To
Lee More
published 5 hours ago / 373 views
Imagine this elevator pitch: a world made from craft paper and origami figures. Animals, rocks, trees and more do not appear to be materialized from the game engine, but rather flattened and folded their proportions thanks to careful craftsmanship. Hirogami isn't the first to incorporate this concept – mechanically or aesthetically – but it's still rare enough to be refreshing. Nintendo, Sony and other indie developers have explored this before, so Bandai Namco's freshman Singapore and Malaysian studios are still left to surprise, if not with entirely new material, then at least by capturing the same complexity as its inspiration. It's a pity that he crumples under such pressure.
An artist by profession, Hiro's shoes are a delicate pair. While meditating in a serene place, the sinister “Corruption” quickly begins to corrupt the world, which also robs him of his unique ability to transform into certain origami animals. As one of the last remaining inhabitants capable of fighting back, he is forced to cleanse both the infected inhabitants and the land itself.
It's not hard to see the yin/yang duality in the story: the deliberate, handcrafted Shishiki Village and its surrounding area are overrun with man-made anomalies; pink translucent boxes (almost like large glass pixels) sit passively while black spherical blobs called “Glitches” act like normal melee and ranged minions. At first glance, these deliberate inconsistencies suggest Hirogami emphasis on visual storytelling; instead it's… Weird interested in over-explaining a simple plot. The supporting characters are varied, but they constantly set the tone through the spin cycle. The back and forth between the ethereal spirit (or god) who supports Hiro's Journey, the boisterous Scotsman, and the supportive elder who is also inept with technology creates a strange type of whiplash. There's no voice acting, but every character seems to desperately need new lines.
For better or worse, the gameplay sticks to a set formula. Being in the dark with a palm tree folding fan isn't ideal, but it doesn't take long before Hiro regains his transformations after defeating the corrupted animal. For the armadillo, rolling is both a means of attack and a means of locomotion across brown cardboard boxes; like a frog, he can jump high, spit acid and stomp his butt; being a gorilla, he can grab onto vines and hit enemies and… red cardboard boxes. At first glance this seems like a slight overlap in abilities, but it also gives the game away.
This sense of limited strategy is almost confirmed when you see Hiro's list of upgrades; heck, a good portion of them just give you another heart. This is due not so much to mechanical limitations as such, but to their mechanical implementation. When and where to use power is so carefully considered that the puzzles feel more like stopgap measures than puzzles. The armadillo shape does x, the frog does y, and the gorilla does z. Of course, its platforming problems aren't limited to Simon Says; Hazards such as falling platforms, spike traps, floating log rafts, etc. are a strong defense as the gaps between checkpoints increase. It's best when said platforming challenges are varied and fast-paced.
Hirogami is not that difficult, but some of its complexity is artificial. Precision platforming can be a challenge due to misleading visual communication and a quasi-fixed camera. Imagine a film camera occupying 3D space, but you can only move the lens along the X axis. This wouldn't be annoying if the “cameraman” was constantly focused on the player's experience rather than beautiful landscape shots. The biggest culprit, however, is the combat. Hiro's standard fan attack doesn't make much sense, and the micro-delay between button presses makes crowded fights feel sloppy. The most reliable fighting form is the frog; spam spits and butt kicks can destroy a wave in a matter of seconds. Sometimes other animals are needed, but these dynamic transformations become increasingly repetitive. As with Hiro's fan, there is a slight delay when switching between forms.
There's something about those paper cuts that accumulates over time. Why only Can a Hiro fan smash these translucent boxes instead of other animal attacks? Why are so many standard jumping platforms only available in Hiro the frog form? Why is one of the most popular secondary tasks to ensure that such an unreliable camera works without damage? Why does swinging a gorilla vine seem so stiff and awkward? Why does the gatekeeper boss reach a certain number of paper cranes (equivalent MarioGold stars) when this speed bump serves only to disrupt the rhythm? These disparate questions are nitpicks in themselves, but they speak to how problems large and small continue to accumulate.
“Beautiful on the outside, shallow on the inside.” It's a shame how often similar sentiments are reflected in the gaming industry, and it's an even bigger shame that Hirogami this is another example. These initial fleeting gains from a new trick or vanity quickly turn out to be paper thin due to their limited application and variety. Hell, even its best quality – the visuals – can sometimes be undermined by the confusing motives of the bulky camera. What's ultimately left is a game that can't hold a candle to its handcrafted contemporaries; You can ruin the folds, even if there are instructions there.
A contractor by profession and writer by hobby, Lee's offensive criticism has found its way to appear on several gaming sites: N4G, VGChartz, Gaming Nexus, DarkStation, TechRaptor and Cubed3! He started gaming in the mid-90s and has had the privilege of playing many games on many platforms. Reader warning: Every click on his articles only helps inflate his Texas-sized ego. Proceed with caution.
This review is based on a digital copy of Hirogami for PS5 provided by the publisher.
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