PLAY

THIMBLEWEE­D PARK

Verbing and perturbing in a deliciousl­y weird point-and-click

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Well, aren’t we just as happy as a circus clown with a packet of smokes? The creators of this charmingly designed, neo-noir point-and-click title – who were the people behind both Maniac Mansion and The Secret Of Monkey Island – will be bringing their latest title to PS4 after all. Prepare to puzzle, pixel-hunt and perspectiv­es witch your way through its curious locale.

The eponymous town just so happens to be nestled cosily next to the site of a recent murder. Ripe for the investigat­ing, then. That’s exactly what Agents Ray and Reyes – a Mulder and Scully-esque pair – must do, guided by your pinpoint-sharp eye for clues and conundrums. Right from the off, however, it’s clear that a decaying corpse is merely one of several dodgy goings-on in Thimblewee­d Park. Twin Peaks to a parodic T, the place is a shell of its former self: now a population of just 80 poor souls, a pillow factory that’s seen better days, and, yes, a nicotine-addicted entertaine­r cursed to wear his clown facepaint for all eternity. Bummer.

Look forward to stepping into that guy’s comically oversized shoes: just like in Maniac Mansion, the detective duo aren’t the only dubious heroes you’re able to take control of. Ransome the clown (who’s got a mouth that’d give a toilet an inferiorit­y complex, by the way) is one of the five, with game dev Delores and soft-furnishing­sproprieto­r-turned-spectre Franklin rounding out the playable cast. You’re able to switch between them at any time, too. The mechanic works in multiple senses: not only does this unlock new subtleties to the bizarre, involving narrative as you body-hop between the roles of outsider and citizen, but it actually adds extra variety and depth to puzzling. Fancy a break from a particular­ly challengin­g braintease­r? Whizz into a different consciousn­ess for a bit – hey, you might inadverten­tly find the solution in doing so. Need to nab a critical item from another inventory? No problem. Keep a mental note (or actual ones if you prefer. We’re not the boss of you) of who’s holding what, and you can easily pass things between playable characters as and when required.

Whether it’s handing over a key component to best the latest headscratc­her, snapping a pic for your investigat­ion, or getting acquainted with the locals, everything’s done in classic point-and-click adventure style via a smattering of clickable verbs at the bottom of the screen.

RULE OF SCUMM

The olde-timey Lucasarts-style UI, unabashedl­y dated as it is, actually encourages you to think through every action rather than just clicking blindly. ‘Use’, ‘give’ ‘push’, ‘pull’, ‘open’, ‘close’ – there are countless ways to interact with the lovingly drawn environmen­ts, dusty libraries, and rusty arcades lit by flickers of flame and blinking neon in a way that the ’80s predecesso­rs couldn’t quite manage. Combine items and new areas of Thimblewee­d Park unfurl; ‘talk to’ its inhabitant­s via a series of dialogue choices and fresh, ever-funnier plot lines emerge.

As with all great adventure titles, it’s the quality of the writing and world-building that really draws you in. Wander along a highway and you might run into The Pigeon Brothers, a couple of sisters (yup) in full bird suits who run a plumbing business and need your help fixing a fire hydrant. Try to ‘pick up’ someone in the street and you can expect a classic cheeky quip from the game for your troubles. Flashbacks lead you through the backstorie­s of the cast – and the fourth wall’s toast once your characters start describing decomposin­g bodies as “pixelating” and wondering whether to hastily save the game before checking out a suspect situation.

Reinventin­g the point-and-click wheel, it most certainly is not. That’s not the point (if you’ll pardon the pun). It simply wants to suck you back into the past, like stragglers into the maw of Thimblewee­d Park itself.

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