I have a confession to make: I never finished LA Noire, Rockstar’s 2011 open-world(ish) detect-‘em-up. This places it in an elite category alongside the likes of 2017’s Prey – that is, titles that I feel mildly guilty for not finishing. I can’t recall exactly why I stopped playing Noire in the first place; it might have something to do with the story’s often-sluggish pace or the annoying process of searching for clues at crime scenes. I haven’t thought of the game since – at least, until a couple months ago, when I stumbled upon it lurking in the depths of my Playstation’s (virtual) library.

            As with most things, I went into a new game of LA Noire on a whim, and while drunk. I proceeded to realize that this was, in fact, the single best way to play the game: what better way to embody a hardboiled noir cop than being extremely intoxicated and wearing a trench coat (and referring to women as ‘dames’)? I don’t own a trench coat, so drinking and casual sexism it was.

            Normally, one might expect a cop like Noire protagonist Cole Phelps to take care to, say, follow the rules of the road, or respect the safety of pedestrians, or attempt to avoid property damage.

            Drunk Cole doesn’t give a fuck. Drunk Cole took the scene in the Dark Knight where Commissioner Gordon mounts the curb and made it a lifestyle. Drunk Cole will, on occasion, swerve to avoid citizens in the path of his noir-flavored chariot of death but makes a concerted effort to demolish street signs, benches and similar structures like they’ve personally insulted his grandmother. When he’s driving, that is. Drunk Cole very much appreciates the ‘let partner drive’ option, as it allows him to get more beer from the fridge.

            The actual work of being a detective isn’t much of a strong suit, either. Drunk Cole doesn’t have time for the bloodstained lead pipe that was almost certainly used for nefarious purposes, even though it’s lying on the floor right fucking there. He’s too busy shaking out discarded packs of cigarettes to find free smokes and making unwarranted comments about witnesses’ home lives.

            I’m not sure if you know this, but L.A. Noire’s facial capture tech was vaguely (if weirdly) impressive at the time of the game’s release…in 2011.

            It is now goddamn hilarious. Every single person in this city looks at you like you just ripped a fart directly into their face without asking first (always ask first). This is not to mention the way people sneer at you whenever they’re lying like they’re Belloq stealing the golden idol from Indiana Jones.

            Thankfully, Drunk Cole doesn’t have time for evaluating faces. Drunk Cole has worse personal skills than Ryan Gosling in Drive. In Drunk Cole’s eyes, everyone is guilty, and the only cure is being extremely accusatory during every interaction. Does this pay off? Absolutely not. Somehow, though, Cole has failed upwards through the ranks of the Traffic Desk and is now working Homicide – no wonder the Black Dahlia never got solved. Onwards and upwards, then: Vice Desk, coming right up. That might be more up to Drunk Cole’s speed.