Borderlands 3 is a storage vessel, a cryochamber which holds fondly remembered school crazes in its frozen heart. Crack it open and you’ll smell a fart and hear the sounds of Skrillex’s seminal dubstep track Bangarang. It’s new tech that clings on to the past. It’s a middle-aged man who is down with the kids. If being down with the kids is wearing your jeans so low your bare arse is revealed.
But, I like it. Yeah, I said it. I like Borderlands 3. I really rate it as a co-op romp in which you take on quests featuring dick jokes, and watch numbers fly out of enemies. I understand the humour’s quite cringe, but it still gets me, because my brain re-calibrates. It lowers the judgmental barriers and ushers in the streaming gaffs and silly pop culture references. It says “come on in, it’s time for a few chuckles” and God love me, it works.
Borderlands 3 is just a shinier Borderlands 2 in many respects, with a few quality of life changes, and I rate this as well. It knows its audience is someone like me, who just wants more guns, more of the same quests, and the ability to climb on top of boxes with ease. Nothing more, nothing less. It stuck to the game plan, which was to remaster or remake itself for the current generation (remasker?). Masterfully efficient.
If you’ve not given Borderlands 3 a whirl yet, our very own Nate’s written up a review in which he becomes attached to a massive ant thing.