By Brian Feinzimer
By Charles Lam
By Joel Beers
By LP Hastings
By Dave Barton
By LP Hastings
By Joel Beers
Gandhi is threatening to invade my country if I don't share the secrets of gunpowder with him. Consulting with my advisers, I'm told his army is no threat, their technology far behind mine. I don't believe the numbskulls whispering in my ear: The Indian's army has marched right to the edge of my capital for maximum bargaining leverage and outnumbers mine 6 to 1. I hand over our people's knowledge of gunpowder, and the formerly raging little wise man's face softens. He thanks me casually as if we weren't just on the brink of war, and then marches his army back to India as if nothing ever happened.
He may think it's over, but I won't forgive this humiliation so easily. I put in an order for what will ultimately be a fleet of tanks destined to roll on New Delhi sometime in the next decade. The voters won't go for it, of course, so I'll just take a page from Emperor Palpatine and dissolve the Senate before seeking my revenge. A bunch of politicians aren't getting in the way of me making the Mahatma kneel at my feet.
No question: Aside from the bizarre, quasi-historical spectacles you encounter in Civilization Revolution (President Genghis Khan launches his first battleship, anyone?), you sometimes get to see a new, ugly side of yourself, too. And it's damn fun.
For those tragically unfamiliar, Sid Meier's Civilization games—much like Will Wright's Sim titles—start with a simple concept: guide a civilization from its bearskin-wearing origins all the way to a modernity of atomic power, space flight and assholes sitting alone in restaurants talking too loudly on silly headset phones.
Should your people be enlightened, cultured artisans? Technological geniuses? What about savage, warmongering monsters every step of the way? All up to you. And as you spread out across the map, growing around (or through) neighboring tribes, you even manage the day-to-day problems of a city planner: Should you build a temple or a marketplace in your capital? Fortify the town with archers, or form up an army of horsemen to ride out and, ahem, "visit" the locals? Each has ramifications.
However complicated this all sounds, the game does an excellent job of walking you through the system, even giving you a comprehensive in-game encyclopedia to refer to as needed. The basics are easy to pick up, and most games move briskly, short enough that you can squeeze in a couple before bedtime.
If anything, that's the aspect that will disappoint the series' devoted fans: Revolution is a stripped, streamlined interpretation of past Civ games. On the bright side, fewer nuances mean the game clicks along much faster than its PC brethren, making a session less of a commitment and more accessible to novices. But to do this, reams of micromanagement got sacrificed on the altar of simplicity, making it a bummer for PC fans who actually enjoyed the minutiae of, say, picking the specific acres around a city to be irrigated.
Likewise, the game is a bit short on options—multiplayer is great, but forcing players to take on computer-controlled playmates is silly—and the computer's AI ranges from braindead on most difficulties to an abrupt mad-dog-insane on the highest two, with little in between. Likewise, it seems to have an unspoken agreement with other AI tribes: "Gang up on the organic lifeform."
But then you pay Cleopatra to declare war on Napoleon, hoping the distraction will allow you a chance to finish your nuclear weapon . . . and all the little problems just don't seem like that big a deal.