Pentiment has an official reading list, partly composed of some of the books that the team used for reference when building the game's art, plot, and characters. They're an interesting collection of books, and since my love of Pentiment overflowed after finishing it originally, I poured that excess enthusiasm into reading them. Now that I have read them all and replayed Pentiment with the knowledge in hand, I thought it would be interesting to dive into the inspirations and how they helped me to have a more complete understanding of the historical and cultural background of the game. Hopefully it won't be too dry, but also bear in mind that this is a very loose analysis. I'm not going to go back and find passages to cite unless they're super important to the point I'm making. I'm enough of a nerd to read five books for a backlog review, not for an academic article.


First things, the books: I read the following from the reading list, which you can find here: (https://news.xbox.com/en-us/2022/11/10/recommended-reading-of-medieval-history-from-josh-sawyer/)

1 The Name of the Rose: Umberto Eco

2 Peasant Fires: The Drummer of Niklashausen Richard Wunderli

3 The Cheese and the Worms, Carlo Ginzburg

4: The Return of Martin Guerre, Natalie Zemon Davis

5: The Faithful Executioner, Joel F. Harrington

6 Dürer's Journeys: Travels of a Renaissance Artist—Susan Foister and Peter Van Den Brink


The Name of the Rose is perhaps the most important book on the list in terms of understanding the inspiration behind Pentiment. I admit I watched the film before reading the novel, but they are rather different beasts. Besides certain common elements between Pentiment and Name of the Rose, like the fictitious Abbey, certain elements straining the credibility of the historical setting (tassing having all strata of social classes present, the 15th century scriptorium vs. a random ass mountain abbey having a gigantic labyrinthine library), and main characters borrowing from real historical figures who are name-dropped in the story (William of Ockham in Name of the Rose and Albrecht Durer in Pentiment), the main connection is that they both use the classic detective murder mystery setup as a framework to explore both theology, historical moments, conflict, etc.

This is the part where the movie most differs from the book; it makes sense given that you can't really fit all that into 90 minutes. It chooses to keep the juicy murder mystery and some background political intrigue but dispenses with the broader narrative of the book, which is about apostolic poverty and the Avginon papacy. Essentially the gravity of the murders add a sense of urgency in solving them because the Abbey is defending its political independence as neutral ground for a meeting of the pope(or anti-pope really)'s men and several monastic orders and representatives of the holy roman emperor to debate the merits of how the church should function, if it should reject all property and live as paupers, which has both a religious significance but also a political one in the conflict between the Avignon Papacy (essentially for a while the pope left Rome and went to France and this had a pretty massive impact upon european politics of the time with a politically ascendant France) and the HRE and the various religious orders like the Benedictines and Franciscans. This is mirrored in Pentiment, which also uses the murders of Baron Rothvogel and later Otto as a framework to highlight both the purpose of historical memory, the nature of justice and peace in early modern Europe, the importance of religion in their communities and how alien that can feel to modern audiences in rich countries, life, death, our ideas of the past and how they influence us in the present, and a whole bunch of related themes.

Similarly, in Act 1, the murder is also presented as politically inconvenient for the abbot, who seeks a speedy resolution to the issue much like the abbot in The Name of the Rose does, but for the different reason that his Kiersau Abbey is an oddity in the church, maintaining practices such as a double monastery, which have long been frowned at by the catholic authorities but have simply remained unnoticed due to its insignificance. A long, embarassing murder investigation could bring the hammer down on them, which leads to the Abbotts callously attempting to throw Andreas' mentor, Piero, for the murder so that the monastery may continue without issue. There is also the matter of the scriptorium and adjacent library with a secret entrance by the ossuary in Name of the Rose and Crypt in Pentiment (though in truth, I think Brother Volkbert confirms that the crypt just holds bones, so it's probably also appropriate to call it an ossuary) being direct references.

In both stories, the skill of the detectives is a bit suspect. In the case of William of Baskerville, whilst he is definitely closer to the Platonic ideal of your Sherlock Holmes figure, being less of an unbelievable omniscient who has information, the reader doesn't like many of the examples of bad detective fiction (cough cough, BBC Sherlock). His assumptions and thought processes are reasonable (for the most part), but he sure takes his time in solving the case. In fact, he arguably fails pretty much everything he sets out to do. Seven people lie dead, the library got burned down, and the matter of apostolic poverty they had come to debate eventually led to it being branded as heretical, though the Avginon papacy did disappear in due time as the seat of the Holy See returned to Rome. Of course, he does have a sort of moral victory over the reactionary Jorge who set the murders in motion to hide the existence of a lost tome, which would, in his view, help to elevate comedy and laughter, which he views as subversive and leading to heresy and the corruption of the divine truth. It is fitting given the frequent debates in the book that the climax would involve essentially a philosophical discussion. This parallels somewhat Pentiment's ending, wherein Father Thomas brings down the Mithraeum below the church to erase the proof of St. Satia and St. Moritz being essentially just Diana and Mars, pagan figures worshipped before the Bavarian Christians settled on tassing. Andreas is also not the greatest sleuth, though, in large part, being an interactive medium, the character of Andreas' skills depends upon players' actions. Nevertheless, the constant of Andreas having to make difficult choices using incomplete information is a constant; it's impossible for him to ever fully uncover the truth of the matter with the limited time and resources he has to investigate the murders, and much like many things, including historical events, it's not really possible to actually 100% discover the "true" killer. There are likelier candidates, of course, and a good argument can be made for the most reasonable culprit, like in Act 1, where it is rather doubtful that Ottilia did it; I think Lucky is almost certainly the murderer; and it's interesting just how much a second playthrough can change a lot of what I thought. In Act 2, it's rather less clear, with Hanna and Guy both having threads pointing to them.

Either way, there is also the matter that Andreas and Pentiment as a whole are also concerned with the perception of truth rather than the whole matter of it, similar to the Name of the Rose: case in point: when Andreas returns to Tassing a few years later in Act 1, the Innkeeper will refer to a warped version of the events of the original murder, suggesting that either way the truth of the events has already passed into unreliable folklore. There is an angle to consider when choosing a culprit in both acts when considering the consequences for the community. Its still refreshing to me in an industry that still has seemingly not moved on from boring black and white low honor vs. high honor binary choice bullshit that Pentiment presents you with the infinitely more interesting to my mind issue of Ottilia Kemperyn. An old, misanthropic, heretical widow whose husband's death was caused by the murdered Baron Rothvogel's savage beating has essentially given up on life. Her house is just about to be taken away from her by the church because she has no heirs and cannot own property herself. If one were to invent utilitarianism in the 15th century, one could argue that letting the obviously innocent Ottilia take the heat for the murder of the Baron is the optimal choice; indeed, standing up for her by challenging the church's claim to her house does cause her to retain the house onto Act 2, but the church is predictably angry at your actions, and you've done little more than buy a woman a few more miserable years of her life. Of course, in doing so, you will be utterly perverting justice and sentencing a woman to the executioner, whose only crime was being born a peasant woman in the 15th century, with all the trials it entails. These tough choices are not limited just to Andreas, with Act 3 the townsfolk are still reconciling their choices in dealing with Otto's murder in 1525 and subsequent burning of the abbey (which mirrors the ending of The Name of The Rose with the Abbey and Library burning down also) and whilst they all have different perspectives on the issue, its interesting that some regret the foolishness that brought the hammer down on them and resulted in bloodshed whilst also recognizing that that very sacrifice led to their current positions, there is some optimism in the ending, with some arguing that the Abbot's ecclesiastical authority being replaced with the lord's secular one has been beneficial, with slightly less strict oversight and Lenhardt being murdered at least had temporary material improvements for the peasants who wouldn't be completely gouged by the new miller. As with everything, one can only move forward; the wheel of time stops for no man, and making peace with our mistakes and seeing a broader perspective is supremely important to life.

Peasant Fires doesn't cover the more famous 1525 German Peasant rebellion, but rather the lesser known Niklashausen rebellion of 1478, wherein a drummer whipped up a mass of pilgrims to rebel against the ruling authorities, claiming that he had received a divine vision of the virgin Mary, who called on him and the faithful to overthrow the corrupt church and kill the priests, that god had ordained for all land to be held in common and the feudal lords of the time had corrupted his will. The book explores the role of festivals in medieval Europe, with some serving as outlets for repressed anger at the authorities, like carnival being a time of playfully "reversing" the established relations of nobility, royalty, and peasantry. It highlights how, for most peasants, the calendar would be seen through the lens of the various public festivals throughout the year, from Christmas to Carnival to Lent to Easter, etc. Despite the much harsher working conditions, there were many more public holidays for the Europeans of the 15th century than there are for the Brits of today. Its influence is most apparent in Pentiment's Act 2, with Otto claiming a holy vision has revealed that the Lord is with the townsfolk of Tassing against the increased taxes and restrictions of the Abbot, mirroring the drummer. Otto's murder occurs during St. John's Eve, a very popular summer festival, with anger boiling over with the Abbot threatening excommunication to anyone he finds in the forest getting up to mischief. In both examples, the peasants are drawn to revolt against ecclesiastical authorities due to the increasing restrictions on their rights and material conditions. In Tassing, there is a noticeable decline in living standards, with the poor Gertners being particularly destitute due to increased taxes.

In the 1478 rebellion, the drummer started rallying people to the cause by preaching near the pilgrimage site of Niklashausen. In Pentiment, the Abbot further angers the peasants by closing the Shrine of St. Moritz, which is also a pilgrimage site and source of some religious comfort to the Catholic denizens of Tassing who often prayed to Saints for deliverance. The book goes into some depth regarding pilgrimages in the early modern period. While the sale of indulgences is much better known given its importance to the reformation, it is often overlooked that pilgrimages served a similar purpose. The idea of purgatory was such that pilgrims could reduce the suffering of themselves and/or deceased relatives by visiting a site of pilgrimage and receiving a partial indulgence for time in purgatory. It was another way in which the peasants would be essentially emotionally blackmailed into either donating or traveling to a holy site, which of course also had the effect of increasing the prestige and economic power of a church that hosted one of these relics, like the hand of a saint, a piece of the true cross, or what have you.

The main issue with the book is that the sources are very spotty, and so the author basically speculates on a large chunk of them. He at least admits that this is the case and makes clear what is his own imagination and what’s supported by the evidence, but still, it's a rather short book to begin with. Its illuminating at the very least regarding just how fucked medieval peasants were economically, the role of festivals and pilgrimages, and the power of mystics in inciting rebellion.

The Faithful Executioner is a work of microhistory focused on the life of the executioner of Nuremberg during a particularly busy time for such a professional. It has the advantage of drawing upon an unusual source: a detailed journal written by the said executioner during his time working for the city. It was rare for a man like him to be able to read, much less to leave such thorough notes about his work. It's a very interesting tale, which I recommend picking up. It's both a greater history lesson about the role of the executioner and the specific conditions in 16th-century HRE, which led to a significant increase in their work, and the personal story of a man’s quest to advance his and his family’s station from the unfortunate place it was put in. It also does a lot to make us understand the perspective and social attitudes that influenced this institution, which is, to our modern eyes, quite cruel and ghastly, without just making an apology for the indefensible. Its relation to Pentiment is obvious; it is a work that is deeply concerned with justice, crime, and punishment, and the appearance of justice and truth is often times more important than the actual thing itself. In chapter 1, whichever culprit gets selected will get executed violently and publicly, either by the executioner’s sword in the case of the male suspects of lucky or ferenc or being choked to death in the case of the female suspects. Interestingly, in the faithful executioner, we are told that execution by sword at the time was usually reserved for the nobility (even often times being the result of a bribe to the judges to forgo the more slow and painful executions down to the more “dignified” decapitation). I imagine, though, that the choice of the sword was more of a creative decision, being the quickest way to show the culprit being killed. In the case of Prior Ferenc’s execution, it was slightly botched, requiring three slashes to finish him off. In the case of the faithful executioner, part of the titular executioner’s great reputation, which allowed him to eventually appeal his status (executioners were part of the official underclass, unable to perform “honorable” professions, and were oftentimes banned from joining a guild and other legal discrimination), came from the fact that he very rarely botched an execution; indeed, the executioner himself could be in danger when performing a beheading, and it was common for crowds to turn on the executioner if it took more than 3 strokes to fall the criminal. Its not surprising to me that states eventually realized how counterproductive public execution was, with modern ones being performed in some prison room away from the public. The fact is, and Pentiment explores this as well, that it's all well and good to believe that someone deserves to die or that they had their brutal end coming to them; certainly, there are many rapists, murderers, etc., and even if one opposes the death penalty on principle, we would not be sad to hear that they were killed. And yet, I dare to say that if you were to witness such a person being violently killed, well, most well-adjusted people would respond with horror and even sympathy for such a situation.

Certainly, I don’t weep at the thought that some of the hanged nazis at Nuremberg were actually left choking for quite a few minutes before expiring, but even with them, were I to be in the room, I would look away from such a horrible sight. Humans are empathic for the most part, and it's hard to see such things without feeling bad.

It's a sobering moment watching the execution of Ferenc, who might be suspected of performing occult rituals and murdering a man in cold blood, but it's another to see him praying for mercy before being brutally cut down. The victory is hollow; there is a reason why Sherlock Holmes stories end with the suspect in custody and not Sherlock Holmes gloating in front of the gallows with the criminal’s corpse hanging forlornly from the scaffold. Okay, okay, that's enough unpleasantness. Let's move on from this grizzly subject.

The Cheese and the Worms is another work of microhistory, this time on the subject of Mennochio, an eccentric miller in 15th-century France who used his rare literacy and access to a variety of books passed around by his neighbors (who were unusually literate for the time also) to develop his own eclectic brand of religious thought, which eventually got him into trouble with the Inquisition, who were mostly baffled by what seemed to be a unique brand of heresy invented by essentially one random peasant guy, far from the norm of wandering preachers, secret societies, and the like. Its influence is most apparent in the figure of Vaclav, a Romani knife sharpener who will share his equally weird beliefs if you’ll indulge him, which, funnily enough, if you do, he gets burned at the stake for heresy, as evidenced by the town-wide family tree next to the mural in the game's ending. In the case of Vaclav, they’re a weird syncretism of gnosticism, Christian mysticism, and just his own blend of strange esoteric religious theories. The role of increased literacy and the printing press allowing more people to read “dangerous ideas” is brought up often during Acts 1 and 2, with Father Thomas and others being wary of the effects it could have in riling up the peasantry and the danger of certain ideas spreading. The elephant in the room is, of course, the protestant reformation and the 1525 peasant rebellion, which were greatly aided by the increased availability of the written word, further increasing the demand for a translation of the Bible written in German and other vernacular languages as opposed to Latin, which was mainly spoken by the priesthood. Its no surprise that this eventually led to an explosion of different Protestant denominations, as anyone who could read the Bible for themselves could develop a novel interpretation of the scripture.

In the case of Menochio, while from a modern perspective it seems very repressive and authoritarian to be jailed and later executed for having unorthodox beliefs like the universe being created from a primordial cheese eaten by worms who became God and his angels and created the world, it's hard to be sympathetic when the dude just could not shut the hell up about his beliefs. Like, idk about you, Im an agnostic or atheist or whatever, but if I could possibly be executed for it, I would not go around telling people about how god is fake and cringe. Its also funny reading the accounts of the inquisitors, who for the most part, whilst obviously terrible and repressive, would let most cases like a single heretical peasant off with essentially a slap in the wrist, say you’re sorry, do a penance, your priest vouches for you being a good man and for the most part be allowed to rejoin society, but bro just couldn't do it. The number of executions the inquisition actually did was a lot less than we would think; it was usually reserved for wandering preachers, big religious leaders who were trying to get a schism going, etc.

The Return of Martin Guerre is interesting because its “plot” is basically 1-to-1, almost adapted into Pentiment’s character of Martin Bauer. The book was written by Natalie Zemon Davis, a historian and advisor to the French film of the same name based upon the real-life historical figure of Martin Guerre. After her experiences with the production, she decided to write a more “official” account of the story without the necessities of a 3-act structure and cinematic storytelling. Martin Guerre was a peasant in what is now modern-day Basque Country (part of Spain and France) who one day disappeared from his town and, unbeknownst to them, went off to Spain to join the army and eventually got wounded in battle during the Italian wars of the mid-16th century. Meanwhile, a man claiming to be Martin Guerre who bore an uncanny resemblance to the man arrived in Martin’s home town and, after some initial skepticism, was able to slide into his old life through his appearance and seemingly access to knowledge that only the real Martin Guerre could know. It also highlights that under the law of the time, Martin’s wife would not be allowed to remarry, and the way in which women were treated, her standing in society, and her ability to fend for herself were adversely affected by having an abandoned husband. Even worse, the real Martin could have died off in battle, but even this would not necessarily be enough to be able to remarry unless she could somehow prove her husband had been killed. It's not surprising then that she may have been, let’s say, willful to “be fooled” by the impostor, knowing that this was a once-in-a lifetime opportunity to solve her situation. Even more so after “Martin” received his deceased father’s inheritance and greatly increased the wealth of his household.

In Pentiment, Martin Bauer similarly runs off during Act 1 after stealing from the murdered baron and “returns” before Act 2 to take over the household after the death of his father. If pressed, you can uncover the fact that this man is actually Jobst Farber, a highwayman who ran off with Martin and eventually, when he died, used his resemblance to the man to take over his life. Similarly, in Pentiment, Martin’s wife Brigita seems consciously or unconsciously aware of the deception but begs Andreas not to rat him out of town, as he’s been a much better husband than Martin ever was, and in a purely utilitarian sense, his identity theft is seemingly the best outcome for everyone. If one remembers Act 1’s Ottilia Kemperyn, households without children or men to inherit property are very much unprotected, and it's easy to see why Brigita prefers to turn a blind eye to this Farber character’s lies. In the real-life case of Martin Guerre, the prosecution was initiated by Martin’s father-in-law who suspected foul play, but “Martin”’s wife was supportive of her impostor husband. Indeed, what ended up resulting in his execution was actually the return of the real Martin Guerre to the town, who, amusingly enough, seemed less able to answer the questions of the judge in regards to information that the real Martin Guerre would know than the fake one! Thankfully for the wife, sometimes misogyny works out in women’s favor, and she was essentially unpunished (and the real Martin Guerre was reprimanded for abandoning his wife and family) for what could have been considered adultery and false witness with essentially the old “ah well, she’s a woman, it makes sense her feeble mind would be fooled by a talented huckster like this” argument. Not as much of a happy ending for the impostor who got executed but was surprising apologetic, much like Martin Bauer is if you accuse him of murdering Otto Zimmerman during Act 2 of Pentiment.

The final book, I’ll admit, is one that I basically skimmed because it was really fucking boring, and I already read a biography of Albrecht Durer a while back, so a lot of it was just stuff I already knew. It was worth owning, if nothing else, A3 copies of Durer’s famous works. Albrecht Durer informs the character of Andreas quite a bit (though he is also a bit William of Baskerville and Andrei Rublev); indeed, his Act 1 design is heavily inspired by a famous Durer self-portrait. They are both painters from Nuremberg; they both (in Act 2) seem to really dread returning to their wives, which they hate back in Nuremberg; and during the lunch with Brother Sebhat, when a kid is having the concept of different ethnic groups and skin colors existing, Andreas chimes in that in the Netherlands he saw art from the New World that was greater than anything Europeans had ever done, echoing Durer’s admiration for New World art in particular made of metal; him being the son of a goldsmith, it makes sense he’d feel particularly fond of such things.

The use of Durer’s famous Melancholia 1 painting is a key aspect of Andreas’ character journey. In Act 1, his inner psyche is depicted as a court composed of King Prester John (a mythical figure in European folklore often thought of as the Ethiopian emperor), Beatrice from the Divine Comedy, St. Grobian, and Socrates. Whenever Andreas is debating a difficult decision, they can be called upon to give their two cents in a sort of id, ego, and super ego-type arrangement. In Act 2, however, it is only Beatrice who gives advice, her moderation and temperance having devolved into self-doubt and fear. At a key point, Andreas finds his court trashed and all absent safe for Beatrice, sitting in the pose of the famous aforementioned melancholia print: “Now I am all that remains, the melancholy of life’s autumn,” a manifestation of essentially a mid-life crisis for Andreas after becoming a successful artist but feeling hollow inside. Its fitting as well given the beliefs about mental health, a common conception of artists and creatives at the time as “melancholics," and a conception of depression and mental illness as markers for creative genius that sadly persists to this day.

4500 words later, and I'm both embarrassed by how long this has been and frustrated by how much more I could have gone into details on each of the entries, but I think that's enough for now. If anything, I hope this encourages anyone who’s played pentiment to check out one of the books and maybe draw their own connections I might have missed or forgot to include. Whenever I think about what differentiates a 5-star game from a 4.5- or 4-star game, I think this is it. A 5-star game will get me to read six books totaling probably like 1000+ pages. I’m currently reading through The Brothers Karamazov as part of The Friends of Ringo Ishikawa’s readable books list (so far I’ve read Winesburg, Ohio, Confessions of a Mask, and Rumble Fish), and maybe I’ll write a similar piece at some point for each (though bear in mind I started reading the first book in this collection a year ago, so y'know).

There’s a part of this where you can only see the boss you’re fighting through a rearview mirror and have to damage him by judging which of the three trains you’re running along the top of to decouple behind you, which is immediately followed up by having to raise a series of platforms said boss’ baby is standing on to prevent him from dipping your co-protagonist into rising lava via crane, both while dodging hails of projectiles. These just about make the top fifteen or so wildest scenarios in the game, maybe.

If Successor of the Skies (PAL supremacy) sounds crazy, that’s because it is, though it’s crazy with a purpose. Its mechanics seem straightforward enough initially: either flying or grounded, the player’s tools are exclusively shooting, charging up a more powerful shot, melee attacks or a dodge, and these are never added to from start to finish beyond minor alterations during certain setpieces. Only when you’re thrust into a genuinely overwhelming slarry of obstacles littering the screen from every angle is it that you’re driven to discover these moves’ less obvious nuances. The level I’ve referenced in the first paragraph has a great example of this, with a sequence in which enemies who are resistant to gunfire but get OHKO’d by melee attacks charge at you in such a rhythm that doing the full melee combo’s liable to get you hit (thereby teaching you that doing just its first one or two hits is sometimes preferable), but this kind of thing’s present in other areas too. A favourite of mine is how it handles parrying bosses – instead of telegraphing which attacks can be countered with a lens flare or something, as you might expect from other action games, you’re trusted to put two and two together when a boss enters the foreground and the intrusive thought of “What if I try kicking this gigantic claw swipe out of the way?” takes hold. Be it these, gauging just how much charge a shot needs to stun a given enemy or reflecting explosive projectiles back via melee, every interaction’s connected by the philosophy of nudging the player in the right direction without explicitly telling them.

How consistently intuitive it manages to be’s pretty staggering when you consider not just this hands-off approach, but also the creativity bursting out of it at every turn. As impossible as it is not to involuntarily grin at sights like a gruff military general splitting into three giant dolphins made of ink or a supersized lion wrapping a vulture around itself to become a griffon, it runs deeper than just presentational or conceptual levels. When a nominal rail shooter switches dimensions to chuck you into scenarios like a swordfight against a flying samurai lady or a fistfight in which you’re tethered to a particular spot on the floor, it’s tempting to think of these as borderline genre switches until the initial wow factor wears off and you realise that the moveset you’re utilising hasn’t really changed throughout the whole ride. As aforementioned, it’s never added to, though it is occasionally diminished to spice things up; apart from those examples, the segment following my favourite line in the game is an especially strong instance of design by subtraction, forcing you to approach familiar enemies differently both via said alien donkey/bike’s inability to fly and restricting your ability to fire if you hit the railings at each side of the screen. What gets me isn't just the fact the few tools at your disposal are versatile enough to be twisted into situations like this while never once feeling disparate from standard gameplay, it’s also that this isn’t even the only time that the borders of your screen are weaponised against you.

When the fact that you can legitimately never guess what’s up next on a minute-per-minute basis combines with the sheer amount of nonsense you have to navigate through at any given time, it’d be reasonable to worry about visual clarity becoming an issue, but it remarkably never does. There are enough actors, other interactable assets and particle effects jumping around that I frequently find myself wondering how Treasure got it running so smoothly on the Wii, although the hardware’s probably due thanks in this regard. Character models and environments being only so detailed hits a sweet spot in the same way that the visuals of the previous console generation did, teasing at realism enough to be immediately understandable while still being abstract and stylised enough to stoke the player’s imagination as to what else is out there in this bizarre vision of the future. It’d be myopic to attribute it all to working around technical limitations, though; the relatively muted palettes of levels’ backgrounds are clearly an intentional decision given just how much they help all the vital information pop out, from the seas of mooks you can’t take your eyes off of to the brightly coloured timer/score multiplier lining your peripheral vision. It’s a wonderful translation of art to game, which I think this wallpaper I can’t find the source of exemplifies pretty well (you’re welcome).

Although I like to waffle on about how much I value a game feeling focused, I’m pretty used to reading the parts of games I enjoy the most and which I couldn’t imagine them without written off by others as “bloat” or something similar to a point that my brain sometimes autotranslates it to “the fun parts.” Successor of the Skies is different to many of my favourites in that I genuinely can’t think of anything extraneous in it. So much as the file select music you hear when booting up the game is pitch perfect in terms of how well it sets the tone for what you can expect over the course of the next few hours, with all its boisterousness and excitement and undercurrents of melancholy. Don’t let how over the top it is fool you – not many games understand themselves as well as this one.

For what it did, this game is immune to criticism.
You can just pick up any 5-star reviews written in backloggd and I would mostly agree with their points.

However, I really hated the late-game part.

My line of thoughts is that Rain World's strength is never a precise platforming action. Maybe it's the issue of playing the game with the joystick only, but adjusting the minimal movement in the corner or over the ledge always felt like picking a sticky rice with chopsticks, and the static camera shot didn't help the intuitiveness when it moves the screen vertically.

What I liked about this game was mostly about making improvisational choices while weaving through heavily detailed wild animal AIs, which is still pretty brutal, but has some respect for players, because the failure state isn't always black&white, and there are (most the time) plenty of solutions and prep time for given situations.

The continuation of Five Pebbles, Chimney Canopy, and Sky Tower was probably the lowest point of my overall enjoyment because there are slippery death pits everywhere. At that point, I felt like I was playing a trial-and-error platformer but with RNG vultures sprinkled over it. The fact that those levels are gated by the Karma gates didn't help it too.

Also if I had to pick two more nitpicky stuffs....
- I hated that the time limit for the day cycle is randomized but then it doesn't penalize you for resetting right away to get a better day cycle. What's the point of this, rolling a slot machine or something?
- Maybe the ending sequence is too long and too visually aimless. If you have seen the ending, you would know that it would be really difficult for players with darker monitor settings. I was that poor hypothetical player btw.

Basically, that minus one star came from my pettiness.

(Ascension 10 on Ironclad, Heart with all characters)

- If you are on Ascension 0 (default/first difficulty), losses are 100% your fault and you just need to rethink your strategy.
- Adding cards instead of skipping makes your deck stronger on average in the early game, but bigger decks are less consistent later on.
- Look for card combos for the mid-late game that stack in power over time (aka "scaling")
- Many powerful cards and potions with downsides use debuffs which can be negated with artifacts.
- The Act 3 soft counter bosses can still be beaten with those decks and you have time to pivot from the start of the Act.
- Snecko Eye isn't good because it randomizes costs, it's good because you draw 2 more cards every turn.
- You don't need to block an attack if the enemy dies.
- Kill Elites now to get power for later.
- A less consistent deck is a slower deck.
- HP is a resource you are spending to buy encounter rewards.
- Bludgeon can be card draw, block, or energy gain. Read this MTG article until you understand why: https://articles.starcitygames.com/articles/innovations-the-theory-of-everything/

Favorite character: Ironclad, favorite cards by character: Bludgeon, Calculated Gamble, Biased Cognition, Blasphemy.

Better balanced than your favorite RPG.

Probably the greatest NES game ever made, but this shouldn’t be a surprise, right? Super Mario Bros. 3 represents Nintendo at the peak of their creativity and technical prowess, with no competition in sight but still blowing the fuck out of everyone around them regardless. A peak so tall that not even Nintendo themselves have been able to make the climb since, at least for this sub-category of Mario games.

I’d rather not get hung up on what was “impressive for the time” since I wasn’t even a cell at its release and only played it years later from the early 2010’s and beyond, but this thing is just an absolute monster on every front. More mechanics, more abilities, more physics tricks, more tech crammed in the cartridge itself, all in 10 times the file size of the original Super Mario Bros. despite only launching a mere 3 years after that game. A save feature is the most obvious omission given its release window and massive campaign relative to other Mario games, but I have to believe they would have included it if they found it practical to cram into the cartridge. It’s an absolute marvel for the hardware, that much is clear, but I wouldn’t be singing its praises if it ultimately amounted to little more than a tech demo.

After a groundbreaking first entry and a successor that amounted to little more than an extra-challenging level pack, Mario 3 sets to evolve the series in every facet, from ancillary elements like the world map and progression, to the actual structure and pacing of the platforming itself. Where modern 2D Mario is most often concerned with the “introduce in safe space -> expand in challenging ways -> throw away idea and start fresh” cycle of design, it was really refreshing to go back to this one and see just how different R&D4’s philosophy was back then. Individual Worlds are still often differentiated by tone and trends in terrain like the repeated encounters with Big Bertha in World 3 or the labyrinth of pipes that make up World 7, but the actual meat of the platforming found in each stage is often ambivalent to the thought of gimmicks or setpieces.

If you asked me, I’d say the defining trait of Mario 3 is its density. Rarely in all of its 90 levels does the game ever give you a moment to breathe, frequently subjecting you to brief dopamine hits of platforming gauntlets to blast through before moving onto the next level. While in a lesser game this could lead to ideas passing right through the player’s subconscious, effectively getting tossed away and lost to the sands of time before you hit the credits, Mario 3 sidesteps this in some pretty clever ways.

Firstly, the game is pretty tough, at least by Mario standards. This is something I never considered as a kid growing up with Super Mario USA as my still-pretty-shitty version of Mario 2, but you have to understand that this is the developer’s follow up to The Lost Levels, not Doki Doki Panic. Mario 3 never gets anywhere close to the cruelty of that game, but this connection reassured me that no, I’m not just bad at the game, but Mario 3 was actually getting kinda tough. Since dead air is all but eliminated and fine control over Mario requires more skill than ever before thanks to the addition of P-Speed and the lack of extended tracks to easily get there, most moments take more mental input on average from the player to lock in on and get through, so even after getting through the game spread out over the course of a few days in-between impassioned sessions with Ninja Gaiden Black (a game that has occupied all available brain space this past month), I doubt any moment will stand out as alien to me when I revisit the game in the future.

Beyond the surface level difficulty, I think the biggest triumph of these levels is the brisk pace in which you get through them. Levels are frequently over and done with in under 30 seconds, and since no moment is wasted, it feels like less of a commitment to munch through them in quick succession after either a full reset or even just a game over within a world. I can absolutely see this becoming the type of game where I just boot it up for a few minutes to mess around in a few levels, only to get caught in its orbit and run through the whole thing in an afternoon, that magnetic sense of flow and pacing is something I find difficult to maintain in a ~3 hour game, but Mario 3 nails it with absolute grace. It’s revealing to me that this is the only(?) 2D Mario that features absolute no checkpoints within any of its levels, further lending to how sticky the full layouts of stages tend to be in the game. Turns out it’s way harder to remember small slices of geometry within a stage if it lands in the half you won’t have to play through nearly as often to succeed completely.

As you progress through each of the 8 Worlds and new arrangements of locales spring to life on the route to the castle, it always feels like a completely fresh journey awaits as soon as you land. The idea of bringing in a world map was probably born of the desire to bring more flavor to progression as well as to house your item inventory, two things that surely smoothed out the flow of play for a wider demographic of people, but surprisingly, laying out a route in disarray has a cool side effect on potential failure. The most obvious benefits to world layouts are the ability to hold secrets and skip levels, but it’s the wipe of progress that comes from a game over that really perked my ears up on this recent playthrough.

Rather than simply wiping all your progress, Mario 3 slowly peels back the world with shortcuts and new routes that open after passing certain milestones or using specific items, with the distinction that main number levels will still be reset when all lives are depleted. If you had to start fresh each time in a challenging section of the game, it could potentially lead to repeated runs becoming more exhausting to play through. While I personally enjoy gauntlet challenges in games as I find them to be interesting tests of endurance when done well, it can get tiring pretty fast (unless, again, you’re as suffocating as say, NGB).

With the middle-ground approach found here, I think it more easily satisfies all types of players rather than catering to one side of the fence. After tearing down a fortress you can start skipping levels you may have already completed, but crucially, they still remain open if you want to go back in for power ups or extra lives. If game overs had truly no downside, walls of progression could potentially drain you of all your resources and become all the more frustrating to push through when you have nothing left to fall back on, but here, you always have time to rethink your approach and plan for your next attack. Alternatively, if your nuts are fat you can always smash your head against the wall more quickly by going straight to these tougher sections, ultimately leading to a faster pace and more rewarding level completions. While it admittedly comes into play mainly at lower skill levels (let’s not kid ourselves, Mario 3 isn’t that hard of a game all things considered), it’s still a consideration I greatly admire. And besides, high level players still get to enjoy the simple pleasures of the map, such as the increase of tension late in the game or the joy of cleaning out an entire screen of content without heavy failure.

While the advent of 3D titles as well as later 2D Mario games are clear canvases for expression from the big N, always keeping this series fresh some 40 years on, so much of their success is owed to this game in particular. You could say the existence of a level hub and level skipping are probably the traits Super Mario 64 are best known for on a wide scale, but they weren’t designed fresh for that game, they started here. It’s not just a case of a game introducing cute ideas for later games to perfect - though a compelling case can and has been made that Super Mario 64 is one of the best to ever do it - it’s a case of a game truly perfecting every pillar of design it tackled. I’m not sure I’ve played another 2D Mario (or maybe Mario in general) that feels so alive and well-realized as this. Beyond its influence for future games, beyond how impressive it stood for the time, beyond how important it is culturally, it nails perhaps the most important trait of a game like this. It’s just really god damn fun to play. For my money, it passes with flying colors and soars into the skies of perfection. It’s Super Mario Bros. 3, man.

The presentation of Tunic is unassuming, initially looking like yet another flat-stylized medium-sized indie game (see: VR games), but slowly I realized that it's not "just another", but is extremely intricately designed where every little detail that does exist does matter. It's masterful in art direction and sound design, quickly rolling its way into my favorite soundtracks as well.

I'll split gameplay up into two distinct sections here as many do, but I want to clarify now that this is as deliberate from me as it is from the game.

Combat-wise it's somewhere between any Zelda or Souls, feeling more like the former with some mechanics of the latter (stamina management etc.); actual encounter design is pretty firmly in the middle, at first feeling very much akin to something like Link's Awakening but evolving into something a bit meaner and a lot more thoughtful like Dark Souls or Elden Ring. (further elaboration in log notes, those will contain outright spoilers for mechanics just forewarning) This is one thing I've seen begroaned fairly often and I just don't get why? It's honestly pretty solid and opens up a lot as the game keeps going, though by the back half it then becomes kind of irrelevant; which, not to sound all "just trust me" but it becoming basically irrelevant is not at all a bad thing, it's just not the focus anymore, and I'd be willing to bet it was a deliberate metanarrative decision to reinforce this next segment. Before that though, worth noting that somewhat recently(?) they added better accessibility options in regards to difficulty; before it was basically default or god mode, but I think 2D Zelda fans refusing to level with Tunic will be happy they got their wish with the infinite stamina option. (In all seriousness, settings like these are great)

If you look at my log dates, you'll see I started Tunic over a year prior to what I'd consider my actual playthrough from Nov. 12th-16th, because frankly I find most puzzle games to be daunting. Not because I think I'm incapable of solving them, I eventually will for most things aimed at general audiences, but because I can never really escape feeling anxious around them. Tunic was different though, its navigational puzzles were always welcoming to get into and felt like natural evolutions. But I knew there was more, the entire language (which is no mere alphabet swap), the drip feeding of some key word info. Truthfully, I had hints at about 4 points, but like 3 of those were me somehow missing a manual page in plain sight like 10 hours ago and a friend chiming in where it was. I felt very out of my depth at the beginning, but once things started to click, it kept rolling and was exciting; frustrating at times, but nothing some deep breaths and short breaks didn't bring me back around to fixing.

My favorite part of the game though, enough to make stingy ol' me want to break a habit or beg for a bday present, is the in-game manual. The manual is an absolute masterstroke of game design and I refuse to elaborate further. I cannot stress how utterly incredible it is, made with such care by itself that most games blush at the task of detailing something so much while also giving it so much purpose. I wish I had a physical copy of the manual.

And now we reach the point where I feel talking about things much further would be too spoilery, and I had to keep things vague in other areas I normally wouldn't like doing in so as not to ruin the mystique entirely. Maybe just an excuse, I don't know; I feel Tunic deserves more words, though. It has this absolutely unparalleled sense of exploration and discovery, which will likely take even the most experienced puzzle game enjoyers by surprise. Barring only a couple puzzles that lack even a clue to their solution aside from "that one thing you forgot you could try 10 hours ago", the rest of them hit it out of the park and the game punched surprisingly well thematically for me.

One last thing, HLTB clocking in "12 hours" makes me mad and people who've completed the game will know why... They will never experience transcendence...

In one word: Knowledge.

Favorite tracks (3 hour long album btw, awesome.)
Redwood Colonnade
This Is The Wrong Way
Crouch Walker
Snowmelt
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Honestly, having finally finished Dead Rising 2, it’s kind of a wash as to which of the games is better- there’s an admirable attempt to shore up some of the balancing issues of the first but it never really lands with the same force of its predecessor.

I guess the major thing is the setting itself- Fortune City feels like a fundamentally less compelling location to learn, its layout is too massive to be inviting to casually explore, and most of your objectives clustered around the eastern side and center of the map. Most crucially, it’s a location that provides less of the escapist thrill that Dead Rising 1 so neatly tapped into by giving you free reign over a shopping mall. In that, there was a great feel to window shopping for your next improvised weapon or collectible- what would you do in a zombie apocalypse?- here it’s way less interesting to run through the blur of the different casinos and exotic stores, big chunks of the map feeling redundant to explore when they offer such similar items and attractions.

It’s ostensibly made up for by the new combo weapon system, where two random items can be combined to make some freakish killing tool, but it ends up being a little flat in practice- instead of picking up a sledgehammer or an ax for their crowd control and damage, you pick up both and combine the two into one weapon that’s good for crowd control and damage, a tunnel vision setting in where you should only grab items designated with the blue “combo” icon and can safely disregard the rest.

Despite all that, its fundamental interactions are a lot stronger this time around. You’re given the same open-ended objectives of killing psychopaths and rescuing groups of survivors, but because there’s nothing so dominant as the chainsaws from DR1 (at least, that I could find) fights demand a bit more thought: of carving out enough time to actually fight them properly, and doing enough prep work in terms of weapons and healing items to successfully outlast the boss. Actually describing the process of the fights-“you have to avoid their telegraphed attacks! and find space to heal!”- is no great thing, but this simple process is something you need to engage with much more honestly, and is a consistent source of tension throughout. Even the survivors, who are so docile and durable as to remove most of the challenge of escorting them entirely, get some extra utility if you opt to use them as extra firepower on some of the tougher encounters. Doesn’t have some of the near-transcendent upsets of the original, but is able to maintain a steady pulse for the duration.

There are some other good additions to the setting as well, with inclusion of cash and the doses of the drug Zombrex serving as meaningful resources to work towards in the longer stretches of downtime, and speak to a game that nicely follows-up the chaos of the original; a national tragedy turned into a routine protocol that’s been co-opted and monetized from every angle- where the first game descended into complete anarchy, here it’s business a semi-usual, hitting up slot machines in the hopes of winning big, and agonizing over a system that makes grotesque profits on a life-saving drug. The story proper is a little dry, and Chuck with his more defined history and motivation, doesn’t fit as neatly into the role of a player avatar as Frank did, but as with the rest of the game it's bolstered by these smart background details.

A big missed opportunity that’s really going to stick with me is with the "Terror is Reality" gameshow that appears briefly in the intro and serves as an excuse for the supplemental online mode- easy to imagine how it could’ve been interwoven with the rest the game, serving as an easy justification to flood the map with a new horde of adrenaline-junkie psychos in the later days, and doubly a waste given how nicely it could’ve played homage the gladiatorial setting of Dead Rising’s spiritual predecessor, Shadow of Rome. And, semi-related, but Chuck’s BMX background feels similarly underused as well, the Fortune City strip not offering a great playspace for tricks, and the big, climatic-feeling setpiece where you chase after a train coming far too early in the story. Would be a much better lead-in to the finale than the repeated fetch quest in overtime mode.

Still floored that the best climax to any of these games is in the Case Zero DLC, where you’re pulled away to help save another father-daughter pair with only minutes to spare before your own race through a quarantine checkpoint. Ties together all its themes and honors the mechanical identity of the series in a way no other Dead Rising game manages to.

An immidiately engaging shooter. Each stage provides a host of tempting side objectives that you will attempt the better you get. Many dislike the visual style but the voxel destruction is something that personally appeals to me and provides satisfying feedback to wiping out groups of enemies. Dying makes power ups drop which creates a tense scramble to regain your tools yet isn't as punishing as starting from scratch.
Further mastery opens up more and more of the game. Currently reached a 1cc of experienced mode (got bodied by the last boss).
The soundtrack is appropriately addrenaline fueled.
My only real issue is how alternative weapons are made available, a quicker skill based way of choosing a weapon would be preferrable to potentially waiting for the "right" weapon to appear. Perhaps they could all appear in a wheel selection and you have to dash and or shoot the one you want. I understand level space is at a premium so this solution could be difficult to implement, i'm just spit balling.
That being said each weapon (even the sword which seems to be fairly lacking compared to the others) has it's own pros/cons so even if you mainly stick to one, trying out another will present a potentially different playstyle.
Already one of my all time favourites.

Played on default settings with Survivor.

Rain World's.. well, world, is utterly beautiful and captivating, there's something about it that strikes me as endlessly interesting with just how diverse each region is despite what could broadly be described as "post-apocalyptic industrial"; it effortlessly outclasses many in this aesthetic genre, with a sprinkling of Buddhist theming that elevates it to masterclass status in my book. It feels like a mashup of Girls Last Tour and Made in Abyss visually. I feel like this is where the intrigue for many comes in, especially in the last couple of years or so with the cutesy Slugcat fanart and gifs people love sharing around (I did so for ages before even playing), but I feel something is miscommunicated about the game from this angle by the fandom.

When people talk about a game having disregard for a player in a good way, the vast majority of the time they're talking about Demon's Souls or sometimes Dark Souls 1, or cheap shots in mostly old PC games; but these games always give the player the tools to overcome, especially the lauded Souls franchise and adjacent. Rain World does not, or at least not really; you might be given a spear, but the amount of hostile enemies you can actually kill with it? Like, two, at least somewhat reasonably. The world does not care if you wish to walk across that bridge, there is an eldrich horror larger than you could have imagined casually feasting on one of the beasts that previously demolished you. Wait... There's your chance to get past, RUN! Jump over that rock, hurry! Scurry along you silly little Slugcat and pray the monster is still engorging itself. Finally you reach the pipe, and on the other side, another beast, instantly snaps you up.

Press [start] to continue.

So you've learned something at least, about how this ecosystem interacts; but you died, despite how hard it may have been to get where you were. You can't go back though, you know it's a dead end, the worm nudges in that same direction still. You have to push on, Survivor. So you push forward again, with that depleting Karma meter you haven't payed much attention to only a couple hours in or so. You claw and climb your way through a (to you) arduous section with some beasts and perilous jumps, until you finally reach the door and shimmy through, to be met with a Karma Gate at tier 3, but alas you are only tier 1, and hungry. Time's almost up, the screen begins shaking and the sound becomes thunder, soon you're washed away into oblivion. How utterly frustrating, I thought, how could they make the player go through all of that knowing they'd likely die and be unable to get through? There's a lot of moments like this, and an area in particular that drove me insane, I constantly asked "how would I change this?", and each time I'd conclude, simply, that I wouldn't. To fix that or place that on a cycle or something rigid would defeat the purpose or at least severely crack the game's vision. To approach these challenges from the perspective of "how would I change this for the player experience" is to directly detract from the experience of the Slugcats.

This isn't about you, this is about a Slugcat which in this game no matter how good the player may be might as well be regarded as only a couple rungs above insects. The act of killing something that could also kill you is rare, and reliant on often single-use tools you happen across. You WILL be fumbling with Slugcat's movement to the very end and it's all the better for it. Why should things be easy? The decision as well to make the game fixed-screen was also massively beneficial to selling the uneasiness in a 2D space, it places extra emphasis on immersing yourself in the soundscape, listening to every little audio cue you can to clue yourself in on what's just around the corner. It also makes the game feel even larger than it already is, while still retaining measurable distance over "samey" screens such as certain waterways or long tunnels. The sound design is also masterful, and it synergizes perfectly with the visual presentation and how it impacts progression through the game.

With the Downpour DLC came a free update that optionally adds visual cues to things such as indicators for off-screen enemies and accessibility options such as an engine slowdown similar to Celeste's; I always appreciate these sorts of updates and tweaks on principle, but I would still strongly urge trying to Survive and to only tweak downwards if you're genuinely going to drop the game over these gripes. They are in my mind what makes Rain World, Rain World, but I get it.

Ultimately Rain World represents what I believe to be the most realized vision in a video game, period. Unfaltering in its indifference to the player and their usual power-trip-seeking behavior and drip feed dopamine addictions, it has a story to tell about the cutest thing in the world simply trying to reunite in an apocalyptic world, and it refuses every step of the way to fall victim to dissonance between its gameplay and its narrative.


In one word: Primordial.

As rickety and often barely functional yet ultimately powerful as its titular protagonists. Less than an hour into this replay, I got stuck inside a door and had to reload a save to get out, had a guard I’d intimidated into passivity turn hostile again when he rounded a corner and witnessed an unconscious, bedridden patient aggressively A-pose when I fed on his doctor, but as ever, I stick with it regardless because virtually everything else about the game is so enthralling. The ladies call it “oh God!,” but you can call it Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines.

Paradoxically, VTMB’s main strength is probably its immersion. No amount of glitchiness could be enough to prevent anyone from feeling smothered in the atmosphere of dark urban decay it depicts, even after several playthroughs; this was my fourth since I was little and I still find myself wary of areas which I should know by now have no enemies or other dangers, because (appropriately, considering the game’s premise) there’s always a pervasive sense that there could be. Something less obvious that contributes to this is the fact that it’s one of few RPGs with a contemporary setting – it’s easier to feel on edge when familiar locales like a beachside hotel, a hospital or an arcade are supernaturally twisted into something uncomfortable. These aspects join hands with a soundtrack which sounds like what you’d see if you peered into the mind of any of this portrayal of LA’s aimless drifters, grungy ambient sound effects, imposing neo-Gothic architecture and some lovely, imagination-sparking skyboxes to make each of its four small but dense hub worlds that much more of a joy to explore, even when the later portions take their infamous downturn in terms of options for resolving quests and general rushed-ness.

It's a pity that the endgame’s so combat-orientated given that the combat system, despite being somewhat flexible and satisfying in small doses thanks to some of the more out-there vampiric powers, generally isn’t engaging enough to maintain long-term interest. One area in which VTMB never falters, though, is in terms of character interactions. Stellar voice acting and facial animations unique in their sheer expressiveness, true even of NPCs which most players might never even encounter, don’t just bring its cast to (un)life but also make the dialogue system feel more natural, too. As in the first two Fallout games with which Troika shared several staff, NPCs’ demeanour towards you is telegraphed diegetically via their facial expressions and, although speech checks are highlighted by a bunch of fancy fonts, there’s no indication of whether you’ll succeed at them or whether doing so’ll even result in a beneficial outcome. Only on my third playthrough did I learn that you can lock yourself out of getting the Downtown haven if you’re too cheeky to LaCroix, with no warnings next to any of the dialogue options that result in this. It’s all too rare and all too cool that an RPG pulls the rug out from under you like this and lets you get whisked away on a domino effect of your poor decisions, however minor they seem at the time.

What accentuates this even further is the diversity between the clans you can pick at the start. Playing a Malkavian or Nosferatu in particular’s so differentiated from those with their heads and/or skin screwed on that it’s almost like playing the game for the first time again; as above, it wasn’t until this replay that I learned you could skip the tutorial and miss out on a free lockpick until I realised the hard way that I don’t have as good a grasp on the voices in my Malk’s head as I’d thought. It occasionally feels like every character needing to be voiced restricted the lengths Troika could go to in integrating unique interactions for these oddball clans, but the fact that there’s one entirely optional clan which alters every single line of player dialogue in the game and at least one other which fundamentally changes how you have to navigate the hubs is really impressive, no less for the restraint this must’ve taken than for its impact on gameplay and replay value – again, reminiscent of low-INT builds in Fallout 1 and 2.

You’ll probably have noticed that this review’s got a consistent thread running through it of getting slapped in the face with things I didn’t know were in the game before, and that’s because a core draw of VTMB is discovery. It’s why I’ve not dug into how juicy much of its dialogue is, the surprising amount of other World of Darkness tabletops it draws from beyond just Vampire or the frequency with which it reminds you what a vivid imagination its character designers/artists have, because it all deserves to learnt firsthand. That said, I did make a tiny collage to drive home the latter point: these four characters all live on roughly the same street. The amount of effort it must’ve taken to conceptualise a cast so varied’s almost as mad to think about as the fact that VTMB is old enough now to arguably function as period piece.

This being as true of the time in which it released as of its contents is what led to this revisit in the first place. Having played and enjoyed Cyberpunk 2077 and Starfield in quick succession, both of which feature only about as many bugs across an entire playthrough as any individual hour of this (if even), I find it hard to imagine a world where the public wouldn’t sentence VTMB to the same death-by-hyperbole if it were to come out now, without the reputational fortune of being long solidified as a cult classic for epic gamers only. It turns out that releasing in the same week as Half Life 2, MGS3 and Halo 2 was a blessing in disguise, if only because this was well before the Camarilla saw fit to punish us with social media monetisation and how it's helped foster vague, directionless outrage about games most of those perpetuating it have no intention of playing anyway as its own micro-industry.

Forever glad that people were able to see the forest for the trees in this particular case, for whatever reason, and recognise that not even bugs on the level of crashing the game when you press the screenshot button or a penultimate boss in three out of four story routes constituting what may genuinely be the worst boss fight in any video game are enough to sink the one-of-a-kind RPG that VTMB is. Take the plunge into its supernatural underworld, look forward to making mistakes along the way and remember: don’t open it.

Beyond their obvious visual splendor, what really struck me about Boku Natsu 2’s fixed camera angles was how they create a unique relationship with time. In similar Japanese adventure games about mundane day-to-day life – your Shenmues or your Chulips – the clock is always running independent of you and this often creates situations where you simply have nothing to do but twiddle your thumbs while you wait for the next scheduled event to happen. As top Backloggd scholars have pointed out, this can be oddly immersive in a way, as you scroll through your real-life phone or do something else around the house while you wait for the time to pass in-game. I’m not fully sold on these kinds of “time-wasting” systems but there’s certainly a lot of charm in how they represent boredom and alienation felt within the hustle and bustle of the city.

Boku No Natsuyasumi 2 is set in the rural countryside though, and as such its understanding of time is quite different from those games about city slickers. While there’s still a day/night cycle and a finite number of days before the game ends, time only advances when you move from one pre-rendered background to the next. Constructing the game this way, you still feel the pressure to spend your time wisely and traverse the world as efficiently as you can, but each screen is also its own pocket dimension where you can linger as long as you’d like. This is the real difference here: In Chulip, passive play is something forced onto you and an excuse for the player to stop paying attention to the game for a couple minutes. Sometimes you just miss a train and have nothing better to do but sit around waiting for the next one. In Boku Natsu 2 however, passive play is turned into an active choice. A conscious decision, as significant as any other, to do absolutely fucking nothing but drink in the sunset until that fireball finally goes out for good. At one point a character playing the guitar remarks that she feels like she’s been sitting in the same spot strumming the same song for 1000 years. And maybe she has been. These beautiful, fleeting moments can last forever if you’d like them to.

Like most of my favorite game narratives, Boku Natsu 2 is quite thin on actual plot and is instead a game about talking to loads of different people and slowly forming an understanding of character relationships and the world around you. And there’s a satisfyingly predictable rhythm to how it all unfolds; each character will have exactly two new things to say to you each time you see them, the many subplots of this game being fed to you a couple breadcrumbs at a time. Through it all, there’s an understanding that seeing and doing everything is completely infeasible. Minigames are too time-consuming and characters are spaced too far apart for you to realistically see half of what this game has to offer on a first playthrough. So despite the game’s large number of collectibles and sidequests, play rarely becomes something stressful or compulsive. As the in-game month of August wore on and subplots continued to pile up, I did start to feel less like a child on summer vacation and more like an errand boy for all the grown-ups around me. Though the game smartly chooses to wrap up its major character arcs a few days before the ending, which gives you a chance to decompress and play aimlessly for just a little bit longer.

Boku Natsu 2 is an unrelentingly pleasant game about nature, romance, and new life, but it never becomes too saccharine as there’s always the specter of industry, divorce, and death creeping in around the edges. The writing itself is wonderfully terse, full of frequently beautiful reflections on life and the world that feel achingly true to conversations between children and adults. Even when the story suddenly escalates during the final third and the player starts piecing together a larger picture that our 9 year old main character has no ability to process, Boku Natsu 2 always puts that 9 year old’s perspective front and center. Because at the end of the day, that perspective and innocence is why he’s able to mend the hearts and soothe the souls of everyone around him.

“Listen, doesn’t sitting on the swing make you feel like you can be a poet?”

"Hmm? Ah, hello there. Come down to explore these beautiful old ruins? Don't mind me.
I've a fondness for exploring myself. Getting lost and finding your way again is a pleasure like no other. We're exquisitely lucky, you and I." ❤️

Throughout my journey in Hallownest it felt as though a timetraveler went back to write the game to specifically mock me at several points, to terrify and sadden me at others; something I can't say I expected to feel from Hollow Knight, but the game has multiple moments instilling every type of emotion in me within a world so full of death with life that persists in decay. There's a nearly overwhelming sense of melancholy to nearly everyone and how they conduct themselves, but they all handle it differently. Some seem blissfully unaware, but even the seemingly arrogant and naive Zote has a deeper motivation buried in his being beyond fame and glory.
I simply adore the writing and attention to detail, Elderbug at the beginning of the game for example has 3 different greetings depending on if: 1) you greet him immediately, 2) you walk past him and come back, or 3) you walk past him, enter the well, then come back. He's far from the only example of this, the game is utterly chock full of flavor text and worldbuilding in such an unobtrusive way that I'd wager the casual gamer who isn't an autist like me who tries to exhaust every dialogue exchange will end up missing 2/3 of it. I find that absolutely incredible, and as far as any game goes I've only seen this level of care put into every minute detail rivaled by Supergiant's Hades.

Mechanically speaking this is perhaps the simplest part to talk about, but let me get it out of the way: The start is SLOW. Like, REALLY slow. It's not the slowest I've ever played but it's almost zen-like in its pacing for the first few hours until you find the dash ability and not too long after the walljump. Everything else is anything but slow though, for what I can only describe as MegaMan X/NES platformer kind of movement where your momentum is (practically) fixed pace and jump height is dictated extremely granularly by how long you hold the jump button. The act of exploration, uncovering more of the map, finding new or recurring characters is always exciting; it's a little bewildering just how massive the map is yet it's navigable with a fairly sparse quick travel system.
One system I'd like to highlight in particular though because it seems to be a weird point of contention is the Shade. Upon death, you leave a "Shade", which contains all of the Geo (the game's currency) you had on your person similar to bloodstains in the Souls games; difference here is you must attack it to absorb it. Again, similarly, if you die before doing so that money is just gone. I've seen a number of people complain about this but despite losing nearly 2k(!!) at one point it never really bothered me, because secretly this game keeps handing out items you can sell for 200, 400, 800, even 1000 geo to a vendor you meet at the halfway point (when geo starts to become relevant at all). I personally do not understand the frustration with this system, it's far less important than in something like Dark Souls which I know y'all love and the game periodically hands out a way to bypass having to manually collect it anyways (once per use, but by the end of the game I had 15~ of these lol). It incentivizes me to think about how I'm picking my wallet back up once in a while which is more than I can say about mashing X (Sony) while sprinting over a funny puddle. Even Zote knows better.
The combat is snappy and tight, very clearly designed around the instantaneous or otherwise fixed-distance movements; in a similar vein of dismissiveness I see nobody mentioning how you can adjust your playstyle dramatically through the use of Charms, if you want to be a spell-spamming glass cannon there's nothing stopping you and it's perfectly viable. Bosses are almost all excellent, with the finale being one of my favorite in any video game. (spoilers) "GIT GUD!"

Artistically probably one of my all-time favorites, in every department. I will say though, I became progressively upset in the latter half with each new area I found--BECAUSE Y'ALL KEPT TELLING ME THEY LOOKED THE SAME?? THEY LITERALLY DON'T?! THEY'RE DIVERSE AND BEAUTIFUL IN BOTH TRADITIONAL AND HAUNTING WAYS??? Seriously what the fuck!!! Game has a callout for this seemingly LOL
Real talk though it's incredble how cohesive the art direction is while still maintaining clear identities of each region. I have no problem distinguishing, without opening the full map, (minor spoilers start) that I'm at for example Greenpath, Fungal Waste, or Fog Canyon (minor spoilers end) despite these looking vaguely similar and all in approximately the same area. I also have no problem distinguishing the "edges" (no way to be more specific without giving away one of the coolest parts of the entire game imo). On a far more personal level I adore the character designs for the sole reason that they are simple yet extremely identifiable, which makes them encouraging to want to draw myself!

I want to put in so many different quotes from the residents of Hallownest, but if I put in the ones I "liked" I could fill out three more of these reviews. I opened with the one I did because I think it most accurately reflects my main joy in the game, or tied at least; I also just think that the game brilliantly shows all the different outlooks on the same circumstances people can have. My depression is not the same as yours, we have different struggles even if we potentially have the same trauma. It's as confounding as it is beautiful, right? Maybe... I don't know how to eloquently close that. The music and art and writing all come together to aid in that perfectly. I could have ended my playthrough 15~ hours earlier than I did, but I chose to delve deeper into the game and that only made it better as I learned more about each characters, their plights, their relationships and bringing the gay couple together.

In a world a world where every AAA studio is racing to see who can fit the most absurd amount of filler sidequests per dollar, even going so far as to start pondering the use of rancid A.I. tools to inflate this even more, (archive link), it's hard to see Hollow Knight as anything less than incredible.

One more.

“In every heart, there is nobility. Proof of this lies before us, dormant within you, when you’re blinded… but only by its grace may you ascend to that plain where truth and essence lie.”

...One more.

“Are we not all just wandering souls in search of purpose? To find meaning in this vast existence… It is the greatest quest of all.”

...Just one more.

“To protect the weak, that is this kingdom’s last and only wish. Where life might have ended, hope has remained.”

...

“Maybe dreams aren’t such a bad thing after all.”

In one word: Remain.

Favorite track from the OST

"Terraria is a land of adventure! A land of mystery! A land that's yours to shape, to defend and to enjoy. Your options in Terraria are limitless, are you an action gamer with an itchy trigger finger? A master builder? A collector? An explorer? There's something for everyone here."

I took this directly from the Terraria wiki, since we spent almost the entire game with it open; I thought it best to consult it first. This brief introduction defines well what Terraria is and what you can expect from the game. Terraria is easily one of my favorite indie games, I'm not sure where it would rank in my list, but it would definitely be among the top five I like the most. But what makes this game incredible?

Terraria emerged at a time when Minetrash was starting to gain popularity, meaning comparisons between the two are inevitable, but the similarities are limited to just the basic concepts: procedurally generated worlds, mining, and the crafting workbench. However, Terraria has undergone many more changes over the years and has received almost a decade of free updates. This demonstrates the care that the developers have for the game.

At first glance, Terraria may not seem very appealing; it is visually simple and can easily be mistaken for just another generic sandbox title. But as you explore the landscape, it becomes evident how creative the game is. It goes beyond mere building and ore collection, delving much deeper into the basic mechanics of a sandbox. Here, there is a genuine reason to construct things, not just for aesthetic purposes; it is crucial for the game's progression. Yes, there is indeed a progression in the game, along with an overwhelming amount of content such as bosses, events, NPCs, tons of weapons, accessories, and many other items that will aid you on your journey – over 5000 items at your disposal. The game's progression is measured by the bosses you defeat, and by doing so, you gain access to new items like stronger pickaxes, allowing you to gather new resources and become even more formidable to face the next boss.

Overall, Terraria offers an extremely satisfying experience and deserves all the praise it receives. Obviously, this is just a simplistic view in the face of the grandeur that the game represents. Each generated world is a unique experience, after all, being a sandbox, the way you explore the world, build structures, or defeat the bosses is entirely up to the player.

a triumph for scenario design aficionados. hour after hour of slices of the real world perfectly aligned into a playground of roving militants and hapless civilians. rarely does a game ever make its missions feel properly explorable while keeping it taut and linear at the same time, and yet deus ex routinely weaves both together. for every point A to point B underground lair with traps laid out in sequence there is a completely open venue, such as the suffocating catacombs and their dimly lit hallways giving way to the Champs-Élysées avenue of paris, with a bakery to pilfer contraband drugs from, a hostel with full bar access, and an arms dealer's loaded apartment, all off the beaten path from your main objective. military bases and science labs retain the layout you'd expect had you ever toured one, and you'll find that locker rooms, rows of cubicles, and break rooms feature just as prominently in the dungeon crawling as warehouses with guards patrolling or tightly wound mazes of laser tripwires and turrets. the authenticity and legibility of these areas comes first, and yet more often than not the designers still manage to weave in appropriate challenges without violating each location's fidelity in the process.

and really, dungeon crawling is the name of the game here, more or less. at least half of the game takes place in some sort of complex with a destination and a set of non-linear gates along the way, all of which serve as hinge points for the player to choose which resources to expend. the "immsim" label comes from just how many resources have all gotten slammed together in your control: lockpicks and "multitools" for bypassing security, ammo for many different varieties of firearms, bio-energy for utilizing your augmented abilities, and a slew of consumable items meant for tanking bullets, running past enemies undetected, or breathing under water for long periods of time. at its most taut, the game generally puts some sort of barrier up in your way and then a way around it, with the direct option being something like combat or picking a lock and the indirect option being finding a vent or waterway to circumvent the barrier. with enough of these situations back to back, the game hopes that you'll avoid sticking to one gameplay style in order to preserve your resources in that area for later when they seem more necessary; you can't crack every door with lockpicks, so you'll probably have to get your hands dirty or crawl on your belly here and there if you want to keep your picks for when the alternative is, say, running through a irradiated area. the nice part of this is that it truly does work: I explored, snuck around, and fought off enemies all in equal measure throughout the game through entirely organic response to each of the situations. the downside is by endgame the resource economy has completely turned in your favor assuming you've been rotating all of your options, making decisions on resource expenditure past a certain point much more about cleaning out your inventory rather than rationing.

when the game is firing on all cylinders, you'll get something like bunker III from the aforementioned catacombs. the area is two large rooms with a camera and turret tracking you at the back of the first room right in front of a cell full of hostages, multiple floors connected by stairs with archways for cover in the second room, and a back hallway swarming with rocket-strapped operatives where the camera/turret controls and a key to the next reside; a waterway additionally connects the front of the first room with the back of the second room. here you have actual tradeoffs to deal with: just grabbing the key and skipping the whole area by going through the waterway works, but the coverage in the back hallway can be intense depending on the AI's behavior, and your direct path to the key is blocked by strategically placed crates as soon as you leave the waterway. gunning for the security controls instead is feasible, and you can leverage the fact that hacking computers (sometimes?) pauses enemies for a bit to quickly run out, disable everything, and hop back in the waterway. you could also sneak in from the front and use an augmentation that hides you from cameras to avoid triggering the turret, and if you rescue the hostages with lockpicks instead of locating the cell key and leave the area early, you'll get the next area's key from their camp leader anyway. when the game constructs situations like these, they not only make the discrete tradeoffs impactful on the flow of a given level, they also weave it into the actual second-to-second movement, stealth, and combat as well.

at its worst it's the opposite: individual rooms with a guard or two and maybe a computer system or locked door stitched together by long hallways that inoculate each scenario from one another. in these sections the main appeal is exploration, either through finding nooks and crannies hidden from view or by reading the many "data cubes" with flavor text strewn around. it can still be exciting, especially earlier on when you don't have tools to detect enemies through walls and the suspense of moving around still persists. later in the game when one has more abilities at their disposal, breaking apart puzzles or barriers by jumping over them with enhanced height, moving large crates to use as stairs with enhanced strength, or shooting down doors with a mastered rifle ability can potentially make the monotony less apparent. some of the barriers don't fare quite as well due to a lackluster implementation: the hacking, for instance, is more or less free even with minimal upgrades, and for every camera you have to actually maneuver around there's at least four you'll disable without thinking just because the security terminals are easy to access. if the mission locations didn't adhere to the small details of real environments or didn't have cute little secrets in vents and lock-boxes, these issues would likely overcome the holistic experience and result in tedium.

the tiny details extend further than objects in the world as well. from early on when one of your augmented colleagues begins spontaneously complaining about getting the wrong can of soda from a vending machine, I had hoped that the scripting for the NPCs would stay high quality, and it absolutely persisted to the final moments of the game, when a civilian mechanic distraught by my actions pulled a gun on me behind my back. the tight pacing of the levels compared to a full open world experience allows for many of the individual NPCs to have unique dialogue, behavior, and even inventory when subdued. of these the most fascinating to me may have been a conversation with a chinese bartender in hong kong, who extolled the CCP's commitment to capitalist enterprise outside the purview of the new world order by emphasizing authoritarian nationalism against main character denton's idealized western democratic order. it's something you wouldn't see now in the xi jinping era and weirdly reflective of the game's almost non-ideological view of politics: people-facing organizations controlled by layers upon layers of shadowy organizations, each manipulating social behavior in a top-down way compared to the bottom-up class struggle and ideological superstructure of reality. not really a thought-provoking work unless you're particularly animated by vague gesturing towards "control" and "liberty," but at least you can tell the developers didn't take it too seriously either. there's roswell-style gray aliens running around for christ's sake.

For followers of the Ace Attorney franchise, Dai Gyakuten Saiban appeared to be an unattainable mirage. Released in 2015 and never localised, the title was a distant beacon that players were desperately trying to experience. The situation had already happened in the past with Gyakuten Kenji 2 (2011). The game was a follow-up to the first spin-off which already featured Miles Edgeworth. In that case, the combination of the disappointing sales of the first opus and the impossibility of splitting the localisation team on both Gyakuten Kenji 2 and the upcoming Dual Destinies (2013) prevented the game from being released outside Japan. The Ace Attorney community being tenacious, they set about an unofficial translation, the quality of which must be underlined for amateur work. Thus, it was the Scarlet Study team that took on the unofficial translation of Dai Gyakuten Saiban, shortly after a playthrough with English subtitles was released online.

A titanic task if ever there was one. This fan localisation also shines through in its tendency towards professionalism and was well on its way to completing the entirety of the two games released, before leaks took the public by surprise, announcing the official localisation in a single collection, The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles. The following months would confirm these rumours and the localisation was carried out by Janet Hsu, whose challenge here is particular. Unlike the main series, for which the localisation embraced an Americanisation of all Japanese place names and cultural markers, The Great Ace Attorney only makes sense by respecting the spirit and letter of the terms used.

Indeed, the title places us in the shoes of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, ancestor of Phoenix Wright, and young Japanese student. His adventures will lead him to become a defence lawyer and to cross the globe to settle in the Victorian United Kingdom, with Herlock Sholmes. He is accompanied by Susato Mikotoba, a legal assistant caught in the conservative fire of legal institutions. This historical context is the cornerstone of the title's social and political discourse, as well as the narrative economy, so that it is impossible to transpose Meiji era Japan to a fantasy creation that copies the United States. This historical stability thus brings an element of complexity, since it is a question of translating dialogues, but also a continuum of reactions – drawn from reality – that underlie behaviours at the turn of the 20th century.

It would be difficult for me to set out here all the issues related to translation, as they are so rich and plural. Nevertheless, I would like to insist briefly on the ability to transcribe strangeness in the official localisation, something that is lacking in the fan localisation. Indeed, for a Western audience – especially if they are familiar with the mysteries of the Golden Age of Detective Fiction – the Victorian spirit should not be too disorienting. For our protagonists, the situation is quite different, and conveying this impression of surprise and novelty is a difficult operation, when all the text is in English. Susato and Ryunosuke use idioms and comparisons with Japanese elements to express their perplexity and it is the translation of such elements that is the great challenge of the localisation. For more on this, I can only recommend the extremely interesting blog posts by Janet Hsu.

But what about the game itself? I'm not ashamed to say that the title has quickly become one of my favourite games, crowning an exceptional franchise in my opinion. The Ace Attorney formula is generally well known: a succession of four or five cases, in which our protagonist alternates between investigation and trial sequences. In the former, the gameplay is close to traditional point&clicks, in a tradition that may remind us of The Portopia Serial Murder Case (1983) and all the games that follow. The trial phases are visual novels with cross-examination sequences where the aim is essentially to dismantle the testimonies by pointing out the contradictions they have with the case file. If the formula has always worked well, it must be said that certain recurrent criticisms point to the length of the investigation phases and a certain artificiality in the rhythm of the cases. I agree with them overall and was very surprised to see that The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles sweeps away these problems with exceptional ease.

For the first five cases, the pace is impeccably supported by a single investigative sequence, followed by the trial court portion. Even when the traditional formula returns for the last four cases, the pace is judiciously thought out, thanks to an elegant tangle of narrative threads. Indeed, in the vein of Gyakuten Kenji, The Great Ace Attorney has several overarching mysteries, within which are nestled smaller mysteries, solved with each case. This matriochka structure keeps the dramatic tension high and highlights the corruption that permeates the British Empire and its Japanese counterpart.

The Great Ace Attorney is a far cry from Apollo Justice and does not omit the political aspect in its criticism of the judicial system. This was very bland in the main series with a dark age of the law that had no formal consequences, so it was more of a background that awkwardly justified Phoenix Wright's suspension. Here, the corruption is felt in the gameplay from the third case onwards, and it persists throughout the rest of the game, through subtly revolting elements that challenge Ryunosuke and Susato's certainties.

In general, all the elements, beyond their comic and narrative strengths, aim to highlight structural problems in British and Japanese society, indirectly shedding light on very contemporary concerns. The plunge into Victorian London for Japanese students is highlighted by the main cast, but also the figure of Natsume Souseki, whose restlessness helps to convey the difficulty of adapting to a decidedly foreign society. The insistence on taxes points to the horror of the British social classes, in contrast to the aristocratic image that some characters give off – van Zieks, but more generally the entire judicial institution. Whether in the third, fifth, seventh or eighth case, The Great Ace Attorney is careful to highlight the problem of science at a time when a methodical revolution is taking place. The birth of forensic science and forensics allows the title to discuss what science is and what it can do.

For the game takes up the character of Sherlock Holmes – here localised as Herlock Sholmes, as Maurice Leblanc did in his time – but all the themes that are addressed in the Doylian stories. Shu Takumi shows a remarkable love for the Holmesian canon, reinterpreting and blending iconic investigations into his own universe, as well as classic detective fiction, as references abound and there are more or less sustained tributes to Ellery Queen and John Dickson Carr, Edogawa Rampo and Gilbert Keith Chesterton. I would have loved to go into more detail about these references, but that would require a full explanation of the cases, and I prefer to leave the pleasure of discovery to the reader. In any case, lovers of classic detective stories can only be seduced by Shu Takumi's approach, which offers an exceptional recital on well-known themes and tropes.

Finally, a word on the technical achievement. If Ace Attorney has always been known for its exceptional sprite work and impeccable staging – thanks to a remarkable sound effects job – The Great Ace Attorney raises the discipline to the best of the franchise. The animations are exceptionally beautiful and the sense of timing is always perfect. While the first five cases use some animated scenes in its cinematics, the last five are content to use the game's engine, but there is no room for reproach, as the composition is so well mastered.

In this respect, the musical work is undoubtedly the best in the series, with a subtle play in the instrumentation, which marries Western orchestras with Japanese influences and instruments – in a way that also recalls the work of Yu-Peng Chen on Genshin Impact. On a personal note, The Great Ace Attorney has my favourite soundtrack of the entire franchise, for the enveloping nature of the tracks and its solemnity, which I particularly enjoy. The dubbing is not to be outdone, as it suits the characters perfectly; in particular, the fact that the actors for the Japanese students are British dubbers of Japanese descent – thus Mark Ota, Rina Takasaki and Ben Deery – contributes to the overall atmosphere.

I could go on and on about the characters being some of the funniest in the franchise and the sincerity that emanates from the game, but what can I say except that they contribute to one of my most cherished video game experiences? I've always had a foreign fascination with the late 19th century and pre-war era. To see characters evolve in this setting, in their fortunes and misfortunes, has been a source of exceptional joy.

No doubt the fact that I shared this experience with my parents – in that respect, how perfect is the Ace Attorney franchise for introducing newcomers to video games! – makes it special. But few games, in any case, are able to take me from tears to laughter in a matter of moments. It's a title that makes no concessions on its themes, on its political discourse, and that remains exceptionally sweet, with a high level of humanity. John Watson, in the Holmesian canon, observed of Mary Marson: "A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two, who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other... So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us." The atmosphere in this quote is the feeling that The Great Ace Attorney evokes in my heart, when I think of it again. A masterwork, without any doubt.