Let's not mince words: Real Steel is a terrible game. You should not play this mess under any circumstances. Even if you adore the Hugh Jackman film it's based on -- wherein Wolverine teaches big robots to punch each other -- you'd be wasting your time and money. This downloadable adaptation is far beneath the low standards established by the movie-based games we all love to hate. On paper, Real Steel is the realization of a favorite childhood fantasy. I mean, this is totally what we always wanted from Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. The reality of it is a troubled, maddening fighting game with nothing new to offer.
It borrows wisely, at least. The combat feels similar to Fight Night, which is the best possible game to rip from if you're working on a boxing game. Hooks, jabs, haymakers, and special attacks - hard-hitting combos or head butts, for example - comprise the aggressive side of getting it on. Dodging, weaving, blocking, and countering make up the defensive side of robo-brawling. This is the basic standard for a 3D fighting game, really. This should have been a great opportunity for Real Steel to achieve, at the very least, a respectable level of competence. Bad ideas end up burying any exciting potential it may have had.
My heart sank the moment I threw my first punch. True to its lumbering metal characters, Real Steel is slow, rigid, and cumbersome. Characters meander around the ring slowly and take their time winding up punches. The feel of each unresponsive action is appropriately robotic. As I clobbered my way through the typical campaign, fighting tougher bots with each unlocked match, this became more of an issue. Opponents had more health, a higher resistance to my slowly improving attacks, and were able to rock 'em my sock 'em before I could land my first blow.
Its most criminal offense is punishing success. After two straight hours of failure on the third fight, where my opponent's stats nearly doubled all mine, I finally hit a stride. I evaded all the robo-jerk's attacks, hit him hard and fast, and knocked him down as his health tanked. He got up at the count of 9 (of course he did) and had recovered the vast majority of his HP. He got up stronger than I'd left him and promptly knocked me out, like he'd done so many times before, in two swift hits. This was the first of many times I walked away from Real Steel in a huff, livid with its cumbersome combat, cheap opponents, and awful design.
In another hopeful round, I took that same enemy down with such vicious force I punched his arm off -- this shocking moment rarely got old. The round ended during the ref's count to 10, which put a quick stop to my guaranteed KO. We were sent to our corners, and this flame-painted menace slaughtered me with one arm and an HP meter that barely depleted when I landed huge hits. Real Steel obviously doesn't understand the rules of boxing, much less the phrase "saved by the bell."
Real Steel, more than anything of its kind I can recall, is the most aggravating fighting game I've played. I ended up having to replay dozens of fights, and I constantly had to back out to my created character's garage to repair him. Robutt, my cleverly nicknamed boxing robot, sustained damage after each match, and I had to pay cash or exchange repair kits to fix him up. I grew fond of the pink and purple machine because he was something I'd dedicated time to improving and adding to. The customization options aren't immense in Real Steel, but they're serviceable enough to add a bit of personality to your droid. I liked Robutt. I didn't like that he remained damaged after a lost fight, but didn't get to keep any experience earned during his beatdown. Real Steel seemed to want me to struggle. The best I could do to counter this was to replay earlier fights and grind my way to stronger attacks and higher health. I had to play more of this miserable game to keep playing this miserable game.
I'd love to come up with an appropriate pun about this to lighten up a little. I don't think I have it in me after losing real hours of my real life to this rubbish. Send it to the junkyard? Predictable. It's scrap metal? Hm...crap metal might be funnier. Ah, forget it. I'm too saddened by Real Steel's existence to think about jokes anymore.
