Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective is the very definition of a classic. That a simple storytelling game from 1981 holds up effortlessly amongst a deluge of modern narrative and thematic designs is all you need to know. It is a unique and fascinating game that when first released nearly 40 years ago was practically a genre unto itself. Taking the core design principles behind the Choose Your Own Adventure novels — which began publication a mere two years prior — to great new heights, it added a staggering depth of choice to their fiction formula. Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective‘s challenging, won’t-solve-themselves mysteries, rock solid investigation mechanics, and wonderfully immersive production design have kept it on the shelves of thematic game lovers for a very long time — an accomplishment that impresses more and more with each passing year as ever increasing amounts of players are won over by its singular charm. Now, I typically don’t talk much about components in my reviews as I don’t feel they have a very strong correlation with the quality of a game, but I’d be remiss not to state that Sherlock Holmes Consulting Detective is a visionary production. Case booklets filled to the brim with evocative text, newspapers that nail the look and feel of an old-timey publication, a detailed map and directory that allow you to call on hundreds of different suspects from all over London, etc. These are components that make you want to dive whole-heartedly into the game’s atmosphere, to really act out the role of a…
In 2017, Looney Labs released a spiffy new edition of Zendo, the classic inductive logic game first published back in 2001. That’s right, Zendo is a game of inductive logic. NOT deductive. What, you don’t know what an inductive logic game is? Don’t worry, neither did I (editor’s note: I still don’t), so allow me to attempt an explanation. Deductive logic games — which I’m sure you are familiar with — are games that present their players with a finite set of possibilities as systemically constrained by their design and tasks them with whittling said possibilities down to one. Some classic examples in this genre include Clue, Sleuth, and Mastermind. Inversely to these, Zendo, being all about that inductive life, presents its players with infinite possibilities and challenges them to find the microscopic needle in the cosmic haystack. Yikes, how could such a concept possibly manifest itself mechanically? The answer to that lies in Zendo‘s amazingly clever and creative design. The goal of Zendo is to uncover a secret rule as decided by a moderator before the game begins. The purpose of this rule is to govern how cute little structures of plastic blocks should be built. These blocks come in three shapes (in the 2017 version, the original had three different sizes of pyramids) and three colors, so a rule might be that a structure must have exactly one block of each color, or that two different shapes must be touching in a certain way, something like that. The designers included a good selection of these…
Can’t Stop has been one of my go-to gaming nightcaps for several years now, and I don’t expect that to ever change. It’s an impressive design that distills the thrill of gambling into a brief dice game that is simple enough for children, but exciting for all. Even 40 years on from its initial release it is one of, if not the best pure press-your-luck game there is. Although, its longevity isn’t all that surprising when you consider it was designed by the granddaddy of modern board games himself: the legendary Sid Sackson. If you are not aware of this dude’s massive contributions to the art form we all love, I highly encourage you to read up on him and play some of his games. He has some excellent, excellent designs that were waaaaaaay ahead of their time. Perhaps a review of a designer’s game is not the best place to be showering said designer with unreserved adulation, but I can’t help it in this case. Sackson is amazing; I love him. Okay, I’m done. Let’s talk about the game. Can’t Stop is a dice game played on a board that looks like a stop sign (now that’s good production design!). On this board are 11 columns numbered 2 through 12 that are made up of a number of spaces. The 2 and 12 columns are the shortest with the fewest amount of spaces and the 7 is the tallest with the most. Players are each given a set of 11 playing pieces…
Arkham Horror doesn’t want you to play it. It wants to happen to you. At almost no point in the game do your decisions have any bearing on what’s happening. It is a frustrating and pointless title that has been improved upon several times over and there’s no reason to return to. In fact, a third edition of the game dropped just last year which I’ve not yet played (I’m too scared). And back in 2013, the ever-popular Eldritch Horror released, which essentially functioned as a massive bug fix to Arkham Horror‘s myriad core issues. There have also been expansions, card games, spin-offs, you name it. So Arkham Horror is a bit of a franchise at this point, and certainly one of Fantasy Flight Games’ flagship products. The original version came out way back in 1987, which is the only reason I can think of for the game’s legendary status, because it is horrible. It probably has the worst ratio of rules complexity to strategic complexity of any game I’ve ever played. It is also interminable, obnoxious, dull, and lifeless. I hope you’re not expecting an exhaustive rules refresher on a terrible game from 15 years ago, because I’m not going to give one to you. What I will say is Arkham Horror is a co-operative game about defending the city of Arkham from a variety of Lovecraftian monsters, including the likes of Cthulhu himself. Players choose investigators, deck themselves out with a variety of items, weapons, and spells, and go traipsing about the city looking for clues…
Within the first few minutes of my first game of Hive I was overcome by a sense of despair, of its source I could not be quite sure. It was only when the game wrapped up and the thought of playing another round deeply depressed me did I fully understand that the problem was Hive itself. I deeply disliked it. But why? It’s beloved by many, and the general sentiment is that it’s a modern classic. The answer is Hive is messy, uninteresting, and fundamentally misunderstands the elements that make abstract games work. I am well aware that seemingly no one else shares this opinion, so let’s just get on with the review. Hive is two-player abstract about a pile of bugs crawling all over each other in big nasty clump of filth. Gross. Players are given 11 hexagonal tiles depicting Beetles, Grasshoppers, Spiders, Ants, and a single Queen Bee. I suppose in the universe of Hive insects and arachnids of all walks of life have learned to unite as a nation under a common flag. There’s a life lesson in there somewhere, but I’m not sure what it is. Anyway, one of Hive‘s big selling points is that there’s no board. I’ve heard many, many people praise this feature, saying they love how “portable” the game is (“It even comes with travel bag!”). Let me just say that a game’s portability has never once influenced my opinion of it. As often as the two are conflated, portability and quality have literally nothing to do with each…
What do you get when you take Skull and add monsters, heroes, stats, and dungeons? A significantly worse game, apparently. Welcome To The Dungeon is a shallow attempt to add theme and additional flavor to a classic game that needs neither. Nerd versions of good games like this are embarrassing. Not every design needs a fantasy action re-theme, people. Worse still, every mechanical change Welcome To The Dungeon makes to Skull‘s system hurts the experience. So not only is it a lazy re-theme, it’s also a massively inferior design. Not the best combo! To begin a game of Welcome To The Dungeon the players collectively choose 1 of 4 brave heroes and lay them and their unique set of equipment tiles in the center of the table. Then, a deck of monster cards is shuffled and placed nearby. That’s it. Hey, at least the set up is quick! Players take turns by drawing cards from the deck and deciding to either add the monster to the dungeon, or keep the card and remove one of the hero’s equipment tiles. If a player doesn’t want to draw a card they may pass instead. When all but one player have passed, that player must send the hero into the dungeon with whatever equipment tiles are left. One at a time, the monster cards that have been added to the dungeon are flipped and resolved. Monsters deal specified amounts of damage to the hero unless a piece of equipment is still in effect that can dispatch them safely.…
Jamaica is a gorgeous, easy to play, family-friendly racing game that is also really, really bad. Its microscopic decision space, inconsistent theming, and complete lack of player agency make it very difficult to suffer through. You’d think a game about tearing a path through the Caribbean in a pirate ship would be at least mildly exciting. Think again. This game is boring. Its age rating may be 8+, but I’d say just 8 might be more accurate. Let’s get the obvious out of the way: Jamaica‘s production is phenomenal. The board is beautiful, the art is ebullient, and the components are outstanding. The single exception is the rulebook. Jamaica‘s rulebook can go fudge itself. I hate it. Whoever thought unfolding a rulebook like it’s a gosh dang treasure map wouldn’t get old is an imbecile. It gets one point for novelty and loses a hundred for utility. Not a good trade-off. I have never felt more ridiculous looking for the answer to a mid-game rules question, as amusing as I’m sure my vexation was to the other players. Note to y’all game publishers out there: don’t get cute with your rulebooks. Anyhow, as previously stated Jamaica is a racing game. Players who cross the finish line by the end score the full amount of points for the race, and the others are scored on how close they were to finishing. Additional points are awarded for amassed gold and treasure, so you can actually win the game even if you don’t finish the race. Seems weird,…
Fairy Tale is a clumsy little card drafting game which predates 7 Wonders by 6 years and it shows. Aside from being first, Fairy Tale offers nothing of interest that newer, better drafting games haven’t improved upon several times over. I know many board game critics put a lot of stake in which-game-featured-what-mechanic-first chronologies, but I’m not one of them. Of course I enjoy tracing the origins and influences of game systems and ideas across the years — a process I derive extreme personal edification from — but these reviews are about whether or not a game is good. There are plenty of bad games with good ideas in them (in fact, I’d say most of them have at least one), but distinguishing the good idea from the good game is no simple task. Be that as it may, let’s aim to do just that. I respect Fairy Tale and the creativity of its design — especially for its time — but it is a dated, unpolished game that there’s just not much of a reason to return to 15 years after its initial publication. Playing Fairy Tale will feel very familiar to anyone who’s played more recent drafting games like 7 Wonders or Sushi Go!. The game takes place over a series of rounds, players are dealt hands of cards, they select a card to keep then pass the rest to another player, and this goes on until everyone’s selected a full set of cards. However, unlike those other games, Fairy Tale follows this drafting phase with an additional card-playing phase. Players…
Onitama belongs to specific category of 2-player abstracts I call “Worse Chess“. These are perfect information, direct conflict games played on a square grid where the goal is to capture a particular playing piece of your opponent’s. The Duke is another popular example, and there are many lesser known titles in the genre as well. I can state without embellishment that I genuinely don’t understand the appeal of these games. Just play Chess. Chess has history, culture, immense depth, and a vast community of players. “Worse Chess” is a watered down Chess-like experience without any of those things. Onitama, despite its acclaim, is no exception. Onitama is played on a 5×5 grid. Each player starts with 4 “Student Pawns” and 1 “Master Pawn,” which they line up on their side of the grid with the Master in the center. They are both dealt two random face-up “Move” cards, and a fifth Move card is placed to the side of the board. The rest of the cards will not be used and are returned to the box, potentially to be involved in future games. Onitama differs from Chess in that the player pieces do not have dedicated move sets. Instead, players take turns by selecting 1 of their 2 Move cards and applying its movement rules to any piece of their choosing. After doing so, they exchange their selected card with the one to the side of the board. In effect, this means that the available moves will cycle between players as the game is played, because every card you use…
Pandemic is not half as fecund a core design as it may initially seem. Its social puzzle approach to co-operative gaming and fresh theme were groundbreaking, don’t get me wrong, but its mechanical innovations were simply not foundational enough to be successfully transposed wholesale betwixt systems like Puerto Rico‘s and Dominion‘s were. Apparently, its designer Matt Leacock seemed to be the only one who didn’t notice this and Pandemic‘s two follow-ups, Forbidden Island and Forbidden Desert, burst onto the scene a short while after it like no big thang. Forbidden Island is basically babby’s first Pandemic, which is all that needs to (or can) be said about it. Forbidden Desert, while a significant improvement, is still nowhere near unique or interesting enough an experience to stand on its own in its predecessor’s wake. It doesn’t help that both games are simple to the point of mindlessness. Now I get it, these are children’s games, basically just toys, and I probably shouldn’t even bother reviewing them. On the other hand I’ve played games with lower age ratings that I consider masterpieces, so let’s do this! Let’s start with Forbidden Island, a game about hunting for treasure on a sinking island. I’m going to forego my usual structural/mechanical overview and instead paint this one in broad, abstracted terms. This will only work if you’ve played Pandemic. If you haven’t then I’m not sure why you’re even reading this, but hey, you do you. Forbidden Island is often described as Pandemic-lite (notably by Leacock himself), but to me it feels more like Pandemic-minus (minus…