Early on last year, I decided that 2018 was going to be Year of the Catch-Up. I had a (correct) hunch that shifting my focus away from the year’s roster of games would be more productive; luckily, you don’t build up an untenable backlog of giant games for nothing!
While I was pensively curating my list of “actual” 2018 games (which should be out shortly after this one), I’ve had several of these working through my head in the background. It ultimately felt underdeveloped to simply list out the games I played in 2018 if I didn’t supplement it like this.
I mean, besides: time, am I right? We live in the days of future's past, baby. What was once retro is now inevitably contemporary, and the decay of it all is part of the charm.
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It's not done, and, to tell the truth, I haven’t even played all of what’s already there. But I can’t imagine it being anywhere other than #1 on this list. Kentucky Route Zero’s current legacy is marred a bit by its production cycle, but when that dies down, it will only be remembered as one of the most original and well-crafted interactive stories since the idea of computers running code for entertainment was first thought. Despite games being more popular than ever, it sees no equal in the medium, and Act III by itself is one of my favorite games ever. And yet, with all this exaggerative talk, the best thing I can say about KRZ is that it has clear, simple goals and is successfully achieving them. It’s an approachable and scenic story-driven game that’s as engaging to prod at as it is to step back and view through the entirety of your vision. Many games could be described this way, but few have the deftness of this one. Still waters can run deep, sure, but Kentucky Route Zero’s waves crash and leave the seaward mist on my cheeks by comparison.
How do you write about a game that tries to be a little bit of everything? This is a game where I can beat up a gang’s worth of baddies, manage a cabaret, and lose my money in a crane game all within the same half-hour. Maybe I’ll squeeze in a quick meal if I have the time. This breadth (note: not depth, that’s different) would cause any other game to look incredibly bloated before you even began to explore why, but in Yakuza 0, there's a sense of place that makes it all work. Oddly, this game’s open-world doesn’t share the same set of compliments that I’d give something like Breath of the Wild or Fallout; its interactivity begins and ends with every highlighted thing on the map, and the rest only serves as a busy passageway to the others. However, I can’t think of a game world more densely packed with personality and verisimilitude. I avoid calling it accurate because I’ve never been to the areas that inspired Yakuza, but I surely never doubted the structure and the behaviors that these emulated districts offered. After hours spent there, I began to recognize stores and landmarks like I would any city I’ve lived in. With that in mind, no wonder the series has taken place in this place for a decade -- it works.
Wow, they really don’t make ‘em like they used to. Never before have I played a game so committed to exploring the high-level of its design that the other parts start to resemble neglected ferns, wilting and starved of sustenance. Navigating a brilliant level with seemingly endless possibilities was incredible exactly up to the point that I had to, I dunno, do anything? Sheesh, you’d be shocked to discover these days that J.C.’s verb set was attempting to emulate any kind of human behavior, augmented or otherwise. You don’t climb ladders like that, Ion. As a result, quicksaving became an increasingly welcome feature as time went on, to the point that I wouldn’t rightfully do anything risky without knowing I had a way to reverse it should the game (or my understanding of it) completely go against the intention. Oh, and it almost always did. However, I now fully understand why this game is notoriously reinstalled by about anyone that remembers it exists. 18 years later, it still has a fantastic sense of place (my favorite) with a completely malleable ruleset (also my favorite). Wiping off the dust on your copy will almost surely be worth it, but don’t be surprised if the airborne dust causes a coughing fit.
This obscure PS2 survival-horror game made by Capcom of all companies has been just out of reach for as long as I can remember. I first saw it being played in the early annals of Youtube Let’s Plays, with a video that probably had less than 10k views. Its premise was immediately charming, but I grew quickly disappointed when I discovered that it was almost impossible for an American preteen like me to get. It’s a PAL-only release, with as few copies as you would imagine a licensed adaptation of a niche CGI cartoon would have. In a display of true ironic pain, when the prospect of playing this game finally emerged after PS2 emulation reached “no longer a pipedream” status, it was one of very few games that simply couldn’t run. Not for any significant reason, it just... Didn’t. However, that was EVENTUALLY solved, and, over a decade later, here we are (with an annoying sound bug BUT WHATEVER). Really, this is less about the game itself than it is the fact that I am done with that part of my life. Gregory Horror Show was exactly what I expected, which means that I took it eagerly. Hooray, I can die happy now.
Dark Souls II is nothing if not divisive. Some will say it’s their favorite, some will say the complete opposite with identical enthusiasm. For years I fell in the latter. I still remember the draining feeling that the game caused within me, and after finishing it, I was genuinely convinced that I’d never play it again, despite a long tail of DLC and a complete re-release (at the time, unheard of). Speaking of said re-release, I played it. Scholar of the First Sin, uh, doesn’t change all that much, to be honest. It made the lighting a bit different, thus causing the formerly-vestigial torch mechanic to be something worth engaging with (though, a post-process shader could do the same). Items were mildly rearranged, and a bizarre shift was made on petrified NPCs littering the entire world to artificially gate access to stuff? I guess? It’s the same game in essence, which brings to mind one question: despite its efforts, why did I largely enjoy my time with it? I guess the decade-long unfurling of From Soft’s dynasty has made me reconsider what I value in these games. I loved the uprooting that Bloodborne’s blackened and tacky fingertips helped pull; in contrast, III’s commitment to the first game’s design served as a reminder that late-industry pressure to iterate can wear down even the most ornate patterns. II sits somewhere around these games, I think, with its tinkering to the original’s design bringing plenty of hits and plenty of misses. It’s still my least favorite, but I suppose that means less than it used to.
I can’t remember the last time I really enjoyed a WRPG. It’s become more apparent to me as time passes that the long shadow of the indefectible avatar makes for the kinds of design and narrative principles that I’ve grown increasingly tired of. I’m fine with indulgence - it’d be ridiculous for me not to be - but these worlds that have been meticulously formed with purpose can become so... à la carte? It’s ironic that the genre whose history ties to multi-player tabletop games has wound up feeling so solipsistic. You might as well call them sandboxes with how easily they bend to you. I just want a role in a role-playing game - is that so much to ask? The Witcher has been both blessed and cursed in this regard by having Geralt of Rivia serve as the trilogy’s player character. His flat affect and bloodlust (also lustlust) aren’t the most colorful of backgrounds to work with, and his characterization comes with many trappings that still lead him outside of the consequences that everyone else shares. But. It’s a unique issue, and one that I’ll happily work through if it means I get some time away from the standard grind. The Witcher 3 shows him at his most willing to behave in a coherent world. Through lines of dialogue carefully constructed to feel like conversation, you and Geralt almost work in tandem to (sometimes literally) assess the people and state around him. Especially worth mentioning is his attitude and interactions with Ciri, who feels like someone you can teach, but ultimately not control. Despite my shortcomings with the game (and there are puh-lenty), its best qualities served as a vacation from these things.
This game is a damn mess, perhaps the finest example of a “mixed” experience. It’s complex and beautiful and plays like a dream, but paradoxically loses its best traits the more invested you become. The open nature of the castle is rarely a benefit, with the shift in the mid-game pushing that flaw to its absolute limits. It’s also the easiest Castlevania that I’ve played by far, with only a few (egregiously bad) bosses providing friction in the experience. Worst of all, though? It ends so much lower than it begins, with a fatiguing slog through the castle climaxing with an overpowered weapon shredding the final boss into mince. Dracula didn’t stand a chance. Scrutiny doesn’t do its airy complexion any favors. It’s a game best experienced almost offhandedly. If you’re like me, you’ve heard about this game for years through hushed tones that helped build its legacy far past what a ‘97 platformer should reasonably be expected to perform at. My advice to those people? Let it stay that way. It’s more interesting to wonder.