Grass blades moved by a slight breeze tickle your cheeks, flowers around you cry their morning dew.
The metal of a lonely street lamp gave way to an ivy spiral, its broken bulb by moonlight.
Fireflies are still around but not for long, a brighter bulb will soon rise up and replace the last one.
The grass you lie into gently bends with a cracking, the silence around has been so loud for so long that even the most insignificant noises become deafening.
But the breeze never reaches you.
Where did this noise come from ?
Getting up in a panic, wondering what kind of wild boar could-
It grabbed your shoulders.
Firmly.
With two hands.
How ?
Didn't Grandpa die last week ?
You'd like to turn around, trading your fear to see that person's face, to know the comfort of there being anyone.
But you can't. The hands won't let you.
Something tickles your earlobes, it's a mouth you can't see, it whispers solemnly :
"Hey guys, I'm Kentarō Kawashima, are you ready to experience among the most unsubtle writing ever put to games ?"
I am a sucker for desolate and post-apocalyptic melancholia, quiet tales of loneliness in empty landscapes void of any danger, any other human being, nothing but wait.
In that sense, Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon succeeds quite well at giving off an extremely tangible atmosphere, one barely ever seen in Wii games, one that gets utterly destroyed at every turn.
The writing in this is even more obnoxious than that review's preface, and that says something, drenched in an urge for exaggerated melodrama that can't ever feel like a payoff since there's barely anything previously built onto.
How are we supposed to fill in the blanks ourselves when characters always have to tell their feelings explicitly ? How am I supposed to care for the death of a character I met an hour ago that was built entirely out of expository dialogues ?
It's a writing that doesn't believe in its players and therefore lacks any kind of subtext. It takes so much unnecessary place in what seems to be designed as a contemplative game it simply brings everything down.
seems ?
Fragile Dreams tries to blend Action RPG elements with Silent Hill-esque level design, which, well, completely dismisses both as they are fundamentally opposed, and the game doesn't really manage to link them.
This leads to a complete dichotomy in substance and it never feels at least decent to play, not even once the game justifies this approach with any kind of creative moment, it's an actual chore.
Yet, it's completely impossible not to be charmed and transported by the bittersweetness of its world and perpetual sense of longing for human connection.
Fragile Dreams will probably stay as one of my biggest "what if ?" in my gaming experience, but it will also forever feel like a lost reflection.
The metal of a lonely street lamp gave way to an ivy spiral, its broken bulb by moonlight.
Fireflies are still around but not for long, a brighter bulb will soon rise up and replace the last one.
The grass you lie into gently bends with a cracking, the silence around has been so loud for so long that even the most insignificant noises become deafening.
But the breeze never reaches you.
Where did this noise come from ?
Getting up in a panic, wondering what kind of wild boar could-
It grabbed your shoulders.
Firmly.
With two hands.
How ?
Didn't Grandpa die last week ?
You'd like to turn around, trading your fear to see that person's face, to know the comfort of there being anyone.
But you can't. The hands won't let you.
Something tickles your earlobes, it's a mouth you can't see, it whispers solemnly :
"Hey guys, I'm Kentarō Kawashima, are you ready to experience among the most unsubtle writing ever put to games ?"
I am a sucker for desolate and post-apocalyptic melancholia, quiet tales of loneliness in empty landscapes void of any danger, any other human being, nothing but wait.
In that sense, Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon succeeds quite well at giving off an extremely tangible atmosphere, one barely ever seen in Wii games, one that gets utterly destroyed at every turn.
The writing in this is even more obnoxious than that review's preface, and that says something, drenched in an urge for exaggerated melodrama that can't ever feel like a payoff since there's barely anything previously built onto.
How are we supposed to fill in the blanks ourselves when characters always have to tell their feelings explicitly ? How am I supposed to care for the death of a character I met an hour ago that was built entirely out of expository dialogues ?
It's a writing that doesn't believe in its players and therefore lacks any kind of subtext. It takes so much unnecessary place in what seems to be designed as a contemplative game it simply brings everything down.
seems ?
Fragile Dreams tries to blend Action RPG elements with Silent Hill-esque level design, which, well, completely dismisses both as they are fundamentally opposed, and the game doesn't really manage to link them.
This leads to a complete dichotomy in substance and it never feels at least decent to play, not even once the game justifies this approach with any kind of creative moment, it's an actual chore.
Yet, it's completely impossible not to be charmed and transported by the bittersweetness of its world and perpetual sense of longing for human connection.
Fragile Dreams will probably stay as one of my biggest "what if ?" in my gaming experience, but it will also forever feel like a lost reflection.