In Mid-February Texas experienced a severe weather storm that knocked out power, heat, and water for millions. I remember stocking up on easy meals to prepare; doing the smart thing and grocery shopping early in anticipation of hazardous roads – jokingly tossing boxes upon boxes of cupcakes and cinnamon rolls into our cart. Turns out, it would’ve been nice to have some HoHos and Honey Buns because everything else spoiled.
We put on several layers of clothing and huddled on the couch under all of our blankets. We sparingly used our phones to text family and friends while attempting to ascertain the status of the power grid while the temperature of the apartment was dropping into the 40s. That night, our otherwise independent cat clung close to our bodies as we shivered in the candlelight and played word games before we were too exhausted to stay awake.
The next day we trudged through the few snowy blocks between us and the nearest open grocery store and stood in line with a hundred others. A sea of cloudy exhales dotted the path to the entrance like tiny steam engines. Though it was somewhat heartening to see other humans going through the same things as us, it was also anxiety-inducing being around so many people before vaccines were widely available.
Not long after returning with a slightly better-provisioned pantry, we got word that my parents’ house a few miles away had their power restored. We gave ourselves a cut-off time of how long we’d wait for our luck to change before heading over there. A few agonizing hours later, we decided that the risk was worth avoiding another night like the one we had just experienced. We packed our bags and our poofy cat and started to carefully drive the slushy distance. I feared for my puny European car with every slip and stall, but we managed to make it without issue.
I am thankful for having a place to live for the weeks between the initial freeze and our apartment becoming habitable again (an apartment which still required its full amount of rent without delay, naturally). I remember watching hopefully at the dead tree branches dripping with melted ice in the backyard. I’ll never take a warm shower for granted again.
In that time I read The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, watched a ton of Julia Roberts rom-coms, and played Hades.
Hades
There is a lot to admire about Supergiant Games’ latest. There’s the fresh interpretations of the Greek mythological pantheon, all brought to life with still but breathtaking portraits and moving performances, the truly awesome music, and narrative hooks that gel so effortlessly with the run-based action genre that make me want to keep playing again and again.
But one of my most lasting memories of playing Hades is when huddled for warmth, uncovering my hands from our blankets to play in short bursts to distract my mind from the cold, with frigid fingers longing for the flames of Asphodel. I’m grateful Hades is such a fun game to play and was there when I needed it.
Dark Souls
I really like FromSoftware’s approach to game design – it’s understated, brutal, and captivatingly beautiful. One of the best feelings in games is discovering the path you’ve been battling through is actually interconnected to neighboring areas in ways you didn’t think were possible – stuff like that makes Dark Souls‘ undead world feel full of life. That said, I was this close to throwing in the towel on this one, but I’m glad I pushed through whatever blocks were spoiling the fun. It may have been Blighttown. I never want to go back to Blighttown. Or maybe it was being cursed while exploring the sewers. Awful experience.
Super Mario Odyssey
It had been too long since I played a proper Mario game. If there’s a common thread I’m noticing in writing this list, it’s that I ended up playing a lot of games this year that are just fun to move around in. Tiling the control stick and pressing the buttons just feels so good with Mario, and it was natural enough that my partner could seek out and collect a few Moons (Odyssey‘s version of Stars) while I was away. It was a joy to receive after-mission reports and recon from her to catch me up on our progress.
It seems silly, but piloting Mario’s hat-shaped airship to new locations was a moving experience for me. Each destination lets you deck out the inside and outside of your ship with stickers, knickknacks, and souvenirs, in addition to several wardrobes worth of wacky outfits for Mr. Mario. I don’t really get to go anywhere anymore, and I miss traveling. So yeah, thanks, Super Mario Odyssey, for living up to your name.
Shouts out to Captain Toad, who straight owns.
Downwell
I first learned of Downwell from a Game Maker’s Toolkit video diving into its minimal control scheme. Downwell is about falling and dodging enemies and their projectile attacks, using your bullets shooting from your boots to both slow your descent and fight back. It’s really fun, but like Dicey Dungeon, a run-based deck-builder with a really cute style, Downwell doesn’t offer the player any meaningful progression. Not every game needs a skill tree (in fact, many are better off without them) but I think I need a carrot to chase sometimes or else I’ll get bored with just the stick.
Gravity Rush
Gravity Rush is a third-person action platformer that started appearing on my radar due to its cult following since its first appearance on the ancient handheld device known as the PlayStation Vita. But after seeing you play as a cute girl named Kat with a cute cat named Dusty whose primary mode of movement involves shifting the “descent” of gravity to “fall” in any direction, including upwards, and run and fight across any surface, I knew it was something I had to try to see how well this mechanic worked. I was skeptical that a game’s camera could keep up with all this rapid movement, but Gravity Rush never stopped being satisfying in that regard. Kat can fly, pause, and propel herself like a blond-haired torpedo at enemies or to impossible-to-reach places in the game’s floating city to gather collectibles to boost her abilities. I was pleasantly surprised in how naturally this gameplay, though ultimately repetitive, felt to control.
Gears 5
I remember when the original Gears of War was a true spectacle. Something about it’s lighting, maybe, that made its not-quite-Earth architecture come alive with explosive scars and slick rain. Like many, it was my first game for the Xbox 360 and I remember it fondly. Sure, virtually everything about the game is overwrought but, hey, it was a blast.
The Gears formula hasn’t changed a ton but I don’t think it needs to. The series continues to be a great co-op experience, so jumping into Gears 5, with a mouse-and-keyboard no less thanks to the game’s cross-platform compatibility, felt exactly like sliding onto an old but comfortable couch. That comparison is appropriate not only for the strange nostalgia that emanates from the Gears chunky violence, but also for the company I had while completing the game a little bit every week. Gears 5 was an excuse to catch up with a good friend, to settle into our tired jokes and stories while windsurfing across crackling ice lakes, and to share a drink across hundreds of miles to become college roommates once again.
Super Mario World
My first video game was either Super Mario World played at a cousin’s house or Super Mario Brothers played in the children’s pen located at the front of IKEA. Either way, I’ve always been nostalgic for these games even though I’m not very good at them. 2D platformers can be especially challenging for me, and I’ve realized I’m more willing to bash my head against a grueling boss battle over and over again than attempt and reattempt that one jump I can’t seem to get right.
This is why I’m grateful I was able to play this game on the Nintendo Switch’s SNES emulator, complete with instant rewind controls and save states, because without those features I have no doubt I would’ve gotten frustrated. But Super Mario World is just so charming and joyful, in no small part to the catchy music that took residence in our living room on and off for a month.
Mario + Rabbids: Kingdom Battle
Only in Kingdom Battle can Luigi provide covering sniper fire from his perch for Mario to execute a flank and line up the killshot. It’s a turn-based strategy game that pits squad against squad in small arenas, except here you’re commanding the familiar faces of the Mushroom Kingdom and the not-so-familiar Rabbids who have taken on the likeness of Mario and his buddies. This game is a ton of fun and offers up interesting synergies among your team, such as using a wind-up bomb to force an enemy out of cover, juggle them in the air with follow-up shots from other squad members, and ultimately knock them off the playing field for bonus damage. Some of the mini-boss encounters could get pretty tough though, but I felt there were enough options for players to tweak the kind of difficulty they wanted to experience.
This game also introduced us to Rabbid Peach, a really odd-looking amalgamation of the Pillsbury Doughboy and Princess Toadstool, sporting a strawberry-pink dress and blond hair, who is obsessed with their smartphone and is verified on Instagram.
Deep Rock Galactic
Another fun co-op surprise, Deep Rock Galactic puts you into the metallic boots of space-faring dwarves mining stars and other planetoids for precious minerals and exotic flora. Each dwarf has their own weapon and equipment set that determines their usefulness in combat and exploration – this opens up opportunities for some fun synergies between teammates. You’ll fight waves of low-poly bugs, fling hundreds of glowsticks to illuminate vast caverns, and share a grog or two at the company drinking hole.
Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy
For years, I’d only known the Phoenix Wright series through its memed courtroom outbursts: Objection!; Take that!; Hold it!. It was always a premise that interested me, a visual-novel that requires the player to draw conclusions from the evidence they gather, either through sleuthing crime scenes or probing witnesses and suspects, and point out contradictions in testimonies.
We only played through the first game of the trilogy, but I’m super glad we did. There are a few frustrating elements of the game’s design, however, that present problems I don’t know how to solve. Mainly, the game expects you to make logical leaps and assumptions in line with the characters in the story. If you, the player, make connections in your head before prompted, you may find yourself with predicated knowledge that the game doesn’t account for you knowing just yet. So, it’s not just about asking the right questions at the right time but also in the right order to fit the game’s rigid narrative. On top of that, the dialogue choices in court are sometimes unclear, leading you to trip over yourself in cross-examination and losing pips on your health bar and requiring you to replay very long conversations after a challenge that requires more brute-force process-of-elimination than actual problem-solving.
But even with that weird gamified awkwardness in its way, the Phoenix Wright stories remain compelling and its characters likeable. I miss our plucky junior forensic scientist and her constant note-taking. I miss our stone-cold prosecutor with his pompous demeanor and expertly coiffed silver hair. I miss our mystic-in-training and the specter of her buxom older sister who taught us everything we know about the law. The courtroom calls, and I hope to answer it later this year for the sequel.
A Short Hike
A Short Hike is all about chill vibes. You play as a bird named Claire visiting her aunt who works as a park ranger in a mountainous forest. In order to keep her mind off an important phone call that proves impossible due to the region’s poor cell reception, Claire takes off in any direction to talk to various campers and do little quests for them, discover hidden treasure, and master her flying. Flying in this game feels so good. I’m not really sure why, but once I leapt off a hillside and began gliding in a graceful spiral, the serotonin started percolating.
A Short Hike is a great, low-pressure game that can be completed in a few hours. In addition to its colorful, throwback graphics, the game also features a killer soundtrack that always puts me in a good mood. Highly recommend folks check this out and climb summits to their heart’s content.
Assassin’s Creed Syndicate
I’ve only dipped in and out of the Assassin’s Creed series, and usually several years removed from its breakneck development and release schedule, but I’ve always thought of them fondly. Not a lot of games have the variety in locations like Ubisoft’s action/sometimes-stealth/occasionally-role-playing/checklist-ticking/exploration/platforming games. Damascus, Jerusalem, Florence, the Caribbean, and London are stamps on my assassin’s passport, but that’s just a fraction of where players have been stabbing and climbing for over fifteen years. I know there’s something to be said about Ubisoft’s brand of murder-tourism, to say nothing of the systemic rot in the company itself, but I have to admit I’m always interested in where they plant their weird sci-fi/fantasy flag.
Along with Black Flag, Syndicate is often spoken of as one of “the good ones” in the now 12-main-game series, so that praise combined with the soot-caked allure of Victorian London meant I had to check it out. I’m glad I did, because despite the bugs and glitches, of which there were many though I’m usually pretty lenient when it comes to those, I really enjoyed the adventure. It was fun to have this game be our constant companion for the month or so it took for me to complete the story, and we grew fond of the repeated NPC barks and general ridiculousness of horse-carriages jockeying back and forth in the streets and destroying Her Majesty’s infrastructure.
Mundaun
It’s hard to put a finger on why, but Mundaun is a good example of the games I would like to make. It’s an unusual fusion of survival-horror and indie-walking-sim set in a sleepy village in the Swiss Alps. You play as a young man returning to mourn the loss of his recently departed grandfather, only to uncover a grim tale of fear, pride, and folklore.
The game itself is pretty simplistic, some light puzzles and combat/sneaking encounters mark the path between story unveilings, but the trappings around the environment really sold me on the harsh winter weather in the mountains; preparing a bolstering pot of coffee over a stove in a secluded cabin, driving a rickety truck through dark tunnels, steadying the swaying iron-sights of a bolt-action rifle while standing in a white flurry. There are a lot of little touches and tricks-of-the-eye that make the whole experience unsettling, yet it’s hard not to squint at the image to get a closer look.
This is partially due to Mundaun‘s art style. It resembles the protagonist’s sketch book in a lot of ways, with smeared charcoal and crosshatched lines constructing buildings, faces, and terrain. No doubt it’s what drew me to the game at first, that and wonderful eeriness from “This Peaceful Town is Harboring a Horrible Secret” mysteries. Also, the game’s characters only speak Romansh, Switzerland’s fourth national language, which always peaks my interest in a world where most things are Americanized for the sake of the largest demographic.
Like its unique visual design, the gameplay and technical performance of Mundaun contains its fair share of rough edges. But even so, I appreciate what the team at Hidden Fields managed to created and it has me excited to see what the developers do next.
Valkyria Chronicles
Valkyria Chronicles contains multitudes. It’s equally moving and cheeseball, heartwarming and cringe, intuitive and obtuse. It’s a turn-based strategy game set in an alternate-reality WW2 where everything is exaggerated with broad strokes from a brush dipped in anime.
Similarly, much like their rifles and rocket-propelled lances, the characters of your militia unit, whose tank commander is the main protagonist, are stock. But the game’s story really grabbed me in parts and I felt each of the main squad members, from the prejudiced lounge-singer/machine-gunner to the tough, maternal scout who dreams of becoming a professional baker, experienced a satisfying arc that I found endearing and effective.
If anything, Valkyria Chronicles taught me that archetypes aren’t always a bad thing – just because a character exhibits traits you’ve seen before, that doesn’t make them less believable or human. I’m sure we all belong to one archetype or another and possess hidden stat bonuses and hindrances. For example, I’m likable, empathetic, and dutiful, so maybe I can boost the morale of nearby units with my steadfastness. But please don’t leave me alone on a sniper perch, I don’t do well with heights.
Thomas Was Alone
Thomas Was Alone is a game about jumping blocks that solve puzzles together. In the dryly narrated story, the blocks represent AI programs attempting to navigate the system they inhabit. The blocks are characterized by their color, shape, and movement in neat ways. John, for example, is a slim and tall golden block who is speedy and able to jump to great heights – John is also arrogant and boastful. Claire, on the other hand, is a large blue square that moves slowly but is able to float in water where others perish – Claire is shy but protective and eager to please, her unique ability allows her to ferry the crew across gaps.
On Twitter, I asked the game’s creator, Mike Bithell, what shape he identified with the most. He responded, “John is the one I relate to most. I try to be Claire.” I thought that was sweet.
Unpacking
Like Mundaun, Unpacking represents the kind of experiences I would like to create for players but in opposite ways. Unpacking is about the emotionally-charged act of cataloguing and organizing all of your stuff when moving into a new place. The game’s levels are pivotal moments in the player-character’s life that show a personal growth along with an accumulation of more complicated things. Their childhood bedroom, their college dorm, their first apartment with a partner, etc. Unpacking manages to tell a story while using very little words, and not just the arc of the game itself, but the personal interactions the player has with the game cement affinities for certain objects. As you begin to recognize recurring objects from the character’s travels after moves, for example, how will you store or display them? Where does the cherry-red double-decker bus go? Where does the stuffed pig go? The mother hen and her little chicks? What about the panini press? The drawing tablet? The Matrix DVD? The player will make these choices as they go along and (within reason) the game will allow it.
I want to write more about this game because it touches on the pleasures and anxieties I create for myself – chiefly, how I relate to the things I own. I think Unpacking is really novel in that way, and executes on a beautifully simple idea in a compact package.
The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Breath of the Wild really captivated the gaming world’s heart when it first released, and continues to do so five years later and for good reason, so I know there’s nothing new I can say about it. I’ve only played a couple of games in the storied Zelda series, but like a lot of people in my generation, Ocarina of Time for the Nintendo 64 marked a sea change for me and my appreciation of games. There was something about that world I found so fascinating to the point I frayed and bent the pages of my official strategy guide reading and rereading every page when I wasn’t playing just so I could prolong the spell. I would sit and stare at the title screen, watching Link ride through Hyrule field against the lilac sky, every time I flung the console switch “On”, and savored the anticipation of diving in again. Oh, and when the end credits was basically a flyover of all of the environments you’ve spent dozens of hours exploring and forming emotional attachments to? And with that music? Forget it. Flip me over, Koji Kondo, because I am done.
I happened to buy Breath of the Wild as a Christmas present for myself soon before I contracted COVID-19. I had attended a funeral and, with my food service job putting me in front of hundreds of people, I thought it considerate to get tested while the omicron variant was introducing itself to America. So I had to take off work and postpone my family’s holiday get-together, but I did have one of the most beloved open-world adventure games installed and ready to go.
It’s not often I write about games so soon after completing them. But I’m two hefeweizens in and my lightweight butt needs at least an hour to sober up so let’s go. I actually saw credits yesterday afternoon, but couldn’t wait to return this morning, standing awkwardly at the threshold to the final boss, fueled with fresh coffee and a desire to keep going.
Playing Breath of the Wild brought me back to those days pouring over the glossy, floppy pages of the archaic artifact known as a book sold alongside a game to help you play it. I loved that strategy guide, it’s probably sandwiched between yellowed shin guards and Star Wars LEGO sets in my old bedroom.
I haven’t felt this kind of giddiness in a while. It’s look, it’s music, and it’s willingness to let the player discover its systems – it’s no exaggeration when I’m saying it reawakened a dormant kid in me that’s had to hide from the pandemic. Fitting, then, that I happened to play Breath of the Wild while quarantined.
I didn’t experience any symptoms, thankfully, while infected, though it is always fun to play the “Is This Seasonal Allergies or a Generation-Defining Virus” guessing game with each headache and sniffle. During that time, I didn’t venture far from the couch save for a mad dash to a CVS that had antigen tests in stock. But similar to my glowing praise of Super Mario Odyssey, Breath of the Wild made me feel like I was going places. I can’t begin to describe how good it felt to steadily clip-clop my way on horseback through the plains, forests, swamps, or what have you, before hearing that calming melody accompanying a nearby stable where a cooking pot, a warm bed, and a group of fellow travelers awaited.
Polyphonic Prayer 