Overland iOS, PC, PS4, Switch, Xbox One
Developer/publisher Finji Format iOS (tested), PC, PS4, Switch, Xbox One Release Out now
The apocalypse is so three years ago. Back in 2016, when the world was properly going supernova and Overland was just two years into development, Finji’s procedurally generated, turn-based permadeath road trip felt thoroughly of the moment. But booting it up in 2019, it’s clear that something’s changed. It’s not the game itself – that has remained resolutely minimalist and unrelentingly bleak, with only small but considered changes arriving as a result of its period in early access – but the world around it. And, as any apocalyptic tale will tell you, adaptation is key. If you can’t keep up, you’re going to get left behind.
Much like Vernon. On our sixth or seventh run of Overland, we start off with bearded, puffer jacket-sporting Steve and his car, which is already dangerously low on fuel. The first level in the urban area of The East Coast is – for now – fairly quiet, a typically small gridded square with a dumpster and a couple of burntout cars to loot in hopes of fuel and supplies. There is just one of Overland’s strange blue-spined creatures, crouching a distance behind our car – so when we spot Vernon, who’s barricaded himself in an alleyway, we decide it’s worth the low risk to rescue him. We use our first two turns to reach him and help him smash his way out of his fortifications, and another to invite him to our party. Vernon, we learn from his randomly generated bio, was early for work every day, and isn’t really used to sleeping rough. This glimpse into the mundanities of who he is – and, indeed, used to be, before all the trouble started – is surprisingly touching.
It makes it us feel all the more guilty when, just a few levels later, we use him to fetch and fill the car with a valuable full canister of fuel, before having Steve then immediately drive off into the sunset without him. In our defence, the noise of our overly optimistic looting had attracted a swarm of aliens, Vernon was out of turns and injured, and we were moments away from a battered vehicle that would have doomed him and Steve both anyway unless we got out of there. So we accept that Vernon had to take one for the team. “Great”, Vernon says bitterly, as we motor away. Still, perhaps he had the last laugh. The very next level generates a frankly suffocating amount of creatures from the get-go. With only one pair of hands and set of turns to tear down blockades in the road, Steve is promptly ambushed. The only consolation in the face of yet another failed run is: at least we didn’t happen across one of Overland’s canine companions in this one.
So it goes again and again in Overland, a game in which failures hit hard, and victories hit slightly less hard. It’s 90 per cent varying concentrations of misery, in other words, and it soon gets wearisome. It wants you to learn through repeated tragedy, and its minimalist approach to strategy is intended to keep things uncomplicated with a relatively small pool of potential actions: run, loot, recruit party members, fight, drive. Within each of these, however, is a subset of less obvious actions and consequences. Some can be the key to a last-gasp escape, some will make a bad situation worse, and all go entirely without explanation. While it’s satisfying to slowly work out some things – med kits can be used infinitely, and fire is your friend – many runs are often ended as soon as they start by bad luck, as looting randomly declines to turn up the basics you desperately need but have spawned without.
At least we soon start to learn when to hit restart early, and save ourselves the inevitable grief – although this is irksome, and likely not the sort of thing Overland is intending to teach us. But we go far too many hours, for instance, without realising that some characters have special skills such as being able to jump-start cars or pick locks, abilities that might well have saved many a past run had this feature been made more apparent in the UI. Yet again, it appears that in an attempt to preserve the clean, minimalist aesthetic and ideals of Overland’s doomsday dioramas, clarity has been lost.
A few years back, we may have been more forgiving of Overland’s staunch refusal to impart its inner workings without first demanding repeated trial-anderror on the part of the player – an artistic choice that fits with the subject matter, perhaps. But we have since moved into the post- Into The Breach era. Subset Games’ similarly small-scale, turn-based, alien-besting drama gives players full and clear visual explanations of every move they might possibly make in a level, withholding nothing. The effect was that the difficulty came not from bashing your head against a wall until the brain matter eventually stuck, but from surveying the situation and then constructing a smart, informed strategy. There are moments like this in Overland, but they’re few and far between – and come hours down the line, instead of in your first few runs. In any case, we find prioritising fuel above all else is the safest and most successful strategy, blurring many of our journeys into one long slog from petrol station to petrol station.
Ultimately, the hooks – the stylish visuals and ominous sound design, the by turns humorous and wistful character bios, the times where an intentional plan comes together, the endlessly generated dogs – aren’t hooky enough. There’s little sense of purpose to your road trip, and the changes of scenery along the way are purely superficial – city, woodland and mountain levels playing out in largely the same way. Fear is a great motivator, sure, but hope – of a victory that feels worthwhile, or simply just something new to see – is better. It’s as if videogames, along with the rest of the world, have moved on from the disconsolate vision of the apocalypse. As a result, Overland sadly feels much like our late friend Vernon: stuck in the rear-view mirror, lost in the fumes.
It’s ninety per cent varying concentrations of misery, and it soon gets wearisome