Polyphony has delivered an airtight flight from the everyday, rich in escape yet rooted in anything but fantasy.
They say you can't go home again, and there are few wells more daunting to return to than Monkey Island. But with Gilbert at the helm and Grossman by his side, Return to Monkey Island really is the full monkey.
Other than its sudden release, there are precious few surprises in Metroid Prime Remastered, but that's not a criticism. The original is so precious that it's near-impossible to find fault over such a straight-up remaster.
This is the crux of Yakuza: Like a Dragon. It is fascinated by the way that games lurk at the soft verges of life, vesting our days with dreams.
The developer, SIE Japan Studio, has forged a platformer from the same blend of delirium and precision that blows through Super Mario, and then filled it with fossils.
If you wish to see what your new console can do, this is the game to get; it provides the most whimper for your buck.
Complex systems are made simple, by committing their clutter to muscle memory, and play-good play, at any rate-requires that you, like Selene, ride its enigmatic loop.
It’s not quite that I had forgotten how good it was—more that I needed the intervening years to realise it.
There are no other dynamics quite like it in games; they acquaint us with an array of miseries and charge us money for the privilege.
The Last of Us Part I is a beautiful thing to behold, honouring your recollection by surpassing it.
A generous and lavish racer, with thrilling driving, that wants you for the long haul.
The developer, Insomniac Games, has a similar storytelling confidence to that of Naughty Dog-a natural cinematic ease, bolstered by money and technology, which gives equal weight to ground-level struggles as to those beyond the rooftops.
Where Sackboy: A big Adventure proves most winsome isn't in its play but in the surfeit of its surrounding glitter.
The scenes that have lodged most deeply in my memory are not those devoted to the chases, the shootouts, or the narrow squeaks, but those possessed of a quiet empathy.
It's difficult not to be bowled over as you watch a feline chef and his staff caper through a culinary ritual of song.
The game isn't above jolting you with the odd jump scare, but it's far happier to politely trouble your sleep.
In vesting each weapon with the click and whir of a plaything, it gives you a way into the texture of its landscape, and before long you're swept up.
Wings of Ruin may not make a hardened hunter of you, but nor does it want to. It would rather bring you along for its own wondrous ride.
Art of Rally is that rarest of things: the video game as essay.
The sequel, by definition, cannot pack the same shock, but it arrives bearing new gifts.