Like other reviews have outlined, this game is far too pre-occupied with a few things that hold it back from being an overall cool/fun/engaging experience:

- Too many tedious "plate-spinning" mechanics. Coming back to the game 6+ months after I first played it, I realized I couldn't even remember enough of the SUPER SPECIFIC ways you survive the early game, and the idea of reading a bunch of guides or failing 5 times again to figure them all out just didn't feel worth it.
- Way too many vague mechanics with incredibly specific solutions. You can literally fail a run just because you didn't buy a book when it was offered to you (since there apparently is a limited number of each book). You could survive HOURS of a run without knowing that there is NO available solutions to you left.
- The way time is managed in the game just isn't a fun gameplay loop. Some sort of turn-based system (that just auto-skips over turns while you're waiting) would be far better, since you have to pause the game so much anyways that the existence of a "real-time clock" isn't doing anything productive.

What I can say positive about the game is that it has inspired me as a game design more potently than almost any game I've ever played. That's not reason enough for me to recommend it to other people, but it is notable. There are a LOT of fascinating mechanics and interactions and ideas in this game, and I think there is a version of it that could be one of the coolest games ever...but unfortunately, for me, this isn't it. It needs a lot of refinement. Someone who puts 15+ hours into trying to understand and progress in a game like this -- a person who loves the type of game it is and wants to connect with it -- and then comes out of that time feeling like they've made barely any progress...that's not a great game in my eyes.

Gameplay Design: 5/10
User Experience: 6/10
Narrative Design: 6/10
Plot/Story: 3/10
Narrative Themes: 6/10
Visuals: 7/10

Sable es un juego que me ha dado mucho más de lo que esperaba por razones que no esperaba.

Es un juego muy sencillo. Muy puro. Un juego que propone "sal ahí fuera, conoce sobre el mundo y sobre ti mismo" me inspiraba un potencial tono grandilocuente, un hipotético viaje que prometería darte preguntas y potenciales grandes respuestas a preguntas que realmente no tienen una respueta fácil (si acaso la tienen). Sable no es así. Sable es consciente de lo grande que es el mundo e irónicamente, aunque el objetivo final del juego sea decidir qué máscara elegir (y con ello, decidir "quien vas a ser"), creo que Sable es consciente de que las personas (y el mundo) es mucho más complejo que elegir una máscara, o creer que un viaje, por muy increible que sea, sea todo lo que necesites para saber quien eres.

Elegir qué mascara quieres ha sido una decisión en la que me he tirado minutos y minutos. Y realmente nada cambia. El final será el mismo. Pero es una decisión que se siente importante, profundamente personal. Y melancólica. No quiero solo ser un Scrapper y estar siempre alejado de todo el mundo, pero quiero descubrir y explorar ruinas. No quiero separarme los Ibaxi, tu clan inicial, pero tampoco quiero anclarme a ellos. Es una decisión donde no hay respuestas correctas y que aunque sabes que no se puede definir a una persona en base a ello, lo que elijas marcará a Sable en el futuro. Pocos juegos hacen que me quede tanto tiempo pensando, elegir con un gran sentimiento de melancolía, y llorar mientras veo sus breves créditos.

He sonreido y me he reido con sus personajes, he sentido una fascinación y un deseo por la exploración grandiosa que se ha visto muy intensificada por el hecho de que es la primera vez que experimento esa mecánica de Breath of the Wild de "trepar a cualquier lugar" (si bien aquí en ocasiones a nivel técnico el juego se rompe, quizá lo único que puedo criticar de forma dura del juego, sus constantes bugs y fallos técnicos, pero que ni mucho menos rompen la experiencia de viaje). Ante todo, Sable me trasmite libertad, o al menos, la posiblidad de explorar, de redescubrir aquello que (en cierta medida) tenemos cuando somos niños, cuando aún no estamos definidos, no sabemos quien queremos ser, y no tenemos demasiadas cosas que nos aten, antes de que finalmente tengamos que pasar a la vida adulta y definir quien somos (elegir una máscara).

El "Gliding" es lo que marca la experiencia de Sable. Las personas de este mundo, en su adolescencia, hacen un viaje fuera de su clan, un viaje que dura tanto como ellos deseen y que les permite ir allá donde quieran junto a una moto y a una piedra que les permite levitar, pudiendo explorar con seguridad el mundo. Es un concepto precioso y a lo largo de tu viaje conoces distintos lugares, distintas culturas, y en muchas ocasiones Sable hace incapié en cómo no acaba de comprender al otro, pero que eso le llena y le alegra, hace que abrace más a su "Gliding". También hay momentos en los que echa de menos su hogar, a pesar de la felicidad de estar explorando un mundo tan basto. Y es que Sable sabe abrazar la exploración de su mundo, el genuino "quiero ir allí" y el conocer más cosas de él, como sus únicas mecánicas. Cada vez más aprecio este tipo de experiencias, y Sable se me ha descubierto como una sorpresa inesperada que ahora llevo conmigo.

̶I̶ ̶r̶e̶m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶c̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶y̶t̶h̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶g̶a̶m̶e̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶y̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶o̶l̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶g̶u̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶i̶m̶p̶r̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶y̶e̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶w̶.̶ ̶I̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶d̶e̶c̶e̶n̶t̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶u̶n̶p̶l̶a̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶s̶a̶t̶i̶s̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶o̶r̶a̶b̶l̶e̶.̶ ̶M̶e̶t̶a̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶g̶a̶m̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶m̶o̶n̶ ̶n̶o̶w̶,̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶.̶ A̶t̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶r̶t̶,̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶b̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶

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★★★★★ – SUPERHOTSUPERHOTSUPERHOTSUPERHOTSUPERHOTSUPERHOTSUPERHOT✅

“An American tragedy. An odyssey of debt, of grief, of broken promises, of hope. A painful, melancholic fable composed of fables and more fables, spreading out and weaving in and out of itself. A dream ebbing back and forth between memory and fantasy. A plea for you to care about something.”

...This was my original review for Kentucky Route Zero. I still think it’s a good description. But on consideration, I feel as though I need to be bold and say it: Kentucky Route Zero is not only one of my favorite games, but one of my favorite things ever made.

This is not an assessment of quality. I am not telling you what to feel. I am telling you how I feel. And Kentucky Route Zero makes me feel a way.

I specifically say “Favorite Thing”, because Kentucky Route Zero doesn’t affect me like a game. When I think about many of my favorite games, I often think of them as games. They are full of mechanics, of challenges, of systems. That’s certainly not all games are, and games can be many things, but in the capacity that they affect me, enchant me, or fascinate me, it is often within this vague category of “game”. But Kentucky Route Zero is different. To call it “my favorite game” and leave it at that misses something. It’s certainly a game, but it doesn’t make me feel the way games usually make me feel. First and foremost, Kentucky Route Zero is a story. It’s unlike most. The main body of this story is a game, but it’s also a multimedia saga. There’s something quintessential permeating my experience of Kentucky Route Zero that transcends that category.

It is a hauntological melancholy. It conjures a world more like a memory than a reality. Kentucky Route Zero tells the story of people who seem familiar but you’ve never met, with jobs that were never really secure, in situations that could never happen, in a version of Kentucky that has never existed. Magical realism constructs a vision not of reality, but of memory, of a sensate fabric that you swear could have been but never was. Americana is a mythic entity made visible, standing in front of me within Kentucky Route Zero, and it’s on its last breaths.

It’s a hopeful story. That doesn’t mean it’s happy. The world around you is a wasteland. Everyone is dying. Everyone is suffering. Everything is weighed down by debt, pulled deep down into pools of darkness. To live is to work, work, and die. But there are other ways to live. There always have been. Should we move on? I think the answer is clear. But that doesn’t make the pain go away. We have to be willing to feel both grief and hope in the same breath.

All of its blemishes are dismissable. Fleeting problems with UI, incidentally clunky writing, weird mechanical tangents, overwhelming scope, these melt away when I take a moment to remember what Kentucky Route Zero is and feel the frisson travel up and down my skin. I'm trying to not be too longwinded here, but it's hard. I can't get into specifics. So I wax poetic instead. I could write thousands of words on every minute I spent with Kentucky Route Zero and still feel like I was forgetting to say something. It is a multitudinous masterpiece, refracting and reflecting endlessly, timelessly, quietly.

Kentucky Route Zero is one of my favorite things.