"Paul -- no, Drew! Say something stupid."
This year, the WWE has promoted itself as having embraced a “New Era,” a time of change signified by fresh faces holding the company’s top prizes and women getting the opportunity to main event pay-per-views. WWE 2K, the company’s video game counterpart, is now in its fourth year (or third year, depending on how technical you want to be about the property’s transition in ownership) of a “New Era.” In either case, the moniker has been effective at stoking the flames of passion that persuade patrons of the squared-circle to ignore their chronic feelings of disappointment on a weekly basis in favor of adopting fleeting optimism about the future of the medium, even if the product feels largely unchanged. Such empty pathos is somewhat excusable for a “New Era” in its nascent stages, but nearly half of a decade worth of insubstantial posturing is a tough pill to swallow.
On its face, WWE 2K17 seems like the most apt of 2K’s quadrilogy to fulfill the promises of a “New Era.” Brock Lesnar is the cover athlete, who, despite being a part-timer that a large share of the audience has turned its back on, is at the very least a current and consistent(-ish) contributor to the industry. The Showcase Mode, which asked players on a yearly basis to test their memory of that one time “Stone Cold” Steve Austin and Shawn Michaels dunked it out near a drum set at WrestleMania XIV, has been relegated to downloadable content, meaning that the focus has been entirely shifted towards the game’s more forward-facing experiences. Plus, the roster is bigger than ever, and it’s not just because they’ve included nearly every annual incarnation of Triple H and Big Show. Unfortunately, the removal of the franchise’s nostalgic veneer makes way for a sobering glance through the looking glass into a game filled with empty promises and half-baked ideas that seem virtually unmoved by past failures.
Grim, I know, but it’s hard not to be that way when a franchise seems to be perpetually stuck in the purgatory between “promising” and “enjoyable.” Nowhere does this dichotomy surface more evidently than in the game’s new promo system. WWE 2K’s non-Showcase outings have long suffered from the absence of the kind of theatrics that really makes wrestling fans care about the in-ring squabbling that follows; this is what the promo system seemingly seeks to address, and, in some minor ways, it does! Universe, a mode that simulates a calendar year in wrestling, benefits from this as a new way to promote rivalries aside from just smashing wrestlers together on a weekly basis before once again smashing at the pay-per-view. MyCareer, the more stock-standard offering that provides fans a chance at projecting themselves into the WWE, uses these as just another way to build up a superstar’s popularity and augment his or her reception among fans.
While in abstract the system does move the needle, in practice it does little more than compound the game with another mini-game with vague mechanics and even more vague consequences. Players pick from a list of dialog options, not unlike any number of Telltale’s recent efforts, and then one of two meters in the screen’s top-left fill or decrease depending on the “quality” of the response. Ostensibly, the meters are supposed to represent both the audience’s reception of the promo and the tendency of the promo to move a wrestler along the face-heel continuum that dictates how the audience generally reacts to him or her. The connection between the player’s choices and these meters seems totally nebulous, and every time I had to engage with this system felt more like trial-and-error than a tactical endeavor in reading an audience and speaking to their motivations.
Tragically, this undercuts what should be a banner year for WWE Universe, the aforementioned manager simulation that serves as the stronger of the single-player offerings. More so than anything else in 2K17, this mode does feel like it is embracing the “New Era” by offering more customization than any year previous. Players have the option to do as little as simulate a year in the WWE Universe or as much as create their own wrestling ecosystem with unique weekly shows and pay-per-views. Additionally, these events can be bolstered with their own theme song, opening pyrotechnical showcase, referee, audience type, and more. Within a few hours (the creation tools are as time-consuming as they are powerful), I was able to recreate my Universe in the visage of WCW and completely teleport myself back to 1997. While I recommend a far less depressing journey in time for your own creative expeditions, I must commend any game that allows its players to simulate even the most regrettable moments in the history of its subject matter.
Meanwhile, MyCareer mode was never poised for anything but ineptitude, so the detrimental promo system only serves as yet another indictment of WWE 2K’s least worthwhile feature. This year brings about few changes, with the only major change being the ability of a player to choose to align him or herself with Paul Heyman and become a “Paul Heyman Guy.” “Huzzah,” you must be saying, “I can finally live out my dream of being the next Curtis Axel!” Don’t let your enthusiasm run too wild just yet, Hulkster, because doing so requires an ability to look past the hours upon hours of grinding that MyCareer makes its bread and butter. In my experience with the mode, I started small, working my way immediately up from the Performance Center to the prestigious tag-team division on the main roster, and then I had to murk around for what seemed like ages before any meaningful progress could take place. One week, I would have a tag-team match against the Ascension (fun!), and then the next week I would be in a fatal four-way match against Finn Balor, Rusev, and a created wrestler with no stakes and even less of a reason to exist (super fun!). I get the idea of simulating a career, but I can’t foresee a reason for myself or anyone to invest in a mode that cares so little for a player’s time that it would make them languish in a simulation of the WWE’s undercard that is even less compelling than the real thing.
I shouldn’t say that, because I can foresee one reason for laboring in the WWE’s darkest corners: Virtual Currency (or, as you’ll see it all over the game, VC). Past years have locked hidden content behind the game’s Showcase mode, but in its absence 2K has allowed its most heinous invention (one that has been corrupting their NBA 2K games for a few years) to immigrate to WWE 2K17. Now, every hidden character, venue, belt, and move is locked behind a healthy sum of VC. Price is dictated by demand; someone like Hunter Hearst Helmsley, the least desirable of Triple H’s 1,000 alternate attires, can be had for a paltry 5,000 VC, while “Stone Cold” Steve Austin costs a galling 85,000 VC. Given that you will earn about 5,000 VC for every match played in MyCareer or Universe, that may not seem like a lot. That is, it may not seem like a lot until you consider just how much of this game is locked behind a virtual paywall. MyCareer mode is the primary way to grind out VC, but it’s also one of the modes that most demands its use. Any upgrades to your created character must be paid for with a healthy sum of VC. The game gives you 200,000 VC up front, and after spending ALL of that I was only able to boost my created character to a 76 overall. That’s not bad, but most of your competition in the latter stages of MyCareer will be at least in the mid-80’s, so while a 76 might be enough to compete it won’t be enough to make MyCareer matches any less of a slog. Also, any upgrades purchased will be VC spent that can’t be spent on unlocking anything else, so it’s almost like you have to choose what part of the game you want to unlock and save the rest for a later date.
That’s a problem, and it sets a dangerous precedent for future WWE 2K games. Currently, you can pay $5 extra if you wish to forgo the tedious grinding for VC and just unlock all of the characters, venues, belts, and moves in the game. That is already an increase from previous years (it used to cost $1), and I would be totally stunned if it didn’t go up next year at all. I foresee a future without this option entirely, in which the only way to unlock things is to earn VC, or, if you don’t have time for that, buy VC. That works for a free-to-play game, not as much so for a $60 game that already hides so much more beyond its expensive season pass and collector’s edition.
The true crime of it all is that WWE 2K17 is not a terrible game. After years of tinkering with a formula that dates back to the year 2000 when Yuke’s first took over development of WWE games on the PlayStation, WWE 2K17 sees WWE Games hit its mark in ways it never has. In my eyes, the biggest improvement sees multi-man matches evolve beyond their age-old status as “total and complete dumpster fires.” Animations have been implemented into the game to make these, as well as the more consistently good one-on-one contests, flow more naturally than any wrestling video game before. Now, when devastating maneuvers are delivered, player characters roll out of the ring to allow for the remaining grapplers in the ring to duke it out undeterred. It’s a small touch that makes so much sense given the nature of these types of matches in the WWE (in which someone like the Big Show may spend minutes at a time lying down outside the ring), and it’s one that goes a long way towards making them a joy to play alone or, more preferably, with at least one other person. If the same attention-to-detail was given over to the MyCareer mode, and to a lesser extent Universe mode, then this review might have taken on a largely different tone.
Somewhere, beneath its money-gouging exterior and content-depleted interior, there is a game that does fulfill the promises of a “New Era.” The in-ring action feels snappier than it has ever since 2K took over, thanks in large part to a universal smoothing out of notoriously rigid animations, and the game has A.J. Styles. A.J. Styles! Everything else, though, feels like a page right out of WWE Games’ long and sordid history. Underwhelming single-player options that rely solely on repetition and add little else to the equation? Certainly. Mechanically dense mini-games that don’t seem to accomplish much of anything? That’s a classic. Promos that have been written by the one person who actually likes Roman Reigns’ promos that do little to contribute to the progression of a rivalry? I’d rather just watch RAW! Downloadable content and unlockable content that demands an unreasonable monetary investment or requires unnecessary grinding? Yeah, I, too, remember the year that they made you buy a PSP and Smackdown vs. Raw 2006 for the PSP just to unlock Jake the Snake Roberts. These are the questions that I wish I could quit asking and answering, because all they signify is that another year has passed and yet another WWE game has taken one step forward while taking four or five steps backward.
Some things never change, and perhaps wrestling games, like the product they emulate, are doomed to repeat history over and over again.
Final rating: **1/2 (out of *****)
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