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No Man's attempt to save Miss Mass from being murdered, and its implications for the universe, so brilliantly mirror the self-indulgence of a tragic romance. To the people in a relationship, everything is the start of something big and meaningful, like an entire universe forming, exploding, and expanding outward. What is it that sparks abiogenesis? What is it that sparks love? Are both an accident of proximity and fire? These questions aren't necessarily answered in Genesis Noir. But the asking is beautiful all the same.
But when it came time to put my gun down and watch a cutscene, I found myself wanting to pick up my phone. Outriders is worth playing for its story missions, which offer well-designed encounters and engaging gameplay. Outside these missions however, there's little worth seeing.
The game's story definitely tries to contextualize its setpieces, mechanics and shifting tones, but the disparate aspects of the game could not feel more divorced from each other, making them easy to enjoy and critique apart, but also similarly easy to slam for their ultimate incompatibility as a whole. I'm not crazy about the story, but it's serviceable and has big "R-Rated Pixar" energy, mostly being a vehicle for the thrill of actually playing the game with a friend. Maybe that's all It Takes Two has to be and, honestly, that's fine by me.
Bravely Default 2 left me feeling quite depressed. As pulse-pounding as the game’s everchanging, high-stakes battles can be, marathoning my way through them felt like a siphon on my serotonin. There’s a harsh limit on how many times I can feel elated by seeing the numbers go up, and once the cheap thrill of leveling fades I’m left wandering a desolate world lacking in identity and conviction. The game’s a grim reminder of where “love letters” can go wrong—I need a little more than a reminder of a game I enjoyed 15 years ago to keep me going, especially one built on expectations set up by its own predecessor. Sometimes adoration for former greatness isn’t enough.
There are still moments where Rise leaves me in awe, like when a player jumps over a barrier I assumed would be blocked by an invisible wall. There is still a thrill in the heat of battle being interrupted by a fight between monsters.
60-odd loops in, and Gnosia has maintained a firm grip on my attention with ease. Its elegant yet simple debate system offers a surprising level of strategy for players to chew over, and its characters add a splash of unpredictability to every loop. Where other social deduction games grow stale after enough playthroughs, Gnosia wraps itself in a narrative that keeps you coming back for more.
While it may seem unengaging because it effectively plays itself, it really is just prompting the player to look at gameplay from another angle, namely a more systems-driven one. For a person like me, who doesn't really craft "builds" in RPGs, it's made me realize why that is actually a rewarding aspect of those games. Now I spend half my time in Loop Hero making numbers go up and making optimizations I never would have, before embarking on another loop.
The story that should compel us to keep playing instead becomes an annoying digression from what the game does well. These environments, those puzzles, and the size-changing gimmick that lets you solve them comprise a unique and fascinating vision that depends on the kind of esoteric thinking familiar from classic point-and-click adventure games. Instead of pulling us in deeper, though, Michael and Kenzie's romance pushes us away. That's the real tragedy of Maquette.
In a way, Bowser's Fury's restraint in world design and simplicity actually puts it more directly in line with 3D World than Odyssey, feeling like its true successor, but settling for this halfway step between them due to how it was released. Regardless of how both titles were delivered, I'm absolutely delighted with 3D World and fascinated at what a fuller title in the vein of Bowser's Fury might look like. Here's hoping we see more like both of these standout Mario titles sooner rather than later.
I felt the care that went into making this game, from the suspenseful overarching narrative to the breathtaking visuals and malleable gameplay. Agent 47 is surprisingly personable, cracking jokes that wink at the fact that you're a hitman in disguise in high stakes situations. He also has a passion for cosplay that's embroidered into the way he operates, using fashion as stealth, blending into any room like a chameleon. When I embodied Agent 47, travelling from spectacular location to spectacular location to complete each dastardly deed on my checklist, I truly was Mr. Worldwide.
Little Nightmares II's ambition makes the original look like its introduction, and although this added ambition contributes to some of its frustrations, they ultimately don't prevent it from becoming even more clever, gripping and chilling than its predecessor.
It all comes down to the aesthetic-the muted color palette, the hushed tones when characters speak, the overarching sense of loss and despair that permeates the game. And most notably, those archaic visuals that look like they're from the latest Sierra game you and your friend play on his Tandy computer every afternoon after school. Olija roots its mysteries in the ever-distant, increasingly forgotten past, with all the warmth and sadness that implies.
A good horror game can make rifling through old postcards and personal letters a compelling experience. But The Medium seems entitled, in that it expects me to be titillated by its character design and atmosphere but won't give me enough context to actually care about them. Between that and its tired puzzle-based progression barriers and dull character powers, The Medium fails to justify its existence.
Forever stuck in the programmed roles the game assigned them. When there is no way out, no real play, there is no message, no change. Animal Farm lives forever, dying and being born, always doomed to failure.
Between the lack of marketing leading up to its release, its poor pacing, and the thin writing and investigation mechanics, Twin Mirror smacks of a game that just wasn't given enough time. With some polish on the game's earlier moments and more thoughtful dialogue, it could have stood a real chance. Unfortunately, between the stilted narrative development, cheerless puzzles, and wooden, small-town cliches, there's less here than whatever remains of Sam's journalistic career.
Much like the characters within the game, Immortals Fenyx Rising has its flaws-but what makes it a bit charming is that it owns them. While it's absolutely a AAA title, I'm beyond thankful it's not another one that sets itself up as bait for Keighley's Game Awards, or feels the need to fiercely defend its validity and depth. Sometimes, a game can just be good, cheesy fun, and Immortals Fenyx Rising is precisely that and better for it.
So, while I didn't play Ikenfell when I was 12 because, ya know, it didn't exist in 2004, this game somehow manages to capture an unassuming sense of nostalgia that comforted me throughout the entirety of my playthrough. It brought me back to being that jerk of a preteen, wondering if my crush would message me if my AIM away status was the right set of Green Day lyrics, or if it would ever feel like I was wearing my Hollister shirt rather than it wearing me. But beyond these trivial issues that felt monumental at the time, it made me wish I'd have been gentler to that weird little girl, and told her it's okay to be selfish right now-but make the goddamn most of it and do it with ferocious sincerity.
Still, simply acknowledging real world problems isn't enough, even if most games refuse to even do that. If Marvel's Spider-Man: Miles Morales is going to raise real-life issues, it needs to treat them with the respect and thoughtfulness that they deserve. As good as this game is, it could've been something genuinely special if it was as brave and confident as the comic book hero it stars.
Whatever profound or resonant thought about selfhood or nostalgia or the trauma of remembering is buried in summary, in lulling, tired melodies. Fundamentally, Kingdom Hearts recurs in the way capital recurs, pushing on despite its contradictions and always banking on something new. We deserve better stories than this, but now, more than ever, I know we won't find them here.
If Bugsnax wants us to seriously question our relationship to animals, our food sources, and nature itself, it probably shouldn't turn its equivalent to our livestock into run-of-the-mill videogame bad guys who need to be killed. It shouldn't portray these characters' escape as success. It'd be a far bleaker and more depressing game than anybody ever would've expected from that first trailer if the Grumpuses wound up being punished for their hostility to nature, but if Bugsnax isn't willing to fully engage with these weighty subjects, it shouldn't bring them up in the first place.