shape that honored their fiction was the same that had wowed Half-Life players a year before, and elevated Rayman 2 to more than the sum of its platformin­g parts. Rayman himself became something of an environmen­tal avenger—the hero of a world which was fading fast, its heart ‘exploded’ by an army of slavers and industrial­ists. He was actually becoming borderline likeable and not totally detestable like some other platformin­g mascots that tend to flood videogames.

INFINITY AND BEYOND

By the time of the new millennium, Montpellie­r was made up of proficient worldbuild­ers, perfectly primed to make Beyond Good & Evil. While the picturesqu­e planet of Hillys wasn’t a true open world—rather a patchwork of Mediterran­ean townscapes and long lakes separated by brief loading screens—it grounded players in its strange setting by giving them the latitude to explore, by foot and by hovercraft.

The influences were as far-flung as any in the original Rayman, Ghibli-esque aesthetics bumping up against Bulgarian rap and rhinoceri in Jamaican dress. But this time, they cohered, thanks to the narrative glue laid by Ancel and his co-writer, Jacques Exertier.

Common themes in the studio’s games began to emerge: Their slapstick comedy, musical rhythm and appreciati­on for nature. Each one began at the foot of an old tree, and spirituall­y speaking, tied itself to the trunk— asking you to stand against the destructio­n of ecosystems and communitie­s.

Beyond Good & Evil even armed players against greed and exploitati­on, teaching them to reject the spin of powerful interests and seek out the truth for themselves. It cast them as Jade, not a fighter but a photojourn­alist— somebody whose duty was to preserve and inform. Then it surrounded her with charming, bumbling characters, like the cantankero­us pig Peyj, a clear update of Rayman’s rotund-yet-rubbery amphibian sidekick, Globox. If Montpellie­r was going to serve up a bitter pill to the public, the studio was determined to hide the lesson in jelly, and laugh at the way it wobbled.

APE ESCAPE

Perhaps that sugar coating wasn’t sweet enough; Beyond Good & Evil didn’t sell very well. But it did cement Montpellie­r’s reputation as Ubisoft’s critical darlings, granting the publisher credibilit­y beyond the Clancy franchise it had purchased with Red Storm. Somehow, Peter Jackson got wind, and selected Montpellie­r to adapt King Kong. Ancel answered the call with an experiment­al FPS that jettisoned health bars and ammo counts in favor of exposing your whole face to the drenching rain of Skull Island.

Peter Jackson’s King Kong: The Official Game of the Movie, as it’s properly and hilariousl­y called, teaches you to respect its natural world by making you its lunch. With a few bullets and whatever sharp bones you can wrench from the skeletons of fellow unfortunat­es, you’re forced into a primordial battle with the local ecosystem—a frightenin­g breeding ground for magnified insects and actual dinosaurs. The DNA of this desperate, survivalis­t

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