I was only a few matches into the Attitude Era story mode of WWE ’13 when I started to feel depressed. Initially, I had no idea why. The gameplay had been entertaining enough. I had just finished a tag-team match against The Undertaker and Mankind. As bad boy Shawn Michaels, wrapping a chair around Undertaker’s head was satisfying after he had choke-slammed me about eight times. The over-the-top grapples and finishers designed by developer Yukes were by no means perfect but they had served me well up to this point, allowing me the freedom to jump from the top turnbuckle, give out eye-gouges, execute devastating suplexes and generally have fun at the highest level of professional wrestling. Jumping into a bunch of random matches with normal and extreme (anything goes) rules, the controls were equal parts clunky and satisfying. The AI-controlled wrestlers had no real finesse though, coming at me like thugs as soon as the bell rang. Any hint of strategy only really existed outside the ring, where you could make use of the environment or try your best to knock your opponent out cold and rush back under the ropes before the referee counted you out. All of these features captured my attention in the beginning but it didn’t take long before a strange feeling formed somewhere in the back of my mind.
Curt ‘Mr Perfect’ Hennig – drug overdose February 2003
I pushed it aside in favour of the create-a-wrestler mode. The options in this section were legion. Every detail was catered for from head to toe. Typically, character creation screens are crippling for me. I’ll spend upwards of ten minutes deciding on eye colour and size regardless of the fact that I can barely see these decisions reflected in the game. This was no different. By the time I was done, I had outlandish tattoos, a mullet, moustache and a pair of tights adorned with broken hearts. My wrestler sure looked the part and upon choosing the name ‘Dude Dynamite’ (so the announcer could say it) I was ready to inflict my ravishing appearance on the crowd.
‘Ravishing’ Rick Rude – heart failure April 1999
Watching my customised entrance to the ring for the umpteenth time, I noticed something. Between my groin thrusts and over-confident dancing, I saw the crowd for the first time. They had always been there for every match but suddenly they seemed more present than ever before. And they were completely lifeless. Their faces held no emotion, betrayed by terrifically sub-par graphics. Despite my inclusion of customisable signs that read ‘YOLO’ and ‘I LOVE PUPPIES’, it was like staring into an endless void of copied palettes and eventual darkness. Their dead eyes gazed back at me, eager to see me perform. Even if their faces resembled PlayStation 1 era footballers, I felt their judgement. Was I up to the task of satisfying these demonic avatars? They were my bosses, it seemed. If Dude Dynamite could have talked (none of the wrestlers utter a word of voice acting at any point in the game), I’m sure he would have told me how lonely and confused he felt out there.
Ray Traylor aka Big Bossman – heart attack September 2004
After many more matches (including a particularly enjoyable cage bout against Triple H), other aspects about the superficial surroundings of the game began to distract me. The commentary of each match was flat and uninspired. Jerry Lawler and Michael Cole’s work behind the microphones had no excitement or immediacy to it. Their delivery sounded as if they were reading from a script over their lunch break. I might be in the minority here but commentary is quite important in sports games. It adds to the atmosphere like nothing else can and if done correctly, appears to be reporting on your actions in an almost spooky, preternatural way. More than any other genre, wrestling games NEED that excitement and urgency in their announcers. The hype of the commentators should hit you like a monsoon and convince you that the match you are about to see is the most important and crazy thing in the universe. They should be yelling all the time, on the verge of frenzy. Letting you know that this capacity crowd is on their feet and they’ve never seen anything like it. But WWE ’13 doesn’t do this. It can’t even come close.
Gorilla Monsoon – heart failure October 1999
The other options included online multiplayer which proved itself to be more hassle than it was worth, especially with some of the clunky controls. The other big feature is the ability to create your own story via cut-scenes and customised matches. Despite some hilarious inclusions (including wrestlers getting continually hit by speeding cars), this mode held little enjoyment beyond the novelty level. The omission of a traditional story mode where you take your wrestler from rags to riches is sorely needed. Bravo to Yukes for what they’ve tried to achieve here but it feels far from satisfying or complete.
Dino Bravo – murdered March 1993
It’s the superficial stuff that matters to make wrestling into the huge spectacle that it needs to be in a video game format. Without compelling commentary, wild crowds and a pulse, professional wrestling seems like a chore to watch. For a video game, this feeling increases to a savage degree. That surface layer that distracts you from the reality of the two people in the ring desperately trying not to severely injure each other for the sake of entertainment. If you even get a whiff of grim reality in professional wrestling, it falls apart and the fun dissolves immediately. That’s where my subconscious depression set in. I came to the realisation that WWE ’13 was lacking quite a number of things that professional wrestling requires. Polish, excitement and atmosphere. You take those things away and it doesn’t matter how good the counter-moves and flying elbows are, it’s already over. The superficiality matters. Nail that, and you’re on your way to making a great wrestling game.
Macho Man Randy Savage – heart attack May 2011
At its heart, WWE ’13 feels almost there but not quite. Strangely enough, it may be a limit of technology. Throughout every mode, I couldn’t help but think what this game could have been on next-generation consoles. The clunky pace that plagues each match doesn’t feel like a conscious choice but more like something holding the game back from breaking into a higher level of interactivity. Couple that with the lack of excitement, the cold eyes of the crowd and the sad reminder that a lot of these outlandish and larger-than-life characters met an untimely end brought about by drug overdoses and heart attacks, and it becomes clear that this game needed more time and attention. Just a little more to help push itself over the edge into spectacular fun rather than a dark, unfinished collection of half measures.
