Every six months or so it feels like we get a new ‘prestige’ roguelike that has aims to set itself amongst the, very heavily and only somewhat arbitrarily, entrenched canon composing the genre’s royalty: Isaac, Spelunky, Darkest Dungeon, etc. Once in a while a game does make it up to the endlessly listed and recommended (less to be admired than to be routinely ripped off and repainted) ‘best roguelikes of all time’, such as the comparatively recent entries Hades or Into The Breach, but on the whole, the rotation is pretty well stuck. So in this bi-annual cycle, we see a game generate initial buzz, show promising art (or more specifically, show highly dynamic sprite effects), enter into a well received period of early access; after some dozen articles heralding aplomb before release roll out the red carpet, the game comes out, gets fully wiki-ed, then dumped into the pool of soon to be Epic giveaways. General reviews are positive of course, and if it’s a real winner of a game, a somewhat active subreddit recycling the same stock image memes (as well as the compulsory poorly done game mascot tattoo) may bubble up with 1000 members, but in comparison to the promise of forever games offered in whole by the rotation of genre bests, the new contender is DOA.
Have a Nice Death is kind of the sugary sweet rush that these games-which-hang-dearly-to-the-2010s usually provide taken to the highest level. It has Dead Cells ‘meta’ progression in its arsenal, FTL style course charting, Gungeon room presetting and environment familiarity, Hades quick combat, and, of course, Isaac-like overpowering. Nearly every moment is ripped straight from the most dopamine saturated seconds of the games which have influenced it: from unlocking new weapons to watching the fantastic enemy animations stretch to opening secret rooms and finding run clinching heals, rarely can a second go by that doesn’t fully captivate the player in a way that overdrives the referenced feeling derived from the best of the genre. So much as a game can be a highlight reel (which hopefully is how I’ll feel come Last Call BBS), HaND plays the hits and plays them loud.
Being that, it coheres into well seasoned mush, going down so smooth that all the texture it borrows from better games feels like grit instead of substance. It’s hard to say if roguelikes are at a point in their period of preeminence that they have any more to comment on the genres which surround them, but so much now are the offerings of devs games which merely have things to say about other roguelikes; the nature of incest and commentary may be intertwined in the genre, I can’t say in this review, but the line is blurring regardless of whether or not it’s a technical architectural boundary or a policed DMZ. I think that there is an actual issue with upholding a canon of games to which all newcomers must compare, as if games must add being made a decade earlier to the things they have to be - beautiful, fun, touching, exciting, endlessly replayable, cheap - but that roguelikes were initially gesturing to the plasticity of systems boundaries in genres which had highly bound possibility spaces was something which those early roguelikes took as given, and which current roguelikes seem to take as poisoned well water.
So completely relieving was the cool air of Spelunky HD back in 2012, or Flash Isaac in 2011, to the tedium of level design which had become a sickening curative to actual mechanics mastery, a blight which saw platformers reduce themselves to being a game composed of knowing which turns to decelerate on, that it had to become an obvious manifesto for how designers could treat gamified spaces (and indeed, Spelunky the book is that manifesto). That all the games which we consider the GOATs of roguery were in some way reinterpreting the syntactical elements of the systems codified in older games is not merely a coincidence of their greatness but a necessary fact to those achievements.
HaND treats the slippery sandstone of roguelike structure as the structure upon which its entire house is built: if Gungeon or FTL are something like Minka built atop a marble foundation, then new roguelikes seem to be constructing Camelots on quicksand. Every enemy in HaND seems to be designed with the quantum reality of necessitating its existence wherever it shouldst be placed by the hand of RNJesus, such that they have no ingratiation to the environment nor to those enemies around them; they must be ready to plant their feet, but never roots, wherever they are so that they may be dispatched and engaged by the wide variety of weapons in the wide variety of rooms open to the player. It’s all jagged edge with no grip. Similarly, the RPG skill trees are all progression with no meaningful choice: one does not so much build a Reaper with an attuned eye to damage types or range preference or synergistic possibility, but instead is sent up a series of exponentially heightened stairways of damage output, defying the base play with continuous upscaling but without actual change in any way to how interaction works. It’s all Diablo numbers but without any representation of those numbers externally. Just the same is the architectural aesthetic; ever-shifting, always surprising, endlessly roiling out - never assuming a nature which is transgressed, inhabited, or repellant. Where we see Hades or Darkest Dungeon play through highly gamified yet enormously revealing spaces, we see HaND reduce itself to 90 degree run offs, damage zones, and absentee character situation.
The comparison to the betters is not to say that HaND does all these things worse than the better games in its genre, because in the second to second play, it holds up just as well in the hands to any of the best in the genre. It is to show that while it draws from the “shifting walls” of roguelikes for purpose in placing assets and mechanics into its works, to the obvious detriment of those elements substance, the previous games of import pulled those elements of meaning and freed them from the constraints of single use potentiality. FTL freed node based travel and weapons trading from min-maxing, allowing the danger of run ruining and steamrolling mechanics to play freely outside of scum-saving and narrative destruction. Hades freed hack and slashing deadly combat and character ingratiation from the dissonance of death and retry seen in straightforward narrative. Spelunky freed inert single use mechanics and level design from bloat in platformers pushed out in their yearly series to run free, anarchically, into total interaction between themselves and the player. HaND sees each of these elements, unrestrained from their inhibitions of origin, and unthinkingly grabs them and smashes them all together into its own highly calcified bounding box: they are all still wonderful in isolation, but in their original sources, they were never isolated.
Have a Nice Death is a fine game if you want to play it as you might a Super Mario 2 or 1001 Spikes. It will fill your few hours needed and wash down whatever leftover twitch reflexes keep rising to the back of your throat when playing untuned games less tightly controlled. But, it won’t enter any canons, change generally in evaluation, or be memorable next year or the year after that. And given that it was seemingly designed to do those three things moreso than it was designed to be a good game which stands on its own, it really can’t be called much more than a tepid failure.
Have a Nice Death is kind of the sugary sweet rush that these games-which-hang-dearly-to-the-2010s usually provide taken to the highest level. It has Dead Cells ‘meta’ progression in its arsenal, FTL style course charting, Gungeon room presetting and environment familiarity, Hades quick combat, and, of course, Isaac-like overpowering. Nearly every moment is ripped straight from the most dopamine saturated seconds of the games which have influenced it: from unlocking new weapons to watching the fantastic enemy animations stretch to opening secret rooms and finding run clinching heals, rarely can a second go by that doesn’t fully captivate the player in a way that overdrives the referenced feeling derived from the best of the genre. So much as a game can be a highlight reel (which hopefully is how I’ll feel come Last Call BBS), HaND plays the hits and plays them loud.
Being that, it coheres into well seasoned mush, going down so smooth that all the texture it borrows from better games feels like grit instead of substance. It’s hard to say if roguelikes are at a point in their period of preeminence that they have any more to comment on the genres which surround them, but so much now are the offerings of devs games which merely have things to say about other roguelikes; the nature of incest and commentary may be intertwined in the genre, I can’t say in this review, but the line is blurring regardless of whether or not it’s a technical architectural boundary or a policed DMZ. I think that there is an actual issue with upholding a canon of games to which all newcomers must compare, as if games must add being made a decade earlier to the things they have to be - beautiful, fun, touching, exciting, endlessly replayable, cheap - but that roguelikes were initially gesturing to the plasticity of systems boundaries in genres which had highly bound possibility spaces was something which those early roguelikes took as given, and which current roguelikes seem to take as poisoned well water.
So completely relieving was the cool air of Spelunky HD back in 2012, or Flash Isaac in 2011, to the tedium of level design which had become a sickening curative to actual mechanics mastery, a blight which saw platformers reduce themselves to being a game composed of knowing which turns to decelerate on, that it had to become an obvious manifesto for how designers could treat gamified spaces (and indeed, Spelunky the book is that manifesto). That all the games which we consider the GOATs of roguery were in some way reinterpreting the syntactical elements of the systems codified in older games is not merely a coincidence of their greatness but a necessary fact to those achievements.
HaND treats the slippery sandstone of roguelike structure as the structure upon which its entire house is built: if Gungeon or FTL are something like Minka built atop a marble foundation, then new roguelikes seem to be constructing Camelots on quicksand. Every enemy in HaND seems to be designed with the quantum reality of necessitating its existence wherever it shouldst be placed by the hand of RNJesus, such that they have no ingratiation to the environment nor to those enemies around them; they must be ready to plant their feet, but never roots, wherever they are so that they may be dispatched and engaged by the wide variety of weapons in the wide variety of rooms open to the player. It’s all jagged edge with no grip. Similarly, the RPG skill trees are all progression with no meaningful choice: one does not so much build a Reaper with an attuned eye to damage types or range preference or synergistic possibility, but instead is sent up a series of exponentially heightened stairways of damage output, defying the base play with continuous upscaling but without actual change in any way to how interaction works. It’s all Diablo numbers but without any representation of those numbers externally. Just the same is the architectural aesthetic; ever-shifting, always surprising, endlessly roiling out - never assuming a nature which is transgressed, inhabited, or repellant. Where we see Hades or Darkest Dungeon play through highly gamified yet enormously revealing spaces, we see HaND reduce itself to 90 degree run offs, damage zones, and absentee character situation.
The comparison to the betters is not to say that HaND does all these things worse than the better games in its genre, because in the second to second play, it holds up just as well in the hands to any of the best in the genre. It is to show that while it draws from the “shifting walls” of roguelikes for purpose in placing assets and mechanics into its works, to the obvious detriment of those elements substance, the previous games of import pulled those elements of meaning and freed them from the constraints of single use potentiality. FTL freed node based travel and weapons trading from min-maxing, allowing the danger of run ruining and steamrolling mechanics to play freely outside of scum-saving and narrative destruction. Hades freed hack and slashing deadly combat and character ingratiation from the dissonance of death and retry seen in straightforward narrative. Spelunky freed inert single use mechanics and level design from bloat in platformers pushed out in their yearly series to run free, anarchically, into total interaction between themselves and the player. HaND sees each of these elements, unrestrained from their inhibitions of origin, and unthinkingly grabs them and smashes them all together into its own highly calcified bounding box: they are all still wonderful in isolation, but in their original sources, they were never isolated.
Have a Nice Death is a fine game if you want to play it as you might a Super Mario 2 or 1001 Spikes. It will fill your few hours needed and wash down whatever leftover twitch reflexes keep rising to the back of your throat when playing untuned games less tightly controlled. But, it won’t enter any canons, change generally in evaluation, or be memorable next year or the year after that. And given that it was seemingly designed to do those three things moreso than it was designed to be a good game which stands on its own, it really can’t be called much more than a tepid failure.
2 Comments
Great analysis
LordDarias
1 year ago