Brian Rowe writes:
''Here's the story, in case you haven't been out to see the more worthy cinematic namesake of this fiasco. Tony Stark was your average, happy-go-lucky weapons designer until he was kidnapped by his own customers. Struck by the realization that his armaments aren't making the world a better place, he decides to fight back. With the help of his Mark III battle armor, he's on a mission to right his wrongs and obliterate the criminal empires of his former clients. In short, Iron Man is supposed to be our chance to don the red and yellow armor and blow shit up.
I was primed to hit the skies in heated dogfights and storm the battlefields to the crescendoing orchestra of exploding tanks. Instead, I spent most of my time hovering in place and firing down on equally stationary targets. Except for the screaming jets flying overhead and the end-level bosses, everyone is content holding their ground in a perpetual and literal last stand. I can make exceptions for the legions of turrets that litter every roof and hilltop, but what about the infantries and tanks? Even the agile gunships do nothing more than hold their positions a few meters above the ground.
I suppose that's a valid battle plan when every barrel, magazine, and missile pod is loaded with heat-seeking firepower. No matter where you are, avoiding enemy fire is utterly futile. You would have an easier time playing dodgeball in the Chuck E. Cheese's ball pit. When flying through the air, every machine gun nails you with pinpoint accuracy. When hiding out between buildings or down in the valleys, missiles rain down one after another. Iron Man can grab missiles out of the air and throw them back, but moves like that mean squat when bogeys hit three at a time.''
