In fact, why bother reviewing it at all? I could be out playing golf right now. On the other hand why should Maxis care? Fans of the series will buy Superstar regardless of what this review, or any other review says. Where are the smut, drugs, feuds, court cases, car crashes and swimming pool tragedies? With five other perfectly pleasant expansion packs, why, just once, couldn't Maxis have been a little daring? It's Your Choice

Yet, for most of us the term superstar conjures up an entirely different image. If you live in a happy, fluffy land of Barbie dolls and childhood dreams, then Superstar will fit very nicely into your perception of fame. To gain pleasure from Superstar you have to be prepared to accept that stardom is not only achieved, but actually sustained by sitting in a jacuzzi chatting about shoes with Avril Lavigne. There really are only so many A-List arses you can lick before extreme irritation with everything from the sound of their voices to the flaky Al sets in. Likewise, frequenting all the favoured haunts of Studio Town's (The Sims equivalent of Hollywood) musicians and actors in an attempt to befriend them with The Sims trademark loon gibberish soon becomes tedious. Gameplay mostly revolves around singing karaoke and miming in sushi bars, which is hardly blockbuster material.

So, to find The Sims Superstar, the sixth expansion pack of the most successful game series ever, totally ignoring such ignominious (yet enormously amusing) behaviour and opting instead to simulate something akin to the squeaky clean existence of a Songs Of Praise presenter is a major disappointment. All publicity is good publicity in the bizarre world of showbiz. If it means 480 hours of community service, or living in a rehab centre for the next year then so be it. How Exactly do you become a superstar? Do you do a Winona' and nick a sackload of designer dresses from a posh Beverley Hills boutique, get busted and then feebly claim a director told you to do it as research for an upcoming film role? Or, do you do a Robert' and shove as much Colombian marching powder as you can up your nose, only to be raided by the feds while prancing around a hotel room in a figurehugging superhero costume with eyes like saucers?

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