The Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion Remastered review
In 2006 Final Fantasy 12 was a brand new PlayStation 2 game, the Xbox 360’s hard drive was at least in spirit still an optional extra, and horse armour DLC was the biggest corporate issue surrounding Oblivion’s launch. I didn’t play the game back then because I thought I didn’t need to—I had Morrowind, a smug sense of superiority, and no use for a sequel.
Need to know
What is it? The Oblivion you’ve always known and modded with a few tweaks and a fresh coat of polygons on top.
Expect to pay: £49.99 / $49.99
Developer: Bethesda Game Studios, Virtuos
Publisher: Bethesda Softworks
Reviewed on: Intel i9-13900HX, RTX 4090 (laptop), 32GB RAM
Multiplayer? No
Steam Deck: Verified
Link: Official site
I might have been wrong about that.
Although Oblivion’s tutorial-laden intro, starring the most obviously doomed MacGuffin-carrying Emperor who ever briefly lived, didn’t do a great job of convincing me otherwise. The only amazement I felt during this segment was that a game this ambitious seriously expected me to be thrilled with the sight of a rat-filled sewer, the most clichéd RPG environment of them all. Was this honestly the best opening they could come up with?
And then I escaped that boring place, and all of my grumbles were instantly forgotten.
This sunlit paradise doesn’t look like a game that came out when My Chemical Romance songs were in the top 10. Not even close. Dragonflies flit across the water, and butterflies lazily flap in the air as flowers gently sway in the breeze. I’m honestly taken aback by it all, and only alt+tab out of the game so I can hastily type ‘Oblivion photo mode’ into the nearest search bar. There isn’t one at the time of writing, and I’m offended on the game’s behalf because of it.
I immediately decide I’m going to walk, rather than fast travel, to the next conveniently marked story location just so I can spend more time taking in my gorgeous surroundings. But the path ahead isn’t quite as beautiful as the one I’m about to leave behind, and that makes me take one last look back and… hang on, is something glowing on that small island just across the water?
Nope, no. Not happening. I mean, yes please, but I’ve got a magical plot device to deliver and I don’t want to get sidetracked straight away and then never recover. But… a little peek wouldn’t hurt seeing as I’m already here, would it?
Dungeon diving
The sheer variety of experiences keeps surprising me
One short swim later and I’m loot-deep in the Vilverin ruins, fighting bandits and poking my nose everywhere I shouldn’t. The tripwire across the entrance I spot just before I set it off may as well be an invitation—if these bandits want me to stay out that badly then there’s got to be something worth spending a little time searching for down here.
I’m quickly so enthralled by this mysterious place I don’t even realise I’ve jumped down into another area with no real idea how I can get back up, and I just shrug and carry on anyway. I’m actually a little disappointed when I notice the name ‘Bandit ringleader’ above someone’s health bar, assuming I’m done here when they finally drop dead.
Image 1 of 4
My assumption was way, way off. I spot another mysterious door. Behind it lies a small area with not much in i—is that a pressure plate?
Instead of quickly finishing up and leaving the way I came, my improvised adventure spirals into a world of skeletons, underwater swims into the unknown, and swinging blade traps. I don’t even care how long I’ve been here and any urgency to get on with the ‘real’ story has long gone, because I’m having too much fun here and now. I eventually clear the dungeon, grab some shiny loot, then exit via a handy shortcut.
That sunset I left behind has transformed into a breathtaking canopy of stars. I’m in awe. I’ve done more than just clear a dungeon or complete a subquest, I’ve explored.
Story time
I’ve done so much, even though the game’s hardly begun.
Ploughing through Oblivion’s endless array of quests is simple thanks to a straightforward UI that makes it easy to activate and then follow one particular thread, helpfully keeps interesting side activities separate from main events, and never leaves me more than a click or two away from a large map with big red ‘GO HERE NEXT’ markers on it.
The sheer variety of experiences these markers can lead to keeps surprising me. I’ve sneaked around sleeping cultists. Stolen treasures from forbidden trap-filled labyrinths that had me thinking “I wish somebody would make a fantasy Tomb Raider” the whole time I was in them. In one memorable incident I found myself delicately balancing a temporary drug addiction with the need to push through a place crawling with monsters (I was not completely successful at managing the severe stat buffs that came with the withdrawal).
Even the parts of Oblivion where I can keep my weapons sheathed are intriguing. Every new town and oddball inn stuck in the middle of nowhere has someone worth talking to, or some locked room, suspicious well, or half-hidden hatch I know I shouldn’t enter but will poke around anyway.
The land is heaving with everything from harmless bookcases to unsettling secret murderholes, my curiosity a catalyst for anything from idle rummages around someone’s personal belongings to desperate dashes to safety, new memories made at every turn.
It’s just a shame everyone I have to talk to looks so damned strange. The models used for these people, from plain old humans to the catlike khajiit, may be as overhauled as their remastered surroundings, but they’re wrong in every way that matters. Animations and expressions are simplistic and cartoonishly exaggerated, completely at odds with the new high resolution textures and additional details they’re contorting to accommodate.
They often spoil the mood; creating an unintentional disconnect between the intriguing adventures I’m offered, the hard work of the actors voicing the dialogue, and the visual comedy playing out before me.
I can’t even always catch what’s being said. As the original game had its bugs, Oblivion Remastered isn’t without issues: Subtitles are present, but tend to show up when they feel like it. I could somewhat understand if this was defined by my distance to the speaker, but I’ve had people I was rubbing shoulders with hold full back-and-forths without a single line being printed on screen. I’m not just missing out on key story moments when this happens, I’m missing out on the flavour that comes from random NPCs grousing amongst themselves as I stroll down a city street and the immersive, sometimes life-saving battlecries of my allies too.
Dishing out DPS
Some methods of dispatching whoever crosses my path are much more satisfying than others. Sneak-attacking enemies with a bow from afar never gets old, and neither does filling a monster full of arrows as they try to close the distance. Spellcasting is pleasantly frantic and messy, fireball flinging imagined as something athletic and imprecise. It’s a lot of fun—so long as I’m not using a controller. With a traditional KB+M setup I can freely switch between anything I’ve assigned to the 1-8 keys as I move around. Smoothly shifting from lightning lobbing to a quick heal and back again as I jump around couldn’t be easier. But on a controller I have to rely on a customisable radial menu to switch between spells, and for some reason opening this locks my character in place until it’s closed again. This practically guarantees the enemy will get some free hits in, and tarnishes a comfortable control method that otherwise works beautifully.
Surely almost 20 years is enough time to iron out basic issues with common quests
Even in Remastered form, melee combat is a disappointment no matter how I play. There’s a distinct lack of weight and meaningful reaction to my blows, and it never really looks like direct contact’s being made. I’m not swinging a sword or blocking an incoming attack, I’m pressing buttons as animations play out and health bars deplete.
This lack of reactivity is only exacerbated by the game’s AI, which, huh, seems to have been pulled directly out of 2006. I shouldn’t be able to kill an entire cult’s worth of weirdos by kiting them around their own altar, every last one politely chasing after me in an orderly fashion, and it’d be nice if monsters consistently noticed when their fellow fiends drop dead a few feet away.
Other bugs pop up often, many of them quest-related. Key NPCs get stuck repeating the same lines and scripted sequences fail to correctly move on to the next state in the stack. These aren’t edge cases that only show up in minor quests most players never see, but early mainline scenarios. They drag the entire experience down, leaving me questioning everything I do. Did I succeed here because I was clever, lucky, or did another bug swing this fight in my favour? Have I missed something important, or has the game broken down again?
Yes, some jank is to be expected—is it even a real Bethesda RPG if there aren’t bugs?—but this is a brand new remaster. Surely almost 20 years is enough time to iron out basic issues with common quests.
And add some meaningful reactivity to them. The guild quests don’t shine quite so brightly in a post-Baldur’s Gate 3 landscape. A single arrow loosed at the wrong moment was all it took for the Dark Brotherhood’s messenger to gleefully declare me a cold-blooded killer, and in an astonishing lack of player agency I was forced to accept their quest and dagger. This quest line does lead to some fun moments—protecting someone from the irritated corpses of their dead relatives raised a smile—but it also lays bare how little RP resides in this RPG’s storytelling. I have no real choice but to do as I’m told or not engage at all, all paths leading to the same end. I’m always exactly as virtuous or vengeful as the latest quest giver needs me to be, and Oblivion felt smaller for it.
But when it does work, and to be fair it usually does, I’m fully absorbed in this fantasy world. I can sit in a tavern—any tavern—and listen to NPCs strike up conversations with each other, or organically overhear something that adds a new topic to my conversations. I’m desperate to climb every mountain peak and dive into every deep lake I come across because I know there’s always something worthwhile waiting for me if I go exploring. Maybe not something I can use or sell, but at the very least I’ll get to watch the sun rise over the lands below, or perhaps discover a submerged cave entrance I had no idea existed. It’s worth spending a night walking from one town to the next, just to give myself a chance to get lost in the wilds—and probably find some previously unmarked location when I do.
My rigid quest list is all but abandoned, unchecked and uncompleted, and I only feel free. I am the author of my own grand adventure, and I decide what happens next.
Source link
