This review contains spoilers
CW: One of the kill scenes I reference in this review centers around suicide. If that makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading here.
The myriad flaws of Lucius can be best summarized with its chores system. As a literal hellspawn, you're tasked with murdering everyone in your household. But as a part of that household, you're expected to maintain your presence as the innocent, lovable, and sole child of the homeowners. The more revered you are, the more you're rewarded with objects that help you progress. At a glance, you might assume that this is what Lucius sells itself on: a twisted take on horror tropes that adds a slight bit of depth to its characters and main antagonist by making you empathize with them in the way that only a game could. Unfortunately, the chores in Lucius consist of taking out the trash, brushing your teeth, doing the laundry, cleaning your room, and moving boxes. There are a couple of more personal items you're asked to get that reveal slight bits of character for some of the cast: a lost tape of music from a band that one of the mechanics was once in, missing earrings, and a bottle of wine. But the game never takes its time to flesh out the importance of these items, so their relationship to the player is, at best, transactional. The most realized of the bunch, the tape of music, only has so much emphasis on it because it's required for a puzzle later in the game. That puzzle results in the most underwhelming kill in the entire game, which is then followed by the most racially insensitive. What belies each chore is that there's no sense of urgency and tragedy to anything. Lucius instead opts to use the amusingly grim premise of its chores system as part of its logline for a take on evil child horror more fascinated with the pitch-black humor of incredibly twisted death scenes. The resulting conflict created by this decision defines Lucius—sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.
The best thing that can be said about Lucius is that it's made by horror fans, with other horror fans at heart. Its homages to The Omen aren't as in-your-face as the premise would suggest; the most blatant it gets outside of an alternate ending is in the game files, where the player model for Lucius is referred to as 'Damien'. The reverence for horror in Lucius is less in the vein of psychological horror and more obsessed with slashers. Lucius isn't just an off-brand version of Damien, he's also a child version of Jason Vorhees working overtime as the ride operator behind Final Destination's notorious death traps. As a result, the gore in Lucius is so over-the-top that when someone shoots themselves in the head, there's still a fountain of blood pouring out of the exit wound after they've hit the floor. Slow motion emphasizes the crunchy and uncomfortable way these developers have made use of royalty-free stock sounds from Freesound.org; when someone's head gets split open by a sawblade, you feel every cut. The resulting carnage makes this the perfect cult classic for gorehounds who couldn't give a shit about consistency or quality. Everyone else need not apply.
What lets all of the evident passion behind this down, however, is what I alluded to with the chores system: there's a real lack of focus here. While the third-person camera was chosen to immerse you into the Dante Manor more than a sidescrolling perspective would, it rarely makes use of it—and when it does, it's not pretty. Functionally, this is a point-and-click game with a skill meter that never gets used. There are stealth levels, combat sections, and the map is open-ended. Conceptually, this all offers a welcome amount of variety in a genre as old as point-and-click. In execution, the only one of those ideas that coalesce into something worthwhile is the map itself, and that's because low-resolution textures be damned, it's clear that the developers cared more for the mood a person's bedroom conveys than the person themselves. The open-ended progression does bite the game in the ass by the end, though. Any promise of a genre reinvention goes out the window when it's revealed early on that this is, indeed, an adventure that features pixel hunting if not outright sequence breaks. The third-person perspective works to soften the blow, as items you can interact with are always highlighted by your cursor. But taking into account the handful of puzzles that require you to find small and easy-to-overlook items that you can easily move past without noticing, having an entire mansion to explore ends up as a tedious chore. Stealth and combat are equal in terms of how much fun they are, but at least it's fun to laugh at the combat. The indicator for detection is a single dot on the lower left-hand side of your screen. The game acknowledges that this is an imperfect solution because, on certain levels where stealth is a subtle requirement, the game will literally shout at you if it thinks that you're in danger of being spotted. Levels built around stealth are either bafflingly easy or frustrating, with them stressing the occasional stupidity of the AI on a whim. On the other hand, combat boils down to a whole lot of clicking and holding the left mouse button. The fire effects are neat, and that is entirely indicative of this game's true strength. But other than that, it's only a requirement in about two of the levels, and even then, it still feels entirely at odds with the rest of the game. It's only entertaining in so much as it's admirable that they tried, and that's it.
The basket that the developers put most of their eggs in is presentation. Outside of the Dante Manor, the User Interface does a fantastic job of reinforcing the tone. But it's the cutscenes where the presentation shines. A large part of what makes the violence in Lucius so brutal is that it's framed and shot exceptionally. This is where the developers' love for cinema truly shines through; there isn't a single cutscene in Lucius that's boring to watch. Even something as simple as a politician talking to an advisor feels energetic and passionately put together. While the shocking violence made this a darling for early YouTube Let's Plays, it wouldn't have gone as viral as it did without the care and attention that was poured into its presentation. I just wish I could say the same about the voice acting and narrative! The easiest way to describe the voice acting is that its ultra-tight budget meant that every voice actor had to pick up more than two roles, and it's worse if you look at the pre-release material. Up until the 11th hour, they were promoting this with voice acting that isn't in the final product—and for damn good reason. In terms of the narrative, genuinely chilling monologues at the start of each level are let down by corny dialog and a loosely plotted story that almost exclusively serves as a backbone for puzzles with nothing else to compensate. A great of example of how flimsy the writing can be is this: the devil's opening monologue focuses so heavily on feeling otherworldly and mysterious that it never firmly establishes what your main goal is, why you're pursuing it, and what the benefit of it is. There's such a massive emphasis on being eeevil that any sort of substance gets completely shut out, and nowhere is this more apparent than through the eponymous antagonist. Despite being at the center of the narrative, Lucius isn't a compelling character in the slightest. The bits of characterization given are sparse at best: he's evil and doesn't talk, but he used to be so cute and friendly. He writes to the player—a convenient outlet for the developers to lampshade puzzle hints—but never says anything that would plant you firmly in his shoes. He's Gordon Freeman with more bloodlust (somehow), but by playing the adventure game influences so straight, it only manages to shoot itself in the foot. Adventure games don't just sell themselves on their puzzles; you have to have context for each puzzle, and the context in Lucius is threadbare at best.
Returning to the chores system, I have a question I'd like to ask: outside of what's in the game, what could it be used for? Think of it this way: The Last of Us works as a television show because, at its core, it takes cues from film and TV. But I'd argue that what makes it significant as a game isn't the combat, stealth, or crafting mechanics; it's the notes and documents scattered across levels that you can pick up, read, or listen to. You are drawn into the world, not because you're active in it, but because you get to experience the corners of it that get overlooked when the meat and potatoes of what you're there for get discussed. A game lacking in solid context can totally make up for it in insight. Why clean your room when you could be told to talk to someone who is grieving over the passing of one of their loved ones? Why take out trash bags when you could be picking up every single bottle of beer from your uncle after he's turned to alcohol because of your actions? As you continue your spree, you progressively see your mother's mental state deteriorate. This is treated as a joke, but in the tradition of this game's inconsistency, it sometimes feels more haunting than I'm sure it was intended to be, and when it is, I'd argue it's more effective than most of the kill scenes. The potential that you're presented with is an uncomfortable portrait of mortality mired in the dramatic irony of your involvement; ultimately misanthropic but compassionate enough to see the humanity in its victims. While the gory nature of this game means that it's relatively inaccessible to a more mainstream audience, a premise like this has the potential for subversive gold. The biggest flaw Lucius has, which ties all of its inconsistencies into one bow, is that it's never aware of this. It doubles down on the exploitative potential of its premise without considering its surroundings. At best, this angle causes the game to resemble filler. At worst? The only black character in this game's entire cast of 15+ characters has a death scene whose framing is ignorant at best and downright hateful at worst. Lucius may be The Omen in spirit, but I honestly believe it has less value.
(Something I forgot to add here is that if you intend to play this on modern hardware, I would strongly suggest capping your framerate to around 60 or so, as allowing the game to run uncapped made it very difficult for me to skip cutscenes and caused a few minor, but very noticeable, visual glitches)
(This review is a revision. My original review felt too wordy and unfocused for my taste, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be about the game itself or my interpretation of the developers failings. If you want an empathetic take on what these developers went through, I suggest reading my review for the second game linked earlier. If you're curious to know what this review used to look like, I have an archive of that here.)
(If you would like to see how I feel about the other games in this series, please feel free to check out my list ranking them from best to worst).
The myriad flaws of Lucius can be best summarized with its chores system. As a literal hellspawn, you're tasked with murdering everyone in your household. But as a part of that household, you're expected to maintain your presence as the innocent, lovable, and sole child of the homeowners. The more revered you are, the more you're rewarded with objects that help you progress. At a glance, you might assume that this is what Lucius sells itself on: a twisted take on horror tropes that adds a slight bit of depth to its characters and main antagonist by making you empathize with them in the way that only a game could. Unfortunately, the chores in Lucius consist of taking out the trash, brushing your teeth, doing the laundry, cleaning your room, and moving boxes. There are a couple of more personal items you're asked to get that reveal slight bits of character for some of the cast: a lost tape of music from a band that one of the mechanics was once in, missing earrings, and a bottle of wine. But the game never takes its time to flesh out the importance of these items, so their relationship to the player is, at best, transactional. The most realized of the bunch, the tape of music, only has so much emphasis on it because it's required for a puzzle later in the game. That puzzle results in the most underwhelming kill in the entire game, which is then followed by the most racially insensitive. What belies each chore is that there's no sense of urgency and tragedy to anything. Lucius instead opts to use the amusingly grim premise of its chores system as part of its logline for a take on evil child horror more fascinated with the pitch-black humor of incredibly twisted death scenes. The resulting conflict created by this decision defines Lucius—sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.
The best thing that can be said about Lucius is that it's made by horror fans, with other horror fans at heart. Its homages to The Omen aren't as in-your-face as the premise would suggest; the most blatant it gets outside of an alternate ending is in the game files, where the player model for Lucius is referred to as 'Damien'. The reverence for horror in Lucius is less in the vein of psychological horror and more obsessed with slashers. Lucius isn't just an off-brand version of Damien, he's also a child version of Jason Vorhees working overtime as the ride operator behind Final Destination's notorious death traps. As a result, the gore in Lucius is so over-the-top that when someone shoots themselves in the head, there's still a fountain of blood pouring out of the exit wound after they've hit the floor. Slow motion emphasizes the crunchy and uncomfortable way these developers have made use of royalty-free stock sounds from Freesound.org; when someone's head gets split open by a sawblade, you feel every cut. The resulting carnage makes this the perfect cult classic for gorehounds who couldn't give a shit about consistency or quality. Everyone else need not apply.
What lets all of the evident passion behind this down, however, is what I alluded to with the chores system: there's a real lack of focus here. While the third-person camera was chosen to immerse you into the Dante Manor more than a sidescrolling perspective would, it rarely makes use of it—and when it does, it's not pretty. Functionally, this is a point-and-click game with a skill meter that never gets used. There are stealth levels, combat sections, and the map is open-ended. Conceptually, this all offers a welcome amount of variety in a genre as old as point-and-click. In execution, the only one of those ideas that coalesce into something worthwhile is the map itself, and that's because low-resolution textures be damned, it's clear that the developers cared more for the mood a person's bedroom conveys than the person themselves. The open-ended progression does bite the game in the ass by the end, though. Any promise of a genre reinvention goes out the window when it's revealed early on that this is, indeed, an adventure that features pixel hunting if not outright sequence breaks. The third-person perspective works to soften the blow, as items you can interact with are always highlighted by your cursor. But taking into account the handful of puzzles that require you to find small and easy-to-overlook items that you can easily move past without noticing, having an entire mansion to explore ends up as a tedious chore. Stealth and combat are equal in terms of how much fun they are, but at least it's fun to laugh at the combat. The indicator for detection is a single dot on the lower left-hand side of your screen. The game acknowledges that this is an imperfect solution because, on certain levels where stealth is a subtle requirement, the game will literally shout at you if it thinks that you're in danger of being spotted. Levels built around stealth are either bafflingly easy or frustrating, with them stressing the occasional stupidity of the AI on a whim. On the other hand, combat boils down to a whole lot of clicking and holding the left mouse button. The fire effects are neat, and that is entirely indicative of this game's true strength. But other than that, it's only a requirement in about two of the levels, and even then, it still feels entirely at odds with the rest of the game. It's only entertaining in so much as it's admirable that they tried, and that's it.
The basket that the developers put most of their eggs in is presentation. Outside of the Dante Manor, the User Interface does a fantastic job of reinforcing the tone. But it's the cutscenes where the presentation shines. A large part of what makes the violence in Lucius so brutal is that it's framed and shot exceptionally. This is where the developers' love for cinema truly shines through; there isn't a single cutscene in Lucius that's boring to watch. Even something as simple as a politician talking to an advisor feels energetic and passionately put together. While the shocking violence made this a darling for early YouTube Let's Plays, it wouldn't have gone as viral as it did without the care and attention that was poured into its presentation. I just wish I could say the same about the voice acting and narrative! The easiest way to describe the voice acting is that its ultra-tight budget meant that every voice actor had to pick up more than two roles, and it's worse if you look at the pre-release material. Up until the 11th hour, they were promoting this with voice acting that isn't in the final product—and for damn good reason. In terms of the narrative, genuinely chilling monologues at the start of each level are let down by corny dialog and a loosely plotted story that almost exclusively serves as a backbone for puzzles with nothing else to compensate. A great of example of how flimsy the writing can be is this: the devil's opening monologue focuses so heavily on feeling otherworldly and mysterious that it never firmly establishes what your main goal is, why you're pursuing it, and what the benefit of it is. There's such a massive emphasis on being eeevil that any sort of substance gets completely shut out, and nowhere is this more apparent than through the eponymous antagonist. Despite being at the center of the narrative, Lucius isn't a compelling character in the slightest. The bits of characterization given are sparse at best: he's evil and doesn't talk, but he used to be so cute and friendly. He writes to the player—a convenient outlet for the developers to lampshade puzzle hints—but never says anything that would plant you firmly in his shoes. He's Gordon Freeman with more bloodlust (somehow), but by playing the adventure game influences so straight, it only manages to shoot itself in the foot. Adventure games don't just sell themselves on their puzzles; you have to have context for each puzzle, and the context in Lucius is threadbare at best.
Returning to the chores system, I have a question I'd like to ask: outside of what's in the game, what could it be used for? Think of it this way: The Last of Us works as a television show because, at its core, it takes cues from film and TV. But I'd argue that what makes it significant as a game isn't the combat, stealth, or crafting mechanics; it's the notes and documents scattered across levels that you can pick up, read, or listen to. You are drawn into the world, not because you're active in it, but because you get to experience the corners of it that get overlooked when the meat and potatoes of what you're there for get discussed. A game lacking in solid context can totally make up for it in insight. Why clean your room when you could be told to talk to someone who is grieving over the passing of one of their loved ones? Why take out trash bags when you could be picking up every single bottle of beer from your uncle after he's turned to alcohol because of your actions? As you continue your spree, you progressively see your mother's mental state deteriorate. This is treated as a joke, but in the tradition of this game's inconsistency, it sometimes feels more haunting than I'm sure it was intended to be, and when it is, I'd argue it's more effective than most of the kill scenes. The potential that you're presented with is an uncomfortable portrait of mortality mired in the dramatic irony of your involvement; ultimately misanthropic but compassionate enough to see the humanity in its victims. While the gory nature of this game means that it's relatively inaccessible to a more mainstream audience, a premise like this has the potential for subversive gold. The biggest flaw Lucius has, which ties all of its inconsistencies into one bow, is that it's never aware of this. It doubles down on the exploitative potential of its premise without considering its surroundings. At best, this angle causes the game to resemble filler. At worst? The only black character in this game's entire cast of 15+ characters has a death scene whose framing is ignorant at best and downright hateful at worst. Lucius may be The Omen in spirit, but I honestly believe it has less value.
(Something I forgot to add here is that if you intend to play this on modern hardware, I would strongly suggest capping your framerate to around 60 or so, as allowing the game to run uncapped made it very difficult for me to skip cutscenes and caused a few minor, but very noticeable, visual glitches)
(This review is a revision. My original review felt too wordy and unfocused for my taste, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to be about the game itself or my interpretation of the developers failings. If you want an empathetic take on what these developers went through, I suggest reading my review for the second game linked earlier. If you're curious to know what this review used to look like, I have an archive of that here.)
(If you would like to see how I feel about the other games in this series, please feel free to check out my list ranking them from best to worst).
Yultimona
5 months ago