It’s not you, Sharknife. It’s me.
I’m just too old for you. We’re at different places in our lives. You must sense it too.
Sure, you’re stylish. Maybe you’re too stylish for an old codger like me.
Sure, I appreciate that you’ve chosen to appropriate a video-game aesthetic as a storytelling device. I love video games! I can see the craft and skill involved in pulling that off!
Maybe my tired old eyes just can’t absorb all this narrative invention, the kinetic action, the captured moment/screenshot qualities that drive the long, long, long fight scenes.
Okay, maybe it’s not entirely me.
Incompatibility takes two, and while you’ve got a lot going for you, I think most of it is flash. Tricked-out visuals only go so far when the characters are somewhat underdeveloped and the plot is kind of threadbare.
It’s kind of hard to talk frankly like this, because you’re so eager to please. You have energy to spare, but it all seems unfocused. There’s not much depth to you, and I know that’s a geezer’s criticism, but I’m not asking for too much. I just want a moment or two of consequence. I want the novelty to give way, even briefly, to some heart.
And the way you talk! You’re trying so hard to sound hip that you’ve circled all the way back to square again. Stop adding the letter “z” to everything! Stop randomly throwing words together so they sound manga-esque!
I’m sorry. This isn’t going how I’d hoped. Maybe we should just call it a night. You were never meant for me, and I shouldn’t hold that against you.
Don’t worry. I picked up the tab.