Binary Domain demands a certain audience. The ideal player should be savvy enough to recognize when a Japanese development team forgoes natural inspiration in favor of creating a game intended to appeal to a Western demographic. For a significant portion of this console generation, cover-based third person shooters were hot, so Tecmo and Team Tachyon responded with the Quantum Theory. Quantum Theory was terrible. Sega and Platinum Games operated under the same premise, issuing Vanquish to the masses a couple weeks later. Vanquish, compared to Quantum Theory or practically any other action game released that year, was amazing. A bit of research reveals neither game sold exceptionally well, but even a cursory experience between the two exposed the difference between passion and contract fulfillment.
This makes Sega’s decision to release Binary Domain a bit puzzling. If cover-based shooters not bearing the name Gears of War don’t sell well, why bother? If Sega was scaling back their retail calendar, why bother? If the pedigree behind Binary Domain is also responsible for the Yakuza series (a legendary name amongst Internet patrons approximating marginal real-life sales results), why bother? From an outsider’s perspective it’s not clear why Sega chose February 2012 as the time for Binary Domain, so we’ll skip any reasonable guess and just assume that, after heading or taking part in eight Yakuza games in seven years, Toshihiro Nagoshi got carte blanche to make something, anything else – and a shooter seemed like the best fit for ideas he wanted to express.
There’s almost nothing interesting about playing Binary Domain. Cover mechanics are ripped directly from Gears of War, complete with sticky cover, the Roadie Run, and even that double-tap dodge roll thrown in for good measure. Aggressive opposition trades mutant grubs for an endless hoard of marginally different robots. Binary Domain tries to twist its enemies by incentivizing the removal of specific body parts of said enemy robots. Blow off the arm holding a gun, for example, and the enemy will drop its gun and waste time picking it up with another hand. Likewise, take its legs out and it’ll zombie-crawl directly at the player. In terms of utility the only usual measure is the classic headshot, which reroutes the robot’s programming, forcing them to (briefly) fire upon their brethren. This is kind of neat but, at least on normal difficulty, felt fundamentally pointless.
Character progression is handled with a similar lack of grace. Offensive upgrades are all assigned to each character’s specific weapon. Considering direct control is only assigned to one member of the heroic Rust Crew, the player-controlled Dan, it’s easy to see where a majority of earned credits will be spent. Again, assigning progression to a specific weapon is a nice idea but it doesn’t actually change anything. It’s difficult to see results in increasing a non-playable teammate’s accuracy or firepower by two percent. Being allowed to pick your specific crew and having them selected for you further muddy the waters of proper point allocation.
Binary Domain’s most noble venture has to be the way it tries to forge a bond between the player and non-playable members of the Rust Crew. Dan can issue standard commands, like going for an all-out assault or holding off for a bit. Other times, often in-between narrative bookends, Dan is proposition with a question from a member of his team. The problem is it’s always some sort of moral play with an obvious answer. Unless you’re out to be a dick there’s no reason to intentionally screw any of these up. Look at these two gems as an example:
A member of the Rust Crew exclaims, “That’s some good work Dan, keep it up!”
And Dan’s potential response consists of:
A. “Thanks”
B. “Fuck”
C. “I can’t”
Only one of those even makes contextual sense in the conversation at hand. Let’s look at another one:
Cain, a lovely French robot, notices Dan’s dangerous actions and relays, “Do not expose yourself to undue risk, Monsieur”
Again, here are Dan’s responses for that specific event:
A. “Ok”
B. “Shit”
C. “My bad”
Did the localization team just give up? It’s bad enough that Binary Domain obliges a dated morality system in an effort to win favor with other members of Dan’s team, but it’s worse that it’s completely senseless. For what it’s worth, Binary Domain was intended to be played with the player talking into a microphone and barking out a list of recognized words. Skipping out on the microphone option leads to a list of multiple choice responses gingerly reproduced above. Literally calling Big Bo a dickhead in the middle of a firefight might be somewhat cathartic, especially after you requested his assistance and instead of obliging he walked right by, but there’s no mechanical reward for any of it. It’s just there.
All of this may have been easier to deal with had Binary Domain been any fun to play. Instead of an innovative take on cover-shooters, it’s, well, a cover-shooter. And not a very good one. Binary Domain boasts a particular penchant for making the player think he or she is firing at a target, but really the reticule is misaligned directly into a wall. Likewise, the cover system isn’t especially forgiving at determining which shoulder you’d like to be looking over. Gigantic bosses are actually a bright spot (even if they do all obey the “hit the glowing weak area” mechanism), but are kept in check by every off-brand gameplay sequence jammed into break the pace. Running down a road that’s breaking apart is never fun, and the same goes for railed turret sequences.
It’s all a shame because Binary Domain seemed to have a story worth hearing. The idea of humans discovering they’re really A.I. and the subsequent meltdowns and inevitable revolution presents and interesting premise, or at the very least a call to adventure not beaten to death in interactive entertainment. Furthermore, the world of Binary Domain, when it’s not wasting time detailing two warring robotics corporations, manages a relatable sentiment between the player and its inhabitants. It’s handled poorly almost all around, but good ideas are there. Somewhere, anyway.
All of this leads to the statement issued at the beginning of this rambling tirade; Binary Domain demands a certain audience. I happened to buy it new in December of 2012 for $18. It’s currently stacked in my backlog pile, still sealed. It was free on PlayStation Plus around November, which was apparently when I downloaded and installed it to my PlayStation 3. Recently I really wanted to download Dragon’s Dogma, and Binary Domain’s 11gig footprint wasn’t allowing that to happen. But I didn’t want to just delete it without having played it – so there went nine hours of my life.
I don’t think the audience Binary Domain demands actually exists.
