They saved BJ’s head!

Ok, so the new Wolfenstein trailer (watch here) starts with BJ Blazcowicz- no, wait, it actually starts with a Nazi mecha Lassie. Followed by this

… after which we see BJ (aka Terror Billy in America) waking up from another coma, weakened and/or semi-paralyzed by Deathshead’s goodbye gift grenade to the face.

Later on we see what looks like an escape scene wih BJ in a hospital gown, mowing down Nazi mooks from a wheelchair, so the mobility issue isn’t just for cutscenes.

And later we see him don a powered armor from the Da’at Yichud that we know can allow a paralyzed person (Caroline Becker in the previous game) walk and fight like a superhuman. So it’s safe to assume that’s how BJ gets his mobility back for the main part of the game. An armored suit. Right?

Not quite. In a later scene we see him talk to a man named Horton, wearing a simple jacket and with no indication that he’s wearing a bulky powered suit. Yet he stands and yells and kicks a chair over like nobody’s business. Without a suit that ought to be impossible for a man as wounded as he is.

Instead he has this:

Look, I’m not saying they took BJ’s head off his crippled, aging body and put it on a new one (I certainly hope it’s NOT Max Haas’) so that he can fight and kill Nazis in perpetuity, but… the first thing we found out about this game, before it was even announced, is that it’s “fucking bananas”.

I’m definitely saying they saved BJ Blazcowicz’ head.

randomaccess64  asked:

This blog is pro Nazi punching?

When the scant few neo-nazis of the world gather together, form an actual fighting force with munitions, hardware, bases, and so on, then declare war on us with the explicit intent of forcing us to become subjugated to their extremist ideology or die, then it will be okay to punch Nazis. I mean, if a Nazi assaults you, that’s also cool.

Point is, “punching nazis” is bullshit antifa talk. It’s far too common for antifa to tell people that if you oppose them, that means you are pro-fascism, therefore you are a nazi… and that means they can assault you, try to murder you, interfere with your rights, and break as many laws as they have to just to get their way.

Since Wolfenstein 2 was announced, a lot of people have been muddling this intensely stupid discourse further, but they tipped their hand in the process. Y’see, Wolfenstein: The New Order was careful to use nazi imagery, but not too much of it. There were no swastikas, for instance. I don’t think Hitler is ever mentioned, and even if he is, the main baddy/target is “Deathshead”, an amoral Doctor.

With Wolfenstein The New Colossus, all pretense has been dropped. They are Nazis, they have swastikas on everything, they go on about aryan blood and racial purity. Not exactly controversial, since the Wolfenstein series has always been about shootin’ nazis, and in this game, they are an oppressive occupying force that has invaded and destroyed a large part of the world… 

But it comes at a time when so many people are looking to polarize everything into “good people” vs “nazis” and a game about shooting bad guys has become a rallying point for people to shout about how the world need to be more violent towards “nazis” all while people have devalued the word nazi in such a way that being slightly-right of extreme-left socialist makes you a nazi.

-Mod T-A-O

Correction: Most of the Nazi imagery was only removed from The New Order in the International version.

You know what the funny thing is about the new Wolfenstein games? That despite being set in some crazy alternate universe with giant robot dogs, Nazi moon bases, laser guns, and cartoon villains like Deathshead and Frau Engel, it’s actually one of the most accurate and disturbing portrayals of Nazism I’ve seen in a video game. 

I mean, think about it. There’s been a lot of WW2 shooters/games with Nazis in them. The original Wolfenstein was like the first FPS ever, so Nazis have basically been video game baddies since day one. But have you ever seen a “realistic” video game with Nazis in them tackle things like the Holocaust? Racial extermination and eugenics? How downright insane, sadistic and horrifying the Nazi ideology is? Cause that’s exactly what the new Wolfenstein games are doing. 

Wolfenstein had the balls to show the human experimentation, the extermination camps, the daily terror of being hunted by the Nazis simply for being Jewish or a person of color, the warped doctrine of racial purity that the Nazis aspired to, the Orwellian control of information and society that they practiced, their imperialism and colonialism that demanded the lands of essentially all non-”Aryan” races be pillaged and looted for them. It actually shows people of color and Jews fighting in a resistance movement specifically because the Nazis wanted them to literally not exist. It even touches upon, however briefly, the persecution of LGBT people under the Nazi regime and their demand that women submit to strict gender roles. 

Oh and all of the “cool stuff” that the Nazis have in The New Order? Yeah they stole that from a group of Jewish super-scientists. Even the “cool” things about the Nazis in Wolfenstein don’t belong to them, because they’re pathetic, evil fascists. 

I doubt that at Sony’s press conference tonight when the new Call of Duty gets shown off you’ll see any hint of the terrifying true nature of Nazism. You’ll see a bunch of good ol’ boys fighting the good fight, and the Nazis will conveniently provide bodies to shoot at as they do in every video game where they’re the bad guys, but I can honestly say I have never seen a video game that has as damning and accurate a portrayal of what Nazism was and is really about as the new Wolfenstein games, where the Nazis have robot dogs and jetpacks.


I fucking love this scene. In this scene, the game makes clear a consistent message that exists throughout it: the Nazi’s weren’t some sort of unique evil, they were emblematic of human evil that existed without them, before them and after them. In this scene B.J. is confronted with the fact that the society he fought for oppressed and killed people just like the Nazis, with J going so far as to say “Back home man, you were the Nazis!” and “You’re exactly the kind of guy they called in come lynching time.”

That second statement conjures a powerful image. In this story and setting, where he has ended up on the wrong side of a massive edifice of evil, Blazkowicz is undoubtedly a hero. But in another time, in another place, Blazkowicz could easily be a KKK member or a cop with an attack dog. Blazkowicz may be the hero here, but in someone else’s story he is the villain. That is fucking powerful, and says a lot about the United States’ moral role in the war: the U.S. was arguably on the “good” side in World War 2, but only when you view it through a narrow lens that ignores the situation the U.S. maintained at home. 

In another scene, Set Roth says (as the camera lingers on a concentration camp commandant beating a dead prisoner with a stick) that “For me, in everything there must be doubt, otherwise there is no room to question. To learn. This place is the fruit of unquestioned conviction. This is where absolute certainty leads.” For him, Nazism isn’t a German problem. The problem isn’t even confined to Nazism, it’s bigger than that. Set reinforces the most important message the game has about it’s villains: Nazis were human beings, and any group of human beings is capable of grotesque savagery when they don’t think critically about their beliefs and actions. Nazis weren’t evil because they were Nazis, Nazis were evil because they were human.

In an age where even documentaries use deliberately grandiose language to describe the Nazis (a few titles on Netflix: Nazi Temple of DoomNazi Mega Weapons), it’s really refreshing to see any piece of media really get Nazism. Nazism was a way of thinking not unique to it’s time and place, and the path that led them to atrocity still lays open for the peoples of the world. It would have been easy to make a game with cookie cutter villains with no characterization and just say to the player “they’re Nazis! Just kill ‘em!”. But instead MachineGames have really tried to communicate why you should be killing Nazis, and why Nazism is more than a black uniform and a swastika. 

How I played Wolfenstein: The New Order

Warning: Spoilers

Killing Nazis:

Seeing Deathshead’s machines for the first time:

Choosing Fergus or Wyatt:

Meeting Anya:

Realizing the Nazis won:

Frau Engel:


Killing Wyatt:

Killing Fergus:

Killing Deathshead:

When he pulls out his bitch grenade:

“Am I clear, Blazkowicz?”

“You’re clear.”

That night:

jaketheelite  asked:

Do you have any particular favorite tracks from wolfenstein: TNW? Mine is concrete for miles, it goes well with BJ's monologue.

I LOVE Ransacked, I fell in love with it before I even bought the game. I love Concrete for Miles, The Kreisau Circle, Zellenblock B-2, the main theme that plays in the assault on Deathshead’s compound and I ADORE the song that plays during the ‘I learned how to fly’ cutscene that isn’t on the OST. From The Old Blood I love the Partisan and The End.

More wishes for DOOM 4

I want Doom 4 to take place in the Wolf: TNO timeline. I want there to be references to the “fall of the Nazi World Order” confirming that B.J. and the Kreisau Circle ultimately succeeded in toppling the Nazi empire.

What would be even more awesome is Deathshead makes a return as a boss because Hell made him a demon (Spider Mastermind maybe?) because he’s so fucking evil. He could be the one that helped Hell to create all of the cybernetically-enhanced demons. Deathshead is a awesome villain and facing a demonic version of him that’s trying to take vengeance on B.J.’s descendant would be amazing.

afronick  asked:


PC: favorite villain

bowser cuz im fucking gay

i cant think of just one favourite so i guess ill list a few

ocelot is great because hes fucking with everyone through the entire mgs franchise and loving it, deathshead is really well protrayed and his mannerisms and shit he does makes your skin crawl. vergil is a really well done villian imo and hes one of the best examples of the “rivals” trope from action games. hes a great counterpart to dante. if she counts, the boss because shes just doing her duty as a soldier and her whole backstory and characterisation is amazing

theoracleofllaena  asked:

Hello, question about Hitler in the Wolfenstein universe. I may be remembering wrong, and I admit I didn't read every single newspaper in the recent games, but didn't The Old Blood imply that Hitler was dead? I remember one saying that people visiting the Fuhrer thought he smelled like a corpse, and I took that as an implication that either he died or one of Deathshead's people assassinated him, and they used tech-wizardry to make Hitler into a corpse puppet. Implications =/= proof, I know.

Ugh, all of that is just the dumbest thing in the world.

All of that can be easily ignored if they wanted to. It’s basically just filler.

One of the older Wolf games post-Wolf3D implied that Blazko actually faced him and left him for dead. You see what I’m saying? It’s just excuse after excuse after excuse.

Wolfenstein’s BJ Blazkowicz is kinda like the video game equivalent of Captain America
  • Both come from alternate versions of world war 2
  • Both are american heroes with aryan features (blonde, blue eyes and tall)
  • Both have rivals, who happen to be bold men related to science and mad plans (Red Skull and Deathshead)
  • Both are really strong, even if Cap needed to be modified
  • One was frozen for 70 years, while the other was in a coma for 14 and woke up in different time periods 
kinda cherrypicky, but still

Wolfenstein The New Order Character Profile: The Blackguard

1946: Deployed to protect the most valued of Nazi projects as well as personnel. The Blackguard are seen by many circles as the peak of what a soldier of the Fatherland can aspire to become. Doggedly loyal, as well as tactically minded you would need to have an entire squad at your back in order to survive them… That or a one man army.

1960: An Elite division of Deathshead Commando’s outfitted with the best equipment the Third Reich has to offer all to better combat the insurgents that have plagued the world since the war ended. Their exact number as well as there identity’s are regarded as a state secret. In fact if anyone somehow manages to see one on duty without their iconic face-plates, that person is likely to never be heard from again.

(There wasn’t anything written about them in the game for some reason. So I made one)

Harold Chapman      Allen Ginsberg at the Beat Hotel, Rue Gît-le-Cœur, Paris     1957

Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph
the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer—
And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn—
Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse,
the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after,  
looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city
a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed—
like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion—
No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance,
sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other,
worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more?
It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place.
or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock—
then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?—toward Newark—
toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards—
Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school, and learning to be mad, in a dream—what is this life?
Toward the Key in the window—and the great Key lays its head of light on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the sidewalk—in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward the Yiddish Theater—and the place of poverty
you knew, and I know, but without caring now—Strange to have moved
thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again,
with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstoops doors and dark boys on the street, fire escapes old as you
-Tho you’re not old now, that’s left here with me—
Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe—and I guess that dies with us—enough to cancel all that comes—What came is gone forever every time—
That’s good! That leaves it open for no regret—no fear radiators, lacklove, torture even toothache in the end—
Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul—and the lamb, the soul, in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change’s fierce hunger—hair and teeth—and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin, braintricked Implacability.
Ai! ai! we do worse! We are in a fix! And you’re out, Death let you out, Death had the Mercy, you’re done with your century, done with God, done with the path thru it—Done with yourself at last—Pure—Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all—before the world—
There, rest. No more suffering for you. I know where you’ve gone, it’s good.
No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more fear of Louis,
and no more of his sweetness and glasses, his high school decades, debts, loves, frightened telephone calls, conception beds, relatives, hands—
No more of sister Elanor,.—she gone before you—we kept it secret—you killed her—or she killed herself to bear with you—an arthritic heart—But Death’s killed you both—No matter—
Nor your memory of your mother, 1915 tears in silent movies weeks and weeks—forgetting, aggrieve watching Marie Dressler address humanity, Chaplin dance in youth,
or Boris Godunov, Chaliapin’s at the Met, hailing his voice of a weeping Czar—by standing room with Elanor & Max—watching also the Capitalists take seats in Orchestra, white furs, diamonds,
with the YPSL’s hitch-hiking thru Pennsylvania, in black baggy gym skirts pants, photograph of 4 girls holding each other round the waste, and laughing eye, too coy, virginal solitude of 1920
all girls grown old, or dead, now, and that long hair in the grave—lucky to have husbands later—
You made it—I came too—Eugene my brother before (still grieving now and will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer—or kill—later perhaps—soon he will think—)
And it’s the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now—tho not you
I didn’t foresee what you felt—what more hideous gape of bad mouth came first—to you—and were you prepared?
To go where? In that Dark—that—in that God? a radiance? A Lord in the Void? Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream? Adonoi at last, with you?
Beyond my remembrance! Incapable to guess! Not merely the yellow skull in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon—Deathshead with Halo? can you believe it?
Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence, than none ever was?
Nothing beyond what we have—what you had—that so pitiful—yet Triumph,
to have been here, and changed, like a tree, broken, or flower—fed to the ground—but mad, with its petals, colored, thinking Great Universe, shaken, cut in the head, leaf stript, hid in an egg crate hospital, cloth wrapped, sore—freaked in the moon brain, Naughtless.
No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife—lost
Cut down by an idiot Snowman’s icy—even in the Spring—strange ghost thought—some Death—Sharp icicle in his hand—crowned with old roses—a dog for his eyes—cock of a sweatshop—heart of electric irons.
All the accumulations of life, that wear us out—clocks, bodies, consciousness, shoes, breasts—begotten sons—your Communism—‘Paranoia’ into hospitals.
You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later. You of stroke. Asleep? within a year, the two of you, sisters in death. Is Elanor happy?
Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. l His life passes—as he sees—and what does he doubt now? Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi?
I’ll see him soon. Now I’ve got to cut through—to talk to you—as I didn’t when you had a mouth.
Forever. And we’re bound for that, Forever—like Emily Dickinson’s horses—headed to the End.
They know the way—These Steeds—run faster than we think—it’s our own life they cross—and take with them.

      Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed—Ass and face done with murder.
      In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept.
      Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I’m hymnless, I’m Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore
      Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not light or darkness, Dayless Eternity—
      Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing—to praise Thee—But Death
      This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God’s perfect Darkness—Death, stay thy phantoms!

–Allen Ginsberg, “Kaddish-Part 1″  1961