Cupzeh

A masterpiece of procedural game design and one of, if not THE best, action roguelikes in the world. Spelunky 2 is superficially charming and simple, but hides gruelling difficulty just beneath the surface. A player's journey over the hurdles of Spelunky 2 is fraught with early peril and failure, but cumulative knowledge, expertise, and smart decisions crystallised over hundreds of playthroughs transforms it into something that simply cannot be put down. The pure simplicity of Spelunky 2 nails it in place. The tutorial can be beaten in under a minute. Movement is erratic and quick, especially during troubled moments of gameplay. Bombs and ropes present solutions not only to ease platforming, but also to overcome enemies and traps, the majority of which are injected with splendid personality from a perspective of design and gameplay. Spelunky 2's progression is based on knowledge; it offers a sliver of metaprogression through 'tunnels' which grant access to later levels from the hub, but this is neither the most efficient nor enjoyable way to play the game. By starting from the beginning every time, a player can rack up gold and items early on which grants them a better overall chance of surviving the run. It can be tempting to call Spelunky 2 'cheap', but once a player has a good grip on the game, this temptation begins to dwindle until it vanishes entirely. A first-time player may feel exhilarated when they reach Olmec for the first time. After a hundred or so playthroughs, they might feel frustrated if they don't effortlessly defeat him. Spelunky's early game quickly becomes a comfortable ritual marked by the occasional rarity, which only serves to accelerate the inevitable, sweaty terror which develops as soon as one reaches Neo Babylon. Spelunky 2 contains a plethora of traps, enemies, and unfortunate situations which can lead to instant death. This injects the game with a degree of uncertainty; it demands the player's full attention span at any time. Over the course of a standard 20-30 minute playthrough, this can cause a phenomenal flow state to emerge in which the player becomes hyper-aware of every danger in their vicinity, a sensation which becomes necessary to guarantee survival in the game's lethal later levels. Thanks to a variety of progressional 'choke points', Spelunky 2 provides entertainment to gamers of all skill levels. Beating Tiamat is enough for some people. For others, the game is not over until they have vanquished Hundun. Thrill-seekers can comb the game for its variety of secret levels, or attempt to reach the final horizon of the Cosmic Ocean - and even fewer will attempt to clear the whole thing. My personal tolerance was the space right before reaching the Cosmic Ocean, but the dream of one day achieving that goal compels me to open the game whenever it crosses my mind. All of this and more can be said about the game without drawing attention to its wonderfully bizarre yet completely fair procedural generation, which somehow manages to provide the player with a guaranteed road to victory in 99 out of every 100 runs. Alternate paths and the aforementioned secret levels prevent the loop from becoming stale even with the game's natural freshness in mind. Bundled with exceptional artwork, sound design, and music, Spelunky 2 is truly a masterpiece of the roguelike and platforming genres. It is a game that can not be easily forgotten; so simple a child could play it, and yet so compelling and nail-bitingly difficult that it could satisfy the palates of the most experienced gamers. It is a work of ceaseless artistry.

Cult of the Lamb suffers from an issue of ambition; it attempts to satisfy every craving in the nebulous genre of 'simulation' but succeeds in only a few distinct areas. While the game offers a serviceable and coherent experience, many of its more charming elements are buried beneath an indistinct layer which prevents the game from coming into its own. The art design of Cult of the Lamb is its most endearing aspect. While the juxtaposition of cartoonish graphics with a morbid premise eventually begins to wear, the game is endlessly busy with small details and skilful animation, a theme also present in the UI. Woolhaven, the game's DLC, continues this expertise in aplomb and marks some of the game's most impressive visuals. Music is another standout, combining suitably macabre tones with the game's cartoonish aesthetic. Tracks can vary from hopeful to ominous but always contain an undertone of the forbidden. Sound design is effective at communicating alertness to the player and suitably punchy in combat, never once becoming overblown or annoying. Primarily, Cult of the Lamb is a base builder mixed with action-roguelite dungeon crawling. Followers of the player's cult must be fed and its premises kept spotless to prevent disease. Amidst these two major concerns, the player must consolidate 'devotion', a currency which followers bank over time, and resources to fund further upgrades to their cult. Weapons, passive tarot card buffs, and relics are among the treasures rewarded for running a good cult. The game settles itself into a comfortable loop within the first hour of gameplay, occasionally introducing small mechanics to prevent total sterility. Cult of the Lamb's combat toes the line between intriguing and flavourless, offering very little in the way of variety which should rightfully be the most engaging part of a roguelite. This is an impressive conclusion to arrive at considering the game's surprising variety of weapons, magic spells, and enemies. While the individual areas are distinct with their own gauntlets of unique foes, the player will find themselves rarely challenged and relying on the same strategy to clear every encounter. Base building forms the significantly more enjoyable slice of the game. An incredible assortment of unlocks and decorations keeps the player solidly engaged with progression and provides a clean incentive to gather followers and raise their levels. Updates to the game have added, among other things, a number of entertaining buildings and mechanics designed specifically to enhance this area of the game. However, despite Cult of the Lamb offering prime opportunities to cause mischief, many of the interactions enjoyed at the mercy of one's followers are stifled by a wholesome lack of character injected into each disciple. Requests alleviate this problem somewhat, but the game does struggle to ascend its NPCs beyond their intrinsic value to the player's progression. As a side note, the game's story does not squarely approach the level of morbidity one would expect from the premise. In an attempt to sell its occult label, much of the game's dialogue (when it is not attempting to be a cutesy cartoon) borders on unreadably dense for conclusions that end up saying quite a lot of nothing. At the very least, the game's antagonists are fittingly pompous and looming, although the ending could not be any more predictable. In an attempt to distil what is conceptually a rather ambitious game, Cult of the Lamb approaches an unsatisfying peak which leaves the player in need of some serious robustness. By the time the game approaches its mid-point, the cult becomes membranous and without identity; individual followers blend into their monotonous lives and stray into the territory of forgetful before they inevitably (and rather quickly) die of old age and are replaced. Unless, of course, they are revived, which is a charming thing. In conclusion, while Cult of the Lamb succeeds in gluing itself together, my time with the game left me desiring a little bit more from just about everything.

Outward is a hard sell. It is a game that homes in on a particular gameplay experience which naturally makes it quite alienating. For someone, Outward is a terrible mess filled with nondescript 'jank', endless antagonism, and little in the way of 'polish' most commonly seen in larger titles. However, for another type of person, it is the best game ever made, the sort of game they have always dreamed of. Outward (intentionally) defies standard progression: character strength is determined mostly by equipment, magic is not a 'tool' that players can choose to ignore but a concession which requires a sacrifice of maximum HP proportional to mana gained, a permanent decision that requires passing through a dangerous area. Items which grant buffs or defensive bonuses are not 'aids' but necessary sacrifices if a player wants to overcome a difficult enemy. Combat is clunky by design. Movement, item usage, quest design, survival, inventory management, and navigation are also clunky by design. Outward attempts to push the player back at every turn, sometimes going as far as to inflict permanent losses. There is no 'game over', but this is not always preferable - a variety of 'defeat scenarios' can often be much worse than being forced to simply reload a save. To an inexperienced player, this can be extraordinarily frustrating, but it is important to remember that every clunky decision in Outward's game deisgn is made in service to the experience it is trying to provide. Victory is like nothing else in Outward. Defeat your first bandit or two and you will feel good about yourself. Defeat a Manticore, a Shell Horror, or a unique boss, and you will feel like you are on top of the world. Complete a quest, and the satisfaction of new, powerful items in your inventory will encourage you to seek greater challenges. There is a definite 'peak' of character strength, but the danger Outward presents in spite of this peak does not allow the player to become truly comfortable. Every victory is earned through clenched teeth, and every reward is appreciated. Very few games can satisfy this itch. There are negatives, naturally, to the experience that Outward provides. The difficulty, especially for new players, can be overwhelming and performs the majority of the game's polarising legwork. The world, while genuinely intriguing and elevated by the player's small place in it, can become tiresome on a long playthrough. Many reviews of Outward criticise the game's story, but I believe the faction quests more than serve their purpose, not to mention the surprising longevity they provide. The animation work does lack a certain punch, but the surprising variety of enemies keeps the combat from becoming indistinct. What's left? Outward's musical score is excellent, providing mystical or even heroic motiffs with a soundtrack that features incredible diversity. Some tracks have wonderful variations depending on the time of day. Sound design is a mixed bag, but offers serviceable and (most importantly) recognisable snippets. Depending on the player's preference regarding their fantasy settings, the writing may come off as either flavourless or down-to-earth. It is at least realistic; many games suffer from a problem of characters not speaking like human beings, but this is not one of them. In conclusion, Outward belongs to a class of video games that often travel under the radar of the industry. It is not a game made for everyone, and that is Outward's greatest strength. To some, it provides a journey that borders on unforgettable. If there is one thing I would like you to remember about this review, it is that games like Outward are among the most important games in existence. They cannot be allowed to go extinct, and the people that make them must not be ignored or forgotten. There is no better example of a 'passion project' than this game. Every inch of it is lit up with love. I will remember it for a long time.

Crimson Desert is the strangest video game I have ever played. It defies traditional scoring; this '7' is an admission of my ineptitude. It is a number that occupies an unsatisfactory space and answers zero questions regarding the game's quality. Is a '7' good? Bad? Much like Crimson Desert, it flip-flops between one and the other, qualifies nothing but confusion, specifically MY confusion when playing this game. I cannot in good conscience declare that I dislike Crimson Desert because it is trying so earnestly to be a good game. In a developed environment of thoroughly 'solved' AAA game design, Crimson Desert is an outlier. It is a messy hodgepodge of mechanics and inspiration, much of which it wears cleanly on its sleeves. One can spot Red Dead Redemption II and The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom at a glance, but it's the occasional threat to break through into something truly unique which transforms the game's childlike enthusiasm into something respectable. Firstly, the environment design, which coincides splendidly with the caveats of exploration and puzzle solving. Crimson Desert is endlessly vertical and busy, oftentimes downright beautiful when the lighting isn't so muddy. Every inch of the game feels lived even in regards to its somewhat lifeless NPCs thanks to the extraordinary amount of attention paid to the finest details. Puzzles are diagetic and feature minimal handholding, only conceding to the odd hint whenever appropriate; use your stab attack to impale your sword in a pedestal and use it as a lever, for example. The 'Abyss' puzzles in particular are a treat to solve, never quite long enough to tread into frustrating territory, making equal use of the game's verticality and tools to remain unique in spite of their simplicity. The true 'mess' of Crimson Desert begins with the combat, which strikes an uncomfortable chord between expressive and rigid which leaves the player never feeling quite at home with their options, a dissonance most commonly felt in boss fights, which (while meticulous, flashy, and visually distinct) leave the player without much of the freedom that makes the rest of the game such a delight to play. Not 'bad' by any stretch, but feeling somewhat incomplete. What can certainly be called 'bad' is the game's story. 'Neglectful' may be a better term. I would believe wholeheartedly that the entire game was created first and the story written as an afterthought. Characters exist within scenes and nowhere else, owning little presence within battles or the open world. Villains suffer from this even moreso, popping into existence to satisfy their boss battle and vanishing off the face of the earth afterwards. Even the main villains, which suffer just as much from poor characterisation as the main characters, enjoy very little importance in the game's cadaverous plotline which jumps drunkenly from one beat to the next. The most heartbreaking thing about this is that the game has the skeleton of an interesting plot but seems purposefully intent on burying it beneath neglect, mystique, and typically gruff fantasy dialogue, and not in the same way Dark Souls does well, to satisfy the inevitable comparison suffered by all modern video games. Crimson Desert's impressive dedication to scope ended my playthrough after about 125 hours, far and away the longest single player game I have ever completed, and this may even provide a decent excuse for its lackluster plotline and shaky direction. I will not remember a single line of dialogue from this game other than Kliff's endearing and confident 'yes' which the developers reuse to no end, but the game's cities and townships, even the general silhouette of its world, the contours of its design - just the sheer cheek of the concept, the ambition on display, will most likely remain in my head for at least a few years. I recommend this game. If someone told me they did not enjoy Crimson Desert, I would not have to ask why. I am glad it exists. I wish more games like Crimson Desert could exist. Most ideas within the constraints of game development never see the light of day thanks to a combination of overenthusiasm and lack of ability to deliver. In this regard, Crimson Desert is like a shooting star which has crashed into the earth. I desperately hope that it is not the last of its kind.