Star-packed, Covid-shaped 'Death Stranding 2' drops this week
Japanese video game legend Hideo Kojima releases "Death Stranding 2: On the Beach" this week, a star-studded PlayStation sequel inspired by the Covid pandemic.
Kojima has said the follow-up to the meditative 2019 game, in which "Walking Dead" star Norman Reedus played post-apocalyptic deliveryman Sam Porter Bridges, is "about connection".
"The social situation was that everyone was divided" when development began on "Death Stranding" in 2016, Kojima said as he presented the new instalment at Los Angeles' Summer Game Fest on June 8.
"I said, let's get connected. Right after that, we had the pandemic, and my fiction became a little reality" as people communed over new digital channels, he added.
"Death Stranding 2", which drops Thursday, reflects Kojima's hope that people will rediscover analogue ways of being together following the years of isolation, he said.
The first "Death Stranding" was a hybrid between a hiking simulator and a classic action game.
It was set in a gloomy, fantastical science-fiction universe where characters are aged by the rain and carry foetuses that warn them of dangerous ghostly creatures nearby.
Reedus's character Bridges had the job of reconnecting the last outposts of civilisation in a devastated United States following a disaster.
This time Bridges's adventures will bring him to Mexico and Australia, in a story that 61-year-old Kojima -- creator of the equally fantastical "Metal Gear" stealth action saga -- said was completely rewritten in light of Covid-19.
"I already had the DS2 idea but I had to scratch that off because I experienced the pandemic. So I rewrote," he said.
"It's a new connection... I put that in the game system and I want everyone to experience that," Kojima added.
French actor Lea Seydoux -- a star of films like James Bond adventure "No Time to Die" or Quentin Tarantino's World War II romp "Inglourious Basterds" -- returns in 3D form alongside Reedus.
But new big-name talent is also along for the ride, including American actor Elle Fanning and the likeness of "Mad Max" director George Miller.
French singer Woodkid composed the score for the new episode.
Kojima Productions, the eponymous studio the developer founded in 2015 after leaving Japanese giant Konami, said in March this year that the first "Death Stranding" had more than 20 million players.
And the franchise is broadening out to other media, with a feature film in development with American studio A24 as well as an animated film.
Kojima is already turning his bottomless energy to other projects, including a horror game, "OD", co-written with American director Jordan Peele ("Get Out", "Nope") and developed in partnership with Microsoft.
He is also returning to the world of spy games in the vein of "Metal Gear" with a new espionage title, "PHYSINT".
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Don Frye vs. Yoshihiro Takayama: The untold story of MMA's most iconic — and tragic — brawl, 23 years later
Unless you count hanging out with Michael Bisping and Rampage Jackson in nightclubs, the most rewarding experience of my 13 years working with the UFC was rebuilding the UFC Hall of Fame. I'm especially proud of the Fight Wing, which is an acknowledgement that, in MMA, any two fighters — together — on any night, can drag greatness out of each other. Never has that happened as intensely as when Don Frye collided with Yoshihiro Takayama at PRIDE Fighting Championships 21, on June 23, 2002, at the Saitama Super Arena in Saitama, Japan. While Frye, a two-time UFC tournament champion, took his rightful place in the UFC Hall of Fame Pioneer Wing back in 2016, I deeply regret not pushing harder for the Takayama fight to be inducted while I still was able. It is a fight of such ecstatic ferocity that it has been recreated — blow-by-blow — not only in film, but also in video games and professional wrestling. It remains a cultural touchstone in Japan. It is the fight that launched a million lifelong obsessions with the sport; the secret older fans can't wait to share with newer converts. It is MMA's Ali vs. Frazier 3, with a legacy equally as terrific and tragic. And on this 23rd anniversary of the fight, it remains the single-greatest brawl in MMA history. A once-in-a-lifetime spectacle By 2002, just five years after its inception, the Japan-based PRIDE FC was not only the biggest organization in mixed martial arts, but perhaps the world's leading promoter of any combat sport. By then, selling 20,000 tickets to one of Japan's huge stadium arenas was an indication of a relatively small PRIDE event — a UFC APEX card of the time, if you will. PRIDE was mainstream in a way MMA has never been in any country since. Japan had a population of 126 million in 2002 and 98% of households owned a television; more than a quarter of those "TV homes" watched PRIDE events on Fuji TV. Those are staggering numbers that are impossible to replicate in today's fractured, niche-driven media landscape. Modern-era fans are used to thinking of UFC's supposed rivals — PFL, Bellator, Strikeforce, EliteXC — as merely inferior knockoffs. PRIDE, though, was utterly different. The fights took place in a ring, for one, but the contrasts went much deeper. While Dana White's UFC was doing all it could to hide MMA's symbiotic relationship with pro-wrestling, PRIDE was waving bricks of banknotes at wrestlers to come fight for real. While the UFC had little growth to show for burning through millions of dollars, PRIDE was the biggest thing on Japan's Fuji TV and was awash with television money. While the UFC was desperate to earn credibility as a "real sport," PRIDE's central figures couldn't have cared less. The promotion was a spectacle — blazing, neon lit and oversized operatic. PRIDE's unforgettable, never-equaled theme song was written by famed video game, television and movie composer Yasuharu Takanashi in a rage of creativity. 'It is true I completed the entire composition in one night,' he told Uncrowned via a translator, 'the night my father died. I needed to feel invulnerable. I wrote it to feel strong enough to survive my grief.' That soaring, taiko-driven melody, along with elaborate 300-foot entrance ramps, Lenne Hardt's high-register, rapid-pitch-shift voice, the thousands of fans who attended in their best evening-wear — PRIDE was elevated. Cultured, even. Until the fights began. Soccer kicks were legal. Stomping down on an opponent's face, knees to the skull of a downed opponent — both kosher. Ten-minute opening rounds were common; hell, promotion officials even okayed a match where neither the referee nor the ringside doctor had the authority to stop the fight. Mismatches verging on attempted manslaughter were to be found on almost every card. Frye was long retired from MMA when PRIDE reach its cultural zenith in the early 2000s. 'The Predator' was a UFC fighter for just the 10 months between February 1996 and December 1996. In that short time, he went 9-1 in the promotion, won two major eight-man tournaments and established himself as one of the post Gracie/Shamrock stars of a struggling sport. Only, the UFC couldn't afford to keep him. Not when New Japan Pro-Wrestling (NJPW) came calling with a $40,000 per month contract. (That's about $75,000 in today's money.) Frye loved the money and being a mega-star in Japan while maintaining complete anonymity back home. He loved the physical nature of New Japan's 'strong style,' too, which allowed him to have decent matches despite his limited experience. However: 'New Japan matches were like sparring sessions on the body," he said. "And if you were a featured match or main event, by the time you'd showered and made it to the tour bus back to the hotel, you felt like you'd had a fight.' Don Frye battles James Thompson at Saitama Super Arena on April 8, 2007 in Saitama, Japan. (Zuffa LLC via Getty Images) And then there was the other role Frye performed for New Japan. The company positioned Frye as an enforcer, both inside and outside the ring. One particularly challenging assignment was babysitting/body-guarding notorious party animal Scott Hall who, once or twice, would start fights that New Japan clearly expected Frye to finish. Between the hard nightlife and even harder matches, the NJPW tours took their toll on Frye's knees, shoulders, neck and especially his back. He figured he could learn to wrestle a softer style, work around his injuries, and continue collecting banks for years to come. But then Mark Coleman won PRIDE FC's Openweight Grand Prix in 2000. Coleman was the '1' in Frye's 9-1 UFC record. That UFC 10 tournament loss in July 1996 had been sitting in Frye's guts like a rusted nail. Frye went into the finale exhausted and dehydrated from his much longer and tougher quarterfinal and semifinal bouts, and Coleman put a beating on him for 11:34 straight. What really irked Frye was that he himself had turned down the chance for a UFC 11 rematch where the tables would've been turned. 'Mark was in the final and I was hanging out at the event," he explained. "Art Davie (who ran the UFC at the time) finds me in a panic and says Scott Ferrozzo (the other semifinalist) was out hurt. The alternates were hurt. Everyone's hurt. He said he'd put me in the finale if I'd gear up and fight Mark in 15 minutes.' Frye, though, was upset at Davie for something he 'can't even remember now' and took the opportunity to settle that score rather than accepting the last-minute rematch with Coleman. 'Worst mistake of my career,' he still laments. 'This time Mark was tired. Mark had fought twice. I was as fresh as a daisy and in shape. That was my chance to beat Coleman and I didn't take it.' Frye continued to follow Coleman's UFC career, and took little pleasure in 'The Hammer' suffering three back-to-back-to-back losses to close out his time with the promotion. He didn't expect Coleman to do any better in PRIDE FC, especially when Coleman lost in two rounds to Nobuhiko Takada in his April 1999 debut. (Years later, Coleman admitted he was forced to take a dive against Takada in order to get a contract with the Japanese organization.) But then Coleman won PRIDE's Openweight Grand Prix in 2000, emerging victorious in a field of the very best fighters on the planet. Frye was astonished by his old foe, who he'd believed was shot and a fight or two away from retirement. 'I thought Mark was done, and the chance to rematch was gone. Then he goes and wins the whole thing in PRIDE," Frye said. "It was inspirational. I thought, 'Hey, if Mark can come back, then so could I.'' Mark Coleman speaks at his UFC Hall of Fame induction in 2016. (Cooper Neill via Getty Images) Frye was now 35 years old and the advantages he enjoyed in the mid-1990s — being one of the few fighters to have genuine experience in boxing, NCAA Division 1 wrestling and grappling (judo) — had long since been superseded. Nevertheless, PRIDE was thrilled to offer huge sums to secure yet another former UFC champion — and one who was already a massive draw in Japan to boot. 'PRIDE didn't do Mickey Mouse money,' Frye understated. He was paid the equivalent of $580,000 per fight in today's money. In cash. For reasons that probably had a lot to do with PRIDE's links to the Yamaguchi-gumi Yakuza (mafia) clan, PRIDE paid many fighters with sports bags stuffed to the zippers with bricks of American dollars. Frye recalls those bags with understandable fondness: 'When I got back home after my first fight for PRIDE, I walked into my local bank in Tuson, Arizona, like I owned the place. I threw down two bags of money — thump! — and told the blonde behind the desk, 'I'll stand right here while you count it, darling.'' Although Frye had made it clear to PRIDE he'd left pro-wrestling to rematch Coleman, his first fight in five years was versus an eye-raking sociopath named Gilbert Yvel in September 2001. That was followed by a huge grudge match against Ken Shamrock. The buildup to the Frye vs. Shamrock fight at PRIDE 19 was marred by the types of personal insults that would make Sean Strickland blush. By the time he shared a PRIDE ring with the former UFC Superfight Champion on Feb. 24, 2002, it had become a fight that Frye absolutely could not afford to lose. Frye remembers the Shamrock fight for two things: The awful realization that injuries he'd picked up in New Japan had greatly diminished his punching power, and the white-hot agony of Shamrock's ankle locks. 'Most pain I've ever felt,' he said. 'But I'd talked so much s*** about Kenny … I couldn't quit. Damnit, I'd just couldn't tap after all I said about him being a fraud.' Frye emerged with a win — and crippling ankle injuries that never healed. Nevertheless, he readily accepted the fight he wanted most of all — the Coleman rematch — for just 12 weeks later. 'Hurt or not, I wanted that fight.' When I got back home after my first fight for PRIDE, I walked into my local bank like I owned the place. I threw down two bags of money — thump! — and told the blonde behind the desk, 'I'll stand right here while you count it, darling.' The clash of former UFC tournament champions was set for PRIDE 21, June 23, 2002 in Saitama, Japan. Frantic to avenge his UFC loss, Frye poured his heart, soul and bank account into a state-of-the-art camp in Hawaii. 'I spent $30,000 ($52,000 in 2025 money),' Frye lamented. 'The best gym, the best sparring and all kinds of fancy therapy and experts working on trying to make my shoulders and back young again. I wanted to beat Mark back so bad, I'd have spent more than that … so you can guess how pissed off I was when Coleman pulled out of the fight injured.' News broke on June 5 that a botched Kevin Randleman training session had accidentally taken Coleman out of the fight. PRIDE rebooked Frye vs. Yoshihiro Takayama in the new main event. Takayama was a 6-foot-6, 270-pound professional wrestler with a 0-3 record in MMA. It would've been a baffling choice, even on short notice, to replace the highly decorated Coleman — but PRIDE's affection for freak-show fights was matched only by the promotion's glacial indifference to even matchmaking. And the Japanese giant was much better than his record. Takayama's PRIDE debut in 2001 was an insanely huge ask. His opponent, Kazuyuki Fujita, was also a pro-wrestler, sure, but one whose legit MMA credentials included wins over Mark Kerr, Shamrock and the aforementioned eye-racking Yvel. Takayama somehow survived a series of skull-rattling knees on the ground to make a great fight of it against Fujita, so PRIDE tried even harder to get him killed by matching him with 6-foot-10 world champion kickboxer Semmy Schilt. Only — again — Takayama wildly exceeded expectations, largely by absorbing the sort of physical pain one usually would associate with a Satanic ritual. The giant's oversized courage and dogged determination to fire back in another losing effort captured the imagination of PRIDE's fan base, who were often moved by fighting spirit more than win-loss records. The wrestler A self-described nerd who continues to add to his prized action figure collection to this day, Takayama had little choice but to become a fighter of some sort. As a kid, he was teased mercilessly about his microtia — a congenital disorder which left him with an undeveloped outer left ear. 'In school I grew my hair long to cover it,' he told me in 2017 over email. 'But then I was teased for having 'girl hair.' I wanted to be strong — of body and mind — so I signed up to play rugby when I went to high school.' His time as a rugby player coincided with a dramatic growth spurt in his late teens. He went from being merely above average to being a giant. 'Then I shaved my hair,' he said. 'I didn't care who saw my ear now [that] I was strong. No one had anything to say about it anymore.' In the pro-wrestling lexicon, grapplers who can handle themselves in real fights are called "shooters." When he joined the profession in 1992, it didn't take Takayama long to establish his shooter rep. First, he worked the ultra-realistic style that was in vogue in Japan at the time and became noted for his ability to absorb pathological amounts of pain. In fact, Takayama put that particular talent to use as a host of the Japanese version of 'Jackass.' He also began appearing in mainstream Japanese movies, 15 video games and, naturally, PRIDE soon came calling with wheelbarrows of cash. 'It was the dream of [Japanese fans] to see professional wrestlers in the PRIDE ring,' he said, 'PRIDE were paying professional money and I was ready to fight.' All of whic brings us to Takayama's third PRIDE fight — the thrown-together main event against Frye. History doesn't record when each fighter was informed of the new main event. Let me explain what I am insinuating. PRIDE had an unwritten policy of informing Japanese fighters who they'd be fighting long before non-Japanese fighters. Stated plainly, as UFC Hall of Famer Antonio Rodrigo Nogueira once told me, 'PRIDE wanted the Japanese fighters to beat you and were not embarrassed if you knew it.' 'I cannot speak about contracts,' Takayama said when I asked exactly when he was informed he'd be fighting Frye. 'That is between myself and the company.' Never mind that said contract was executed two decades ago and PRIDE went out of business in 2007. Despite his huge advantage in terms of authentic MMA experience, Frye insists he didn't underestimate his pro-wrestler opponent. 'I knew he was a huge boy,' Frye said. 'I knew from (friends in wrestling), Takayama was a tough bastard.' Just how tough of a bastard is something that Frye — and the world — were about to find out. Takayama's plan was simple: 'I wanted to use my height and knee [strikes] to the body to stun Frye, then throw him with a suplex, then use my weight to pin him on the ground before making him give up by a joint lock.' What the Japanese brawler left unsaid was that he was prepared to sustain an ocean liner of punishment in order to get close enough to land those knee strikes. Don Frye walks out at the Saitama Super Arena in Saitama, Japan. (Zuffa LLC via Getty Images) 'Just attack until one of us is destroyed' With the fighters in the ring, Yuji Shimada, the referee for the fight and 169 of PRIDE's 566 total bouts, stood back and let Frye and Takayama lock eyes in one of MMA's great staredowns. The moments before the first round hung in the huge arena, static before a storm. Noise from the 22,586 fans rolled like thunder. And then came unforgettable — never to be equaled — start to the fight. Looking to take out his frustration after watching Coleman again slip through his hands, Frye damn near ran across the ring — only to find the colossus was already striding toward him at full speed. 'I hit him with a one-two combo on the chin — but my power wasn't what it was in the UFC," he said. "I'd f***ed my back and right shoulder in New Japan. I couldn't twist my full weight into my shots.' Takayama responded with booming punches of his own. And then it happened — the most exciting sequence in MMA history. The pair locked their left hands behind each other's necks and hacked away with their right fists. Over and over and over they slammed knuckle into face. It was artless… It was raw and reckless violence… And it remains utterly enthralling to witness almost a quarter century later. 'I was all right going punch for punch with Don," said Takayama. "He hit hard, but not as hard as Semmy Schilt. Fans are kind to say they could not believe [how the fight started], but I say, 'I was there to have a fight, not to avoid a fight.'' The pair continued the blast away at each other, locked together with cannons blazing like two galleons with entangled masts. 'I always wanted to see what the other guy had," said Frye. "If he was tougher than me, if he could take my punch, if I could take his best punch. I did it with Tank Abbott when my corner begged me not to stand in front of him. No one could talk me out of fighting like that if I got it in my head. Nothing any opponent could do would make me back down.' The pair spilled into a corner and grappled for an advantage. As they wrestled, Frye stabbed away with short punches to the head while Takayama found space to fire his cannonball knees into the American's guts. 'I felt our physical strength was equal when we were wrestling," Takayama said. "But I am bigger than Don and used my weight effectively. Also, my knees to the body were effective in weakening him, as I planned.' Upon relaying that sentiment to Frye, he merely laughed. 'Takayama-san is very polite," he said. "He was much stronger me. Scary strong. He was so goddamn big and so goddamn strong. I'd never felt anything like it in my life. 'His legs looked like two welterweights with their heads up his ass. The strength he had in those things was awful. His knees to the guts lifted me out of my shoes. I could feel the impact to my internal organs, right through my gut muscles.' The Japanese fans exploded in to a roar when their man followed up a particularly sickening-looking knee strike with another of his other Puroresu high spots: A belly-to-belly suplex. He was much stronger me. Scary strong. He was so goddamn big and so goddamn strong. I'd never felt anything like it in my life. Don Frye Despite getting winded, Frye scrambled to all fours, but Takayama towered in front of him and smashed a knee into the top of the American's skull — a perfectly legal move in PRIDE. Somehow, Frye climbed to his feet only to be met with another butchering knee to the belly. 'I was very confident after I threw him with the suplex and followed it up with a knee kick that was successful," Takayama said. "The fight was going well for me.' 'I had to do something to hurt this big bastard," said Frye. "I started swinging for the fences with everything I had.' But the giant stood his ground. They hacked at each other with wild hooks and crosses. Both their faces bruised and bloodied. Only 90 seconds had elapsed in the 10-minute opening round. Then Takayama sent his opponent's mouthpiece flying. 'When I knocked his mouthpiece out, I knew I was getting to him," Takayama said. "I expected a war. Nothing was surprising to me. I knew this would be a fight between two warriors.' 'In PRIDE, the fans were so polite you could usually hear a rat piss on cotton," said Frye. "So when I heard them going nuts, I knew we must be having a special fight.' In his 20-minute long Shamrock match just months earlier, Frye set a PRIDE FC record for strikes from the clinch with 52. He surpassed that in the opening three minutes of his brawl with Takayama. Both warriors began to gasp, desperate to drag air into their burning lungs. And it was at this point that Frye's $30,000 stay in Hawaii began to pay dividends. 'We were both tired after all those punches, but I still had some pop,' Frye said. 'His left eye was closing fast, so I took advantage with right hooks and uppercuts he probably couldn't see coming. I was sure I was hurting him — I had to be — but he just kept on coming with those goddamn knees. I knew what he was about to do but I couldn't block them. He blasted right through me.' The pair continued like that — fighting over a piece of canvas too small to cover a coffee table — until they were utterly spent. Only then, with them clinching to each other and gasping for air, did the referee call "break" and look to replace Frye's mouthpiece. "The Predator" shrugged. 'That was PRIDE," he said. "They treated fighters with great respect, almost like modern-day samurai, in terms of bowing to us and laying on meals and fine hotels. But ol' Don Frye flying back to Arizona with all his teeth? Not a concern at all.' Referee Shimada then noticed the grotesque damage to his countryman's eye. It had been seemingly welded shut by Frye's uppercuts. The official took Takayama to a neutral corner and invited a doctor's opinion. Frye stood, bloody and spent, on the other side of the ring. I was sure I was hurting him — I had to be — but he just kept on coming with those goddamn knees. I knew what he was about to do but I couldn't block them. He blasted right through me. Don Frye 'I remember wishing to God it would be stopped there and then," Frye said. "But I knew they wouldn't — this was PRIDE — so I got ready to go again.' Sure enough, the referee signaled the restart and — unbelievably — the two exhausted warriors threw themselves into a hockey brawl almost as violent as the one that had started the fight. 'We were getting paid big money,' Takayama said. 'So, 'Let's really fight,' was my thought. Just attack until one of us is destroyed!' And so they scythed away at each other until again. Subtly at first and then more pronounced, Frye's punches began to land with more authority. He remembers: 'We were both tired and beat up, but there's a point in hard fights when size begins to matter a little less and technique and experience matters more.' The five-minute mark brought no reprieve, as PRIDE FC favored 10-minute opening rounds. So on they fought. Both warriors dragged up reserves from the pits of their souls. But then — in the first sign he'd reached down as far as he could — Takayama retreated to a corner. For a few moments he tried to save energy by having the ropes and turnbuckles take a little weight off his exhausted legs. Frye read the sign of distress and chased, fists blazing. A shattered Takayama attempted another belly-to-belly suplex but it was slow, robotic. 'I felt it coming," Frye recalled. "I wrapped my leg behind his knees and tripped him. I landed on top. He didn't have a lot of skills on the ground. He was exhausted. I was tired, too, but I'd wrestled bigger guys in college. I knew I could finish it from there. For a second, I thought of taking his back and going for a choke, but I could see he couldn't get me off and had no energy left. 'Ground and pound was the way to get him outta there.' The most incredible fight in MMA history was waved off after six minutes and 10 seconds of utter mayhem. Don Frye reacts after defeating Yoshihiro Takayama inside Saitama Super Arena on June 23, 2002 in Saitama, Japan. (Zuffa LLC via Getty Images) After insisting on walking out of the ring under his own steam, Takayama went straight to the hospital to be treated for exhaustion along with the damage to his face. Three hours later, with the sting of a IV drip in his veins, Takayama remembers one PRIDE official bursting into his hospital room to excitedly announce that Frye was so messed up by the knees to the body, he was still laying on the massage table in his locker room. 'So?' the giant answered, 'He is still the winner.' The long road after Determining Takayama's final MMA record is difficult. A 1996 brawl in UWFI against Kimo Leopoldo looked legit, even if closed-fist strikes were illegal, but it may well have been a worked match. Conversely, a 2013 meeting with Hikaru Sato in the U-SPIRITS organization is widely recorded as his lone MMA victory, but, to both myself and other historians like Dave Meltzer and the late Jordan Breen, it was clearly a stiff pro-wrestling match. Yet whether Takayama's professional MMA record is 0-4, 1-4 or 0-5, no one can take away how he performed in one of the greatest spectacles in combat sports history. 'Takayama-san is a great fighter,' Frye said. 'I'll have words with anyone who tries to say different.' Believing the Coleman rematch dead in the water, and now bitterly convinced his best days were long gone, Frye gasped out a rushed retirement speech in the minutes after the Takayama fight. 'The Takayama fight was the last time I felt like 'The Predator,'" Frye said. "I should have stayed retired, but PRIDE kept offering me 350,000 reasons to change my mind. So, I kept going back.' In fact, Frye fought another 15 times after the Takayama classic. He won only five. He lost the eventual Coleman rematch on points. He finally stopped fighting at age 46, in December 2011. His record stands at 20-9-1-1 but the true tally of his career, and that of his pro-wrestling career, is the woeful ill-heath he is in today, aged 59. 'Toward the end I lost to people who should never be in the position to walk into a bar and tell the story of when they beat Don Frye in a fight,' he said. 'But the last of my prime, I used it all up against Takayama. Every last drop.' Don Frye ultimately got his Mark Coleman rematch in June 8, 2003 in Yokohama, Japan. (Zuffa LLC via Getty Images) PRIDE FC's own prime lasted a while longer. Irreparable damage was done when one of Japan's most-read weekly newspapers, Shukan Gendai, ran a series of articles explicitly connecting the promotion with organized crime. Other Japanese media followed with their own well-scoured and devastating reporting. Acting comically surprised, Fuji TV cancelled its contract with PRIDE. Having lost both the TV and mafia money, PRIDE desperately jumped into the U.S. pay-per-view market it had long ignored. PRIDE's two Las Vegas shows were too little, too late. The promotion entered negotiations to sell to the UFC. To save face, PRIDE tried to tell the Japanese media the upcoming deal was a 'merger,' but White, positively giddy at the chance of payback after PRIDE had double-crossed him in the past, was very quick to correct them. The once mighty promotion ran its final event on April 8, 2007, in the same Saitama Super Arena that had hosted so many of its legendary nights, including Frye vs. Takayama. PRIDE boss Nobuyuki Sakakibara personally begged Don Frye to appear on the card. And that Frye did, losing in one round to journeyman James Thompson. It was the end of an era as a sore and dejected Frye reached his locker room. Only this time there was no sports bag filled to the zipper with American dollars. Come by Sakakibara's hotel suite tomorrow morning, Frye was told. He wants to give it to you personally and say farewell. When Frye was shown in the suite at the appointed time, Sakakibara was nowhere to be seen, only a desk with a landline phone that suddenly started to ring. When he put the handset to his ear, Frye recognized Sakakibara's voice. Don Frye was never paid for his final PRIDE fight. Toward the end I lost to people who should never be in the position to walk into a bar and tell the story of when they beat Don Frye in a fight. But the last of my prime, I used it all up against Takayama. Every last drop. Don Frye Yet the ecstatic brutality of Frye vs. Takayama soaked deep into Japan's national psyche. No two fighters had ever begun a prizefight like Frye and Takayama had; no two prizefighters may ever do so again. The pair, fast friends in the aftermath, were invited to perform reruns not only for the 2005 Japanese movie "Nagurimono: Love & Kill," but also in many pro-wrestling bouts, the final one taking place as recently as March 17, 2013. 'I don't think I should second-guess why the fans remember the fight with the excitement they do,' Takayama said. 'But it is a deep honor when they say it is legendary. All I can say is, Don and I both had the same pride, the same mindset and will to win. We were the equal and the opposite. When those two forces collided we made a battle that will be remembered. 'To lose on such a stage is disappointing, but my family and friends are proud of how I fought. It was an honor to share the ring with Don Frye, my brother forever.' The fight transformed Takayama into one of the biggest draws in Japanese pro-wrestling. He went on to be known as the "Emperor" of Puroresu and had runs with every major singles championship in Japan's top three promotions — a dream for a man who truly lives and breathes professional wrestling. And I would love to end the story there. But tragedy lay in waiting. Not long after I first spoke with him in May 2017, Takayama, 50 years old at the time, suffered a horrific injury working a pro-wrestling match. The severity of his condition was kept private for some time, but eventually came the news he had been paralyzed from the neck down. All of Japanese professional wrestling, and the by-now-middle-aged PRIDE fans, were heartbroken. The Japanese pro-wrestling industry, led by Takayama's close friend Minoru Suzuki — pro-wrestler and co-founder of Pancrase MMA — launched a charity to help with expenses. Every pro-wrestling promotion that operates in Japan — including WWE — has contributed. Every September, around Takayama's birthday, is the climax of the year's fundraising: Takayamania, a full show where the proceeds go to paying for his care. Last year, Takayama attended in person. There wasn't a dry eye in the house. This year's event takes place on Sept. 3. Despite serious health concerns of his own, Frye still visits his friend. The first time was in February 2019. 'When I saw him laying there, my heart broke for him," Frye said. "He told me to knock it off. He is in good spirits, better spirits than I could be if it were me in that bed. He's still a joker. He still loves his wrestling and his sci-fi s***. 'He wants to talk about the fight we had, most of all. He thanked me for making him famous — I told him it was the other way around. No one remembers what I did in the UFC. The UFC wasn't big in the mid-'90s. But everyone I meet who knows that I was a fighter, they always want to hear about the fight with Takayama-san. 'My health sucks, and Takayama, God bless him for what he is living with … but in that fight we were the kings of the universe. 'That fight, man … that fight will live forever.'
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- Geek Tyrant
Hideo Kojima Says He'll 'Guide' the DEATH STRANDING Movie, but Knows When to Step Back: 'I Have to Trust These People' — GeekTyrant
As the live-action film adaptation of Hideo Kojima's wildly unique game Death Stranding moves forward at A24, the legendary developer made it clear he's not looking to hover over every creative decision. Instead, he's choosing a more measured, collaborative role. Kojima told Variety: 'I think I will help produce it – I need to kind of guide the project – but I can't direct it myself, schedule-wise. I made Death Stranding as a game, so in order to turn it into a movie, it'll be something totally different.' That creative distance doesn't mean he's uninvolved. He's still keeping an eye on things, but with respect for the talent he's brought on board. 'But it's my baby, so I would like to overlook the project. I'm teaming up with A24 and Michael Sarnoski, so he will be writing and directing. 'I'll let them work on it without too much of my input, because that might get in their way. I don't want to go in and ask them to make a bunch of changes; that's not cool. I have to trust these people, and I trust A24 and Michael.' That trust is likely well-placed. Sarnoski, who directed Pig , has not only shown he can handle emotionally rich, unconventional stories, but he's also reportedly played Death Stranding and Metal Gear Solid 1 , though Kojima deliberately asked him not to touch the MGS sequels. Why? Likely to keep his vision for the adaptation untainted by deeper lore or unnecessary comparisons. This isn't the only Death Stranding adaptation in the works either. An anime film is also in development, with Prisoners and Raised by Wolves writer Aaron Guzikowski onboard. Guzikowski said: 'I love the world of Death Stranding, it's so creatively freeing, so beautifully dark and yet hopeful; I'm so excited and honored that Hideo Kojima, whose work I've long admired, has invited me to dwell within his creation, to birth new stories into this fertile, mind-bending universe. Drawing and animation have always been near and dear to my heart, so to finally get to play in this space is a dream come true.' There's no release date yet for the movie, but if Kojima's history tells us anything, it's that we're in for something unorthodox and very human. Whether through anime or live-action, Death Stranding is finding new ways to connect.
CNET
2 hours ago
- CNET
Which Death Stranding 2 Edition Should You Buy?
Death Stranding 2: On the Beach will launch on June 26 exclusively for the PlayStation 5, but those who buy a special edition of the game can access it early. The question is, with three options available, which special edition version should you get? Death Stranding 2 is the sequel to legendary developer Hideo Kojima's 2019 game, and it improves on every aspect of the original, making it a title anyone remotely interested in it should play. The edition you decide to purchase will entirely depend on how much of a fan you are of the franchise. Now Playing: Unboxing the Death Stranding 2 PS5 Controller 00:45 Up first is the Standard Edition, which retails for $70. Ordering the Standard Edition of Death Stranding 2 from Sony comes with the same 48-hour early access that all editions have, which will begin at 12 a.m. ET on June 24 and 9 p.m. ET on June 23. Kojima Productions Included in this edition is some additional digital content: Quokka Hologram Battle Skeleton: Silver (LV1, LV2, LV3) Boost Skeleton: Silver (LV1, LV2, LV3) Bokka Skeleton: Silver (LV1, LV2, LV3) Holograms get unlocked the more you play through the game. These holograms can be placed at structures that the main character, Sam, builds as a little sign that you were there. Skeletons are equippable and help Sam physically while allowing him to carry more items. The Battle Skeleton lets Sam do more damage with physical attacks, the Boost Skeleton helps Sam run faster while carrying a lot of items and the Bokka Skeleton helps Sam climb up certain terrains while being more balanced, so he won't tip over. This content, however, is just a cosmetic color for the Skeleton. It will not unlock the item, as that has to be done by completing missions in the game. Next, there's the Digital Deluxe Edition for $80. Kojima Productions The Digital Deluxe Edition includes the 48-hour early access and the Skeleton cosmetics, although in this edition, it's gold and not silver. This edition also comes with: Machine Gun (MP Bullets) LV1 early unlock Quokka Patch Chiral Feline Patch Why Me? Patch The Machine Gun is a weapon you get later in the game, and it's powerful thanks to its large magazine filled with bullets. It can shoot for longer than the Assault Rifle found early in the game. MP Bullets are the standard type of bullets found in the game that can damage humans, BTs and robots. The patches are for Sam's backpack. They are strictly cosmetic and offer no in-game advantage. Then, for the big fans of Death Stranding, there's the Collector's Edition that costs $230. Kojima Productions The Collector's Edition comes with all the digital content from the Deluxe Edition in addition to some real-life collectibles in a collector's box. It includes: 15-inch Magellan Man Statue 3-inch Dollman figurine Art cards Letter from Hideo Kojima All of these editions are available to order now.
