There have been many promises made over the development cycle of Crackdown 3. Now that the game has finally been released it’s time to see if those promises have been kept.
The quick answer? Eh, sort of.
In short, Crackdown 3 is a game that has suffered from bad timing. Partially due to the business dealings of the publisher Microsoft, and partially due to the apathetic fates that ignore our petty existence, the world that Crackdown 3 found itself born into was not the world it was conceived in.
PUBG, Fortnite, and Overwatch have changed the way online deathmatch is played, for better or worse. There’s very little room left in the market for a casual, unpolished, options-lite online multiplayer experience. Unfortunately that’s exactly what Wrecking Zone, Crackdown 3’s deathmatch mode, has presented.
With astronomical load times, spartan options, little-to-no customization, and continuous issues with freezing, stuttering, and crashing, it is fair to think that this is a dish that needed to spend a little more time in the oven.
A huge blow to its desirability is the lack of server selection and squading up. There is no solo play, only squad vs. squad. So it is a bit puzzling when you discover that you and your friends can not play together on one of these squads. You can’t even pick a server instance to make joining up randomly a little easier. It’s just you and some randos, and good luck with that.
Not allowing friends lists or group invites to a squad-only multiplayer game makes no sense. There is no chance of unbalanced play. No reason to stop people from ganging up on others. There are always two teams, and ONLY two teams. To hamstring your enjoyment by removing play with your friends is an insane oversight.
The long-promised destructible environments are here in this mode–and in this mode only–and although they do deliver a fresh and unique approach to deathmatch problem solving (Enemy up above you? Just shoot the ceiling out! Need to get to street-level fast? Just shoot the floor out!) the innate problems with server instability and everyone-has-a-lock-on-shooting-mechanic do too much to counteract that bit of success.
Perhaps where the game will find a temporary home in the hearts of gamers is in the campaign mode. Chock-full of simple arcadey action and momentum-based exploration, there is lots to enjoy for an afternoon or weekend. Collecting orbs and watching your parkour skills improve is a satisfying if mindless time-killer that will send you off course to greedily gobble up more and more glowing globes like some modern acrobatic Pac-Man. Increasing your arsenal of weapons, gadgets, vehicles, and agents will provide short-term goals and constantly-changing combat techniques.
There seems to be a large design focus on vehicles, which makes it all the more surprising that the actual driving mechanics are buggy, confusing, and unrewarding. It’s almost always more efficient–and because of hidden orbs, beneficial–to go everywhere on foot. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop is the most pleasurable experience in this game, so you will seldom find the need to switch into a clunky driving mechanic that slows and confounds you.
Combat encounters lack the uniqueness of the original Crackdown. There are basically three different setups that you will constantly be revisiting, and the lack of variety in enemy types and environments will turn them into a samey-samey grind after not too long. Random wandering enemies has been replaced by a “wanted level” mechanic that continuously sends waves of enemies to your location until you FAST TRAVEL AWAY. Seriously, the game tells you to leave the area you are purposely exploring in order to make this nuisance stop. It’s an interruption to the flow and pacing of the game that serves little purpose other than to increase how long you have to play in order to accomplish your goals.
And speaking of interruptions, let’s talk about cut-scenes. They are NONSTOP. Picked up a DNA strand? Cut-scene. Killed some people? Cut-scene. Climbed a tower? Cut-scene. Got too close to a map marker? Cu–well, you get the picture. Play is constantly being interrupted, sometimes mid-fight. This has the added bonus frustration of sometimes teleporting you to a new location, leaving you disoriented and without that orb you were just about to grab. And all the while your actions have running commentary and un-followable exposition by not just one, but TWO narrators. You spend more time wondering what you just missed than you do gleaning anything valuable about the storyline or game world.
The game does have a sort of beauty to its environments, but it feels like a dated beauty. They’ve stuck close to the aesthetics that are known and loved from the original titles–which is a good thing–but the character models feel like they came from 2012 instead of 2019. There’s a bit of overly-simplistic level design, but it is interrupted with quick moments of brilliance with momentum climbing and lore-friendly signage that allow for it to be by-and-large forgiven.
Running the campaign mode cooperatively with friends is definitely a huge boon. You may not find a ton of difference in the actual way you play as opposed to solo, but getting into a firefight with a buddy is always a rife environment for humor and excitement. This is one thing the Crackdown games have always got right, and although there are still way too many server issues even when playing the campaign, it’s the mode that should likely have the most draw.
The base of what makes the Crackdown franchise good simple fun is still here, it just lacks the polish we as gamers have come to expect from a big publisher like Xbox Game Studios. Clearly it needed more time, which leads one to wonder after considering how many times the release date was pushed back by months and years: What were they doing all that time?
Perhaps the first thing one has to reconcile when reviewing the latest season of Doctor Who is “What do we call it?” Is it Series 11 or Season 11? Season 37? Is it 13th Doctor Season 1? Depending on which fan site/VOD service/wiki article you look at you might get a different answer, but that’s due to the absolutely enormous history and longevity of the show. To add to the confusion, Classic Era seasons had multiple “Serials” within each season, and video collections in certain regions use different numbering schemes. Seasons, serials, series…It’s convoluted.
If you step into the TARDIS and do some timey-wimey stuff, you can end up in 1963 when the first season of the show aired. Over the next quarter of a century (give or take a year) the show assembled 26 seasons, ending with the Seventh Doctor in 1989. This is known as the Classic Era. In the mid-nineties (1996) there was a short resurrection in the form of a TV movie that featured the Eighth Doctor.
Although the story of the Doctor still continued in other various mediums over this time, it was a long 9 years of television drought before we’d see the Doctor on the small screen again. This modern Revived Era began with Christopher Eccleston’s Ninth Doctor in 2005, and with it came a labeling convention change, proclaiming itself Series 1. The Revived Era has continued unbroken to present day, with Doctors Ten through Twelve chalking up 9 more seasons (Series 2-10.) Still with me?
That makes the 2018 season with the Thirteenth Doctor “Series 11.”
So there it is. We got there! Series 11.
Series 11 continues right where the Series 10 Christmas Special “Twice Upon A Time” concludes (at least from The Doctor’s point of view) with a newly regenerated 13th Doctor tumbling through the sky and landing on a train in Sheffield. This is, of course, where chance has laid the path for our soon-to-be-new companions, and first contact with something that will prove to be a series villain. The Doctor, for her part, will end up spending A LOT of time in Sheffield over the next 10 episodes, and Earth at large.
It’s immediately clear to longtime watchers that Series 11 is something different. It’s a soft reboot, for all intents and purposes. There are sweeping vistas of the countryside coupled with impatient synth music, a cast that could perhaps be described as The Representation Checklist Superfriends, and a general sense of rebirth and retelling. This will not be adventure as usual: there will be lessons, and “art” and desperate grasping for relevance with The Kids. It’s like a random group of Tumblr users were forced to watch Stranger Things on a loop for two weeks and then told “You’re the production crew now, go make Doctor Who. And for gods sakes, make it go viral.” Who cares about story when you can instead talk politics and get lots of smug self-satisfied likes?
If I sound salty, you’re misreading. The cinematography is striking, the score moody and pregnant in all the right ways. The casting is phenomenal. The politics are thoughtful, reasonable, factually correct, and perfectly aligned with my own.
The writing just sucks.
For every victory of presentation there is hurried pacing that ruins it. For every academy-award-winning performance there is trite pandering and heavy-handed exposition. The action sequences, the witty banter, the fantastic locales and creatures…It’s like someone wrote these things using only the dictionary definition of “fun” but having never experienced it firsthand. It’s lifeless, dry, forced. It’s mimicry without respect.
The failure in the writing is a greater tragedy because of the steadfast support around it. Tosin Cole, who plays the confident-in-his-restrictions Ryan Sinclair, delivers performance after performance of heartfelt realism. He portrays a character that one can simultaneously sympathize with and look up to. At times he exhibits a tangible frustration that is delivered to the viewer via true empathy, and other times he is the life-coach we all need, cheering us on and telling us we can do it. His quiet character moments are the only times in the series when the writing slows down long enough to let us make a true connection, to allow the careful cinematography to capture real moments, and deliver scenes that the synth background music accurately scores. When I am brought to tears (which, admittedly, is all too often while ingesting cinema these days) Tosin Cole is usually on screen.
Yaz (Mandip Gill) is the immediately likable embodiment of capability. She commands respect without demanding it, and carries herself with an air of trustworthiness. Anything you ask of Yaz will be done, and done correctly. Perhaps that’s the major problem with her character’s presence on the show: there’s not much for her to do. Often times this character with a deep and interesting backstory is left to the wayside, or separated from the group in what amounts to “side quests.” The writers just don’t know what to do with her. There are three other main characters, after all, and that’s a lot of bodies and personalities to juggle in a scene. The successful past formula of “1 Doctor 1 Companion” has been altered here, and perhaps we now know why that system was in place. It CAN be done with more regulars, of course; Captain Jack Harkness was essentially a second companion for many episodes in the early years of the Revived Era, and his presence made every episode better. Rory was along for the ride during the majority of the Matt Smith years, and he never stretched the writing thin. Yaz, however, feels like an afterthought, a chore of a ball to keep in the air. It’s unfortunate for a character that could easily be the star of her own series. It would almost feel more natural to have her in a sort of Torchwood-esque spinoff roll, keeping the streets of Sheffield safe as she balances the life of a police officer with the secret knowledge of the vast cosmos that constantly attempt to encroach on Earth. Use her or dump her, don’t leave her standing in the peripheral next season.
Graham (Bradley Walsh) brings a unique element to the group, both as a character and with the actor’s comedic background. At times a foil, at other times a representation of endurance in the face of adversity, Walsh tinges every performance with subtle humor and determination. Graham’s connection to the group is anchored in his relationship with Ryan, a minor plot vein that pays off with the most impact overall, even beyond the season’s “main” storyline. His episode-centric presence is perhaps less necessary than even Yaz’s, but it’s through his plotline with Ryan that both characters gain relevance and experience real personal growth, cementing him in the cast. He occasionally bumps heads with the Doctor, which makes him all the more interesting, but there is a constant feeling that the Tardis could leave without him at any time.
And finally there is Jodie Whittaker as the 13th Doctor. A long overdue gender swap lands big with this casting, as Whittaker immediately embodies the Doctor with a natural swiftness unseen in previous iterations. A prophetic line in the first episode of the season has Whittaker suffering from temporary amnesia and spouting off “I’m looking for a doctor.” She found her. I’ve never before been so immediately accepting of a regeneration. Jodie Whittaker IS the Doctor. I didn’t have to get over the abruptness of physical changes or “warm up” to her version. There was none of this “eh, this doesn’t feel like the Doctor” that I’ve had with so many others (even those I eventually came to adore.)
But that’s not to say that the Doctor she was handed was perfect. Or rather, the opposite: she’s TOO perfect. The writers have not given Whittaker enough room to stretch the character out, to seek it’s dark corners or hidden undercurrents. This Doctor is 100% righteous and infallible all the time. It presents an unrealistic hero and one that comes across as shallow and empty. Although I do love her unwavering and unapologetic desire to do “right,” I worry that the one-sidedness will grow tiresome and repetitive without some more depth and exploration. The heroes I react to the most are those that choose righteousness in spite of shortcomings and temptation to the contrary, not those that are inborn beacons of perfection without effort.
To say that the writing is terrible is unfair. It’s not terrible. It’s not without its triumphs and brilliance. The season as a whole may seem rushed and hollow, but it’s bookended by solid episodes that really show what this version can be. Sometimes it’s the editing that fails. It largely lacks those quiet peaceful moments of character study that helps an audience form bonds with the people on screen. The synth tracks can often be a distraction, or an unfit pairing with the true mood of the scene. And there’s too much just running around for running around’s sake, with the Doctor rattling off long monologues of clumsy exposition (“Of course! The <insert aliens> have <insert scifi-y element> that make the <reasonable course of action> impossible!”) And then, of course, there’s the politics…
Representation is an important thing. It’s something that every show SHOULD have. It’s certainly one that Doctor Who has done well at times in the recent past, with numerous companions of varying color, gender, and sexuality. I mean, it had a major recurring queer character in 2005! It didn’t shy away from it, either. It was just natural. Captain Jack told us it was okay to be unabashedly bisexual. Martha Jones told us that WOC were not just background characters, they were doctors and scientists and stars. Bill showed us that a young black lesbian and an old white man can be COMPANIONS. This is the reason representation in media is so important, it lets us see ourselves on the screen. What the show never did in those days–nor does any show EVER need to do–is say “Look at how diverse we are, love us for it.” Representation is not just a nice gesture. It’s not a way to sell products. It’s a NECESSITY. It should be the default. You don’t get to celebrate yourself for it, and that’s what this season feels like it’s doing.
Every politically-charged theme or bit of dialogue is a pat-on-the-back to the writers and show-runners. In fact, so much of this is shoe-horned into the plot that a natural flow of story and theme is difficult to maintain. Between trying to prove how woke it is, AND trying to make every action sequence entirely riveting, AND trying to mimic whatever the current hit show on Netflix is, AND trying so hard to not be the Doctor Who of the past because young people won’t watch it…well there isn’t time for much else but to catch the audience up through Scooby-Doo style exposition. It becomes a field-medic patch job. It forces the writing to be lazy, or hurried, or just plain…plain. Or, as in the case of the New Year’s special, it forces the writer’s to completely reinvent the Daleks. It’s one thing to freshen up a series; it’s another thing to destroy canon.
You don’t have to reinvent the show to be successful. This isn’t about locking in to a system of nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake, either. It’s not a “New Star Wars” situation. It’s okay to change and grow and evolve; in fact, it’s vital to. The Doctor herself says it best: “We can honor who we’ve been and choose who we want to be next.” There’s a duality there. It’s not just a heavy-handed plea to audience members and critics to put the burden of the show’s appeal upon their own shoulders (which it is.) It is also a warning from a self-aware fictional character to her new caretakers: please do this thing right. For all of us.
As a self-described landlubber that is just now playing (and reviewing) a game that came out close to 10 months ago, I don’t know if I have anything truly original to add to the discussion. Sea Of Thieves, by now, has been reviewed and dissected and “Let’s Played” a rum-barrel’s worth already, so repeating what seems to be a common consensus of observations feels almost pointless. Still, I’m gonna do it. ‘Cause I want to. It’s MY blog, and I’m Captain here! So hoist that anchor and swab the sails or whatever!
For some background in case you haven’t seen the game, you and your friends (or other players online if you are the kind of pirate that sails alone) work as the crew of a pirate vessel, manning the sails and setting courses, out to uncover buried treasure and defeat other pirates along the way. You design your pirate, pick your ship, gather your crew, and set out into the open ocean, seeking the island on your treasure map to fill your coffers. It’s a fun concept, and one that thematically comes with some well-recognized and built-in tropes.
The first thing you are likely to notice is that the game is absolutely beautiful. Rare has done a phenomenal job here with everything from water textures to fish scales. It’s also an incredible social experiment for teamwork and group role play. These points are pretty much universally agreed upon, but there are short-comings that pop up across the board, too: It does feel like an unfinished game. It plays more like an early-access title, where the bones are in place and the skin is holding everything where it should be, but there just aren’t that many organs in the body yet. It’s missing content, and a variety of content, to be specific.
One place the game falls short is in the item system. You essentially start the game with every item you will ever use, from shovel, to concertina, to flintlock. You can spend in-game gold to purchase new skins for these items, but you can never augment them, change them mechanically in any way, or ever encounter new items to use. An upgrade system patched in for tools, weapons, or your pirate in general would go along way to making this a return-play title. As it stands you only make money in order to buy more cosmetic skins, which is not a recipe for a long life cycle. If those skins meant something–if buying a different flintlock pistol had an actual in-game effect for damage or rate of fire or accuracy–then grinding it out would feel more beneficial. I’d spend 5,000 gold for a spyglass that zoomed in farther; I’m not so inclined to pay it for an identical spyglass that just has a different color trim.
A very strong positive in the item discussion is the music aspect. Having musical instruments to play during down-times–in harmony together no less!– is absolutely fantastic. It’s my favorite innovation for any game in years. The bottom line, however, is that like many other things in the game, there just isn’t enough of it. There are only three instruments and four songs, so you will burn through the variety quickly. If I had my druthers there would be a few more instruments and a ton more songs. This isn’t just a passing thought, I’ve thought a lot about how it could be implemented in a more engaging way! First, you would start with only one instrument, and have several more that you could buy, giving you a reason to spend your hard-pillaged gold when you get back to port. New songs could be unlocked from quests, or by leveling up with a certain faction, and having an option to purchase or uncover sheet music would be interesting. Perhaps new songs could be unlocked when you buy new instruments (or new skins for your existing instruments.) THEN it would mean something. Hell, I’d grind for weeks just to unlock new songs.
Interaction with other crews can be a fun and rewarding experience. I was boarded by another crew once that just wanted to make an alliance with me, and after agreeing we shared our subsequent gold rewards for the remainder of the play session. When encountering others in-game there’s this moment of “Are we going to be friends or enemies?” where you size each other up, swords drawn, apprehensive and wary. And then when the voice chat kicks in, which is directional and area based (use game chat, not party chat!) you can diplomacize your way through.
Of course, this is a game about pirates! So often times you’ll be scrapping and broadsiding and looting and killing each other. It can occasionally be frustrating when, for the third mission in a row, another crew sinks your ship or runs off with your treasure chests before you can turn them in, but that’s part of what the game is all about. Sometimes the best way to defend against pirates is to become a pirate.
The act of sailing itself feels very rewarding and almost therapeutic. Working together to navigate, keep the wind, and decide when and where to drop anchor gives a rush of excitement to each and every mission, even if its just to collect chickens. You might find yourselves at each other’s throats one moment, and reveling in your impressive synergy the next. It’s a tiny social experiment each time you set sail for a new destination.
You’ll find each crew member must fill a role. The helmsman can’t see where they’re going, so the navigator will have to bark cardinal directions and headings from the map room, while the lookout in the crows nest or up on the bow tells them how to avoid rocks and unmarked land masses and other ships, while the deck hand raises, lowers, and angles the sails for optimal speed and handling. It forces you to work together and communicate clearly, and when it doesn’t work you could be in for hilarious results. As good as it feels to get your crew working together like a well-oiled machine, it is sometimes even more entertaining to fight over directions and crash your ship into a jetty of rocks.
Rare has put a lot of their strengths into this game, which is to say creating bright, fun, cartoony visuals and lighthearted comedic fun. But don’t let that superficial take fool you: Sea Of Thieves is chock-full of some of the most amazing and shockingly beautiful visuals you’re likely to see in a video game. The rolling waves and water spray are hands down the best I’ve ever seen, and there have been a multitude of sunrises, sunsets, and storms that took my breath away. I often found myself staring into the distance, mystified, instead of steering my galleon away from the rocks that were about to kill us all.
Overall the game is just a little too friendly. Dying, and even sinking your ship, has absolutely no penalty associated with it other than the loss of time. You don’t lose gold, you don’t lose stats, you don’t lose reputation. Just the time it takes to regenerate your ship. You don’t even have to buy a new one! Ships are free! Of course any treasure chests you had on board will sink too, but you’ll get a resupply of bananas and cannonballs and wood for free, and there are always new chests to uncover. But this no-consequences approach coupled with the fact that there are absolutely no upgrades or perks for items or sailors, makes for a “beginner friendly” feeling at all points of the game. You don’t feel rewarded for grinding, and PVP will always be the same equal experience. It’s a bit of a let down.
And then, of course, there are the huge difficulty swings. While this almost makes the last paragraph seem dubious, the game sets you up to feel comfortable and fair, with your experience being hamstringed by PVP balance, only to suddenly dump you into a fight with a Kraken on the edge of an erupting volcano where you have absolutely no chance of victory. And since you’ll never upgrade your ship or equipment, there’s no clear path for overcoming these high-difficulty obstacles. It seems greatly imbalanced for a game that has presented itself as “all about balance.”
There are a few other personal gripes I have about the way you interact with the world. For example, when you’re on an island you can’t see what the island’s name is, even if you have the map in your hand. It tells you on-screen when you approach but there isn’t any other way to check it once you do. The mission picking mechanic doesn’t work well, either. There’s some missions that use the captain’s table for a vote and others that don’t. You can’t highlight what mission you’re on. You can’t put multiple missions down to vote on. It needs to be addressed.
Pushing rowboats around needs fixed. We managed to get several of them stuck over a couple days of playing, with no way to back them up or push them off the spit. There also doesn’t seem to be a way to pivot around in place or row backwards (at least we couldn’t discover a way.)
The interface does a lot of heavy lifting, but there are some minor inconveniences. It’s hard to switch to bananas, your only healing agent, when you’re in the middle of a fight, something you’ll most certainly have to do. Patching holes in your ship is also unintuitive, as it forces you to highlight wood planks in the item wheel specifically instead of just checking if you have any in your inventory. The game doesn’t ask you to take this extra step for loading cannonballs, so it’s a surprising and frustrating discovery when you first go to patch a hole and the UI tells you that you need wood planks, even though you clearly have five.
It would be very nice to have a little feedback for the player when you’re doing damage. You are never shown how much each weapon dishes out, and often you can’t even tell if you hit your opponent or not. It makes some fights drag and feel futile. Players like to weigh the pros and cons of different weapons, and know that when they hit they are actually doing damage.
I also encountered two major bugs while playing. The first one displayed the buttons on screen incorrectly when giving me instructions. For example it might say “Press Y To Sell Chest” but I actually had to press “X” on my controller. This happened on multiple occasions and for different interactions. Secondly, a very major glitch took place that left me unable to interact with objects at all. I couldn’t steer the ship, I couldn’t look at the map, I couldn’t fire the cannons. I was reduced to a glorified look-out for a chunk of my time while other crew members did all the interacting. It seemed like Beta build stuff that shouldn’t be occurring this far into the development cycle.
So how do you suppress those feelings of frustration and anxiety in-game? Well, there’s grog! Grog drinking is fun and immersive, and it’s one of the best “drunk-mode” sequences I’ve seen, with random stumbling and swaying visuals, accompanied by sailor hiccups and burps. But after the first two or so times you’ll probably not do it again, unless it’s to purposefully frustrate your shipmates or your streaming audience. Unlike in real life, there are no mechanical benefits to drinking grog. It’s just funny.
To counteract some of that recent negativity, let me throw down some other positive things. Clouds in the shape of things is awesome. The bullhorn affect on group chat was a fun and surprising detail. I learned Port and Starboard, Bow and Stern! I kinda learned how to sail! Honestly, this game had me looking up terminology and techniques for a real-life skill that I had previously never had an ounce of interest in. That’s pretty cool.
I don’t say this often (in fact, I don’t think I’ve EVER said it before) but Sea Of Thieves would actually benefit from following the Free-2-Play model. It’s an online multiplayer game, after all, with only cosmetic upgrades to spend your in-game currency on. Paying for it like a normal full-release game, even at a reduced price tag…just isn’t reasonable. People will spend money for in-game cosmetics, Fortnite has proven that. You can keep PVP even and fair–you don’t have to venture into that despicable Pay-2-Win category–and still make money off the product. This seems like a game that would become exponentially better the more people were playing it. A Microsoft exclusive release at $60 for an online multiplayer game…Yeah, this was a marketing problem that hopefully hasn’t sunk an otherwise entertaining and well-made game.
The final word is: It’s a terrific game, loaded with fantastic details and interesting concepts and breath-taking vistas and thoughtful interactions. Is it worth playing? Absolutely! I had a BLAST playing it. But will I keep coming back to it? Will it be a return-title that I just can’t help but play over and over again? Probably not. Not in its current state, at any rate. With more content, more depth, and more motivation to upgrade and grind it could be a tremendously addictive game, full of replay value and months of enjoyment, but for now I’ll hang up my captain’s hat and retire from sea life with the riches I’ve already acquired.
Here’s a gameplay montage of one of my play sessions with friends from my YouTube channel (yeah, go subscribe!) PG-13 for language.
I found myself wandering all alone on the outskirts of the marshlands, a young Eve of perhaps 16 searching for a new home. I had nothing of my own, not even clothing on my back. My first thought was food, of course, the dull whispering ache in my stomach getting louder with each passing moment in this cold empty frontier. A bush glistening with ripe berries caught my eye, and as I filled my belly I noticed something else glisten in the distance. It was bright gold and forged by man, and as I drew closer I saw that it rested in what was the remnants of a lost civilization. I clothed myself in rabbit furs, and fed upon a forgotten store of carrots hidden in a small shack. Rows of overgrown fields were scattered out back, and seeds and water skins, untouched for an unknown duration, sat in wait for a new farmer to take up the plow. The glistening item revealed itself to be a crown of gold lying in the dirt, a gilded carrot fastened to its center. I placed the crown upon my head and surveyed my new kingdom. It would be a lifetime of work to get it functional again, but perhaps this would be the legacy I would pass down to my children, and to their children. For I was now the Carrot Queen.
No, this was not a drug-induced fever dream, or the opening chapter to a prehistoric fantasy novel written by a weathered survivalist. This was One Hour One Life, the new MMO indie survival game-meets-social-experiment from developer Jason Rohrer.
The game is deceivingly simplistic in its presentation, and this uncluttered UI and singular unspoken instruction (go survive) is part of what gives the game its charm. The cartoony visuals are simultaneously humorous and endearing, from a newborn baby’s lolling tongue to a devil-may-care closed-eye smirk of an elderly person in a wolfskin cap.
That transformation from helpless infant to blasé geriatric is mostly what One Hour One Life is about, and it’s where countless stories will unfold and take form. Its unique take on the stages of life and an individual’s role within a family unit and community is what really sets this game apart from other flashier and more well-known titles in the survival genre.
You enter the game as a newborn baby, and your mother is another real-life player in the game world. This occurs at random anywhere on the server where a suitable “Eve” of the proper age is playing. It’s worth noting that these births are neither planned nor anticipated, as there is no “pregnancy” period that an Eve can prepare for. She is just going about her business trying to survive in this harsh unforgiving environment, and suddenly there is now a new mouth to feed at her feet.
It’s an exceptionally unique entry-level period for a survival game. As a baby you cannot feed yourself, you can not work or pick up items, or contribute to the settlement in any significant way. In fact, you can’t even speak in sentences. You are limited to only a single letter for in-game communication, unable to adequately express your needs or thoughts until you grow. Each “year” of your life you get another letter to your speaking limit, representing your slow grip on language and verbal communication. Those first years you are essentially at the mercy of your mother to be fed and clothed and kept warm, and your very presence is a drain on the tribe you were born into, as you consume both labor hours and resources without returning anything.
Time within the game world is what gives One Hour One Life its title. Each minute of real time represents a year to your character, so by the time you become a teenager you will have been in the game for 13 minutes. The upper limit to an individual’s lifespan is 60 years old, and thus One Hour is One Life. When you die of old age–if you get there at all–it will have seen you through the entirety of that character’s presence in the game. There is no saving, no loading, and when you are reincarnated there is little chance that you will return to the settlement you spent your time building and expanding. You, like all of us, do what you can in the time you are given, and hopefully you have left enough behind for your children and grandchildren to build upon. You will not see the farm become a thriving bakery, or watch as technology evolves into better tools and techniques for survival. You will mine the ore or fill the storehouse so that the next generation has time to forge items or raise a barn. And you likely will have mined that ore with a pickaxe that one of your predecessors crafted and left for you to find.
Since this world is filled with real players and not NPCs, there is no guarantee that they will act in a predictable or even a moral manner, and this is where the social experiment comes in to play. Your mother may not have the skills or instincts to keep you alive long enough for you to take care of yourself. Or she may very plainly tell you “Sry, no bbs” and carry you into the woods to die of starvation alone. And when YOU are older and have a baby of your own you will have to make that same choice. Will I sacrifice the next five minutes feeding this child, even though it lowers my own hunger meter? Will I be able to balance watering the crops with checking on a crying baby every twenty seconds? You can’t carry a baby and an item at the same time, so suddenly you can’t get the water from the well to the fields. Will you abandon the child or care for it? Will you teach it how to farm or how to bake pies, or will you drop it off at the fire and hope some good-hearted surrogate will see them to adulthood?
The potential for griefing in a game like this is immediately apparent, but what you will likely find instead is a small but growing community of helpful players that are both willing to groom newcomers and fill the roles the system has laid out for them. Roleplay is abundant, and the world is surprisingly immersive. The main website for One Hour One Life (which launched off-steam!) speaks about each player taking part in their own story, and I’ve found this to be very true. I recall one run where I was cared for by an exceptional mother that taught me how to craft everything I’d need to contribute to our tribe. She was there by my side as I grew into adulthood, and when she became old and ready to pass on she gathered me and my siblings around to say goodbye and bestow a gift to each of us. Then when her old bones fell to the ground we marched her north to a burial shrine to honor her.
Of course, not all playthroughs will be so smooth and immersive. My very first time playing I spawned to a mother that was running away from a grizzly bear. It immediately caught and ate me, hence the title of this review being Ten Seconds One Life. You will have many misfires, where you forget to eat or your mother forgets to feed you. The learning curve is huge, and perhaps the best advice I can give to new players is to Keep Playing. You’ll learn more and more as you go, and if you aren’t afraid to ask questions you’ll get taught just about every skill you need to survive and thrive.
As for the Carrot Queen and her golden crown, I was surprised to find such a cool item in the game. There are THOUSANDS of craftables in the game and many more planned to be added as civilization grows out of the iron age. Even more to my surprise was how I was able to bring that farm back to a working plantation with just myself and my offspring to work it. My firstborn daughter was a seasoned player that helped forage and build the things that I could not, and soon she had children of her own and every job on the farm was accounted for. When our stores were full of carrots and my 60th year was nearly upon me I gathered my family around the fire to say goodbye. I placed my crown on my littlest newborn granddaughter, named her, and declared her the new Carrot Queen. The family cheered and told me that they loved me, and I knew this story was complete as I passed away from old age after a full life well lived.
51st State is all about building an engine. And like the post-apocalyptic world it represents thematically, building things that you want to build will be difficult and not always work without a little bit of ransacking and raiding.
You see, to create one thing you’ll need to produce another thing, and to get that other thing you’ll need to produce a third thing that can be turned into a fourth thing that can be exchanged for the second thing…It’s a pretty standard engine-building game in that way. Each playable faction will have their own strengths and weaknesses as far as what they can produce. They’ll have a bit of technology leftover from the old world, or they just know how to scavenge for certain items. Sometimes, though, you’ll need to destroy a building in order to get to the salvage you need. Sometimes it’s better to use force to take what you need from another player.
Most of this is happening only within the thematics, of course. Take away the post-apoc pictures and descriptions and it could be a game about matching colored squares or numbers to produce mathematical equations. But the theme of industry after the fall of civilization goes a long way in this one, and every action and outcome is brilliantly matched with visuals and representations that help you transcend a basic engine-building game and really experience the struggle of post-apoc living.
What I’ve found with 51st State is that you may not know what your strategy is until you’re halfway through the game. Items you were trying to produce take a backseat to others because you suddenly discover a little combo that you’d like to exploit. Or perhaps you’ve looked up and realized that you need to go raid your neighbors tableau, and that’s so fun and easy that you decide building your own salvage yards aren’t worth your time. The cards that become available to you will drive new strategies, much like a wanderer in the wasteland making do with only the scraps they can find.
51st State has some of my favorite game pieces of anything I’ve played in recent memory. It’s not the standard wood and stone of most Eurogames. Instead there are guns, and gears, and gas cans. This adds a refreshing new element that helps it stand apart from similar games, and the themes are so realized that they will immediately burrow into your brain. You will be that mutant scavenging for scrap. You will be a post-apoc entrepreneur.
You aren’t going to get the exploration feel of Fallout in this game, and you won’t be simulating combat like in Dust. But for strategy lovers, deck building enthusiasts, and anyone with a taste for the post-apocalyptic, this game is going to have a permanent rotation in your game collection.
Super stoked to start a campaign of Pandemic Legacy!
If you haven’t played a legacy game, essentially there will be rule changes, special ability upgrades, map location changes, and many other game minutiae effects that carry over from game to game. Think of it as a “campaign” that continues each time your group pulls Pandemic out of the game closet.
We’re playing “Season 2” as the group I play with these days already played season 1 before I moved to town. I’ve played lots of Pandemic in my day, but this is my first legacy game of any kind. I’ve heard friends rave about Risk Legacy for years.
We had a blast playing, enough so that we’re planning a second game night just to devote to it.
The game plays very similar to the original, but sort of in reverse. Instead of traveling to locations to cure their viruses we make sure locations have supplies so that war and famine and disease don’t break out. It’s a new thematic approach, but it feels natural and familiar to veterans.
Pandemic is a cooperative game, which is why it’s one of my favorites. It’s also HARD. That fact hasn’t changed with the Legacy version, and of the two rounds we played last night only one was a success.
Next up we get to explore more of the map, as the game presents a fog-of-war mechanic usually reserved for video games. It’s masterfully done in my opinion, with changes to characters, the game board, and even the rulebook itself completed with stickers or markers, making it a “permanent” change. Each character even has a sort of life bar, hidden behind scratch-ticket silver. You won’t know who can take the most damage until it happens, and character death is permanent.
It took me a while to get on board with the concept of a game being “one use,” but it’s so seamlessly and naturally accomplished that I quickly saw the merit of a permanent option over a recyclable one. You’ll get your money’s worth. Yes, if you want to start a new game with a new group you’ll need a new copy of the game, but it will play so uniquely that it almost doesn’t matter, even to penny-pinchers like myself.
I’ll update as the campaign moves on, but for now my initial review comes with high praise and a strong recommendation to gamers of the genre and even role players and strategy gamers in general.
Shogun by Queen Games (not to be confused with the 1986 game of the same name by Milton Bradley) is a resource management / zone control game for 3-5 players.
First, let me say, this game is a lot of fun for someone like me that cut their teeth on Risk and Catan at various times in their board-gaming life. The game board itself will immediately remind you of Risk with its Regions and Provinces and unit allocation. Digging deeper you get elements of Citadels and Kingsburg with turn order and special power selection. You will have to manage rice and gold properly while defending your borders (or expanding them) and erecting buildings that decide your eventual Victory Points. It’s like Risk smashed together with Catan, which is very cool because both of those games with their singular objectives become a bore after too many playthroughs.
This brings us to the most important and interesting part: Combat! A special dice tower is used for your units to “hit”, but instead of throwing dice into the tower you will throw the warring units themselves. The innards of the tower have maze-like paths and shelves with cutouts, making some units stay inside the tower and others find their way through. Your units may just push other units stuck inside the tower out, and on top of it all there are Farmer units that can battle for or against you seeded within the tower. It’s a fully unique and interesting mechanic that adds elements of luck, statistics, and meta-gaming. Most importantly, it takes trust in the hardware and the playtesters that helped develop it.
The theme of feudal Japan is a refreshing change of pace from fantasy and scifi tropes that overwhelm gaming, and although this may only be an aesthetic reskin that holds no true relevance to game play mechanics, it was a welcome element.
The game materials state that it takes about 2.5 hours for a game, but we played 4 hours in a five player game, and we tend to play fast, so add an hour or two for your group if you have slow or methodical players. There are lots of decisions to make and if you aren’t thinking ahead and adjusting strategies as new things crop up on the board you could get stuck in a sluggish drag.
There are 3 and 4 player options for the game, but 5 player seems to be the most balanced and what the developer intended.
Overall a great game, and one that I am super pumped to play again!