It’s hard to say things about Undertale without being accused of being a contrarian or being a child. There are weak points to Undertale. Its adherence to edge in a No Mercy run can make its triumphs grand, but can make smaller moments feel amateurish and just a little embarrassing in the “teen browsing Newgrounds circa 2010 for a way to shock you” way Toby’s Halloween Hack built half its identity around. The True Pacifist ending is more narratively complete than it is compelling, compared to a neutral or No Mercy run’s insistence on the player’s self-reflection. The game never again feels as completely united in its focus as it does in the ruins. Flowey only mostly works.


But then: the beauty. I could talk about the intricacies of its plot and characters, the masterwork that is the game’s soundtrack, the vast mileage it gets from its simple gameplay and sprite art. I could rant to you about how the game has touched me personally, how it changed how I felt about myself, about art, about others, about the potential of the medium. Rather than any of that, I will leave you with this thought: all of these points I’ve just listed have become so rote as to become cliche. Like so few works of art get to do, its goodness has become as tired and expected as fact. Triumphs of a given medium are rarely as rapturously celebrated as they are on release. Their ultimate victory is that they weave into the fabric of the mundane, become one with everyday life.

And so Undertale is a good game. You knew this already.