Eddie Murphy is returning to Studio 8H.

Murphy will be hosting Saturday Night Live on Dec. 21, according to SNL's Twitter.

Other announced hosts include Woody Harrelson (Sept. 28), Phoebe Waller-Bridge (Oct. 5), David Harbour (Oct. 12) and Kristen Stewart (Nov. 2).

Unlike other high-profile SNL alumni like Will Ferrell and Tina Fey, Murphy has not been an SNL mainstay since leaving. While he did appear briefly on the Saturday Night Live: 40th Anniversary Special in 2015, he did not participate in any sketches.

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Star Wars Battlefront 2 is almost two years old, but the developers at EA DICE are finally moving on from the loot box controversy that dogged the first year of Star Wars Battlefront 2.

“We hit rock bottom in terms of player sentiment but now it’s climbing every month,” Battlefront 2 design director Dennis Brännvall said in a new interview with GamesIndustry.biz.

Star Wars Battlefront 2 was supposed to be EA DICE’s definitive take on the Battlefront series, which EA inherited from Pandemic Studios. Unfortunately, the decision to include loot boxes that potentially allowed players to earn powerful upgrades, which players said were “pay-to-win,” severely harmed the hype for the game ahead of its launch. EA DICE removed loot boxes from the game 24 hours before launch.

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Dragon Ball Z Kakarot is shaping up to be one of the most faithful recreations of Dragon Ball Z’s story ever told in video game form, and while it is being framed as the story of Goku, we learned at Gamescom what many already suspected: Goku’s not the only playable character. Gohan, Piccolo, Vegeta, and Trunks were also announced as playable characters, with Tien, Chiaotzu, and Krillin serving as support characters.

I spoke with Ryosuke Hara, a producer at CyberConnect2 for Dragon Ball Z Kakarot about how the characters will differ from each other and how character progression would work for multiple characters. “The abilities in general of the characters are very similar in order to be user-friendly, even for people who play these kinds of games for the first time. But on the other hand, you are able to raise different skills and parameters for each character,” said Hara.

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Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes are getting their own Disney+ series thanks to The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and they'll be getting new costumes for the occasion.

As spotted by Discussing Film, Disney revealed a first glimpse of the new looks for Sam and Bucky in the form of a poster at D23 this weekend. Check it out below:

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The new Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker footage that debuted at D23 this past weekend is now available online (watch it below!), and not surprisingly it has fans speculating about what exactly is going on with Daisy Ridley’s Rey, who wears a dark cloak and wields a double bladed lightsaber at the end of the preview. Has she really turned to the Dark Side of the Force?!

Of course, we really won’t know what’s going on until the film is released on December 20, but we do have some theories about what could be at work here. Let’s dig in!

This Is a Rey Clone

Cloning certainly is a thing in the Star Wars universe. Not only did Palpatine use a clone army to fight in the Clone Wars, but the Expanded Universe (now known as Legends) of books and comics established that he also had a habit of cloning bodies for himself in order to achieve a sort of immortality.

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Much has changed since World of Warcraft debuted in 2004: Azeroth's map has quadrupled in size; Deathwing twisted the landscape in Cataclysm; Arthas perished in Wrath of the Lich King; and Illidan has been introduced, killed, resurrected, and exiled again. But for players that have stuck it out for all 14 years, there is no better measurement of the passage of time than the memories of all the people you used to know. 2004 was pre-Facebook, pre-Twitter, and pre-Discord, which meant that a whole generation of internet friendships lived and died on World of Warcraft. We would only learn later how fraught that was, that those connections could be severed completely. Once they're gone, they're gone. Ask any Warcraft veteran: We've all lost people. If only we had the foresight to ask for their full names during those endless Dire Maul runs. You know, just in case the unthinkable happened.

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Disney has released a new look at Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker that has whipped fans into a frenzy over the reveal, seemingly, of Dark Side Rey.

Like with all the new Star Wars movies, there's a lot more than initially meets the eye hidden in these trailers -- and a lot of truly gorgeous cinematography. With that in mind, we captured a number of screengrabs from the new trailer for you to peruse through below at your own enjoyment. Maybe you'll notice something you didn't catch the first (second, or fifth) trailer viewing. Check it out below:

Then, if that just made you want to rewatch the Rise of Skywalker D23 Footage all over again, we've got you covered. You can watch the newly released video below:

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Seeing Astral Chain in motion may be what catches your eye, but the graceful execution of attacks is something you have to experience for yourself. Astral Chain delivers gratifying, kinetic, and inventive combat that goes beyond genre conventions--and it retains that excitement from start to finish. Couple that with an attractive art style brought to life through fluid animation and cinematic-style cuts in battle and you have yet another standout action experience from developer Platinum Games.

As an elite cop on the Neuron special task force, it's your job to investigate the ever-growing presence of the otherworldly Chimera that threaten the world. Catastrophic incidents are abound as Chimera spill in from an alternate dimension, the astral plane, but of course there's more to the phenomenon than meets the eye. To get to the bottom of it all, you simultaneously control both your player-character and a Legion, a separate entity with its own attacks and abilities--think of it as a Stand from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. This dynamic is at the heart of Astral Chain's combat.

It takes time to get the hang of it, but once you do, working in tandem with a roster of Legions feels seamless. You earn Legions over time, accruing a total of five, and each one offers their own set of skills and cooldown attacks to upgrade via a skill tree. While they can be sent into the fray to perform auto-attacks, swapping between them effectively to juggle specific abilities creates the satisfaction of tearing down the monstrous Chimeras.

Initially, there are so many variables at play that it can be daunting. You have chain binds to lock enemies down for a few seconds, timing-based sync attacks that unleash devastating blows, and showstopping sync finishers that top off the wild spectacle (and replenish your health to boot). You can even get creative with combos, like utilizing the AOE stun, gravity pull, and crash bomb--all from different Legions--to concentrate a ton of damage on. Even an unchained combo lets you briefly unleash two Legions at once. And if that already seems like a lot to handle, you'll also have to consider executing special attacks from directional inputs when it's best to use them.

When you dig deeper into Astral Chain's systems, you see some of its lineage--particularly the chip system of Nier: Automata, the game which Astral Chain director Takahisa Taura was lead designer on. That system manifests as Ability Codes that you equip on each of your Legions to grant them specific buffs and perks, which can significantly change how they function.

Astral Chain isn't about running head-first into fights against monsters that seek to destroy you, though. You have to be smart about positioning, dodging, and the limited energy of your Legion. Enemies are more than just fodder; they can overwhelm you with sheer numbers, size, or speed. Some may require you to meet certain conditions to defeat them, forcing you to use non-combat abilities in the midst of the chaos. And bosses come at you with unforgiving attacks that'll test your skill as much as your patience.

With a multitude of factors and challenges at play, combat places much more emphasis on devising the right tactics for the right situation. Astral Chain provides a tremendous box of tools that are effective in their own right and an absolute joy to use.

If there's a fault gameplay-wise, it's that movement can sometimes feel imprecise--don't expect the same buttery smoothness of Bayonetta. For example, the Beast Legion's mount mode winds up in an unpredictable direction, and the pistol combo forces you to flip backward. It may result in falling off ledges or unintentionally getting in harm's way. Thankfully, it's an occasional frustration that doesn't detract from the core experience.

Astral Chain delivers gratifying, kinetic, and inventive combat that goes beyond genre conventions--and it retains that excitement from start to finish.

If you watch gameplay carefully, you quickly see how slow-motion, camera cuts, and subtle audio-visual cues in combat serve to signify opportune times to make your move. These flourishes are also how the game cements its bold sense of style. Popular manga artist Masakazu Katsura lent his hand to lead the character designs, resulting in some of the best-looking anime cops around. And when your bombastic actions in battle are matched by visually-striking momentum and tenacity, it delivers a unique thrill that makes Astral Chain special to see in motion.

Further complementing the game's grand spectacle is its soundtrack. The groovy house tune heard in the police headquarters is infectious and the somber guitar melody at the stray cat safehouse hits like a reprieve from the chaos that envelops the world. Tense instrumentals and hard-hitting rock remixes of songs seamlessly bounce between one another during some combat missions. Unrelenting metal tracks propel boss battles and an ethereal Nier-like theme plays in the astral plane. Sprinkle in some J-rock worthy of an anime OP and Astral Chain rounds out the musical spectrum to great effect.

Astral Chain isn't just about flashiness and stylish action, though. You're given room to breathe between combat scenarios that comprise its chapters (or Files, as they're called). Structurally, it's somewhere between the traditional open world of Nier: Automata and segmented stages of Bayonetta--chapters funnel you through hub areas where you're free to take part in side missions or explore for optional activities. Not everything is laid out on your map, so it takes some detective work to unveil all the hidden content.

Astral Chain's shortcomings don't overshadow what it does best. It's an incredible execution of a fresh take on Platinum Games' foundation, standing among the stylish-action greats.

Investigation scenarios are peppered within the main missions, where you analyze the environment and talk to locals to solve the mysteries at hand. Piecing the clues together properly awards you with a top rank, and it's no sweat if you get things wrong. You'll often jump into segments of the astral plane, which feature the more intense fights, and these areas incorporate light puzzle/platforming elements that ask you to use Legion powers in different ways.

The activities you undertake outside of combat aren't exactly groundbreaking, but they provide enjoyable ways to engage with Astral Chain's vivid world. It's a welcome variety that also helps the pacing from chapter to chapter. Astral Chain never sits on one particular element for too long; it knows when to move on.

Now, style doesn't always equal substance. The overarching plot touches on the conventions of evil authority figures who abuse the power of science for their own agendas, and it also relates to the nature of how you're able to wield the power of Legions, which are tamed Chimera. However, these themes are hardly explored. Rather, Astral Chain relies on cliches within its story and exposition. As a result, the more pivotal moments feel a bit less consequential. While some anime-esque tropes are just plain fun to see play out, others are borderline nonsensical even in context.

While you choose to play as a customized male or female cop on a special task force, your sibling--who's on the same team--becomes the narrative focal point with fully voiced dialogue. Your own character is relegated to being an awkward silent protagonist. It's disappointing because Astral Chain has so much stylistic potential to build from in order to give its lead character a distinct attitude. I can't help but see it as a missed opportunity, especially when both characters are voiced when they're your partner. In the end, the narrative presents stakes that are just high enough that you'll want to see it to the end, and, thankfully, every other part of the game remains outstanding.

Astral Chain's shortcomings don't overshadow what it does best. It's an incredible execution of a fresh take on Platinum Games' foundation, standing among the stylish-action greats. And its own anime-inspired swagger makes fights all the more exhilarating. You'll come to appreciate the calmer moments in between that add variety and offer a second to relax before jumping back into the superb combat. After 40 hours with Astral Chain, I'm still eager to take on the tougher challenges, and I'll be grinning from ear to ear as I hit all the right moves, one after the other, while watching it all unfold.

When you're so used to games that ease you in, the confronting nature of Control is immediately compelling. There's plenty of time to get to know characters, study the environment, and gradually pick up new mechanics and skills, but Control's sinister atmosphere is impactful, sending a rush of questions through your head from the moment you press start.

Who is Jesse Faden? Why does she seem both lost and found on her first day as director at the Federal Bureau of Control? How can she possibly maintain her composure in the face of the haunting ethereal and material distortions that have overtaken the bureau? You may only have some answers to these questions by the time the credits roll. While being vague or opaque could be viewed as a flaw in other games, obfuscation is part of what makes Control so spellbinding. Impressively, the mysteries grip ever tighter as you navigate the bureau's headquarters in search of answers. Knowledge is power, but it frequently opens doors to possibilities you never knew existed--doors that are better left shut, so far as Jesse and surviving FBC members are concerned.

If you've played past works from Remedy Games, you will instantly recognize the studio's footprint. Control's story plays with grim truths and strange themes. Everything is a serious matter, except when it isn't and a dark sense of humor creeps in to offer a momentary respite--which, yes, includes plenty of FMV shorts. The combat system is designed for you to be equal parts agile and destructive, bearing a notable resemblance to the studio's Microsoft-exclusive, Quantum Break. Combat aside, that game felt like a step removed from what Remedy does best. Control feels like Remedy has found its footing again.

There is one major aspect that is decidedly new for Remedy: Control is non-linear, built in the vein of a metroidvania and filled with reasons to retrace your steps over time. This approach is largely handled well, though if there's any aspect of Control that feels lacking it's the handling of the map. It's an unreliable tool presented in a top-down fashion that often feels like more trouble than it's worth. Multi-level areas overlap with one another (you can't isolate them, or zoom in for a closer look) and it's practically impossible to track specific locations you have or have not visited. Broad areas can be tracked, sure, but not, say, a single meeting room in the executive branch.

This would be a major issue if not for two things: The signage in the world is surprisingly helpful, and ultimately, Control makes wandering the halls of "The Oldest House" a consistent pleasure. If you aren't in awe of the architecture, you're probably getting your kicks from a battle that pops up when you least expected it.

Referring to the FBC headquarters as a house is a bit misleading, though you'll grow to understand how in time. In practical terms, it is a massive multi-story facility that screams government, with angular interiors formed in stone and metal, with minimal flourish. It has the outward appearance of an orderly place of process, which, while true, undersells the reality therein, or the lack thereof.

The dance between fact and fiction is at the heart of Control's setting and a fascinating narrative that unravels in Jesse's mind through a series of inner monologues and psychic projections. There are exchanges between characters that move certain elements forward, but so much of Control hinges on Jesse's discoveries and her interpretations of their meaning. Even though you're clued into her thoughts, there's an underlying element that Jesse fails to explain because, to her, it's matter-of-fact. Whatever it is has always been a part of her, creating a gap of understanding that you, for the most part, can only hope to fill in with your own inferences. There's a constant desire to know more, yet to also maintain distance from the truth in order to preserve the mystery. It's to Control's credit that it effortlessly facilitates this exchange.

If it's otherworldly, if it seems to defy explanation, odds are the FBC is running tests to discover the underlying cause and contain the consequences from the outside world. Deep within the guts of the house lie experiments and studies that dig into paranormal disturbances, the collective subconscious, and alternate dimensions. The FBC posits that entities from beyond our realm have used objects of power--archetypical things that we know and take for granted--as gateways into our world. After years of the FBC gathering these strange objects for study, the house has become an amplified conduit for a force known as The Hiss, which can reshape and move matter. The source of this power, a dimension known as the Astral Plane, has crept into the bureau, and some far-off corridors bear its telltale monochromatic, geometric motif. Occasionally, you will get pulled into this strange world to undergo skill trials, but your visits are always short, which helps preserve the mystique in the long run.

Back in the "real" world, lowly agents and high-ranking FBC enforcers have been corrupted en masse. Many float harmlessly in mid-air, chanting strange mantras in boardrooms, hallways, and research facilities. Generally, if there's headroom, there are floaters. The more aggressive of the bunch pop into existence before your eyes as you explore the bureau. They, like Jesse, fight with a mix of guns and telekinetic powers. They are generally fun adversaries, and battles are punctuated by some incredible special effects. Furniture and small props are whipped into a frenzy when you hurl a desk from a cubicle and into a group of enemies. Sparks and colorful plumes of energy fill the air when a nearby explosion cuts through the incandescent trails left behind by the hiss.

There are only a few unique enemies or bosses to speak of, but by and large the AI, in conjunction with a great variety of architectural layouts, makes every fight feel engaging. Whether a simple encounter or a complex assault, you have to approach combat with a juggling act in mind, shifting between expending ammunition and psychic energy when one or the other is depleted. You also have to learn how to defend against and recover from harm. The only way to heal in combat is to pick up essence dropped by fallen enemies, which often requires you to throw yourself into the fray while also protecting yourself from further damage.

New powers come with story milestones, but weapon forms are crafted from collectible materials. Their stats, and Jesse's, increase with the application of randomized ranked mods dropped by enemies and found in hidden containment chests. You will likely come across hundreds of mods, but because you can only hold and use a limited amount, you will end up dismantling most of them to make space in your inventory. Mods can make a tangible difference, especially once you start to find high-ranking ones, but they can't make up for a lack of skill or understanding of Jesse's tools during the game's greatest tests.

Control is a great-looking game in general, from the overall art design to the technical execution, but combat is a notable standout in that regard. While the experience on PC can be tuned to run at a consistently smooth frame rate, the PS4 version (playing on a PS4 Pro with supersampling enabled) can exhibit stuttering when fights are at their most chaotic--no issues were spotted with the Xbox One version. This, thankfully, is an uncommon occurrence, but it definitely clues you in to how taxing the special effects and real-time physics are.

With a fair amount of extracurricular exploration, it took me about 15 hours to get to the end of Control's campaign. Though I watched the credits roll, there are still plenty of side quests for me to tackle. Jesse isn't the only sane person in the bureau after all, and the handful of key NPCs that populate each sector have co-workers gone missing or projects left abandoned that might put the bureau at future risk. They not only give you more reason to spend time in Jesse's shoes, but the supporting cast is great across the board, brought to life with excellent voice acting and top-notch character design. They aren't deep characters and your conversations never go very far, but I'm more than willing to help them in their time of need, if only to see what quirky or oddball thing they say when I return.

One of my favorite aspects of Control, now that I've got room to breathe, is spending quality time with its collectible texts and videos. I've managed to read most of the in-game materials while pushing through main missions and tackling optional pursuits, but there are so many fascinating threads to pull on that it's easy to imagine new possibilities lying in wait; if only I studied the evidence a little closer, or considered a new angle, maybe the missing pieces of Jesse's story would come into view. These tidbits can be educational, disturbing, and at times wildly entertaining, and they have inspired me to look deeper into topics like Jungian psychology.

It's not often that a game invades my thoughts the way Control has. I'm at the point where I want to consume every last thing it has to offer. And if I'm honest, it also makes me want to go back and replay Remedy's past games, too. Sure, it's a faulty metroidvania in some respects, but there are so many exceptional qualities afoot that Control handily deflects any momentary ire. I can't wait to take part in discussions about the game, to see what others have figured out, and to better understand where it all fits into Jesse's story.

Ancestors: The Humankind Odyssey sure isn't afraid of throwing you into the deep end. My first foray into Panache Digital's survival game began as a young ape alone in a dark forest, the imagined laughs of hyenas and snarls of tigers echoing in the trees in a confusing cacophony. Before I could finish reading the message detailing my very first objective, a warning popped up and demanded I dodge out of the way--of what, I couldn't be sure. Not knowing what to do, I couldn't respond in time, and my ape was left alone, scared, hallucinating, bleeding, and poisoned, my screen a milky display of dark green and shifting shadows. I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do or where I should go. I began to wander and, thankfully, about 30 minutes later I found the rest of my clan.

At first, I believed the entire ordeal was simply a poor start. As it turns out, that first journey through the confusion of a dangerous jungle, blindly limping in different directions in hopes of finding someone to help me, is a fairly accurate depiction of what your journey in Ancestors will regularly entail. My time with the game saw me suffer similarly disorienting fates over and over, testing me to figure out what I'd done wrong and then do my best to adapt. Ancestors prides itself on giving you as little information as it can and daring you to rely on your ingenuity and resourcefulness to survive. Though the game fulfills its promise to do the former, it fails to deliver a compelling reason as to why you'd even want to rise up to the challenge of the latter.

You play as a member of an ape clan in 10 million BC Africa, and you try to ensure your lineage continues through to two million BC--the time period archaeologists say our ancestors' evolution finally transitioned us from ape-like beings into a new, more human species. To survive that long, you need to manage how much you eat, drink, and sleep while also steering clear of predators and taking care of injuries. As your life continues, and you interact with more aspects of the world, you grow smarter and acquire new skills, which you can then pass on to your descendants. Upon death, you take control of another ape within your clan and continue the process, striving to evolve into a brand-new, more human-like species before your entire clan completely dies out.

Every second of real-world time translates into a minute in-game--except during sleep, which speeds this equation up. Your in-game progress produces opportunities for further clan evolution to then jump ahead in time by months, decades, or millennia. If you or one of your clanmates becomes pregnant, for example, giving birth to a baby will cause you to leap forward 15 months. For significantly larger jumps in time, exploring as an adult with a baby on your back will allow you to accrue energy to further improve your neurological network and unlock new abilities, which then allows you to advance a whole generation and move time forward a full 15 years. A jump in generation can be followed by an evolution, which moves you to a new, calculated placement on the timeline that's dependent on which advancements you make. Adapting your metabolism to new plants doesn't give you as huge a boost, for instance, as learning to use rocks as tools. Evolutions push you ahead tens of thousands of years, providing the most efficient way of getting from 10 million BC to two million BC.

It's definitely not easy, though, especially since your clan needs to sustain itself throughout those eight million years in a single lineage. Though your clanmates learn what you do in real time, losing an entire clan means you have to restart from a brand-new lineage and relearn everything you've previously discovered. If your clan dies after you've adapted to eating fish, for example, you'll not only need to go through the entire process of reacquainting your diet, but you'll have to teach your new lineage how to make fishing spears all over again. When it's a few minutes of knowledge lost, it's not that big of a deal. But when you're losing hours of progress, it can be quite disheartening.

Instead of saving your skills and knowledge between runs, Ancestors records your progress by keeping track of how far you travel. Initially, you can only begin a new lineage on a cliff within a jungle. However, you can discover and unlock other starting points in the jungle, and even reach other biomes, such as a lake-filled swamp and arid savanna. Unlocking these new start points provides welcome variety--as each environment contains its own unique ecosystem of creatures and plants as well as its own set of weather-based challenges--but your primates always begin in the same clueless state. Even if you already know what to do, you'll have to retrace your steps and go through the same motions over again to recreate the same conditions that pushed your ape's neurological network to evolve to where you were in the game before your clan was wiped out--ideally with more of your clan intact this time so you can go further.

This gameplay loop can be immensely frustrating, and it's one that gets more drawn-out the more you play. By my fourth lineage, it was taking close to two hours to retrace my steps and redo everything I had already had to relearn a few times already. There's nothing in the game that allows you to recover from a failure and quickly rebuild what's been lost, either, which is demoralizing when your downfall is your own fault and downright frustrating when it's just bad luck. I've lost entire clans because of my own hubris, sure, but I've also lost a clan because, after going through an evolution, the game randomly spawned my clan next to a tiger's den and there were no materials nearby to make weapons. I spent the final 15 minutes of that eight-hour run helplessly watching my entire clan be slowly devoured before needing to start over.

I couldn't go back and try a different approach to escaping the massacre of that unfortunate run because there's no manual save feature in Ancestors. The game saves automatically when you discover a new location or go to sleep, with each lineage tied to one save file. You can manually back up your save to your PC, but there's no easy or straightforward in-game solution to help you avoid a punishing death.

What small satisfaction the game does provide is consistently ruined by violent predators, though the threat does lessen once you make it far enough into the neurological network's expansive skill and perk tree.

Having to redo everything you've already done also keeps you from discovering new things--which is paramount to surviving and one of the few good parts of Ancestors. With practically zero tutorials, Ancestors forces you to be experimental in order to succeed. There's joy to be had in bashing different items together to see what happens and then compiling and testing hypotheses. As much as I was frustrated by needing to redo the entire process of creating the aforementioned fishing spear in repeated playthroughs, I felt genuine accomplishment in figuring it out the first time. Most of Ancestors' puzzles can be solved with logical sense, so the challenge comes in figuring out where to find the materials you think you need. Granted, this being a game, there are occasionally arbitrary hurdles you need to jump through to build certain tools, but you'll typically only find these associated with more advanced, late-game tasks.

You don't get to enjoy much of the satisfaction in discovering new things and regularly evolving, though. Predators repeatedly sneak up on you and interrupt your efforts, which typically causes you to drop whatever you were messing with. It's disheartening to want to explore and forge new tools, only to then have to put your odyssey on hold to limp back to your clan and deal with your injuries--and then be attacked again almost immediately upon heading back out. Yes, the jungle is a dangerous place. But when a tiger leaps out of the reeds to aid a crocodile that's trying to eat me, it's a stark reminder of how Ancestors upholds the need to rise to the challenge of survival above the experience of evolution. Historically, it makes sense, as our ape ancestors undoubtedly lived many more years as prey than predator. But in the context of a video game, the constant barrage of spawning enemies gets in the way of the gameplay loop of learning, responding, and evolving--a roadblock that's only chipped away at and eventually toppled once you acquire the skills and tools so that your entire clan can work together and put up an adequate defense against the creatures that hunt you. Much has to be done to get to that point, though, so contending with larger predators--especially the collection of deadly wildcats that stalk and pounce on you at seemingly every quiet moment--feels unfair early on, especially in areas where there are no trees to escape up into. Dealing with their near-constant attacks or the wounds they inflict can make it discouragingly difficult to actually experiment and evolve.

The closest you come to feeling safe while playing Ancestors is when you're up in the trees. You spend a lot of time in the branches as a result, but unfortunately there's no easy way to travel between them. You can climb practically anything in Ancestors provided you have the stamina, so scrambling up into a tree is a quick, painless process. However, with no way to easily course correct yourself--and since trees are rarely positioned in a straight line--you typically only get to enjoy a few seconds of fast-paced, energetic movement before you run out of branch, plummet to earth, and possibly break your legs if you were too high up. And that's a shame, because it's actually pretty fun to leap from branch to branch once you've got the swing of things. There just aren't many opportunities to use what you've learned once you've got the mechanics down. Upon leaving the forest, your chances slim down even more, as the follow-up areas are sparse on the first environment's signature large trees.

Ancestors: The Humankind Odyssey lingers for far too long on its most toilsome aspects. The game does reward initial experimentation, but then asks you to repeat processes over and over again without any means of securing your legacy. It's an absolute grind to reach the closest that Ancestors has to an endgame goal--survive for eight million years--and one costly mistake, whether the game's or your own, can erase everything you've accomplished. What small satisfaction the game does provide is consistently ruined by violent predators, though the threat does lessen once you make it far enough into the neurological network's expansive skill and perk tree. But as it stands, investing in Ancestors' journey demands too much effort for too little reward.