The Gameological Awards 2024

Introduction

When 2024 announced itself last January, I was wrapping up one game and moving on to the next. In short order, I had beaten that second game and was jumping right into a third. I looked at that breakneck pace and thought to myself “I should play a game a week.” Thus, a challenge was established: 2024 would be the Year of 52 Games. Okay, maybe not a game a week, but if it all averaged out in the end, then I’d be happy.

For the first few months, I was doing pretty well! In fact, I was actually ahead of pace. Turns out this was actually a pretty easy thing to do now that I no longer had a wedding to plan, a new job to find, or an ill-advised three hour documentary to edit. I had it in the bag.

Then I decided to start writing a book. And then I bought a house. And then I booted up a game famous for being Really Fucking Long. On top of all that, I realized that I actually had only eleven months to cross the finish line, not twelve, since I usually start writing this post in the first week of December. I sat in the middle of my apartment, video games boxed up, computer bandwidth held hostage by the capitalistic vultures of the home buying industry, a steady string of mental breakdowns shredding my brain like cheese, and said to myself: “Yes, this is completely sustainable.” I did not back down. The fans would never forgive me.

(I am aware that you are probably learning about this goal for the first time right now).

So as November raced towards its conclusion, Christmas music and tinsel already hijacking every inch of free real estate they could find, I plowed through every hour-long visual novel and puzzle game I could find. And guess what everyone? I did it. Fifty-two weeks, fifty-two games. Now let’s hand out some awards.

The nominees this year are: Super Mario Wonder, Final Fantasy II, Halo: Infinite, Grand Theft Auto, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII - Reunion, Super Princess Peach, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, Sonic Adventure 2, Celeste 64: Fragments of the Mountain, Resident Evil: Director’s Cut, He Fucked The Girl Out Of Me, BioShock 2, Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, Penny’s Big Breakaway, Princess Peach: Showtime, Call of Duty, Inscryption, Papers, Please, ReCore, Pseudoregalia, Neon White, 20 Small Mazes, Hyper Light Drifter, Return of the Obra Dinn, Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door, Dusk, Castlevania: The Adventure, Super Mario Land, Night Trap, Super Mario 64, Nightmare Kart, Star Fox 2, Sin and Punishment, Metroid Prime Hunters, RollerCoaster Tycoon, It Takes Two, Super Mario 3D Land, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, The Last of Us: Part II, Super Mario Land 2: Six Golden Coins, Solium Infernum, Persona 5 Royal, Portal, Spare Parts: Episode One, The Stanley Parable, Castlevania II: Belmont’s Revenge, Kirby’s Dream Land, Double Dragon, Assemble With Care, The Beginner’s Guide, Milk Inside a Bag of Milk Inside a Bag of Milk, and The Enigma Machine.

---

The "Hindsight is 2024" Award

This award goes to the game that, in time, I've changed opinions on, for better or worse.

Metroid Prime is the best game ever made. We all know this. I played it for the first time in middle school, and the twenty years that followed have been defined by me looking for something, anything, that will fill the space jellyfish-shaped hole in my heart. I’ve tried other Metroid games, I’ve tried other Metroidvania games, I’ve tried other sci-fi horror games, but none of them ever scratch the itch.

But perhaps I approached this all wrong. Instead of looking at genre and mechanics, I should investigate developers and directors. This, along with some prodding from friends, led me to Mark Pacini’s 2016 game ReCore. Set on a far-flung dying planet, Joule searches for power-ups in caves and abandoned labs, fights monsters and robots, and uncovers neat little tidbits of lore along the way. That sounds…kinda Metroid-y, huh?

Spoilers: it’s not Metroid-y.

To say that ReCore is giant fucking disaster would be a little reductive. A little. But the game makes baffling decisions at every turn, has no understanding of pacing or structure, and seems completely uninterested in rooting its mechanics in some sort of narrative.

Joule approaches a dungeon, which is literally called “A Dungeon” in-game despite being very clearly a laboratory, and uses her gun to shoot enemies based on whichever primary color glows from their innards. If the enemy is red, she shoots red. If the enemy is blue, she shoots blue. If the enemy is yellow, she shoots yellow. Not fire, ice, or electricity, mind you; just red, blue, and yellow. Once the loot has been collected from the depth of the dungeon, Joule returns to the surface and walks around the biggest, blandest desert I’ve ever seen, fumbling around aimlessly until the requisite number of cores has been collected and the player can enter Eden Tower. This tower, dark and sterile, invites the player to fight hordes of enemies in between platforming gauntlets long enough to make Super Mario Sunshine blush.

After completing the game (and taking a much-needed head-clearing walk), I jotted down a pithy mini-review about how the controls were solid, how the environments were lifeless, and how the overall experience was an exercise in tedium. And, from there, I swore I’d move on.

But I can’t get this stupid game out of my head.

In the months since, I often think about little things here or there…how fluid and responsive Joule is, how much care was put into the different power-ups, and how delightfully replayable the dungeons would be were it not for the terrible gunplay and uninteresting rewards. Over time, the gulf between the good and the bad has grown, and it’s left me wondering how wonderful of a game we missed out and why we missed out on it.

Again, this was directed by the same man who directed Metroid Prime! How he and his team could follow up the greatest game ever made with a middling open-world desert trek. It is, without question, one of the most confounding pieces of media I’ve ever seen and I have devoted more mental energy than I knew I had trying to fix it.

---

The "Unexpected Joy" Award

This award goes to the game that defied expectations and was more fun than anticipated.

You can interpret the meaning of this award in two different ways. When I say the game “defies expectations” and was “more fun than anticipated,” that typically means that I had feared the worst for a game. Perhaps I had read some harsh reviews or found nothing but contempt in comment sections, only to have a joyous time once I played it for myself. And, indeed, this is how I have historically interpreted this award.

But there is a second definition: a game that was so perfect and wonderful, and it seemingly appeared out of thin air. That’s the case with Celeste 64: Fragments of the Mountain. On the sixth anniversary of the original Celeste, Extremely OK Games released, without warning, a celebratory mini-game that combined the sights, sounds, and mechanics of their mountain-climbing adventure with the blocky 3D-platforming of Super Mario 64. You can see where I’m going with this.

It is important to note that this comparison is both invited and celebrated by EOKG, lest you think I’m merely projecting my love of Super Mario onto this game without cause. Congratulatory jingles play when strawberries are collected, familiar textures resurface in unlikely places, and there’s even an a cappella song serenading Madeline’s exploits in secret worlds. Okay, that’s a Sunshine thing, not 64, but still.

To be clear: I am not saying “I like this game because it is similar to Super Mario.” No, I like this game simply because “it’s very good” and Mario’s influences, worn with pride on the game’s sleeve, are included with such glee and affection that they can’t help but bring a smile to my face.

Celeste 64 is a short game; I 100%’d it in an evening. But highlighting its length, or lack thereof, shortchanges just how much Stuff is crammed into the experience. It’s one large map full of puzzles and challenges, jam-packed with secret alcoves and hidden power-ups, and replete with portals to bite-sized levels that boast gauntlets with perfectly calibrated difficulty.

That a game can so completely reinvent itself, can so flawlessly meld its DNA with that of another, can so effortlessly craft a meaningful and memorable adventure on a whim, shadow-dropped on the internet as a complete surprise, speaks to the unparalleled vision and talent of EOKG.

---

The "Just Didn’t Click with Me" Award

This award goes to the game that everyone loves. Everyone except me.

I didn’t have a handheld console growing up. I wasn’t allowed a GameBoy Color because my mother told me that I’d just bring it to school and get caught playing Pokémon in class. She was right, that’s probably what would have happened. As a result, however, I have a significant backlog in the Handheld Gaming Department.

When Metroid Prime 4 got its long overdue trailer, I was suitably blown away. However, in the final frames of this teaser, another bounty hunter walks on screen and stares down our hero. This is Sylux, a guy who made his debut on the Nintendo DS. I guess if I am to fully understand the events of this upcoming Metroid game, I’ll first need to go back and play through this handheld adventure.

I love the Metroid franchise, but I suppose every series needs its Worst Entry. And Metroid Prime: Hunters is that.

For starters, the controls are hard to use. Weapon selections are scattered pell-mell across the second screen, entering/exiting the morph ball feels sluggish and weird, and the game, for reasons I’ll never understand, requests the player to aim using the DS’s stylus.

Though the planets are visually interesting (they recycle assets from the original Metroid Prime, but remix them in unique ways), running through them can feel very rote. You visit each level multiple times, but not in a cool Metroidvania backtrack-y way…just in a box-ticking checklist kind of way.

And the enemies? They are frustrating as all hell. Orbs with guns spawn indefinitely from vents and portals, rival hunters appear without warning to steal your MacGuffins, and bosses are re-used several times over.

Metroid Prime: Hunters tries to do a lot with a little. I’m not privy to the challenges that went into developing this game, nor am I knowledgeable about the specs and demands of the Nintendo DS. However, Hunters has too many disjointed elements to hand wave away as “a symptom of the times” or “what games were like then and there.” It is, quite simply, a rare miss for an otherwise rock-solid franchise.

---

The "Best Replay" Award

This award goes to the game that I replayed and for which I’ve gained a new understanding or appreciation.

Like many people who were children in the late nineties, I have a few core memories of playing God. As Almighty Overseer of the Amusement Park, I would make salty snacks free, then charge $10 for drinks (and then $20 for restroom visits). I sealed shut exits to inflate attendance numbers. I would crash roller coasters into cliffsides just to watch them burn. And I would drown any and all dissenters who stood in the way of attaining a perfect park rating.

But you know what I didn’t do? I didn’t actually play the game. In 32 years of life, I never actually did what I was supposed to. So, after enough of my friends’ infectious park-posting got the better of me, I finally booted up RollerCoaster Tycoon. And I played the damn game, from start to finish. Every scenario. Every map. Every objective. Check, check, and check.

And, shocker, it’s good!

RollerCoaster Tycoon is perhaps the most inviting game I’ve ever played. Because, let’s face it, it’s very easy to beat if you don’t care about your park looking like dogshit. If you ignore decor, variety, or beauty of any kind, you can blow through the game without a second thought. The guests don’t care if the color scheme of the Ferris Wheel blends seamlessly with the surrounding gardens. They aren’t even programmed to notice!

But you’ll notice, and it’ll eat you up. You want the park to look good because you want it to look good. Despite your best efforts, you will give the game 110%. You’ll delete a fully-functional, completely acceptable ride because it just doesn’t look good, dammit, and you know you can do better. You’ll make the game harder for yourself because you just can’t help but care.

(You can read more on that here).

In replaying RollerCoaster Tycoon (or, perhaps more accurately, finally playing it correctly), I was floored by how much I could do with so little. I had the same selection of rides to construct every time, the same pick of shops and stalls to build, the same breeds of trees waiting to be planted, and yet each park blossomed into something wholly unique and magnificent; something that I had never done before because I was too preoccupied punishing Guest 815 for getting lost even though he has a fucking park map and for the love of all that is good and holy just look at that instead of, no, not that way, no, WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?

---

The "Oh Yeah, I Did Play That..." Award

This award goes to the game that I just plain forgot I played.

Every now and then, a game comes along and you just really root for it. No, it’s not really your thing, not quite meant for your sensibilities, but it’s different. And, hey, good on those devs for taking a stab at something out of the ordinary.

For me, that game was Princess Peach: Showtime! This is only the second time Peach has headlined her own title; the first go-round was a ho-hum 2D platformer with a sexist “emotion meter” to denote her powerups. Peach is overdue for her turn in the spotlight.

Showtime! is framed as a series of stage shows, each one giving the player flashy skills to use in unique settings. Here she’s a sword fighter, there she’s a ninja! Now she’s catburglar, next a superhero. While this variety is great on paper, the reality is that the player rarely does much more than push the A Button while moving from left to right. There’s no combos to memorize, skills to hone, or puzzles to solve (outside of a Sherlock Holmes-inspired storyline).

In order to give the player something more to do, collectibles are peppered about each level. However, the frequent checkpoints and inability to backtrack make them more trouble than they’re worth. I’d collected a good deal of them, but felt no need to go back and try again. They weren’t rewarding to find and the shockingly long load times killed any desire I might have otherwise had.

In the end, Showtime! went in one ear and out the other. Even now, looking at the full list of games I’d played, I genuinely forgot I picked this one up. I had to go back and look at all the different scenarios in which Peach found herself because, frankly, they just weren’t memorable. I wanted to love this, to champion it as another excellent entry to the catalog of clever Super Mario Spin-Offs. Unfortunately, there just isn’t enough there to make it more than a vapid puff of video game minimalism.

---

The "Waiting for Game-dot" Award

This award goes to the game that I didn't play this year, nor last year, nor the year before that. Maybe next year.

I try to alternate between “time-consuming heavy” games and “light, quick, breezy” experiences. I usually feel very full, like I’ve had a complete meal, after sinking over fifty hours into a game, so the quick turnover of smaller indie titles helps keep things fresh. This year, however, I devoted all of my “big game” attention to titles released by Square Enix and Nintendo. Those are the games that are often ranked as “Bests” of their year, or are recommended to me by friends.

Does this sound familiar? That’s because the same thing happened last year. And the year before that.

My slavish devotion to Fantasies, Marios, and meaningless self-appointed goals meant I never got around to playing a game that I’m sure I’ll love, Fire Emblem: Three Houses. Nintendo has a way of reinventing genres that I’d otherwise be so-so on. They did it with Splatoon and Mario Kart. But something seems too daunting about learning a game this meaty.

However…there is an update, lest you think this entire entry is copy+pasted from last year’s list. Though I haven’t played this Fire Emblem, I have now played two and a half Fire Emblems.

---

The "Game That Made Me Think" Award

This award goes to the game that has educated or informed me in some way.

In addition to my “Play 52 Games in 2024” goal, I have a larger project I’m working on: “Play Every Game Ever Made Ever.” I think it’s a very reasonable and attainable goal. But where does one start with a quest like this? Well, I tend to split things into component parts. Sometimes I’ll play through An Entire Series, thereby taking a sizable chunk out of my good and normal life’s mission.

A few years ago, the hype for Final Fantasy VII: Remake was so palpable that I decided, okay, now is the time for me to start playing these much acclaimed but ever elusive games. Because I was told that FFVII:R was “a sequel to every Final Fantasy game,” the stars had aligned and I had my excuse to laboriously delve into this franchise. Though I did fall in love with the series as a whole, Remake left a sour taste in my mouth. Sure, it was beautifully rendered and bursting with life, but Square Enix made some changes to the story that filled me with a sense of unease. They were tinkering with things, and though the promise was a fresh and innovative take on Cloud, Sephiroth, Aerith, and their eternal battle, I kinda sorta wished that this had just been a traditional remake…one that didn’t require all the homework.

But, as time went on, I bought into the hype. The possibilities were endless, after all. With Sephiroth unshackled from the binds of the original timeline and free to remake (*wink*) the world according to his own designs, this really could be one of the most innovative stories ever written. Count me in!

And, like clockwork, I purchased the second part of this massive reimagining, Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth, the day it was released and jumped in with more gusto than I knew I possessed. All told, I played the game for about forty-two hours. There were highs, there were lows, but I was having a good time all things considered. Some of my favorite moments from the original were recreated with stunning beauty and some new scenes were added that made my time with the characters more meaningful. But throughout the story flowed an undercurrent of mystery. People were hanging out where they shouldn’t be, timelines were enwonkifying before my very eyes, and powerful forces were at play beneath the surface…and it was all building to That One Really Important Moment.

As the game neared its conclusion, ready to culminate in the most pivotal story beat in all of Final Fantasy, my hands began to sweat and my pulse began to quicken. Just how was this game going to tackle the scene that is iconic in the original, but no longer set in stone? Would it play out the same? Would it be different? And what were the implications of either scenario? I just couldn’t wait.

And they fucking botched it.

It was…confusing? Kind of messy? A real mood-killer? At the end of the day, Square Enix had one job…to knock this one specific moment out of the park. This is the game…the very heart and soul of Final Fantasy VII, and it was presented with such disastrous cowardice. Do these people even know what they are doing with their own story anymore?

This award goes to “The Game That Made Me Think.” And yeah, it made me think alright…it made me think I was right! This should have just been a normal, standard remake, because clearly Tetsuya Nomura cannot be trusted with the demands of deft and sure-handed storytelling.

---

The "Best Backlog" Award

This award goes to the game that had been sitting in my backlog forever and certainly lives up to the hype.

Y’ever just save a game for a specific circumstance? You say to yourself “Yeah, this is a good game for right around Christmas” or “I’m gonna play this on the plane ride later this year.” Ever since it took home top prize at The Game Awards in 2021, I’d been saving It Takes Two. This is a co-op game about a married couple, so I wanted to make sure that when I finally played it with my wife, it would be special. So, when we finally moved into our first (and hopefully last) house back in July, the time was finally right.

Right from the get-go, I was floored by It Takes Two’s beauty. Every environment was brought to life in eye-popping detail, gorgeously rendered color, and with a dazzling flair for the dramatic. Our protagonists are shrunk to the size of action figures, so each location in the game is an inventive and beautiful reimagining of otherwise mundane household places. The attic is bursting with energy, the backyard a veritable playground of flora and fauna, the grandfather clock a dizzying gearwork of bells and whistles.

Each chapter grants the characters a unique ability, one that is clever on its own, but indispensable when paired with the other: a hammer and a nail, fire and ice magic, explosive sap and a mighty matchstick. These skills, when layered atop the already silky smooth platforming, create one of, if not the, most detailed and rewarding co-op gaming experiences I’ve ever played.

The story? Not great, admittedly. I knew going in that the plot revolved around a husband and wife whose marriage was on the rocks, and these various challenges in the game would help them rekindle the love that had long been fading. I wasn’t, however, expecting to hate each of their guts. They’re both dickheads! Passive-aggressive selfish dickheads! And the sentient self-help book that guides them on their journey is one of the most cartoonishly annoying characters to ever curse the screen. But that’s good! That just means you get to mute the TV and talk to your spouse (who isn’t a dickhead).

In the end, It Takes Two was as fun and rewarding as I’d hoped it would be back when I pencilled it into the backlog years ago. It’s a rich and complex game, never lacking in mechanical depth and pushing co-op game design to new highs. And it was the perfect way to celebrate one of life’s major milestones.

---

The "Best Encounter" Award

This award goes to the best thing you came across in a game, be it a boss battle or buried treasure.

If you know me, you know I have a deep and abiding love of horror. Space horror! Eldritch horror! Fantasy horror! Any kind of horror you can name, I’ll slurp that shit up and ask for seconds.

One would think that I love Doom because, hey, you go to Hell and fight demons. That’s horror, right? And, well, sorta. I do enjoy Doom from a gameplay perspective, but its tone has never quite tickled my brain just right. It’s more of a power trip; isn’t it badass that you get to slay demons? Aren’t these big guns and meatball monsters cool? Yeah, Doom is a fun game, but it’s never stuck out to me as being an exemplary piece of horror.

Dusk, on the other hand, fucking whips. It takes everything great about Doom and anchors it in a religious horror that feels closer to home. Crazed cultists chant pagan curses while sacrificed animals appear from the void to chase you down. Angels rain fire from on high while disfigured monstrosities roam the plains. Church bells ring out under a blood red sky and profane altars call forth cataclysms to consume the land.

You know what, just watch the level. This video is the whole thing, but my favorite part starts at four minutes and thirty-four seconds.

The second after that tornado rips through the field, I paused the game and texted every FPS and Horror Enjoyer I know. Dusk isn’t interested in providing a commentary on religion or politics, and its narrative is sparse as a result. However, the bleak atmosphere and otherworldly terrors, firmly rooted in rural Americana, are striking, memorable, and, of course, haunting as hell.

---

The "Best Multiplayer" Award

This award goes to the best game for multiple players.

Pirate ships are rad as fuck. I don’t think there has ever been a piece of media containing a pirate ship where I felt like the pirate ship got too much play. Not only does everyone love a pirate ship, but everyone loves all the stuff that happens on pirate ships. Seaside executions! Buried treasure! Monsters from the depths of the sea!

All of these things, and more, can be found in The Return of the Obra Dinn. When Captain Robert Witterel sets sail prior to the events of the game, he has no idea the misfortune that will befall his ship or the dozens of men aboard. After months of being lost at sea, the empty vessel mysteriously floats back to shore and a chief inspector is tasked with figuring out just what went wrong. Armed with nothing but a few pictures, the crew manifest, and a magical stopwatch that lets him rewind time to view specific moments on the Obra Dinn, the player pieces together the tragedy from start to finish.

Or players.

Because this, my friends, is a multiplayer game through and through. Each night, my wife and I would sit on the couch and return to the Obra Dinn, walking the deck, examining the snapshot happenings, and taking diligent notes. Sometimes my wife would scribble in her journal (“If Nicholas Botterill is here, then there’s no way that’s him during the Kraken attack…”), all while I was studying the faces of panic-stricken seamen and stewards. When I’d hit a dead-end, we’d trade off duties, only for her to find a detail I hadn’t noticed etched into the ship’s hull. I’d mark down our findings accordingly, and we’d swap spots again and again until every last soul was accounted for.

If poring over pirate maps and glossaries with your spouse doesn’t sound fun to you, then you can walk the plank for all I care. No game has given us such an incredible sense of purpose and discovery, and remember that literally two awards ago I mentioned playing a game about spouses working together. It takes two alright…two inspectors to solve the mystery of the pirate ship!

---

The "(In)famous" Award

This award goes to the game whose reputation precedes it.

Sophomore slumps are as inexplicable as they are prevalent. Folks may attribute them to the inability to recapture lightning in a bottle. Some blame a creator’s tendency to burn all of their best ideas on their debut work. Others might simply point to the constant churn of the scarcely credited worker bees who are buffeted from project to project by the tumultuous seas of The Games Industry.

I tend to enjoy Second Entries, however. Though they may not sate the ever-shifting demands of the masses, I love to examine how sequels choose to engage with ideas presented in their predecessors. It’s why I love such controversial games as Super Mario Sunshine, Dark Souls II, and Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty.

And it's why I need to give props to BioShock 2.

Let’s be clear: I don’t love the original BioShock. I find it to be a little overindulgent, patting itself on its back for a plot twist that it milks into oblivion, all the while spouting political observations with the depth and grace of an eighth grader who just finished reading The Catcher in the Rye. The world is stylish, the character design is fun, and there certainly are ideas BioShock wants to tackle, but the tension between “critique of Randian Objectivism” and “this is a cool game where you shoot cool guns” prevents BioShock from coalescing into something greater than the sum of its parts.

BioShock 2, smartly, takes its foot off the gas and allows the game to coast a little bit. While there are politics at play, they tend to be more moral in nature, allowing the player to consider Machiavellian decision making, individuality versus collectivism, and McCarthy-esque cults of personality. Each chapter serves as a vignette, exploring the different factors that led to the fall of Rapture, and the player is invited to punish or forgive the individuals responsible accordingly. The stories are smaller and more intimate, and the beating heart of the game shines through as a result.

Also, you can dual wield now, and that’s never a bad thing.

---

The "Best Music" Award

This award goes to the game with the best music. Kind of self-explanatory.

We are going to give this award a new name. I’m thinking…the “Ice Cold Take” Award? Or perhaps the “Yeah, No Shit” Award? How about the “Took You Long Enough” Award? All good options.

Anyway, the music in Persona 5 Royal kicks ass. I knew that going in. Every few months, due to overwhelming demand, iam8bit will re-press the soundtrack for this game (or any of the Persona games for that matter), so obviously there is an indefatigable appetite for Atlus’s acid jazz albums.

We have the obvious ones. “Life Will Change,” the high-energy ballad that plays while you’re ready to steal some treasure. “Beneath the Mask,” the cozy song that plays while you explore the rainy city streets. “Take Over,” the guitar-heavy theme that accompanies your otherworldly battles. It’s all so good.

But what’s crazy is how many bangers are used in complete throwaway situations. “Layer Cake” only plays when you’re in the weapons store, stocking up on swords and armor. You spend maybe a cumulative half hour in this place (out of one hundred and fifteen total hours by my count); this is a killer song shoved into such a tiny pocket of the game.

Likewise, the song “So Boring” is used when you are daydreaming in class, listening to your teachers prattle on about this topic or that. Despite this humdrum situation, a dude lights his wah pedal on fucking fire, delivering one of the tastiest guitar licks in the game.

Check out “Tokyo Daylight,” a song that can simply be described as “errands music.” Oh, you need to take the subway to the convenience store so you can buy some instant noodles? Yeah, you’re gonna listen to the funkiest jam ever composed.

It’s astounding that, between the base game and the Royal expansion, P5 gives the player a hundred and forty songs, and literally every one of them rips. It just doesn’t seem possible!

---

The "Best Mechanic" Award

This award goes to the very best "thing" that a game allowed you to do.

The Halo series has had its ups and downs over the years. The original game, uh, doesn’t have enough variety to make the game…fun. Its sequel gives the player so many options and much more to do, and it feels far more complete by contrast. The third title in the trilogy wraps up the main story in excellent, albeit safe, fashion, and from there the series is passed around by a few different teams, each one putting their own little twist on the spacefaring franchise.

Despite these attempts at freshening up the series, the formula does feel largely unchanged. Shoot guns at aliens, drive some nifty sci-fi ships, and try to beat the level under the par time. Most of the innovations that had been added over the years were narrative, rather than mechanical: new settings, new alien races, even new protagonists. Very few changes had been implemented to make the gameplay, the actual moment-to-moment combat, feel like new again.

Then, along came Halo: Infinite. Striving to take the series back to its roots, the game focuses on classic UNSC vs Covenant conflicts on a massive halo ring. The twist here, however, is that the game is open world, so a smorgasbord of sidequests and secrets can be found scattered across the colossal map. But we’re not here to talk about the open world. We’re here to talk about the actual innovation that Infinite brings to the table. That’s right, we’re talking about the motherfucking grappling hook.

You see, Halo games have always felt a little…slow for my taste. Having cut my teeth on fast-paced first-person shooters like Half-Life and Doom, I’ve often wished that Master Chief had a little extra spring in his step. 343 Industries heard my cries and responded with one of the most satisfying video game tools I’ve ever used.

The ability to zip across the map, grappling up mountains and across chasms, through sleek metal corridors and into mobile mechanical terrors…it’s great! It’s quick, it’s snappy, it’s responsive, it’s fantastic!

The large, sprawling battlefields of Halo: Infinite mean that enemies can target you from near or far. Oftentimes I’d be trading blows with grunts, up close and personal, only to hear a bullet whiz by my helmet. I’d say, “Hold my beer,” grapple up to a ledge, knock out the sniper, and then zing back down to pick up where I’d left off.

Soaring through crossfire, an army-green blur to my enemy’s eyes, delivering out-of-nowhere punches and surprise shotgun blasts, brings with it a sense of freedom and versatility that had long been missing from prior Halo games. The grappling hook is a weapon, a vehicle, a smokescreen, a lifeline. Shigeru Miyamoto once said that “a good idea doesn't just solve one problem, it solves multiple problems at the same time,” and this new mechanic passes this test with flying colors.

---

The "Wildcard" Award

This award goes to a game that deserves a shout out, even though it may not be the best at anything.

My taste is a moving target. Yes, I love sci-fi and horror and classic rock and oversauced chicken wings. But every time I try to hone in on why something works for me, every time I try to tighten my grasp on my own sense of self, it slips away, my understanding sliding through my fingers like grains of sand. No matter how much I insist I like a certain flavor of art, my patchwork collection of Favorite Things would paint me a liar. But, after thirty-two years of trying to explain each ill-fitting entry into my Hall of Fame, I may be able to summarize it rather succinctly: I like ambitious art that swings for the fences.

It’s why I like Inscryption.

The Yankees are down by three runs. It’s the bottom of the ninth. The bases are loaded. One out. Aaron Judge steps to the plate. The pitch comes his way, and a thunderous crack reverberates through the stadium as we see the ball soar through the air.

Inscryption begins in the middle. You’re in an eerie cabin; it’s dark, quiet, and musty (I bet). The door is locked, and the only other soul in the room has invited you to play a game. It’s a card game, it’s a quick one, and if you lose, you die. But fret not; upon death, you’ll reawaken in this prison, ready to challenge this man again and again. Every attempt you make yields more information: clues scattered throughout the cabin that offer up new tools and strategies to use. Some of them are clever (a little stoat who gives you hints), others are brutal (a pair of pliers you can use to rip out your own tooth to tilt the scales). Like any good roguelike, you get better as you go, building up a bank of winning tactics until you are so well-versed in the game, you lament your enemy’s defeat because it means, shit, the game is over. Or is it?

The baseball doesn’t make it over the fence; instead it hits the wall, and falls back into center field, rolling through the grass. The outfielder picks up the ball and hurls it towards home plate. One run scores.

It appears the game is…different now. Inscryption tells us that this is the beginning, actually. It’s an SNES-inspired 16-bit map with branching paths and hidden items. There are four continents to this world, and each one houses a boss who puts a unique spin on the playing cards. Each little twist is fresh, yet familiar. The peripheral possibilities have expanded, and suddenly there are new ways to experience our favorite game. It’s not quite as tight or refined as the previous act, and the chiptune music and pixelated locations aren’t quite as engaging as the cabin, but, credit where it’s due, the game is innovating.

The throw is off; it’s not going to make it to the catcher. The shortstop scoops it up and refocuses it, ready to relay it to home plate. Another run scores.

One of the bosses from the four continents, a robot, decides he doesn’t like his role in this story, and he uses his technological prowess to rewrite the game’s code in his favor. Suddenly we’re out of this retro world and in Botopia, the ideal locale for The Scrybe of Technology. This act of the game is a merger of the two prior portions: a large map unfurls itself as we explore, but it’s more intimate…we’re again playing against an opponent, rather than from a top-down omniscient perspective. As we become more powerful, again building a deck of cards to best our foe, new wrinkles introduce themselves until victory is again within our grasp.

The runner got greedy, and now he realizes that he’s not going to make it to home plate. He turns and heads back towards third base, but the throw makes it to the infield before he can slide and touch the bag. He’s out. The game is over. Yankees lose. 

At the end of this final test, the game falls apart (literally). This ideal robotic world collapses under the demands of its overlord, and the glitches become insurmountable. The game crashes and its characters are erased from existence. The player then watches a final cutscene where the maker of Inscryption shoots a YouTuber in the head. Oh, did I not mention the YouTuber? Yeah, that’s been going on the whole time in the background.

You don’t beamoan the Yankees loss. The season isn’t over and there is plenty to celebrate. The team showed spirit. They showed fight. They showed resolve. This is a team that wanted victory just as much as you, and though it didn’t pan out this time, the joy was real. Not every game needs to be great. Sometimes trying to be great is good enough for me.

Deep down, on a moment-to-moment basis, Inscryption is one of the best games I’ve ever played. The deckbuilding is sublime, the balance is perfect, and all the little bonus moves and power-ups make it a near-perfect card game. Hell, I might even say it's perfect. Things get messy, though, when you factor in All The Other Stuff; the constant re-inventions, the endless string of updates, the ceaseless barrage of new features that would make a Silicon Valley software company wince.

But I just can’t knock the game for Trying. It takes guts to make a perfect card game, then rip it to shreds to make something different. Inscryption never stops pushing its own boundaries, never content to pack in and say “that’s enough.” Not every story beat hits, not every gameplay innovation is needed, and not every twist is warranted. But it doesn’t matter. Not every game needs to be great. Sometimes trying to be great is good enough for me!

---

The Game of the Year

The big boy.

The biggest downside of being a weird little freak idiot is that you have very particular taste, and when corporations are trying to churn out movies and games for the largest audience imaginable, that means there are very few things that appeal to your weird little freak idiot tastes. After a while, you sorta give up hope that you’ll ever find the Perfect Thing, your platonic ideal of Weird Little Freak Idiot Art.

And then, one day, against all odds, your patience is rewarded. After sifting through piles and piles and piles of games, some good, some bad, and most in between, you finally find it: the thing that was meant for you.

That’s what Pseudoregalia is; a game that was made just for me.

It is, in equal measure, Dark Souls, Metroid, and Super Mario. You fucking read that right. It’s all three of those! My favorite games! My favorite things! All cooked together and served up on a golden platter with my name on it.

Pseudoregalia takes place in an eerie castle reminiscent of Anor Londo or Drangleic or any other majestic structure found in FromSoft’s signature trilogy. There are branching paths, secret rooms, bits of lore baked into the very foundation of this structure. There are hallowed halls and haunted depths, ruins that attest to a long-forgotten history, artwork and architecture that oozes dread and beauty and misery and love. Very Dark Souls.

Navigating through this castle requires you to find power-ups; new abilities that let you leap to new heights or slide through tight gaps. Every time you gain a new skill, you think to yourself “Oh, hey, now that I can do this I bet I go back to that room and finally reach that ledge!” You stumble upon shortcuts, you notice new doorways, and the entire game twists and turns around you like a giant Rubik’s Cube. Very Metroid.

And yet, these power-ups all manifest the same way: in your movement. You don’t find keys for locks or passwords to utter. You can just do cool stuff. Jumping, flipping, diving, swinging…getting up and moving around is the solution to every puzzle. You find new combos, new ways to mix and match your button inputs until, huh, would you look at that, you’ve now brute-forced your way into an area you weren’t supposed to access. Or were you? Very Super Mario.

Pseudoregalia is one of the most deftly crafted games I’ve ever played, weaving influences from across genres into one beautiful, rich tapestry. In fact, it's all so seamless and smooth and joyous to play that you have to wonder why a game like this has never been made before. Right, I know, it’s because this game isn’t for everyone, only weird little freak idiots like me. But come on, how could you not love this game? It’s perfect.

Okay, perhaps that’s a bit hyperbolic.

No, the game isn’t perfect. There are a few elements that are, at best, underbaked and, at worst, missteps. The protagonist is, ahem, not my tempo. I think that referring to animal characters as “an appeal to the Furry Community” is a lazy critique, but it’s pretty undeniable here. And, to be clear, that’s not a problem, but it’s also not my thing.

Meanwhile, the music is fairly uneven. At times it can be haunting and mellifluous, but at others it’s just…kind of a mess. Though I applaud the use of chunky 64-bit midi sounds, the composition in and of itself is lacking in a few places.

And, honestly? A lot of the enemies are kind of weak. They don’t necessarily feel out of step with the world, but it’s hard to be passionate in your quest when fighting against “Guy With A Tuba” or “An Egg.” Across the board, the inhabitants of this castle are sorta dull.

Hmmm.

You know, it’s strange.

As I write this, I’m struck by how much this game didn’t stick with me. I loved it in the moment, but I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it once I’d finished. I never listened to the soundtrack on Spotify. I never mulled over the lore while spacing out on the train. I never thought about the heroes or the enemies or the world as time went on. I’m realizing that maybe this game didn’t have the long-lasting impact that I thought.

It’s as if I’m talking myself out of this whole thing.

It’s as if I’m having some greater realization.

It’s as if I’m…having a change of heart.

Nevermind. It’s Persona 5. Of course it's Persona 5. Motherfuckin’ Persona 5. I can’t stop thinking about Persona 5.

This has been the hardest award to write out…not because I don’t know what to say, but because I don’t even know where to start. Seriously. I’ve had the rest of this list done for about a week now, but I just end up sitting here, staring at my monitor, not knowing what to say about Persona 5 other than “it’s unbelievably good.”

I guess I’ll give an overview for the uninitiated. Persona 5 follows a high schooler who has been wrongfully arrested and put on probation. He witnesses a rich asshole trying to rape a woman, and when he steps in, the man uses his wealth and influence to have this student appear at fault in the eyes of the justice system. This teen, nicknamed “Joker,” is transferred to a new school and lives in a shabby attic above a family friend’s coffee shop. While at school, Joker and a new friend discover a phantom dimension where the desires of corrupt people manifest. However, by entering this dimension and stealing the objects of desire from the “palaces” of these power-hungry dipshits, their real-life counterparts experience a change of heart, confess their crimes, and face consequences for their actions. As the school year goes on, more students join this band of rebels (the self-anointed “Phantom Thieves of Hearts”) and they target increasingly more powerful and influential figures.

There are two distinct halves to Persona 5. The first half is one where you go to school, work part time jobs, and hang out with friends. When you’re doing this, you’re increasing your stats…getting stronger, smarter, and bolder. You become closer with your classmates and confidants, unlocking new skills in the process. The second half sees you infiltrate the phantom dimension, fighting demons, looting treasure, and using all those nifty skills you’ve been garnering in between classes.

I have never before played a game where my favorite part was “the part I was at.” I could be doing one of a hundred different things, and at any given moment, that was my absolute favorite thing to be doing. In combat with a monster? Yeah, I love that. Sweeping the floors of the coffee shop? Yeah, that too. Reading a magazine about aquariums while sitting on the subway? Super fun. It defies all logic. STUDYING FOR FINAL EXAMS SHOULDN’T BE THIS ENJOYABLE!

Persona 5 is boosted, in no small part, by the game’s indelible sense of style. At every turn, the visuals are bursting with bizarre combinations of color and text. From introductory sequences to all-out attacks, the splash screens and cutscenes are flashing and strobing with a calculated chaos; the type of thing that looks hectic, but you know it was actually crafted with unparalleled care. Hell, look at this menu. This shouldn’t work! None of the fonts match! There are random words carved into the background! I should be having an epileptic seizure as a result of this!

This sense of style is further elevated by the game’s soundtrack. We’ve already talked about that in a previous award, however, so instead I’ll just remind you that I have a rule…one that says no one game can win two awards. I’m breaking that rule here, and I never break rules. Especially my own. That alone should tell you just how much ass Persona 5 kicks.

In the end, however, Persona 5’s greatest strength (out of many strengths), is its vibes. I could gush for hours over the combat or the level design or the boss fights or the animation or the intersection of all those things. But really, it’s the vibes that do it for me. Sitting alone in a coffee shop at night, rain pattering on the window, my cat watching me while I scribble away at my homework, all while light jazz serenades my studies…it’s cozy! Running through the busy subway station in order to meet my friend at the arcade…it’s enticing! Climbing up the floors of a phantom casino, playing cards showering the place, slot machines flickering to my left and to my right, the heavy electric guitar guiding me up to the final confrontation with a cognitive distortion…it’s exciting! Persona 5 excels in every department, but it might just be the best game I’ve ever played when it comes to simply setting a mood.

I was unprepared for how affecting this game would be. It’s been over a month since I’ve finished it; a month since Joker said goodbye to his friends and returned to his old life, his criminal record expunged. And I haven’t moved on. I feel dead inside, like I’ve lost touch with my friends, like a fundamental phase of my life has ended, like I’ve been forced to grow up all over again. I’ll never walk back into the coffee shop and be greeted by the barista. I’ll never again impress my classmates with random trivia answers. And I’ll never suck down another bowl of ramen while confiding with my friends secrets about my past or theirs.

Yes, I can replay the game, but it just won’t be the same.

Persona 5 is one of those games you can only ever really experience once. It’s an honest, incisive, and profound story that cuts through all the fog and strikes you right in the heart. I know it’s a cliché to say it, but I did laugh. I did cry. I did fall in love with every inch of this funny, tragic, beautiful game. I don’t know if I’ll ever play anything like this ever again. I’ll be spending the next twenty years looking for something, anything, that will fill the calling card-shaped hole in my heart.