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Clearly the game is taking aim at the Disney Princess archetype, but the shots fired are all so clunky and obvious: One girl accidentally drops her manifesto for women’s liberation in front of the teacher, and later she reads from a book that just lists the names of accomplished women throughout history. If horror is meant to elicit strong emotions, the most that Bye Sweet Carole can manage is cringe.
Even in the menu-filled, occasionally tedious realm of party management, Final Fantasy Tactics asserts its core belief: that the course of history is molded not just by generational events of upheaval, but by the choices we make in every passing second. We define the future with every moment we spend tending to the needs of our allies and spurning our oppressors, every insistence on the promise of something better.
Melinoë, however, can make it to the top of Olympus. But when she does, unease gnaws at her triumph. The gods commend her bravery and skill. They deny having ever doubted her. Then, with their young relative’s purpose fulfilled, if only temporarily, they nudge her back to her home between planes, where she diligently returns to her labors. Would that Melinoë, at some point in her long quest to fell Chronos, stopped to wonder: What comes after time and death?
Combined with a narrative that feels like all the worst tendencies of YA manga playing out as po-faced as possible, even the stellar art direction and sound design can’t stop the game from feeling wasteful.
Ushering her to and fro across the game, I found myself seeking out side quests less for their prizes than for the possibility that at least one more bug might persist, and in the process seize some happiness.
Ultimately, the horror that lingers most here is the sense that you can get your fix of gory, fleshy delights in a hundred places more effective than they’re presented here. Socialist ecclesiastical horror is a unique and valuable foundation for a game, and Bloober Team knows that, but as The New Dawn stands, its combat doesn’t prove the narrative’s worth.
Upsetting and relevant as it often is, Hell Is Us isn’t exactly pointedly angry about right-wing fanaticism, genocide, and how easily populations can be manipulated.
Even with the additional depth that it brings to the Shinobi experience, this is a game that doesn’t let you forget that it’s about ninjas being chased around by fighter jets, surfing the high seas and jumping over mines, and being hunted by demonic skulls in the desert.
Sword of the Sea also ends very abruptly. And though it may be strange to criticize a game for being too short—better to be left wanting more, right?—that abruptness only magnifies the sense that something is missing here.
Compared to the finger-twisting meticulousness of, say, Grand Theft Auto V, this game is almost charming in its simplicity.
The main story’s baseline difficulty is quite measured, but each stage offers optional challenges for you to complete—say, slay a certain number of spectral samurai, or avoid every pit of spikes along the way.
Throughout Bananza, Pauline is a constant source of exuberance and curiosity, with her songs eventually serving the mechanical purpose of allowing DK to transform into even more powerful mythological animals. Their growing friendship is the lifeblood of Bonanza—not just a reason to keep going, but a reason to slow down, enjoy the world, play around in it, and adore seeing its never-ending cavalcade of sights through the eyes of a kid who’s having the time of her life.
Your wardrobe will also abound with deep-cut tops, uncinched robes, and other oddly revealing and impractical clothing—an artistic choice that undercuts Wuchang’s message. The game’s politics, like its labyrinthine world, gesture at meaning but find nothing to grasp.
What stumbles there are, though, do little to loosen The Drifter’s sturdy grasp of the genre. With a steady stream of plot twists and storytelling intrigue, the game is a propulsive and polished example of the form, every bit the satisfying pulp adventure it sets out to be.
Much like all the products you assemble, the disparate components of Kaizen all come together into one elegant whole.
Even with all of Kojima’s peculiarities and deficiencies as a storyteller on full display, the energy, heart, and soul of Death Stranding 2 are undeniable.
It just isn’t quite the kind of inspired invention that marks Nintendo’s greatest achievements, and it certainly isn’t the kind that would justify shelling out for a shiny new console all on its own.
The more Hiss there are on screen at one time, the less terrifying they feel, and the game becomes generic, less of a cooperative shooter and more like one of those idle mobile games where you just stand your ground, hope your equipment is upgraded enough, and fire into a horde of charging monsters.
The compellingly unresolved ending caps a run that, like even a half-decent crack at Nightreign’s challenges, is a story unique to itself: a journey of close calls and triumphs too fortuitous to be replicated.
But To a T remains a life sim, lavishing idiosyncratic detail on its ground-level view of the world. Flight is just one stop along a broader, sillier journey that depicts Teen’s growing comfort in their own skin.