Have you ever noticed how, in a typical RPG (and, now that I think about it, most games in general) battles don’t really mean anything? How many times have you defeated a miniboss, only to have it stand back up and laugh at you, saying “I have underestimated you! You are a worthy opponent! This is not the end! We shall meet again!” and make a getaway? Think about it. How many times do you beat up Balrog in Cave Story only to have him fly away without a scratch? How is Black Knight able to keep running away after Shovel Knight stabs the hell out of him? How come you black out if you lose a Pokémon battle, but none of the other trainers do? And how does the big bad villain always seem to get away, even if their HP hits zero, so they can reappear
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I thought that both the very beginning and the final area of the game were fantastic, dripping with shocking emotional dilemmas, but the middle 80% of the game’s content seemed like it relied too much on oddball humor and not much else. The game hilariously plays with expectations and has no shortage of genuinely witty satire of its genre, and I found myself amused by nearly all of it, but after the first two hours as I was walking across long linear worlds and listening to dozens of characters try to tell me jokes, I started to wonder where the emotional gravity had gone. “Why is this game making me laugh, when I thought it was supposed to make me cry?” I asked myself. “Where are the feelings? After such an excellent and powerful prologue, why is the game taking so long to show me more?”
Later that night, as I was lying awake in bed, the answer hit me: the game was quirky and lighthearted because I was sparing everyone’s life. I wasn’t playing as a murderer. If you want this game to have drama, you have to cause it. And I think that’s where all the hype is coming from, all the talk about player choice. This is a game about being a tree-hugging pacifist, or a murderous psychopath who kills anyone who gets in the way, or anything in between. You only need to live with whomever you decide to be, because the game won’t let you ignore what you have
I thought that both the very beginning and the final area of the game were fantastic, dripping with shocking emotional dilemmas, but the middle 80% of the game’s content seemed like it relied too much on oddball humor and not much else. The game hilariously plays with expectations and has no shortage of genuinely witty satire of its genre, and I found myself amused by nearly all of it, but after the first two hours as I was walking across long linear worlds and listening to dozens of characters try to tell me jokes, I started to wonder where the emotional gravity had gone. “Why is this game making me laugh, when I thought it was supposed to make me cry?” I asked myself. “Where are the feelings? After such an excellent and powerful prologue, why is the game taking so long to show me more?”
Later that night, as I was lying awake in bed, the answer hit me: the game was quirky and lighthearted because I was sparing everyone’s life. I wasn’t playing as a murderer. If you want this game to have drama, you have to cause it. And I think that’s where all the hype is coming from, all the talk about player choice. This is a game about being a tree-hugging pacifist, or a murderous psychopath who kills anyone who gets in the way, or anything in between. You only need to live with whomever you decide to be, because the game won’t let you ignore what you have