Ratings and Reviews by EJ

The Galaxy Jones games are a pulpy sci-fi series starring an action heroine with a super-suit, some sort of an energy weapon, and the grit necessary to take on any space-age threat. My experience with the first game was a bit of a mixed bag. I remember the delight I felt whenever I got a point and got the ASCII logo, but I also remember a certain amount of wrestling with the parser.

In this entry, our heroine is on a mostly-deserted space station that the Siriusians, a group of alien cyborgs, is about to use to launch Phobos into Mars (I think?) to strike a blow against the humans in what appears to be an ongoing war between them. This at first makes the Siriusians seem like straightforward villains, but documents you find throughout the game add nuance—once you can read them, that is.

I enjoyed running around the space station, hoovering up Siriusian text for my translator doohickey, and then going back to reread things as the words gradually filled in. I also enjoyed the first few door puzzles, which are an unusual variant on the “Lights Out” puzzle type—I have never loved Lights Out, to be honest, but it turned out that (Spoiler - click to show)instead of being about spatial reasoning these were about math, which I found easier to get to grips with. I took notes, I figured out patterns, I felt smart.

Then I ran into a door that required something else entirely, and that I didn’t manage to figure out. What I needed to do just wasn’t really intuitive to me, and I would have liked more of a nudge in that direction. But you can use literal brute force to bypass any door, and so I did that just to keep the game moving… only to immediately get hung up on a new type of puzzle that couldn’t be bypassed that way. That one I managed to solve on my own after sleeping on it, but having my momentum killed that way such that I had to walk away from the game for a day was a bit of a downer. At this length I much prefer to play a game in one sitting. So I really wished there were somewhere I could have turned, not to have the solution handed to me, but just for a bit of a hint.

The portion after that puzzle also went smoothly and I did win the game (although with so few turns to spare that I didn’t try for the two optional non-door points, which I might return to later). On the whole I would say that I had a good time, especially with everything up to the blue door, and the implementation was very smooth—at no point did I think “I know what I need to do, but I don’t know what I need to type to do it.” But while I understand the diegetic hints of the previous game may not work in this context, a hint system of some sort would have taken this from very good to excellent.

Backpackward is about a put-upon wage slave who finds that when he wears his trusty backpack, the cellar at his neighbor Jan’s house turns into a portal to a medieval fantasy world. The main mechanic is inventory management, with the unusual-for-IF twist that this is basically a spatial reasoning puzzle; there are pixel graphics for the backpack and all the things you can put in it and you can rotate the items around to try to pack them in as efficiently as possible. It’s distinctive and smoothly implemented and the graphics look nice.

The writing, though, I have mixed feelings about. The game’s blurb promises a PC with “anger management issues” who experiences “no emotional growth”, so it feels a little gauche to then complain about him. I have looked into the bag labeled “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”, and guess what, there was a dead dove in there. But look, it’s not that I’m against comedies where the point is to watch terrible people suffer the consequences of their own actions, it’s just, did it have to be a stereotypical nerd who’s weird about women and a little bit casually homophobic? I’m kind of tired of that guy as a protagonist, even when he’s mostly the butt of the joke. Maybe I would feel differently if the main fantasy-world female character didn’t fawn over him. (Of course, she has ulterior motives… which have to do with feeling insecure because her sister was forced into marriage by the evil ruler and not her. I’m not sure that’s better?)

That said, the writing is often legitimately funny, if often also mean-spirited with it. I enjoyed the description of the PC’s manager as a girl who “consists mostly of goth eyeliner”, for example, and the Jansport/Jan’s portal pun is groanworthy in the way one wants puns to be (if you like puns at all, of course). Also, the game did seem enjoyably responsive to having different combinations of items in your backpack—the differences are pure flavor most of the time, but I’m of the opinion that that’s a perfectly fine way to do IF.

So I do think there’s a lot to like about Backpackward, but the choice to have a funny-misogynist protagonist is not my favorite to start with, and when you put him in a narrative whose broader choices are just sexist in an unexamined kind of way, it becomes hard to tell what’s supposed to just be his opinion. Which is unfortunate.

I was on SNAP (colloquially known as “food stamps”) for a number of years. That I’m not anymore is a matter of luck and not bootstraps, but I do still receive some government services related to disability. In my state applications/renewals can mostly be done online and/or by phone these days, which is relatively painless compared to the days when I had to get up at 4 AM and take the first bus to the HRA equivalent’s nearest location because they wouldn’t let you make an appointment for SNAP applications/renewals, it was first come first served, so if you didn’t get there right when the office opened there was no guarantee you’d be seen that day at all. But it's still not really a model of efficiency or devoid of red tape.

A Visit to the Human Resources Administration gives a clear-eyed and damning look at this system through the eyes of an alien researcher trying to understand humans through everyday experiences. Through defamiliarizing the trappings of the SNAP process, its absurdity and cruelty are exposed, but at the same time it’s clear that we are not meant to think the alien’s conclusions are correct when it decides that humans must enjoy being uncomfortable. It is obvious that viewing the humans going through the process as specimens has made it impossible for the alien to really understand the problems involved.

And then everything literally grinds to a halt so that a character can spell out everything we just read. I’m sure the rant was cathartic for the author to write, but it wasn’t really cathartic for me to read. I don’t know if it’s because the author is coming at it from the perspective of a social worker and not a benefits recipient, because I felt like I was being lectured about things I already knew by someone who assumed their audience couldn’t possibly have personal experience, or just because I don’t like when authors don’t trust their audiences to draw their own conclusions. But I thought the piece was weaker for restating its message twice, once in the most grindingly obvious way.

*OVER* is a long, sprawling game about a large family at what is obviously Disney World, although it is carefully not named, in the ‘90s. There are three main narrative threads, following a player-nameable college student with much younger siblings, awkward closeted lesbian aunt Lou, and cool grandma Phil. These plotlines all entwine around the walkie-talkies that the family uses to keep up with each other, sometimes also overhearing other families who have had the same bright idea.

I’m also from a large family and have been on Disney trips reminiscent of this, although by the time I was 20 we, unlike the family in *OVER*, had cell phones, Fastpass, and normalized sunscreen use. But that only does so much to alleviate the chaos of a sufficiently large family vacation, represented here in a cavalcade of sensory detail and busy descriptions of what everyone in the family is doing even if it doesn’t matter much. These are cut with the occasional biting observation: “Equality and fairness for a family vacation is oftentimes choosing the option that makes everyone equally upset.”

When I reached the end of the game’s first day, I was exhausted on the protagonists’ behalf—“Damn,” I thought, “all of that was only one day? And we have how many days left again?” (Which is exactly how I feel whenever I go on vacation with my family, even now that there are fewer small children involved.) Yet the prose has a compelling, even hypnotic quality that made me want to keep going.

If the game has one major flaw, it’s that although there are three protagonists and the college student seems intended to be the PC as much as there is one, it’s really Lou’s story that gets the most focus and is the most fleshed-out. I was a little disappointed—I wanted to dig more into those eldest-sibling woes—but Lou’s story is nevertheless very good. Its eventual (Spoiler - click to show)descent into a surrealist or magical-realist mode, as Lou becomes trapped in a time loop and then bursts through a mirror into a parallel universe, might feel disjointed or unconvincing to some, but it worked for me: the frenetic fever dream of the family vacation having finally reached such a pitch as to become divorced from reality entirely.

This story takes place in a world where magic-users make pacts with demons to do their bidding. The protagonist, Finnit, has a natural aptitude for the magical language that allows this, but no real interest in asserting control over demons, the way his terrible academic advisor, Raekard, insists is necessary. (The game starts by listing the advisor’s authoritarian principles of demon-summoning, which led me to assume at first that they were treated as a universal truth in this world, but perhaps not so much; while there do seem to be some cultural norms backing this up, as seen in historical documents we eventually read, Finnit also has some allies in the academe—it’s just that the person upon whose goodwill his career depends isn’t one.)

When Finnit exploits a loophole to be the winner-by-default of a demon battle royale (having his demon float above the fray while the others destroy each other), Raekard tries to teach him a lesson by brutally killing the demon he summoned. This leaves such an impact on Finnit that later, when given the probably-impossible task of relighting a cursed lighthouse on a treacherous island, he decides to construct a summoning that will call this specific demon to help him.

He does this with all the desperate optimism and lack of concrete information of a Craigslist “missed connections” posting (yes, I’m aware this dates me; no, I don’t know what the modern equivalent is). Luckily, it works, mostly because the demon in question, Vosaphar, is happy to have anything to do other than wander the calciferous wastes.

Vosaphar also has injuries from Raekard’s assault that won’t heal; as we learn, demons’ forms tend to revert to something resembling their self-conception, but the wounds were so deep that they’re part of him now. (This is quite on-the-nose, of course, but in a way I found more charming than exasperating.) And so the two of them fall in love while conducting archival research, fighting off giant birds, trying to figure out how to heal Vosaphar’s wounds, and unraveling the mysteries of the lighthouse.

The love story was sweet and believable (perhaps on a bit of an accelerated timeline, though I’ll admit I was playing late at night and didn’t quite manage to grasp how much time they spent on the island—but even if it is a short time, it makes sense they’d become attached to each other under the circumstances). But what was most interesting to me was what the game does with point-of-view and who exactly is making choices. I do think, though, that discovering that for yourself is probably preferable to listening to me talk about it, so I won’t spoil it.

3XXX: NAKED HUMAN BOMBS takes place in an over-the-top dystopian future in which sex has been so thoroughly banned that any amount of seeing or touching another person’s skin is taboo. The age of majority seems to be about 40—we’ve got to protect those 35-year-old minors!—and the useless asterisk censorship that you see people use for “s*x” or “p*rn” has extended to any word that could conceivably be used in a slightly lascivious context, like “m*sculature” and “mo*th”. The sexual repression all of this creates causes people to literally explode as soon as they experience arousal for the first time.

It’s an unsubtle send-up of the bizarre censorship era we’ve ended up in through a combination of poorly-conceived and messily-implemented legislation, corporate algorithmic social media, squeamish payment processors and credit card companies, and “think of the children” advocacy groups. This, of course, disproportionately affects queer people, as our lives are inherently considered unsafe for the children (or the corporations)—worse yet should we actually talk about sex at the level that cishet people do all the time, and anything more than that is just unimaginable. Alongside that, it’s also an explicitly transgender take on the kind of gender-bender anime scenarios beloved of many trans people. The PC, a 40-something police officer tasked with protecting the populace from the evils of sex, transforms instantaneously into a hot young woman—and in this new, strangely more comfortable body, she suddenly finds an interest in being desired and connecting to others sexually that she never thought she’d have.

Taura, as she begins calling herself, is soon enticed to join an underground resistance group, and there she falls for Ollie, a leader of the movement. He is also interested in her, but his own dysphoria and struggles with repression cause difficulties between them. But this isn’t dwelt on much, as the plot moves along at a breakneck pace through political twists and turns, culminating with Taura’s not-really-premeditated assassination of the prime minister.

Where things really get interesting, though, is the epilogue, which takes the form of diary entries by the author. (Exactly how fictionalized these are is unclear, and I make no assumptions one way or another. When I refer to "the author" in the following paragraphs, I mean the persona depicted by the diary entries.) These discuss the author’s original plans for the ending, in which Taura and Ollie manage to overcome their respective hangups enough to share a tender moment that is physically and emotionally intimate. But that doesn’t feel right to the author; it doesn’t ring true. They wonder whether they truly understand intimacy; they’ve never been comfortable enough in their own skin to really open up to another person. Thus, instead, the ending we’ve just read.

And to me, this is 3XXX’s most striking condemnation of the social strictures that it satirizes: that they’ve created a world in which the fantasy of blowing up the prime minister by performing sex acts on live TV feels more achievable, less hollow, than the fantasy of achieving a moment of mostly-comfortable intimacy with another human being.

I have to start this review with a confession: according to IFDB, I did play this game’s predecessor, A Matter of Heist Urgency, but I have barely any memory of it. This is not the game’s fault; my “IFComp 2022 reviews” document is conspicuously lacking any actual reviews and I seem to have stopped even recording my scores there after the first few games, so clearly I was going through something that year, although I also don’t really remember what.

So due to this mysterious IFComp 2022 amnesia, I approached A Smorgasbord of Pain as one unfamiliar with the ways of Anastasia the Power Pony. The first scene, in which you seem to be talking to some work friends about the events of the previous game (while not letting on your role in them, of course) had me a bit at sea, but whatever else one can say about the game, it moves along at a brisk pace (a canter, at least, if not a gallop) and soon I was being chased through a buffet and learning a bit about the combat system by fighting thugs in an alley. I had to redo the fight a couple times, but picked it up relatively quickly.

After a quick breather in which you get more coaching on the combat system and a little more background on the heroine, there’s a trip to a warehouse in which you rescue the heroic but hapless fellow superhero Ponyheart, and then it’s back to the buffet again for an all-out brawl with many members of the llama mafia that appears to be Anastasia’s main foe.

I had gotten into a decent groove with the game at this point, but the second buffet fight pulled me up short. See, instead of relying on the combat system that’s been used up to this point, you’re expected to take down the llamas with food-based puns (the example given in the tutorial for this bit is RAM WITH RAMEN, although it also seems to consider rhyming to be sufficiently punny). I don’t know if it’s a matter of being unprepared for it, having too different an accent to the writer, or just being really bad at puns, but although I’ve done a creditable job with many rhyme-based wordplay games in the past, my performance here was abysmal. I came up with one (1) pun and was thoroughly beaten by criminal camelids. (You can just use normal attacks in this scene, but as far as I could tell they were much less effective.)

I wanted to replay the fight, as I had done with the alleyway thugs earlier, but the game threw an error when I tried. Fortunately, it’s also an option to move on while accepting your defeat, and the suboptimal ending I got still seemed to be classed as a winning one even if the llamas got away.

Action is hard to do in IF, and I think this game does a surprisingly solid job with it, between its vivid writing, simple but engaging combat system, and refusal to let a scene go on too long. And I recognize the pun combat as a way to spice up something that might get a bit stale if you have to do too much of it (since, as mentioned, there’s not too much complexity to the combat), and if it had clicked with me I can imagine having a great time with it. Maybe that would even have happened on my second go-round if I’d gotten one. As things stood, the frustration of the food fight knocked my enjoyment down a few notches. But the premise is entertaining and ambitious and the series does do some things especially well, so I would certainly try a third installment—hopefully with my memory of this one intact this time.

Who Whacked Jimmy Piñata? is the third in a series of games starring Bubble Gumshoe, a detective searching for what justice she can find in the sweets-themed yet hard-boiled environs of Sugar City.

The first game was basically a one-note gag, while the second had the player solving puzzles to escape an abandoned factory and find clues along the way. Whether you solved the case in the end, and how conclusively you did so, depended on how many clues you found, but the summation was delivered by Bubble Gumshoe in a non-interactive fashion.

Jimmy Piñata, meanwhile, is the series’ first attempt at a full-on investigation game, where the player must make an accusation and present clues to support it. It’s an ambitious step and probably ultimately a good direction for the series’ growth, but I was feeling some growing pains with this more open-ended entry.

For the most part, this wasn’t an issue with the actual mystery. If you can make it through the car chase sequence, I think you can get a pretty good idea of who was behind the titular crime. But I came to that conclusion without actually getting most of the physical evidence I needed to support it, because how to access various areas and where to look for evidence felt a little underclued to me (or else I was just very not on the game’s wavelength). Not everything needs to be as straightforward as “this security guard has asked for cigarettes and there are cigarettes here” or “a paper costs 25 cents and here’s a quarter”, of course, but I felt like the more complex puzzles weren’t giving me enough nudges in the right direction (getting upstairs at the church was particularly opaque to me, although to be fair (Spoiler - click to show)that’s not strictly necessary to complete the game).

Nevertheless, there’s a lot to enjoy here. I’m impressed by the author’s ability to keep finding new angles on the sweets + noir thing such that the jokes don’t get stale (the piñata victim really is inspired!), and I liked the car chase and the subplot about the mysterious new drug lord in town.

In the end, I think I enjoyed the experience of playing it a little bit less than I enjoyed Who Iced Mayor McFreeze?, but if the series is planned to continue from here, I’m excited to see what comes next!

(Side note: While playing I complained about not getting to know what kind of candy the Pope was, but then it occurred to me to search for “Pontefract”, which I only knew as a place name, to see if it was also a candy, which in fact it was. The things I miss by being a licorice hater, I guess!)