This has a distinct Quintet-esque flair to it: a solemn world-restoration myth communicated through gameplay that shallowly evokes its contemporaries, although here it’s 2.5D platforming instead of hack-and-slash. Protagonist Porch Arsia’s soul is mistakenly reaped by bumbling spirit guide and dessert auteur Straynap, and the duo must retrieve the “petals” of her soul from around the purgatorial plane of Napple Town. An assemblage of both humans and surreal creatures¹ live in Napple Town day-to-day, and some of them have inadvertently imbued themselves with Porch’s petals. Merely visiting them throughout Napple Town yields little, however, as each denizen of the town simultaneously exists in another form located within one of four seasonal wildernesses outside the city gates. To restore herself, Porch must meet both the town and seasonal variations of each community member and reconcile their respective problems.

A systems-driven game with one amazing core system and a whole bunch of shitty ones in its orbit. DMA Design salvages a lot of elements in here by threading everything through the game’s driving mechanics, which perfectly straddle the line between fiddly accuracy and easy-going simplicity. The taxis clogging the streets give you that front wheel drive that’ll keep you from ending up nose-first in the bay, but if you comb through old parking lots and alleys you’ll find much sportier cars to outspeed police cruisers and pull ahead in races. In the early game, where your guns do jack squat, running someone over repeatedly becomes the standard mode of operation for each mission, turning your car into your most powerful weapon. Once it takes a certain amount of abuse, it’ll ignite, ending its life as a giant explosive that will nuke everything in the vicinity and let you get away scot-free – assuming you’re not stuck in motion or getting dragged out of the car, in which case you’ll go up in smoke as well. Every mission element that touches the driving in some way, shape, or form automatically benefits from its depth of handling and potential for carnage.

The childhood nostalgia angle hits well as a thumbnail teaser or a loopable GIF of warm glow dusk, but Boku no Natsuyasumi 2 is less concerned with portraying the ideal child’s summer and more with letting the disarming naivete of your avatar Boku open up the reality around him. “Stark” may not be the right word here, because for all of the pain and intrigue that worms its way into his surroundings, just as many of his days are filled with genuine joy or tame ennui. But for all the words that get filtered into question marks in his brain, culminating in exaggerated nods or head scratches, they additionally get transmitted directly to the player, almost as if Boku functions less as a living being and more as a probe to move around the world and worm into people’s hearts. When he actually intervenes in the plot, it’s a rarity, and almost always initiated by him alone without the explicit intention of the player.

There’s two possible games here: one where you spam main character Max’s Egress spell to restart fights while retaining all the EXP you’ve gained, and one where you tough it out and push through even as the enemies far outpace you. The difference is difficult to reconcile because going the latter route directly interferes with one of the game’s strengths: its robust cast mixing together fantasy, sci-fi, and horror influences. Laser-equipped ancient automaton Adam, alien hatchling Domingo, and final dragon survivor Bleu all show up in your party effectively useless unless you’re willing to devote time to grinding them up, which blunts the enthusiasm of bringing them in. On the other side, the game is better balanced than you’d initially think for those looking to run through with a core group of characters with quicker scaling, especially since the back quarter throws two secret units at you that will instantly swing your team back into contention with the roughest forces you’ll encounter. It helps that characters can be bought back from the dead in a game where cash flows freely from every enemy killed; on some level I would prefer if the economy was less overwhelmingly stacked in the player’s favor or if the post-battle pillage threw less amazing freebie weapons their way, but it definitely helps smooth out the curve when the difficulty dials up in the last 10 battles or so.

It’s tempting to split the game down the middle here somewhere to try to rectify its conflicts: overworld versus dungeons, story versus gameplay, even Koizumi’s Clock Town versus Aonuma’s outer villages.¹ Pithy comments like “an official edgy ROM hack” don’t do justice to the staggering depth of the developer’s notebooks, tossing out off-kilter concepts on the fly and slamming them into the game with just months until the game went gold. At the same time, this pernicious crunch led to peaks and valleys in quality, a devastating proposition when building on the bones of Ocarina of Time, which leaned heavily on holistic grandeur and originality to avoid putting the shallow gameplay front and center. The opening hours do this no justice either: the intro and disconcerting warp into the clock tower to meet the Happy Mask Salesman sell the game’s dedication to incoherent spaces and chaotic personalities early, and your jaunt around the town on the first cycle gives a glimpse into the engine behind the emotional core, but it’s seized away just as quickly when it shoos you out to tackle Woodfall, the most forgettable stretch of the entire game. The intricacies of the lives of those in Clock Town and the malignant effects that the Skull Kid has wrought on each will have to wait.

Múseca’s initial launch, with its shop-based progression system that required grinding the game’s story mode, inevitably doomed the game to obscurity. Beyond hastily released updates that unlocked all of the charts and removed the influence from the unlockable “grafica” characters on score, support for the game tapered off only a couple of years after release, leaving fans to add standard features like leaderboard widgets, hard mode, and end-of-play continue settings. It’s a shame that the botched concept mulched one of Bemani’s best concepts: think Beatmania if every button was a turntable.¹ Each button is spaced such that your pinky-to-thumb handspan will only reach two at any given time, with three on top and two on the bottom. This should theoretically make only the top middle button a shared point between the two hands, but the higher difficulty charts quickly strain that.

It’s a Crash-like with a twist: you can emanate a magnetic field for either polarity, north or south. Magnetized items (with color-coded polarity for your convenience) will respond appropriately, where if you use the opposite polarity, you’ll be pulled towards the object, and if you use the same polarity, you’ll be pushed away. In practice the implementation is rather ticky-tacky, with the actual interactable set being primarily jump pads and swings/ziplines. Not necessarily a compelling hook on its own, and indeed, the game on first pass lacks the elements that might put a game over the top. Dig in past the sparse toolkit and punitive level design, however, and you’ll find a game that never seems to repeat an idea twice while layering opportunities for advanced momentum transfer throughout.

Although my initial impression felt like the callback-heavy aesthetic and the linear level design were undercooked, Super Mario 3D Land now reads to me as compact and focused. 3D Mario traditionally struggles with providing proper applications for the nuances of its movement mechanics from second-to-second, which 3D Land solves simply by keeping its platforms tight and giving them dynamic properties. Early levels have more continuous topographies with explorable elements similar to the Galaxy games, but by the halfway point the paradigm shifts to providing momentary safe zones in between obstacle gauntlets. Each gauntlet combines a dynamic platform type with an enemy type by plopping a few clusters down in a wide arrangement to give players flexible routes without allowing them to trivialize the whole thing (as soon as the difficulty curve deems that acceptable, anyway). That’s meaty enough to form a whole game around, and 3D Land pushes that to its absolute limit; even with the project’s smaller scope, they shoved nearly 100 full levels into it!

You can imagine the theoretical version of this game per the emergent, systemic gameplay I discussed in my recent interactive fiction article. Without the need to create unique assets for everything, it would be easier to apply many more of the draft (in this game, a spell using notes plucked on strings wound to a distaff) effects to each object, and universal actions could have been integrated in to allow more freeform puzzle solutions. Indeed, the manual here says “There is more than one way to solve many of the puzzles.” but then immediately hedges: “In fact some of the activities… [are] simply experiences for you to enjoy.” And yes, many, many of the things you can do in this game are one-off hardcoded interactions to reward you for sketching out a puzzle solution that might have made sense in a game that had the resources to make it feasible. The only puzzle with multiple solutions (blunting or twisting the sword in the forge) is a binary-choice fail-safe in case you missed the sharpening draft from earlier, less of an expression of the malleability of the object and more of a shrug to let the player carry on.

I hopped on the roguelike bandwagon recently because of some friends, specifically variations on the classic tile-based format (although I also put a fair amount of time into Slay the Spire alongside these). Pretty quickly I got sucked in by the short run length and critical thinking required to succeed, and having extremely quick combat that prioritizes positioning and item usage helped mitigate the tedium that other turn-based combat systems fall into. I still have a lot of time left to invest in these games to hit a proper clear though, so I didn’t want to dedicate full reviews to any of them.