Just in time to be behind the times, I have completed my first Persona joint. Like many others, I found myself rolling my eyes at the initial announcement of a Persona 3 remake. The main function of a remake, after all, should be to remake a game with a solid core concept, but which stumbled in execution. "People like 3, it's the first good one. Why not remake 1 or 2?". Having played it, I've changed my tune; this is a prime remake candidate. So much of the heart here is fantastic, but the game fails to totally balance on its rollerskates without the children of the village coming around and spitting gum in its hair.

The game, I would say to a problematic degree, completely divorces its JRPG battling system from its Social Sim system. Every so often JRPG will ask to come to their son's piano recital or Social Sim will suggest they all visit Olive Garden together, but it never coalesces in any meaningful way. Still, it's a good thing Social Sim has primary custody, because it's by far the stronger half. There's a variety of characters to interact with, most of whom have their own, surprisingly compelling narratives. Availability or lack thereof on certain days, while frustrating from a gameplay perspective, does serve to make the characters feel more autonomous. In fact, the way the game weaves its side characters throughout and with one another really helps to make the entire environment seem alive. While I'm in Fuuka's bedroom looking at her Warhammer collection, I know Kazushi could be out running, Yukari's shopping at the mall, and Kenji's retreated back into his goon cave.

All that being said, the social links themselves are unfortunately entirely contained within their own confines. It does undercut the feeling of developing a connection when me and Yuko have a flurry of a honeymoon romance over the span of a week and a half and then we become as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for we could never become acquainted. Having some incentive to continue interacting with or even acknowledging these people's existence would go a long way. In addition to that is the obvious problem of the forced harem. The MC, in my reality named Roscoe Slippy (Roscoe-kun, if you will), is apparently hornier than Fuuka at Best Buy and is therefore incapable of resisting the urge to pork anyone and anything that so much as compliments his pog collection.

The constantly ticking school year does a great deal to liven up the characters and their dynamics. Having events crop up throughout the year to shake things up by affecting availability, location, etc does a good job at highlighting the passage of time (even though being put in "no girls or Kenji allowed" gay baby jail for a month during summer break made me want to scream). It's really effective, semi-organic gameplay storytelling when, for example, everyone becomes demotivated to go to Tartarus or hang out for a week after a major tragedy. You feel like they have something going on outside of you. By the end of the game, it actually feels like you've gone through a great deal with these people, and you have a whole journey to reminisce on with them, except for maybe the weird, implied Yukari shower sex that never comes up again, probably shouldn't reminisce on that.

The actual plot plot is so so. The actual effect or threat of the shadows is never terribly well explained, nor is the entire deal with Strega. Takaya is the ultimate hater, seeming to base his entire goal off of just being anti-whatever we're doing. It kind of feels like there should be a bit more to his agenda then showing up a couple times to shake his fist at me before getting his teeth pushed in by a Hanged Man-infused skateboard. As was probably made clear earlier, the highlights, and indeed focus, of the plot, both story-wise and thematically, are undoubtedly the character moments throughout. It was fairly off-putting when, within one month, the game marches out a conga line of four new characters, all of whom seem to be auditioning as the quirky side character who goes on to star in their own spinoff sitcom on ABC (Congratulations Aigis!). In spite of that, by the end of the game, they do somehow flesh out and endear me to each and every member of SEES, giving them all climactic character moments that manage to weave into not just the core plot, but each other. The only exception I would throw out there is perhaps Shinjiro; I would've liked a tad more characterization from him, though I understand he's supposed to be a quiet loner-type. Indeed, the strong characterization is woven throughout so much, right down to those wonderfully fun little videos of Ken's milky little rat hole or Stupei talking to his baseball hat like it's the Green Goblin mask, that it makes me wonder who would ever favor a non-party romance. Sorry, Yuko, you can walk me through the genetic breakdown of our super-spawn another time. And Chihiro, you can... do whatever you would've done if I touched your social link. Made Youtube video essays about your favorite Buñuel, idk.

The real rub, the ultimate tragedy of Persona 3, is of course Tartarus. Let's not mince words: Tartarus is not very good. Rather, Tartarus is the physical manifestation of humanity's collective desire to die. Tartarus is the final hell in at least a half dozen different forms of Buddhism. Tartarus is what Amish parents warn their kids awaits them in the big city and what fundamentalists tell you will happen if you masturbate. Tartarus is... not very good. All that being said, it's really nothing quite so grand. The truth is just that Tartarus is boring. You walk through literally hundreds of near-identical randomly generated rooms, grinding random enemies without context or particularly urgent purpose. I'm sure this ranks very highly amongst electrode-riddled rats being programmed to run on wheels for chunks of cheese, but as a human being who appreciates a slightly stronger sense of accomplishment than a bit a brie or a crumb of camembert, it leaves me a little cold after the 2nd hour, positively homicidal by the 20th, and innovating new forms of mental transcendence by the 80th (or just listening to a podcast).

It's true that the structure of Tartarus goes a long way towards making every visit feel like the video game equivalent of trying to buy a coffee by digging pennies out of the crack behind a urinal, but I would argue the combat system itself is also to blame. Perhaps controversially, since every SMT/P game seems to be identical in this regard, I don't think the combat in this game is great. To start with a positive, I actually really appreciate the move names. It may seem like a weird thing to highlight, but the typical moves are designed with what is essentially their own language. Ma- or Me- indicates AOE, -la or -lao indicate medium power, -dyne is high power, etc. At a glance, it's often possible to figure out what a move does, even if you've never seen it before. I almost just wish it was consistently applicable.

Ok, that's enough niceties, now let me bicker. Generally, I have three major issues with battles, which each kind of flow into the next. First up is a bit multifaceted, but broadly manifests in how easy it is to end up stun-locked. I fully understand any of these kinds of criticisms can be easily dismissed by furious "git gud" keyboard mashing, telling me that even Hitler understood the meta better than this, but I genuinely don't know how I'm supposed to deal with just flat out having my turn skipped two, three, four times in a row. Multiple times I would go from full health to zero without getting to take an action. Perhaps it's my fault for deploying paper when my enemy is clearly so scissors-coded, but until Fuuka winds up her crank-powered Shinigami eyes, I really have no way of knowing what types are ok. Beyond that, though, I recall one boss fight in which I would cycle between Being Feared > Getting Knocked Down By a Crit Because I'm Feared > Getting Back Up > Recovering > Getting Feared Again. Things like that, where the game seems to arbitrarily decide you're going to lose now because you got unlucky is kind of maddening, especially in a game with absolutely no autosaves. That's not even mentioning what seems to be some bizarre damage variance, where an enemy I've smeared into concrete 100 times by that point suddenly gets the powers of the Pirate King and belts out a nuclear home run that insta-flattens me without so much as a "Be careful!".

Leading on from that, Point #2 is to do with status effect moves, which make up a generous portion of the catalogue. Let me just say this flat out: Any ability in any game which has an effect akin to "Activate: Win the Game. Accuracy: 10%" is incredibly poorly designed. The status effects in this game are almost always guaranteed to miss, in which case Cupid Baby is just standing there like a dork shouting "Magic Missiles! Magic Missiles!", but if they do connect, they completely change the course of the fight. Or at least they do when the enemy uses them; when I connect with a paralysis or a fear, the enemy looks at me like I just gave them a Chick Tract in a public bathroom and goes on like nothing happened. For whatever reason, Poison in this game not only eats a fat chunk of health each turn, it lasts forever, unlike, say, that Nintendo series that ripped off Palworld, meaning you either muscle your way through the rest of the fight, or you waste an entire turn on an antidote. If your whole party is poisoned, forget it. Something like Rage or especially Charm is even more significant by depriving a character of their turns (I blazed my way through a good section of the harder midgame fights abusing Dreamfest). Before I give the impression of these grand sweeping plays, I will reiterate that 90% of the time you just end up standing there like an idiot while metal Hulk Hogan body slams Stupei.

The third and final point apparently varies by version. In FES, at least, there's criticism to be directed at the autonomous decision-making of your party members. Now, I actually don't mind your teammates making their own decisions; it goes a long way towards emphasizing that I am Roscoe-kun, not some amorphous presence mouth-breathing down Roscoe-kun's shoulder telling him to kill Spider-man. On top of that, there are ample techniques that allow you to control what their priorities should be. Unfortunately, the issue is that your party members are just often kind of stupid. Whether it's Yukari set to support deciding to drop a single-target heal on herself while the entire party is ready to drop from a moderate gasp or Mitsuru obsessively spamming Marin Karin to no avail like a seductive Sisyphus, allies will frequently make very obviously ineffective decisions that force me to spend my turns playing catch-up. In fact, it frequently proved to be most effective for me to be the dedicated towel boy bringing everybody juice boxes. It must just come down to how certain characters were programmed; Akihiko is consistently laying shadows out while Mitsuru's busy shaking her can-cans for a table with hands.

Ultimately, these problems seem niche because they kind of are; combat relies on a pretty straightforward typing-system that makes the majority of encounters pretty trivial. Then, when your guard is down, one of these problems rears up and wipes an hour of progress because you didn't bother to save. It's less unmanageable and more frustrating and tedious, like Tartarus as a whole.

Of course, I can't move past the combat without talking about the series' namesake, the Persona system. Frankly, it's incomprehensible. I know there are rules, I know the game explains the rules, but it still comes across like I'm doing advanced trigonometry in ancient Assyrian. I was honestly just randomly mixing and matching Personas until I saw one that had moves I wanted. Seriously streamlining and clarifying how any of that works should be a priority for the remake. As for the Persona designs, they range all the way from the most bizarre thing I've ever seen (good) to alot of Guys. I could never discard any system that lets me craft Mothman and, frankly, I also just got a kick every time an eldritch abomination of flesh and teeth came out with the move Sexy Dance.

What else? Some random things worth mentioning: I love how expressive the character portraits are, especially on Stupei and Fuuka. The voice acting ranges from solid to that perfect level of bad that's both super endearing and super memorable (also Fuuka). Giving more to do in the evenings would be appreciated, as I spent the last couple months seeing how much I could fill a bucket with drool between 5 and 12 PM, although that partially comes down to me mis-allocating my time early on. The little bits of visual flair here and there are pretty nice, though of course seem positively quaint compared to Persona 5 or, indeed, the remake of Persona 3. It's also impossible to discuss a Persona game without mentioning the music; there's some great tracks. I'd like it even more if this 80-hour game had more than four of them. There are songs here that will be burned into my brain forever, though there was often a disconnect with the intensity of the music in more mundane scenes.

In short, this is one of those games that sticks with you. Not because it's perfect, far from it, but it's got so many wonderful little details, and oozes so much heart that it's impossible not to appreciate it at its best. If the remake is able to retain that while cleaning up some of its more egregious blemishes, you'll be dealing with a true home run.


EDIT / ADDENDUM: From ~03/05/24 to 03/17/24, I have now played through The Answer, a task I wasn't sure I was up for at first, given its reputation as Grind City. Having completed it, my feelings are generally more mixed than with The Journey, but far from overwhelmingly negative. The thought process for this rump sequel feels like the Persona dev team had an idea for the beginning of the story, an idea for the end of the story, and left everything else to the junior intern who had replaced his keyboard keys with Dubble Bubble.

Things start off with a strong sense of intrigue; a mysterious, new location (in the form of an admittedly on-the-nose metaphor), a likable new character who knows more than she's letting on, and more of Yukari being an asshole to everyone than you could ever ask for. Even the gameplay loop is initially, while not improved, as least presented in more palatable, shorter chunks of endurance, as opposed to The Journey's grinding slog through more inhuman monstrosities than a tour of England.

Unfortunately, that lasts for about two hours. The 20 after that are tedious beyond belief, as the sections become longer and combat frustrations really start to rack up. I'm not aware the degree to which I'm right versus experiencing Tartarus trauma flashbacks, but the fights somehow felt even worse here. Accuracy is a joke; anecdotally, it felt sub-50% on average, with fights looking more like softball games at a school for the blind and deaf. Critical hits also felt substantially more common, with even Sensei Metis's mastery of the four elements not saving her from getting leg sweeped by a pair of dice. Combine the constant stun-locks with the increased damage from being locked into Hard Mode, and even mundane fights could very easily spiral into a bloodbath.

Outside of the fights... oh wait, there is nothing outside of the fights. Bufudyne-ing your way through a particularly tough boss feels distinctly soul-crushing when the reward the game offers you is to immediately go do it again. Your only breaks from Persona Mystery Dungeon are shopping and fusing Personas. Equipment upgrades in The Answer feel extremely needlessly iterative, having to go back and forth across the Loading Screen Event Horizon so that I can check each party member's equipment > go buy new stuff > go back to equip > sell the old stuff so I can buy more > go back and equip > and so on, all so Queen Mitsuru can be clad in the most luxurious samurai sandals (+60 defense), instead of those disgusting peasant clompers she was stuck with before (A mere +58 defense). As for the Persona fusing, it's fundamentally the same, except for the loss of the Compendium, making the actual Personas you end up with feel even more like letting Mothman take the wheel.

Upon clearing a dungeon, you are presented with a brief cutscene, featuring universally pointless flashbacks to scenes that are either a) completely uninteresting or b) something we have already seen and learn nothing more about here. The only mildly interesting exception was Junpei. The brief exchanges afterwards occasionally offer some more engaging back and forth, but it's actually kind of hard to lock in for a two-minute cutscene after spending the last three hours devoting my mind and will to either nirvana or carcinization, whichever came first.

What's really frustrating about The Answer, though is the last few hours; unfortunately, they're actually pretty good. I WISH I could write this off as a failed expansion when so much of it was so obnoxious. However, after all of that, the game suddenly sparks to life with actual character dynamics / conflicts for every SEES member (except Fuuka, whose role in this expansion is to say "Aigis...", "Metis...", "Yukari...", "Akihiko...", etc.). Well-written dialogue delivered in service of an actual theme and progressing the mystery of the plot that's been stagnant for 20+ hours is the sweet oasis in the Desert of Doors. It's true the cutscenes do meander on the same points, especially given the core themes of finding strength in friendship and hope are ultimately the exact same things Roscoe Slippy just spent 80 hours getting drilled in. However, the addressing of grief in the context of death in a more direct way than the original game did is a welcome twist on that discussion, and by the end I was well and truly moved. Aigis in particular had a pretty beautiful arc, and the ultimate payoff for Metis was handled wonderfully. I can't write off anything that manages to strike me right through the heart with its ending cutscene (I had Kohryu's Scales on Metis). Side note, by the way: The animated cutscenes are all much longer and better animated in this than in The Journey, for some reason.

Even if it wasn't so strong, by god, seeing more of these characters that I had grown so attached to really was enough for me. I can't help but think about a version of The Answer that either trimmed down the gameplay sections or seriously beefed up the character moments in amongst the trudging. I'm not even asking for Social Links, mind you. Some cutscenes of characters talking about how they're feeling, or even just having a light-hearted gag conversation would've been so much more motivating than having all the characterization totally backloaded.

I generally hate the idea of pretending like watching a game's story on Youtube is comparable to actually playing the thing, but this is probably the closest I've ever come. Mind you, I would NEVER say that about The Journey, but in The Answer, it really feels like the actual gameplay does so little to inform the story that I can almost recommend just skipping it entirely (almost - I'm still not quite that blackpilled). Ignoring that there's a remake on the horizon and focusing only on this, the FES version, The Answer is a medicine. It's gross and hard to get down, but in the end, it's healing. I have to recommend it, but I wish I didn't have to feel bad about it.

Out of the haze of pixiv fever dreams comes one of the standard bearers of the "explaining to your Steam friends it's a real game with gameplay and it doesn't have a one-handed mode" sub-genre. It's hard not to take note of this one, with how often it's championed as one of the very best metroidvanias on the market. Having played it... I think that's somewhat fair, with some caveats.

The aesthetic takes a specific taste, but I can mesh with it. A constant stream of bright, colorful pixel art and a soundtrack teetering between pounding electronic and sickly-sweet j-pop demands a specific kind of upbeat optimism I found refreshing. The anime illustrations are also, in a word, cute, even if the constant malaise of vague horniness gives the entire proceeding a slightly creepy quality, like the game is a sexually frustrated aunt at a wedding making googly eyes at the groom cake topper. Another thing worth mentioning in passing is the visual clarity, if only because such a thing is critical for a bullet hell.

Exploration, as one would hope for in a Metroidvania, essentially involves finding a high ledge, a watery sinkhole, and a realization of the crushing weight of a conscious existence, before running back and forth over the map, searching for the double jump, swim ability, and indomitable human spirit to bypass such obstacles and progress further along the map. Exploration tends to be functional, but rudimentary; aside from one (very fun) section consisting entirely of platforming, few areas offer any unique environmental challenges. Instead, downtime between boss fights means boffing your giant-ass hammer against hordes of bunny girls coming at you with all the piss and vinegar of a baby sparrow, while simultaneously stopping every four feet to kick every rock and pull every blade of grass to make sure none of them are hiding a health potion or the entrance to the secret kingdom of the mole people. In this way, exploring becomes tedious, especially when the map notably omits pathways you haven't tried yet, so opening locked routes feels less like putting your new skills to use and more like a German tourist wandering around trying to find the best schnitzel in Bangkok.

At various locations throughout the map come the boss fights, which are easily the highlight. The combination of side-scroller combo attacks with bullet hell mechanics make these fights as much a test of platforming / maneuvering as they are actual combat. In addition, there is a staggering variety of different patterns, putting you through energy zig zags, spinning electricity wheels, arcing fire pillars, a sprite construction of La Pietà made entirely of bubbles, each with a specific dodge pattern before you can get in a couple of meaty bonks. Or at least, for the most part; when the game vomits out projectiles in every direction across the whole screen like Mr. Creosote, it feels like kind of a cheap shot. Regardless, these sequences are what make the game worth playing, and there are plenty of them, with your ever-increasing tool kit of carrot-themed demolition equipment providing added depth as you progress. By the end, you're swinging, rolling, and sashaying through 15-minute boss fights that really get the blood pumping.

From the best part of the game to the worst part of the game, I don't even know if I want to attempt to explain the story. It's probably one of the most incoherent plots I've ever experienced in a game. It's hard to communicate, however, because so much of it comes in the form of random non-sequitur pieces of information. For most of the "main game", you are a bunny who has been magically turned into a human girl through the power of weird fetishism, tasked with locating your owner's sister trapped in another world. This is achieved by scouring the land looking for magic users. The hands-off approach to how / where you locate these people was appreciated, encouraging exploration. The main thrust of the plot here is supposed to be the personalities of the various magical characters. If you've ever seen an anime before in your life, you've seen every one of these characters, and you've seen them written more interestingly. After four separate attempts to open this portal, the grand villain is introduced, her backstory is rapid-fired straight at you like a lawyer reciting the last deposition before lunch, she dies, and the game ends. Except, it doesn't end? It picks up again on a completely different one of the many plot threads introduced and poorly elaborated on. Then, the next chapter starts over again, before the game actually ends. Or, I should say, you arrive at the open lego peg the endless stream of DLC can slot on to. As much as the game likes to propose conflicts, it's less keen on actually showing any resolution to them. The sister is returned, but every threat concerning their connection to this other world, the main character remaining transformed into a marketable mascot, what precisely the deal was with bunny Cortana, is all just capped off with a big question mark. The horrible writing is equal parts frustrating and amusing, so I suppose it's not the worst thing to be the major bug bear.

Contrary to how it may appear, I did not put this game off in a Pikmin 2 rage-induced fugue. Indeed, I was simply waiting for the unbelievable two months(?!) before Amazon deigned to send me a frickin copy. With that being said, it was worth the wait. Despite, in my experience, seeming to have the most mixed reception of all the Pikmin games, this might be my favorite so far, managing to capture (most of) what made the original great, while improving in so many little ways that tremendously smooth out the experience.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing: Redux

As with the previous game, the best place to start is probably the plot. Ripping into the specifics of a Pikmin plot feels kind of like murmuring disappointedly that your son's macaroni art lacks the abstract je ne sais quoi of late-stage Picasso, but this is probably the most contrived story yet. The previously unmentioned planet of Koppai is experiencing a global famine, and various space patrols are dispatched to, presumably, bleed someone else's ecology dry to compensate. After finding a planet filled with edible goodies, they proceed to dispatch exactly one ship carrying three people, who will collect enough fruit seeds to sustain the entire planetary population. Alternatively, perhaps send more than one ship? Or at least the Koppai equivalent of a cargo freighter? If America had a sudden nationwide food shortage, I don't think Biden would send one old guy with a rickety Toyota across the border to scavenge the nearest Tim Horton's. They also fail to equip them with any weapons or means of defense, despite traveling to a completely alien world KNOWN to have life on it. I'm sure the old man in the Toyota would at least have a pistol or a very angry dog, but I digress.

Either way, the Koppaite dream team of Captain Charlie, Botanist Brittany, and Engineer Alph apparently drive with their eyes closed and experience a sudden crash landing in a fully functional ship, now tasked with finding their sole missing ship part, in addition to as much fruit as their grubby little hands can carry. It may seem that the presence of three captains would be tonally harmful in the same way the presence of two was in the previous game, but the mood in this game is clearly much different from the first two. Gone is any attempt at a stressful trek into the dangerous unknown. Instead, this resembles more of a relaxing nature stroll, taking in the sights of flowers and mutant frog-mushroom things. While it may lack the same edge, I'm pretty much ok with it as a new take. I enjoyed the gentle music and charming nature scenery finally feeling in line with the actual gameplay experience, instead of listening to a whimsical flute while Louie gets all of his arms and legs ripped off by robot spiders.

On the crew, their personalities are whatever the immediate step above "cardboard automaton" is. Maybe cardboard with a little bow and big anime eyes drawn on. Charlie is headstrong, Brittany is a proto-Louie (and also seems to be the most scientifically ignorant, despite being a botanist), and Alph is the one who actually does work. They're functional, but not memorable. The attempts to cross things over with the previous two games were charming, though Louie continuing to devolve further and further into a faintly-shackled beast is the most bizarre thru-line in the series. One criticism I have is the decision to make the captains talk. I have never in my life wanted to hear Olimar speak, especially not when his voice sounds like he swallowed an oboe.

Chapter 2 - The Big Birdcage

I have come to the conclusion that exploration is perhaps the most core aspect of Pikmin's identity. Losing that element is like making a Mario game without jumping, or a Sonic game without running, or a Zelda game where Link respects property rights. One of my primary criticisms of Pikmin 2 was the lack of exploration, simply being funneled down cramped, wet caves like nerds at a gaming convention. That's in contrast to Pikmin 1, where the map is mostly open and free to be tackled at your discretion, with only a few barriers in place to herd you away from late-game areas. Like an overly fussy parent at a boy-girl sleepover, Pikmin 3 seems to mostly lie in between the two. The first chunk of the game had me very worried, as you walk down straight, linear tracks while the game talks on and on and on and on, not even trusting you to pull up your own socks without offering a helpful push so you don't accidently strangle yourself with them. By the time Alph is finished reciting his second Dostoevsky novel, the game finally gives you the reins, and, to its credit, it does open up after that. Not to the same degree as the original, mind you; 3 undeniably falls short of letting you wander as you please. At the same time, however, your cage becomes pretty spacious, and various fruits / obstacles can be freely tackled at the same time. If the first game is structured as a big circle and the second is a line, this one feels more like an asterik* shape - several linear paths spitting out independently and simultaneously in a way that at least feels fairly open.

Chapter 3 - The Heroic Trio

Perhaps the most notable gameplay alteration for this title is the ability to control three characters independently. While Pikmin 2 first brought up the idea in its shotgun bukkake of new concepts, 3 refines it in a few key ways. Most notably, introducing captain orders. While I initially lamented that the orders were not as extensive as I had suggested in my Pikmin 2 review, boiling down to just shouting "Oi dickhead, over here!", that ultimately proves to be enough. When combined with the many control refinements I'll be discussing soon, it's pretty easy to fall into a rhythm of three different captains multi-tasking three different objectives in a gameplay loop that becomes deeply engrossing. Every piece would work on their own task while I just switched around, offering pizza parties and in store credit whenever they would finish before setting them to their next grind. Indeed, this game having substantially more "treasures" than the original doesn't feel anywhere near as tedious as in 2, since you're not required to sit and supervise the whole process like you're trying to train chimps to mix dynamite. Certain objectives can throw a wrench into things by requiring multiple captains, but it's fairly quick and simple to shift your troops over and back again to work through that. Another massively useful function: being able to peel off a spare captain to go fetch the Pikmin stopped at the Onion after delivering their loot.

Chapter 4 - The Little Things that Make the World Go Round

As alluded to in the previous chapters, I'd like to dedicate a section to discuss the quality of life improvements, which are the true star of this game. In addition to the aforementioned captain orders, the game also streamlines divvying up both your Pikmin and captains, making reconfiguring and deploying Alpha Team, Beta Team, and... C Team fast and easy. Finally, on the third installment, we also have a dedicated camera stick, no longer controlling like Olimar's being stalked by a flying periscope. With this change, controlling your horde with the right stick has been replaced with a dedicated "charge" button, something which is significantly more satisfying to use than I would ever expect, as well as, once again, helping to separate different colors for specific functions. In order to streamline Pikmin combat / commands, the game also introduces a lock-on function, meaning no more throwing Pikmin like a shot putter with double vision. Still, there was some frustration when the game struggled to discern whether I wanted to target the sheargrub corpse worth a postage stamp and a kiss on the cheek or the giant bulborb actively halving the global Pikmin population. In spite of that, complaining about finnicky controls in Pikmin 3 vs the first two is like complaining about the air conditioning on an airplane versus one of the engines being on fire.

Pikmin have also gotten smarter than they've ever been; sending out their Life Alert after getting stuck on a two-inch ledge or careening into the briny deep because they haven't quite figured out the concept of a bridge yet has finally become the exception more so than the rule. That being said, the pathfinding was occasionally somewhat strange. A Pikmin squad delivering a shipment of fresh starfruit approaches a fork in the road. Route A: shorter, completely cleared of all hazards, a merry little tune carried on the wind as cherubs welcomed them to heaven on earth. Route B: Bulborb Lesnar welcoming them to a bone-crunching Hell in the Cell where no challenger has ever survived. Suffice it to say, they often struggled to make the right choice.

Chapter 5 - Out with the Old, In with the New (Pikmin)

Much to my surprise, this game does not retain the two new kids on the block from the last game; frankly, neither are missed, and the streamlining is probably for the best. Instead, we meet the cooler Daniels. First up are the rock Pikmin. Their function to smash crystal / glass is yet another key-door dynamic, but Pikmin in this game are easy enough to shuffle around it's not frustrating. Also, those walls really do just feel great to destroy. Their combat functions, however, are more interesting. Not being crushable or stab-able lets them brush off a good portion of enemies like grunts in a shonen series. The fact that they bounce off of enemies when thrown at them, rather than cling on and pray to God Olimar, offers an interesting bit of awkwardness to offset their general beefiness, but it's not sufficient to make them anything less than a necessity. They're not quite as overpowered as purple Pikmin were, but there are absolutely a good chunk of predators who will take one whack at these guys, get hit with a fluoride stare, and be beaten like Oliver Twist. This may be a nitpick, but I also take issue with the concept of a rock pikmin. These things are supposed to be part plant, part animal; you can't start bringing mineralogy into the mix like some freakish science experiment. First we allow this, then Pikmin X brings in the Nylon Pikmin and the Dyson Vacmin.

The second of the two newcomers are the winged Pikmin, a much more biologically feasible monstrosity. This may come as a shock, but their primary function is to fly. This is intended, in part, for aerial combat, but they're entirely unnecessary for that end, especially when they hit like a termite fighting a 747. The main utility is the key-door function of lifting gates, as well as carrying objects over obstacles for quicker delivery. Having left the liminal voids of Pikmin 2 behind, bottomless death gaps are not too common on PNF-404, so this is primarily used to circumvent water, muscling in pretty aggressively on the blue Pikmin's front lawn. Indeed, I believe this series is experiencing something similar to feature creep that I'll call "complexity creep" (there may be a real term for this, sue me), where the new Pikmin are introduced with so many bells and whistles they make the original, more basic kids look positively mundane by comparison. Objects have had to migrate into the sea just to keep blue Pikmin relevant, and I found myself only bringing out reds when occasionally faced with a specifically fire-oriented challenge (even then, rock can usually do the job). Perhaps these two should be retrofitted with some additional toys instead of constantly slapping new abilities on yellows like an evolutionary Winchester Mansion. To be clear, though, the utilities of rock and winged Pikmin, while potentially having some balance issues, are substantially more interesting and fun to use than the previous effort; I don't know the specifics of the ice Pikmin, but I can only hope they continue in this vein.

Chapter 6 - Going Goo Goo Ga Ga Mode

So, here it is. I've lightly touched upon it several times by now. The primary criticism of this game, seemingly shared across the board, and I can't argue it - this game is just too damn easy. As much as I can talk about the new nuances of the combat, most enemies are tied to one very specific weakness that makes them totally ineffectual. For electro-dogs, bring yellow Pikmin. For the fire slugs, reds. If they're underwater, blue will do. If they challenge the mechanics of conventional space, bring the non-Euclidean Pikmin. For any other enemy, a barrage of rocks alone will usually end it before you can whistle. The bosses tend to be no exception, either having an obvious weakness or at least being easy to nullify (ex. rocks against Mr. Stompy). Worth mentioning here is the final boss, who is, in many ways, the culmination of this. After a somewhat tedious area involving Alph and Charlie going through a fairly basic linear pathway while you periodically flip back to Brittany doing donuts in the parking lot, the actual boss is a pretty braindead sequence of locks and keys, only made frustrating by the lack of lock-on to the blobs you're supposed to attack. It's not terrible, but it's definitely the least fun I've had with a final boss.

Trudging enemy corpses back to the Soylent Green factory will leave you with more Pikmin than you'll know what to do with, and the game is unbelievably generous with when they die. I'd watch rocks get picked up, thrown down, stepped on, slapped, mentally and emotionally degraded, and suplexed into the pavement and they'd walk it off like getting a paper cut. It was like an event when a joustmite would manage to fire his nose straight down the Death Star ventilation shaft and one of them would actually die.

Much earlier, I discussed the excessive tutorializing at the start of the game. While it is true that they don't railroad you quite as much later on, that is not to say that they ease off the hints. Indeed, the target audience seems to have gone from children to semi-sentient bok choy. One boss fight in particular comes to mind. You enter his arena, activate a light bulb, and he appears, only to run off frightened. Alph remarks that he appears to be vulnerable to light. Great. Cool. Then, the game presents a data file telling you that something may happen if you activate more lights. Hint hint. Nudge nudge. Ok, I get it. Then, another data file - "The monster appears to be vulnerable to light!". Yep. Thanks, Olimar, you're the Sherlock Holmes of your generation. THEN, after activating more lights, Alph says AGAIN "WE NEED MORE LIGHTS! TURN ON THE LIGHTS!". I'm not exaggerating when I say this is how this game treats its players sometimes. That's not even mentioning the built-in cheat button that gives you a glowing arrow pointing exactly where to go as the ultimate walk of shame for those of you in the REALLY cheap seats.

Also worth mentioning in this section is the gameplay function of all those fruits. Every fruit collected translates to a certain amount of juice, which is consumed at the end of each day. Should you run out, you presumably instantly dry out and die, like Brittany is secretly 10,000 years old and only being kept alive by shriveling her insides with pure lemon juice. Conceptually, I feel this is a great idea. It's slightly laxer than the original game by allowing the timer to be fought against, but it achieves the same function of constant, simmering pressure to keep progressing. Unfortunately, the game is just way too generous with the stuff. I'm supposed to feel scared of becoming idle, but instead I'm rolling through the forest like Mansa Juicea, squeezing out grapes like I'm trying to make them extinct. Even when the game tries to put the screws to the player by temporarily taking all your juice away, I had my fruity empire reestablished within a couple days. I ended the game with enough juice to clear Pikmin 1, 2, and 3 combined.

As much as I can complain about the difficulty and agree that it's a problem... it doesn't ruin the game for me. I can appreciate a totally chilled out experience. The aforementioned music, visuals, and general mood all work with that laid back gameplay to create an experience that was something of a warm blanket for me. It's kind of nice to be able to sit back and vibe out with a Pikmin game for once. Nintendo unquestionably went too far in idiot-proofing it, but I can have fun in spite of that.

Chapter 7 - Pikmin Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part 1 & 2

Perhaps in response to the difficulty criticisms, we come to what is, to my knowledge, the main addition in this, the Deluxe Edition. That addition is, of course, the two Olimar side campaigns. In both, focus shifts back to our original intrepid hero and his missing link sidekick. What makes these unique is the focus on achieving a specific goal in a limited area under a stringent time limit, thus maximally testing your multitasking skills.

I would go so far as to say that the first campaign, Olimar's Assignment, is the most fun part of the entire game. While it's only a few missions, each one fully doubles down on my favorite aspect of this game, that being the managing of your captains and maximizing your efficiency at collecting fruits. While not impossibly difficult, these are highly intense missions, expecting you to move as fast as you can. In essence, it's synthesizing the mission statement of Pikmin 1 with the fluid controls and functionality of Pikmin 3, though even Pikmin 1 was never quite this quick. To play through these missions makes me dream of an entire game like this, perhaps with a level-based structure. As is, they offer a nice slice of contrast to the chilled out main campaign.

I'm a bit colder on the second campaign, Olimar's Comeback. Rather than collecting fruits, these levels consist of various things, though most boil down to "fight a bunch of guys". In a series where, even now, the combat is consistently the worst part, these missions are fairly dull and evoke Pikmin 2 in some frustrating ways. Still, there are some that are more in the spirit of Olimar's Assignment, and I would be much more inclined to replay those than return to the Great Bulborb Spanking Line.

Chapter 8 - Pikvangelion 2.0 + 1.0: Thrice Upon a Time

I can complain, I can gnash my teeth and scream bloody murder about the easy difficulty, the annoying tutorials, the stupid plot, and so many other things, but, ultimately, this game is really enjoyable. It manages to recapture a healthy amount of the magic of the first game, while establishing its own distinct direction. The tranquil atmosphere, relaxed pace, and gripping core gameplay loop let me really get lost in this one; to be honest, the second game was such a nightmare it's just a joy to be having fun with Pikmin again. Despite its flaws, it's probably my favorite one so far.