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Category: Every Game I’ve Finished

  • Consume Me (Hsia/Thomson, 2025)

    Consume Me (Hsia/Thomson, 2025)

    Developed/Published by: Jenny Jiao Hsia, AP Thomson, Jie En Lee, Violet W-P, Ken “coda” Snyder / Hexecutable
    Released: 07/08/2025
    Completed: 19/02/2026
    Completion: Finished it, A++.

    Hmm. You know, often with these essays I can tie myself in knots with structure, trying to introduce things gradually, poetically [“what are you talking about.”–Ed.] but sometimes I think it makes sense to just say things really plainly up front and then pick it apart from there. So.

    Consume Me is a solid, engaging life sim with immaculate vibes, held back by repetitive minigames, frustrating UI, ambiguous themes and an ending that is, I think, a cop out.

    Phew.

    Let’s try and work through that, eh?

    Consume Me is an autobiographical game from Jenny Jiao Hsia and AP Thomson (who actually worked together on Fortune-499, which I didn’t even realise when I played that) and it absolutely cleared house at the IGF in 2025, picking up the Nuovo Award, Wings Award and the Seamus McNally Grand Prize. It’s self described as a game about feeling “stupid, fat, lazy, and ugly in high school” which I think basically everyone reading this probably recognises (you’re reading about a video game on the internet, don’t lie to me) and explores that via classic life sim mechanics and mini-games: days progress, and on each day there will be some set things you have to do (such as eating your lunch) and then you have a set amount of free time during which you can choose some other things to do, which affect your character’s growth, generally with the idea that you’re building your character to some ideal that either you or the game has decided. So, for example, in Consume Me you can choose to read a book to improve your academic skill; or work out to increase your athletic skill (and lose some “bites”, the game’s obfuscation of calories.)

    Like in other life sims, these actions have a cost more than just using up a time unit; they can cost you happiness, energy, or even increase your hunger, which require that you perform actions that can restore them: so, for example, you can eat a protein bar to feel fuller, or read a comic book for pleasure rather than something educational.

    Of course, your choices can be constrained. Each week you’ve got a series of goals that have (generally) been set by Jenny’s own expectations (represented by herself in the mirror making demands.) So Jenny requires that she keep to a strict diet–meaning you can’t eat too much at lunch or need to waste precious time on working out. Jenny might demand that she score particularly well on a test at school that week, requiring you read books or do practice tests–which might be difficult to fit in if she also needs to do chores. You need to walk the dog, clean the bathroom and keep up on laundry or you’ll be stuck wearing dirty clothes–though those actions at least earn allowance.

    Split up into 5 chapters of a week each, this design really works. I really appreciate that the game is very open about what it is: a strict time/resource management puzzle where you’re trying to absolutely min-max everything to reach obvious goals. If you’re familiar with life sims, you probably know that even with the ones that promise a more fuzzy “play it out and see what you get” experience can quickly devolve into min-maxing and save scumming, because it’s almost impossible to stop yourself. Better just be honest and say “this is a puzzle.”

    At first, too, it’s going to seem great. The art–by Hsia and Jie En Lee–is perfect. It’s simple and incredibly evocative; cute without being cloying. Along with the music and sound design (from Ken “coda” Snyder and Violet W-P) you feel absolutely wrapped up in Consume Me’s world. And the mini-games are pretty fun to learn. Lunches start with a balancing mechanic but that (unusually) gets completely discarded for a Blokus-like game where you’re trying to fit a small range of lunch options onto your plate without eating too many bites. When doing makeup or cleaning you control Jenny’s hand and swish it around to try and get as much done before the timer runs out. When exercising you try to position Jenny’s body to match hand and head markers, trying to move slowly because otherwise she flails around wildly. Laundry involves folding clothes; reading involves trying to keep Jenny’s eye on the book and away from distractions; walking the dog is a slightly odd game that reminds me of something or other where you’re tethered to the dog, and either you or the dog rotate around the other and you have to time actions to actually move forward (while also picking up money and letting the dog relieve themselves.)

    The problem is that as a min-max focused life sim, you are going to want to nail these minigames, and if you don’t… you’re going to want to save scum. I think there’s some important stuff to say about this in terms of the game’s themes, but if we take it purely mechanically… you are going to get sick of these minigames. They don’t change in any way across the game, and some–notably the makeup mini game–you will do every single day, possibly more than once, and that they’re quick is not really an excuse, because it gets really boring once you fully grasp how to play them.

    What’s arguably worse is that I never got comfortable with the UI. The game has that traditional life-sim look–you’ve got to have a big piece of art of the main character at all times, I genuinely agree with that–but it means that everything you need to do is in this infinite scroll menu at the bottom and other information is in the large sidebar. I don’t know what it is–maybe the way the game returns you to the main screen from mini games, maybe the lack of tiny icons for categories–but I spent significantly more time than I’d like scrolling through this menu back and forth even when I knew exactly what I wanted to do; it was easily as annoying as the interface in Zombi, and that’s from 1986 and by a group of French teenagers. I eventually worked out that by pushing the right stick(!) I could quickly switch categories, but that never solved the falderal of trying to use the sidebar, where your goals often have to be scrolled in order for you to see them all. Generally meaning that there’d be this long sequence where I had to flick back and forth between the sidebar and menu repeatedly to decide what I was going to do next, but actually doing way more scrolling and pausing the game than I intended. Not fun!!!

    To be honest, I think I could have accepted these issues if as Consume Me went on I didn’t lose sight of what it’s about. When the game begins, it’s implying itself to be a life sim satire of the pressures on a teen girl, with meaningful growth replaced with an unhealthy drive to lose weight. Indeed the game opens with a sensitive warning that the game’s focus disordered eating might be stressful or upsetting, and I think most players will cede to the game’s unhealthy demands thinking they’re playing along until the other shoe drops; the one that recasts the behaviour the game forces on you. But it doesn’t really happen! After the first chapter, the diet aspect of the game recedes into the background as just one of your tasks, and the expectations of the rest of the game’s system don’t just force but reward even more extreme, unhealthy behaviour.

    Now, that Consume Me has a nice, crunchy set of systems is perhaps the main pleasure of the game, I think it even makes sense that they’re open enough to be exploitable, but it’s interesting that the game actively encourages you to give Jenny an absolutely warped existence. At one point in-game you’re given an extra goal to do 16 activities in one day (you normally get 2) and there’s an achievement to write two essays in one day, which requires something absolutely absurd like 28 actions. This means that you have to abuse energy drinks, coffee and staying up late to hit your goals, and the issue is the game’s punishments are limited (headaches) and the things you lose–energy, happiness, fullness–are restored easily by abusing other actions like changing into clothes that increase them again or spamming zero time-cost actions. 

    As I said, I kept expecting this to all come down on Jenny’s head but it just doesn’t. Now, you could argue it would be too obvious, too moralistic, but I think it would have been interesting to use the player’s urge to min-max against them. To do something like show them that they kept Jenny up till 4am after drinking 12 energy drinks and then made her do eight yoga sessions in a row, and then show how genuinely unhealthy that would be. Maybe twist it so that it turns out that the puzzle you were supposed to be solving was giving Jenny a balanced life.

    The game instead has a mechanical implication that you can do all of these things and get away with them, because Jenny’s big “I can’t do this any more” moment has nothing to do with any of that: instead it’s that her long distance boyfriend breaks up with her (like you obviously know is going to happen.)

    Now, in some respects, I shouldn’t criticise this; it appears to be one of the most autobiographical things in the game. But at the same time, it draws into focus that Consume Me’s issue is that the decision to be autobiographical works in complete cross purpose to the game’s largely mechanically-focused play. It turns out that nothing you’re doing matters. The mechanics are not actually thematically important; indeed, after the break-up the wheels come off entirely and you experience an extensive (if interactive) endgame cutscene where Jenny imagines the future that she believed she was working towards and then the real future that Hsia has.

    This segment reminded of Despelote, another game that pulls the curtain back at the end of the game in a way that I think could feel like a cop out, but which rings true because it more cleanly lampshades the game’s fictions to help push the player towards the underlying truth. Here instead the turn to full autobiography feels purely solipsistic. The Jenny you created–or thought you were creating–is secondary to the “real” one, and it ends up with (I think) a far more cliché ending: the “well, it seemed really important when I was a teenager, but I ended up who I was going to be and that’s alright. Good actually.”

    Consume Me might be a pretty decent life sim–minigames and UI issues aside–but it’s complicated by how much it implies it’s about something important but it really isn’t about it at all. I’m not sure it’s ultimately about anything, really, which makes game rewarding you for min-maxing dieting feel… well, I don’t have enough knowledge to say if it’s actively harmful (I do think the game is pretty obvious and consistent that what Jenny is doing is ridiculous) but it does feel like there’s something ill-conceived about the entire thing.

    Oh well. It is really cute though.

    Will I ever play it again? I absolutely rinsed this, because of my min-max brain problems, so I have no reason to.

    Final Thought: Something I didn’t mention–couldn’t quite find a place for it–is that more than for its potentially problematic mechanics, Consume Me has led to some controversy for featuring a religious aspect (a bit like and Roger…). I think the game’s store description is a bit disingenuous: it says of Jesus “don’t worry! He doesn’t do anything” but he actually does: he gives you a new mechanic, praying, that solves a tremendously frustrating issue you have in the game’s chapter 5 difficulty spike.

    Probably the weirdest thing about the introduction of religion is it’s introduced with an unbelievably long section where a song that I can only describe as having “Mountain Goats energy” plays (Is it supposed to be funny? I honestly couldn’t tell.) I wouldn’t have minded religion appearing (I didn’t have a big issue with it in and Roger… and it is a part of a lot of people’s lives) other than it happens at the point in the game where you think Jenny’s demands on herself are catching up to her and the game is intentionally taking you to a point where you can’t keep up, and then it just straight up fixes the problem. It’s another example of the uneasy mix of mechanics and autobiography–I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it really does feel like Consume Me might have worked better leaning more on the and Roger…/Florence design, taking the player through the minigames to tell Hsia’s story without all the potentially problematic life sim cruft. It’s even got the same teeth brushing!

  • Smash Ping Pong (Konami, 1987)

    Smash Ping Pong (Konami, 1987)

    Developed/Published by: Konami / Nintendo
    Released: 30/05/1987
    Completed: 09/04/2025
    Completion: Beat a computer opponent!

    Smash Ping Pong is a bit of a mystery in the Famicom Disk System line-up, and Nintendo’s history in general. Created, and originally released, by Konami in arcades (and on other home systems such as MSX) as Konami’s Ping Pong, for some reason Nintendo put it out on the FDS themselves. This is especially odd when Konami were one of the few third-party developers to go all-in on the FDS–like Nintendo: their new releases were on disk, not cartridge.

    There’s a few possibilities as to how Nintendo ended up publishing this, but it does seem to stem from its very likely background as a port that Konami had kicking around in the back of a cupboard unreleased. In fact, The Cutting Room Floor says as much: that there is “ample evidence” that it’s a salvaged cartridge release, most damning that the game code includes a serial number that aligns with “missing” serial numbers from Konami’s early Famicom lineup.

    The question really is: why put a game that’s already a couple of years old by this point out on the FDS? Well, Nintendo will have almost certainly been looking for more games to help quickly fill out the add-on’s catalogue, and sports games are a perennial filler.

    Or, perhaps Konami considered it more profitable to fob Smash Ping Pong off on Nintendo to handle all the publishing duties for, considering the Famicom Disk System’s licensing terms anyway, which requested partial copyright ownership and royalties compared to the complete wild west of Famicom cartridges.

    But having said all that, it might just be that someone at Nintendo really liked Konami Ping Pong! Because… it’s really good?

    I’ll admit to not having much experience with ping pong games before this–I’ve never played the much loved Rockstar Table Tennis, for example–so I don’t know if what Smash Ping Pong does is unusual or influential, but I am extremely impressed with a design that cleverly side-steps any questions like “well, why not just play a tennis video game, aren’t they the same?”

    You see, in Smash Ping Pong, you don’t control the movement of your paddle. Your disembodied hand and paddle already track the position of the ball. The game is instead entirely about which strikes you use, and the timing of your strikes.

    While this takes a bit of getting used to–and the speed of the game doesn’t help, but then it is ping pong–savvily the game only features three kinds of strikes: drive (a fast strike) cut (a slower strike) and smash (self explanatory?), chosen with a tap of the d-pad, plus the ability to change if you’re holding the paddle fore or backhand by holding A, which can change the direction of the strike.

    It is shockingly elegant, and I think is one of the best examples of a game trying to replicate the experience of playing a sport at least at this early stage I’ve seen. You don’t have to think about positioning–in ping pong, it’s about hitting the ball, not about getting into position to hit the ball, right? And so it’s all about watching the ball and getting into a rally, trying to force your opponent into a mistake. You don’t need to think too much, but you do need to practice and learn how to guide the ball in an advantageous way, when to change strikes, when to change to fore or back hand.

    Screenshots really don’t bring across how exciting this game is to play.

    There is some “give” to the design though. When a strike goes awry, either from your or your opponent, a tone is played to make it clear this is a slow, easy ball that you can smash–usually an easy point unless you’re at the far end of the table and don’t change hand position. 

    It just… works, and while it does suffer from the classic “one player is at the back of the screen” issue of this kind of game (though it switches positions to keep it fair) Famicom owners who played it probably found this one of the most balanced and engaging sports games for two players on the system. Not as flashy as Pro Wrestling, but a good companion.

    It does fall down a bit on single player though. You can select difficulties and play either first to 11 or first to 21 matches, but there’s no tournament or campaign mode; you just play a single match and you’re done, at best a practice mode to get you up to speed to play another human. They do try for some character–the Famicom Disk System mascot Diskun shows up, and Donkey Kong is in the crowd (he probably didn’t want to go see the tennis, what with Mario being there) but it’s not quite enough to keep the attention.

    I guess you could imagine upping difficulty as a tournament, but it’s hardly satisfying.

    I’ve talked previously about the kind of “curated” collection you would want to end up with if you were a Famicom collector–a selection of games you might actually play on occasion rather than just have on shelves–and this would 100% be in mine along with Pro Wrestling. Didn’t expect that at all.

    Will I ever play it again? I would love to. It’s funny, while playing this I was struck by the question of how often “retro” gamers actually play these old games with other people, or if they do just sit in collections. Because this is ripe to be rediscovered–it doesn’t feel like a design where you’re better off playing a newer ping pong game instead, because it’s so focused and complete as it is.

    Final Thought: I liked this so much I wanted to see if it was fondly remembered by Japanese players so looked it up Nintendo’s handy Famicom 40th Anniversary site, only to learn, tragically, that it didn’t even get a sniff at the “What do you think of when you hear ‘sports game’?” poll, which had rank rubbish like Volleyball in ninth.

  • UFO 50 #2: Bug Hunter (Perry, 2024)

    UFO 50 #2: Bug Hunter (Perry, 2024)

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  • Öoo (NamaTakahashi, 2025)

    Öoo (NamaTakahashi, 2025)

    Developed/Published by: NamaTakahashi, tiny cactus studio / NamaTakahashi
    Released: 07/08/2025
    Completed: 14/02/2026
    Completion: Finished it!

    Öoo is… perfection. I’m not sure I can phrase it any other way, actually. It’s not simply a textbook case of a game that’s doing exactly what it set out to do as well as it absolutely could, it’s doing something so clever–on a level that I didn’t think was possible–that I actually could not believe it was doing it. I actually think Öoo might be the gold standard for mechanic-first game design now. It’s that clever.

    I mean the cleverness starts with the name, doesn’t it? It’s called Öoo, and you play a wee “bomb caterpillar” that looks exactly like the title. They must have felt like a god when they worked that one out. As the caterpillar–is it named Öoo? I’m not actually sure–you find yourself snaffled up by a big bird when you were innocently planning on snacking on an apple and have to escape by, well, getting as deep into the bird’s guts as possible so you can blow up their heart and then jump out of their mouth (I mean, I’d just have waited until they yawned or something, but you do you, Öoo. Yoo doo Öoo.)

    You do this by navigating platforming challenges, but you can’t jump. Initially you can’t do much of anything, but you quickly unlock your first tail segment and then the trick is that you can drop it as a bomb and choose when it explodes–and when it does, it propels anything near it in the opposite direction the explosion hits it from. So you can, for example, drop it, stand on it, and then blow it up to propel yourself into the air to get you to a higher platform, or stand next to it to get you to blow you over a spike pit.

    One amazing thing is that the game is able to do so much with that before it even introduces the second tail segment, thanks to the thoughtful implementation of other mechanics. The game immediately introduces a generous warp system where you can easily warp between any two warp points, and then begins to gate your progress with yellow frogs who require you deliver them flies to let you pass, along with a variety of other obstacles–the usual spikes, but also blocks that need to be blown up (which may reappear on a timer) buttons to press to open or close doors and… huh, you know what? That’s about it.

    But here’s the most incredible thing about Öoo. They never give you more than the two exploding tail segments and they stop introducing new obstacles about half an hour into it, but the game is full of a sense of discovery I don’t think I’ve ever felt in the game before because (and I’m going to spoil the “trick” of the game here, so if you don’t want that spoiled, please stop reading and just play it):

    You are never truly “gated” at all by the frogs. In each situation you’re stymied by one, you just need to know how to use your caterpillar’s already existing abilities to pass it right there and then. The section of the level you’ll go and play leads to a dead end that you just warp back from and it is entirely there to teach you the mechanic you need to perform.

    I’m not sure if I can express how revelatory this is. It’s like in a movie when the hero learns they always had the power inside them and they just had to ~believe in themselves~ happening to you, repeatedly. I can’t say for sure if you’re going to have the reaction I did, but not only did I enjoy the game so much even when I understood the trick that I was happy to progress through the game in full–not stopping to try and figure out the “shortcuts”–and I definitely never knew how to do what was required to progress via frog gate until I’d done the whole thing anyway, because it was never as simple as knowing the mechanic; you needed to understand the mechanic fully.

    It is wonderful. It’s made me look at Metroidvanias, roguelikes, even “git gud” games in almost a whole new light, imaging a world where rather than making the player jump through hoops for required unlocks or permanent warps or extreme mastery players were simply shown ways to use the mechanics in new ways through play.

    I imagine this world, but I also find it hard to believe it’s possible, because I can think of every way it can go wrong immediately. And that’s why Öoo is such an incredible piece of game design. There’s a version of this game where the average player hits a gate, goes “oh, maybe if I do this” and then skips 10, 20% of the game, possibly backtracks to do it and discovers that there’s just a dead-end there and wonders “well what was the point of that.” You have to have incredible confidence to decide you can hide a solution that’s already accessible to a player from them until you want them to have it, and bloody hell does Nama Takahashi have it.

    The only caveat I have here is that was my experience, and maybe you’re king shit problem solver, and you’ll grasp what do to immediately in every situation. You cut your teeth on kaizo and never thought “well, I’ll take that other easier path instead.” But I’d be surprised if that wasn’t a statistical irrelevance in terms of players of this game (maybe only slightly heightened by people who read things like this who learn the trick in advance.) The funny thing is how much trying to break Öoo would be to not just miss the point but to actually ruin the fun completely. That rather than learn a mechanic that allows you to unlock the doors as you go you hit your head against them until they bust open.

    It would be pointless, too, because for the real heads there are loads of hidden extra hard sections to do found via hidden trophies that test your abilities as far as you can go if you really want to (in my case, not very far.)

    Öoo is short–my completed playthough clocks in at 2.4 hours–but if it were to be any longer I think either cracks would start to show or new mechanics would have to be introduced, and the perfection would be sullied. But if you want to play a puzzle platformer, there is no better option. Probably at all.

    Will I ever play it again? No. I am interested to see what Nama Takahashi does next, but good lord what an act to follow. I don’t think I could, but then I also couldn’t have come up with Öoo. It’s humbling.

    Final Thought: If you’re going to play this or Elechead, Öoo wins; but if you think you’ll play both, I recommend playing Elechead first, as it has a rougher design but you can see the evolution towards Öoo in it (whereas playing it second will just feel like a step backwards.)

  • Plug & Play (Frei/Rickenbach, 2015) / KIDS (Playables, 2019)

    Plug & Play (Frei/Rickenbach, 2015) / KIDS (Playables, 2019)

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  • Time Flies (Playables, 2025)

    Time Flies (Playables, 2025)

    Developed/Published by: Playables / Panic
    Released: 31/07/2025
    Completed: 03/02/2026
    Completion: Crossed off every fly’s bucket list.

    There’s a cliché about criticism, that the worst thing that you can have to review is something mediocre; the idea being that there’s nothing that much to say one way or another when something’s just fine. But actually, I sort of think that’s not entirely true–at least when it comes to games. Because think of the platonic ideal of the “7/10” game; a “mediocre” score under the prevailing wisdom of not using the entire scale, but often games with grand ambition they couldn’t quite match, or interesting ideas that didn’t entirely work.

    Really, the worst thing you have to review is something that’s overall good… but unremarkable. Something you enjoyed… but couldn’t find anything special about. Something successful at what it set out to do… but what it’s set out to do is forgettable.

    I think you can see where I’m going with this.

    Time Flies comes from Playables, a production company with a focus on what they describe as “playful interactive projects” (and I do think this intentional distinction from games is important) and is published by Panic. Panic, of course, behind the Playdate, but also a surprisingly large slate of games in 2025 including Despelote, a game I consider interestingly boring (and one of their 2024 releases, Thank Goodness You’re Here!, was absolutely my game of that year.) In Time Flies, you play a fly who, in its short time on earth, has a “bucket list” to cross off, and so you fly about a side-scrolling black-and-white 2D world attempt to do all the things on the list (things like “get drunk” or “read a book”) before you die. 

    The trick is that the fly’s lifespan is the length of time you have per attempt, and that lifespan is based on the average lifespan in the country you are playing the game from, with years as seconds. So, for example, in Canada I got a whopping 81.6 seconds per attempt; in other countries it could be significantly less. I’ll talk about this aspect of the game in a moment–feel free to count it in seconds–but mechanically, at least, it simply means that you have a handful of seconds to do everything, and if you don’t do all the things in one life, you simply start again with another fly.

    There are a few points of comparison here, play-wise, none of which quite fit. There’s Minit, of course, where you’ve got a minute to complete a quest (and which is also in a striking black and white) but as you keep your inventory, it’s more incremental. There’s actually Thank Goodness You’re Here, where you similarly interact with a world in a limited way to make funny things happen–though that’s more narratively driven. And then there’s the original Glider for Mac, which is probably the first thing old bastards like me will think of, and I think the most likely to be an actual source of inspiration; but that’s far more of an action game (although you do “collect clocks” in both games. Sort of.)

    Really, even with the tension of having to do everything in a single life giving Time Flies the air of a “speedrun” game, it is much more a continuation of Playables “playful interactive projects.” Yes, the fly can die if you do something like stick it on some flypaper (come on man, have some sense) but the fly is in many ways just a cursor that you’re using to make funny things happen. So, for example, you push two statues together and they kiss. That’s amusing. Or you fly back and forth over some guitar strings and it makes some noise, counting as “learning an instrument”, and you can do it for as long as you like (longer than you need to, usually.)

    “Hold on, there’s some buzzing on the recording. I’ll check the cables.”

    This is… enjoyable! And it very much does not outstay its welcome. You get four levels with a selection of things to do, and just enough play in it that you have fun flying around, doing the things, then working out the racing line to do them in one life. It’s not boring, or too difficult, and moving the fly around feels good.

    But it’s also the kind of thing that doesn’t stick with you at all. At the end of the game, all those memories flash by in the fly’s mind, all these things lost, like tears in rain, and… yeah. I did some silly stuff for a while and now it’s done.

    Now, to be fair, not everything as to be dripping in meaning, but Frei did describe the game to Stephen Totilo as a game about “the finiteness of our existence and what to do with it, with the time we have.”

    I think the use of real World Health Organization data for your lifespan is interesting–I like that it forces the majority of the assumed audience to, quickly, face up to the idea that by simply living in a Western country they get to experience more time to do more silly things. And it may simply be that, possibly, I’m just somewhat nihilist; I’ve lived long enough now to know how much I’ve already forgotten that felt so important to me at one point, so I’m not sure anything matters than the moment. It’s possible this could hit you in some way that is deeply profound.

    But I had an enjoyable 70 minutes and that’s, you know… it. And it really puts the game in a weird position for me where I basically recommend it–it’s fun, funny and I liked it–but I still feel kind of indifferent.

    Will I ever play it again? There’s only so much time on earth… I feel like something I played recently taught me that…

    Final Thought: One thing to be said is that I really appreciate Totilo talking to the developers about it and focusing on the life expectancy angle; the team’s decision to include Palestine is meaningful, even if they are using out of date statistics and most players will never notice it.

  • Defender Of The Crown (Cinemaware, 1986)

    Defender Of The Crown (Cinemaware, 1986)

    Developed/Published by: Cinemaware
    Released: 11/1986
    Completed: 22/01/2026
    Completion: Finished it by conquering the invaders, but remained unmarried…

    Defender Of The Crown is a game I’ve been eager to play, and I had a reason to boot it up a bit earlier than I intended, so I jumped at the chance. But of course, a problem immediately reared its head.

    Which version to play?

    The game is famous, really, as an Amiga game. If you’re not familiar with the story, video game agent Bob Jacobs saw a prototype Amiga in action, realised that the system provided a huge leap in the potential for video games, and went into business as Cinemaware1, with the explicit intention to create not merely Hollywood-inspired but Hollywood quality video games by (generally) making the graphics really fucking good. The first game to come from this was the Errol Flynn swashbuckler-inspired Defender Of the Crown.

    As an “Amiga first” project, you think it would be easy to choose that version to play (after all, when I played through Pirates, I decided to play the C64 version, as it is Sid Meier’s preferred version.) But the Amiga version is not generally considered the best version to actually play because of its somewhat tortured development: originally intended to be developed by Sculptured Software, Cinemaware attempting a more “Hollywood” process than keeping everything in house, Sculptured ended up so behind on schedule–indeed, seemingly with nothing useful–that the game was handed off to a previous acquaintance, R.J. Mical, to crunch until the game was in a state it could be released.

    (As usual, you can read all about this on The Digital Antiquarian. The guy’s a legend.)

    Something I’ve always wondered about Cinemaware’s early releases is just how arbitrary their release dates were. It particularly stands out with Defender Of The Crown, the Amiga version of which–and I can speak from experience, now–is slight to the point of being unfinished, with apparently weeks of work from the artist, Jim Sachs, going unused. Considering the game would be improved for basically every other release, Jacobs couldn’t have let them spend a little more time on it?

    That all said, no one can exactly agree which version of Defender Of The Crown to play. The Amiga version is the best looking, but the Atari ST version is somewhat close visually; versions on the Mac, PC, NES, even the humble CPC and C64 get design improvements. I was originally of a mind to play the Atari ST version, but I discovered that there’s a Defender Of The Crown II on CD32 that is, apparently, not a sequel but kind of an “ultimate” version of this era’s Defender Of The Crown, so I thought… well, I probably want to play that. And if I’m going to play that, I might as well just play the very original version so one day I can compare and contrast. After all, the whole selling point of the game originally was those graphics, so no point being short-changed there!

    (As my mother would say, what a roundabout road for a shortcut.)

    Now, I have played Defender Of The Crown before, briefly. My main memory of it was not quite getting the game’s mix of Risk-style strategy and simple mini-games, but thinking that when I had time I’d be able to dig into it properly, imagining it was, you know, a proper wargame.

    Playing it this time round? I learned within, hmm, an hour? that while the game initially seems challenging, there’s absolutely nothing going on. No strategic depth. No “play” in the mini-games, each solvable if you can just practice them enough. If you restart the game a few times after learning the mini-games, you will essentially become unstoppable, meaning you can rinse what was once an expensive, system-selling game in an afternoon. The emperor–or I suppose, the crown defender–has no clothes on.

    But dang does his body look good, am I right? As I said, it was the selling point, and playing it, you get it immediately. What you very quickly realise however is that those graphics quickly become a hindrance, because every time one of those big, gorgeous splash screens appear, you have to sit through the Amiga loading them off a floppy disk. Which is, and I always forget this for some reason, not fast. There’s a lot of waiting around so you can see a picture you’ve seen many times before (thank goodness, to be honest, that you can be done with the game so quickly.) 

    That zzz bubble isn’t a sleepy herald; it’s the game making it clear you’ve got some waiting to do.

    But that all said, what actually is the game?

    Set at the time of Norman conquest (but in an extremely “made it up as we went along” anachronistic fashion) Defender Of The Crown starts with Robin Hood letting you know that the king has been assassinated, the crown lost, and the kingdom in chaos, so it’s up to you (yes, you) to sort it out.

    You start by picking a Saxon hero–each of whom have different stats in leadership, jousting and swordplay, although this matters less than you’d think and the stats for one of these characters are even wrong on the selection screen–before you’re dropped onto a map of medieval England where you, two other Saxons and three invading Normans hold one castle and territory each. On each turn you have some options: to grow your army by buying soldiers, knights and catapults; to conquer territory or raid enemy castles; or to hold tournaments where you can joust for land or honour. On each turn, your opponents make the same moves (one thing I’ll say for Defender Of The Crown: it does seem to play completely fair.)

    This is pretty basic, so as well as being dressed up with the graphics, it’s also dressed up with a range of mini-games. Something fascinating about Defender Of The Crown is that it’s, at least in its Amiga incarnation, completely mouse-based. This has a bit of cost in that in none of the games is the feedback that great, which is probably the reason that, for example, the jousting section is so infamous.

    Something I find slightly annoying about Defender Of The Crown: the game is letter-boxed, but it’s not centred on the screen. It annoys me so much that I edited all the images other than the first one. You’re welcome!

    As befits it, it’s definitely got the most pomp and circumstance, and also seems to have the most confusion about it online. There’s a lot of discussion about when you need to hit the button to strike your opponent in a joust, or whatever, but if you just play it a bunch of times in a row you’ll eventually get it: at least on the Amiga, you don’t have to press anything at all, and the trick is knowing that you collide on the “upswing” so you just have to make sure that your lance is aimed at the center of your opponent’s shield at the peak of its bobbing movement. Once you know that you literally can’t lose, and it’s actually one of the quickest ways to win the game, because you can as of the second turn just joust the Normans to immediately take any of their land gains off of them and (probably) make a clear path to their castles all for the cost of some loading time and counting the amount of times you’ve bounced up and down on a horse (it’s seven, you hit them after seven. Spoilers, I guess.)

    My understanding is that Jim Sachs put in a ton of effort to represent realistic castles in a game that’s otherwise basically nonsensical.

    Once you’ve bought some catapults–each piece of land you have pays upkeep that allows you to buy units–you can attack castles, which is similarly simple to work out. You have to knock down the castle wall with a limited amount of ammo; each shot’s height is selected by “pulling” (placing your mouse) to a certain position, and it requires adjustment after each shot to make sure you’re still hitting the wall. It’s a little harder to practice this one–you have to have a castle to attack–but once you work out the first shot, you basically just have to move your mouse a few pixels up when needed and you’ve got more than enough ammo to make a few mistakes.

    This fuckin’ suuucks.

    I wish I could be as smug about the last mini-game, but sadly, I can’t. A castle raid mini-game is triggered either by choosing to raid a castle to steal gold (don’t bother, it’s not worth it) or, occasionally, when you are notified that a comely Saxon lady has been kidnapped by the dastardly Normans and needs rescued (which, amusingly, you can turn down doing.)

    This game is… awful. It’s an attempt at a side-scrolling sword-fighting game, but we’re in late 1986 so it’s not like it’s never been done before, and even being hamstrung by only being able to use the mouse is no excuse. You hold the cursor in front of your hero to move them forward, behind to move them back, and you click the mouse to attack with your rapier, with the idea being you and your companions will fight the guards until you make your way to the lady’s chamber. 

    I can really imagine what Jacobs pitched here: one of those amazing old swashbuckling scenes where the hero, like, swings in on a banner and then fights the enemy on a banquet table, all feints and parries. Instead what you get is this weird shuffling back and forth, hitting the mouse button constantly with absolutely no sense you’re doing… anything. As the only reward for doing this is a wife, it’s really not worth learning (am I right fellas? Take my wife, please? I wouldn’t even go and get her in the first place, etc.)

    Of course, I do say that as a grown man who has seen a boob or two, but I do think if I’d been playing this contemporaneously as a kid I’d have probably gone to the effort, as the real reward is a chaste love scene between your hero and the rescued lady that I’m sure set teenage loins afire (the shadows do have some unintentional, uh, implications.)

    They’re holding hands! Get your mind out of the gutter.

    Thankfully on my winning run I got everything sorted in England so quickly the Saxons didn’t have time to kidnap anyone (hmm, I didn’t get married in Pirates! either. I’ll need to get married in something soon otherwise people will start to talk.)

    The “real” game of Defender Of The Crown is actually the Risk-style strategy game. Now I’m an absolute Risk hater–random, unfair, takes fucking forever–and Defender Of The Crown is only really preferable that you’re not going to fall out with any mates over it because you can only play it single player. The game boils down to just making your campaign army as big as possible and steamrollering opponents. Every turn, send your army home, buy more soldiers (you don’t seem to really need knights) and then smash whoever gets in your way. The game even gives you a wee bit of help in that three times you can ask Robin Hood for help (he bolsters your army a wee bit) and there’s three Norman castles, so it’s pretty obvious when to use them. 

    This is the screen you’ll spend most of your time looking at–especially because the battle screen got cut from the Amiga.

    Because of the game’s design–more land means more money, more money means a bigger army–there’s really no “play” in it. If you start the game knowing what to do–grab land, win tournaments, build your army every turn, attack castles while the Norman campaign armies are in other regions–you win. It really makes this game’s smashing success seem absolutely bizarre.

    But I’ll be kind to Defender Of The Crown and say that, well, most players at the time weren’t going out of their way to min-max the experience. I’m sure most players who got this played obviously losing campaigns to the bitter end; I’m sure many people never worked out jousting and found it exciting and risky. At a certain point I’m sure they found a winning, repeatable path (you really do just get the biggest army) but the game, simple as it is, will have worked until then–a generator of minor player stories as they remembered great victories and losses.

    The funny thing is, it’s so uncinematic. For a company that was literally called Cinemaware, it’s strange that their games are so gamey. You would assume that a Errol Flynn-inspired swashbuckler would have started with a story, a script; a blend of cut-scenes and action scenes in order. In many ways I’d imagine the design would be more like the movie licenses released by Ocean later in the 80s and 90s–half-assed mini games with a cinematic connective tissue, and it would have probably been easier to make, less wasteful, and just as successful.

    Because the hero of Defender Of The Crown is undoubtedly artist Jim Sachs. Games–even in arcades, really–in this era simply didn’t look this good, so I do understand why this was mind-blowing to anyone who brought it home for their unbelievably expensive Amiga 1000 (the 500 wouldn’t show up until 1987.)

    Truly, even though I don’t think Defender Of The Crown is good (at all) Sach’s art is so beautiful and full of life that even now I think “might be nice to play Defender Of The Crown.”

    That’s insane!!!

    Will I ever play it again? Obviously, the thing to do is to play Defender Of The Crown II which, in a stunning plot twist, was developed entirely by Sachs!

    Final Thought: Of course, now I’m thinking about how that compares to the later, more fully featured but “official” Cinemaware versions of Defender Of The Crown, which doesn’t even include the second incarnation of Cinemaware in the 2000s which put out a remaster, a PS2 version, a GBA version… like maybe I should play the Atari ST version after all, just to get the full picture??? Gnngh.

    1. Well, actually as “Master Designer Software” but a bit like Tales Of The Unknown, that would be almost immediately dropped. ↩︎
  • Fortune-499 (Thomson, 2018)

    Fortune-499 (Thomson, 2018)

    Developed/Published by: AP Thomson
    Released: 02/02/2018
    Completed: 12/01/2026
    Completion: Finished it!

    I was looking to stretch my legs during a deep dive on some other games for research recently, and when the IGF Award shortlist was announced there was an avalanche of people in my feed expressing excitement that they could finally say how good AP Thomson’s upcoming Titanium Court was. So I took a quick look, saw that Thomson had previously made the game Fortune-499 which at least looked visually similar, and thought “why not!”

    Fortune-499 is styled as a JRPG, but it has a really beautiful mechanic, one that I think–because it sounds complex, but has to play out simple–would be very easy to fuck up completely. It’s a rock paper scissors prediction deckbuilder. In each JRPG-style battle, you hit your opponent if you win rock paper scissors; you get hit if you lose, and you both take damage if you throw the same. Now, as we know from Alex Kidd, rock paper scissors is an absolutely rubbish, frustrating mechanic in a video game, but Fortune-499 fixes it completely by giving you a fortune telling deck. Before each hand you can draw up to four cards which “reveal” (well, affect the probability of) which hand your opponent is most likely to throw. So if you draw paper +4, you can be pretty confident they’ll throw paper, so throw scissors. As you play the game, you can shred cards in your deck and power up cards, so you could, for example, have a deck that’s got nothing but strong rock cards in it, meaning that you can always throw paper, because it’s extremely unlikely your opponents will ever throw anything else.

    I love this design. It’s so elegant. But it’s also, I think, a little limited, which Thomson has had to work around. The game is played across a series of in-game days (which basically work as a series of dungeon levels) and after each day your deck resets, because otherwise you’d quickly build an unstoppable deck. There are also a few more mechanics layered on, which muddy things up a bit: you have magic points, and can cast spells, and stick cards aside to replay them, allowing you to break the game a bit by spamming a mana card repeatedly.

    I think these design decisions are included because Thomson–probably correctly–felt that the base design didn’t really have enough challenge or variety to sustain something like a roguelike deckbuilder1 and Fortune-499 does put me in mind of Dicey Dungeons, because it similarly is less interested in letting you play out a power growth fantasy than making you solve puzzles built around the game mechanics.

    The issue I have with this in Fortune-499, unfortunately, is that the puzzles are usually… annoyingly fiddly. Fortune-499 doesn’t have manual saving and on certain levels punishes you for dying by charging you to retry (boo!) but it asks you often to move around the level to trigger certain things or change your deck and spells in pretty specific ways to defeat certain enemies, and you can… just get it wrong and not really understand why. I’ll admit, I spent far too long on an early-ish puzzle that required me defeat a group of enemies at once that should have been quite obvious and easy because I hadn’t noticed something important2 and a later puzzle, that required you shaping your deck to defeat an enemy in one turn… phew (at least that one let you restart the level for free.)

    It’s just a little, you know… clunky, and never quite as rewarding as you’d hope (there’s some player-hostile moves too, like a section that lets you shape your deck in preparation for a battle that doesn’t come. I get the joke, but it’s annoying!)

    Narratively, too, Fortune-499 is… fine? You play a depressed, cursed witch stuck in a dead-end office job who finds their workplace infested with demons, and it largely goes the way you kind of expect it to go. Like many people these days, I’d probably fucking kill myself for a dead-end office job with any sort of salary, so that aspect is a fucking lead banana in 2026, but there are parts that work: I loved an entire section where a wizard co-worker is summoned to “help” on clearing out the demons but ignores your pre-existing knowledge, eventually cutting you out completely (when he fights an enemy that he doesn’t have to fight, and it takes forever… now that’s a player-hostile joke that works.) That thread wraps up a little too neatly, I guess, but nothing else pops quite as much–though I like that the game works its way to a conclusion both narratively and mechanically. It’s not quite as breathtaking as the conclusion of, say, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, but what is?

    As is sometimes the case, Fortune-499 is the unfortunate recipient of… faint praise. I love the mechanic, I found it generally pleasant enough for the three and a half hours it took, but the moments of frustration just held it back enough to get a “well, if this sounds good to you, play it, but if it doesn’t, don’t.” Dang!

    Will I ever play it again? Nope!

    Final Thought: Having said all this, the good aspects of Fortune-499 make me genuinely excited to play Titanium Court. Hopefully soon!

    1. Though don’t get me wrong–they just might not have been interested in creating a game like that anyway. ↩︎
    2. When a summoner dies, their portals explode, not the enemies that were summoned. ↩︎

  • UFO 50 #1: Barbuta (Suhrke, 2024)

    UFO 50 #1: Barbuta (Suhrke, 2024)

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  • Thirty Flights Of Loving (Blendo Games, 2012)

    Thirty Flights Of Loving (Blendo Games, 2012)

    Developed/Published by: Blendo Games
    Released: 20/08/2012
    Completed: 18/09/2025
    Completion: Finished it.

    Thirty Flights Of Loving has loomed large in my mind for, uh, thirteen years, because I added it to my Steam wishlist and then promptly just never picked it up. An absolutely insane situation considering the game, at fifteen minutes long, is actually shorter than Gravity Bone which preceded it. I mean I waited nearly a year per minute. Well, I’ve played it now.

    Thirty Flights Of Loving, compared to Gravity Bone, is a bit more of a challenge. If Gravity Bone took what you expected about a first person game and then twisted it, Thirty Flights of Loving doesn’t even give you the grace of letting you settle in before twisting. I mean, it’s pre-twisted is what I’m saying. You open the bag that says “bagel” on it and there’s a goddamned pretzel in there.

    (I suppose in this metaphor, with Gravity Bone you’d start eating a bagel and then it would suddenly twist in front of your eyes into a pretzel? Creepy. I don’t like this metaphor any more!!!)

    Thirty Flights Of Loving is ultimately an exploration of the idea: can you do cinematic cuts in a video game? Telling, vaguely and non-linearly, the story of doomed love and a heist gone bad, the game cuts intentionally and cleverly to remove the thing you just don’t remove from video games–the “dead space” between incident. It’s shocking, actually, to head down a corridor and suddenly find yourself, well, in a new room, because the trip down the corridor adds nothing narratively.

    This is a decision that few games I know of have made outside of–of course–their cut-scenes, and I think it raises really interesting questions about the value of what we do in games. I’ve written at crushing length about the difficult path games try to walk–narrative, but play–and I suppose the disappointing thing about Thirty Flights Of Loving is that it has interaction but no “play”, where I feel like the theory–we could have cinematic cuts in games–can only be proven by giving me actual play and “cutting” when I’m not doing anything that’s actively in aid of that. After the firefight, cut to the exterior, don’t make the player navigate there–but never take the control away from the player. Just cut.

    I think for many, the potential flaw here is obvious–it’s discombobulating. I mentioned above that the cuts are shocking, which in many ways is surprising, because cuts in cinema are, famously, not shocking (proven scientifically.) Is is simply that “flow”, that hugely important state to the interactive art is broken by a cut? 

    Or does Thirty Flights Of Loving’s use of only scene cuts–keeping action continuous elsewhere–create more discontinuity when paired with its mysterious narrative? Could a game with even heavier use of cuts–cuts within scenes and cuts between scenes–work better? What would that even look like?

    I’m not sure, but it’ll probably take a game longer than fifteen minutes to work it out. Thirty Flights Of Loving does a lot with its time, managing some moments of beauty and ending with a recognisable longing. I might go so far as to say a saudade. Maybe Thirty Flights Of Loving doesn’t answer any questions, but the ones it leaves you with are worth thinking about.

    Will I ever play it again? I’ll wait another thirteen years and see how I feel.

    Final Thought: I’d be remiss not to point out something else cinematic about Thirty Flights Of Loving that really stands out–the superb score by Chris Remo. It’s a huge factor in the game’s feel.