Donut County
A HOLE NEW WORLD. $7.99 | donutcounty.com
DK THE RACCOON works in a doughnut shop, but doesn’t appear to know what a doughnut is. Whenever a customer orders one, he doesn’t send a frosted treat. Instead, he sends a giant, moveable hole to their garden into which tumble cars, bunnies, deck chairs and, eventually, the customer. These customers are now gathered in an underground cave that they must escape from — but first, you must slip into each of their memories to find out how they fell into the depths. Basically, it’s an excuse to control the holes, and that’s all we wanted, really. In each level, your hole starts small and gets bigger every time you swallow an object. First it’s rocks, bowls, and potted plants, but eventually you’re gobbling up entire buildings, and Donut County makes that simple act feel oh-so-satisfying. Most levels also contain a puzzle. Some involve combining objects (picking up ingredients for a soup in the right order so you can feed a bird, say) while in others you use a catapult to regurgitate the last object you collected. You’ll throw key cards into a security pad and fire fireworks to destroy a rocky outcrop, for example. It’s a very likeable game, but we’d like it more if the levels felt more alive, and responsive to your actions. Characters you’re trying to coax into the holes are essentially stuck in place, never trying to prevent their impending doom. In one level, we flip a napping alligator head over heels in his garden lounge chair. He just carries on snoozing. After we’ve flipped him 10 times and sent him flying from one side of his garden to the other, he simply folds obediently into the ever-growing hole, still asleep. Certain levels are almost uniformly flat, and only seem to do something interesting (such as a building breaking apart) at pre-determined points. But it’s difficult to complain too much about Donut County. It manages to pack a lot of variety into two hours while still remaining relaxing. It has buckets of charm, satisfying audio, and a simple story to tie it all together. It’s not quite a hole in one, but it’s close.
IN ONE LEVEL, WE FLIP A NAPPING ALLIGATOR HEAD OVER HEELS IN HIS GARDEN LOUNGE CHAIR. HE JUST CARRIES ON SNOOZING. AFTER WE’VE FLIPPED HIM TEN TIMES, AND SENT HIM FLYING FROM ONE SIDE OF HIS GARDEN TO THE OTHER, HE SIMPLY FOLDS OBEDIENTLY INTO THE EVER-GROWING HOLE, STILL ASLEEP.