14 reviews liked by TheRealJunhaLee


This review contains spoilers

Coming off of playing this game in the past when I was younger and thinking "I like zelda" into adulthood down the pipeline having played A Link to the Past a bunch randomized for some multiworlds with friends this game felt very good to come back to and 100%.
I can't really offer much more than what hasn't already been said in terms of the good, with an overall not unusual zelda experience with 4 opening dungeons to kick off the adventure and 8 more in the latter half, the main difference between this game and most others is the non linearity it gives with item choice as it provides you with a rental system in which you can get all of your traditional zelda items, such as the boomerang and hookshot, almost immediately, with the caveat the you will lose them upon a game over as it is a rental system. This brings me to the next point, the rental system is such an odd take to the Zelda series formula but works very well in the understanding that traversing the world rarely if ever actually required any items throughout the whole journey, just some actual action upgrades to pick up rocks or be able to swim, and to top it off made it really easy to rent your items and eventually buy them via the overabundance of rupees, the staple Zelda currency. Alongside the changes in which you obtain your items this adventure, another major change is your resources, gone are arrows and the bomb bag and instead you get to use an "energy" meter A.K.A this games magic meter that replenishes over time instead of needing a collectible on the ground the drops from enemies or breakable terrain such as tall grass. The only real reason this review is left down half a mark is due to one reason which you get access to once you have bombs, the Maimai collect-a-thon, the purpose of this game's collection quest is to collect cute sea-snail like creatures to bring back to their mother whom offers upgrades for every 10 you bring back with 100 in all, and, you're even provided a filter for your over world map to see how many remain in sections of it! The problem that comes with the collection process begins almost immediately if you can't play with sound on because all of them emit noise to let them know you're close, so if you don't have headphones, are hearing impaired or your audio for your device does not work, you HAVE to use a guide for several that just aren't on screen. Otherwise, the overall collection and use of this collect-a-thon is not nearly as bad as newer Zelda collection side quests both in terms of usefulness and 100% collection. This game also being a direct sequel to A Link to the Past has some nice callbacks throughout the whole game from the whole map being nearly one to one in terms of locations with only some being hugely different both in the light and dark world (known as Lorule instead of just the dark world in link between worlds) and the secrets that it calls back to with small caves and such. The whole Lorule segment of the game is also an amazing improvement to the previously mentioned dark world from Link to the Past, with the introduction of the game's flagship mechanic being wall merging, which lets you do exactly as the name suggests, and when doing so has you become a mural like painting of yourself and move around walls only being limited to what blocks where you move (broken walls or blocks in the 3d space in front of you) and your magic meter which drains relatively quickly. This also lets you get between worlds (ha) via portal cracks that appear in the world once you obtain this ability the first time you've gone into Lorule, another thing that returns in this game from its predecessors is fast travel, this time, using a bell as your music instrument of the game, but, in order to actually fast travel, you need to interact with weather veins that also act as save points in this game which will usually be in major point of interest, such as entrances to dungeons or the shop you purchase your items, after which you will be allowed to fast travel to any of these weather veins you've unlocked as long as you're in the overworld, and not just the Hyrule, but Lorule as well, in comparison to Link to the Past where you could only fast travel to specific points in the light world. Additionally, this game makes use of the 3d capabilities in such an amazing way by making it seem like you're peering down into this amazing top down adventure and sometimes even seeing it pop out of the screen from the pit that was seemingly being created to make a window to a new world. Overall, if you're down for a nice few days to a week of playing a top down Zelda game, I'd highly recommend playing it as it's definitely something you won't want to miss if you're playing this series and the experience will only be supplemented with cool callbacks if you've already played A Link to the Past!

This review contains spoilers

Let me throw this out there upfront - I come to this as a total JRPG amateur. I'm somewhat familiar with many of them but have only finished a handful start to finish. With that in mind, I came to this homage to Chrono Trigger and its ilk without familiarity of the games it pays tribute to. With that perspective, Sea of Stars is full of fun, creative ideas that create sporadic moments of excitement, but it overall lacks the progression to stay consistently engaging.

Your moment-to-moment gameplay consists of a mixture of "parkour", "puzzles" and combat. Those first two are rudimentary to the point of being mindless, but in a way that was basically satisfying. When it came to scaling the highest peaks and exploring the deepest oceans, I could mostly just let the little cymbal monkey in my brain take over, but it was soothing in a way that effectively broke up the combat and story sequences, especially with the gorgeous environments and very catchy music.

On the store page for this game, Sabotage Studio boldly and proudly proclaims the game features NO random encounters and NO grinding. In both cases, I feel compelled to wonder what they understand those words to mean. I suppose it's technically true, but battles with generic goons at seemingly random points along your path, which respawn when you're inevitably forced to backtrack along the area, feels enough like grinding random mobs to me to be a distinction without a difference. That's not to criticize that so much as say this isn't the revolution of JRPG game design it was touted as. I would also clarify my use of "generic" as referring to them being unnamed characters; the designs themselves are wonderfully exciting and creative to see. There's some freaky little fellas in the Fleshmancer's castle I couldn't get enough of.

Still, the combat is the interesting little baby in the King's Cake. The game's locking system, in which an enemy's Dragon Ball attack buildup can be cancelled out by thwacking them with a specific combination of typed damage, is a wonderful idea in concept, ostensibly filling combat with a series of little puzzle sequences to put together on the fly. Still, because I'm a cold-hearted monster, I have some issues. While the game is admittedly weirdly insistent about how you DON'T NEED TO WORRY about pulling off lock breaks, like a fussy mom worried about her kid getting hurt on the playground, it remains frustrating how often they smack you with locks that simply can't be broken in time. Whenever an enemy mosies on in with a smug grin, drops his big fat gut on the table, and tells you to pop three suns, two blunt, two slash, maybe a poison for good measure, and write the next great American novel in two turns, I feel like they might as well just call out "everything-proof shield!". Sun in particular is a menace; options to pop more than one sun icon at once are sparse, to say the least. For the other side of the celestial coin, Valere has Moonerang, a move which functions as the best single target attack, best AOE attack, and would effectively break any and all moon attacks. This also highlights another issue - your selection of moves is limited, and useful moves are even moreso, so much of this 30+ hour game is spent recycling the same three or four moves. I think my hands bounce moonerangs back and forth in my sleep like an Amityville possession now. Things are meant to be shaken up by combo moves, but the vast majority of these are similarly useless. In addition, the meter takes long enough to charge it was infrequent I could do too much with it all. I'm sure there would've been a lovely little animation if I dumped three whole combo charge on doing a bit of poison and arcane damage to a single target, but such things are now lost to history.

In addition to the lock system, attacking and defending can be strengthened by properly timed taps, which are also NOT vital and you DO NOT have to do them for the love of GOD (seriously, they reemphasize that at least five or six times). The mechanic introduces a satisfying little challenge to spice up combat. Most animations are fairly intuitive when you're supposed to hit, though some could be much clearer, and a handful I never figured out, just watching a boss perform the entire first act of Goethe's Faust in windup to his attack and trying to intuit which of Mephistopheles's appearances was deemed the most operatic.

In aid of your many cruel and unnecessary attacks on woodland creatures, the game presents a series of collectibles. First, relics. While presented and sold as unlockable buffs, these are essentially cheat mode, and hardly worth mentioning. Second, armor and weapons. In an effort to reduce tedious digging around through stacks of Thunder Staff of Enlightening and Mighty Pants of Virginal Defense, equipment has been streamlined to the point of being vestigial. Sans backtracking, if you find armor, it will have better numbers than what you currently have. Equip it, do a little "yippeeeee" as you watch the numbers go up, and move on - i.e. a complete waste of time. The more detailed equippables come in the form of accessories, which actually do provide unique buffs, though nothing too exciting. Specifically worth mentioning are the party-wide buff items, which can form an integral part of the party strategy until the game arbitrarily decides to take characters away for a while, and the items they were carrying with them. The last and most frequent pickup is ingredients, used to make food items that were almost entirely unnecessary for the vast majority of the game. The fact that there's a fireplace every eight feet like the Solstice Warriors took a pitstop in a multiplayer survival game means that heals are pretty much only useful in tanky boss fights that go on for a fortnight, in which case there's a combo ability that gets the job done.

Before getting to the story, let me quickly address Wheels, a delightful little sidegame that occasionally crops up along the journey. It's surprisingly engaging, though not quite deep enough to sink hours into. That being said, the balance is a tad wonky. The only enemy I struggled with was the one deploying the Assassin-Priest combo. After trying it myself, I was just unbeatable. The Assassin just crams every enemy token into gay baby jail and stunlocks them until they die; it's kind of silly.

For an RPG such as this, the make or break ultimately comes down to the story. Here, the story could be best described as... sporadically interesting. My patience grew thin very early, as we watch two cardboard automatons named Valere and Zale file through the Chosen One Registration Office, before being set off to the big wide world in order to fulfill their destiny of doing fetch quests for every random jackoff that asks. So much of this game is made up of "sorry Solstice Warriors, destined saviors of all mankind, I won't trust you're REALLY worthy until you rescue my favorite sneakers from the Swamp of Misery or whatever". I was satisfied with that for a long stretch of time, as that token busy work lead me through wonderful setpiece after wonderful setpiece, meeting fun characters along the way and seeing all sorts of creative ideas for locations and enemies (the Necromancer in particular was pretty funny), all illustrated with some phenomenal pixel art. In addition, all the backstory / lore communicated through Teaks was actually very engrossing.

Still, that only lasted for so long until the aimless wandering wore thin. It was only towards the end, when the writer's room burned through all their hoarded-up psychedelics in one glorious session, that they roped in ideas of multiversal travel and sci-fi robots that I perked up. When the relationship between the Alchemist and the Fleshmancer came into focus, it was interesting! When we went through the 3D cyber-highway and plopped out in Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance, I was hootin' and hollerin'! The entire sequence of Garl's sacrifice was a genuinely poignant moment in a generally lighthearted game. When the plot develops a clear sense of purpose, I was fully onboard, but the wheels on the bicycle remain pretty wobbly throughout.

The betrayal, for example, is nonsensical. Let's walk through the logic tree: 1. I am dissatisfied being forced into the destiny of a Solstice Warrior - Fair. 2. I am not convinced this Dweller we are meant to kill will be the last - Fair. With these in mind, we should therefore ally with the Dwellers and cast the world into an infinite darkness. Uh? Wuh? Buh????? Many many hours later this is justified by their intention to leave to a different universe and the vein in my forehead subsided. That is, at least until Erlina's second personality takes over and the logic tree changes to 1. UNLIMITED POWER!!!!!!!! therefore ally with the Dwellers and cast the world into an infinite darkness. After the tragedy of this baffling twist, the Elder Solstice Warrior is so hurt he decides to piss off and give up on everything. Like, just kicks up his feet and hangs out in their town while Valere and Zale have to awkwardly swing by his house for brunch and pretend like it's not weird that he just abandoned them without a second thought and only comes by to raid their fridge and borrow their PS4 games.

Serai is a peculiar character. Introduced with a quirky cast of lovable pirates and upcoming twists signposted so hard they risk pulling a Hereditary, the ultimate reveals come with very little circumstance. The first reveal is played as a joke, but nobody ever seems all that fazed by any of it, least of all her crew, who make literally no comment on their pirate captain turning out to be a cyborg assassin. Who even are these people? Are they from another dimension too? How did she even meet them? Still, the detour to save her homeworld was interesting, and the Derelict Factory was probably one of my favorite locations in the game.

The Alchemist's plot is easily the most interesting in the game, but it ends entirely abruptly. After a revelation which I would like to see the emotional character fallout of, he holes himself up back in his gamer den and doesn't say another word for the rest of the game. Instead, he leaves behind a My Pet Alchemist for you to play with in an awkwardly transparent example of story making concessions to gameplay. He doesn't show up again until the ending and, well...

To not sugarcoat it, the ending of this game is quite frankly pathetic. After battling through a series of increasingly spongey bosses, you reach the final fight with the Fleshmancer. Or, er, rather your former mentor who is apparently evil now; the other one has shed some of his pixels to become a boss in The Messenger, I guess. After defeating her, I laughed out loud when the Fleshmancer abruptly blew her fucking head off. Then, we're treated to a GI Joe "the battle goes on" type sequence, the Celestial Warriors tell their friends that Pookie has to go back to his home planet, and there's a flashy little space battle. Ultimately, I think I would've flipped a gasket at this ending, if I didn't know there was a true ending to be acquired after the credits roll. As is, it's cute and charming as a sequence.

Then, however, I was mortified. The first action of the true ending is to bring Garl back. Make no mistake, I like that little fella. His ability to make friends with everyone is charming, even though he's about as useful in combat as you would expect a frying pan to be against Chthulhu. But there needs to be such a thing as consequence in a story, and our first order of business here is to completely undermine and destroy any impact that emotional death sequence might have had because they can't abandon a fwend. So, right off the bat I was annoyed. Then, after completing a series of tasks, most of which I had already done and which included a particularly tedious scavenger hunt, you reenter the Fleshmancer's Castle, fry cook in tow. Now comes the actual fight; since the timeline is altered, Erlina has pissed off to also pick up an extra paycheck as a side gig in The Messenger. With the Fleshmancer defeated, we're treated to a GI Joe "the battle goes on" type sequence, the Celestial Warriors tell their friends that Pookie has to go back to his home planet, and there's a flashy little space battle.

...

...

...Wait a minute.

So the true ending is almost the exact same thing, except now we have Garl as an Also-There. The Alchemist swoops in and whisks of the Fleshmancer... somewhere??? Why does he save him? Where is he going? Find all this out in the next $35 game, you little pocket books! I hope he just took him to Reno or something, blew some of those gold coins on slots and prostitutes. While the final image is sweet, this ending that you were asked to go above and beyond for is insultingly abrupt. Very little feels resolved, and the fact they accompanied the game's release with an announcement of upcoming story DLC, presumably to clean this crap up, is disgraceful. I know it's free DLC, but there's no excuse for releasing the game when it ends just as satisfyingly as Pookie returning to his home planet did - maybe the DLC will open by announcing Zale died on his way back.

The overriding philosophy of this game was "streamlining", and in that they succeeded. However, those gritty details, quirks, peculiarities, are the heart and soul of these types of games. When the gameplay and story has been smoothed down to be as efficient as possible, a certain amount of heart is lost along the way. The worst part of Sea of Stars is that it does often feel like going through the motions - doing a thing to do a thing to do a thing. In the end, I'm not sure there's much to be remembered from it aside from the tremendous polish. Polish, however, does not alone make a compelling game.

P.S. Some miscellaneous notes:

1. The weird little animatics were infrequent enough to be distracting, as well as feeling totally unnecessary - still looked cool though.

2. The facial expressions are just wonderful. Every characters' shocked or embarrassed face amused me every time.

3. Some of the character positioning for attacks was pretty awkward. Something like Moonerang sitting you unevenly between enemies could be argued to be a gameplay challenge, but Venom Flurry would often send Serai off the screen - that's a big problem for a timing challenge.

4. Garl's eye getting messed up is introduced and then never mentioned again.

5. I was unreasonably annoyed about the Clockwork kids talking about how they never aged and are still kids while they're walking around with 40-years-in-the-desert Moses beards and wrinkled up like Clint Eastwood.

The bottom line is that Sea of Stars is an ultimately mediocre title that manages to cobble together its form by stealing things from a dozen other, older, better titles. Each thing it steals is implemented worse than the game it steals from, but still good enough to not be bad. The act of playing the game is fine. It's Fine. It is the ultimate definition of Mid. Mid of Stars.

To list all this game's faults on a lower level than "wow it looks pretty" would to be sit here all day, but I can't help but go over some of the biggest issues I had during my time with it.

The first and foremost is the writing and plot--the plot by itself is pretty standard, just your basic "go kill the demon king" storyline when you get down to it, but its building off lore from a game pretty notorious for having nonsense lore(The Messenger) so it ends up being nonsense here as well--none of the worldbuilding details or twists really ever land because you never get the sense that this world is anything more than levels in a video game. There's like maybe five actual towns in the game, for gods sake. This is compounded by the character writing that manages to be completely uninteresting at best, and positively dreadful at worst. The worst of it is a major side-character in act 1 that speaks exclusively in video game references, who basically ruins every scene she is in and kill what little pathos there can be in this game. Once she steps aside, it gets a little better and I'd even say act 2 cooks for a short time, but then they do the very bold decision to put the only two characters with any sort of internality on a bus until literally the final boss door. Its frustrating. That's not to speak of the other issue with the game not respecting itself, every scene that gets a little tropey immediately gets a Marvel quip to kill any tension and remind you you're seeing scenes played out in a dozen older games with way more self-respect. It sucks.

Then, there's the game pacing. As mentioned, the game has I think six actual "towns" in it, and you only visit each of them at a single point in your journey which means you consistently go 4+ dungeons at a time without any "downtime" where you can sidequest, play minigames, talk to npcs etc. They completely missed the memo on the "vibes" of a jrpg in spite of aping these games so hard--those points where you're just sort of idly walking around town are important and this game just doesn't have any of that. This is compounded by what I'd call location issues--backtracking even after you get to the end of the game with all movement options is painful, consistently involving traversing old dungeons or going through two-three extra screens to get to where you need to go, so the game actively disincentivizes you from trying to do anything besides progress the main quest.

The actual gameplay is split into two--puzzle dungeons generously described as "Crosscode but worse" and combat described as "Mario RPG but worse", double-hampered by piss-easy difficulty. Like, this game has 8 different accessibility options but I struggle to find how anyone would need them when the game difficulty is toggled so low.

Which sucks, because the one place the game excels in is the economy/item management, you have a very limited inventory that heavily incentivizes consumable usage, and also the gold is a really tight resource that you have to manage. In theory, this is great and adds an attrition factor the long dungeon dives mentioned earlier--in practice, the difficulty tuning being so low means you never interact with those systems because you can easily go through the game never using consumables which means you can sell all the crafting supplies for a surplus of money.

Even the OST manages to not really be striking, like its perfectly serviceable but I never really found myself humming a tune or getting hyped by a song. Its just, rpg music. You could replace it with the rpgmaker default soundpack and I think the experience would have been exactly the same.

And yet, in spite of all this, I still finished the game including the true ending that demands like 95% completion because it was juuuust that not bad enough that I could sunk cost fallacy my way through it.

The final thing I'd leave you with that speaks to the shoddy nature of the game is the opening--after the framing device, the game opens with our new heroes going off to their first mission. You fight exactly one tutorial battle vs a goblin, then it forces you into a flashback where you see their backstory. This last an hour and leads up to exactly the beginning of the game. Why did they have the flashback? Why would you not just start the game from the backstory sequence? Its the sort of thing literally any editor would notice and rectify immediately.

Truly, the Mid of Stars.

This review contains spoilers

I am not immune to propaganda. Show me a trailer for an indie JRPG featuring scripted encounters on the field maps, dual techs, and guest tracks by Yasunori Mitsuda, and I'll go "oh, a Chrono Trigger inspired indie JRPG, I sure hope they actually learned the right lessons from the classics" and drop $30 to see if they did.

They didn't.

(Full spoilers for both Sea of Stars and Chrono Trigger.)

I criticized Chained Echoes for being overly derivative of various golden age JRPGs, but to its credit: it feels purposeful in its imitation. It re-uses elements from older games wholecloth, smothering its individual identity under a quilt of influences, but I can appreciate the craftsmanship and intent behind it. It's clearly made from a place of love.

I don't get that vibe from Sea of Stars at all. I complained about some tediously self-aware dialogue in the early hours, and while it only dips down quite that low once or twice more, it colored the entire game with a feeling of self-aggrandizement. In fairness to what I wrote then (and based on a lengthy speech in the hidden Dev Room) it sounds like the devs truly did want to make a JRPG and pay homage to their childhoods. But to me, harsh as it may be, Sea of Stars feels like the devs thought making a JRPG was easy: just copy the greats (specifically, Chrono Trigger), and it'll work out. Based on sales and reviews, it is working out for them, but I'm the freak out here with highly specific ideas about why Chrono Trigger was good and Sea of Stars doesn't seem to agree with my assessment. This inherent friction lasted across the game's entire 30-35 hours.

You play as Zale and Valere, paired Chosen Ones whose innate Sun/Moon powers allow them to do battle against Dwellers, ancient beasts left behind when the villainous Fleshmancer set his sights on this plane of reality. He has since moved on to another world, but Dwellers left unchecked evolve into World Eaters, planar monstrosities that do exactly what it sounds like they do. The Solstice Warriors must hold a never-ending vigil in case previous generations missed a Dweller, battling them when their powers peak during an eclipse.

Joining them is Garl the Warrior Cook, the pair's childhood friend and the only character with anything resembling charisma; Seraï, a masked assassin of mysterious origin; Resh'an, a former companion of The Fleshmancer; and B'st, an amorphous pink cloud with almost no relevance to the plot a-la Chu-Chu from Xenogears.

Battles happen on the field map, like Chrono Trigger, and their main feature is essentially the Break system from Octopath Traveler. When a monster is charging up a special move, they gain "locks" that can only be broken by hitting them with specific types of damage; break them all, and they lose their turn. It's frequently impossible to break all the locks - you simply do not have the action economy to put out that many hits - and so you're usually playing triage regarding which special move you're willing to take to the face.

The battle system also takes a page from Super Mario RPG and includes timed hits and blocks for every attack. Tutorial messages insist to not worry about these and just think of them as bonus damage, but most of your attacks (especially multi-target spells) won't function properly unless you're nailing the timing. You'll often still do some damage, but the number of hits is the most important thing when you're dealing with Locks. There is an accessibility option (purchasable with in-game currency) to make timed hits always land in exchange for lower damage, but that only works for basic attacks.

Only a handful of skills have a message explaining when to push the button, and for the rest? Tough luck, figure it out. It's inconsistent at best and opaque at worst. And I mean literally opaque: because of how the field maps and graphics are constructed, character sprites (especially Seraï) often end up entirely offscreen or covered by other sprites when you're meant to time a press. This wasn't a problem in SMRPG or Mario & Luigi because those had bespoke battle screens with fairly consistent framing for timed hits; the concept isn't very compatible with CT style battles without a way to maintain that consistency.

I legitimately enjoyed the battle system for about the first 30% or so of the game, at which point the startling lack of variety in the battle options began to chafe. Every character has a basic attack, a mere three skills, and a Final Fantasy summon-like Ultimate attack that requires a bar to charge up. There's around a dozen "Combo" moves (read: Dual Techs) across the entire party, but the meter to use them charges so slowly they might as well only exist during boss battles. Your maximum MP caps at around 30 (at the max level, which requires a lot of grinding), skills cost anywhere between 4 and 11, and your potion inventory is limited to 10 items, meaning you're going to almost always rely on basic attacks - which recover 3 MP on a hit - for most battles. Landing a basic attack lets you imbue another basic attack with a character's inherent elemental attribute, which is the only way to break most locks once you're in the mid-game.

Play SMRPG sometime (perhaps the upcoming remake, even) and you'll figure out quick that Timed Hits are cool because if you do them properly it makes battles faster. You aren't trying to get 100 Super Jumps in every single battle because that would be exhausting and slow. Sure, in Chrono Trigger I'm solving 80% of encounters with the same multi-target spells, but that also means they're over in less than a minute. In Sea of Stars, if I mess up an early button press with Moonerang or Venom Flurry, it might not even hit every enemy, which probably means I won't break the locks I need to, which means they'll do their long spell animation. A trash mob battle will probably take two full minutes of me carefully trying to land my timed hits and manage my MP. That shit adds up.

I wouldn't quite go so far as to say Sea of Stars disrespects your time, but a lot of shit adds up. The backgrounds and sprite work are universally great - really beautiful stuff, great animations - but there are tightropes/beams scattered everywhere around the game world, seemingly placed only so you're forced to slow down and look at the backgrounds. From a purely quality of life standpoint, I don't know why you have to hold the button for so long when cooking something, especially if it's a higher-tier restorative. The overworld walk speed is agonizing. The narrative flails in several bizarre directions, only cohering in the broadest possible sense of "we need to beat the bad guy".

Comparatively, Chrono Trigger never stops moving. Your objectives in CT are clearly signposted and make logical sense, even when they string together into longer sequences. To save the world from the Bad Future, we need to defeat the big monster, and we learn the monster was summoned by an evil wizard. To defeat the evil wizard, we need the magic sword, but the sword is broken. To re-forge the sword, we need an ancient material, so off to prehistory we go!

It may sound tedious when written out this way, but the crucial element is that this only takes something like 4 or 5 hours. You're never stuck in any individual location longer than 45-60 minutes, and that's if you stop to grind (which you don't need to). Working at a leisurely pace, you can 100% Chrono Trigger in somewhere between 15 and 20 hours. My most recent playthrough - in which I deliberately walked slowly, grinded out levels, and talked to every NPC for the sake of recording footage - clocked in at about 17.

Sea of Stars doesn't stop introducing new plot elements until the middle of the end credits and makes little effort to tie them together in a cohesive way, instead relying on the inherent fantasy of the setting to smooth over any bumps. For example, take The Sleeper, a massive dragon that once ravaged the world before being sent into an eternal slumber. It explicitly isn't a Dweller, being little more than a curiosity on the overworld map. It bears no relevance to the plot other than as a mid-game side objective to earn the privilege to progress the actual story.

Zale and Valere, despite having speaking roles, do not possess an iota of personality between them; they are generically heroic and valiant and stop at every stage along their quest to help the weak and downtrodden as JRPG Protagonists are wont to do. The idea that Garl should not join them on their dangerous journey - as he is a mere normie - is raised once or twice, but ultimately disregarded due to Garl's endless luck and pluck. He barrels through any possible pathos or character development by simply being the Fun Fat Guy at all times, whether or not the next step follows logically.

No less than three times do the characters visit some kind of Oracle or Seer who reads the future and literally tells them what is going to happen later in the story, sometimes cryptically and sometimes giving explicit instructions. At one point a character awakens from a near-death experience having suddenly gained the knowledge of how to restart the stalled plot, launching into a multi-stage quest that has no logical ties to the party's objective. It's just progression, things happening because something has to happen between points A and B.

Another example: a late game dungeon introduces a race of bird wizards complete with ominous side-flashes to their nefarious scheming atop their evil thrones. They are relevant for only that dungeon, which is broadly just an obstacle in the way of the party's actual objective. I don't understand the intent. Is it supposed to be funny that this guy looks like Necromancer Daffy Duck? If so, why is the story genuinely trying to convince me of the sorrow of their plight and how it relates to the lore (in a way that also isn't relevant to the current events of the plot since it's shit that happened like 10,000 years ago)? How am I meant to react to this? Why is it here, in the final stretch of the story? I was asking these kinds of questions the entire game.

Presumably, the plot is like this because it's trying to imitate JRPGs of the time, which had a reputation for sending you on strings of seemingly random errands to defeat monsters or fetch items. You know what game doesn't do that? Chrono Trigger! The game Sea of Stars is obviously trying to position itself as a successor to!

Is it fair that I criticize the Solstice Warriors for being flat characters when Crono literally does not speak and his party consists of a bunch of genre caricatures? Yes, because CT doesn't try to be more than that. There's no need for wink-wink "did you know you're playing a JRPG? eh, ehhh?? aren't they so wacky with plots that barely make sense bro???" writing in Chrono Trigger because it knows that you know that it knows that you know you're playing a damn JRPG. It's got Akira Toriyama art like Dragon Quest! It says Squaresoft on the cover, those dudes made Final Fantasy!

You're on a roller coaster through time and space! You're here because you want to see knights and robots and cavemen do exactly what knights and robots and cavemen do. Of course Ayla the weirdly sexy cavewoman will say "what is raw-boot? me no understand" after Robo the robot shoots dino-men with his laser beams. It's comedic melodrama, it's operatic in a way that leverages genre familiarity.

Sea of Stars isn't willing to fully commit to this approach, undercutting its own pathos with half-measures and naked imitation. I'd be so much more willing to accept the sudden-yet-inevitable betrayal at the end of the first act if the game didn't then whip around and say "haha, we sure did the thing, huh?" Yeah, I saw. We both clearly know that you're not being clever about it, so why is it in the game?

The answer is usually "because it was in Chrono Trigger", without any examination of what made it work. Like, okay, everybody knows Chrono Trigger is "a good game", but do you know why it's a good game? I could see someone playing it and just thinking, "I don't get it, this is an incredibly generic JRPG," but what you have to understand is that CT is an immaculately constructed generic JRPG. Simply using the same ingredients isn't going to create the same result.

Take the most famous twist of CT: at a critical moment, silent player avatar Crono sacrifices his life to get the rest of the cast to safety, removing him from the party lineup. In the context of 1995, this is a shocking, borderline 4th-wall-breaking twist. Permanent party member death wasn't unheard of - take FFIV or FFV - but the main character? Crono was the mandatory first slot of the party, a jack-of-all-trades mechanical role akin to a DQ Hero. Even though he doesn't have a personality, Crono's consistent presence and the story's inherent melodrama lend a tangible feeling of loss.

Using the power of time travel, the player can undertake a sizeable sidequest to bring Crono back to life, replacing him at the instant of his death with a lifeless doll. He rejoins the party, no longer a mandatory member of the lineup. At this point in the game, you arguably don't even want to bring him along on quests, because he still doesn't have dialogue. Crucially, the entire quest is optional; the first time I played CT, I accidentally did the entire final dungeon (also optional!) first, assuming it was a necessary step.

Sea of Stars tries to do this with Garl. He takes a fatal blow for Zale and Valere then dictates the plot for the next two hours of the game while living on literal Borrowed Time. You journey to an ancient island floating in the sky (sick Chrono Trigger reference bro!) and split the party to pursue multiple objectives in multiple dungeons, culminating in a whole sequence complete with bespoke comic panels of the party mourning their best friend for months offscreen.

This didn't work because I, the player, had no attachment to the character. Garl is the least mechanically useful party member, dealing the same damage type as Valere but without any elemental type to break locks; his heal skill is more expensive than Zale's and his repositioning skill is unnecessary once you have all-target attacks. I dropped him for Seraï at first opportunity and literally never put him back in the main lineup.

Nor do I buy into Zale and Valere's feelings. Protecting Garl is supposed to be one of their main motivations - it's a major scene in the prologue, and leads to an entire dungeon detour in the first act - but they haven't put forth any genuine effort to prevent him from hurling himself into danger's way throughout the game. As noted, he just repeatedly barrels his way through the plot by demanding it continue, even after he's fucking dead.

The true ending of Sea of Stars requires beating the game once, then completing numerous optional objectives which lead to... can you guess? Going back in time, replacing Garl at the instant of his fatal wound with a body double (which means B'st was pretending to be Garl - someone he's never met - during that entire segment, a completely absurd notion), and pulling him back into the present. You do another lengthy sidequest to get an invitation to a fancy restaurant, and then you can fight the true final boss, again, because Garl simply demands it when you get there.

If this CT retread had to be in the game, it would have obviously been better served by Garl being the main player character; go all the way with the imitation. Any vague gesturing the narrative makes towards not having to be The Chosen One to still fight for justice would carry more weight if you weren't playing as the Solstice Warriors, instead scrambling to keep up with them as the worst party member. As things stand, it's just a big ol' reference to a better game, a transparent play for Real Stakes that rings hollow.

An even more egregious example is The Big Thing at the start of Act 3, once the cast finally sets sail upon the eponymous Sea of Stars. Leaving their world of fantasy and magic, they enter a post-apocalyptic sci-fi world, complete with a brief graphics shift into 3D and a full UI overhaul. It's intended to be a shocking twist, a mind-blowing reveal... but it doesn't work, because A) it's a blatant crib of CT, and B) it's all in service to a punchline.

In Chrono Trigger, once the game has fully established the time travel concept by sending you to 600 AD and back (about three hours of gameplay), the party is forced to flee into an unknown time gate. It spits them out to 2300 AD, a wrecked hell world in the depths of a nuclear winter. Here, the party discovers an archive computer recording that sets up their goal for the entire rest of the game: prevent the apocalypse by stopping Lavos, a titanic creature buried deep within the earth.

It's important that this happens at the beginning of the game. You're expecting some form of going to the future to see goofy robots - it's a natural extension of time travel as a plot device - but 2300 AD is a genuine shock in the moment. It serves as a constant reminder of the stakes: this is the bad future, and you're trying to stop it from ever happening. After gallivanting through medieval times, the contrast really works.

In Sea of Stars, you probably aren't expecting to suddenly fight a robot when you're chasing The Fleshmancer across worlds. It's a potentially cool swerve, but what's actually gained by having the final act be in sci-fi land other than some kind of "dang, didn't see that coming" factor? He isn't even actually in control of the robots or anything, he just hides his castle here because... well, it's unclear why, because even once you restore the sun and moon and fight him in the True Ending, he only seems momentarily inconvenienced.

But it sure is a CT reference! And it's also a joke, because your mysterious sometimes-assassin-sometimes-swashbuckler companion Seraï reveals that this is her home world, pulling off her mask to reveal her metallic endoskeleton. You see, she used to be human, but had her soul chewed up and put into this mechanical body. She is a literal Ninja Pirate Zombie Robot.

You know! Ninja Pirate Zombie Robot! Like TVTropes, lol? Wacky JRPG party members!

How do you expect to maintain any investment after that? There's like four more dungeons in sci-fi world - including aforementioned Necromancer Daffy - and I just couldn't give a shit about any of it. The post-apoc stuff doesn't add any stakes, because we already know the Fleshmancer has ruined countless worlds and we're just chasing him to this one in particular because Seraï asked us to (and I guess they want revenge for Garl). I wasn't having fun, I was just annoyed.

I'm baffled. Sea of Stars clearly knows how to outwardly present itself as a quality JRPG. At a glance, the game looks like everything I could want: beautiful artwork, smooth gameplay, fun characters. Something that gets why I fell in love with the genre in the first place, and why I hold up Chrono Trigger as its crown jewel.

But it just isn't that, at least not to me, and that's... I dunno, existentially troubling? Based on the reviews I've seen, I'm clearly in the minority for feeling this way. I do believe the dev team and all of these players also love JRPGs. But if they do, it must be in a way fundamentally different from the way I do, because otherwise I simply don't understand the creative choices in Sea of Stars. I want more than this.

Maybe one day, hopefully sooner than later, we'll get the Disco Elysium of JRPGs, but today sure isn't that day.

Recently, it has occurred to me that the harshest thing that could be said about any sequel is that it makes you "appreciate the original more". What initially may seem like a positive comment is anything but. In actuality, such a statement is essentially saying "This game took an imperfect original and failed to improve upon it so spectacularly that I'm left wondering if the flaws of the first one are really so problematic after all".

Anyways, Pikmin 2

Chapter 1 - Earth: The Final Frontier

The original Pikmin game was fairly coy about the possibility of this game taking place in our very own backyard, perhaps after some sort of unnamed armaggedon. The sequel, on the other hand, hardly waits 20 minutes to smack you across the face with mustard lids and toy gundams. Such a setting would be fine, cute even, if it ever actually amounted to anything. At risk of getting ahead of myself, caves (which I'll get into more later) are given a vague "Earth stuff" wallpaper, but it's not like they're actual locations, just a mish mash of junk. They more closely resemble those AI-generated images that look like a hoarder's bedroom at first glance, but if you try to focus on any details your brain will start dry heaving and saying hail marys. Above ground is given token dandelions, though I hardly remember the forest having so many electrified gates and toxin-spewing vents. Maybe that's more common in Japan.

Chapter 2 - Hocotate Pawn

So, what is it that possesses the blue-collar hero Olimar to return to the site of his 30-day nightmare? Well, MONEY, of course! The plot is novel, as Olimar and his junior Louie are sent back to Earth in order to scrounge up enough money to save their (presumably non-union) jobs. Hazard pay is, I imagine, off the table. That being said, "novel" feels like such a disappointing step back from Pikmin 1. For any of its faults, the first game shined in mood. Olimar was in a genuine life-or-death struggle, completely alone on an alien planet. There was a constant danger and he clearly knew it. Now, it's Olimar and his jackass friend playing junior Bargain Hunt. There is nothing pressing about the situation except the occasional nagging email from their boss. The development of his situation was funny, especially by the time he was becoming king of the woodland creatures, but it once again undercuts any sense of isolation.

Chapter 3 - All the Time in the World

The time limit in Pikmin 1 was at once the bane of my existence, and its most essential feature. I was constantly fearful of inefficiency and working too slow, but it was a healthy kind of anxiety. Like a low heat stove, there was a constant simmering tension that merely asks you to avoid pissing around. Now, there is absolutely no urgency. Despite the plot explicitly concerning repaying late debt, the boss will presumably indefinitely hide out from the knee-breaking loan sharks until you're good and ready to proceed, Olimar and Louie free to spend all the time in the world prancing through flowers and singing hymns. Bizarrely, the game mysteriously retains the day-night cycle. Since there is no day limit, it's just an excuse for a recap of stats from the last arbitrary period of time and a chance for the boss to guilt trip you with the cigarette butts and half-eaten cheesecake he had to scrounge out of the trash for dinner. Previously, the end of a day was a further tick on the doomsday clock, that much less time to save your life; now, it feels more like that screen where the Wii would tell you to take a break and go outside.

Chapter 4 - The Louie Factor

Another new feature is of course the presence of Olimar's "he's trying his best" sidekick, Louie. Aside from the aforementioned total destruction of the atmosphere this creates, it does allow for some interesting gameplay opportunities, as Pikmin can now be set to two tasks at the same time - occasionally, at least. Since there's absolutely no automation, the only tasks you can set a captain to supervise passively is things that take a long time for the Pikmin to do, like destroying walls. That's not nothing of course; it's nice to not have to stare deadeyed as your Pikmin dash their brains out against a stone wall for 7 hours in a prolonged metaphor for their entire existence. Still, it would be nice to even have some basic captain commands (ex. "Return to the Onion with your Pikmin", "Go here on the map by the safest possible route", "Collect pellets near you"). Having two captains also allows for you to divvy up your Pikmin easier - still not as neatly as would be ideal, but definitely an improvement. Louie in specific is an interesting character, coming across less like Olimar Jr. and more like some sort of savage animal who's simply too stupid to be scary. He doesn't think about anything but food (which seems to rub off on Olimar somewhat), culminating in Louie's journal, an entire compendium built around one joke. I can't imagine reading the entire thing when it is, again, one joke, but the fact they put that much effort into it honestly does make the joke a lot funnier. To add to Louie's charming weirdness is the unexplained implication that he tries to kill Olimar, something which absolutely did make me laugh.

Chapter 5 - It's a Duracell World

Populating Olimar's new recurring vacation destination is a number of treasures for you to collect. These are Pikmin 2's equivalent to the ship parts in the previous game. There is absolutely a funny novelty to the idea of junk scavenged out of a dirty hole being considered treasure, as Olimar proudly displays rotten pickle chips and broken Hot Wheels next to Hocotate's Mona Lisa. The issue with this feature is a simple one: Pikmin 1 featured a total of 30 treasures to collect. Pikmin 2, a marginally longer game, features over 200. Despite this overwhelming amount of junk, each of which is worth a handful of pennies and a Subway coupon, the game still requires you to one-by-one carry them back to your ship for a little celebratory cutscene. Then, all my Pikmin gather around for a jovial applause and the Evangelion "Congratulations" scene because I brought back a feather worth literally 10 coins (reminder that the total debt is 10,000). It's impossible not to find it incredibly tedious after a while. There are only so many times you can laugh at the novelty of seeing a screw or a kiwi or one of the four(?!) Duracell batteries they make you collect. The most damning thing I can say is that, after defeating the final boss, I felt absolutely no impulse to collect the remaining treasures, in a game where such an exercise is ostensibly the entire point.

Chapter 6 - Meet the New Pikmin, Same as the Old Pikmin or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Purples

Like that story of James Cameron writing "Alien$" on a whiteboard, the inclusion of more Pikmin is an obvious step forward. Here, we have technically two new members of the Pikmin posse, though it's functionally three. The ability for yellow Pikmin to carry bombs has been removed, a mechanic that will not be missed. Instead, they focus on electricity, opening electric gates and giving electric enemies that fluoride stare when they try to zap 'em. The first fully new addition is the white Pikmin, whose primary function is to open poison gates and fight poison enemies - noticing a pattern here? It's like the whole games been recalibrated around making sure you have different keys for different doors. It could be argued that bombs were that too, but a) it's more explicit now and b) in these games, two keys feels very different from three. Hell, is it four? I don't remember fire gates in Pikmin 1, but that might just be the dementia. Beyond the poison immunity, white Pikmin also damage anything that eats them, something which will be very useful when Pikmin introduces the Divine Wind Pikmin and suiciding your units becomes a viable strategy. Thirdly, they can dig up buried treasures, a contextual "locked door" that seems to only exist to give you the double bird if you thought that "no poison" in a cave meant it was safe to not take whites, you oafish simpleton. Finally, they can carry items faster, an ability that's totally useless, since I don't really see any good reason to carry more than a few white Pikmin; you're not rolling out the White Ranger Recovery Squad to speed haul those Duracells, especially when there's, again, absolutely no urgency in this game. Further exacerbating that is the fact that whites and the secret third Pikmin are both fairly rare and not easy to replace. Ah, yes, that secret third thing: the purple Pikmin. Perhaps akin to Dr. Oppenheimer, I was initially naive to the awesome power I was meddling with. Rest assured, once their true potential dawned on me, I did indeed become death, destroyer of worlds. There's no reason not to roll up with a backing crew of these big boys. After getting cold cocked by a purple Pikmin air barrage, 80 - 90% of enemies fold like wet paper. These chunky fellas not only do gonzo damage, they can also stun enemies. That's not just those they hit, but also nearby enemies, their wife, pet dog, and those who happen to have run an errand in the same postal code. In addition, they seem to have basic homing abilities, so even my Olimar's crosseyed aim is enough to make bulborb pancakes one right after the other. It's not an exaggeration to say the vast majority of enemy encounters are totally trivial if you just bury them in purple Pikmin, including most bosses. Purple Pikmin being limited is not an issue because purple Pikmin simply won't die. If that wasn't enough, they can carry more than any other Pikmin, meaning you don't even need many for treasures.

Chapter 7 - The Earth Defense Force

Enemy variety is one area of improvement here, though the actual quality of the specific enemies is something of a mixed bag. Some, like the Careening Dirigibug or the Decorated Cannon Beetle can add a fun challenge, though become extraordinarily frustrating in the wrong situation. Others, like all the little Dweevils or the Jellyfloats, are not threatening at all, just annoying to deal with. The new bulborb variants are frightening suckers; the halloween-colored guys will pull an "omae wa mou shindeiru" on eight of your Pikmin before you can even react. As far as bosses go, they were unique and fun, though most were made fairly trivial by the purple Pikmin. The final boss, similarly to in the first game, is deeply frustrating to figure out, but once you do, he's a fun challenge. I probably prefer this boss to the first one, as your responses feel more varied, not just repeating the same hit and run until he throws in the towel. Finally, I can't not mention the Waterwraith, my new best friend, who turns into a Looney Tunes character after he loses his rolling pin. Replace his theme with Benny Hill for the same effect.

Chapter 8 - Addressing the Deep, Dark Hole in the Room

Finally, we get to caves, the foggy, wet hole at the center of this game. This is the part where I would normally say "it's a good idea in concept, but the execution leaves something to be desired". The issue, however, is that it's not a good idea in concept. In fact, I struggle to grasp how a team of developers decided the best evolution of a somewhat open world game about exploring and finding items scattered around a nature environment was a series of cramped, linear tunnels devoid of any discovery. Since these are such a major part of the experience and I have so many different things to touch on, this chapter will be broken into subchapters.

Chapter 8.1 - Pikmin's Baby Park

I really can't stress enough how much I hate caves. Let's start with the biggest, most glaring issue - the aforementioned linearity. Most floors are not strictly linear, to be fair, but that just means you're not TECHNICALLY forced to wade down the lane of the swimming pool because you're allowed to explore the hot tub to your heart's content. Every floor is a tiny area, mostly devoid of any puzzles, fun level design, or sense of discovery. They pretty much all boil down to a mix of fighting a bunch of guys (far from the most fun part of Pikmin) and clearing one of the many doors that you hopefully have brought the full rainbow to deal with like you're Captain Planet. Caves are, at first, fine, and by the end of the game, they're a merciless trudge. I feel like Alex DeLarge, having my eyeballs held open and being forced to watch increasingly elongated sequences of the same tunnels with the same enemies (mostly) and the same four kinds of doors until I break. The worst offender is Glutton's Kitchen, in which you "explore" an entire cave's worth of large, blank rooms where a crowd of bulborbs are holding a singles mixer to meet some nice breadbugs. These empty rooms populated by a bunch of basic enemies feel like the Pikmin equivalent of Mario Kart's Baby Park. Thankfully, it's mercifully short. Speaking of length, what starts at a compassionate 6 floors by the end of the game becomes upwards of an eyewatering 15. If you'll recall back to Chapter 1, I also alluded to how the artistic direction of the level design seemed to be "public park or public restroom after a tornado". Maybe I would enjoy it more if these were real environments, but they're not. I just remember bathroom tile texture over haphazard "baths" and randomly placed props, or something meant to resemble a sandbox or play pen if it was, as they say on Chopped, "deconstructed". I concede gameplay should come first, but environmental cohesion should probably be some sort of a factor, no?

Chapter 8.2 - Poison Vents to Nowhere

Much of these caves are procedurally generated, and by god can you tell. It's honestly atrocious. Spawning immediately next to a giant bulborb ready to make pik-kebabs and hazardous traps set up carefully to guard the cave's vast stock of dead ends are just a couple of the many wonders Pikmin 2 will generate regularly, the second one seeming to happen on essentially every floor. What is even the point of putting me through all these rooms if 90% of the dangers will spawn so haphazardly they're entirely irrelevant? The most important button map you need to remember to get through Pikmin 2 is your reset button. Don't like a level? Just reset it, and it'll be entirely different. There was one level where an extremely narrow bridge over a pond spawned off to the side, but after I was forced to reset the level, it spawned obstructing my path every single time. Since I refuse to play the Pikmin Shuffle with 100 little idiots, I just kept resetting until it would get out of my way again. So, we have a system that makes every level feel samey and terribly structured, and said system is easily abused, to boot. To add on to that, apparently some of the cave music is procedurally generated, which explains why some parts sound like cats remixing a soundboard of Weird Al songs.

Chapter 8.3 - The Great Bulborb Spanking Line

The degree to which these caves begin to rely on "fight huge hordes of guys" as their one and only challenge feels like if a movie director decided they'd done enough plot and made the back half of the film a series of disconnected scenes of people bowling. One right after another these dwarf bulborbs line themselves up, and one after another they get the goomba experience from my purple Pikmin air squadron. For most of these enemies, it's not difficult, it's not fun. By the time Cavern of Chaos has 54 bulborbs on one floor, it's hard not to imagine Miyamoto like Peter Venkman running his psychic tests at the beginning of Ghostbusters: "The effect? I'll tell you what the effect is - it's pissing me off!" Except by that point, I don't know if I had the enthusiasm to be pissed off, just totally drained. Who enjoys fighting grunt after grunt after grunt like this?

Chapter 8.4 - Live, Die, Repeat: The Pikmin Killing Zone

The horrible little reality that only dawns with time is how vital that reset button really will be. In every cave, you can bring 100 pikmin max and you're unable to ever go back for more until the cave is completely cleared and all the curtains are washed. With that change, suddenly Pikmin become a precious commodity - the loss of just one can be devastating, in part because the game only gives vague hazard warnings before entering a cave, so you have no idea of the ratio of colors you should bring. Pikmin in combat being stupid, sometimes difficult to control, and sometimes the victim of random game bs wasn't really a huge issue before, but now? Every one is like a hot needle to the brain. I'll reiterate what I said in my review of Sea Salt: you can't give me wild, uncontrollable tools and reasonably expect me to act with a great deal of precision. I can't make a ship in a bottle with a sledgehammer, and I can't thread the needle of mecha-frog artillery strikes without a couple troopers getting blown to kingdom come. Even the basic grunts, as easy as they are, can sometimes get in a lucky shot. Between the level reset and enemy behavior, you just have to keep trying until you get lucky enough to lose next to no one, since you never have any idea what precisely you'll need on the next floor. The most egregious example of all four sections here is a floor that is an entirely straight line, crossing over itself just enough so that the higher points will block your camera on the lower points. Along this straight line is one decorated cannon beetle after another. There had to have been upwards of 20 total, all lined up, technically easy to crush with purples, but with enough of a random factor to screw it up intolerably outside of any control when one of them gamer rages and chucks the 20 blue Pikmin I need into the Great Beyond to meet Pikmin Christ. If I didn't have access to save states through my... Nintendo Gamecube I honestly might have quit the game right there. But that's the thing - in Pikmin 1, there's a button to reset the day when you make too many mistakes. In Pikmin 2, meanwhile, you just have to reset the console for every little slip-up. It feels wrong, like you're cheating, but they clearly expect you to do it. This does not seem really doable without it.

Chapter 9 - The End of Pikvangelion

This turned out larger than I expected, but Pikmin 2 elicited stronger emotions from me than many other games. Honestly, I really did gain a new appreciation for Pikmin 1 through playing it. That's why this game is more saddening than anything else. Not only to see it ruin so much of what made the first game not just good, but especially unique, but to see it being lauded for it. I can't begin to understand the critical response to this game, but its worst crime is making me dread playing the rest of these. Pikmin 4 is supposedly "Pikmin 2 2", which is about as effective at selling me on it as if you told me playing it would lock my fingers in a Saw trap I can only be released from by killing 10,000 breadbugs in the name of Hocotate Freight.

Just as there are innumerable ways to tell a story, there are innumerable ways to internalize one. As a story is presented to an audience, it gets filtered through each person’s unique perception of the world, and it’s this adjusted view that is then consciously considered. Shakespeare’s plays are the closest thing we have to objectively good stories, but even these can have wildly different meanings to each person. This is where Disco Elysium puts a lot of faith in its audience, expecting people to confront their biases and consider alternatives in a mature way. It’s an isometric RPG where the main murder-mystery plot is almost an afterthought, with the actual purpose of the narrative being discussion of a wide range of philosophical topics, and the roleplaying is how your character sees the world. It's the only RPG I've seen that takes advantage of how a player's choices reflect back on them, and it allows the game to engage the audience on a more personal level. The game assumes that you’re interested in this sort of dialog and can entertain alternatives, playing devil’s advocate to question you for every decision. It accomplishes great things with the RPG format, but the payoff relies almost entirely on that trust in the audience’s willingness for discussion. If you want the game they give you direct plot payoff or conclusive ending, you probably won’t leave fully satisfied. If you want to engage with it as a normal RPG and learn which stats will give you the best outcome, the game won’t give you that either. The kind of person this game will pay off for is for someone who finds joy in ruminating on different ideas and reflecting on how they shape the world. If you're not that kind of person, the game won't exactly be miserable, but the energy you have to put into it won't be proportionately rewarded. But if you are, this could be one of the most interesting games you'll ever play.

Hades

2018

I don’t know who this game is for.

Roguelikes are unique in how well they fit the disparate ways casual and hardcore players engage with games. Runs can be enjoyed in short, non-committed sessions, or repetitively for hundreds of hours. Deep mechanics combined with high variability through randomness provides quick novelty for newcomers, and experts are challenged to adapt and get creative with the situation they’re given. However, in an attempt to streamline itself, Hades changed the formula in ways that make it less appealing to both sets of players. The amount of variety has been reduced dramatically from standard roguelikes, with the progression of areas being constant, the cast of enemies being small, and the synergies between boons being much tamer than in something like Synthetik or The Binding of Isaac. Even its meta-progression confounds both groups, requiring a heavy time investment to get to the point where gameplay can evolve beyond its most basic version. The weapons are an especially good example of this, since fully upgrading a new weapon’s unique bonus requires fifteen of a resource primarily gained by successful completion of a run. The most unique forms of each weapon are also locked behind upgrade investments in different weapons, along with dialog triggers the game never cares to communicate, meaning most players won’t be able to use them all until the fifty hour mark at best.

Fifty hours of investment doesn’t seem too bad in the context of a roguelike, but the aforementioned lack of variety in the boons makes it a drag. Each god has a theme for their boons, like Poseidon’s causing knockback and Ares’ spawning whirling blades, with very few surprises. Active effects also can’t stack, and simply fill in a slot to change your attack, dash, magic cast, et cetera. You’re not allowed to create a build where your magic is buffed with all the active effects you could find to hilarious results, the only option is to pick which god's predictable modifier should fill which slot. With only ten gods who can give boons, the ability to reroll, and knowledge of which god will be in each upcoming room, filling up on the active effects you want is fairly trivial. The passives can provide a nice boost, but provide comparatively small advantages that usually don’t change how you approach combat. After coming to grips with the game and getting a few completions, playthroughs are less of an interesting experience on their own and more of a formality to unlock other content. The most indicative example is the game’s difficulty-modifying Heat system, where completion rewards are earned for each unique level of Heat. In other words, you don’t get a ton of rewards for completing a run with the maximum amount of modifiers, you only get the same as if you had completed a run with just one change. This hurts the hardcore demographic the most, who are punished for immediately trying to challenge themselves. It’s a waste of time compared to completing a run at rank 1, then 2, then 3, and actually getting rewarded in a way that will eventually make playthroughs more fun.

The elephant in the room I have yet to mention is Hades’ story, which is the part that received the most consistent praise. However, it’s subject to the same problems that the gameplay suffers. Completing a single run is hardly the end of the story, and the credits only roll after ten victories, which is already expecting a time investment of around twenty hours. However, the epilogue, where the central conflict of the story is actually resolved, takes about ninety hours to reach. Players need to rank up affinities with the gods and collect a seemingly arbitrary list of dialog lines reliant on other unspecified criteria to unlock it, and I wouldn’t blame people who didn’t even realize the game has an epilogue at all. Who does a structure like this really reward? For casual players who just want to see how the story ends, they have to play the time equivalent of about ten standard single-player campaigns, when only about 30% of people bother to finish most games at all. The length is so gratuitous that the only players who get to experience the complete story are the ones who never needed that aspect to motivate them in the first place. I have to give Supergiant Games credit for voicing so many character lines and writing so much dialog for these characters, but when the majority of it is inconsequential commentary on your gear, boons, or current status instead of the actual narrative progression that players want, it can’t help but feel like so much wasted effort.

So to bring us back to the start, who is this game for? For casual players, the amount of time investment to see the complete story and get the full gameplay variety is way too high. For hardcores, the action is too strategically stagnant and the higher difficulties too unrewarding to compete with other roguelikes. The best I can guess is that it appeals to people in the middle, who enjoy the story details as they come, but not enough to where they want to actually complete the game, or enjoy the action enough to play for a while, but not much longer than the credits. This seems to be backed up by the achievement statistics, where only one in five people get the ten wins required for the credits, and only one in twenty will see the epilogue. It’s not that Hades is necessarily poorly made, but the shallowness and high time investment means that the vast majority of people will just get bored and quit before the game has shown everything it has to offer. I would have much preferred it to either be about a third of its current length, or to just be restructured as a linear action game with weapon switching and selectable buffs, like the studio’s previous game Bastion. Either approach would have made the shallowness less of a problem, and actually give the story-motivated players the conclusion they deserve. Obviously though, in spite of a (hopefully) reasonable argument, saying this game doesn’t appeal much to anyone is a laughable thing to state, given its universally positive reception. So, while I have to give up on knowing who this game is for, I can be certain it isn't me.

One of the many tragedies of the human condition is that before something can be thought, it must be felt. Threads of logic are usually created backwards, towards the emotionally preordained conclusion, rather than forwards to some objective truth. With that in mind, I can’t actually give any thoughts on Celeste, because I didn’t feel anything when I played it. It’s a well presented platformer and all, but I’ve played so many spike-filled indie platformers before that all I experienced was emotional detachment. I’ve played so, so many pixely indie platformers. I’ve fallen into spikes thousands of times. I’ve seen overearnest protagonists learn to believe in themselves more than could ever be counted. I’ve seen characters fight personified versions of their inner demons even more times than that. Unless this game ended up being the absolute best implementation of all these tropes, I was never going to feel anything but resignation at seeing the same old thing all over again. While this feeling could launch an argument of how Celeste treads over well-worn ground instead of doing its own thing, it’s important to recognize that this “flaw” simply won’t exist for the people without the same sort of fatigue. To anyone who hasn’t played a ton of agonizingly hard platformers, this one will feel pretty amazing, with fluid animations and a satisfying take on the standard mechanics. The main campaign introduces them all at an even clip, and the more advanced techniques can be explored in the load of optional challenges. For anyone who wants to get into the vast world of hard platformers and fangames, this would be a good place to start, but it’s impossible to impress someone who’s seen it all before.

I played an obscene amount of this game in a very small window of time, but reflecting on it, I'm not sure I was ever having fun, just spacing out entirely. If you're only goal is to completely shut off your brain and grind, grind, grind, this is probably fine for that. Ultimately, though, you pretty quickly reach a point where progression is a constant struggle for huge amounts of every resource - basic resources, many of which have to be collected manually. Farms for example, have to constantly have seeds recrafted, crops reharvested, holes redug. The automation that does exist is, again, very expensive, and also works very slowly. In fact, everything works very slowly. I'm spamming out power plants to speed my machines, and electronics still feel like they take upwards of two minutes each. When you regularly need 5, 10, sometimes more electronics per machine, it really adds up. The main engine to speed up resource generation is the lighthouse building, which has to be placed on water. I found myself completely screwed by the game because I didn't realize how vital lighthouses were until I had purchased most land, at which point places where lighthouses fit become scarce, with no way to make new water.

Outside of making a thing to make a thing to make a thing, the main gameplay mechanics are combat (which is, unsurprisingly, fairly shallow) and puzzles. Most of the puzzles in this game are obnoxiously cryptic. In fact, there are multiple where I still don't understand what the logic was, even after looking it up. I can't think of any off the top of my head I enjoyed.

The cutesy pixel art graphics are nice, but there does come a point where the number of effects on screen can make it difficult to decipher. I was also amused by the variety of outfits, including all the obligatory indie game references. 2,000 years from now it will be traditional for all video games to have a character in a suit of armor wielding a shovel, the original purpose of this odd custom long forgotten, but carried on regardless.

Doom

1993

I know the immediate impulse here is to just say "It's Doom" and leave it at that, but it should be acknowledged how impressive it is that this is still a fairly good time, given the numerous ways in which it is immensely dated. The different weapons are all fun to use (except the pistol, which feels somewhat underwhelming), the enemies are varied and visually interesting, and it cannot be overstated how much the music absolutely kicks ass.

Still, I don't know if this is the perfect, shining beacon of a lost shooter golden age that people like to say it is. For as much as many people will complain about cover shooters, and harken back to the run and gun gameplay of older FPS's, this game doesn't really fit that fantasy. Standing in the open for more than a second or two is a great way to end up as swiss cheese, and enemies like the cacodemons individually pack enough punch to wallop Doomguy back to the stone age. There's a lot of "poke your head out, shoot, retreat, repeat" here.

The level design starts out fine and seems to get progressively worse. This game has that old school tendency of pressing a button so that the game can cheekily tell you with a wink and a grin that it did something somewhere. Where, exactly? Well, wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? Go find it. The keycards themselves are not obnoxious, but the increasingly labyrinthine level design is not only tedious, it seems to directly contradict the whole "constant, high intensity action" schtick.

The ability to not look up or down is actually significantly less of a problem than I would expect, and in fact creates a somewhat unique gameplay experience that is enjoyably streamlined. However, as the game progresses, it becomes increasingly frequent for enemies to approach from above or below, which is awkward at best to handle. If I can only shoot forward, things I need to shoot should only be forward!

It would be remiss of me not to re-emphasize how nice this game is visually. The areas are varied and interesting (even though it would've been appreciated for the levels on Earth to look... anything like Earth?). The demon designs are super cool; cacodemons are iconic for a reason! The level of gore was shockingly intense for a game this old, but also totally appreciated. Seeing those cacodemons dissolve into a pile of blood and guts is so nice, especially after you blasted 80 shotgun shells into the damn thing. And also - the music, the music, the MUSIC. I think my favorite track is "Into the Code", but every single one goes so hard.

It's a good game, but my various annoyances led to me somewhat powering through by the end moreso than fully enjoying myself.