Papo & Yo is a game about its creator’s relationship with an abusive, alcoholic father, and as such could be the most strikingly personal game you’ve ever played. Opening with a dedication from writer and director Vander Cabellero to his mother and siblings (“…with whom I survived the monster in my father”), Papo & Yo sees a young boy, cowering in terror from the unseen parent, suddenly transported to a surreal, favela-like dreamscape.
There’s a monster here, but the nature of Cabellero’s allegory ensures this beast is more than just an antagonistic foe. Most of the time he’s inquisitive and docile – playful even – only flying into angry, burning rages when he snacks upon one of the luminous green frogs found hopping through the world. The metaphor at the core of the game runs through its structure: you’re bound to this creature – he’s an essential puzzle solving tool, and you must carefully lead him through stages while avoiding his savage turns.
These stages, visually at least, are filled with images of childlike fantasy. As protagonist Quico throws switches and pulls levers, buildings sprout legs and stroll across to wherever they’re needed as platforms, or arrange themselves into bridges to help him cross gaps. There’s a theme of simple wish-fulfilment running through these scenes, as well as the game’s story: in a straightforward dollop of pure whimsy, Quico’s sidekick is a well-loved toy come to life.
But despite the intimate nature of its subject matter and its imaginative eye, as a game Papo & Yo is repetitive and crude. Quico might be rearranging urban landscapes with his magical powers, but you’re simply throwing switches and heaving blocks around. Too often, the game feels like busywork, its puzzles relying heavily on a simple set of ingredients, its platforming frustrating and weightless. More seriously, Papo & Yo’s mechanics don’t always live up to its theme. Being savaged by the enraged monster must be representative of some of the most severe trauma a child can suffer – but it comes off tedious, the penalty-free animation dragging on as you wait to be restored control.
And that’s when everything is functioning is at should, and not let down by shoddy execution. Papo & Yo’s ugly visuals might be offset by the surreal nature of what’s being represented, but the repeated clipping issues, poor pathfinding from the monster and puzzle breaking glitches aren’t as easy to ignore. The framerate, meanwhile, is erratic, at one point slowing down to a nausea-inducing slideshow that required a restart.
Should a game about surviving an alcoholic, abusive parent be fun? Probably not. But it gains nothing from being wearying and frustrating. Papo & Yo might successfully render childhood trauma as an interactive metaphor, but the surrounding game doesn’t expand upon or illuminate that core theme. Instead, through a mixture of ill-advised design and poor realisation, Papo & Yo seems to actively obscure the intimate story at its heart. [4]
Comments
7It's very interesting, the spread of scores this game has received; and while an IGN review can easily be dismissed by artistically-minded gamers, an Edge review cannot. Is this simply a question of the build the reviewer was sent? My own playthrough, like Eurogamer's Simon Parkin's, showed no sign of any bugs, let alone show-stopping ones (though, yes, the frame rate is often terrible).
Leaving aside the technical side of things, though, it seems to come down to the question of whether or not the moving exploration of a traumatic childhood, and the imagination with which it is handled, is compelling enough to excuse (or even explain - nothing can disrupt the flow of a story more than the player getting stumped) the lack of challenging gameplay. Papo Y Yo is much more like Dear Esther or Journey than it is like ICO in this regard, much more focused on the visual and narrative payoff of its puzzles than the complexity of the puzzles itself, and this might be why it's getting such absurdly low scores by (apparently) more gameplay-focused reviewers. For me, however, this is one of the games of the year: an emotionally charged, richly imaginative and atmospheric experience.
Thanks for this comment, Marijn, and to Slaktus, too - you both nail the two key issues with the game. I really appreciate you putting your voices in.
(I should say, I didn't write this review.)
Alex, I guess this is the problem with the fact that Edge doesn't mention who's written an individual review; it pretends that all the members of your undoubtedly enormously varied team have the same viewpoint on games and gaming. I could be wrong, but I seriously doubt that the writer(s) of the Edge reviews for Dear Esther and Journey would have awarded Papo Y Yo a measly four out of ten (but if it IS in fact the same writer, I'd be very interested to know his or her opinion on what things those 8/10-scoring games did right that Papo Y Yo did wrong).
Had the creator something interesting to say that could only be expressed through a game, then the creator would have designed a system that allows the player to experience the emotions and arrive at a comprehension of the trauma portrayed.
If there's nothing but visual rewards coupled with storytelling and a thin veneer of navigation and switch/block puzzles, then the creator is neither particularly respectful of the player or games as a medium and should, perhaps, have written a book or directed a film that could better express the story and aesthetics.
Obviously, I disagree. Let's take a look at the least interactive example, Dear Esther. In this game, the only interaction you engage in is that you navigate a linear environment. Still, even this tiny bit of agency is enough to make it a radically different experience from watching a film/reading a novel/what have you. The fact that you set your own pace, direct your own gaze and are generally actively immersed ensures that your relationship to the fiction is distinct from that of a passive viewer or reader.
Now, Papo Y Yo is much more interactive (have you played it? I couldn't tell from your comment). Its admittedly simple puzzles DO in fact evoke the game's themes: a boy who deals with his circumstances by retreating into his imagination, where he can change the world as he sees fit. The puzzles involving the monster itself perfectly capture the fraught relationship between the boy and his father, et cetera.
So I guess I disagree with both your points. 1) the game does, in fact, offer a "system that allows the player to experience the emotions and arrive at a comprehension of the trauma portrayed." It's just not a gameplay system that would be much fun if ripped from the context of the game; 2) even if the game HADN'T offered such a system, the game's creator wouldn't have been better off writing a novel or making a film, because interactivity in and of itself changes the way a fiction is experienced. (As an extra but more philosophical point, I feel it's the artist's job NOT to be respectful of his chosen medium, but to rip up the manual and make his own rules. As you can imagine, I don't get on very well with people who try to force a fixed definition for the word "game" on the rest of us).
While I appreciate the artistic intent and emotional core, I'm pretty tired of developers using it as an excuse to deliver a mediocre product. Imagine how transcendent this game would have been with the proper layer of polish. If you're going to utilize the interactive medium, every aspect of game play needs to be given the same level of respect. Take away the child abuse and what's here? Nothing.