Before this game was handed out for a critical slamming, we played Russian roulette. Nobody wanted it. We chucked it round like pass the parcel at an embalmer's birthday party. What gruesome mess would ooze all over the unlucky person left holding the soggy package when the music stopped?
Well, somebody had to be that person, and weirdly enough the resulting game isn't dripping over our shoes at all. We almost daren't say it, but it seems the Army Men franchise might just have hit on something good. Don't misunderstand us, this is no Splinter Cell or Ninja Gaiden, but it's far better than we could ever have hoped.
The best thing perhaps is that, only a level or so in, the entire stupid cast of entirely stupid characters gets utterly obliterated. They're dripping down walls, mangled and twisted, a sacrifice made by the developers no doubt to show that, yes, Army Men is dead, long live Army Men. And from there on in, it just gets better. Sarge, being the only Green standing, wages a war on the Tans like some mould-injected Arnie, slaughtering, destroying and melting all who stand in his vengeful Polyurethane wake.
With a range of real-world weaponry at his hands, the damage he inflicts on his foes smarts. Each enemy has several damage parameters, so if you take a headshot, it comes clean off like a melon. They'll then run like chickens around the environment, shooting blindly in the air. Blow off their knee caps and they'll hop about, frantically trying to find somewhere to lean while they take a pop at you, and God forbid you draw attention to yourself because - here's a novelty for an Army Men game - the enemy is intelligent. Better still, the levels are infinitely superior to any of the calamitous nonsense of previous Army Men games.
And get this: the whole thing is a budget release. That's just £20 for a game that offers a considerable improvement over anything the series has done before, plus you blow people's heads off. Then of course, as the story (yup, that's better too) progresses, you're plunged into fighting elite Tans with invisibility devices, great thundering tanks, Apache 'copters, bazooka-wielding maniacs, gun turrets, and a Blofeld-inspired fireworks factory where Roman Candles and Catherine Wheels are manufactured for the purpose of total world domination by the Tans.
It's not going to cause massive ripples, that's for sure, and the stigma of all those atrocious Army Men games that once belched themselves upon us still hands in the air like sick washed from a carpet, but it's... it's... it's... 'good'. There, we said it. Now excuse us while we go scrub our skin with bleach.