Lair of the Clockwork God
Hybrid heaven.
Genuinely funny games are a rarity. So without overlooking the ingenuity of a game that fuses point-and-click adventures with platform-puzzlers, the highest praise I can give Lair of the Clockwork God is that it made me laugh from start to finish. Its central pair – alter-egos of creator Dan Marshall and co-writer Ben Ward – would hate the phrase ‘interactive comedy’, so I’ll simply say that this is a gag delivery device with an outstanding hit rate. It opens in a Peruvian jungle, immediately establishing its central hook. While Ben is dedicated to point-and-click conventions, Dan has reinvented himself as an indie platformer hero on an emotional quest. If you haven’t played the earlier Ben and Dan games, you could be forgiven for thinking you were in for some self-consciously edgy humour with a side of clever-clever postmodernism. Yet it takes great care to position its leads as the butt of most jokes.
When I say ‘emotional quest’, that’s exactly what it becomes. Ben and Dan wind up in London, where the capital has taken an apocalyptic turn. Here they discover an AI that puts them through a series of experiments, harvesting their response to emotional stimuli to better understand humankind. What follows is an imaginative journey involving plenty of character-swapping fun, as you make use of their disparate skillsets. Dan can reach places his counterpart can’t, while Ben can pick up and combine objects to help his friend, creating power-ups such as a double-jump.
There are minor control issues with both. Ben is blighted by an interface that feels slightly fiddly however you play. And while Dan’s obstacle courses are creatively designed, he’s hardly Celeste’s Madeline in precision and responsiveness.
Though it avoids the irritating pixelhunts of many vintage point-and-clicks, the platforming creates a few sticking points. Giving Ben a piggyback speeds up your movement, but it’s possible to pass by environmental features or objects. You’re not always confined to a small locality, nor will you always be aware which character you should
Its sense of humour might occasionally be too caustic for some, while others might be uneasy at the pot-shots it takes at other games..
be controlling. Such moments are rare and dialogue tends to subtly seed hints – though on a few occasions you’ll find yourself trying out every possible combination of objects (not that your inventory ever becomes unmanageable).
Somehow, it hardly matters. Dan’s glee during the platforming set-pieces is infectious – just witness his response to his discovery of ‘left gravity’. And any minor annoyances are quickly forgotten when you’re never far from a pun, a one-liner, or a creative sight gag.
THROWING SHADE
Its sense of humour might occasionally be too caustic for some, while others might be uneasy at the pot-shots it takes at other games. Yet the tone is usually either cheeky, affectionate, or both. As often as it takes the piss (sometimes literally), it celebrates the kind of games it’s joking about. It doesn’t stoop to the usual type of videogame satire, where a game does the very thing it complains about, outside of one sequence that deliberately riffs on that idea, where the payoff is the reveal of the emotion being tested.
Elsewhere, there’s a frankly brilliant section that interrogates the process of respawning. One chapter, where the two need to impress a social media feed of youngsters to get into a club, risks devolving into condescending references to young people and their weird lingo, but defies expectations with a self-aware twist. And one elaborately silly joke involves a punchline that’s delivered piecemeal within the opening moments of a visual novel, Devil’s Kiss, that’s bundled with the game.
Surprises are scattered liberally throughout. Some deliberate misinformation prompts an ingenious mechanical twist, and you’ll mow down waves of piñata minions with a screenshaking gun. Yes, a few gags fall wide of the mark. But Size Five’s ballsiest adventure to date is the kind of game you’ll be quoting for years.
CHRIS SCHILLING