Uncharted 4: A Thief's End - Thoughts

Uncharted has never been a particularly complex or inventive franchise—but it sure as heck has been pretty. Jumping from the PS3 to the PS4, Uncharted 4: A Thief's End flexes Naughty Dog's "new tech" prowess like a professional body builder at a local gym. I thought I would get tired of announcing "wow this is a gorgeous vista!" four entries into the series, but Nathan Drake's final adventure kept me coming back for one more round. While the flabbergast-inducing eye candy is the premier feature of A Thief's End, the game also—surprisingly—diverts its attention away from non-stop gunfights towards more moments that reflect on Nathan Drake's achievements, mistakes, and regrets.

Which sounds cool... except that the narrative fails to capitalize on it.

I felt so disappointed by Uncharted 4's story on the first go-around that I dedicated a whole entry to it. Long story short: I felt A Thief's End was narratively dissonant, building itself (cleverly) towards one ending before closing out on its exact inverse. For this second playthrough, knowing what to expect helped me to focus on smaller bits that I had missed while on my search for the bigger picture. Uncharted 4 has a lot more slower, minor moments where the characters aren't bringing their quippy A-game to the table. That's not to say that they've stopped obsessing with being funny—just that there are a lot more breaths between ideas, as if they're actually thinking through what they're going to say in their head.

Thematically I still think the game is bunk, but I appreciate its narrative more than I used to, especially because A Thief's End could've played it safe like Drake's Deception did. There's a maturity to the series that hasn't been expressed before, something that likely couldn't have been expressed until Naughty Dog went and made The Last of Us. Nathan Drake is older, more conscious of his reckless adventuring lifestyle, and there's a bit more poison to his lies. Not enough, mind you, to turn the series into a fascinating critique on its plucky, mercenary-murdering attitude, but you'll still watch the story unfold with awe, captivated by its firm cinematography and believable acting. It's an engaging tale—but it's also one that lacks any sort of punch.

This ties directly into the blog entry I've already written, but slowing the story down to put Nate's mundane life on display doesn't really amount to anything. Don't get me wrong—it's really cool to see and I appreciate it—but there's no trenchant discoveries unearthed here. The plot twists and shocking reveals serve only as naked tools for drama (like Sully's """betrayal""" in the first game), unable or unwilling to dive any deeper than that. And I get that Uncharted is a lot less serious than The Last of Us, so diving into trauma may be a step too far, but then... why take adventuring so seriously? Why strip away bits of whimsy that the series previously exhibited, just to put more of an emphasis on realism and consequences? The old games may have tried to be too funny at times, but A Thief's End drives itself in the opposite direction, becoming so sober and understated that sometimes you come off of conversations simply feeling nothing.

I'm definitely being a bit too hard on Uncharted 4, but it's largely because I wanted big things from it in a post-The Last of Us world. The only aspect that I wasn't let down by were the visuals: water is gorgeous, character models are immaculately designed, Madagascar is downright breathtaking, the creeping foliage in the latter half of the game is dazzling, etc. etc. It's a lot of fun to stumble around and hop across rocks while paying attention to Nate's animation sequences, and almost every chapter has a great piece of eye candy to look at, whether it's thin seaweed shifting in a trench or a massive clock tower clinking away. The puzzles are also pretty good too, sometimes demanding quite a bit from your spatial reasoning, though they're few and far between.

Combat on the other hand... is not my favorite. If I was to rank the action in the series, I'd probably say 2 > 4 > 3 > 1, but there's a wide gulf between 2 and 4, and a grenade-shaped asterisk between 4 and 3. Besides me not liking the weapons as much and cursing the damage-based recoil, A Thief's End also botches most of its sandbox fights. The open areas you're allowed to fight in are gorgeous, vertical, asymmetrical zones with a lot of nooks and crannies... which all make it hard to keep track of foes without getting detected. And when you inevitably get spotted, you'll run around and shoot manically for a couple of minutes, just to have a shotgun guy to hop down from some unseen ledge and fill your ass with lead. Uncharted 4's wild and nonlinear sandboxes made it impossible to think up a strategy after I had failed them a few times, something that the older games—even if they were more frustrating—would at least allow. Even if the combat in Uncharted 4 is secretly good and I'm stubbornly not understanding it, the gunplay being shelved for the sake of the story meant I hardly had a chance to warm up to what little was there.

Nathan Drake's swansong is a fitting one for the series. I may bemoan a lot of aspects about it here, but Uncharted 4: A Thief's End is a remarkably polished game that delivers entertainment, at the very least. The problem, of course, is that while polish may obscure the blemishes, it can't hide them forever. A Thief's End doesn't feel vestigial like Uncharted 3 does, but its proud ambition doesn't lead anywhere—well, anywhere truly praiseworthy. It's a good game that'll leave you exhausted. It's a beautiful title that frequently loiters about. It's a fitting end for a franchise that always played it safe.
---------------------

Title image obtained from: ResetEra.com

Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception - Thoughts

[contains minor spoilers]

In many ways, there's not much that separates Uncharted 2: Among Thieves from Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception. The third entry in the series is very similar in style, tone, and pacing to its older sibling, and likewise blows Drake's Fortune out of the water in terms of quality. Perhaps the most noticeable difference is that while Among Thieves leans into cooler climates for its latter half, Drake's Deception steers toward an arid desert in its final act. But if you play the games back to back, climate isn't the only thing that separates these two—you'll inevitably notice that combat has gotten more... explosive.

Thematically, Drake's Deception remains very familiar and frankly unambitious. A lot of old story beats get plucked from the other games, including mythical lost cities, fake-out deaths, Nate reconnecting with Elena, and a dull villain guarded by a detestable henchman. It's all entertaining, mind you; the playful banter between the main cast (as well as the stellar mocap) is on point as always, carrying the player through the plot even if the road feels well-trodden. Likewise the set pieces and spectacle are what you'd expect: loads of deteriorating architecture, extended chase sequences peppered with gunfire, and a really elaborate (and cool) vehicle sequence that leaves Nate exhausted and alone.

But there's not really anything that sets Drake's Deception above Among Thieves. By sticking so close to the Uncharted formula, the game struggles to etch out its own identity, especially since the villain—and by extension the story—is so flat. Cutter is a delightful addition to the Uncharted crew, but he spends more time out of the game than in it. The only narrative curve balls thrown at the player are the dizzying drug trips and desert scene, the former always managing to overstay its welcome. But admittedly, the desert scene is probably one of the highlights of the game: it allows the game to take a break from Nate's intrepid lifestyle to torture him over his misfortune, all while keeping the player wondering what will happen next. It's a very un-Uncharted-y experience that I wish the game had tried to flirt with more, rather than playing it so "safe" for the most part (or perhaps "conventional" is a better word, since Nate is no stranger to "unsafe" environments.)

You know what's really unsafe though? Trying to remain behind cover in Drake's Deception. The game's new tool for removing entrenched players is grenade spam, which gets fairly ridiculous the deeper into the story one gets. The player can now retaliate by chucking grenades back to their owner, but it can be a risky move as missing the throw window will get you blown to smithereens. This motivates the player to be even more mobile than before, which just doesn't work when the game only throws scant pieces of cover at you. The really laborious instances are few and far between, but when they pop up it can feel like you're grappling with raw RNG instead of engaging in a complex combat system.

For the most part, I was lukewarm on most of the gameplay, as it really felt like I had been there, done that. The one exception was the ship graveyard: that particular set piece has held up exceptionally well, as it is the best part of the game. The whole concept is gnarly and novel, giving the player a handful of rusted sandbox environments to hunt their foes in. The player can dip beneath the waters to avoid detection, and the constantly undulating environment interferes with your scouting, presenting you with a unique challenge (can this enemy see me? Wait was that a guy over there?) It's just a shame that the entire section is a pointless, wild goose chase that has no bearing on the plot; it felt like a tech demo that Naughty Dog really wanted to showcase, but had no idea where to slot into the story.

The last bit I want to mention is that the puzzles are a lot better. They're still somewhat rudimentary, but they're considerably more elaborate than those in Among Thieves (the chateau crypt and metallic shadows being my favorites), and they thankfully don't rely as heavily on checking your notebook as before. If anything, playing Drake's Deception reminded me of how disappointing the puzzles were in 2; enigmatic mechanisms and secret rooms are nearly as important to the concept of exploration as climbing up the face of a crumbling temple is.

There are undoubtedly times when Uncharted 3: Drake's Deception is the most impressive and unique entry in the series—but for the most part, it can't escape from being the grenade-obsessed little brother of a more successful title. Among Thieves is definitely a good game to emulate, but I can't emphasize enough how much the familiar story beats drag the game down. The better puzzles don't negate the more volatile combat, and the warmer settings aren't necessarily more intriguing or jaw-dropping than what the player's already seen in the snowy mountains. The phenomenal ship graveyard section encapsulates Drake's Deception well: is it fun and exciting? Sure! Does it feel necessary to the overall Uncharted experience? Uh, no, not really.

Pandemic Legacy: Season 1 - Thoughts

[contains minor spoilers]

Brief note about aforementioned spoilers: I try not to specifically spoil anything important from the game, but know that any details that are different from the base game of Pandemic are technically a spoiler, so just be aware of that. If the game is currently sitting on your board game shelf, I recommend skipping this whole article and just starting it right now.

Pandemic Legacy: Season 1 is a fascinating experiment. Four diseases break out across the world every time you sit down to play, and you must globe hop in an attempt to stymie the infections, biding your time until you have enough city cards to eradicate each plague. Being a legacy game, what happens in one game can affect all future games; if Paris begins rioting early into your playthrough, it'll probably burn itself down to the ground in a future session. While Pandemic Legacy has a lot of fantastic mechanics at its core, I'd contest that what keeps players coming back to the game is this simple question: when the world begins to crumble, how would you mitigate casualties?

I've never really loved Pandemic. It's a palatable blend of soft strategy and random card pulls, but I've always preferred as little RNG as possible in my board games. At times Pandemic can feel too dependent on what cards your team draws, and it's also a game where one player can effectively make all the decisions. My board gaming group lives a considerable distance away from me, so rather than bug them about playing a legacy game every time I visit, I decided to solo Pandemic Legacy to see what all the fuss was about. I was concerned about the difficulty playing alone—especially since I lost the two practice games I played beforehand—but it honestly wasn't all too bad! After a few plays you get used to when the epidemic cards pop up (ie cards that worsen the condition of infected cities), and every unlucky card pull is usually counterbalanced by a narrow victory.

Pandemic is plenty of fun on its own, but the Legacy version is where the premise of the franchise really shines. Early on in my playthrough, South America and Africa got hit hard with disease. In the base game I would've helplessly watched as the continents rapidly went dark, but here I could try and slow their decay. And doing all you can is a good idea too: Pandemic Legacy lasts a full year in-game, with each play session covering a month or half a month, meaning you'll play anywhere from 12-24 times total. And while losing cities is bad in the base game, here they'll become frequent hot spots that spread infection every time you play. So when South America and Africa began deteriorating in the first quarter of my year, I was faced with a grueling choice: do I run my operatives in to halt the outbreaks there, or focus on the main objective in the hopes of finishing the game faster? One session I chose the former, and it cost me my win that month.

But as my campaign continued on, it became harder and harder to save cities on the brink of disaster, especially when I received ways to quarantine those danger zones. One of the coolest things about Pandemic Legacy is that it has a lot of "unlockable" content that's tucked away in boxes and portfolios, which the game will tell you when to open. And it doesn't add more to the game as much as it starts to transform how you'll play and interact with it. You'll acquire more options for moving your characters, empowering your cards, or stopping diseases—all of which are frequently backed by the game's military forces. So rather than send in medical teams to treat sick citizens, I was marching troops to the border to prevent anyone—infected or healthy—from leaving. One month I was rushing operatives into Africa to save it, the next I was setting up blockades and reporting that everyone inside was already lost. As I watched Africa fall, I told myself "this is the only way to keep the world safe!"

Moments like that and many others are what elevate Pandemic Legacy above its parent game. In the base game, the novelty of seeing a continent wracked by disease loses its impact after the first experience, but in Legacy you have to live with your decisions. I had failed Africa, and was forced to watch as South America slowly, month by month, descended into chaos. And every now and then the damage would bleed over into Europe and North America, and I'd reconsider my priorities. The casualties were already so high—could I really condemn Atlanta and Madrid to the same fate? (The answer was eventually "yes" to the former.)

Besides having difficult decisions, Pandemic Legacy is phenomenally well-balanced and fun to play. Every major unlock adds a new mechanic to the game, keeping it from getting stale while not overloading you with too many moving parts. The game is easy to learn and gives you plenty of customization in the form of end-game upgrades for your characters and cards. It layers on a good amount of strategy at a very natural pace, but the game's biggest draw still goes to the tough questions that'll arise as a city begins to fall. The only thing I was really disappointed in was the scoring system you're given after Pandemic Legacy ends (one specific category is cruelly "all-or-nothing"), but it's a minor complaint to an otherwise excellent campaign.

Pandemic Legacy isn't the best introduction to modern board gaming, but it's accessible nature basically means there's no reason not to play it. It's a stressful game, but it's never punishing; you might panic over the state of the world as epidemic cards are pulled in quick succession ("no not Khartoum again!"), but you'll learn to accept the consequences and move on. And as you do so... as you quarantine another dying city... as you replace all your medical personnel with generals and soldiers... you'll start to wonder, "is what I'm doing necessary? Is it right? Could I have done more?" And the answers will range from bittersweet, to downright haunting.

Even if you're not a big board game person, you should still play Pandemic Legacy—you won't regret the experience.
---------------------

Images obtained from: spieledeluxe.com, richcontext.com, boardgamequest.com, polygon.com

klocki - Thoughts

The connection to Hook is immediately apparent as soon as klocki boots up: it's a no frills, no story, no nonsense puzzle game that's all about exercising your wits for around an hour. Unlike Hook however, you likely won't walk away from it thinking "was that really it?" I enjoyed Hook but couldn't really say it hooked me; klocki on the other hand, kept me enthused all the way to the end.

The biggest difference between the two games (besides the bright colors) is that klocki changes up how you interact with it. It's primarily a game about moving squares around so that they form either complete circuits or rounded-off line segments, but the mechanics will be shaken up every five levels or so. At first you'll patching together simple circuits, then you'll be creating circuits on three dimensional objects, then the way in which you can spatially manipulate the tiles will change, then you'll be making multiple circuits, etc. It starts off extremely simple but gets visually complicated, to the point that outsiders will likely be unable to parse any information at the final puzzles.

Like I mentioned, what keeps klocki ticking is that any time you get bored or frustrated with a mechanic, the game will quickly shift over to something else. The only time I'd argue that it gets particularly vexing is when sliding blocks are introduced, since the rigidness of that mechanic doesn't flow with the laid-back pace of the rest of the game. Thankfully the three 9x9 stint of sliding puzzles is the worst of it; for the most part, klocki is a relaxing game to mellow yourself out with at the end of a long day. Like Hook it's not a brain burner in any way shape or form, but it'll still provide a gentle release seeing your lines light up.

Far Cry 5 - Thoughts

[contains minor spoilers]

Far Cry 5 is my least favorite Far Cry experience to date. And as someone that loooooved the third and fourth entries in the series, this was a challenging conclusion to reach. For a while, I just didn't believe it. I wondered if I was overanalyzing the game, or unfairly comparing it to its predecessors, or perhaps I was always sitting down to play it while in a foul mood. But after finishing the campaign twice, all roads loop back to this dour epiphany: Far Cry 5 has exhausted what made the series exciting for me.

A major part of that is honestly due to fatigue—Far Cry really hasn't changed the much since the third game. Sure, the newest installment gives you allies and lets you progress through its narrative in any order you want, but beyond that? Everything else is vividly familiar. There are outposts to infiltrate, side-missions that prioritize action over caution, cutscenes where villains drill their worldview into you, perk trees to navigate, and a plethora of collectibles to gather. There's barely a noticeable change in the weaponry or enemies either; every aspect remains proudly Far Cry, right down to the game's narrative rebuking you with "what if YOU'RE the bad guy?!"

In a way, it's very comforting. There are still hundreds of delightful moments that will sneak up on you, like say, a boat ramming into you while you're fishing, or a panicking pedestrian slipping into a vehicle you've rigged to explode. Those unscripted bits never failed to put a smile on my face, but Far Cry 5 tries to up the ante by flooding the world map with patrolling goons. Whenever you snipe an enemy driver with your bow, you'll barely have time to savor that unlikely headshot, as more enemies are always close behind. And antagonizing the regional leaders just makes the game worse, as limitless aircraft get called in to deal with you—and I have no damn clue how someone could enjoy fighting over a dozen planes with a measly assault rifle.

Due to the bolstered number of enemy vehicles, I had to keep a rocket launcher with me for a majority of the game, which only left me with two primary weapons to switch between—a significant step down from Far Cry 3's four weapon slots. While dealing with the increased enemy forces was a huge source of sourness, what also dampened my enthusiasm was the lack of intrigue into the world. Part of this may be due to the fact that Hope County is a less exotic locale to pick, but I also didn't feel any particular attachment to the companions or NPCs (besides the animals). And don't get me wrong, the visuals are downright breathtaking at times (especially when the sunlight drips through the trees), but the "wow" factor that carried the other games just wasn't here.

Which finally brings me to the narrative. On its surface, Far Cry 5 looks primed to sink its fangs into the rural American culture, ready to offer a scathing critique on the influence of religion in the region. Except that it doesn't really do that. And nor does it offer any kind of in-depth critique on the lifestyles of a Northwestern American. If anything, the game is strangely patriotic, content to paint Hope County as a land filled with hardworking, meat-loving Americans that merely want to see the red-white-and-blue fluttering high in the sky. Sure, you encounter some crass personalities (like Hurk Drubman Sr.), but almost everyone acts as a kind of caricature of an American persona, rather than an incisive target of satire. And seeing as the series has always been eager to paint your allies as both incompetent and monstrous, its bizarre that Far Cry 5 completely shies away from this approach.

Even the game's central antagonists did little to mesmerize me. Joseph Seed is an admittedly fresh take on the "madman that speaks the truth" trope that the series is known for, but his stoic, calm demeanor belies the shallowness of his words. I mean sure, Far Cry 5 does build up to a nice twist at its close, but the game barely says anything about the central force in the land: Project at Eden's Gate. The PEGgies are not that creepy, nor are they sympathetic, and their propensity for brainwashing makes them less interesting than mere mercenaries. The performances for each of the major villains is excellent, but the material itself leaves you with very little to ponder—like with the Americana aspect of the game, the use of a Christian cult felt superficial and absentminded. It's almost as though Ubisoft sought not to step on any sensitive toes, so they opted to use a cartoonishly evil cult in an exaggerated, toothless depiction of rural America.

There's a dramatic irony in the fact that what led me to the Far Cry series was its innovative and multiplicitous approach to combat. I thought it was so cool how you could go in with guns blazing, or sneak through a facility planting bombs, or snipe your opposition from a far-off mountain ledge. But after liberating what must be over 100 bases by now, the Far Cry series has begun to feel formulaic. I know to take out the snipers first, then silently take down the heavies, and to throw remote explosives onto any enemy reinforcements that show up. The action is still fun, but each stronghold offensive felt more and more like I was checking items off a list, instead of proving my guerrilla mastery. And compounded by the lack of a strong central plot, I don't know if this fault lies squarely on Far Cry 5's shoulders, or if I'm simply yearning for something new.

Hitman 2: Silent Assassin - Thoughts

Well, I tried.

I tried to be stealthy.

And sometimes, I'd succeed! Every now and then I'd throw on a doctor's coat and slip by some guards, or poison a meal and quietly creep back to the exit. Those were some of my proudest moments. But for most of its missions, Hitman 2: Silent Assassin set up brick walls. Sometimes it was a stubborn guard that refused to turn around. Occasionally I didn't cover my tracks well enough. But what I fell prey to nine times out of ten was Silent Assassin's finicky "threat" mechanic. And once I was discovered, only one method was left to my disposal: reload a save, and shoot that person in the head.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty, I have to clarify that Hitman 2: Silent Assassin is leagues ahead its predecessor in almost every way. There's more levels, more weapons, a greater variety of locations, and—shockingly!—intended methods of assassination that are easily deduced! Wow! No longer are you left running around a vast, empty military base, wondering how to silently subdue a coked-up maniac; now you can see your target playing golf on a balcony whilst spotting a sniper rifle in the garage. Being able to solve missions without a guide not only makes Silent Assassin a lot more playable, but also pretty dang fun... welllll, at times. More on that later.

One of the best additions to Silent Assassin is the inclusion of mid-level saves, rather than checkpoints. And since I was playing on the lowest difficulty this time, I got a whopping seven saves per mission (hey, in my defense it's labeled "Normal"!) What this does is drastically cut down on the repetition and trial and error, as you no longer have to ponder "can I walk with this gun out?" or "am I allowed in this room?" under the fear of jeopardizing your last five minutes of progress. I could've finished Codename 47 in a fraction of the time that I did, if only I could've saved before doodie (inevitably) hit the fan.

Hitman 2: Silent Assassin offsets this boon, however, by being a stricter game. Gone is the unnatural ability to hover behind a guard and effortlessly strangle him when there's no one else around. Instead, you have to stealthy approach your target at a tortoise-like speed, meaning that you can only strangle (or temporarily KO) guards if they're stationary. Running too is a major red flag to others—especially when you're in uniform—meaning that the ability to save is counterbalanced by your painful, glacial crawl past guards. And like with Codename 47, it's hard to tell exactly what guards can and cannot see, although this is a minor problem compared to Silent Assassin's clever—yet confusing—new feature: the threat meter.

I can at least commend Silent Assassin on introducing alerts based off of proximity, since it makes a lot of sense; a bald dude following behind an armed guard a hair's breadth away definitely seems suspicious. But the threat meter is extremely vague, as its throbbing red state can mean someone is merely suspicious of your actions, or they're about to expose you by perforating you with lead. This dilutes Silent Assassin to a bizarre coin flip in every instance where you slowly saunter past a guard, the meter unable to tell you when the switch from curious to violent is going to occur. Most of the time it's not too bad—all you really have to do is just keep walking—but if the guard stops in mid patrol or blocks a doorway you're heading towards, this can result in a bungled operation.

Not only that, but like with Codename 47, what sets people off can be downright unpredictable. Jog for a brief second and a civilian might scamper away to warn a guard, or walk into a back room and men will suddenly open fire, or secretively change costumes after being discovered and the guards will somehow manage to see through your disguise. But if you embrace your inner-psychopath and slaughter all the guards one by one, occasionally they'll run past you and not think twice... even as you're standing on the corpses of their kin. There were so many instances of confusion and befuddlement in my playthrough: being seen despite crouching behind cover, getting spotted by snipers despite my camouflage, not getting caught despite wearing a unique lieutenant's uniform, alarming a civilian because I occupied the bathroom stall they frequent (seriously??? You're going to rat me out for that?!!!) When the game works it works well, but a lot of the time it feels like you're one suspicious glance away from being assassinated yourself.

Early on, I realized that shooting people in the back of the head with a silenced pistol was the path of least resistance (thanks Normal mode). And though I tried my best to ghost my way through facilities and spare my enemies, Silent Assassin was quick to punish me if I made the briefest miscalculation (eg "I'm pretty sure it's safe to run now.") Add to this the fact that not only is anesthesia stringently temporary, but the hardest missions are arguably in the first third of the game, Russia & Japan being a long, demanding, and painful combination. I was thankfully able to finish the game with my stealth meter above my aggression meter, but I was irked by what this game forced me to do at times. Somewhere in Japan there's a castle full of dead ninjas, and I'm not proud of it.

Hitman 2: Silent Assassin finally gave me a glimpse into what the Hitman franchise is supposed to be. There are moments of brilliance sprinkled throughout it—like dropping a smoke bomb down a laundry chute and then disguising yourself as a firefighter to go "investigate" the source—but like its predecessor, the game is hamstrung by its imprecision. It still feels like luck is too influential on your success or failure—or maybe not luck, but unknown variables that you have to puzzle out through saving and restarting (anyone that's played the last mission will know exactly what I mean.) At the end of the day your meticulous plans can easily be quashed by some capricious—and often stupid—variables being rolled behind your back.

At least you can try to be stealthy, I guess.

Momodora III - Thoughts

After finishing Momodora II, I was prepared for more Metroidvania-style action, wondering what Momodora III would add to the formula. I found the answer to be quite surprising: nothing. Because Momodora III really isn't a Metroidvania per se; it has more in common with the arcade roots of the first Momodora of all things. It's crazy, right? I mean, how many series look backwards for inspiration, especially when they seem to be heading in the right direction? But rdein has learned a lot since their first title, as Momodora III proves itself to be the first game worthy of a playthrough.

That's not to say I didn't like or enjoy the first two games—they were charming and pleasant experiences that reminded me somewhat of when I used to savor playing Flash games on Newgrounds. But after completing those games, I felt their diminutive size was more of a detriment than an appeal, as there really wasn't much that I could latch onto or discuss. I've recently discovered that I was more or less wrong about that; it wasn't the size of the games that failed to enthuse me, but the content of the games themselves.

What made me come to this realization is that Momodora III is as short as the other titles (~1 hour), but it doesn't feel like it's lacking anything. The game bounces you between a handful of worlds, letting you meet some cute girls and pick up a smattering of power-ups. Structurally this sounds very similar to II, but the vividness and variety of the locales feels so much more robust. Being able to equip three different items and having each zone conclude with a boss fight gives Momodora a momentum it had been previously missing. And rdein makes sure to pepper the land with curious oddities, hiding away secret power-ups within walls and making NPCs mysteriously vanish, making the player wonder if they missed something earlier within the level. The other games had a touch of this esoteric flavor, but it's felt here most of all.

I have to openly admit that part of the reason why I prefer Momodora III to its predecessors is because... well, of the lack of a ceiling. I's downward delve felt too repetitive by the end and II's setting variety was rather superficial in hindsight, basically having the player move through some caves or... caves with a sky background. Momodora III still has some underground outings, but it also offers the player a lush grassland, violet garden, and riverside cityscape. I'm a huge sucker for stage variety, and III keeps its levels short enough that you never feel like rdein overuses certain gimmicks, traps, or enemies. The final area in particular is my favorite for both its mood and visuals, capping off the adventure quite nicely. And the final boss is no pushover, which is a nice change from the previous two entries.

Momodora III is a small, quaint, fun game—like the others—but it's also pretty satisfying. You'll face a decent amount of challenge on hard but it's nothing hair-pulling, which makes it a good fit for anyone that likes some action in their platformers. It was a bit odd emerging from this experience not yearning for more, but I don't think that speaks ill of Momodora III. If anything, I think it's a sign of III's success over its older siblings: it's the one title that holistically emerges as a game rather than an experiment.