Some light seasoning

Much has been made of the simulation inMonster Hunter Wildsduring the beta-filled run-up to its release.

The ecosystem is teeming with beetles, fish and geckos.

For many, it’s exactly what you’d expect and want of Monster Hunter.

An ape-like monster approaches the camera in a rage.

I felt like handing in my notice to the guild.

You play as an expedition leader heading out into the “Forbidden Lands”.

There’s talk of a giant and fearsome beast terrorising this uncharted region (isn’t there always?)

The player is welcomed to the sandy village at the opening of the game.

Monster Hunter games can feel like playthings of preparation, resolve, and reward.

They can also be a festival of grind.

Wilds is no different, and is especially similar toMonster Hunter: World, with a few eye-catching changes.

The player rides their Seikret as two monsters fight in the distance.

If there’s something I can’t fault, it’s that bestiary.

The animals are varied, violent, and hideous in all the right ways.

But that commitment to animality is a given with these games.

The Lala Barina, a spider monster, approaches the player menacingly in a cave of red webs.

The new bits and bobs are what matters.

When it comes to weapons, the developers haven’t added anything new.

Which doesn’t bother me - there are still more weapons to learn than time to learn them.

A glowing blue dragon with horned mandibles roars fiercely at the camera.

There is, again, a satisfaction to learning the exact way each weapon is intended to be used.

But combat is not without its esoterica.

I’ve never considered fighting in these games “fluid”.

The player observes an oily octopus monster in a lava pit.

You’re wearing something down over a protracted and often scrappy brawl.

Wilds is similarly afraid to pigeonhole you.

There are14 different weapons.

The player looks up into the glowing blue light of a threat with composure.

There are 25 slots in your item bag.

There are a-number-I-do-not-know of gizmos to use mid-battle.

Piercing pods, barrel bombs, shock traps, ghillie suits, throwing knives, poison clouds… Who needs elegance of interface when you have 16 types of bowgun ammo to cycle through?

The player eats a chunk of steak with cheese melted on top, using a knife to shove it in her mouth.

That complexity and variety can make it intimidating.

But even with that background Wilds is hefty with unexplained elements.

Your galumphing for guides will continue apace.

The gang enjoy a meal on the floor of a local’s tent.

“Why arrows infinite but gun ammo not?”

you bang out into Bing, sweating.

“How to blow bubbles good”, you hammer into Ask Jeeves, feverish for aid.

Nata, a child refugee, takes a bite of stringy cheese.

Wilds isn’t a forthcoming game, and I don’t necessarily fault the developers for this.

It’s tough to build an on-ramp for a game this granular without slowing down the missions greatly.

This timesinkiness is intentional, of course.

A plate of baked beans glistens.

The most upgradified stamina-boosting talisman, the fullest purse of cooling drinks.

Judging by previous games, it’ll shorten things while also making fights more flailing and chaotic.

In any case, battles can also be approached with reckless brute force.

Three Wudwuds dance while exploring the forest.

If the bristlesome combat hasn’t changed dramatically, then navigating the world has.

All appropriately hunty behaviour.

Your dinoride will frequently autojog in the direction of the next waypoint.

The player examines their mount, a velociraptor-like beast called a Seikret.

Especially if it takes the reins from your hands as often as this does.

Not that navigating the world is overly thoughtful.

For me that means that each environment lacks a sense of life.

The player and their companions ride into a forest on dino back.

You won’t wonder how to reach a certain plateau or canyon floor.

You move around the land with a job in mind and armour on the brain.

You let Dino from The Flintstones take you home.

kindly, not another entire Toblerone.

The roof of my mouth is fully perforated.

Therein lies both the appeal and danger of Monster Hunter games.

They are stuffed with compelling completionist catnip, yet wrapped in a philosophy of busywork.

I mean, yes, that is video games writ large.

And it keeps me sustained on the hamster wheel for a while.

I too desire a fashionable suit for my intolerable cat.

But the motivation always sinks away before I hit the endgame.

There is a place for loot-chasing games of endless hunger.

A Monster Hunter game ought to be weighty, a land of friction and preparation.

But there are only so many guild contracts I can take before I clock off for the weekend.