The 2022 reboot of Saints Row stands as one of the most fascinating and divisive case studies in recent video game history. More than just a new entry in a beloved, albeit niche, franchise, it became a lightning rod for debate, its very existence prompting a wide spectrum of reactions from critics and players alike. The discourse surrounding its release was not a simple binary of good versus bad; instead, it was a complex web of conflicting opinions, unmet expectations, and a fundamental clash between legacy and modernity. The controversy over its critical reception is not about a universally panned game, but rather about the stark disconnect between professional review scores and the vocal outcry from a significant portion of its established fanbase.
Upon its announcement, the reboot was positioned as a necessary revitalization. Volition, the developer, and its parent company Deep Silver, argued that the over-the-top, superpowered chaos of Saints Row IV and Saints Row: Gat out of Hell had pushed the series into a narrative corner from which it could not easily return. The solution was a back-to-basics approach, a soft reboot set in the fictional American Southwest city of Santo Ileso, following a new group of young protagonists starting their own gang, The Saints, from scratch. The tone was promised to be a middle ground between the grounded (but still silly) crime drama of the first two games and the absurdist superhero parody of the latter two.
When the review embargo lifted, the critical response was middling to positive. Major outlets like IGN, GameSpot, and PC Gamer awarded scores in the 6-7/10 range, with many reviews settling around a aggregate Metacritic score in the low 60s for most platforms. This placed it firmly in the "mixed or average" category. The critical consensus wasn't scathing; it was largely ambivalent. Reviewers frequently praised the core gameplay loop—the driving, the shooting, the sheer amount of activities and customization—as fundamentally fun and solid. The creation of a vast, vibrant open world in Santo Ileso was also commended.
However, the criticisms were pointed and consistent. Critics highlighted the game’s overwhelming number of technical bugs at launch, which ranged from humorous visual glitches to game-breaking progression halts. The story and characters were frequently cited as the game's weakest element. Where the original games' humor was often seen as edgy, satirical, and self-aware, the reboot's jokes were perceived by many critics as try-hard, cringe-worthy, and painfully millennial-corporate. The new Boss, Eli, Nina, and Kevin were described as lacking the magnetic, dangerous charm of Johnny Gat, Shaundi, and Pierce. They were aspiring entrepreneurs in a world that previously celebrated sociopathic gangsters, and this shift in identity failed to resonate with reviewers who were themselves comparing it to the past.
If the critical reception was lukewarm, the player reception, particularly from long-time series fans, was often volcanic. For this group, the aggregate scores in the 60s felt wildly generous. Their discontent went far beyond technical issues or weak writing; it struck at the very soul of the reboot.
The most significant point of contention was the new tone and characters. The original Saints Row (2006) and its seminal sequel, Saints Row 2, were celebrated for their perfect blend of genuine, often surprisingly heartfelt, street-level gang warfare and utterly absurd, hilarious side content. The protagonists were underdogs you could root for, even as they did terrible things. To many fans, the reboot’s crew felt like a sanitized, focus-grouped version of "cool." The shift from hardened criminals building an empire to likable college graduates starting a "venture" to pay off student loans was seen as a betrayal of the series’ gritty, rebellious spirit. The humor was not just bad, in their view; it was a symptom of a larger issue—the neutering of the franchise's identity to appeal to a broader, more "modern" audience perceived as being averse to the edgier content of the past.
This created the core controversy: a palpable feeling that critics and players were evaluating entirely different games. Critics reviewed Saints Row (2022) as a standalone open-world title, judging its mechanics, content volume, and world design against contemporaries like Far Cry or Just Cause. For them, it was a competently made, if flawed and unremarkable, 7/10 experience.
The dedicated fanbase, however, reviewed it as a Saints Row game. Their metric was not just functionality but fidelity—fidelity to the tone, spirit, and character of the earlier titles they loved. They weren't just judging shooting mechanics; they were judging the soul of the Boss. By that standard, the game was a catastrophic failure, a 3 or 4 out of 10 that had misunderstood its own legacy. This disconnect was vividly illustrated in the chasm between the middling Metacritic critic score and the overwhelmingly negative user score that followed.
In the months following its launch, Volition embarked on a massive post-launch support campaign, releasing numerous patches that addressed a mountain of bugs, added highly requested quality-of-life features like a manual roll button for the camera, and even began introducing new content. This effort slowly shifted the conversation from the game's broken state to its improved, more stable form. Some players who returned to a patched version acknowledged that underneath the rocky launch was a genuinely fun sandbox.
However, the damage to the brand's perception was profound. The commercial performance, reportedly below Deep Silver's expectations, coupled with the intense fan backlash, ultimately contributed to the shuttering of Volition by parent company Embracer Group in August 2023. The studio's closure serves as a somber postscript to the entire controversy.
The story of Saints Row (2022) is ultimately a cautionary tale about the perils of rebooting a beloved franchise with a strong, defined identity. It highlights the delicate balance developers must strike between innovation and tradition. The game itself is not without merit—its customization is unparalleled, and driving around Santo Ileso causing mayhem can be mindless fun. But its legacy is sealed not by its qualities, but by the firestorm of debate it ignited. It remains a monument to the stark divide that can exist between critical appraisal and fan expectation, a reboot that tried to build a new church on hallowed ground, only to find the congregation unwilling to accept the new sermon.
