Donut County lives and dies with its hole. This game is inundated with comparisons to Katamari, but for good reason: both center around a near-unstoppable force of nature that defies basic reason, absorb everyday items to grow in strength, and have something to say about how much "stuff" really is around us all the time. Where Donut County really falls in comparison is in complexity and dynamics.
The hole has a fixed position relative to the environment, always at ground level, allowing it to slither underneath whatever it wants to ensnare. Its diameter grows a small fixed amount relative to the size of whatever it eats, until you eventually gobble the entire scene... or whatever you're allowed to within the restrictive walls of the diorama-like stages. If we disregard aesthetics, and think of the game arena mapped to a 2D plane, there are only three components at any given moment: the hole, things it can eat, and things it can't.
Katamari doesn't suffer from any of these problems; because it does not have a fixed position on the ground, you have to physically climb and reach the objects you wish to compile. The ball's diameter is not merely a polynomial growth but sprouts a wonderful, chaotic asymmetry as objects extend its hitbox with theirs. It is also allowed to roam free on wonderfully large environments where it can experience huge jumps in scale as it rampages through the world. Even if you gave the hole a sense of freedom like the Katamari receives, the player would quickly notice how the experience lacks the same difficulty and playfulness.
Esposito seems to have realized this during development, and took a very different approach by having the hole star as a narrative device. It is what is actually delivered by the local donut company instead of the expected pastry, and when enough folks lose their homes and band together underground, they wield the hole themselves to gather information on how to rescue everyone and put an end to the company causing the destruction. The enclosed stages are in fact the individual yards and fields and farms and campsites of each person's home - people with goals, loved ones, and motivations to get back above ground. The absurdity of the premise is appropriately met with comedic dialogue as the gang bickers about blame, game plans, and personal grievances.
Perhaps most notably, the hole also receives temporary power-ups and power-downs that restrict or enhance its ability to gulp its surroundings, whether it be a catapult that launches its most recent meal upwards as a projectile, or a pool of water to must find a way to drain. Sometimes it's a tentacle that you can use as a makeshift finger to operate machinery, or even some charcoal to light the whole hole ablaze. While these interactions are simple, they achieve two important things: solving the repetition of the basic hole loop, and allowing for a way to damage and be damaged by a surprise boss fight.
So what am I to make of this, a game that seems to have realized the problems with its own gameplay concept but managed to stylize and package its ideas so tidily? Is the lack of confidence in the hole worth castigation when it would have probably led to a worse final product? I'm not sure. I do know that the idea was worth exploring, the limitations were found, and significant effort was undertaken to create an interesting world, narrative thread, and cast of characters to compensate. Donut County may not change your life, but it's difficult to deny sheer competence.
The hole has a fixed position relative to the environment, always at ground level, allowing it to slither underneath whatever it wants to ensnare. Its diameter grows a small fixed amount relative to the size of whatever it eats, until you eventually gobble the entire scene... or whatever you're allowed to within the restrictive walls of the diorama-like stages. If we disregard aesthetics, and think of the game arena mapped to a 2D plane, there are only three components at any given moment: the hole, things it can eat, and things it can't.
Katamari doesn't suffer from any of these problems; because it does not have a fixed position on the ground, you have to physically climb and reach the objects you wish to compile. The ball's diameter is not merely a polynomial growth but sprouts a wonderful, chaotic asymmetry as objects extend its hitbox with theirs. It is also allowed to roam free on wonderfully large environments where it can experience huge jumps in scale as it rampages through the world. Even if you gave the hole a sense of freedom like the Katamari receives, the player would quickly notice how the experience lacks the same difficulty and playfulness.
Esposito seems to have realized this during development, and took a very different approach by having the hole star as a narrative device. It is what is actually delivered by the local donut company instead of the expected pastry, and when enough folks lose their homes and band together underground, they wield the hole themselves to gather information on how to rescue everyone and put an end to the company causing the destruction. The enclosed stages are in fact the individual yards and fields and farms and campsites of each person's home - people with goals, loved ones, and motivations to get back above ground. The absurdity of the premise is appropriately met with comedic dialogue as the gang bickers about blame, game plans, and personal grievances.
Perhaps most notably, the hole also receives temporary power-ups and power-downs that restrict or enhance its ability to gulp its surroundings, whether it be a catapult that launches its most recent meal upwards as a projectile, or a pool of water to must find a way to drain. Sometimes it's a tentacle that you can use as a makeshift finger to operate machinery, or even some charcoal to light the whole hole ablaze. While these interactions are simple, they achieve two important things: solving the repetition of the basic hole loop, and allowing for a way to damage and be damaged by a surprise boss fight.
So what am I to make of this, a game that seems to have realized the problems with its own gameplay concept but managed to stylize and package its ideas so tidily? Is the lack of confidence in the hole worth castigation when it would have probably led to a worse final product? I'm not sure. I do know that the idea was worth exploring, the limitations were found, and significant effort was undertaken to create an interesting world, narrative thread, and cast of characters to compensate. Donut County may not change your life, but it's difficult to deny sheer competence.