Ratings and Reviews by Passerine

This game is not like anything I’ve encountered before. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I finished the final branch weeks ago, in a good way—and yet it’s easy to see why it’s so polarizing. The story is shocking, at times downright repulsive, in ways that I usually would not appreciate. The humor made me laugh, but it also made me wince. The writing is self-aware and full of asides (which I enjoyed, but not everyone does). It’s long, like novel-length long, and there are only a few choice points. Sometimes it almost felt like the game was challenging me to stop playing it so I wouldn’t get far enough to see the vulnerable parts below the surface. But I wanted to know where the heck this story was going. And then right around the time I got to that one scene deep into the first story branch—a horrifying moment that I never would have imagined in a lifetime of ideating—something shifted and I was along for the ride.

It felt like art.

Challenging parts aside, I really enjoyed the story and the way it was constructed. The premise—that the world had ended and a new humanity was born in the distant future, with a reverence for the ancient rapper Pitbull—doesn’t sound very serious, but it’s mined for both comedy and drama (and horror, romance, etc.). Underneath all the blood and guts, this game has heart, and plenty of important things to say. Even without many choices to make, I felt like an active participant, because the static parts periodically check in with the reader and leave room for reflection. Choice and self-determination seems like a major theme, and the fact that the story branches hinge on (Spoiler - click to show)relatively trivial decisions like what side dish you choose struck me as both funny and effective. The structure and ideas reminded me of other stories I’ve loved despite their roughness, like the Zero Escape series, House of Leaves, the work of Vonnegut or Saramago.

So, I’m in awe. I could never have written this game. I think the experience of playing it will make me a better, more vulnerable writer. For me, the difficult parts were rewarding in the end. And the end was really beautiful.

At its core, Starbreakers is a series of puzzles, but the puzzles are complemented by a slowly unfolding story which wrapped up the game nicely. It's mostly standard math/logic/word puzzles, but a few stood out as particularly creative, and together they formed a fun and satisfying path to the conclusion. Increasingly detailed hints are available in the sidebar, and I appreciated the wink to seasoned puzzlers somewhere in the middle (thank you for not making me do that thing I thought I was going to have to do). Worth an hour or so of your time if you like puzzles but not majorly challenging ones.

I really appreciated this game as a straightforward narrative, as a reflection on IF nostalgia, and as a multilayered mystery to unravel. The story is beautifully recursive, and the way the gameplay ties itself in knots is just fun. The descriptions and parser responses were entertaining and full of detail. Certain events felt slightly uncomfortable, but resolved in ways that made the conclusion even more satisfying—at least it felt like a conclusion, though it seems very possible I still have more to discover.

A nostalgic yet fresh adventure game set in an unusual world with unfamiliar problems that nonetheless felt very real. Light on puzzles, heavy on character. The story was both fun and emotionally resonant, and I appreciated the feeling of being able to choose how things turned out. Even the title is just really good. I enjoyed this game a lot, and I feel like I understand orcs better after playing it.

There's a beautiful simplicity to Inform code, and Antique Panzitoum uses both the phrasing and the features of the code to evoke a sense of place and inspire the imagination even though interactivity can only be imagined. The repetitive nature of the code makes the world seem even more epic, and I just thought it was really cool.

I also enjoyed playing the game itself before knowing what the code said, because the helplessness of not knowing was beautiful in its own way.