Banjo-Tooie - Thoughts

Banjo-Kazooie is one of the best collection-focused platformers of the fifth console generation, so naturally an amped-up sequel that's nearly twice as large as the original would be better, right?

Unfortunately, no. While it may not match Donkey Kong 64's insane penchant for collectables, the detrimental symptoms are noticeably present here. It's not an awful game—its bombastic size and scope made it a worthwhile purchase back in '00—but it feels more taxing than its predecessor, requiring a greater effort from the player to solve it. In some respect I suppose it's the ideal sequel to Banjo-Kazooie, but what is lost in the process is the lackadaisical ease of simply "havin' a fun time"; Banjo-Tooie is geared more towards hunting than exploration.

The opening cutscene alone is a good indicator of the length of this game, clocking in at over ten minutes before you can start playing. The story maintains the same bubbly Rare quality, returning its colorful cast to the spotlight with some great new debuts, accompanied by some hilariously dark moments that the narrative brushes over (dead jinjos and children, good lord). I take no qualms here with the plot or writing however—all my concern is rooted in the gameplay and design.

To wit, there's too much laborious backtracking. No longer can you set aside an evening to check off one of the game's eight worlds from your list; each setting is tightly tied to another, requiring you to come back later when you've amassed additional abilities or unlocked new shortcuts. While it provides some mystery to each location, it can be confusing trying to figure out whether or not you've met the requirements to obtain a certain jiggy or frankly haven't found the solution yet. I didn't walk away from each play session feeling like I had accomplished something, but was instead constantly asking "there's still more to do here?!"

The backtracking issue is one that's rooted at the core of the Metroidvania genre—so I really can't fault it all that much—but what compounds this problem are the numerous methods of travel. In Banjo-Kazooie you only had the titular heroes and a Mumbo transformation as vehicles of exploration, but here you have Banjo, Kazooie, Banjo & Kazooie, a Wumba transformation, and Mumbo to contend with. This means that you'll be exploring the same tract of land multiple times over to collect a single jiggy, a painful echo of Donkey Kong 64. Perhaps the most flagrant example of this is the Styracosaurus quest: you run into them as Banjo & Kazooie, return as Banjo, head to the train station, turn back into Banjo & Kazooie, then go to Mumbo at the Isle o' Hags, return as Mumbo to the train, turn back into Banjo & Kazooie, return the train back to Terrydactyland, and you still have to return to the family as Mumbo later. And that's not even the entire quest to obtain a single collectible out of a potential 90. I killed myself in this game countless times just so I could skip having to reunite the bird and bear manually.

Where I found myself pleased with Banjo-Tooie was when it closely resembled Banjo-Kazooie's design. Exploring the ill-lit rafters in Glitter Gulch Mine, burning the behinds of the Rocknuts in Terrydactyland, and outsmarting Mr. Fit in Cloud Cuckooland were all stand-out moments between the frequent back-and-forth-ing that was required (getting to Mr. Fit in particular was a hassle). I think the first-person segments and various egg types are excellent improvements to the game, and though it may not seem like it, I do appreciate what Banjo and Kazooie individually bring to the gameplay this time around. I'm miffed that the music note hunts have been neutered (they used to provide you with something to do while traversing the landscape), but for the most parts these changes at least make the moment-to-moment gameplay a little more interesting.

To reiterate, I don't think the game is terrible as much as it's just not fun when you're forced to do a ton of leg work. Grunty Industries is the greatest offender of this, having some really clever ideas in it (using batteries to power doors, the service lift can only be used by the dishwasher) inside a gargantuan layout that's chock-full of dead ends and questionable design choices (why give me the Snooze Pack ability next to a place where I need the Sack Pack? Is it really necessary to place Weldar's jiggy two rooms over? Why can't the Split-up pad on the first floor be closer to the Waste Disposal entrance?) I thought Click Clock Wood was arduous to finish at 1.5 hours long, but this level took twice as long as that, not to mention how the N64's single digit frame rate was doing my playtime no favors either.

Banjo-Tooie is a good example of why bigger isn't always better. True, it's packed with neat secrets and tricky sections that require some tinkering, its worlds and solutions cleverly interwoven together... yet this expansion stands at odds to the indelible charm of the original game, Banjo-Kazooie's smaller worlds acting more like a playground than a set of puzzles. Whereas the first game invited you on a delightful excursion, Banjo-Tooie asks quite a bit more from the player—whether or not that's your cup of tea is up to you I suppose.
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Images obtained from:  smashcustommusic.com, giantbomb.com

Hyper Light Drifter - Thoughts

The Legend of Zelda is the first game that came to mind while playing Hyper Light Drifter. And not the series either—the purposefully obscure NES classic. Both games whisk the player off into a mysterious land that is shockingly cruel beneath its neon exterior, their labyrinthian overworlds concealing dungeons full of traps and animalistic foes. Your wonder is often superseded by your apprehension as you explore each ruined locale, your hand rarely far from your blade. It's the first time in a long while that a game perfectly hits the mark in both presentation and gameplay, marrying the two aspects together to form a jaw-dropping adventure that is a delight to play. Hyper Light Drifter is such a fantastic experience that I nearly played through it five times before pulling myself away to write this entry—I really, really love this game.

Part of the reason why my ardor flares so brightly for this title is because it's clearly made by artists. The world is gorgeous, colors are vibrant, characters are elegant, animations are maddeningly fluid, and every corner of this pixelated playground is handled with delicate care. Since the game is bereft of text, most of the storytelling comes through portraits and environmental set pieces, allowing the player a loose grasp on the surprisingly adult (ie brutal) narrative. That's why it's essential to have artists at the helm for this endeavor, as fleshing out the setting and adding life to its inhabitants comes across more as a labors of love than a mechanical task. Even if you decry pixel art for being nothing more than nostalgic pandering, it's extremely difficult to see Hyper Light Drifter in motion and write it off as nothing special.

Where the game obviously splits from the NES Zelda quite is in the combat. While the latter has kludgy swordplay, Hyper Light Drifter acts more like a top-down Mega Man Zero—which is probably another reason why I'm enamored by it so much. For those that don't know why that's so impressive, what Heart Machine nailed here is arguably the most important aspect for any action game to get right:

The speed.

Attacks are swift and instant, providing incredible feedback as you slice your enemies to ribbons. The sword doesn't do anything more than a standard 3-hit combo, but like Mega Man Zero, the beauty is in the sheer simplicity of the controls. Since there's no elaborate move-sets you're given the chance to immediately connect and react to the combat, keeping it fresh thanks to how fast the encounters play out (the awesome enemy variety also helps). And just when you get a handle on how quickly you can do damage, you'll be able to purchase your first set of upgrades which blow the doors wide open on the gameplay. The chain dash greatly improves mobility, the charge blade dispatches unruly foes with aplomb, the reflective blade neuters snipers, the grenades allow you to swiftly handle minion hordes, etc. On top of all of this you have an arsenal of guns at your fingertips that allow you to play safely from a distance but require melee attacks to recharge, giving encounters a dance-like rhythm as you engage and escape from your opponents.

What I profusely enjoy about this style of gameplay is that it's all about tactical micro-decisions. Each moment-to-moment reaction is peppered with a hint of strategy, offering a copious amount of options to perform in an exceedingly small time frame. From start to finish, Hyper Light Drifter submerges itself in this style of play—a truth that becomes all the more apparent in NG+ (where you die in two hits). No power-up or gun feels useless since each enhancement provides a new dimension to your responses that have their own benefits and risks. And even when the combat isn't keeping you on your toes, it still feels marvelous to traverse the precarious levels and sniff out some well-hidden secrets. Rarely have games been able to go from dire, blood-pumping encounters to quiet, introspective exploration as effortlessly as Hyper Light Drifter does—further evoking the Zelda comparison.

The biggest knock against the game I can come up with is that trying to 100% it is a straight-up chore. While the in-game map is difficult to parse at first, the greatest sin it commits is not revealing any gearbits, keys, or monuments you've collected, meaning you have to keep a mental note of where you've been and what you've grabbed. I had to use an incomplete Steam guide for assistance, and even then it was hard remembering which bits I'd picked up and which I hadn't. On top of that there's a host of other vexing issues too: occasional inputs get eaten, certain combat scenarios are busted when revisiting them from the wrong direction, cutscenes can't be skipped, dashes may miss their intended landmass, the Northern boss is a bit too insane, hard-earned outfits don't convey their respective effects, and the "gearbit becoming whole!" animation should in no way freeze the gameplay (it ruins the pacing!)

These problems range from mildly annoying to arguably detrimental, so it's not hard for me to see why other people may be turned off from playing. I've also seen many claim that Hyper Light Drifter is overly difficult, which is something I think is only true when you get checkpointed with no health left. Personally though, the game shines when it's being harsh, especially when you're pressured to play flawlessly or get sent back to a distant checkpoint. Right about when you pick up the chain dash is when the game hopefully clicks with you, but I in no way will fault someone if they were hoping for it to be a little more relaxing and a lot less demanding. Thankfully, I'm happily sated with the utilization of both of those aspects here.

For me, Hyper Light Drifter is a flawed masterpiece. While at first glance it appears the visuals are the game's strong suit, the gameplay proves to be no slouch either, keeping your tactical responses engaging and interesting. The buttery smooth motions of the Drifter are what made me pick up this title, and the compelling world rife with playful combat is what made me want to stay. I do wish it was better tuned for replays, that the map was more instructive, and that the stupid gearbit animation didn't exist, but all of these issues are easily dwarfed by my awe for this game. It's a euphoric experience that only gets better the more you spend time with it, and it's definitely a title I'm going to soon replay and fall in love with all over again.

Stardew Valley - Thoughts

Throughout gaming's turbulent times, an important outlook to keep is that things don't necessarily get worse as much as they simply change. Old franchises die while new ones flourish, and whenever big-budget games grow stale there's always a new idea found just around the corner. The market evolves as its consumers shift, learn, and grow; though the future of the medium may not resemble the past, it learns from its bygone lessons in order to survive. It's undoubtedly tragic and heartbreaking to say goodbye to an era of gaming you greatly enjoyed, but as long as you know where to look you can spot the fulgent rays of another great title in the making, glittering with the greatness you once knew... well, assuming you're not a stubborn fuddy-duddy.

This ostentatious intro may seem like an odd way to introduce Stardew Valley, but it's part of an ongoing trend of Japanese-inspired, Western-made indie games that prove my point. Out of Mega Man's ashes rose Shovel Knight, from the tomb of Earthbound emerged Undertale, and now from the shell of Harvest Moon hatches Stardew Valley. I suppose the catch here is that Harvest Moon isn't necessarily dead yet, but its once cherished presence has now shrunken into obscurity (did you know there was a mobile game of it released this year?), so ConcernedApe rightfully deserves praise for resurrecting the passion for pixelated farming. It's a warm and fuzzy game that caters to obsessive min-maxers and young minds alike, offering you the chance to become a local resident in a fantastic (and mysterious!) land.

Those familiar with Victor Interactive's farming sim will feel right at home in the rolling hills of Stardew Valley. There's a farm to be cleaned and cultivated, livestock to be housed and groomed, and townspeople to chat with and marry. Thankfully ConcernedApe implements some "newer" systems into the game—crafting, combat, and a fishing minigame—so that it doesn't feel like it's shamelessly retreading the same ground. No matter how you set out to go about your day, there's a trove of options that await you on the horizon.

And I feel that this is the most important aspect Stardew Valley gets right: it keeps you busy. Maybe you'll start off by chopping down some encroaching trees but then! you should use this wood to make a keg oh! you need to smelt an iron ingot to build it but! you're one ore away so you decide to get it from Clint. Since you're in town now, you may as well give a gift to the girl you like oh look! there's a bubbling fishing spot by Clint's house so it's a good time to fish although! you're so close to the mine that you should really see if you can make it down 5 more floors or! you could go forage through the woods or! you could just head inside and rearrange your furniture (you really should talk to Robin about getting a new table [and check by Pierre's for some better wallpaper]). And hey, that's just one day!

If that might seem complicated to you, it really isn't—each of your options come naturally. The game has a simple set of tasks it asks you to complete at first, but for the most part you can proceed at your own pace. So you can stress over utilizing your time efficiently (like me), or simply relax and tackle one set goal per day. One of the most engrossing parts for me was planning out and sectioning off how my field would be utilized come my second Spring. What's great is that a lot of different people can find their own thing to get passionate about in the game, since there's a wide net of activities you can do (and you have to do them all if you want to complete those bundles!)

I enjoyed my time with Stardew Valley, but it's not going to be a favorite of mine this year. True—I did play it compulsively, farming all the way up to the beginning of my 3rd Spring before stopping—but the game filled a particular role for me that I think had been missing for a while: a pleasant time companion ("diversion" also works, but sounds a bit more cold than I intend). Once you've experienced most of the townsfolk's standard dialogue, it's a great game to put on a podcast to or marathon a TV series while playing. It still requires some attention and thought, but there's a lot of dead time where you're walking around, farming in the mine, organizing your boxes, etc. that you can fill with harmless background chatter. Of course, you should still keep the game audible, as the delightful intro tunes that kick-off each day are a joy to hear (my personal favorite is The Sun Can Bend An Orange Sky).

Boiled down, I suppose you can look at Stardew Valley as an elaborate checklist of fun things to do. It's more structured than Minecraft but promotes the same kind of open-ended exploration and freedom of expression with your farm, which honestly feels like the direction Harvest Moon was meant to head in. There's a slight sadness when you realize you've nearly ticked off all the boxes on the checklist, but while in the midst of the game, it certainly is enthralling. You'll find yourself constantly saying "I'll play just one more day" hours before you'll actually stop, and for good reason—Stardew Valley is a lovely plot of land.

Deus Ex: Invisible War - Thoughts

[contains minor spoilers]

Having played Deus Ex and its sequel Deus Ex: Invisible War relatively close together, one thing is certain—Invisible War gets a bit of a bum rap. Though it's not nearly as inventive as its predecessor, Invisible War makes a valiant effort to stay loyal to the classic Deus Ex formula while also trying to modernize it in some ways. Of course, the parts where it flounders stick out like a sore thumb, but its certainly not a betrayal to its namesake, nor a black mark on the series... it remains a mostly fun—albeit inferior—entry in the franchise.

Is the game a step down from the original? Yes. Streamlining is a common occurrence among renovated sequels/reboots nowadays (largely due to the necessity of being console-friendly), so it's easy to look back and see how evident the signs were in Invisible War: locations are smaller, the game-space is far more restrictive, the inventory has been simplified, and skills have been outright abandoned. Biomods still play a significant role in the game but you're reduced to only having six of them, with a good portion of the enhancements being entirely passive. And on top of that, the game is far easier to blow through since you can dispatch most humanoids with little effort and gather a squadron's worth of medkits, omni-tools, and biomod canisters.

Yet simplification is not always a bad thing. No longer do you have to meddle in bothersome inventory management or hit pause to turn on several of your biomods for a single attack. A denser environment leads to a more meaningful use of space, and a smaller pool of biomods creates tougher choices on how to augment your character (I was torn between high melee damage and stealth optimization). While I enjoy having an assortment of gameplay options available to me, I can also appreciate how Invisible War cuts straight to the point. It may be too harsh of a cut at times—there's fewer NPCs for world-building and every "alternate path" is sadly brief—but for the most part, the direction Ion Storm took here makes sense.

Again, this is not to say I loathed the unrestrictive nature of the first game; the most memorable parts of Deus Ex were where I backed myself into a corner and had to puzzle out how my melee build could survive. By contrast, most of Invisible War's problems were solved by oafishly thwacking someone over the noggin, rendering them unconscious in one or two blows. The game also slips up by making combat against some highly armored enemies mandatory in a couple of sections, forcing me to forego my nonlethal tendencies and utilize explosive ordnance. I may have been disappointed that playing the first game as a pacifist was so difficult, but Invisible War exacerbates this problem to a ludicrous degree. To add to the list of frustrations, the AI is pretty mindless, the combat feels dated, by 2003 standards, and friendlies become aggressive due to strange circumstances (like if you happen upon a random spiderbot). Never would I argue that the gameplay design of this entry trumps the first.

Invisible War is also not as long as its predecessor, clocking out to nearly half of its length. This was somewhat of a blessing since the game didn't have long enough legs to support such a grandiose adventure, though it nevertheless remains an appetizer to Deus Ex's entree. Thankfully the plot was surprisingly robust—I came out satisfied with where the story went and the direction each faction took. True, it's idiotic that Saman was far more shallow and atavistic than he first appeared to be (I thought he'd be more Marx and less Spanish Inquisition), but I felt the direction taken with JC's side was superb, since the Helios merger was clearly a questionable choice. The only downside to the narrative I can think of was that it wasn't well supported with the text found throughout the world (sure did find a lot of coffee books [and yes, I get the metaphor]), yet I still enjoyed the story just as much as the first.

After landing in Cairo, I soon came across a checkpoint in the South Medina. What was striking about this checkpoint wasn't just that the SSC guard was a woman, but on her desk was a picture of her husband, as denoted by the text hovering over it. I thought to myself, "See, this is the kind of creative flair that adds to the world and gives even the lowliest enemy some personality." One mission later, that guard (and only that guard) had been aggro'd for some reason I couldn't comprehend (did the camera above the checkpoint not like me?), so I had to avoid that spot for the rest of the game. I feel this perfectly captured the dualistic nature of Invisible War: on one hand you have a cool follow-up to one of the greatest PC games of yore, but on the other... it sure can be dumb about stuff.
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Images obtained from: visualwalkthroughs.com

Ori and the Blind Forest - Thoughts

Good lord have mercy, Ori and the Blind Forest is a stunning game. It follows the Rayman Origins school of thought regarding its visuals: high fidelity assets, lavish brush strokes, smooth animation, and rich colors occupying every square inch of the screen. Where it differs from Ubisoft's limbless hero is clearly in its attitude—Rayman wholly embraces the wacky, while Ori is elegant and swells with emotion. The creative talent displayed by Moon Studios' artists and musicians nearly justifies the price point for the game, which makes the excellent gameplay nestled beneath the breathtaking exterior that much more fantastic. Though I don't think its exactly an innovative entry in the Metroidvania genre, I can earnestly state that Ori and the Blind Forest is one of the best platformers to hit the market since Super Meat Boy's debut.

I wouldn't classify the story as "light", but the plot in Ori isn't as heavy as it may seem at first. Like many others, I saw the reveal trailer for the game and thought it would be another slower-paced 2D adventure like Limbo or Valiant Hearts, so imagine my surprise when I heard it was an unapologetic reflex-based platformer! Nevertheless, the story here does pull at the heartstrings, though it's wise enough not to tell its tale in a heavy-handed way, giving the player plenty of control after the prologue. It's a good story too!—rarely do we receive simple, humanless narratives about nature—but Ori is undeniably at its most evocative whenever it lets the art and music flourish together.

I really can't understate how majestic the game is in motion, as the orchestral strings swirl in the background, illuminating your perilous journey through paths beset with bramble. At times the soundtrack reminded me of Journey with how impactful its crescendos were, the main theme's recurring motif striking me as a plaintive cry for this ravaged world. There's a dark, somewhat somber beauty in Ori that's fascinating to behold, whether it be in the arduous climb of the Ginso Tree or desolate waste of the Forlorn Ruins. You feel at both in awe of the ancient land and also a little terrified of it, cautious that death could be lurking around every alluring corner.

Ori and the Blind Forest isn't shy to punish either—like with Super Meat Boy, you'll have to think quick on your feet if you hope to make it to the credits. Thankfully you have the brilliant manual checkpoint system from They Bleed Pixels at your fingertips, so you can drop down a momentary save whenever are getting a tad risky. Spending points for perks on a skill tree also provide some nice customization in the face of a mostly-linear game, though they feel like forgettable trinkets in comparison to the stellar abilities you'll find scattered throughout the world.

I greatly adored how the trench coat in Axiom Verge invigorated 2D traversal, so I have to give equal props to the Bash upgrade here. As soon as I began utilizing it did I understand its potential, Ori suddenly going from a "cool and fun" game to an absolutely amazing (and frenetic!) one. While I was a bit lukewarm on the game mechanically at first, by then end I adored using my skills in tandem, excited whenever I had my repertoire tested on the fly. The final challenge in particular was wrought with trial and error, but I faithfully endured Ori's lashings because the game was so fun to play. For as much as I detest the decision to include areas that can't be revisited (meaning it was impossible to 100% the game on my run—a veritable sin for the Metroidvania genre), I actually look forward to replaying the game in the future because I had such a good time with it the first time around.

Where Moon Studios could've taken an easy road and let the visuals be the focal point of their experience, they actually went the full mile and made Ori and the Blind Forest an engaging platformer with some clever mechanics. I stated earlier that I don't think it's entirely innovative—the combat in particular can be downright deplorable thanks to the glare effects on the bullets—but the way it comes together forms such a cohesive whole that I can't help but look on in wonder. Ori is a sharp, energetic, and resplendent entry that knows precisely wants to do, and surpasses those goals with flying colors. I don't think it's a stretch to say it'll be some time before we see a game of its spectacular caliber again.

Ys: Origin - Thoughts

My journey through the world of Ys momentarily ends on Ys: Origin, the modern prequel to the first two Ys books (er, games). Origin takes the Oath in Felghana formula and refines it, hitching the blood-pumping action onto a linear path to reduce backtracking. Gone is the open world and its towns, replaced by more interesting levels, better bosses, and an overall smoother progression. It still remains an eccentric Ys game at heart, with its hard focus on leveling and generally unambitious plot, but I'd contest that it's the best one I've played so far.

Back in Ys I, there's a gargantuan tower that you climb in the latter half of the game that's surprisingly long and full of labyrinthine corridors. Ys: Origin revisits this tower in its entirety, basing the entire narrative around the 25 floor behemoth. Thankfully the game takes ample liberties in re-imagining its rooms, treasures, and gimmicks, providing a completely new experience in a somewhat familiar setting. Perhaps the only thing I miss is visiting towns—for better or worse, the tower is your home now—but at least there's still a colorful cast of NPCs to chat with.

Speaking of, there's a better sense of camaraderie and fealty in Origin compared to the other titles. No longer do you play as the reticent Adol visiting a foreign land; you have the choice between three characters related to Ys in some particular way, each with their own unique storyline. My playthrough delved into the struggles of Yunica, an ax-wielding understudy of the Holy Order bound by duty to locate and rescue the goddesses of Ys. It was refreshing to play a game in this series where you're not some perfect savior that everyone falls in love with, but instead a sheltered local that has her own hurdles to overcome. While the plot follows a pretty unremarkable structure, the NPCs feel like they play a far bigger role and the pacing of the story beats is great, interrupting the game at exactly the right time.

As I said in my Oath in Felghana entry, the story and presentation in this series always takes a backseat to the fast-paced gameplay. The action piggybacks off of Felghana, but the magic is perfectly balanced (I preferred all spells equally) and the enemies have been tremendously improved. Though each area may be somewhat gimmicky, the environmental hazards and enemy combinations completely outclass Felghana, no longer feeling like needless filler before the adrenaline-fueled bosses. Looking back there's still some things the designers could tweak (like mixing more hazards and enemy types together), but what's here is still the best Falcom has offered.

I cannot understate how great the boss fights are either; the jump in boss quality from Felghana to Origin is almost as large as Ys I to Ys II. While I enjoyed only a minority of the bosses in Felghana, Origin knocks it out of the park with nearly every single one. No longer is it difficult to decipher what is happening or how to avoid attacks—within one or two attempts you should be able to devise a strategy for taking down your foe. Every encounter (outside of that goddamn bat again) is fluid and fast paced, demanding that you to learn your opponent's moveset in order to survive. Perhaps the only problem is that since it is a Ys game, grinding one additional level out will decimate a boss, so it can be tricky to find the middle-ground between "overwhelmingly difficult" and "yawn".

Also, have I said how great the magic is? Charge attacks never lose their charm even after the 100th time.

Whereas Ys I & II left me lukewarm by the end, I was thrilled to finish Ys Origin. It avoids so many pitfalls that the previous entries fall into, finally coming together to form a game where I could side with the fanbase's praise. The music is also fantastic and sublime, which is par for the course really, but needs to be stated anyway. I will confess that Origin is great because it stands on the shoulders of its successors—there were multiple points where I thought "oh, this is a cool throwback to Ys I"—but I don't think it diminishes from its own personal accomplishments. If the newer titles in the series are more like this, then it appears I have some games in the future to look forward to.

Firewatch - Thoughts

[contains spoilers]

Slower-paced games that are centered around natural, beautiful environments can elicit a weird reaction from me. Like, I enjoy gazing out upon a breathtaking vista as much as the next person, but for it to have a lasting impression there usually needs to be more to it. As much as I enjoy exploring the rich worlds of Everybody's Gone to the Rapture and The Vanishing of Ethan Carter, the crux of those experiences hinge on their mysteries for me. No matter how gorgeous a game looks, if my only action is to walk through it at a leisurely pace, I need something substantial to ponder in the meantime.

So as you can probably guess, I have some mixed feelings regarding Campo Santo's debut Firewatch.

There's promise here, no doubt. Right out of the gate Firewatch throws you a curve ball by exploring Henry's life pre-lookout days (albeit in a slightly ham-fisted way), doing the bold thing and—*gasp*—giving the protagonist a compelling backstory. At first I was a little puzzled over its inclusion but I reasoned it was a pretty smart move: it inducts the player into Henry's tumultuous past and gives them a reason to be hesitant towards Delilah. The way the game resolves Julia'a presence through Alzheimer's is a really clever and uncommon thing to see too: it allows her to persist in the story but prompts the player to move on.

The push-and-pull nature of Delilah and Henry's relationship is stupendous, easily becoming the focal point of the game. Even pit against the majesty of the softly rendered Wyoming wilderness, the moments where Delilah radios in to talk to you are among the high points of your days; the banter is well-written (though a mite sarcastic at times) and the small choices you make in the conversations feel like they matter. There isn't a significant payoff for your decisions, but I feel the moment-to-moment challenge of choosing an answer is worthy of merit despite narrative inevitability. This isn't to downplay the visuals either; like The Witness, the game deserves praise for its vibrant color tones, varied locales, and soothing atmosphere. Firewatch may be short and move at a snail's pace, but its characters and world feel well realized and very much alive.

I can't really say the same about the story, unfortunately. I'm not bothered by the fact that there's only one ending or that the central mystery leads nowhere—I'm disappointed that Firewatch steered away from Delilah and Henry's relationship. I do think the subversion it took with conspiracy theories was admirable, expanding on how isolation and paranoia can mix to brew a very potent (and nearly tenable!) concoction. As much as one may detest the numerous red herrings, every event and action in the game has a reason for unfolding the way it did, though I imagine many players will get flustered by the abundant amount of information stored in Ned's hideaway (plus they have to dispel their own convictions while digesting each factoid). It admittedly stumbles a bit in the delivery, but I respect the game for what it was trying to achieve.

However, the conspiratorial element doesn't compliment Delilah and Henry's relationship as much as it distracts from it. The ingredients are there for a very fascinating tale about human connection deprived of physical interaction—both seek to escape into one another, yet for different reasons—but it feels undercooked by the finale. Despite how well the ending captured the poignancy of their miscommunication, I felt that if the game had spent all of its effort on exploring the nuance of their relationship, I would've been wholly onboard. Instead, it pushes the player into pursuing something fishy out in the woods, treating the park as suspect rather than letting it evolve into a welcomed, shared experience. I think the discovery of Brian's body being the catalyst for Delilah's departure works well, but there could've been a more natural way to tie it into the story instead of using it as a springboard for Ned's manic antics. The father/son material is tragic and works well on paper, but it should've remained secondary to the main characters.

A lot of this makes it seem like I take umbrage with one single facet out of the entire experience, but the problem is that a game of this particular style rests on its story. I can see some being sated by the delightful visuals alone, but for me it was different; near the end after I had fetched the ax, I realized that traversing the park had become "normalized", meaning all I had left was to anticipate was where the mystery would lead. The tension of discussing Julia with Delilah had been put on hold, and our own personal insecurities (besides the paranoia) appeared to have dissipated. All that was left for me to ponder was what awaited me deep in the forest, but that...

I guess that just wasn't enough.

We're at a point with video games where the most run-of-the-mill topics can be explored and made interesting. Gone Home was phenomenal not just because it made a single house feel lived-in, but that its heartwarming tale turned the ordinary exotic. Firewatch feels like it took the supernatural bent of Gone Home and wanted to delve into that deception more thoroughly, enabling the player to become as lonely and paranoid as the emotionally wracked character s/he's controlling. It consciously shelves the humane aspect of the story in doing so, which is a great pity since it brushed upon one of the greatest sources of loneliness there is—a long distance relationship that goes nowhere. I didn't dislike it, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm sad it shied away from (what I feel is) its full potential.