people like to throw around the word "pretentious" when talking about things that they don't like, but i don't think that they Actually know what it means. when we, as people, describe something as pretentious, we mean that it is attempting to peacock as though it is more intelligent or significant than it actually is.

well, buddy, look no further than this game for that definition. a game whose gameplay is worse in nearly every way than its predecessors, one that makes grand gesticulations towards the ideas of "racism" and "american exceptionalism" only to fall flat on its face every step of the way, and possessive of a "twist" so meaningless in the context of the plot that acts merely as a smokescreen to quickly make its escape as it hopes players will walk away unable to remember anything else about the game.

if there were a poll online for "The Most Pretentious Game of All Time", i would bet money on the collective reddit-esque hive mind of "gamers" choosing something like Braid. well Bioshock Infinite, you've got my vote, friendo!

There are a lot of little/simple game design gestures in this project that are just so well executed and seamless that make it pretty easy to admire this project.

Moments where the playable character turns to perform a task, executes a small action, and then turns back around to continue their tasks to find the scene changed behind them in order to enable new moments of interaction/dialog are just such an inventive and subtle way of working around cumbersome and unnecessary animation while nicely fitting into the overall distinct aesthetic crafted by Turnfollow.

The dialog also feels so effortlessly written; so natural and carefree, so unburdened by the need to "REALLY EXPRESS SOMETHING" and as a result flows in profound, moving, and delicate ways. There's moments that just just "right" and they happen all the time. The way the characters interact with each other is so consistently written that every time you change playable characters it doesn't feel jarring or uncomfortable.

The "arc" is also so nicely crafted—so clearly set up and then so satisfyingly delivered. You go from "this is cute" to "I'm feeling something" to "I've been there" to "I don't want this to end" in such a wonderful way. Nothing feels alarming or unrealistic, but also not so pedantically predictable or trite. It's "coming of age" meets "knowing your place" in a way that confronts and sensitively challenges the tired tropes of each of those literary and game design genres.

WOBJ is genuine without being twee, sincere without being saccharine, wistful without being childish, mature without being pretentious.