boxcat
GameClub Game #1:
Mystical Ninja starring Goemon denies me of my usual stream-of-consciousness style for reviewing by positioning itself right in the middle of the quality scale. It excels at nothing, attempts nothing to excel at, and sleeps well in the warmth of anti-critical faux-nostalgia from those who did or don't have fond memories of the N64. I always say that boring games are worse than straight up bad games because they siphon every interesting quality out of a video game and instead of ruining them or bolstering them, mitigate them with a mind numbing lack of knowledge or ambition. This game is exactly that; a stepping stone for more ambitious devs to use as a reference point in what to avoid in design.
Every area in Goemon is stretched a mile long in an attempt to pad playtime. This would be fine, if Goemon and his peanut gallery had any sort of movement options to offer the more interested player a more enticing relationship between world and control, but they don't. Every ability and action is supplemented with 4 useless button presses in order to initiate when they could be delegated to 1- and are even further delayed by pointlessly long unattractive animations. This would be fine if the abilities and actions served any other purpose than to open locked doors in different ways or cease the delay of your movement forward, but they don't. Even when you do get abilities that allow you to circumvent the intended solutions for said lock-and-key puzzles, you're about 30 minutes from being rid of the game. On top of that, you can't enact any ability while moving, even ones that Make the player Move. It's pretty darn silly and I can only assuming intentionally stifling. I would be able to forgive these bouts of boring, standardized gameplay if the game kept up its witty, absurd comedy that is present within the first 10 minutes, but it doesn't. What I thought might be a middling gameplay experience upheld by its writing and gags immediately becomes a middling package wrapped up in a tone deaf bow.
The best joke in the game is when it introduced its secondary protagonist by throwing him out of a restaurant for streaking. That's the first cutscene. Everything else the game considers funny is on part of the pressured, underpaid localizers to erase any kind of marginalized hate terms slung at minority groups that Japan loves to hate. I can appreciate this game's dedication to recreating and paying homage to Japanese culture, accurate depictions of real locations, but it all falls apart when I look up "Mystical Ninja Goemon Okama."
The game isn't worth it and only offers a couple catchy songs, nicely baked-in cool bounce lighting in some areas, and it's overall visual dedication. Other than that, everything about Mystical Ninja Goemon deserves to be ignored. It brings to light no interesting conversation and even trying will be a waste of energy as I could just spend that energy forming a cooler conversation about a better game.
I don't really have much interesting to say, but neither does the game.
So middle fingers up, this shit is Goemid. It's not Mario 64 meets Ocarina of Time. You don't even know what that means. You don't even want that shit. Go to work.
Mystical Ninja starring Goemon denies me of my usual stream-of-consciousness style for reviewing by positioning itself right in the middle of the quality scale. It excels at nothing, attempts nothing to excel at, and sleeps well in the warmth of anti-critical faux-nostalgia from those who did or don't have fond memories of the N64. I always say that boring games are worse than straight up bad games because they siphon every interesting quality out of a video game and instead of ruining them or bolstering them, mitigate them with a mind numbing lack of knowledge or ambition. This game is exactly that; a stepping stone for more ambitious devs to use as a reference point in what to avoid in design.
Every area in Goemon is stretched a mile long in an attempt to pad playtime. This would be fine, if Goemon and his peanut gallery had any sort of movement options to offer the more interested player a more enticing relationship between world and control, but they don't. Every ability and action is supplemented with 4 useless button presses in order to initiate when they could be delegated to 1- and are even further delayed by pointlessly long unattractive animations. This would be fine if the abilities and actions served any other purpose than to open locked doors in different ways or cease the delay of your movement forward, but they don't. Even when you do get abilities that allow you to circumvent the intended solutions for said lock-and-key puzzles, you're about 30 minutes from being rid of the game. On top of that, you can't enact any ability while moving, even ones that Make the player Move. It's pretty darn silly and I can only assuming intentionally stifling. I would be able to forgive these bouts of boring, standardized gameplay if the game kept up its witty, absurd comedy that is present within the first 10 minutes, but it doesn't. What I thought might be a middling gameplay experience upheld by its writing and gags immediately becomes a middling package wrapped up in a tone deaf bow.
The best joke in the game is when it introduced its secondary protagonist by throwing him out of a restaurant for streaking. That's the first cutscene. Everything else the game considers funny is on part of the pressured, underpaid localizers to erase any kind of marginalized hate terms slung at minority groups that Japan loves to hate. I can appreciate this game's dedication to recreating and paying homage to Japanese culture, accurate depictions of real locations, but it all falls apart when I look up "Mystical Ninja Goemon Okama."
The game isn't worth it and only offers a couple catchy songs, nicely baked-in cool bounce lighting in some areas, and it's overall visual dedication. Other than that, everything about Mystical Ninja Goemon deserves to be ignored. It brings to light no interesting conversation and even trying will be a waste of energy as I could just spend that energy forming a cooler conversation about a better game.
I don't really have much interesting to say, but neither does the game.
So middle fingers up, this shit is Goemid. It's not Mario 64 meets Ocarina of Time. You don't even know what that means. You don't even want that shit. Go to work.
2023
Magic is real. If you didn't know that yet, I'm sure it just rocked your world. This previously fictitious concept of a bottle-able, anti-reality force that opposes our predefined sense of nature is actually tangible. Inch toward grappling with this new reality until you can make peace with it, understand how things have changed, and tackle it head on. Magic, to you, was once intuitive. Santa was able to deliver gifts to all the children of the world in just one night. Magicians could bend spoons, vanish rabbits, or walk on water. There was a profit to be made from knocking all your teeth out on purpose and banking with the Tooth Fairy. I understand if you need to sit down for a second. While you're sitting, you might wanna do something to relax. It might help you parse the shattering information you just learned. Everyone has different techniques to relax, so go ahead and choose your favorite. Maybe you indulge in a favorite snack, or just lay your head to rest.
I, personally, play video games- no matter the mood.
Corn Kidz 64 knows magic is real. It transforms the reality of magic into a confident display utilizing a true, relatable, childlike wonder; indulgence with an edge. The emo goat-duo that the game follows speak with a bit-tongue's amount of Lulz. It's just the right amount of a personality anyone playing this game is definitely familiar with: it never gets grating or "cringey." It's obvious the game's solo-dev holds this kind of early internet culture close to his heart, as the game lacks any kind of deathly serious motive or secret agenda. The playable character wants Nachos, and Nachos are a funny food, so we run with it. It's all an excuse for cute interactions between characters, which is as noble of a goal as any. It harkens back to any adult's deviantart childhood in a non-punishing way. This reflective purity is also displayed through the game's obviously 5th generation iterative visual style, something also close to home to the dev, evident through its perfect execution. The vast, supernaturally colored skyboxes, misty textures, and oddly specific architecture offers a unique impression through a familiar lens, it's fantastic and needs no discussion past this.
The game's visuals and writing is a match made in heaven, as it isn't baiting the player along its path. Corn Kidz is more than the memory of a trident controller, as it brings the sharp, cutthroat "edgy"ness of teenaged creation with it, and it's completely welcome. The goats complain about being "developmentally crippled mutants", there's cartoonish gore, and gothic theming all over Wolloh's Hollow. Allusions to religious satire and ethically dubious acts tie the game's presentation in a nice, torn up, black bow. I wanted to say early it's a match made in hell, but that would've sounded like an insult lacking context. The whole package is so relatable to me. It isn't just this "fantastical" sense of childhood or Wonder, it's the unexpected intensity. The slapstick fluid animation that binds it, the seemingly inappropriate theming, I am into this stuff.
But above it all, Corn Kidz is aware of magic's rules.
It's secrets lie within conviction- the power to do things because you know you can. Belief in "corn powers" and the supernatural.
If you don't think you can make a jump and chicken out, you're lacking the faith that fuels the magic. This game has mastered what I call the "skin-of-your-teeth" jump like I haven't seen since Mario 64. Every jump will have you sucking air through your teeth until you exhale. Some jumps seem impossible without the fated "upgrade" or "different ability" you'll never get. It's all a matter of analyzing your seemingly unintuitive surroundings, thinking about your approach, and executing. It's very satisfying. "Unintuitive" is really the name of the game here, especially when it comes to puzzle solving, as every solution has a very cryptic, yet retroactively obvious, solution. It encourages the player to study every option in the toybox they roam and leads them to the discovery that no room, no object, is unneccessary. If something seems menial or strictly humorous, the odds are its an incredibly important piece to a multi-step puzzle. This would usually bother me, but since Seve is so fun to control, it doesn't matter. Just as jumps are tailored, Seve's turn radius, speed, and limited moves leave so much room in their simplicity and effectiveness for wonderful player-interaction with the world. While his wall jumps, sidling, and homing attacks are simple on paper, there are iterations on them that further encourage a unique thought directive in the player. For example, you jump higher on walls when you push against them, so "impossible" distances actually just require some prior proximity. Seve's air-boost homing attack magnetizes to distant objects, but blasting off of them isn't attached to your control stick or inherent to your previously chosen direction. This impressed me; It's actually initiated through an extra button input after colliding with an object, which gives you slack time to continually boost wherever you want again while airborne. I play a lot of Sonic games, and the "answer" to flow-stopping homing attacks has always alluded me, and this serves as a more than functional alternative. It's COOL. There's room for experimentation within Seve's base movement too, there are faster ways of travel other than walking if you're willing to take the time to try; but frankly, the game doesn't need it. Everything is so close together and you unlock so many shortcuts around the areas that travel is never obnoxious. The hands off camera functionality works wonders for the game's flow, and additives to it like a "look directly down" button and distant option make it even better. Old 3d platformers have gotten a lot of flack for their cameras, but I've always been a proponent of the camera being a mechanic just as much as a moveset or obstacle is. It's something you need to tackle and understand, and often times, trust for the best experience. Corn Kidz 64 is no different if you're willing to sit down and shut up.
Magic lies in confidence and confidence is as real as you're willing to display. If you didn't know that yet, I'm sure it just rocked your world.
I, personally, play video games- no matter the mood.
Corn Kidz 64 knows magic is real. It transforms the reality of magic into a confident display utilizing a true, relatable, childlike wonder; indulgence with an edge. The emo goat-duo that the game follows speak with a bit-tongue's amount of Lulz. It's just the right amount of a personality anyone playing this game is definitely familiar with: it never gets grating or "cringey." It's obvious the game's solo-dev holds this kind of early internet culture close to his heart, as the game lacks any kind of deathly serious motive or secret agenda. The playable character wants Nachos, and Nachos are a funny food, so we run with it. It's all an excuse for cute interactions between characters, which is as noble of a goal as any. It harkens back to any adult's deviantart childhood in a non-punishing way. This reflective purity is also displayed through the game's obviously 5th generation iterative visual style, something also close to home to the dev, evident through its perfect execution. The vast, supernaturally colored skyboxes, misty textures, and oddly specific architecture offers a unique impression through a familiar lens, it's fantastic and needs no discussion past this.
The game's visuals and writing is a match made in heaven, as it isn't baiting the player along its path. Corn Kidz is more than the memory of a trident controller, as it brings the sharp, cutthroat "edgy"ness of teenaged creation with it, and it's completely welcome. The goats complain about being "developmentally crippled mutants", there's cartoonish gore, and gothic theming all over Wolloh's Hollow. Allusions to religious satire and ethically dubious acts tie the game's presentation in a nice, torn up, black bow. I wanted to say early it's a match made in hell, but that would've sounded like an insult lacking context. The whole package is so relatable to me. It isn't just this "fantastical" sense of childhood or Wonder, it's the unexpected intensity. The slapstick fluid animation that binds it, the seemingly inappropriate theming, I am into this stuff.
But above it all, Corn Kidz is aware of magic's rules.
It's secrets lie within conviction- the power to do things because you know you can. Belief in "corn powers" and the supernatural.
If you don't think you can make a jump and chicken out, you're lacking the faith that fuels the magic. This game has mastered what I call the "skin-of-your-teeth" jump like I haven't seen since Mario 64. Every jump will have you sucking air through your teeth until you exhale. Some jumps seem impossible without the fated "upgrade" or "different ability" you'll never get. It's all a matter of analyzing your seemingly unintuitive surroundings, thinking about your approach, and executing. It's very satisfying. "Unintuitive" is really the name of the game here, especially when it comes to puzzle solving, as every solution has a very cryptic, yet retroactively obvious, solution. It encourages the player to study every option in the toybox they roam and leads them to the discovery that no room, no object, is unneccessary. If something seems menial or strictly humorous, the odds are its an incredibly important piece to a multi-step puzzle. This would usually bother me, but since Seve is so fun to control, it doesn't matter. Just as jumps are tailored, Seve's turn radius, speed, and limited moves leave so much room in their simplicity and effectiveness for wonderful player-interaction with the world. While his wall jumps, sidling, and homing attacks are simple on paper, there are iterations on them that further encourage a unique thought directive in the player. For example, you jump higher on walls when you push against them, so "impossible" distances actually just require some prior proximity. Seve's air-boost homing attack magnetizes to distant objects, but blasting off of them isn't attached to your control stick or inherent to your previously chosen direction. This impressed me; It's actually initiated through an extra button input after colliding with an object, which gives you slack time to continually boost wherever you want again while airborne. I play a lot of Sonic games, and the "answer" to flow-stopping homing attacks has always alluded me, and this serves as a more than functional alternative. It's COOL. There's room for experimentation within Seve's base movement too, there are faster ways of travel other than walking if you're willing to take the time to try; but frankly, the game doesn't need it. Everything is so close together and you unlock so many shortcuts around the areas that travel is never obnoxious. The hands off camera functionality works wonders for the game's flow, and additives to it like a "look directly down" button and distant option make it even better. Old 3d platformers have gotten a lot of flack for their cameras, but I've always been a proponent of the camera being a mechanic just as much as a moveset or obstacle is. It's something you need to tackle and understand, and often times, trust for the best experience. Corn Kidz 64 is no different if you're willing to sit down and shut up.
Magic lies in confidence and confidence is as real as you're willing to display. If you didn't know that yet, I'm sure it just rocked your world.
It ain't all that and a bag of chips.
I have a strained relationship with fighting games. They're a genre of game everyone around me has had the time to understand and enjoy thoroughly, so it always made sense to pick some up for myself. The motivation behind playing every fighting game I've ever owned was always playing with friends. UNIB, DBFZ, P4AU, SkullGirls, SF4 and 5, Tekken 7, and Guilty Gear Strive were all purchased on recommendation from friends; something that we could all play together. This isn't to say I don't enjoy some of those games, but this strain I feel towards fighters has always been consistently building. Eventually, it reached its peak. Suddenly, fighters went from games we could resort to for game nights to endurance tests. How long could someone stand getting the pulp beaten out of them one-sidedly? How long could someone ride the high of winning over and over? How long could we keep lying to ourselves that this might be "it." The game we play for more than just 5 hours. The fighting game we dedicate to.
That "it" game never came. The skill gap between individuals grew wider, arguments on the functionality of certain games grew tired... and so did I. I didn't want to buy the newest fighter again just to pretend I've wrapped my head around the tutorial, hop in a match with friends, get swept, get sour, practice combo trials to my limit, get swept... rinse repeat. "Hitting the lab" sounded good on paper, but it never seemed like a good division of my time. Why waste all of my time "practicing" something I'm not understanding the fundamentals of when I could just be playing a game better suited for me? Perhaps it sounds like my inner conflict was unfair and I was making up my mind before trying, but all things considered I was beginning understand that I just didn't like fighting games. I grew resentful to the idea of playing one whenever it was brought up. I often blamed the genre itself.
It felt like I had effectively wasted all that time. Totaling the playtime of all of the fighting games I own on Steam, I have a sum of 218.9 hours in the genre. Adding mental estimations of times from fighters I've played on other consoles, the number increases to somewhere around 700 hours. ...Subtracting games that don't "count" like Smash, Lethal League, Rivals, (games I enjoy more than your traditional fighter...) we're down to 132.3 hours played dedicated entirely to fighters.
Guilty Gear Xrd: Rev 2 currently makes up 26 of those 132.3 hours. 19.6% of all of my time spent playing fighting games has been from Rev 2.
I've enjoyed every minute.
Rev 2 was initially a casualty of the lifelong attempt of trying to get myself "into" fighting games; it came and went without a sound. I can't even recall how my first experience with it went. This last October, Rev 2's rollback beta ran from the 17th to the 31st. My friends and I thought: why not? We don't need to spend money on a new game, we haven't played this in a while, rollback should make it better... let's try it out! My only other experience with Guilty Gear after my initial taste of Rev 2 and before my playtime during the rollback beta was with Strive; a game I would say I dislike. Hopes weren't high, but after my first play session, something felt weird. I wanted to play again the next day, and the next day, and the next day. I wanted to try the arcade mode, play people online, try out new characters! This was particularly unusual for me. I never want to play a fighter on my own volition, especially without my friends. So, what changed?
For a while I couldn't understand it, partly because I was having so much fun playing. I could sit here and tell you "THIS CHARACTER MADE THE GENRE CLICK FOR ME!" or "REV 2'S MATCHMAKING AND ROLLBACK MAKES THE GAME GOOD!" but I'd be lying to you. Yes, Rev 2 has characters I enjoy playing as, but nothing that shifted any opinions I had on other games. It wasn't one character that saved the day for me or something. Yes, the rollback and matchmaking system is inviting and offered ease to any mitigating circumstances, but I've continued to play even with the reinstated delay-based netcode. It had nothing to do with that. After thinking on it critically while playing the game, I think my love for Rev 2 and attributes I will grade future fighting game endeavors on stems from a few things.
Aesthetic, Clarity, and Time.
Aesthetic goes without saying. I like how the game looks, I like how it sounds; I'm a big fan of it as a whole. I try not to talk about or take into consideration artistic preferences too much in these reviews since it's such a subjective thing, but Rev 2 just executes everything it sets out to do in such a charming and unique way. The cultivation of technique through how the game's character models interact with the camera and shaders ppaved the way for games like DBFZ, DNFDuel, and even Strive to really iterate. In my opinion, however, Xrd is the best looking out of these games as it fits nicely into my own personal mold for what I specifically want. It's just a joy for me personally.
While I can understand any disagreements on the quality of this game's aesthetic, clarity in a fighting game is non-negotiable. You need to understand what is going on at all times. The effects animations need to be as clear and as effectively telegraphed as possible. If not, you run the risk of style overcoming substance; something I feel a lot of fighters find themselves ensnared in. That isn't to say those games don't achieve their own priorities effectively, but Rev 2, as gimmicky of a game as it can be, leaves nothing to be questioned. I've rarely asked, "what was that?", and when I have, I've never been upset with the answer. I've never scratched my head at what was going on, I've never misunderstood the intentions of a move, effect, or input. Everything is as perfectly communicated as it can be within the burst of combat. It almost seems effortless, but I can't imagine the amount of directive work it took to make sure the sheer amount of potential miscommunications didn't exist in the final product. I can't stress this enough. It is extremely impressive.
Time is probably one of the most important things to me. I can get caught up in my own thoughts relative to time for too much of itself. I ask myself dumb shit like "How much time do I have left?" "Am I spending my time wisely?" and probably dumbest of all: "Is playing video games a waste of time?" The answer to all those questions are probably as ridiculous as the thoughts themselves, but speaking about time relative to fighting games is an interesting discussion to me. A common piece of advice I acknowledged earlier when people express distaste for their fighting game experience is to "hit the lab." My immediate rebuttal to that was to complain about the amount of time that's being implied it takes to simply enjoy the game. Reflecting on that is a little ridiculous since during my playtime with Rev 2, I trained in the lab more than once. It's not an unfounded recommendation, but suddenly my strife with the lab dissipated for one reason another. I no longer found it weird to have to put "extra time" away from the main experience to enjoy myself. I chalk this up to a lot of time passing between my initial bout with Rev 2 and my current one. Between that long period, I played a ton of fighting games. So much, in fact, that I grew fatigued enough to detest the genre as a whole.
Rev 2, for whatever reason, stood the test of time, though.
This is all to say that Rev 2, despite containing everything I once claimed to be actively working against a fun play experience, is a game I will gladly boot up whenever I find the time. I want to conclude this rather lengthy review by saying that if you've ever felt similar about fighters, I implore you to keep seeking them out. It's a weird genre with a lot of infuriating culture, mechanical fundamentals, and strange priorities, but I assure you there's one out there for you. Yes, you specifically. The guy who doesn't like fighting games.
Whether or not it's Rev 2 is not for me to say, but rather for you to see for yourself.
That "it" game never came. The skill gap between individuals grew wider, arguments on the functionality of certain games grew tired... and so did I. I didn't want to buy the newest fighter again just to pretend I've wrapped my head around the tutorial, hop in a match with friends, get swept, get sour, practice combo trials to my limit, get swept... rinse repeat. "Hitting the lab" sounded good on paper, but it never seemed like a good division of my time. Why waste all of my time "practicing" something I'm not understanding the fundamentals of when I could just be playing a game better suited for me? Perhaps it sounds like my inner conflict was unfair and I was making up my mind before trying, but all things considered I was beginning understand that I just didn't like fighting games. I grew resentful to the idea of playing one whenever it was brought up. I often blamed the genre itself.
It felt like I had effectively wasted all that time. Totaling the playtime of all of the fighting games I own on Steam, I have a sum of 218.9 hours in the genre. Adding mental estimations of times from fighters I've played on other consoles, the number increases to somewhere around 700 hours. ...Subtracting games that don't "count" like Smash, Lethal League, Rivals, (games I enjoy more than your traditional fighter...) we're down to 132.3 hours played dedicated entirely to fighters.
Guilty Gear Xrd: Rev 2 currently makes up 26 of those 132.3 hours. 19.6% of all of my time spent playing fighting games has been from Rev 2.
I've enjoyed every minute.
Rev 2 was initially a casualty of the lifelong attempt of trying to get myself "into" fighting games; it came and went without a sound. I can't even recall how my first experience with it went. This last October, Rev 2's rollback beta ran from the 17th to the 31st. My friends and I thought: why not? We don't need to spend money on a new game, we haven't played this in a while, rollback should make it better... let's try it out! My only other experience with Guilty Gear after my initial taste of Rev 2 and before my playtime during the rollback beta was with Strive; a game I would say I dislike. Hopes weren't high, but after my first play session, something felt weird. I wanted to play again the next day, and the next day, and the next day. I wanted to try the arcade mode, play people online, try out new characters! This was particularly unusual for me. I never want to play a fighter on my own volition, especially without my friends. So, what changed?
For a while I couldn't understand it, partly because I was having so much fun playing. I could sit here and tell you "THIS CHARACTER MADE THE GENRE CLICK FOR ME!" or "REV 2'S MATCHMAKING AND ROLLBACK MAKES THE GAME GOOD!" but I'd be lying to you. Yes, Rev 2 has characters I enjoy playing as, but nothing that shifted any opinions I had on other games. It wasn't one character that saved the day for me or something. Yes, the rollback and matchmaking system is inviting and offered ease to any mitigating circumstances, but I've continued to play even with the reinstated delay-based netcode. It had nothing to do with that. After thinking on it critically while playing the game, I think my love for Rev 2 and attributes I will grade future fighting game endeavors on stems from a few things.
Aesthetic, Clarity, and Time.
Aesthetic goes without saying. I like how the game looks, I like how it sounds; I'm a big fan of it as a whole. I try not to talk about or take into consideration artistic preferences too much in these reviews since it's such a subjective thing, but Rev 2 just executes everything it sets out to do in such a charming and unique way. The cultivation of technique through how the game's character models interact with the camera and shaders ppaved the way for games like DBFZ, DNFDuel, and even Strive to really iterate. In my opinion, however, Xrd is the best looking out of these games as it fits nicely into my own personal mold for what I specifically want. It's just a joy for me personally.
While I can understand any disagreements on the quality of this game's aesthetic, clarity in a fighting game is non-negotiable. You need to understand what is going on at all times. The effects animations need to be as clear and as effectively telegraphed as possible. If not, you run the risk of style overcoming substance; something I feel a lot of fighters find themselves ensnared in. That isn't to say those games don't achieve their own priorities effectively, but Rev 2, as gimmicky of a game as it can be, leaves nothing to be questioned. I've rarely asked, "what was that?", and when I have, I've never been upset with the answer. I've never scratched my head at what was going on, I've never misunderstood the intentions of a move, effect, or input. Everything is as perfectly communicated as it can be within the burst of combat. It almost seems effortless, but I can't imagine the amount of directive work it took to make sure the sheer amount of potential miscommunications didn't exist in the final product. I can't stress this enough. It is extremely impressive.
Time is probably one of the most important things to me. I can get caught up in my own thoughts relative to time for too much of itself. I ask myself dumb shit like "How much time do I have left?" "Am I spending my time wisely?" and probably dumbest of all: "Is playing video games a waste of time?" The answer to all those questions are probably as ridiculous as the thoughts themselves, but speaking about time relative to fighting games is an interesting discussion to me. A common piece of advice I acknowledged earlier when people express distaste for their fighting game experience is to "hit the lab." My immediate rebuttal to that was to complain about the amount of time that's being implied it takes to simply enjoy the game. Reflecting on that is a little ridiculous since during my playtime with Rev 2, I trained in the lab more than once. It's not an unfounded recommendation, but suddenly my strife with the lab dissipated for one reason another. I no longer found it weird to have to put "extra time" away from the main experience to enjoy myself. I chalk this up to a lot of time passing between my initial bout with Rev 2 and my current one. Between that long period, I played a ton of fighting games. So much, in fact, that I grew fatigued enough to detest the genre as a whole.
Rev 2, for whatever reason, stood the test of time, though.
This is all to say that Rev 2, despite containing everything I once claimed to be actively working against a fun play experience, is a game I will gladly boot up whenever I find the time. I want to conclude this rather lengthy review by saying that if you've ever felt similar about fighters, I implore you to keep seeking them out. It's a weird genre with a lot of infuriating culture, mechanical fundamentals, and strange priorities, but I assure you there's one out there for you. Yes, you specifically. The guy who doesn't like fighting games.
Whether or not it's Rev 2 is not for me to say, but rather for you to see for yourself.
2008
Remakes don't bother me. I completely understand why studios or AAA companies might order a ground-up remake of an old classic or why a director may feel the need to revisit a game with a newer, more modern flair (old or otherwise.) It's an easy way to gauge interest for a series that's dormant or test if fan feedback is as strong as assumed. For me, a good remake aims to iterate and interpret aspects of the original while creating a new experience with the same fundamentals. Full on remakes have the opportunity to recontextualize how a game is presented not only in presentation, but gameplay direction as well. I know RE2make is brought up a lot in this discussion, but that game is a really interesting iteration/reimagining of the original RE2's gameplay premise while maintaining its beats and fundamentals enough to where it isn't jarring. OOT3D offers an amazing artistic direction to an already amazingly directed game, especially when viewed in higher resolutions. Both of these examples show the odd blurred lines of what a "remake" can be. I consider OOT3D a remaster, but it completely overhauls all visual aspects of the original while still staying in line with the initial direction. I don't consider RE2make a remake and instead refer to it as a direct reimagining, but it still follows the guidelines a remake would. The label "remake" has been diluted so much over time, it's hard to have a proper discussion about one without applying your own definition to the topic, so I ask you read this review with mine in mind.
"A remake should iterate and interpret visual and mechanical aspects of the original while offering a unique enough experience with the same fundamentals in order to create an enjoyable alternative to said original."
Through this definition, it's clear some games just don't have that "remake" potential. Klonoa is one of these games.
Gameplay wise, Klonoa 2008 is close to if not the exact same as the original. All levels are designed the same, Klonoa controls accurately, and enemies and bosses function similarly barring a few damage scaling changes. Everything on that end is the same. It is the same video game as it was back on the PS1 but made to be a little more accessible with checkpoint changes. For this, Klonoa 2008 retains a lot of points for me. The game is still fun. Artistically, things get nastier. The original Klonoa, while not a complete technical marvel for the PS1, relies a lot on the hardware's unique capabilities to offer something really special, visually. Speaking in terms of art direction and visuals through usage of hardware, Klonoa 1 is the Donkey Kong Country of the PS1. You cannot have the equivalent of Klonoa's visuals on any prior hardware. It makes use of every tool in it's box expertly to present you a very well executed and thought out presentation. Cohesion and consistency in the uniqueness of Klonoa's style is paramount. It is its charm- it is its entire soul. The only 2 reasons I can think of as to why you would ever opt to play a watered down, washed out, misinterpreted, babyified version of Klonoa are:
A) This version is all you have access to. You can't seem to emulate the original for some reason and a Wii is the only console you own.
or
B) You're one of those weird fucks who likes to call games "dated" because you can see polygon seams.
I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that Klonoa's art should be hung up in a museum or whatever, but looking at the two side by side show a clear lack of soul and ambition in Klonoa 2008. Maybe it was made to fill corporate quota, maybe the game was developed under mitigating circumstances- I don't know. With the hindsight of Phantasy Reverie, this game could absolutely be worse, but as it is, it's the unfavorable choice between itself and the original. I'll be nice to it and mention it has a lot of cool options, like extra costumes for Klonoa or the ability to toggle between English and high quality restored Klonoa-ese.Something Phantasy Reverie would forgo, opting to use the bit-crushed PS1 ripped audio and rerecorded audio simultaneously. Seriously, what the fuck were they thinking? You can't even toggle it to English, not that you'd ever want to.
As it stands, I can only really speak to the originals quality in comparison to this instead of the other way around. If you ask me, a 16:9, up-scaled native remaster of the original would've been greatly appreciated, but hindsight is 20/20. I've always been a Remaster > Remake guy myself, but that's a different talk entirely. I advise you to play the original with your pants around your ankles, and not this one.
"A remake should iterate and interpret visual and mechanical aspects of the original while offering a unique enough experience with the same fundamentals in order to create an enjoyable alternative to said original."
Through this definition, it's clear some games just don't have that "remake" potential. Klonoa is one of these games.
Gameplay wise, Klonoa 2008 is close to if not the exact same as the original. All levels are designed the same, Klonoa controls accurately, and enemies and bosses function similarly barring a few damage scaling changes. Everything on that end is the same. It is the same video game as it was back on the PS1 but made to be a little more accessible with checkpoint changes. For this, Klonoa 2008 retains a lot of points for me. The game is still fun. Artistically, things get nastier. The original Klonoa, while not a complete technical marvel for the PS1, relies a lot on the hardware's unique capabilities to offer something really special, visually. Speaking in terms of art direction and visuals through usage of hardware, Klonoa 1 is the Donkey Kong Country of the PS1. You cannot have the equivalent of Klonoa's visuals on any prior hardware. It makes use of every tool in it's box expertly to present you a very well executed and thought out presentation. Cohesion and consistency in the uniqueness of Klonoa's style is paramount. It is its charm- it is its entire soul. The only 2 reasons I can think of as to why you would ever opt to play a watered down, washed out, misinterpreted, babyified version of Klonoa are:
A) This version is all you have access to. You can't seem to emulate the original for some reason and a Wii is the only console you own.
or
B) You're one of those weird fucks who likes to call games "dated" because you can see polygon seams.
I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that Klonoa's art should be hung up in a museum or whatever, but looking at the two side by side show a clear lack of soul and ambition in Klonoa 2008. Maybe it was made to fill corporate quota, maybe the game was developed under mitigating circumstances- I don't know. With the hindsight of Phantasy Reverie, this game could absolutely be worse, but as it is, it's the unfavorable choice between itself and the original. I'll be nice to it and mention it has a lot of cool options, like extra costumes for Klonoa or the ability to toggle between English and high quality restored Klonoa-ese.
As it stands, I can only really speak to the originals quality in comparison to this instead of the other way around. If you ask me, a 16:9, up-scaled native remaster of the original would've been greatly appreciated, but hindsight is 20/20. I've always been a Remaster > Remake guy myself, but that's a different talk entirely. I advise you to play the original with your pants around your ankles, and not this one.
1998
This is another game that's a bit hard for me to talk about. When I first beat this game and rated it, I hadn't touched the sequel yet. I knew the series was very "linked" in the way that experience with "the next game" would give me insight on how to feel about the previous one, so a mixture of that and my own procrastination lead to the delay of this review. Since I've beaten MGS1, I've played through MGS2. That game being what it is made me look back on MGS1 and the idea of reviewing games as part of a direct series differently. Like my reviews of the 2 mainline Klonoa games, it's almost impossible for me to separate MGS1 and 2. I don't wanna spend too much textspace talking about things SURROUNDING the game, so I'll hurry it up. This is absolutely a result of them being the only 2 games I've played in the series so far. When I play the rest, I might feel inclined to completely redo this review, but I think it being a product of my CURRENT experience works well for how these two games are meant to interact with each other (at least from my perspective.) That being said, I'm going to do my best to speak about the merits of the game I think about the most. Talking about how I talk about games as an intro to a review for clarity puts a bad taste in my mouth.
I like MGS1. I initially described it as "frustrating, archaic, yet wonderful", and I honestly think that's still apt. I'm constantly worried I'm saying "a whole lotta nothing" when it comes to these classic games, but for as good as the game's foundation is, it feels like it doesn't uphold itself to that standard. Maybe I just didn't adapt to the game as well as I could've, but a lot of the combat felt needlessly asking. Specifically, Sniperwolf's encounters and the penultimate boss gave me a feeling I never want when playing a game. Overcoming those challenges didn't feel satisfying, and maybe they would once I play the game again, but my current opinion of the experience is tainted by "I don't want to do those parts again." I think every great game has parts you don't want to repeat, but a REALLY great game has a good enough foundation to upend that feeling. It's what makes you turn on the game again. Where these segments come is obviously different for everyone (I imagine a lot of people don't like changing the temperature for the key cards. I thought it was a cool pace halter) but there's juuust enough of them in MGS1 to make me comfortable in my current experience for a bit. The game follows a really well done flow and has a very inventive groundwork and I think getting into the specifics of some of its mechanics or the surprises would be redundant, so I'd much rather talk about the things I took away from it.
Here's where I run into trouble. Everything I like about MGS1 worth talking about has almost nothing to do with the game. The visuals, the story, everything relative to the art- these are all things you can simply experience for yourself or even just look at and understand. What's always been paramount to me in reviewing or discussing games is how the uniqueness of the medium can interact with the basics of art. MGS as a franchise is fueled by that concept, but it's been talked about to death that I feel like I can't offer anything beyond surface level appreciations that abide to my preferences. I hate saying "just play the game for yourself" but I think in this specific case, you really should just play it for yourself.
I don't want to regurgitate the same things that've been said time and time again about this game, but I don't want to depict that I didn't like it either. It's my first experience, so again, maybe down the line I'll have a lot more of an interesting perspective... but for right now? It's good. You should play it at least once.
I like MGS1. I initially described it as "frustrating, archaic, yet wonderful", and I honestly think that's still apt. I'm constantly worried I'm saying "a whole lotta nothing" when it comes to these classic games, but for as good as the game's foundation is, it feels like it doesn't uphold itself to that standard. Maybe I just didn't adapt to the game as well as I could've, but a lot of the combat felt needlessly asking. Specifically, Sniperwolf's encounters and the penultimate boss gave me a feeling I never want when playing a game. Overcoming those challenges didn't feel satisfying, and maybe they would once I play the game again, but my current opinion of the experience is tainted by "I don't want to do those parts again." I think every great game has parts you don't want to repeat, but a REALLY great game has a good enough foundation to upend that feeling. It's what makes you turn on the game again. Where these segments come is obviously different for everyone (I imagine a lot of people don't like changing the temperature for the key cards. I thought it was a cool pace halter) but there's juuust enough of them in MGS1 to make me comfortable in my current experience for a bit. The game follows a really well done flow and has a very inventive groundwork and I think getting into the specifics of some of its mechanics or the surprises would be redundant, so I'd much rather talk about the things I took away from it.
Here's where I run into trouble. Everything I like about MGS1 worth talking about has almost nothing to do with the game. The visuals, the story, everything relative to the art- these are all things you can simply experience for yourself or even just look at and understand. What's always been paramount to me in reviewing or discussing games is how the uniqueness of the medium can interact with the basics of art. MGS as a franchise is fueled by that concept, but it's been talked about to death that I feel like I can't offer anything beyond surface level appreciations that abide to my preferences. I hate saying "just play the game for yourself" but I think in this specific case, you really should just play it for yourself.
I don't want to regurgitate the same things that've been said time and time again about this game, but I don't want to depict that I didn't like it either. It's my first experience, so again, maybe down the line I'll have a lot more of an interesting perspective... but for right now? It's good. You should play it at least once.
I really had to learn to appreciate this game. I am not easily smitten by the prospect of a 3D Kirby game- it's novel, and I think the transition was done elegantly, (especially for it being HAL's first go) but the game gets no brownie points from me simply for existing. The game really needed to stand on its own to win me over. For a while, it seemed like it wasn't up to the task... but with a little patience, I met the game where it wanted me to.
My biggest gripe with this game is its difficulty progression. A lot of people complain about Kirby's difficulty, and honestly, I often think the criticism is a bit unfounded. Older Kirby games are pretty brutal. Amazing Mirror and Nightmare in Dreamland don't fuck around. Modern Kirby games like Triple Deluxe or Robobot weren't the mindless walks in the park that people make them out to be, either. Those games progress at a nice pace; each world feels very distinct from each other, not only in terms of motif, but also in engagement and overall design. Unfortunately, Forgotten Land seems to reference Star Allies' sensibilities for Kirby. The main game serves as an EXTREMELY casual experience. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, but my hang-ups with the game began early since I wasn't really looking for that kind of an experience. Each world sort of blended together, nothing was really permeating for me, and it felt very mindless. It wasn't run-of-the-mill... but it was mindless.
Thankfully, this "issue" doesn't feel like a result of unintelligent design. Levels aren't designed POORLY, just intentionally easy- it all feels very purposeful. In fact, to counter the main game's rather easy difficulty, "Treasure Road" challenge levels are offered for those interested in something starkly demanding in comparison to primary levels. These levels are FANTASTIC; I found myself very intrigued by their structure. It's really new for Kirby to operate in the way the Treasure Roads do and, aside from the combat, this aspect of the game really showed off how Kirby can iterate on the genre. It almost makes me want a full game of Treasure Roads, instead of having them delegated to a side bonus.
It was only near the game's final world did things start shifting for the main game. Levels started demanding more out of me, punishing me out of collectables for messing up. Bosses started requiring more attention- I couldn't just breeze through everything, I actually had to start taking advantage of the game's tools. Kirby's moveset, my own spatial awareness, telegraphing from bosses, environmental changes; every aspect of the game started working together to make a great experience. This isn't even taking into account how the copy abilities effect gameplay! The only thing mitigating the experience for me during my play... was how long it took to get to that point. I don't mean to convey that the gameplay patronized me or offended me, but it is ABSOLUTELY concerned with accommodating a casual crowd.
And yknow what? I ended up really respecting that priority by the end of it.
As is standard with most Kirbys', beating it unlocks some post game to go through if you so choose. Forgotten Land's post game has the essential True Arena, but also "Leon's Soul", which offers remixed versions of the best segments across ALL the worlds in the main game- making them more difficult, changing attributes of bosses, and sprinkling McGuffins throughout. THIS was the 3D Kirby game I wanted. I had to sit up straight, grip my controller, and actually learn how to take advantage of the game to succeed- and it was VERY gratifying ESPECIALLY during the secret boss fights, which are arguably THE BEST in the series. It felt like I was being rewarded for something, but I couldn't really tell what. After my time away from the game, though, I realized I wasn't being rewarded... just accommodated.
This game appreciates you for playing it. It offers to its demographic what they expected, but doesn't leave those who wanted more in the dust. By the time it was over, I realized I let my head wander. I had some casual fun for a while, and while I didn't leave my criticisms at the door like most would, I was accommodated by the time it was over for it. The game actually managed to make a sourpuss like me appreciate something I previously might not have enjoyed otherwise- that's kind of impressive! Kirby and the Forgotten Land isn't the best a 3D platformer can be; it isn't even the best a 3D KIRBY can be... but it treated me with confidence and respect, which I really appreciated by the end of it all.
My biggest gripe with this game is its difficulty progression. A lot of people complain about Kirby's difficulty, and honestly, I often think the criticism is a bit unfounded. Older Kirby games are pretty brutal. Amazing Mirror and Nightmare in Dreamland don't fuck around. Modern Kirby games like Triple Deluxe or Robobot weren't the mindless walks in the park that people make them out to be, either. Those games progress at a nice pace; each world feels very distinct from each other, not only in terms of motif, but also in engagement and overall design. Unfortunately, Forgotten Land seems to reference Star Allies' sensibilities for Kirby. The main game serves as an EXTREMELY casual experience. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, but my hang-ups with the game began early since I wasn't really looking for that kind of an experience. Each world sort of blended together, nothing was really permeating for me, and it felt very mindless. It wasn't run-of-the-mill... but it was mindless.
Thankfully, this "issue" doesn't feel like a result of unintelligent design. Levels aren't designed POORLY, just intentionally easy- it all feels very purposeful. In fact, to counter the main game's rather easy difficulty, "Treasure Road" challenge levels are offered for those interested in something starkly demanding in comparison to primary levels. These levels are FANTASTIC; I found myself very intrigued by their structure. It's really new for Kirby to operate in the way the Treasure Roads do and, aside from the combat, this aspect of the game really showed off how Kirby can iterate on the genre. It almost makes me want a full game of Treasure Roads, instead of having them delegated to a side bonus.
It was only near the game's final world did things start shifting for the main game. Levels started demanding more out of me, punishing me out of collectables for messing up. Bosses started requiring more attention- I couldn't just breeze through everything, I actually had to start taking advantage of the game's tools. Kirby's moveset, my own spatial awareness, telegraphing from bosses, environmental changes; every aspect of the game started working together to make a great experience. This isn't even taking into account how the copy abilities effect gameplay! The only thing mitigating the experience for me during my play... was how long it took to get to that point. I don't mean to convey that the gameplay patronized me or offended me, but it is ABSOLUTELY concerned with accommodating a casual crowd.
And yknow what? I ended up really respecting that priority by the end of it.
As is standard with most Kirbys', beating it unlocks some post game to go through if you so choose. Forgotten Land's post game has the essential True Arena, but also "Leon's Soul", which offers remixed versions of the best segments across ALL the worlds in the main game- making them more difficult, changing attributes of bosses, and sprinkling McGuffins throughout. THIS was the 3D Kirby game I wanted. I had to sit up straight, grip my controller, and actually learn how to take advantage of the game to succeed- and it was VERY gratifying ESPECIALLY during the secret boss fights, which are arguably THE BEST in the series. It felt like I was being rewarded for something, but I couldn't really tell what. After my time away from the game, though, I realized I wasn't being rewarded... just accommodated.
This game appreciates you for playing it. It offers to its demographic what they expected, but doesn't leave those who wanted more in the dust. By the time it was over, I realized I let my head wander. I had some casual fun for a while, and while I didn't leave my criticisms at the door like most would, I was accommodated by the time it was over for it. The game actually managed to make a sourpuss like me appreciate something I previously might not have enjoyed otherwise- that's kind of impressive! Kirby and the Forgotten Land isn't the best a 3D platformer can be; it isn't even the best a 3D KIRBY can be... but it treated me with confidence and respect, which I really appreciated by the end of it all.
To be honest with you, writing this review has been a particular challenge for me. Every writer, reviewer, or critic has their own unique hang-ups
when it comes to writing what they do. For me, it's always been hard to review a game I didn't like. I always feel like I'll end up too candid, whiney, or angry. I wanna be fair, yet opinionated. I want my words to be objective, but also personal. I strive for a balance. Somehow, though, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc completely counteracts my approach. Everything about it has me completely stumped on how to attempt talking about it non-candidly. I've considered doing something oddly meta and review my experience reviewing the game, I've considered being totally unprofessional and compromising my fairness in favor of bias, I've even considered just not reviewing it at all! But... much like my experience with the game itself, I'm gonna trudge through to the end, just for the sake of it. Just to fuckin' see it through.
With that all being said, Danganronpa is probably one of the worst games I've ever played. It isn't my least favorite game or even a game I TRULY hate. To speak about one of THOSE games would be really easy for me. There's usually not a lot of nice things to say, and when there is, it's really vapid. I liked some of Danganronpa. Hell, I even loved some of it. This isn't a game completely devoid of any positive attributes for me- it's partly why I'm so mixed and confused by my response to it. For what it's worth, Danganronpa is exactly the kind of game I might've really loved! A character driven visual novel with an intriguing premise that aims to mix together unique game mechanics to create a deep and engrossing experience sounds fantastic! However, despite the game's multiple egregious sins, its lack of cohesion and strange priorities for engagement is probably what dictates my attitude against it. Again, it's hard to say considering how stumped it's made me feel.
I won't be able to go over everything I disliked about the game, (since it would be the longest review ever posted on backloggd) so I think it would be a better idea to just describe what I did like- inversely to what I didn't. Apologies if that makes it seem like I'm not being thorough or honest, but I can only think about Danganronpa so much before I go crazy.
-Finding Monokuma coins gave me dopamine.
-The overall structure of the game.
Setting up the context for the murder, breaking with time to bond with characters, investigating the murder itself, and solving the case during a class trial allows the game to flow really well. It's linear, but the game, despite my expectations, isn't attempting something subversive or deep. It's presenting something predictable, but that doesn't mean it's bad. It's perfectly suitable for the game and can even lead to some good surprise breaks in the formula. I came to appreciate the structure once playing the games sequels, which do an equally good job maintaining flow.
-Full of Potential
Despite how I felt about Danganronpa, I can't deny it had its fits of innovative, interesting, and genuinely great moments. Whether it be certain story beats, aspects of its gameplay, or parts of its presentation, there were times were I was captured by its direction. Within these moments were ideas presented loaded with potential, but floundered execution. Oddly enough, I appreciated it nonetheless. I tend to see games as the parts to a sum, and I try to critique fairly based on that. You might think "good ideas done poorly" would be a negative point against the game, (and you'd usually be right) but in this specific instance, the untapped potential interested me. I'm not trying to hide the fact I disliked this game, but even so, I continued on to the sequels to see this potential through- and I think that says something.
-Great Music (with a catch)
This game was composed by Masafumi Takada, a talented and legendary composer who did work for No More Heroes, Killer7, and Kid Icarus: Uprising. His fantastic work on those games can't be understated- his compositions had an enormous hand in making those games some of my most memorable experiences of all time. Here's the thing though, he can only be as great as he can be... under the right direction. NMH, K7, and KI:U are directorial masterpieces- extending to its utilization of its composers. Takada continues to offer some great music here, specifically for the main theme and all the class trial tracks, but other than that... the music can come off as quite unmemorable. I believe this to be a sad result of the game's direction and cohesion issues. Every aspect of a Visual Novel like this needs to be communicated not only to the player, but to the staff as well. If the written mystery scenario calls for blood on the ground, the drawn scenario should absolutely have blood on the ground (just an example). Danganronpa is a game in which every piece of evidence is extremely pertinent- no stone can be unturned. This extends to the games aesthetic tone, which has huge ramifications on the writing and impression given to the player. Because this game takes the form of a Visual Novel, music implementation and sound design play also play an important role in player feedback. When, where, how, and why songs appear in the game is extremely important to the overall experience and can't go underthought in a game like this. Unfortunately, the game forgoes this necessity and somewhat brainlessly throws its tracks around. This is quite a shame, frankly. Even if I would describe most of the tracks as unmemorable, they're still well made and convey specific moods and tones exceptionally well. I genuinely think my distaste for the soundtrack is half a musical issue and half an implementation issue. I'm definitely picky on game music, though, and this is all subjective anyway, so perhaps this could be viewed as a nitpick- you be the judge.
-Moments of Good Character Writing
This game is strange. I'm giving it 1.5 stars, yet here I am refusing to discuss spoilers in order to preserve the experience for anyone. You'd think my reaction to it would illicit a disregard for any integrity the game could be presenting- but here's the thing. I think there're things in here that are worth experiencing for yourself, and they all relate to the characters. Danganronpa, while being completely character driven, is NOT the kind of game where you're meant to find all of them interesting. They are NOT all well written; some are meant to offer interesting dynamics for the protag, some are meant to exclusively service the story or mystery- some are just meant to be used for gags. When discussing this game, the conversation will always loop around to the characters. What you enjoy is what you choose take out of them. It's different for everyone. Some people like the ambiguity of the MC's purpose, some like the progression of Kyoko's storyline, some just like the dynamics presented from different character pairings- and it's hard to say that's all "bad" just because I didn't like it. In a way, I think giving the game points based on the progression of your favorite character is a bit unfair, and in the same way, docking off points based on character moments you didn't care for is equally as unfair. I could talk about how much I love Chihiro's story, how compelling I found the 2nd case, how appealing I found characters like Mondo or Byakuya, how I thought the MC made me disconnect with the overall experience due to his personality and rationalizations, how I didn't care for the overall moral or themes due it being told through the conduit of characters I didn't care for- but it all wouldn't really matter. It isn't fair to detail MY favorite parts of the game as what's making it "good", because in the end, that's absolute bias. Even if I do think there are moments of compelling character writing, you might completely disagree, and that's really where Danganronpa starts to crumble.
As a game, Danganronpa has a lot going on, inside and out. If you noticed, every compliment I handed to it was mitigated by an unavoidable insult. They were almost all backhanded compliments, and really, I didn't do that on purpose. I could take the time to rip apart its useless genre mixing game design. I could complain about the lack of reason for its gameplay existing in the state it does. I could talk about the mixed quality of voice acting, the strange art direction issues, the blatant Atlus copy-pasting, the specifics in the lack of communication between all roles on the team, the horrible pacing, the juxtapositions in tone, it's strange treatment of dark themes- the list goes on and on. Unfortunately, all of that would be fruitless. Discussion of this game is and forever will be tied exclusively to your preferences. The way a game treats you is usually how you should treat it... but this game treated me like shit, and it somehow doesn't feel right to treat the game the same way back. It doesn't help a format like this doesn't support the kind of review I'd LOVE to give the game, of course, so maybe one day I'll consider writing an entire script for it. As of now, though, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc has positioned itself in my brain as the Ultimate Mixed Bag. As of right now, there's no way I could describe how it makes me feel properly, and perhaps that frustrates me, but I'm comfortable pinning that on the games mitigating circumstances.
when it comes to writing what they do. For me, it's always been hard to review a game I didn't like. I always feel like I'll end up too candid, whiney, or angry. I wanna be fair, yet opinionated. I want my words to be objective, but also personal. I strive for a balance. Somehow, though, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc completely counteracts my approach. Everything about it has me completely stumped on how to attempt talking about it non-candidly. I've considered doing something oddly meta and review my experience reviewing the game, I've considered being totally unprofessional and compromising my fairness in favor of bias, I've even considered just not reviewing it at all! But... much like my experience with the game itself, I'm gonna trudge through to the end, just for the sake of it. Just to fuckin' see it through.
With that all being said, Danganronpa is probably one of the worst games I've ever played. It isn't my least favorite game or even a game I TRULY hate. To speak about one of THOSE games would be really easy for me. There's usually not a lot of nice things to say, and when there is, it's really vapid. I liked some of Danganronpa. Hell, I even loved some of it. This isn't a game completely devoid of any positive attributes for me- it's partly why I'm so mixed and confused by my response to it. For what it's worth, Danganronpa is exactly the kind of game I might've really loved! A character driven visual novel with an intriguing premise that aims to mix together unique game mechanics to create a deep and engrossing experience sounds fantastic! However, despite the game's multiple egregious sins, its lack of cohesion and strange priorities for engagement is probably what dictates my attitude against it. Again, it's hard to say considering how stumped it's made me feel.
I won't be able to go over everything I disliked about the game, (since it would be the longest review ever posted on backloggd) so I think it would be a better idea to just describe what I did like- inversely to what I didn't. Apologies if that makes it seem like I'm not being thorough or honest, but I can only think about Danganronpa so much before I go crazy.
-Finding Monokuma coins gave me dopamine.
-The overall structure of the game.
Setting up the context for the murder, breaking with time to bond with characters, investigating the murder itself, and solving the case during a class trial allows the game to flow really well. It's linear, but the game, despite my expectations, isn't attempting something subversive or deep. It's presenting something predictable, but that doesn't mean it's bad. It's perfectly suitable for the game and can even lead to some good surprise breaks in the formula. I came to appreciate the structure once playing the games sequels, which do an equally good job maintaining flow.
-Full of Potential
Despite how I felt about Danganronpa, I can't deny it had its fits of innovative, interesting, and genuinely great moments. Whether it be certain story beats, aspects of its gameplay, or parts of its presentation, there were times were I was captured by its direction. Within these moments were ideas presented loaded with potential, but floundered execution. Oddly enough, I appreciated it nonetheless. I tend to see games as the parts to a sum, and I try to critique fairly based on that. You might think "good ideas done poorly" would be a negative point against the game, (and you'd usually be right) but in this specific instance, the untapped potential interested me. I'm not trying to hide the fact I disliked this game, but even so, I continued on to the sequels to see this potential through- and I think that says something.
-Great Music (with a catch)
This game was composed by Masafumi Takada, a talented and legendary composer who did work for No More Heroes, Killer7, and Kid Icarus: Uprising. His fantastic work on those games can't be understated- his compositions had an enormous hand in making those games some of my most memorable experiences of all time. Here's the thing though, he can only be as great as he can be... under the right direction. NMH, K7, and KI:U are directorial masterpieces- extending to its utilization of its composers. Takada continues to offer some great music here, specifically for the main theme and all the class trial tracks, but other than that... the music can come off as quite unmemorable. I believe this to be a sad result of the game's direction and cohesion issues. Every aspect of a Visual Novel like this needs to be communicated not only to the player, but to the staff as well. If the written mystery scenario calls for blood on the ground, the drawn scenario should absolutely have blood on the ground (just an example). Danganronpa is a game in which every piece of evidence is extremely pertinent- no stone can be unturned. This extends to the games aesthetic tone, which has huge ramifications on the writing and impression given to the player. Because this game takes the form of a Visual Novel, music implementation and sound design play also play an important role in player feedback. When, where, how, and why songs appear in the game is extremely important to the overall experience and can't go underthought in a game like this. Unfortunately, the game forgoes this necessity and somewhat brainlessly throws its tracks around. This is quite a shame, frankly. Even if I would describe most of the tracks as unmemorable, they're still well made and convey specific moods and tones exceptionally well. I genuinely think my distaste for the soundtrack is half a musical issue and half an implementation issue. I'm definitely picky on game music, though, and this is all subjective anyway, so perhaps this could be viewed as a nitpick- you be the judge.
-Moments of Good Character Writing
This game is strange. I'm giving it 1.5 stars, yet here I am refusing to discuss spoilers in order to preserve the experience for anyone. You'd think my reaction to it would illicit a disregard for any integrity the game could be presenting- but here's the thing. I think there're things in here that are worth experiencing for yourself, and they all relate to the characters. Danganronpa, while being completely character driven, is NOT the kind of game where you're meant to find all of them interesting. They are NOT all well written; some are meant to offer interesting dynamics for the protag, some are meant to exclusively service the story or mystery- some are just meant to be used for gags. When discussing this game, the conversation will always loop around to the characters. What you enjoy is what you choose take out of them. It's different for everyone. Some people like the ambiguity of the MC's purpose, some like the progression of Kyoko's storyline, some just like the dynamics presented from different character pairings- and it's hard to say that's all "bad" just because I didn't like it. In a way, I think giving the game points based on the progression of your favorite character is a bit unfair, and in the same way, docking off points based on character moments you didn't care for is equally as unfair. I could talk about how much I love Chihiro's story, how compelling I found the 2nd case, how appealing I found characters like Mondo or Byakuya, how I thought the MC made me disconnect with the overall experience due to his personality and rationalizations, how I didn't care for the overall moral or themes due it being told through the conduit of characters I didn't care for- but it all wouldn't really matter. It isn't fair to detail MY favorite parts of the game as what's making it "good", because in the end, that's absolute bias. Even if I do think there are moments of compelling character writing, you might completely disagree, and that's really where Danganronpa starts to crumble.
As a game, Danganronpa has a lot going on, inside and out. If you noticed, every compliment I handed to it was mitigated by an unavoidable insult. They were almost all backhanded compliments, and really, I didn't do that on purpose. I could take the time to rip apart its useless genre mixing game design. I could complain about the lack of reason for its gameplay existing in the state it does. I could talk about the mixed quality of voice acting, the strange art direction issues, the blatant Atlus copy-pasting, the specifics in the lack of communication between all roles on the team, the horrible pacing, the juxtapositions in tone, it's strange treatment of dark themes- the list goes on and on. Unfortunately, all of that would be fruitless. Discussion of this game is and forever will be tied exclusively to your preferences. The way a game treats you is usually how you should treat it... but this game treated me like shit, and it somehow doesn't feel right to treat the game the same way back. It doesn't help a format like this doesn't support the kind of review I'd LOVE to give the game, of course, so maybe one day I'll consider writing an entire script for it. As of now, though, Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc has positioned itself in my brain as the Ultimate Mixed Bag. As of right now, there's no way I could describe how it makes me feel properly, and perhaps that frustrates me, but I'm comfortable pinning that on the games mitigating circumstances.
1994
Originally, I intended to make my way through the entirety of the original DKC Trilogy. Oddly enough, however, this was the only game in the series I could see to the end. Without implicating that I thought DKC2 or 3 were too flawed to continue in comparison, (because they aren't, I drop games all the time for obtuse reasons. I intend to get back to them.) DKC1's captivating simplicity struck a chord with me.
When I think of the 2D Mario platformers, I think the term I always associate them with is "athletic." I wanna run really fast, time my jumps to cross pipes just right, fit into tight gaps and push on; it's a part of the flow. For Donkey Kong Country, its flow isn't athletic- but acrobatic. I want to constantly move forward in Mario, but in DKC, I want to constantly move in general. I always want to be jumping, I have some strange need to always be moving in SOME direction, whether it be forward, backward, up, down- whatever. It leads me to plan my course better, something really integral to DKC's gameplay. There isn't a lot of stop-and-go, but when there is, I don't mind it, since carrying momentum is as easy and jumping in place and weaving myself through whatever bunch of enemies is in front of me. It's one of those platformers that lunges you into a Zen state. Once you get going, there's no stopping until you blink.
I usually try to keep talk about aesthetics in these reviews brief, but it can't go without stating how beautiful the original Donkey Kong Country is. I'm absolutely in love with the mixture of compressed 3d models and genuinely awe-inspiring pixel art backgrounds. I can never forget the gradient coloring in the background on Jungle Japes, or the intricate texturing on some of the animal buddies. I know this is one of those things people don't shut up about with this game, but it really does add to the experience. It's a technical and artistic marvel- this game wouldn't really be the same without it.
If there's one thing I can criticize, it's the differences between Diddy and Donkey and how that correlates into the levels- but only exclusively in Co-Op, which is how I played the game. We switched back and forth between the two Kongs constantly, so I got a real feedback on their differences. Diddy's faster, jumps higher and farther, but can't deal with the bigger enemies as well as Donkey. Donkey's slower, jumps lower, but is a real powerhouse and can easily mow through enemies- where Diddy would have to tread lightly. It's an interesting dichotomy, but when playing Co-Op, a problem arises. Obviously certain sections of levels are made for Donkey to have an easier time on, or vice versa, but when you and a friend have chosen your dedicated kong, there's really no way for either of you to have feedback on how either character is meant to operate a challenge. There's no frame of reference, it's really strange. Let's say, for example, I'm playing as Diddy Kong during a section that Donkey would have an infinitely easier time going through- chances are, I'm pretty screwed because I have NOTHING to compare to how I should tackle the situation. I don't know what makes it so easy for Donkey Kong, so finding my own way as Diddy is a lot more jarring. Of course, though, this isn't such an issue in single-player, since you can swap kongs at will; so its really more of a nitpick than anything. Plus, like I said, my friend and I swapped between the two kongs a lot. This criticism is mostly aimed at the potential issue within the system, not my own experience.
All in all, Donkey Kong Country is a really great game. Objectively, this game probably deserves 4 stars. There's virtually nothing glaringly wrong with it from my point of view, and the only reason it doesn't hit that mark is that I lack a personal attachment to it... which may seem arbitrary to you, but... whatever, who are "you", yknow? 3.5 means, like, really good.
When I think of the 2D Mario platformers, I think the term I always associate them with is "athletic." I wanna run really fast, time my jumps to cross pipes just right, fit into tight gaps and push on; it's a part of the flow. For Donkey Kong Country, its flow isn't athletic- but acrobatic. I want to constantly move forward in Mario, but in DKC, I want to constantly move in general. I always want to be jumping, I have some strange need to always be moving in SOME direction, whether it be forward, backward, up, down- whatever. It leads me to plan my course better, something really integral to DKC's gameplay. There isn't a lot of stop-and-go, but when there is, I don't mind it, since carrying momentum is as easy and jumping in place and weaving myself through whatever bunch of enemies is in front of me. It's one of those platformers that lunges you into a Zen state. Once you get going, there's no stopping until you blink.
I usually try to keep talk about aesthetics in these reviews brief, but it can't go without stating how beautiful the original Donkey Kong Country is. I'm absolutely in love with the mixture of compressed 3d models and genuinely awe-inspiring pixel art backgrounds. I can never forget the gradient coloring in the background on Jungle Japes, or the intricate texturing on some of the animal buddies. I know this is one of those things people don't shut up about with this game, but it really does add to the experience. It's a technical and artistic marvel- this game wouldn't really be the same without it.
If there's one thing I can criticize, it's the differences between Diddy and Donkey and how that correlates into the levels- but only exclusively in Co-Op, which is how I played the game. We switched back and forth between the two Kongs constantly, so I got a real feedback on their differences. Diddy's faster, jumps higher and farther, but can't deal with the bigger enemies as well as Donkey. Donkey's slower, jumps lower, but is a real powerhouse and can easily mow through enemies- where Diddy would have to tread lightly. It's an interesting dichotomy, but when playing Co-Op, a problem arises. Obviously certain sections of levels are made for Donkey to have an easier time on, or vice versa, but when you and a friend have chosen your dedicated kong, there's really no way for either of you to have feedback on how either character is meant to operate a challenge. There's no frame of reference, it's really strange. Let's say, for example, I'm playing as Diddy Kong during a section that Donkey would have an infinitely easier time going through- chances are, I'm pretty screwed because I have NOTHING to compare to how I should tackle the situation. I don't know what makes it so easy for Donkey Kong, so finding my own way as Diddy is a lot more jarring. Of course, though, this isn't such an issue in single-player, since you can swap kongs at will; so its really more of a nitpick than anything. Plus, like I said, my friend and I swapped between the two kongs a lot. This criticism is mostly aimed at the potential issue within the system, not my own experience.
All in all, Donkey Kong Country is a really great game. Objectively, this game probably deserves 4 stars. There's virtually nothing glaringly wrong with it from my point of view, and the only reason it doesn't hit that mark is that I lack a personal attachment to it... which may seem arbitrary to you, but... whatever, who are "you", yknow? 3.5 means, like, really good.
It's hard to review Klonoa 2 on its own. Its existence in my head is exclusive to it being one of the most interesting platformer sequels I've played. Klonoa 1's success, to me, stemmed from its inventive implementation of background-to-foreground travel. Klonoa 2 strips that inventiveness away from the project to focus on iterating on other aspects of its predecessor- and it pays off in a big way.
Background shenanigans in this game are rather linear. Like most other games with a similar mechanic, you enter a cannon that shoots you towards the background, where often times, the camera will follow you. It's a rather linear experience compared to the unfolding, sometimes exploratory, nature of Klonoa 1. Klonoa 2 uses this change to its advantage by making use of more extravagant set pieces that really play with the 3d space in an interesting way; due in part to creative use of its camera. The more linear priority for its platforming leaves a lot of room for the puzzle design to iterate on what Klonoa 1 introduced.
As the game goes on, its quality only increases. End game puzzles from Klonoa 1 start showing up near the second act in this game- allowing wholly original puzzles in THIS game to offer something completely unique. The puzzles in Klonoa have always been more concerned with mixing platforming with puzzle solving, and while Klonoa 2 continues this trend, the best of them are contained within one room each. Late game mechanics for these challenges adopt such a simplistic premise- you're essentially just meant to plan out which enemies to grab and shoot and when, but the game goes above and beyond to truly live up to each premise's potential.
That isn't to say Klonoa 2 isn't without action, of course. The bosses in this game are even more creative than the original's. While they don't ever ask too much of you, or are even really that difficult, the process of figuring out how to maneuver around each boss is very engaging. The bosses serve as a highlight of the game for me, and while they don't adopt the same gameplay loop as Klonoa 1, (where you can extend for more hits on the boss during each cycle if you're good enough) they're great in their own right. One of them even exists within the snowboarding gameplay style, which I thought was a nice touch.
Where Klonoa 2 skimps out on expansion of some of the best ideas within its predecessor, it simultaneously claims an unwavering trust of said predecessor. It's almost as if its saying, "We know Klonoa 1 did what it did almost flawlessly, so we're gonna go at it a little differently." This claim stretches as far as the art direction, story, and music, all of which I REFUSE to talk about in order to avoid spoilers- because you really SHOULD play this game right after Klonoa 1. Confidence in a game like this is something you don't see too often, and simply for that, Klonoa 2 is more than worth playing.
Background shenanigans in this game are rather linear. Like most other games with a similar mechanic, you enter a cannon that shoots you towards the background, where often times, the camera will follow you. It's a rather linear experience compared to the unfolding, sometimes exploratory, nature of Klonoa 1. Klonoa 2 uses this change to its advantage by making use of more extravagant set pieces that really play with the 3d space in an interesting way; due in part to creative use of its camera. The more linear priority for its platforming leaves a lot of room for the puzzle design to iterate on what Klonoa 1 introduced.
As the game goes on, its quality only increases. End game puzzles from Klonoa 1 start showing up near the second act in this game- allowing wholly original puzzles in THIS game to offer something completely unique. The puzzles in Klonoa have always been more concerned with mixing platforming with puzzle solving, and while Klonoa 2 continues this trend, the best of them are contained within one room each. Late game mechanics for these challenges adopt such a simplistic premise- you're essentially just meant to plan out which enemies to grab and shoot and when, but the game goes above and beyond to truly live up to each premise's potential.
That isn't to say Klonoa 2 isn't without action, of course. The bosses in this game are even more creative than the original's. While they don't ever ask too much of you, or are even really that difficult, the process of figuring out how to maneuver around each boss is very engaging. The bosses serve as a highlight of the game for me, and while they don't adopt the same gameplay loop as Klonoa 1, (where you can extend for more hits on the boss during each cycle if you're good enough) they're great in their own right. One of them even exists within the snowboarding gameplay style, which I thought was a nice touch.
Where Klonoa 2 skimps out on expansion of some of the best ideas within its predecessor, it simultaneously claims an unwavering trust of said predecessor. It's almost as if its saying, "We know Klonoa 1 did what it did almost flawlessly, so we're gonna go at it a little differently." This claim stretches as far as the art direction, story, and music, all of which I REFUSE to talk about in order to avoid spoilers- because you really SHOULD play this game right after Klonoa 1. Confidence in a game like this is something you don't see too often, and simply for that, Klonoa 2 is more than worth playing.
To me, the digital version of Meanwhile is unimpressive compared to the physical book. The priority of the interactive comic, I've come to feel, is that of innovation. It seems impossible to create a multi-threaded choose-your-own adventure within a physical book while maintaining such a large scope; but Jason Shiga, the artist, does so anyway. If you have any interest, I would really recommend at least looking up how the book works. I've never seen anything like it. In turn, however, the achievement of the book positions the digital version in a less interesting light.
Both formats uphold the integrity and validity of the story, but I can't help but feel only mildly impressed at the digital alternative. The premise for its experience has been done before and will certainly be done again, but thankfully the story isn't compromised. At the very least, there's an argument to be made that both formats offer a unique experience. The digital version blurs panels of the story you haven't reached yet and tracks your path progress, whereas the book leads you to different pages that house panels from different routes. They both offer different experiences with the same story and art, which in and of itself is a little impressive.
Overall, I had a fun time with Meanwhile. It's a short, sweet, simplistically captivating ride done through an interesting conduit format. It makes me want to read more of Jason Shiga's work, but this is a video game review site, so I'll shut up here.
Both formats uphold the integrity and validity of the story, but I can't help but feel only mildly impressed at the digital alternative. The premise for its experience has been done before and will certainly be done again, but thankfully the story isn't compromised. At the very least, there's an argument to be made that both formats offer a unique experience. The digital version blurs panels of the story you haven't reached yet and tracks your path progress, whereas the book leads you to different pages that house panels from different routes. They both offer different experiences with the same story and art, which in and of itself is a little impressive.
Overall, I had a fun time with Meanwhile. It's a short, sweet, simplistically captivating ride done through an interesting conduit format. It makes me want to read more of Jason Shiga's work, but this is a video game review site, so I'll shut up here.
Klonoa: Door to Phantomile is in no way comparable to the proposed childish nature of Kirby or Yoshi like I'd previously thought. While all 3 games share a cutesy, crafty aesthetic and a grab-and-throw protagonist, Klonoa offers a unique edge I've never experienced in a platformer before.
Klonoa is a particularly layered game- both figuratively and literally. Where as most games with "background shenanigans" will have the player instantly jump between the foreground and background, Klonoa opts to seamlessly wrap levels around the two planes. Platforms are more like tracks that wrap around a 3d space, frequently looping back around to the starting point. While that may sound reductive, Klonoa's ability to shoot into either plane with the aid of an enemy really opens up potential design opportunities. It's intuitive nature puts it up there with Virtual Boy Wario Land; another great grab-platformer with a focus on background shenanigans.
You almost mentally unravel each level as you play. The mystique of Klonoa's gameplay comes almost exclusively from it's camera. Each puzzle and platforming challenge is framed and composed via the camera in such an intriguing way, but the challenge itself is never proportional to the camera. It's only ever elevated by it. Puzzles stand on their own and are intertwined with platforming in an inherent flow. The puzzles you solve IS the platforming. It's undeniable genius I can't really describe.
The gameplay premise in Klonoa is exhausted to its fullest potential and is coupled with some of the most appealing art direction on the Playstation. It's story, while traditional and even predictable, is still effective. There's no game exactly like Klonoa- there is no alternative. It near-perfectly balances action platforming with puzzles that aren't arbitrary or infuriating. Its difficulty progression, something I find extremely important in a game, is very well executed and keeps the entire experience captivating. The only critique I can give the game is the lack of incentive for completion. There's nothing really pushing you to do it all other than the enjoyment derived from the means, but that's such a nitpick. It's really good.
I play with my pants around my ankles.
Klonoa is a particularly layered game- both figuratively and literally. Where as most games with "background shenanigans" will have the player instantly jump between the foreground and background, Klonoa opts to seamlessly wrap levels around the two planes. Platforms are more like tracks that wrap around a 3d space, frequently looping back around to the starting point. While that may sound reductive, Klonoa's ability to shoot into either plane with the aid of an enemy really opens up potential design opportunities. It's intuitive nature puts it up there with Virtual Boy Wario Land; another great grab-platformer with a focus on background shenanigans.
You almost mentally unravel each level as you play. The mystique of Klonoa's gameplay comes almost exclusively from it's camera. Each puzzle and platforming challenge is framed and composed via the camera in such an intriguing way, but the challenge itself is never proportional to the camera. It's only ever elevated by it. Puzzles stand on their own and are intertwined with platforming in an inherent flow. The puzzles you solve IS the platforming. It's undeniable genius I can't really describe.
The gameplay premise in Klonoa is exhausted to its fullest potential and is coupled with some of the most appealing art direction on the Playstation. It's story, while traditional and even predictable, is still effective. There's no game exactly like Klonoa- there is no alternative. It near-perfectly balances action platforming with puzzles that aren't arbitrary or infuriating. Its difficulty progression, something I find extremely important in a game, is very well executed and keeps the entire experience captivating. The only critique I can give the game is the lack of incentive for completion. There's nothing really pushing you to do it all other than the enjoyment derived from the means, but that's such a nitpick. It's really good.
I play with my pants around my ankles.
2021
I appreciate its cobbled together look, but other than that, it's a fun fidget game. Nothing more, nothing less.
2021
DISCLAIMER: I do not give a FUCK about the dev drama. I have my own opinions about what happened, but it isn't my or your place to make judgements on an art piece based exclusively on one sole exposure of its creators. The steam reviews and part of the backloggd reviews are so clearly negatively biased towards the game because they're terminally online, faux-altruistic psychos who are reductive to the art of critiquing games. Games, for the most part, are to be judged on the material presented in the product; and that product is one of the best new indie games I've played in ages.
Forgoing sucking off its gameplay premise, Fight Knight consistently evolves on its mechanics and designs in a traditional, linear, and fantastic way. In an era of indie games where most aim to reinvent, subvert expectation, or stand out arbitrarily, Fight Knight can only be described as confident and sincere.
There was never a moment where I felt a headache coming on due too an overly complex puzzle. Any headaches were induced purely by my own mistakes, both in and out of combat. Enemy AI is stoic, and not very complex or manipulatable, but in turn makes approaching them a unique challenge with each armor set. Each fight is a puzzle of reaction time, weakness recognition, and player ability. Marry these concepts with amazing set pieces during boss fights, awesome cliches, and amazing art direction, and you've got half a great game.
The other half of this great game takes place in a dungeon crawler, and like the combat, the puzzle of each challenge makes me feel like Einstein. Which, to be honest, is all I can really ask for in any game. Its complexity, difficulty, and engagement only evolve on themselves as the game go on, culminating in a game that can only be described as "fucking cool."
I want to be able to tell you to ignore what you've heard about the game and its history- but I know for a fact no one but me is reading this. So I'm gonna tell "you" anyway. Play this game and see for yourself. Stick it out all the way through, even if it isn't your kind of game. I would mock the games visuals, writing, and overall idea before I played it.
Then I played it.
Forgoing sucking off its gameplay premise, Fight Knight consistently evolves on its mechanics and designs in a traditional, linear, and fantastic way. In an era of indie games where most aim to reinvent, subvert expectation, or stand out arbitrarily, Fight Knight can only be described as confident and sincere.
There was never a moment where I felt a headache coming on due too an overly complex puzzle. Any headaches were induced purely by my own mistakes, both in and out of combat. Enemy AI is stoic, and not very complex or manipulatable, but in turn makes approaching them a unique challenge with each armor set. Each fight is a puzzle of reaction time, weakness recognition, and player ability. Marry these concepts with amazing set pieces during boss fights, awesome cliches, and amazing art direction, and you've got half a great game.
The other half of this great game takes place in a dungeon crawler, and like the combat, the puzzle of each challenge makes me feel like Einstein. Which, to be honest, is all I can really ask for in any game. Its complexity, difficulty, and engagement only evolve on themselves as the game go on, culminating in a game that can only be described as "fucking cool."
I want to be able to tell you to ignore what you've heard about the game and its history- but I know for a fact no one but me is reading this. So I'm gonna tell "you" anyway. Play this game and see for yourself. Stick it out all the way through, even if it isn't your kind of game. I would mock the games visuals, writing, and overall idea before I played it.
Then I played it.
2014
Lisa is a lot of things. It's disgusting, hilarious, beautiful, interesting, fun, and above all else, important. As a game, there are enough unique mechanics to set itself apart from most other indie RPGs, but as a story, it is truly stomach sinking.
One of Lisa's most impactful aspects is its integration between story and gameplay interaction. Without spoiling too much, your choices have very real consequences on the story and gameplay, despite the sequence of events remaining the same. One choice may lead you down a different cutscene, skewing your perspective of the story. Another choice may shift the way you approach battles entirely. This kind of mechanic is best suited for a first time playthrough, however. Of course, on my second playthrough, I have no reason to choose any gameplay altering decisions, as I'm most likely not as invested in the story the second time around. This is partly circumvented through Lisa's branching story and expansive cast of characters, offering an entirely new experience for the first 4 or so playthroughs.
Lisa's worst sin is its difficulty. I breezed through this game. A lot of challenge in Lisa is imposed on the player BY the player. Again, that works for a first playthrough, but I'm less inclined to create disadvantages for myself simply because I know more about how the game operates when I replay.
It's hard to talk about Lisa without mentioning its story and I'd rather avoid talking about it at all to avoid expectations, but like I said, it's a lot of things. It's as funny as it is repulsive. It's as hopeful as it is tragic. It's as ""quirky"" as it is genuine. As a whole, it's a game worth playing and immersing yourself in. Nu-indie RPGs take notes.
One of Lisa's most impactful aspects is its integration between story and gameplay interaction. Without spoiling too much, your choices have very real consequences on the story and gameplay, despite the sequence of events remaining the same. One choice may lead you down a different cutscene, skewing your perspective of the story. Another choice may shift the way you approach battles entirely. This kind of mechanic is best suited for a first time playthrough, however. Of course, on my second playthrough, I have no reason to choose any gameplay altering decisions, as I'm most likely not as invested in the story the second time around. This is partly circumvented through Lisa's branching story and expansive cast of characters, offering an entirely new experience for the first 4 or so playthroughs.
Lisa's worst sin is its difficulty. I breezed through this game. A lot of challenge in Lisa is imposed on the player BY the player. Again, that works for a first playthrough, but I'm less inclined to create disadvantages for myself simply because I know more about how the game operates when I replay.
It's hard to talk about Lisa without mentioning its story and I'd rather avoid talking about it at all to avoid expectations, but like I said, it's a lot of things. It's as funny as it is repulsive. It's as hopeful as it is tragic. It's as ""quirky"" as it is genuine. As a whole, it's a game worth playing and immersing yourself in. Nu-indie RPGs take notes.