Bulletstorm may be one of the most violent, juvenile games I have played to date, but I don’t care. I love every stupid, over-the-top, latently homosexual bit of it.
As soon as you get past the strangely tranquil title screen of palm trees and sunsets, the game grabs you by the shirt like a surly drunk and, with gritted teeth and flying spittle, commences to shout the most obscene things you have ever heard…while standing mere inches from your face. Every time I load up my saved game, I have to blink through watering eyes because of the boozy fumes the game seems to exude. It is exactly the kind of testosterone-soaked, roller coaster ride of Ulitmate Warrior-level intensity that you would expect from the love child of Epic Games (Gears of War) and People Can Fly (Painkiller).
Read the rest of my Bulletstorm review on Complex.