Janneke de Beer's Reviews
I will freely admit that I only picked this game up because of its surrounding marketing. I am a chaos goblin at heart, and the ability to exercise my inner demons inside a 1990s Polish apartment block sounded like a riotous good time. What I got instead was a generic and dull renovation sim that became grating and obnoxious the more time I spent in it. Part of this is, of course, the objective reality of the game—it is not a good game, and it does not run well, and I do not recommend it. Part of it, however, is also how thoroughly duped I feel. The game I thought I was getting a chance to play is not real. The game in the trailers and the marketing materials does not exist. Instead, in its place lurks this eldritch simulacrum, draped in the trappings of a fun and interesting game, but making it clear that ultimately, it’s the same tired thing as always, just done worse and with no awareness of just how miserable it is.
Rita may not be a genre-defining masterpiece, but it is a delight and thoroughly wonderful way to spend a few hours. Its integration of word games in its world creates a much-needed sense of the value of words and thought itself in an external world that sees them increasingly devalued. Rita is a gem, and I absolutely loved it.
It’s within this combination of gameplay and narrative elements, of atmosphere and bizarre horror that Don’t Let It Starve really shines. Its gameplay is straightforward and fast-paced enough to be deliciously addictive, and its main antagonist is a joy to fear. There is enough of a mystery to make each run feel meaningful, while also providing enough variety for each run to be distinct. It is a fantastic little game that leaves its players with a very satisfying aftertaste.
I’m not going to say that 1997 Reloaded is the next sleeper hit, just waiting for its audience so it can become an instant classic. I will, however, say that my life is richer for having played it, even if I can’t put my finger on exactly why. It’s enough to know that it is.
There is still a lot to criticise with The Spell Brigade. Its unlock system is a grind, and despite the time I have spent on this game, I have still not gotten all the achievements or unlocks. For those who play for unlocks or upgrades or completionism, this is a monstrously frustrating game, specifically because of how much it asks players to grind for that completion. For players like me, though, who load up The Spell Brigade to goof off and spend time with the people they love? It’s an absolute gem of a game, and I’m delighted by the love that has so clearly been poured into it. It’s a fantastic little romp, and I am always happy to give it just one more run.
Super Battle Golf is not a masterpiece of a game. Its golf elements, while clearly loved, are patchy in their execution and leave a great deal to be desired for any veterans of the party golf game genre. Where it more than makes up for it, though, is in the potential for absolute madness. This is a game meant for burning off pent-up energy in a blast of giddy violence before moving on to something else. It’s pure fun and a delight to spend time in with friends willing to be rocket-launchered in the face for the third time in a row.
The tragedy is that an otherwise enjoyable city builder is muddled through both too much and not enough micromanagement and a gameplay that punishes the player for believing they might have found enjoyment in crafting something wholly their own.
It’s this ability to explore and experiment that made me fall in love with Dogpile. Even though I’m looking at the same doggy faces every playthrough, and even though the cute music plays on an endless loop, what I notice is how much a chihuahua’s bark disrupts my carefully plotted stack of chow chows, or just how many fleas I’ve put on the greyhound. In the almost seven hours I’ve put into this game, I have yet to repeat a deck theme, a testament to just how varied this simple mechanic can be. It’s an absolute delight and deeply addictive. It’s a testament to how much power there is in the simple joy of dropping things on other things, watching stuff happen, and throughout it all, being serenaded by a happy little “woof.”
Overall, I have mixed feelings about The Berlin Apartment. I can see what it’s trying to do, and what it’s trying to do is excellent. The idea of telling the story of a place, of lives, of the temporality of who we are and the places that are meaningful to us is a good one, and I love that this game chose to tackle it. On the other hand, when the execution detracts from that story to such an extent that it’s a struggle to get through it, I can’t help but be disappointed. All the beauty of the visuals and ideas are moot when the actual experience of moving through the space is tedious and buggy. There is a lot to love in The Berlin Apartment. However, that love needs to be given by someone with a bit more patience and grace than I.
There are elements of Mashina I love, and that I can’t recommend highly enough. It is worth getting for the soundtrack and visuals alone. Whether it’s worth completing, though, is entirely dependent on your own tolerance for tedium and monotony. Personally, I found the gameplay to be a cripplingly weak element in an otherwise stellar game.
Odyssey is a solid addition to the Rimworld canon. Though its changes may not be as foundational as Ideology or Royalty, the addition of the nomadic playthrough is a fantastic one that reinvigorates the game, especially for veteran players. It is, however, the little things that make the game come to life, and they are still here in spades. Everyone is welcome back to the Rim.
Deathless is a perfectly competent deckbuilder. For those unfamiliar with the genre, it can be a good entry point, and it’s certainly a worthy entrant into the genre as a whole. Its art and setting are unique, and do a good job of selling the idea that I am on an adventure through some misty, mythic land. For those familiar with deckbuilders, however, Deathless leaves something to be desired. It is fine, but not stellar, understanding the requirements, but without a true flair. It’s fun, but there inevitably comes a point where the player is reminded that all this has been done before, and better.
Bloom and Rage is not a fantastic game, but it is a sweet one. It’s very much a coming-of-age story of a certain person in a certain time, but there’s still something to be found even for those for whom this is not a recognisable story. It’s a rumination on nostalgia itself and the power of memory, and how memory reshapes who we are. I have no doubt there are players approaching Bloom and Rage, hoping or expecting it to be another Life is Strange. It’s not, nor does it ever claim to be. If anything, its exploration of what it means to look back on the past serves as a bit of a rebuke to the idea that that was ever a reasonable expectation. The past is the past, and while it can be remembered fondly, it’s a thing long gone. All there is now is the present and what we choose to do with the decisions in front of us.
I wanted so badly to like Techno Banter. The writing and world are an absolute delight, and the music is still stuck in my head. The characters are warm and alive, and the zaniness of the world is weirdly compelling. This is a game with a lot of love poured into it, and which, in another form, I could see myself pouring a lot of love back into. However, at the point when I was trying the same boss battle after sitting through the same unskippable song a third time, I just couldn’t do it anymore. There are games where the jank is part of the charm. Here, it fundamentally undermines what should have made this game an absolute treat.
In telling the story of war from the perspective of a child in a village, Grief Like a Stray Dog transposes history from the dry pages into the realm of folklore and myth. Why war happens doesn’t matter—what matters is who remains, how they survive, and what stories they tell about what was lost. Grief Like a Stray Dog is a hauntingly beautiful vignette on what war actually is and what it leaves behind.