A difficult puzzle game about isolating yourself. Build a safe place, huddle up and get cozy.
Reviews View More
So underrated. It is ugly and runs crappy even on modern machines but the puzzles are SO GOOD it just doesn't matter.
the first and only time that a Canadian-made game will ever culturally clash with Americans.
where Corey Martin sees an opportunity to get cozy, to indulge in a compactness not intended by the permitted space, smallness as a meditative outlet, a means of decompression, or a miniature rebellion... I only see death. I see hiding from live shooters in places that are woefully unequipped to do so. I am reminded of every "false alarm" where I scanned a room for doors, crevices, closets, thick metal surfaces--anything to help, just in case.
The highrise you inhabit here is gloomily lit, impossibly empty, and colored with utilitarian greys and browns. The rooms themselves appear to have almost no purpose whatsoever, just endless apartments or offices filled with storage space. Still, though, the player creates makeshift shelter with an unclear purpose, and that ambiguity fills me with a dreadful urgency, because of how much these puzzles resemble mental exercises I run through every time I leave the house. Become small. Become invisible. Duck, crawl, curl into a ball. Where are the exits? Does this door have locks on it? Would this whiteboard stop a bullet?
There is nothing perverse about Hiding Spot, and especially not about Martin. But the fact remains that my fucked up country has demolished my ability to feel anything but an overwhelming sense of dread while playing it.
I grew up near where Kyle Rittenhouse is from. The supermarket that got shot up in Buffalo used to be my grocery store. The three-dimensional sokoban here seems inoffensive, but I can't justify exploring a gamified repetition of the worst part of my daily routine.
where Corey Martin sees an opportunity to get cozy, to indulge in a compactness not intended by the permitted space, smallness as a meditative outlet, a means of decompression, or a miniature rebellion... I only see death. I see hiding from live shooters in places that are woefully unequipped to do so. I am reminded of every "false alarm" where I scanned a room for doors, crevices, closets, thick metal surfaces--anything to help, just in case.
The highrise you inhabit here is gloomily lit, impossibly empty, and colored with utilitarian greys and browns. The rooms themselves appear to have almost no purpose whatsoever, just endless apartments or offices filled with storage space. Still, though, the player creates makeshift shelter with an unclear purpose, and that ambiguity fills me with a dreadful urgency, because of how much these puzzles resemble mental exercises I run through every time I leave the house. Become small. Become invisible. Duck, crawl, curl into a ball. Where are the exits? Does this door have locks on it? Would this whiteboard stop a bullet?
There is nothing perverse about Hiding Spot, and especially not about Martin. But the fact remains that my fucked up country has demolished my ability to feel anything but an overwhelming sense of dread while playing it.
I grew up near where Kyle Rittenhouse is from. The supermarket that got shot up in Buffalo used to be my grocery store. The three-dimensional sokoban here seems inoffensive, but I can't justify exploring a gamified repetition of the worst part of my daily routine.