The Tug-of-War Within Monster Hunter Wilds
Monster Hunter Wilds has taken the gaming world by storm, becoming Capcom’s fastest-selling title and dominating the Steam charts. It manages to draw attention even from giants like Counter-Strike 2. While the PC version still faces some technical hiccups, the general consensus is positive regarding the beast-battling experience.
To suggest a reinvention of the game’s formula now might seem contrarian, but Wilds leaves me pondering. Building on the ambivalence of Brendy’s Monster Hunter Wilds review, it seems the series teeters on contradictions, woven throughout its design—from combat through the interface to its world and stories. Despite years of this subtle imbalance, it feels as though Wilds is where Monster Hunter’s inner conflicts reach a crescendo.
The series’ fundamental paradox lies in its unresolved stance on hunting monsters: should we chase them as prey or cherish them? Historically, Monster Hunter has portrayed hunting as essential in preserving a wildlife haven, wherein hunter guilds maintain the natural order by curbing disruptive predators. Yet, this “caretaker” ideology clashes with the core activity—endlessly harvesting monster parts for crafting weapons. Perhaps Capcom could draw from ancient hunting traditions, viewing monsters as both revered and consumed symbols. However, such an alignment might not blend with the game’s “modern” dynamics, characterized by quest repetition, bureaucratic events, and jovial gig work under a managerial guide.
The game comes closest to sanctifying its monsters by promoting a “realistic ecology” where prey and predator exist alongside a host of “endemic life” forms. Whether or not this ecology lives up to its name, highlighting the vibrant environment only heightens the animosity of slaying these creatures. The series’s signature enhancement of realism and fidelity ironically raises personal reluctance to participate in the slaughter, as the monsters appear increasingly lifelike.
This conflict manifests through Wilds’ new Wounds system. In earlier days, these might have been simple glowing weak spots, but now, Monster Hunter’s tech can depict the gruesome reality of injured hide. Striking with a Greatsword at gaping wounds seems brutal. Gratefully, pop-up damage numbers remind players it’s not real.
This realistic touch also mirrors another series contradiction: should players engage with the world itself or rely on the interface? These elements sometimes collaborate, but at others, they clash like battling wyverns, demanding players tweak customizations to smooth conflicts. Generally, the interface is prevailing, intruding even on the supposedly immersive geography and eradicating the need for navigation.
Most guilty are the Scoutflies, introduced in Monster Hunter: World. These luminescent guides obscurely highlight every interactable and guide you unambiguously to your destination. Much to my chagrin, and lacking an off switch without mods, they reduce lush landscapes to a digital mess. The wrist grapple compounds this by allowing distant item collection without observation, and the early-sequence mount automation in Wilds, which follows Scoutflies to the goal, further diminishes the “hunt.”
The Seikret reveals yet another overarching issue: Wilds wants to divest from older, clunky Monster Hunter mechanics, yet fears alienating its devotees. Take the whetstone—during Monster Hunter Freedom days, sharpening weapons amidst chaos was tactically rewarding. In Wilds, the action becomes trivial, accomplished while moving, thanks to a foolproof item wheel. The ease strips sharpening of its original challenge, leaving players questioning its necessity.
This indecisiveness permeates Wilds’ design. Earlier releases required players to fight without lock-ons, fiddling with a manual camera, a task infamous on the PSP. Though cumbersome, it reflected the farcical image of human bravado against gargantuan foes. Modern entries want clarity but remain undecided. While Wilds offers camera lock-on, it feels rough by action game standards, creating a halfway experience, neither clumsy nor refined.
Similar sentiments surround in-combat item management, which Brendy aptly likened to rummaging through a purse for a much-needed coin. Although automation softens this in later games, like Wilds’ auto-brewing potions, it begs if the better course is discarding these elements entirely. Such features evoke incomplete evolution from PS2 staples.
Perhaps I’m being contrary, or even clueless. I’ve experienced many stages of the series, from Freedom to World, albeit not comprehensively. For some—evidenced by sales—controls and interface pose no dilemmas, especially to newcomers finding Wilds an enthralling, albeit managing-centric, action spectacle.
In a sense, Monster Hunter’s contradictions hold merit. Its narrative of an unconvincing “caretaker” role echoes the broader hypocritical treatment of nonhuman animals worldwide, where profitable conservation unravels into exploitation. We venerate specific animals while invisibly slaughtering uncounted others. Monster Hunter might remain beneficially fractured, a reflective lens on such inconsistencies. Yet, I could definitely live without the Scoutflies.