Review: Doom 3 (XBX)

For one unholy level, Doom 3 sends you to Hell. Stripped of your weapons, you must fight like the devil - with the Devil - to get them back. And then, after the Guardian has run you ragged, you take possession of the game's most prized artefact, the Soul Cube, before slipping into something uncomfortable - a time-space vortex that resembles Satan's gullet. Returning from whence you came, a doomed outpost on Mars, you're stripped of your weapons again; just another day in the life of an archetypal series that refuses to die. But die you will: because Doom 3 is the life, death and resurrection of classic gameplay.

Or should that be gunplay? The Doom 'canon' has always been stoked with incredulous weapons: big is better (and they don't get any bigger than the BFG 9000) - but they DO get better-looking, and thanks to a state-of-the-art Xbox engine, Doom 3 blows the lid off the current generation of console titles; it's the last word in the last line of an ageing A/V arsenal.

Ah, but what a send-off: the Union Aerospace Corporation (UAC) facility is an endless tract of nocturnal space; a seeping conduit of open emotion and closed intention; a flickering torment of sights unseen. But the veil is lifted as the player's own recollection of the Doom legacy is brought to pass. And Gamestyle's elephant never forgets: it remembers the 'tiny' window of opportunity that once validated Sega's 32X version, it remembers being ostracised for playing Doom on Saturn (when the world at large was snuggling up to the PSX custom edition), but above all it remembers Midway's retelling of Doom 64. When mip-mapping smoothed over the rough edges; when metamorphic levels masked the blind spots; when pre-rendered sprites and weapons renewed the faith. But Doom refused to die, and it's never been as potent as it is now - ie, the ONLY console version available.

Of course, it helps greatly that the Doom hegemony has been brought bang up to date with the latest tools, but the Xbox incarnation goes one better - it reintroduces players to a 'classic' formula: perfectly-emulated versions of Ultimate Doom and Doom II (nb, Collector's Edition only).

There are many who would deride the simplicity of the experience, but shooting imaginary vermin was never meant to be edifying. However, by tapping into the vulnerability of the human experience and transposing one's fears into dark and oppressive places, Doom 3 takes its cue. And while the bulk of those places will be ill met by flashlight, it's the luminescence of action that will guide the player.

Perhaps edifying in its own way is the assurance of weapon selection. Old favourites return, and some - like the multi-purpose make-no-mistake Chainsaw - are a cut above the best. Ploughing through a yardage of lost souls and ambling cadavers is given added vigour with omnidirectional six-channel sound. In fact, the audio design is perhaps the greatest gift of all to Doom's slavering faithful. Scattered throughout the long and winding labyrinth of the UAC facility are data disks (or PDAs) which can be culled for emails, security passcodes and audio logs. By depressing the Black button at any time during play, PDAs can be opened and closed in realtime as events and audio data unfold. Whilst some may consider it an imposition, the steady flow of messages and visual criteria (including download bars which verify pick-ups) is warmly reassuring in an otherwise cold climate of fear.

And that fear is palpable when id Software (via Vicarious Visions, who handled the Xbox code with aplomb) hits its visual stride. New rendering techniques made possible by Microsoft's XNA (ie, Xbox Next Architecture) environment have allowed High-Level Shader language to flourish within the UAC ramparts. The aforementioned teleportation device (ie, "Satan's gullet") and the Hellish makeover of the Delta Complex (which occurs later in the game) provide reams of organic textural fidelity which unsettle the player. And the remodelled Hell Knights, Arch Viles and Revenants comfortably (or uncomfortably?) cap off a severed artery of imagination.

Alas, such graphical osmosis places a huge strain on system resources; the largely incidental multiplayer options suck the life and soul - and er, Soul Cube, incidentally - out of a transformative single-player experience. Co-operative mode, in particular, is a shambling mockery of Sega Saturnian proportions: It's Doom 3 on a shoestring, with every frightful encounter reversed. There are no cut-scenes, no interlocutory paths, no dark and foreboding intersections - just a mindless, moving mess of traffic. Oh, and then there's the bottlenecks: tragic moments when player animations appear to seize up, unintentional moonwalks on the catwalks of Mars, eerie levitations when ascending or descending ladders.

And finally, there's the constant tug of attrition with the framerate: when even moving feels laboured and when sprinting for the next ammo cache becomes more adversarial than the next monster. If there's light beyond the fringes of Doom 3 multiplayer, it's the eternal flame of id's past: the perfect emulations of Ultimate Doom and Doom II.

The imagery may seem absurd by today's standards, but peel away the bitmaps and you'll uncover an irrefutable truth: gameplay is timeless. In fact, given that the classic vehicle(s) can now be mounted for the first time with dual analogue doohickeys, it's like back-pedalling in reverse. (Eh?) The pixels ultimately fade away and you're left with the skeleton key of invention - seek and ye shall find; every map becomes a treasure trove unto itself. Speaking of things concealed: whilst whiling away the hours with Doom II, Gamestyle stumbled upon a 'Toggle Power Up' option; since the X button is prefigured for Use, and the Left trigger is set to Sprint - holding both at the same time activates Invincibility. Sacre bleu!

After ten years of console-ised compromise, Doom 3 looked to be reshaping the past. In fact, were it not for the aberration of perceived multiplayer 'demands', the single-player game would've been held aloft by Gamestyle; perceived to be par excellence in its solitary field. Immortality beckons, but not before the horrors of populism are evicted.

Rating: 9 / 10

Words by Steven Wrangell