Psuedoregalia has been passed around in 3D platformer circles with the bold claim as to being one of the best within the genre. I believe this claim is one that falls victim to recency bias.

The reality to Psuedoregalia, or rather the subjective reality that is the culmination of my limited gamer experiences, is that the game is a fantastic little gem. It's by no means one of the legendary titles that'll forever change the face of the genre, but it is an excellent platformer within it's own right.

In my opinion, 3D platformers are dependent on two major aspects: movement and level design. Moving your character within a 3D space should be fun within it's own right, and levels should provide the player a space that's fun to move around in. This space should challenge them, test them, and push against them until they eventually reach their objective.

Psuedoregalia does movement control extremely well. The level design is much more of a mixed bag.

Navigation and conveyance are a big part of level design. Areas are sectioned off into major areas, with those areas containing multiple rooms that are blocked off by a black fog in the doorway to save on resources. This is authentic to the N64 aesthetic Pseudoregalia pays tribute to, a technique they'd most likely use.

However, the issue comes with multiple levels blending in with one another, each one being sectioned off from the next, making finding the literal lock and literal keys of the game needlessly difficult to find.

Pseudoregalia is a 3D Metroidvania, and would greatly benefit from the inclusion of a map like the developers plan to do. Will the map fix these problems I had? Most likely. But I believe there's ways of conveying the world better without the need for a map. This is a challenge made more difficult in comparison to a 2D metroidvania, but it's something that I could see being accomplished more definitively by this developer in a future title.

In comparison to other Metroidvanias, Psuedoregalia's areas often feel disconnected from one another. They're cohesive in theming, but often felt loosely connected in terms of structure. Much of the level design felt like scattered ideas that were retrofittingly made into their level theming. The castle never really feels like a castle, more so just a series of loosely connected sections with objects and textures indicating I was in a castle.

Constructing worlds to feel as though they could realistically run together can not only help the overall setting become more realized, but could also more concretely direct players where to go much more naturally. Psuedoregalia never really felt like it accomplished this.

Granted, I'm not so sure Psuedoregalia was necessarily going for this type of design, given it's leaning into the absurd. Sybil herself is a strange goat-bunny-cat thing, though this may in part have been done to appeal to someone who's more into furry stuff, given the sex appeal of the character. (I put her pants on much to the dismay of the horny audience watching me stream the game.) Fantasy creature inhabitants roam around the land, enemies range from flying swords to magic plate throwing maids to trumpets that throw musical balls at you — it all points to the absurd.

The story itself feels as though we're a dream wanderer putting the mind of the dream's host, the Princess who's the final boss, at ease by defeating her. Or maybe Sybil is a figment of the Princess, given their abilities are mirrored with one another? I'm honestly not sure, I was focused solely on the gameplay rather than the lore.

Speaking of both gameplay and the Princess, her final boss exemplifies the fact that Psuedoregalia is NOT about it's combat. This final encounter wears tropes I love about final boss fights: bringing in mechanics that shift away from regular combat like a bullet hell, having the abilities of the final boss reflect the player character's, having the boss mad dash away with teleportation to showcase their power, absolutely nuts music, etc.

Unfortunately, the core combat doesn't support the weight of these tropes. Combat becomes hollow when I'm still making use of the same simple 3 hit combo that I attack every enemy with. There was no real push and pull to the fight, and I felt like I was just hitting her until she eventually was defeated. It's emblematic to the fact that combat was more an afterthought.

It's important to keep in mind that all of these criticisms are a mere drop in the bucket in comparison to the pure game feel this game provides. It's the glue that keeps everything intact, and what makes Psuedoregalia so special.

Not every 3D platformer has achieved this level of finesse that's associated with controlling Sybil. Entire dev teams of people haven't been able to match the work on display here. Each ability feels rewarding to perform, each bringing their own flavor to the tool kit. Some abilities are simply a charge attack, but others add onto already existing ones, expanding them and creating progression gates.

This aspect of the game is fundamentally solid. It's simple and has aspects I've seen before in other games, but it's very well executed. I can see why some have claimed it to be the best controlling 3D platformer they've ever played. Though, I'm not entirely sure I agree with the sentiment. It takes a bit to get used to these controls, and at times I felt like I wasn't able to do exactly what I wanted.

Though, this may just be the ability progression emphasizing this feeling. It's a feeling that's almost essential to the core existence to Metroidvanias; due to your abilities being locked out from the start, moving through areas that require those abilities start out rough, but ultimately become breezy as your unlock your full arsenal.

All of this is to say that the full moveset itself is fantastic, but I believe there are better contenders for the title of "Best Controlling 3D Platformers".

This review has been centered around the expectations set around me for Psuedoregalia and responding to claims with my criticisms, but make no mistake that I believe this game is great. Through a critical lens, I can clearly see room for improvement and expansion upon concepts, but I also acknowledge the incredible foundation this developer has built, and realize the great potential for this developer moving forward. As a foundation, it's a great game, but I'm more ecstatic to see what this developer does next.

They have the potential in creating one of the titles to change the face of the 3D platformer genre, I just don't think Psuedoregalia was the game to do that.

In 2023, I triumphed over a childhood fear. Games with timers slashed onto me a mental scar that were never healed until playing through Pikmin and Majora's Mask.

There was a weight lifted off my shoulders. Genuinely, too. In both my gaming and everyday life, I felt I could take any time related problem headed my way. A fog was now cleared.

Having a newfound confidence and developing a bit of a taste for time based challenges now, I've decided to continue my forray into the Pikmin series with Pikmin 2. I've heard in the past the game was somewhat divisive amongst the Pikmin loyalists, but I wasn't sure what I'd find going in.

After having played it, my finding is that Pikmin 2 is... kind of unnecessary as a sequel? I'm glad of it's existence, if not to simply provide more Pikmin style gameplay with new mechanics, but some of the additions feel as though they're unrealized in their potential.

Louie, while a charming character in his own bumbling way, serves very little to the overall gameplay. It's not as if multi-tasking as a feature is useless, it's just I never found myself absolutely needing to utilize this feature.

I could imagine puzzle like labyrinths laid out similar to the elaborate final puzzle of Pikmin 1, needing the player to swap between different Pikmin types as well as between Louie and Olimar. This could take up the main levels you'd traverse and fill out the entirety of the game, but this was never seen anywhere within the game. At least, not on a rudimentary playthrough.

Pikmin 2 is primarily an asset flip style of sequel, so it makes sense as to why this wasn't implemented. You'd have to build on top of iterations of the original game's levels, and would also had to change said levels so drastically to the point that they mind as well be creating brand new ones. Still, there feels like there's missed potential here.

Same could be said about the dungeons. While I enjoy tackling these randomly generated mazes, they leave me wanting more. They're set up as endurance gauntlets, but I would have rather these dungeons contain floors that contained preset puzzles, perhaps alternating every other floor. This to me would not only keep the style of the original game more intact, but would help dungeons feel more engaging.

What also makes the game less engaging is the distinct lack of a timer. Strange coming from the guy who was traumatized by a mere clock ticking down, I know, but I've grown to deeply appreciate the time limit. Call it masochism, call it whatever you'd like, but this element brought a distinct feel and an immense sense of tension to the game, all of which feels lost within the sequel.

All of this isn't to say that Pikmin 2 isn't a worthwhile time, because it most certainly is! Instead, this is meant to exemplify the problems that may occur when designing a game with reusing assets: you can only build on top of what systems and assets existed before.

I've much enjoyed the quality of life changes brought within Pikmin 2. Controlling your squad has never felt better, and being able to organize which group you'd like to take is a godsend! The new Pikmin bring about new advantages and gimmicks to make themselves useful, adding more to your arsenal of tools and boosting the amount of decisions you'll be making.

The dungeons are just endurance gauntlets yes, but they still hold that push and pull struggle for survival that makes Pikmin engaging. Collecting everything within a dungeon feels massively rewarding, especially with some of the later dungeons.

Despite the tension being lost from the absence of a time limit, having the gameplay become more relaxed changes how you approach the game. The tone I could see creating a much smoother experience to experiment within the systems of Pikmin. I personally feel that experimentation is a part of the original's design and it does not feel as punishing due to reseting a day being encouraged, but this circumnavigates those who are still in fear of that hard time limit.

Areas are now remixed slightly, making it exciting to see what new has changed since the first game. Environments now have different seasons, which brings this world more to life. Though the tone may be gone, the serenity is still held intact.

There's much to love about Pikmin 2, but I could see why the divisiveness is present within the community at large. Pikmin 2 doesn't break the mold as much as it fans the flames of the original's originality.

This doesn't make Pikmin 2 a bad nor necessarily a flawed game, but a game that doesn't stand out as much as it could. It's ideas are unrefined from what they may have been capable of achieving, but with what's within the game itself, Pikmin 2 ends up being an enjoyable time within it's own right.

Pokémon Snap was one of the reasons I loved Pokémon as a kid.

It was nothing like I've ever seen from a game before. Most games I played were centered around actions like jumping, fighting, racing, hitting a ball, jumping, just like, a lot of jumping. Pokémon itself was centered around fighting other pocket monsters; whether it be turned based fighting in the mainline series or in jaw dropping 3D with Pokémon Stadium, my contextual actions were always to fight.

Pokémon Snap was different. Pokémon Snap instead gave you a camera, with the goal to take pictures of Pokémon for a high score. The concept, especially from an established series like Pokémon, was strange, and yet, at a young age I was deeply fascinated by it.

Even now, I'm still fascinated by the concept. It's fairly rare within the gaming industry, especially the AAA space, to have a game with a unique, non-violent mechanic as the focus. I'm not sure if Matthewmatosis actually once said this or not, but I recall him once arguing that Pokémon Snap didn't entirely count towards his definition of non-violent due to actions like the fruit and the pester ball that hit and bothered Pokémon. To me, these actions aren't necessarily meant to harm. I view them as tools to cause a reaction within the environment, a contextual interaction of sorts. This plays into the level design, where you're often trying to gain a reaction from a Pokémon by leading them towards a specific area, knocking them into water or lava, creating new scenarios for the perfect snapshot. This interactivity would also serve as a lock and key gate to progress within the game, some areas only becoming available after you've solved how to reach the next location, giving Pokémon Snap a small sense of interconnectivity and immersion. The game also asks you to snapshot new Pokémon to reach a new goal, which encourages the player to scrounge the landscape for new Pokémon to snap.

Pokémon Snap is incredibly immediate. You jump right in with a small tutorial, and already you're zooming down a pathway, barreling towards the finish. Areas are fairly short, with longer levels still only taking a few minutes to complete. The pacing is to the point, never wasting a moment of your time. This was done by the designers to have players be able to replay levels to gain a better score, and it's something they understood well.

What I love about Pokémon Snap is it's capacity to fill the screen with wordless story and character. As you ride along your to set destination, much like a theme park ride you're greeted with characters running amok to your sides, playing out their little bits with one another. A group of Pidgeys harassing a Meowth and absolutely demolishing him in a tornado attack, Jigglypuffs getting chased by Koffings, a Magmar setting ablaze a Charmander and changing him into a Charmeleon, all these simple interactions bring about a sense of playfulness and tangibility you normally wouldn't get from your average Pokémon game.

I'm not actually sure I've seen the credits of Pokémon Snap until this recent playthrough. I distinctly remember not quite understanding what to do with Mew during her secret stage, and being confused as to how I was supposed to take a picture of her. I believe my sister may have been the one to actually beat the game, but I never recall asking her how she actually accomplished this. Technically speaking, I believe this is the first time I've ever actually beaten the game, and having replayed it, it's definitely cemented itself as my favorite Pokémon game.

There's nothing else quite like Pokémon Snap. No other game has embodied the raw addiction and gameplay loop that Pokémon Snap provides. Every other photo capturing game feels static and uninteresting in comparison. The simple act of exploring a set environment, interacting with it, and causing change to happen within that environment hasn't felt as immediate and as engaging as it does here.

Pokémon Snap rules. Now go play it.

Pokémon as a series is disappointing.

When I was growing up, I had championed for games like Pokémon Snap and Pokémon Channel. They represented the willingness for the Pokémon franchise to try new, unconventional gameplay styles that were playful and unique, and I loved them for those reasons. I would often romantize to myself that Pokémon Snap was exemplary of spin offs that far exceeded their source material. I still feel that's partially true, though perhaps not the perfect example. There's aspects of Pokémon Snap that really let you understand Pokémon and learn to appreciate each and every one of them, much more than the mainline games or card games could ever show. Observing an animal really helps you understand them, it lets know their quirks and how they interact within their environment. Of course, the anime also existed, but the Pokémon Snap gave a tangibility to it all. Pokémon Snap plays more into the biological research angle that the Pokémon series has toyed around with, but doesn't quite epitomize the loving bond between the player and Pokémon that Game Freak has set out to accomplish with it's design goal.

This design goal becomes a herculean effort to accomplish when Game Freak, along with The Pokémon Company itself, has made me fall out of love with Pokémon.

I had loathed Pokémon for most of my teenage years. Even now when I'm at my most optimistic, I struggle to feel positive towards the Pokémon franchise like I once did growing up. Game Freak and Creatures Inc have more or less been operating the Pokémon series like it's never needed to make any drastic changes, and frankly, from a sales position, their strategy appears to be valid. Unfortunately, this has become alienating towards me in particular. Throughout the years, I'd try to dip my toes back into the series, but to no prevail. Even worse, as I would go back to playing those older titles, the issues I've had with Pokémon in the present would affect my ability to move forward and backwards within the series: I desire the unconventional, and Pokémon, while novel within it's first few entries, sticks to it's established conventions to a T. If you've played one game, you've pretty much played them all, making the entire series feeling it's been played out for decades.

Even the spin off that I praised for pushing the boundaries have seemingly fallen to the way side in favor for more safer titles. Gachas, mobile games, trendy gameplay stylings that attract the largest audience possible. Occasionally you have your rare spark of imagination like with Detective Pikachu or Arceus, but rarely do these games have the budget or team to back up the concept. Pokémon has become stagnant from the overwhelming amount of entries reiterating the same core concept. And it just doesn't appeal to me anymore.

I say this, but I am a simple man. I'm not one of those cynical critics with their furrowed brows and their arms crossed, sticking my snobbish nose up at a game for merely being a retread of the original game. Sometimes conventions can be fantastic if they work to build off the original, or to massively refine the original. But fatigue does set in, and Pokémon hasn't done enough within it's entries to justify their sequels.

But Pokémon Snap always had that potential to do just that.

I've always wanted a new Pokémon Snap. For what seems like eons, I've waited for Nintendo/Game Freak to bring the concept to the modern age, birthing a new game with a a fresh new look and feel, capturing yet expanding the horizons of the simplistic N64 original. There were murmurs during the Wii U era that imagined the concept of a Pokémon Snap game using the Wii U game pad, which had me watered my mouth with anticipation like a Rockruff with yummy rocks. (I'm not sure if he actually eats rocks, but he looks like he would.)

Having received my wish in 2021, you'd think I'd be jonesing to pick up a copy as soon as I could. Instead, I stopped myself. My big green snobbish nose turned up at the mere thought of giving the Pokémon Company any money after the wake of Sword and Shield. My round stomach jiggled around in my loosely fit high society tux, nudging my tie slightly as I chortled at the mindless drones who kept blindly purchasing Pokémon games, my monocle creating condensation from shedding warm tears of laughter. Ohhh, I was so above you all! And yet, here I was! A year or two later, knowingly buying the buggy, broken mess by the name of Pokémon Scarlet to appease a friend of mine! I was partaking in the slop! I'm apart of the problem!

At this point, I unconsciously realized that maybe I should just support games that deserve it, rather than punish a game for no reason on principle. And, while I'm at it, not yuck someone's yum even if I don't fully understand it. So, I ended up putting the game on my wishlist, and lo and behold, I received the game as a gift for Christmas. Another wish granted.

Unfortunately, after having played New Pokémon Snap, I... also realized I may have wished upon a Mankey's paw.

... Okay, that's partially hyperbole. New Pokémon Snap is admittedly, a fun enough game in it's own right. It encapsulates the same gameplay as the original, and brings the visuals up to a modern standard. On that front, I received exactly what I wanted! Areas are these large vistas with multiple paths through a level, carrying a wider range of variety to the settings you'll be exploring. There's even some old areas too! That melted my heart a little! Pokémon have all these adorable animations, there's small little stories that are told within the worlds, my favorite being a Pichu and a Scorbunny getting chased by a Dodrio as you're shrunken down to an ant's size. It feels like a theme park ride! The quality of life enhancements, the expanded photo features, the multiple paths to an area, all of it is great!

But it's the little things within New Pokémon Snap that really bother me. And they compound into big things.

Progression within the game is dependant on two things: score and taking pictures of glowing crystal flowers. Your score is dependant on the quality of pictures you take, but you'll find yourself needing to replay levels in order to grind up towards that next level. The original game also had this in places, but was nowhere near as invasive. The original Pokémon Snap also made great use of interacting with the environment in order to progress within the game. New Pokémon Snap has this, but it's often automated, and is rather confusing to figure out if a new path has opened for you unless you just decided to randomly replay one of them. This caused a lot of unnecessary frustration within my playthrough.

The crystal flowers also caused unnecessary frustration for me. I may have skipped some kind of dialogue the Professor may had explained to me, but I was somehow left unaware how to progress any further than the first 2 areas. I spent plenty of time thinking "how can I be missing something? These levels are literally on-rails, I must be missing something to activate in environment like in the original game", only to scrape through a level once again to find nothing. I eventually looked up a walkthrough, only to be in utter disbelief that THIS was the marker to help me progress forward.

I wouldn't mind replaying these levels so often if the base speed of the Zero-One wasn't set to a snail's pace. I replayed Pokémon Snap after having finished this title, and the difference was night and day. No overly long and hand holding tutorial, no incredibly slow pacing, you just jumped in right away and barreled down a level in the matter of minutes. This was meant to give unexperienced gamers more time to learn and react, but this process becomes a slog, and actually discourages me from replaying the game. For a game designed to have the player replay levels, that's REALLY bad!

It hurts to state that New Pokémon Snap doesn't live up to expectations because of these issues. Especially when these are issues that with the right fixes, could actually swing my opinion into loving the game. Unfortunately, it's another antecedent added to my schema: Pokémon as a series is just a series of disappointments.

... Again, partially hyperbole. New Pokémon Snap is fairly disappointing, but I still enjoyed my time with it on a moment to moment basis. It's merely the larger whole of the experience that's left me feeling sour. Pokémon may no longer be for me as a whole, and that's fine. I've moved on from the expectation that it had to be something else years ago. New Pokémon Snap, as you may be able to tell from this review, has opened up the wound slightly. But as I've reflected on the game by writing this, I realize that's really unnecessary to feel. New Pokémon Snap may not be the right sequel I was hoping for, but for what it is, it's fun. And even if I were to partake in the same brand of cynicism as I once spouted, and we're to say such typical quotes about disappointing games in a franchise I loved like "it does an injustice to the original game!", there's nothing preventing me from simply going back and playing that original game.

Which is exactly what I did! And you know what? Pokémon Snap is still amazing! And even within this disappointing form, it's still cool! I just think taking pictures of Pokémon doing cute things is cool! Pokémon Snap, no matter how I play it, is always going to be a cool concept to me. And that feeling won't be pushed down by pessimism.

Luigi's Mansion 3 is not the original Luigi's Mansion. More importantly, it is also not Luigi's Mansion 2.

As a statement on it's own, that couldn't be any less obvious. Like, come on, duh Spike, the brain brigade must have been working overtime on that one. As obvious as it may be, on an emotional level, it's a statement I didn't know I needed to acknowledge. It wasn't until I've finally played Luigi's Mansion 3 with my own two hands that the realization occurred.

For context, as hinted with in my Super Mario Bros: Wonder review, Luigi's Mansion: Dark Moon was a game I felt immensely disappointed by. Gone was the arcade-y set up of the original, the breezy and focused gameplay now replaced by a mission based structure with content that felt as if it's sole purpose was to extend the game's length. The terrifying chills and larger-than-life character given to the ghouls within the titular mansion were replaced with copy-pasted enemy fodder with zero charm, with your run-of-the-mill spooks and specters serving as your boss battles. Even the music was butchered from it's ghostly synths and harmonic whomps setting the ambience of the mansion perfectly. From the haunting Mansion theme to the silly and off putting funk beat made to emphasize Dr. E. Gadd's zaniness, it fit the mood like a glove. With Dark Moon, all it's soundtrack provided was a vapid, boring, safe score that never instilled anything into you. Maybe light-hearted whimsy at the most, the opposite of how I felt I should be feeling.

This is how I felt at the time, and given that I haven't replayed Luigi's Mansion 2 since my teens, it's easy to see why I was so apathetic to Luigi's Mansion 3 when it was first announced. I felt no desire to give the game a try, not after the immense disappointment I had experienced. The series had left me behind and was attempting a style I didn't really care for, so I figured, why bother with this one?

Fast forward to now. 5 years have passed since Luigi's Mansion 3, and a decade since I touched Luigi's Mansion: Dark Moon. The disappointment and bitterness from my teen years have been shedded away by years of self reflection and personal growth. I've reflected on a lot of my personal life and my gaming life as I've grown, and re-evaluating the Luigi's Mansion series has been on my to-do list. Gratefully, I received this game as a gift for my birthday, and playing the game now in 2023 has left me with a number of thoughts that needed to be revalued.

The very first thought that came across my mind was exactly the first sentence of this review: Luigi's Mansion 3 is not Luigi's Mansion.

Luigi's Mansion 3 feels tonally off from the original game. In the original Luigi's Mansion, the ghosts as a collective had their quirks, but they were offset by ones that were more unnerving. Something about Chauncey the baby makes me uncomfortable. This pampered child shrinks you down to a pea's size, places you into a portal dimension, and tries to make you his play thing as he throws a temper tantrum, screeching demonically at you for giving him an owie. Bogmire is another great example. He's faceless in a sea of colorful faces, and he behaves so differently from everything else in the game. He's unsettling and gives the game a strong sense of mystery just from his presence alone. In Luigi's Mansion 3, there's a distinct lack of edge.

Alongside the characters of the ghosts themselves, there are design decisions within Luigi's Mansion 3 that stick out from being lost in translation from converting the original game's gameplay sensibilities to their new format. In Luigi's Mansion, the game would let you wander into a room and discover for yourself that something wasn't right. There were exceptions, of course, but this was a constant. Typically, you'd walk into a darkened room, and an object would appear to move or float before you. You wouldn't see the ghost right away, which lead into a puzzle solving phase of finding the right way to expose it's heart. This is very subtle, but this structure added a layer of uncertainty to these paranormal encounters. They're unknown until they're seen. You watch their actions to determine what their personalities are like. You're within the process of discovery yourself. With Luigi's Mansion 3, these boss ghosts are set up with a cutscene, taking the time to introduce themselves up front and personal, which loses a lot of the mystic and agency given to the player.

These critiques are based on a purposely faulty premise, however. All of these criticisms would be valid of Luigi's Mansion 3 if the game was attempting to contain the same tone as the original.

But again, Luigi's Mansion 3 is not Luigi's Mansion.

Instead, Luigi's Mansion 3 goes for a more light hearted tone with it's horror. The kind of tone that might startle you, but will make you smile after it's done. Ghosts jump scare you from time to time, but they're usually doing something goofy to deflate your fear and convert it to a smile. There's only one really mean jump scare, and that would be on Floor 8, Paranormal Productions. The entire game has been lulling you in for a false sense of security up until a bear statue just decides to violently grab you. Even then, the designers felt so bad for this that they give you plenty of money as an apology. It's the perfect example of this game's MO.

Much like Resident Evil 4 was to the original Resident Evil, Luigi's Mansion 3 puts the focus on action rather than scares. The gameplay uses the same design keys of capturing ghosts and performing small puzzles to figure out how to capture said ghosts, but it's recontextualized into a more gameified feel. The tools at your disposal have expanded, your list of actions increasing from a mere suck and blow.

Don't, don't mind that phrasing—

Sucking up the environment is a strong part of the gameplay loop now. The added physics to every object within the hotel creates an addicting kleptomanic drive to vaccum out anything and everything valuable from this shady hotel. The game feel to this reminds me of Paper Mario: Origami King and it's ability to make the simple act of hitting things feel immensely satisfying. The noises, the chaotic clutter of objects flying about, it's simply joyful.

Unlike Origami King though, it's main gameplay loop is also satisfying. The hotel is structured with each floor acting as a level to explore, setting up gags, ghosts to gobble up, and ghoulish bosses to grapple with. Flinging ghosts by slamming their ectoplasmic bodies sharply to the ground makes combat feel crunchy, which is something I neglected when I played Dark Moon many years ago. There indeed IS substance to this gameplay style that appeals to me, it was just hidden through a distinct lack of soul given to the direction.

The hotel is structured similar to the mission like structure of Dark Moon, creating bite sized chunks with tasks set out for you to accomplish. Yet, Luigi's Mansion 3 is not Luigi's Mansion 2. The game doesn't cause you to go back in and out of E. Gadd's lab to complete an objective, and if it does, you can quickly teleport there and back to where you last left off. Each floor builds upon gimmicks culminating in a boss fight. These bosses typically use mechanics already established through the floor you've spend the last 30 minutes on, finding clever ways to plunger enemies and drag them down, using your pal Gooigi to double team them in elaborate methods, along with an assortment of other tricks up it's sleeve. It's all fairly enjoyable. I almost wish there were more tools to expand your equipment in more interesting ways, but with what they accomplished here felt like they had enough to work with.

There's more I could say about the bosses not quite meeting my expectations in terms of personalities, the music not quite hitting the highs of the original game's, the overall structure causing me to put the game down more than feeling a strong urge to keep trucking forward. But these are all aspects that come down to personal preference. The structure plays well to the game's strengths. There's more to do and explore from this concept. The bosses and music are bit too light-hearted, but again, the tone of the game is different by design. You can't capture the same magic if your goal was never to do so. What's there is still charming. My teenage self wouldn't have understood that.

I'm no longer the bitter sad sap I once was, and my reaction towards Luigi's Mansion 3 has been a reflection of that change to me. 5 years ago me and teenage me were wrong, both for different reasons. This gameplay style does suite me — it just took another entry with refinements to prove that it did. Just because it's not the same tonally from what I loved in the past doesn't mean I can't still enjoy the game.

Are there aspects lost from this direction? Sure. Do I prefer Luigi's Mansion over 3? Of course I do. It's my childhood favorite, it's hard not to. But this does not make Luigi's Mansion 3 any less valid in existing like I once so stubbornly believed. Luigi's Mansion 3 executes ideas pulled off within it so superbly well, it's hard not to love it. And that feels good to say.

A never-ending unspeakable nightmare, fueled by endless bloodshed and breakcore.

Picayune Dreams is a Vampire Survivors clone with a narrative that places it's protagonist and player in the same thematic through line, and it's highly effective because of that feat. The story is simply told, albeit obfuscated by metaphor, but it works extremely well. Picayune Dream's simplicity is to it's benefit, stripping away many of the complexities within the genre it exists in and makes great use of it's mechanics, down to the bare essentials. This is the game that's really sold me on just how enjoyable the Vampire Survivors method can really be, presented in a package that highly appeals to me.

Visual eye candy, playful with it's characters, yet deeply unsettling and tragic, a constant dopamine injection has been hooked up to my brain. I've somehow managed to sink 12 hours into the game, and my body desires to expend even more time with it. I can't control it. It does what it wants, not what it needs.

Super Mario RPG is like magic instilled upon a video game.

My first RPG ever was Paper Mario. I grew up with an N64, so it's not like I had a choice. There were slim pickings, unless I somehow convinced myself into liking Quest 64. Paper Mario 64 was approachable, yet also challenging to the 6 year old body I used to inhabit. It wasn't what made me love RPGs —the sequel did fine work with that job — but it made me fundementally understand what an RPG was. It was my first, and as a first, it sculpted and shaped me into what I expect from a medium.

You'd think because of that very notion, I'd seek out playing Super Mario RPG as soon as I heard word of it's existence. I had picked the game out on the Wii's virtual console after watching a Chuggaaconroy playthrough of the game. I messed with the controls for a tiny bit, made my way to the Mushroom Kingdom, and decided that I'll "come back to it eventually".

This was 12 or so years ago. I was 16. And I haven't played Super Mario RPG until this remake.

Super Mario RPG captures the same magic I felt when I played Paper Mario for the first time. For good reason, of course. Paper Mario was originally going to be the sequel to Super Mario RPG. A lot of the gameplay elements, scenarios, and game feel of SMRPG can be found within every nook and cranny of Paper Mario 64. Both games start in Mario's home and end with a parade with Luigi at the helm. Both games have you battling in turn based combat using action commands. The key difference between the two, is that SMRPG feels more like a traditional RPG than Paper Mario. Multiple party members, different weapons, party members specializing in specific play styles. The action commands are also fundementally different from one another. SMRPG has the player using multiple different weapons, all of which have different timings to their action commands. This is something I was hoping from Paper Mario — different weapon types that create variety within the gameplay. This makes you feel like you're never staying stagnant, mindlessly mashing A as you fight through waves of enemies.

The only problem is, specifically with the remake, is that because you have new systems, like triple move specials, the game becomes incredibly easy. Enemies don't feel very challenging, and bosses, for the most part, feel about on the same level as enemies. The game only managed to wipe my entire party once, and that was toward the end game. I could see this game having a harder difficulty mode that would greatly benefit more seasoned gamers like me with at the very least, a little more resistance. I honestly don't ask for much.

Don't let this glaring problem fool you — SMRPG is absolutely wonderful, endlessly charming, and is the absolute pinnacle embodiment of an SNES game's pure heart and soul. This remake is beautifully made, one of the best remakes I think I've ever experienced in terms of feeling almost 1-to-1, at least from what I've seen of the source material. Music has been enhanced and bursting with ravishing flares. Visuals have be lovingly held intact and expanded upon.

But I'll be remised if I didn't state the lack of difficulty bothered me immensely during my playthrough. In fact, it colored most of the experience. And yet, I'm so hooked on this game's whimsical charm that I have the strong desire to go back to that Wii virtual console copy and play the original. I want to play the game again and explore everything once more.

Love is in the air with this one. Writing my feelings out has made me realize just how enthralled I am by this game. The nagging pessimism within me has been drowned out by the sheer optimism projected by the game and infecting me with it's love. It feels like a magic spell cast upon me, and that's exactly what it's done. Super Mario RPG is magical.

Lethal Company is a story generator. Many multiplayer horror games have felt like this in the past, but none have seemingly captured my heart the way this game has.

Perhaps it's the retrograde sci-fi look and feel, or maybe it's the simple loop of exploring isolated planets with randomly generated building interiors, events, and monsters for scrap within a time limit. The systems here of finding enough junk to sell within 3 days, with a ship that runs on autopilot to force you to return to orbit, along with the monetary penalty of the death of your crew weighing heavily on the value of your items all work in unison to put you into the mindset of a person surviving off selling scraps.

Stories generate endlessly from these simple mechanics working together. You work together with your friends/co-workers, an emotional throughline already established. You stay in the moment with proximity chat, unsure whether or not your co-worker on the other line of a walkie talkie is going to suddenly stop talking. You never quite feel safe. A seemingly easy mission can quickly take a dramatic turm into a nightmarish bloodbath where you're limping your way back to the ship, the last remaining soul amongst the crew, only for some hellish abomination to sideline you.

One of my favorite stories to come from this game was a journey into a building. We had just cleared a gap from one railing to another. We turn a corner and within the matter of a second, a gigantic spider enters the majority of my vision, and we all turn back towards the gap to make our way over. Two of us, myself included, made the way back, but unfortunately, one of us had died, the only person who held a weapon to protect us. The gigantic spider blocked the gap, trying it's hardest to attack us from the edge. As we bickered amongst ourselves as to the best way to obtain both our crew mate's body and our last line of defense, another smaller creature appeared next to the spider on the other side of the gap. He grabbed our stop sign and scampered off back into the hallway, our efforts wasted and our time down the drain. It was such a bizzare moment that had multiple systems working ontop of one another, and they created something so unexpected, hilarious, and off putting that you'd think it would have been in a movie.

The more this game adds in terms of content, the more stories and scenarios can be created, and I cannot wait for the game to leave early access because of this very reason. Lethal Company is very simple in it's execution, but brings about a level of surprise and intrigue that has kept me thinking about this game long after my play sessions with it.

Jak II is a fascinating case study in the attempt to satisfy multiple audiences all at once. In order to best understand Jak II, it's best to view the game within the context of the time it was made.

GTA 3 exploded onto the scene, reverberating throughout the entire industry, causing everyone to go into a frenzy. Open world sandbox games were fresh and interesting, giving the player a means to doing seemingly anything they could ever want. Games like GTA, Halo and Metal Gear Solid 2 showed that games could not only be dark and serious, but could also be mature.

Jak, the series, was not this. Like, God, not at all.

Naughty Dog had just started a new IP that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The tailend of the era of 3D platformers was here, and Jak 1 was one of the last ones out. So instead of leaning more into their current audience of mostly younger kids, they changed course with the sequel. Jak II would become a serious game, that's dark, brooding, cool, and most importantly, for mature gamers. Naughty Dog took the effort to become as appealing to this demographic of preteens, teens and inbetweens as much as humanly possible, injecting every facet of Jak 2 with any gaming trend to have ever graced the mid-2000's.

As a result, Jak II is a mish-mash of multiple ideas stapled together and crumpled up into a tiny ball. It's a GTA clone! It's a platformer! It's a third person shooter! It's a racer! It's a Tony Hawk clone? What?

The GTA style gameplay loop of driving around a city and having cops chase after you is very prevelant, albeit loosely implemented. The game pays lip service to GTA without ever really understanding the basics of why GTA works so well. A simple example: in GTA, roads function as you would expect in a densely packed Metropolitan area. In Jak II, this very simple element becomes lost in translation due to navigating around this futuristic dystopian world. Driving itself becomes counter-intuitive when there's numerous denizens walking in the middle of the road, airway congestion blocking you from above, every route and pathway feeling cramped, coalescing within every claustrophobic wall and tight corner this city provides.

This city is just simply not a fun place to drive in. There's so many dead ends, corners, traffic, with no real straight shots of any kind. The reason for this is simple. Everything is bundled to the world design, matching exactly how a dysfunctional dystopia would be. Dilapidated houses, roads with holes carved out by the many bomb blasts that have previously been bombarding the city. Wonky wooden pier pathways that creep out into the murky waters housing the equally wonkily built slum houses. Areas divided with electronic barriers to keep the slums from infecting the higher class areas. The world is built as an interesting backdrop first and a functionally fun place to drive around last.

Jak II has made me realize that I've taken for granted the systems and mechanics that GTA has set in place. Within the wanted system of GTA, there's a push and pull with how a chase begins, proceeds, and ends. When you begin, you're contemplating on whether or not the risk of obtaining a new car is worth potentially having the cops come after you. Is the coast clear? Are there any witnesses? Which car should I steal? If I need to get someplace fast, should I just steal any car? As you proceed with your car jacking proclivities, you obtain a wanted level. This level increases as you rack up more and more violations. Your choices from here are to either drive away avoiding the many cops blocking your escape route, or blasting them away, causing that pesky wanted rating to potentially rise more. The more your level goes up, the more artillery the cops begin to bust out to stop you, making your escape much harder. To end the madness, you have to hide until the heat dies down, or enter a safe house. Then, you can return to your normal state of being. Alternatively, you could also potentially die or get arrested by the police, causing you to either pay out with bail, or pay out your medical bills. This brings you back to the beginning, where you determine the next time if it's worth the risk to enter into the loop once again, potentially losing a valuable resource if you die/get caught. It's a fundamentally solid risk vs reward system.

Jak 2 does, uh... Very little of anything I just described.

Guards out on patrol absolutely do not care if you steal someone's car. They don't even care if you mow down civilians with your car! See, these asshole only care if you hit any of THEIR cars, or what's more likely, accidentally rammed into one of them while you were trying to dodge all the flying cars that clutter the screen. The reason why they're so indifferent is the same reason as before; this universe we're violently kicked into is an authoritarian oppressive NIGHTMARE, with a government that makes normal citizens lick their boots before they stomp them into the ground. In-universe explanation be damned — as a mechanic, it just doesn't work here. There's no real consequences to your actions, there's no real push or pull. Death just means restarting the mission at worst and respawning nearby where you died at best. The system is brainless in how you approach the threat, and there's no such thing as planning your next step ahead.

Can you have fun with this system? Sure. You can wrangle fun out of just about any system. But the main issue that arises though from this lackluster wanted system, as well as the atrocious level design, is that the GTA style of missions become a mind numbing slog to even be reached. Every mission is just running back and forth between different key locations, remixing previous level design for a new type of mission. Escorts missions, turret missions, kill this many enemies, skateboarding to do this or that, go do a race, then do it all again in the next few missions. New spins to those types of missions happen, and they're welcomed, but every mission is then hampered by extremely limiting checkpoints that'll make you repeat the mission over and over until you eventually manage to survive the entire mission in a single go.

These missions are at the very least helped by the combat feeling satisfying. Hitting a dude with a melee attack and seeing Jak and Daxter squash and stretch is immensely pleasing to view. Running, jumping, spinning, shooting, all of the actions feel nice and weighty to perform. Same with their spin attack.

But the you start adding weapons into the mix.

You start off with a shotgun, which is meant to clear out enemies within it's radius. The blast takes about 2-3 bullets to take out a bad guy. This would be fine, but your melee hits do the same amount of damage. Your spin attack is about as equally effective too. They try and swarm you with many enemies at once to justify the use of the shotgun, but it isn't very satisfying to use when it's only purpose is for a slightly larger crowd control. This in turn means that the shotgun is repetitive to the combat loop, at least more towards the beginning. The second gun you get, the Blaster, is much more enjoyable to use. It's a single bolt shot, but if you melee followed by shoot, you can perform an extra move that shoots 3-4 shots. Spinning shoots out in any direction, hitting anything in it's path. Why the shotgun doesn't have this type of role is beyond me. Next is your equivalent to a chaingun, which can be fun to mow down guys with, but ultimately chows down too many bullets far too quickly to be a go-to weapon. Same with the final gun, the Peace Maker, of which has very limited ammo but has a massive blast radius. I feel the need to hoard my ammo with these like a tiny little muskrat, since they feel slightly rarer to drop. The blaster is just way too versatile to use, making it the best gun in the entire game, which overshadows all of the other weapons dramatically. This makes combat somewhat satisfying, but also quite mindless. Spinning while shooting does the job quite aptly... until it doesn't and you randomly get hit. There's no real aiming with these weapons, they're all auto aiming at a nearby target, which in turn becomes difficult for the player to point directly at an enemy in the distance. The designers only occasionally pull this nasty trick on you on purpose, but in more open sections, this becomes an unintended side effect of the limitations of this shooting system. It's clunkily held together by duct tape and glue, but combat does have it's moments.

Playing Jak II has been a bizarre experience. Not entirely for it's story corrupting a relatively family friendly kid's game and inserting causality loops and dark authoritarian dystopians into it. It has moreso to do with my perspective changing from when I initially first played the game. Jak II was the first PlayStation 2 game that I ever owned, and was THE reason I wanted a PS2. That's right, I was that demographic. The game served as a more age appropriate approach towards GTA gameplay, and was my first real exposure to the type of formula. In a way, there's a certain affinity for the game that still remains. Even through all the frustration I've felt from this game, there's something distinctively intriguing about it's tone and design. Which doesn't mean that it's necessarily a good video game, but at the very least, it's an fascinating disaster. Jak II is a tried and failed method of attempting to cram in as many mechanics together as possible, becoming a jack of all trades, master of none. The more you look at Jak II, the more the game begins to break apart at the seams, and yet, the more I'm enraptured by the game. None of it really works for me, but there's still something there. A spark of life. A hint of soul. I love when you've entered a vehicle, the music transitions to a more upbeat drum backing it. I love the environments to the game, there's an incredible sense of atmosphere to these bleak fantastical world. I love how dorky and lame it is to have Jak become some weirdo edge lord who wields a gun. I love that this is directly responsible for Shadow The Hedgehog existing.

If Jak II was scaled back and had refocused itself on one or two gameplay styles, it may have been a better game. At the same time though, I'm not entirely sure it would have been as interesting. It'd be less ambitious, less absurd, and less of what makes Jak II irresistible to watch.

I don't think Jak II is very good, but I do think Jak II is an interesting game. Not all media can say that. And personally, I'd rather be remembered for failing spectacularly than to be completely forgotten from sheer and utter mediocrity.

Disco Elysium is the best interpretation of a tabletop game into a video game that I've ever played.

"Chaos is my method. I am it's scion." is a quote that I think best sums up our protagonist, Harry Du Bois. His fractured mind is a perfect vessel for the player. His multiple personalities act as stat attributes similar to DnD, curved into the lens of a video game. His responses are insane, his reactions are overly dramatic and pathetic, he is the perfect embodiment of a DnD player pushing against his Dungeon Master. He is literally me. Not in the realest sense of the phrase — I don't even drink alcohol — but instead, in my approach for characters. When I play a character in a tabletop setting, I play Harry Du Bois. I am the active character that is utterly insane. The sheer force of stupidity that drives the plot forward. The gung-ho moron that doesn't know what he's doing and stumbles forward and falls flat on his face as he attempts to trick the world that he is about to pull off the dumbest thing on the planet, only to fail or succeed spectacularly. Kim Kitsuragi, in turn, represents the type of player who knows what he's doing. The type of player that would go along with my incredibly inane antics in a more constructive, logical way. He plays along with Harry and has a deep respect and care for him, but he's here to do his job and do it right. He's an anchor for your insanity, a safety mechanism in your Coupris 40 preventing you from drunkenly steering off the road to prove to the voice in your head that you're the real Tequila Sunset. I would classify these characters as pitch perfect characters, a perfect dynamic duo for a detective story.

Plop these characters into the culturally rich and politically charged world of Elysium, and their stories take shape for the player to explore. Whether you're a good cop, a bad cop, a sorry cop, a boring cop, a commie scumbag or a fascist pig, a capitalist bourgeoisie or fence sitting moralist, it's merely up to you. You're here to solve a murder, and however you bumble your way through is up to you. Dice rolls and stat checks are the law, determining just what actions you can and can't perform. Accompanied with this are dialogue trees that give the player enough room to roleplay. My version of Harry had a Psych-Physique build and was a Sorry Cop/Moralist. He thought most of the political conflict was rubbish. He was highly irritable, irrational, sad, pathetic, and petty. He attempted to shoot a child out of anger. He told a child that he thought kids were dumb, and at the slight graze to his ego when the kid responded to him with "you're dumb", he replied with "I'm leaving. I'm leaving and I'm never talking to you again". He was always sorry for his past mistakes. He attempted to make up for them constantly. He didn't drink a drop for the 6-7 days he was on the assignment. He worked his ass off and showed kindness to those who needed it most. He had 7 people killed. He lost his gun and never found it. He found his badge in his wrecked Courpris 40 Police Wagon that was taken in by the water. He pet the hair of the murder victim. He kissed a figment of his ex of 7 years and stopped when he realized she didn't want to kiss back immediately. Kim grew to befriend and appreciate him, even in his moments of stupidity.

This is a game that will require multiple playthroughs. It's impossible not to feel like this. The game almost demands it. The amount of choices the player can make within the game, the amount of stories and characters I never even experienced or uncovered are still left unturned. I feel as though I've only scratched the surface with the world of Disco Elysium. Disco Elysium is a Dungeon Master where you can think "oh, can I do that?" and he let's you do that. It's not true enough to be the endlessly imaginative and creative feeling of a real tabletop game, but instead an emulated feeling that still rings true to it's tabletop roots in just the right ways. And for that, I love this game to pieces.

I can't wait to re-enter this world through the drunken lens of Harry Du Bois yet again. Chaos is my method, and Harry is my scion.

It took the gaming industry three decades to learn how to make swimming fun in a 2D platformer.

Mario had been the golden standard for 2D platforming for years. The advent rise of 3D technology excited both the consumer and the industry to an extreme. As a result, there was an era of the gaming industry where 2D platformers were seen as cheap, uninteresting, dated, and less exciting. This sentiment can still be seen today in some regards, regardless of the actual quality and effort put into those games. Though 2D platformers were never truly gone, they merely weren't the dominating force of the industry they used to be.

Mario had moved, everyone else had followed.

Rayman had made a successful jump to the third dimension along side Mario. With just 2 sequels from it's original 2D platformer roots, Rayman had made it's way into the hearts of many, becoming a bit of a household name.

Then Rayman: Raving Rabbids came out and all hell broke loose.

These proto-Minions developed a stronghold on Ubisoft's eye. Their target demographic couldn't get enough of these zany little creatures. Capitalizing this trend, Rayman very suddenly moved out of the spotlight. Much like the Touch Detective series, Despicable Me series, and hell, even the Donkey Kong series, the side characters suddenly took center stage. For a long while, Rayman fell to the wayside in order to milk the new cash cow for all that it was worth.

But Mario moved, and everyone else had followed.

Mario began to return to it's 2D roots. New Super Mario Bros made huge numbers in sales. And thus, a resurgence in 2D platformers began to come back in style. Technology had advanced far enough to where 2D could use 3D assets to emulate 2D. Ubisoft began to create an entire engine for artists to insert their art more freely into the games called the UbiArt engine. Their first game for this brand new engine was Rayman Origins. And very suddenly, Rayman made his return.

Rayman Origins is a phenomenal game. It's the first time a 2D platformer ever really excited me outside of Mario. Taking lessons from Mario, Origins ended up not only innovating the genre, but becoming a template for 2D platformers to be creative with. Techniques on lighting, perspective, scale, layering, depth, everything from the art design, to the level design, to even the music — it's DNA can all be traced back to here.

Rayman feels so smooth to control. Running in this game feels so slick and effortless. They're not as refined as Legends, but you have to start somewhere. Each level you breeze through with tight finesse of your character. Circumnavigating through these vast dreamscapes accompanied by the backing music causes a state of flow and rhythm. It's easy to see why it's sequel chose to include full on interactive musical levels. Each level acts almost as a musical set piece, the flow of the song dictating the flow of the level. Whether that be the jungle's stringy twange with their special guest: digeridoos, the desert's spiritual humming strings and bongo drums (literally), the bossa nova chilled back ice stage using the clanks of glass and ice to create the percussion, the sound of creatures scatting over the smoothest jazz piece ever as you flow and spin around with the (at the time) best swimming controls to ever grace a 2D platformer. Everything simply flowed together. Music being dynamic with each section of a stage meant a new rhythm to the levels could be created, instruments could come and go, new songs entirely could be inserted. Gameplay surrounds around collecting Lums, creating scenarios where you want to keep looking for King Lums that add on a musically charged modifier to them, incentivizing you to further the flow in order to collect as many Red Lums as you can. Stages centered around chasing a treasure chest cause the player to act on reflexes. The game is constantly putting you into a flow state, and it's so masterfully done. Origins mashes it's gaming senses together — game feel, sound, visuals — to create a uniform experience unlike any other. To play this game without headphones on is a travesty.

When I first played Origins, that's exactly what I missed. "The gameplay was great, but some of this music can get annoyingly repetitive", I thought to myself stupidly. Of course, the songs I could hear quite clearly were the ones that stuck out the most. The more outlandish parts of the soundtrack stood out the most: the twang of the music, the somewhat irritating chatter of the creatures singing as you collected red lums or swam through the water levels. But those songs are but a mere fraction of what Origins had to offer.

The engine developed to help artists insert their art easier payed off in strides, creating one of the best looking 2D art I've seen for a platformer. Rayman and his loveable cast of friends look fantastic in this style —lanky limbs (when they have them), goofy, unhinged expressions, all chalk full of character. When Rayman slides, he slides upon the ground with a joyful glee, and when his momentum has carried him to a stopping point, he jolts up in a pouncing position as you keep the stick down. Winding up a punch and letting go of the button just feels immensely satisfying with the exaggerated fist barreling towards whatever direction you decide to send it. Characters speak in somewhat nonsense English, replacing vowels with babbling, sometimes you're even able to make out what a character is saying. This small little element reinforces the dream-like quality that these games have. The amount of sheer detail and love poured into each and every one of these characters, backgrounds, everything, is nothing short of amazing.

Returning to this game, I wasn't expecting to love the game as much as I did. Rayman Legends I had always thought was the better game, completely making Origins obsolete as a title. Now though? I'm not so sure. This game does have the Nymphs, though. I remember being very disappointed that they weren't in Legends, they were cute characters. I mean, have you ever even SEEN Bellita? Zoo WEE MAMA.

I'm not sure why my Rayman reviews have ended nearly identical, but my point is, Rayman Origins is even more phenomenal than I remembered. What a gift of a game.

I don't know how to talk about Rayman 3.

Typically when I approach games, I attempt to keep an open mind. It's a difficult task, though I've always felt like I've done a fair job at keeping my biases up front. I don't have any personal grudges toward Rayman 3 — it certainly didn't kill my family. But I can't say I've enjoyed my time with it. And I genuinely dislike that.

There was once a toxic discussion I had with someone that contained a multitude of talking points, (of which I'll spare the details of as to not dredge up the past), but the key point for this review was with Rayman 3. The person in question praised Rayman 3 by putting down Rayman 2. In a way, it felt like they were overcompensating their defense of a game they liked by pre-emptively putting down the game that usually gets praised. Perhaps this happened in the past for them. Perhaps they were just in a foul mood. But this has unfortunately set up some expectations. This conversation has been running in the back of my mind as I played, and may have inadvertently caused some bias within me.

Granted, I have always heard Rayman 3 is a bit of a divisive game. Gaming reviewers over the years have always seemed to let it slip by them when talking about 3D platformers, and those that did delve into Rayman 3's idiosyncrasies never seemed to care too deeply about them. I went into Rayman 3 with these expectations as well, believing this to be a case where Rayman 3 will be different from Rayman 2, but I'll still walk away with enough positives to say that I've enjoyed the game.

It didn't end up like that.

What's struck me the most about Rayman 3 is the humor. From the moment you enter proper gameplay, the game hits you over the head with 4th wall breaks. Murphy is constantly talking about how much the game tutorial sucks, how you suck for not getting the red lums that you only just began to get a feel for the controls, and starts getting into an argument with the tutorial text. Gag after gag is played on top of one another to a sickening degree. After a while, Murphy suddenly drops a "See you in Rayman 4!" and then decides to leave abruptly. None of this made much sense and was a bad first impression, but hey, Murphy only seems to be in the tutorial, so I suppose it'll get better as I progress, keeping the strangeness to the character.

It did not do that. As it turned out, every single character was like this. Every enemy spouted out non-sequitor lines that weren't really funny as non-sequitors, jokes would be made that would only vaguely fit a scenario but made absolutely no sense given the set up of them being non-existent. A detrimental example is of a strong, scary enemy that you cannot damage. These enemies say lines like "I will eat your flesh", but then inserts lines like "You will bounce a bad check" over and over ad nausea. Some of them speak to one another, yelling that "my dad could beat up your dad" at an unfitting moment. These repetitive lines actually affect any mood or feeling you get from the gameplay set ups of these creatures. They're built up as intimidating, and being surrounded by them is a big deal, but they replace any semblance of emotion with a cheap, uninspired gag. There's no restraint, there's no subtly, there's no structure. It's a bad fever dream of a plot that barely connects to one another, making the events that happen genuinely disorientating to follow. I kept thinking about Eternam while playing this game. This may be some specific style of surreal humor that might be a cultural difference. Maybe it works better in the native language, I don't know. But for me personally, it quickly became obnoxious and irritating.

I would be more forgiving of this tone shift from whimsical and surreal to obnoxious and surreal if the gameplay was serviceable. Rayman 3 attempts to improve aspects of the original game, but falls flat in execution. Rayman controls much more stiffly than his Rayman 2 counterpart, and it's immediately noticeable. I believe this was meant to play into combat, given Rayman 3 is a more combat focused game. Combat is something that could have been improved on from Rayman 2 in an interesting manner, yet the game keeps the very basic system that Rayman 2 had, but adds on small layers of complexity through the suit power ups along with curving your fists. These suit power ups act as very basic lock and keys to levels, making these power ups feel more situational than versitile. This system wouldn't be as bad if not for the fact that the boss and enemy fights in this game are plentiful, poorly thought out, stretch on for far too long, and overstay their welcome after 30 seconds. Each boss you face feels like their purpose is to extend the game's length to reach about 8 hours of gameplay, and it's genuinely soul crushing. Each phase of a boss left me genuinely upset that I had to continue rotating through the same patterns 3 times just to end the phase. There's inklings of great ideas here, a boss fight revolving around chasing a guy through his mansion as he sets up traps for you is a clever idea, but the game is relentless. Rayman 3 has trouble letting go of ideas.

Much of the good about Rayman 3 comes with some caveats. The environmental design can look fantastic in some areas, but they lack a sort of cohesion due to the story and writing bouncing around like two cartoon characters fighting. Power ups I enjoy like the shoe racing go under utilized as a fun opportunity to race against yourself and are instead religated to threading a needle by hitting your other shoe, acting as yet another boss fight to stay put on your screen for far too long. The music in certain places is spectacular, but contains some sour patches that grate the ears. Friends of mine would get annoyed if I stayed in an area for too long.

I finished Rayman 3 within two sittings, and by the end of the first sitting, which was a little over halfway through the game, I was already about done. I continued because I genuinely hoped the game would become better, and while those moments did come and I found myself not being as irritated, those rough patches would crop back up soon after. For every small piece of game design I enjoyed, the three other aspects mentioned here would pop back in to greet me. I really wanted to like Rayman 3, but I just couldn't. Whether my biases clouded my enjoyment or not, I don't believe I like Rayman 3. I found the game to be a mediocre platformer at best, and an obnoxious reminder of 2000's era zany random humor at worst.

I want to come around on this game, and who knows! Maybe I will! But I reserve my doubt.

God, I really am a masochist. At least I'm not as bad as those fucking rats things in this game that beg to be hit again. Though, maybe I am if I'm that willing to replay this game eventually down the line.

Mario, ever since my mid-teens, hasn't been what I wanted.

I grew up with Mario. Mario 64 was my first game ever. I was a GameCube kid through and through and an early Wii adopter. The GameCube represented Nintendo doing their own thing. Creating wacky games with strange gimmicks that innovated and kept you wondering. Sunshine was my favorite mainline Mario game. Luigi's Mansion was one of my favorite spin off series. Paper Mario was my favorite video game series ever. Paper Mario represented everything I loved about the Mario I grew up with. Interesting, playful, subversive, full of character. You never knew what to expect.

And then Sticker Star happened.

And then Luigi's Mansion: Dark Moon happened.

And then New Super Mario Bros began to slowly embed itself as the new face of Mario.

Mario very suddenly changed. It wasn't my Mario. It was someone else's.

One of the most scathing lines I've ever written about a video game was against Sticker Star. It's emblematic of the bitterness I felt towards this new direction.

"Sticker Star is a game about the IP coming first. Mario must forever be what he was from Super Mario Bros 3, a game from 30 years ago."

Mario's IP had become stagnant with the amount of character put into it. Whether it be because Miyamoto desired this, or Nintendo's higher ups requesting brand consistency, Mario was no longer allowed to break the mold from himself. Mario had to be one exact way. Plain vanilla without any toppings.

Up until Super Mario Bros: Wonder's announcement, I thought Mario Odyssey was a fluke. Mario was trying a style of game they've long since abandoned. Mario Odyssey has become one of my favorite games of all time, but in the gaze of hindsight, it always felt like Nintendo was just throwing me a bone. "Here's what you wanted, " they'd say, "now we'll just continue with New Super Mario Bros." Back to the milquetoast.

Super Mario Bros: Wonder broke that perception. This wasn't just a fluke. This was my Mario again.

I haven't been this excited about a 2D Mario game since Super Mario World. And that's a really good feeling. Mario Wonder is vanilla with sprinkles, chocolate, cherries, oreoes, and all the little treats you'd stick in your dessert. Each and every moment in this game has brought me second guessing what's to come next. Just from the trailer, the sight of Mario with cartoony expressions and animations set my heart ablaze. Seeing Mario in this new, strange style was so bizzare and new — and most importantly — exciting. When the game was finally in my hands, I found there to be so many free form, creative ideas mashed condensely into such a small package that you'd think your copy would burst at the seams. My preferences towards 3D Mario has completely gone out the window at the sight of pure love poured into this game.

The Wonder Seeds sprout up some absolutely adorable ideas. At one moment you could find yourself suddenly in space, or riding a Yoshi-like dragon, or within a musical number. This game makes great use of musical motifs, having gameplay and music sync up with the beat. You have your standard Mario power up variations, all of which are fun, but badges to shake up the mix significantly with some really fun variety. Self imposed challenges are now a thing you can try, the player is more in control of their own playstyle. This makes for something new each time you decide to play, or even while you're playing. Everything just feels solid to control. Level design runs on all cylinders, each idea staying and leaving just enough to make you feel satisfied. The online functionality gave me a wonderful sense of community, steering my fellow ghostly players into the right direction, and coming out the other side of a tough level together, a sense of comradery between us. The final encounter with Bowser had me smiling ear to ear with just how cool it all was. Every musical orientated gimmick made my heart flutter with joy.

There was a moment leading up to Bowser. His final level is a strange mish mash of all the gimmicks you've encountered, all coming together. Music built up, musically encorporating into the level itself, and then suddenly silence as you switch over to floating into space. One of the flowers said something that really struck a chord with me.

"Look how far you've come."

Upon these very simple words, I nearly teared up.

This game felt like a journey. Like a sense of discovery. A newfound identity has been molded and reconstructed from what Nintendo has learned and built up over the years since the GameCube. The spirit of the Gamecube lives on, only in a more constructive manner.

And I couldn't be happier to say that my Mario is back.

I think I'm a masochist.

I've often returned to media I've consumed that has emotionally scarred me as a kid with a sense of reverence. I appreciate when a piece of media affects me deeply in just about any way, even if it's kept me awake at night. Pain and fear are truly ugly, grotesque feelings that can cause deep rooted damage to one's mental psyche, but I've always had a bit of an appreciation towards them. Pain is the greatest teacher, fear is the greatest motivator.

Not that Rayman 2 is an embodiment of pain - far from it. Rayman 2 is one of the smoothest 3D platformers I've ever played. Even with moments of repeated dying, like with the Ssssam's chaotic water skiing extravaganza, to the final boss's checkpoints restarting you from the beginning of a section that requires tight flight navigation, the game never made me want to quit playing. Each level is fun with it's own interesting gimmick, each gimmick is fun within their own right, some of which could be stretched into full of centerpieces of entire game. Riding a pencil shaped rocket, flinging yourself forward on a giant bouncing plum, all of it is just pure game feel fun. Jumping is smooth and easy, hovering helps with any types of complications. Simplistic as the combat may be, the act of shooting dudes with your balls of light is a fun little break up from the main platforming. I personally wouldn't even ask for a more complicated system, but I could see why others may find it a detriment.

So no, Rayman 2 is not at all painful. What Rayman 2 is, is a childhood fear. This comes down almost purely through the art design. The way webby, sticky cobwebs are drawn, to the look of the Zombie Chickens with their tattered clothes, to murky bubbling swamp lands, everything embodies the look of a dream world. A fat stubby man with long arms asks you to assemble strange looking masks as he uses his gigantic finger to create a swirling vortex to teleport you, disintegrating Rayman in the process. The Marsh's Shaman forcing you to go into his mindscape to prove your worth, chasing you from the perspective of inside his mouth, his saliva dripping around his jagged, distorted teeth. (That one in particular gave me such deep anxiety.) The Robo-pirates juxtaposing Rayman and friend's rustic roundness with their jagged edges and rusted metallic bodies. The game starts you off at your lowest point, trapped as a slave within the belly of the ship that houses these monsters, the ever growing count of slaves rising as you progress through the game. Razorbeard himself, as silly and whimsical as him and his men are portrayed, still carry a bit of bite to them. Literally - he eats one of the collectable Lums, forever changing the number from 1000 to 999. Tiny blue men who have debated and bickered on who is the real king among them show you the way to new levels, performing a kick dance along with Rayman to summon the portal. They also open these ancient, primordial gates for you to venture into a new world. It's all so surreal.

And yet, it's playful with a wonderful sense of charm and wit. Characters speak in their own language, making funny mouth sounds as they speak, followed by a triumphant "Yeah! Rayman!". Characters perform slapstick comedy that's incredibly chuckle worthy. The music is spry and springy with bubbly delight, warm and inviting with a sense of wonder, sometimes with sweeping orchestral pieces, to literal and actual genre jungle beats, all of which set the atmosphere of these primarily green soaked world's with life, tension, and wonder. It's such an endlessly charming world.

The darker tones of Rayman 2 have always left such an impression on me. Of course, playing the game as an adult has lessened these feelings of sheer horror. But there's an irresistible lure to them. They've served as an ever lasting reminder of the dark aspects of world, and how even within the darker world, there's light within that darkness. There's always humor, whimsy, charm. You can't appreciate the light if not for the dark.

Kinda like Goth girls. I'm really into goth girls, so Ly kind of does it for me. She has a tail though, so maybe she's a furry? The heck is that? Ly The Fairy, Ly The Furry more like it. She's got nice hands either way.

Yeah, I'm definitely a masochist.