Sorry We’re Closed (XS)

by
Lee Mehr
, posted 38 minutes ago / 165 Views

Reviewer’s Note: Due to certain story praises and critiques, I’ll have to delve into SOME SPOILERS within this review.  They’re not big revelations per se, but I found some benefit to going in blind.  Read on at your own risk.

One of à la mode games’ most effective creative decisions happens at the opening of Sorry We’re Closed: a TV soap opera about two women falling out of love.  Sure, retro-styled survival-horror games in the vein of Resident Evil and Silent Hill are the stark opposite of watching Lesbian Days of Our Lives, but the motivation works in this case.  After all, this is a game all about emphasizing the eccentric contrasts within its narrative, aesthetic, and – to a lesser extent – its mechanics.  The biggest selling point is less about any one aspect in isolation but rather in how those wild disparities successfully fuse together.

The televised blow-up between Epiphany Oxblood and Canary Rogue is an obvious parallel to our cyan-hair-colored protagonist’s own fallout.  Unbeknownst to her, Michelle’s prolonged deep-seated emptiness has become a draw – a black hole of sorts – for more nefarious forces.  Her standard routine of boring day job and nighttime socializing hits a snag after a powerful arch-demon desperate for love breaks into her flat and curses her.  What looks like a nasty forehead scar in the normal world is actually a Third Eye, a curse that provides a window into the spiritual realm of angels and demons intermingling within her once-humble N64 London borough.

Shifting between overlapping planes of existence has always been a neat gimmick.  Before her attack, Michelle wasn’t necessarily ignorant about rumored kidnappings at night.  Even one of her closest friends is an encyclopedia on demonology and collects strange artifacts.  But hearsay and spooky stories don’t measure up to seeing this new world yourself.  A snap of her fingers is all that’s necessary for Michelle’s Third Eye to activate, providing a limited top-down vision cone into this new reality.  In the real world, the gross subway plucked from Silent Hill 3 seems blocked off; within this other world however, the subway looks new, the walls are decorated with pictures, and certain roadblocks have vanished.

The malign demonic forces exist in both realities, sadly, but now you can face them.  Closed’s foundation is a blend of old and new: the fixed camera angles of survival-horror’s past return in their blocky glory, but aiming (whether with an axe or gun) transitions to first-person.  Any enemies within the circle of Michelle’s Third Eye become pinkish, semi-translucent silhouettes with an exposed weak point that teleports whenever it’s hit.  Though still possible to kill (or temporarily subdue) standard minions at range, combat tempo is centered on allowing enemies in close, revealing their heart(s), and chaining ‘heart shots’ in quick succession.

It seems like a couple of minor nuances in the grand scheme, but the dynamic is palpably different and has a sensible game-logic:

• Third Eye can be activated at any time (minus a few puzzle-oriented segments), but deactivates the moment you start running.
• Its limited range feels perfect, ensuring enemies must be uncomfortably close to expose their hearts.
• Waiting to activate Third Eye until they’re within its radius will temporarily stun them.
• The upgrades to Third Eye capture that balance of being helpful without feeling overpowered.
• The splashy color shifts and audio feedback to shot combos make it just a bit easier to get into a flow state.
  

Its combat logic also carries over to several puzzles, as well as exploration.  Aside from the obvious window dressing, sometimes interactable objects relay disparate info between these realities; similarly, several of the motley cast of characters will present differently too.

When not spelunking in neglected subways or labyrinthine mazes, the other big portion of Closed’s gameplay pie is like the Persona series’ social simulation: waltzing around a borough filling up with more otherworldly guests, casual chatter with locals or important dialogue choices, and short adventure side quests often located within the hotel of Michelle’s demonic captor: “The Duchess.”  The most demanding of these activities is over in a pinch, but it’s a nice respite from the main course whilst building up this fucked-up world of humans, angels, demons, and sometimes one type trying to hook up with another.

Between the hundred-yard stare of these blocky NPCs and the gaudy colors paired with flesh & gore, you’re never meant to feel any normal means of comfort.  The gleaming white marble of the Duchess’ hotel lobby is contrasted with gargantuan sliced-up arms and hands securing a nearby door; one of the Duchess’ most loyal servants patiently waits in its room, excited for the next torture session; and so on and so forth.  It’s a Satanist Halloween party in San Francisco, draped in every color found in a Lisa Frank folder, while a blend of electronica and hip-hop blasts in the background.  It doesn’t quite measure up to the visual & audio chaotic cohesion of Paradise Killer, but its confidence with such contrasts places it within close proximity.

It’s a shame, then, that its mechanical faults occasionally interrupt said engagement.  Michelle herself feels appropriately slow and squishy: she can only backpedal and has no block nor parry ability.  The problem is that this becomes a real pain against enemies with knockdown hits, opening Michelle up to consecutive strikes before she can even stand up again.  Sometimes the fixed camera can be a bit too stubborn to transition to the next spot; other times enemy hit registration feels a bit finicky.  A handful of nettlesome fumbles can’t help but remind players of the classics’ own shortcomings.

Meanwhile, Closed’s neon-colored yarn is about navigating the fine line between obsession and love, and how supernatural beings threatening you to love them or become torture puppets probably don’t deserve it.  The Duchess’ whole act – twisted notions of coquetry, hellish despotism over everyone, insouciantly foisting this curse on whomever – sells the narrative through and through.  Each level reinforces the curse’s danger by replaying how previously-afflicted targets turned into maniacs feeding their worst impulses in the end.  And while it eats up those victims from the inside, a similar dialogue is occurring with other side characters in less… life-threatening ways.

While, granted, diving headfirst into a cursed love story to such garish and operatic excesses mostly works, C. Bedford (main writer) and Tom Bedford (credited with some dialogue) can get too high on their own supply.  There’s only so much traction in exploring the line between love and obsession before it just seems like you’re spinning your wheels.  The over-the-top writing attitude for a couple of side characters also winds up being detrimental; outside of exploring different decision outcomes, there’s no reason to help a specific person with their personal side quests.  Between those examples and modernized dialogue snafus, it’s an otherwise weird-yet-compelling story that’s occasionally distracted by its worst indulgences.

It can be tough to fault à la mode games’ freshmen work for its indulgences when – ironically – the game centers its identity around the most garish and operatic of them.  It’s an absolutely and unabashedly bizarre journey to its core about the volatile line between love and obsession.  It pays homage to inspirations like early Silent Hill and Resident Evil titles by slathering this blocky, demon-filled world in eccentric neon colors.  And, most of all, it utilizes a nifty nuance to find an identity all of its own.  Each one of these pillars has some unwelcome cracks, but not enough to dismiss what’s otherwise a compelling adventure.

Contractor by trade and writer by hobby, Lee’s obnoxious criticisms have found a way to be featured across several gaming sites: N4G, VGChartz, Gaming Nexus, DarkStation, and TechRaptor! He started gaming in the mid-90s and has had the privilege in playing many games across a plethora of platforms. Reader warning: each click given to his articles only helps to inflate his Texas-sized ego. Proceed with caution.

This review is based on a digital copy of Sorry We’re Closed for the XS, provided by the publisher.

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