Papo & Yo

This review contains spoilers. They have been marked as such, but due to them being an integral part of the review, if you do not read the parts of the review that feature spoilers, then the review may not be a completely coherent and satisfying piece of writing. I would say that they probably won’t really spoil the game for you, but I wouldn’t want you to read them and that not be the case. Whoever you are.
It took a lot to survive the opening of Papo & Yo. It played like an extended tutorial; unfolding at a snail’s pace with very little interesting happening. The puzzles are not really puzzles at all; you just have to go through the motions, pulling this lever, spinning those gears. It doesn’t matter how you do it; just do it.

The platforming is no better. Nearly all the time there are no consequences for falling; when I did I found myself at the very beginning of the short platforming section that I had fallen from. To make matters worse, when I did fall, it was not due to the challenge of an intricately designed platforming section, but because of loose controls, and a sometimes unpredictable camera.
While the depiction of the favela has a great sense of style and scale, and watching the rickety, old shanties trundle across the ground on chalk legs, or move through the sky under your own control, is immediately engaging, it is somewhat offset by the rather poor draw distance, the ugly screen tearing and clipping, and simply the fact that I could find no way to get the game to run in widescreen without it being distorted! (Presumably a problem that anyone with a modern television will not have to suffer.)
I was quite ready to give up, and like any good reviewer, I was already thinking of a few choice hyperbolic metaphors and similes that I could use to savage the game. But like any good reviewer I persevered; I pressed on: I refused to give up. It was through this persistence that I finally met Monster.
Monster is aptly named; a hulking brick shithouse with an endearing beer gut, a menacing horn, and an appetite for coconuts and frogs. He’s equal parts intimidating and lovable, and whenever I was with him, I was always acutely aware of the danger that he posed to me, and those around me. But at the same time I needed him, and he needed me. We relied upon one another; I could not progress without him, and he would do nothing but sleep and eat coconuts without my prodding.
He protected me; he looked after me too. At one stage I found myself trapped in a chalk room that had been drawn into the ground; the walls were closing in on me and I had no way to get out. I would have been crushed if Monster had not plucked me from danger. There was a strange feeling of safety when I was with him. It was only a few moments later that he devoured a frog and I became little more than a doll for him to play with.
Despite expecting such a thing to happen—due to the focus of the game’s marketing, it was hard not to expect it!—it was still almost shocking, and despite the fact that he didn’t really pose a genuine threat to my progression (whenever he caught me he beat me up a little, then threw me away, but no matter how many times he did this, I still got up), it was just a little bit terrifying.

But of course he did have an effect on my progression, even if it was not a fatal one. I had to avoid him; I had to run away from him, and eventually, I had to hurt him. The way in which the relationship between Quico (that’s you, player) and Monster is intertwined with the gameplay is where Papo & Yo excels. Because you quite literally need monster to progress through the levels, the metaphor is all the stronger, and far more affecting. Because monster actually hinders your progress when he has had one too many frogs, then it actually adds weights to the horror of his character, and all this is within the rather abstract confines of the gameplay.
I was far more motivated to press on towards the ultimate goal of the game (curing Monster) because I would actually feel the effects of curing him: if he was cured, then I would be able to progress through the game just that little more easily; it’d be me and him against the world! Of course that’s a rather irrational contradiction, because if that was the end of the game, then I wouldn’t really feel it, would I? The game would be over. But because my emotional connection was so intertwined with my direct involvement in the game’s world (the gameplay) such logical thoughts didn’t really factor into it. That’s the genius of Papo & Yo, and it’s a nuance that very few games even attempt, let alone get right.
But there’s a problem; an elephant in the room just as big as Monster. Things only improved a little post-long winded tutorial. Sure, suddenly I was moving around not just the odd shack, but whole blocks of them, which only added more wonder to the already wonderful sense of scale, and I was tearing the world to shreds and moulding it into exactly what I needed it to be—yet another excellent marriage of themes and gameplay—so that I could progress towards my ultimate goal, and watching all this unfold was a visually profound experience, but the actual puzzles that led to such moments of splendour were no better, and the platforming wasn’t either.
The puzzles’ pacing had improved, and they had become more complex—to solve a puzzle I had to flip a great many switches instead of just one or two, but I was still literally just flipping switch after switch, without giving it any thought. It was obvious what I had to do, and I did it, and it was done. And that was that. There was no thought process involved, there wasn’t even any particular order that I had to flip the switches, or pull the levers in, to solve the puzzles successfully!
There were more platforms to jump to and from, but they were completely static, and required no sense of timing. The only time I ever got stuck on a puzzle was because I hadn’t noticed a switch, and the only ever time I messed up my platforming was due to the very poor clipping detection, the loose controls and camera, or poor visual level design. For example one time I jumped from roof to roof, only to find myself falling through the roof that I landed on! At first I thought it was a glitch, then I looked up; the wall next to the roof was exactly the same colour, so that the two were all but indistinguishable from one another when viewed from above. On top of that there’s a very poor sense of depth which meant that I had to carefully watch the platform I was trying to land on for Quico’s shadow so that I knew he was actually going to land on it; a requirement that hindered me at least enjoying jumping from platform to platform, even if little skill was involved.
There were only two moments that I can think of off the top of my hand in which the platforming provided a challenge that didn’t feature the camera and controls (which may as well have been lifted from a PS2 game) and during one of them I mistimed my jump, and found myself falling endlessly through the world, and had to restart the whole section all over again!
There were two only puzzles that required me to come up with some sort of solution beyond durr, flip this switch that the game obviously wants me to, and one of them merely required me to watch several keys being mixed together, and picking out the one that had previously been highlighted. The other one was clever and required some lateral thinking, but only really stands out due to it being one of the two actual puzzles in the game.
Of course I was stuck on several occasions due to the previously mentioned controls and visual design, but also sometimes due to the game’s poor attempts at directing the player, and the even worse instructions. Now and then you come across tutorial boxes that tell you how something works; the problem is that quite often they don’t tell you what you actually need to know. One instance that sticks in my mind was when Monster was snoozing on a collection of cardboard boxes and wooden planks. I needed to keep him moving, and to achieve this, the wooden planks he was sleeping on became a caterpillar. I did everything the instructions told me—I even checked a hint box, and did everything it suggested too—but I still couldn’t get the damn caterpillar to move, even though the game had explicitly told me that if I pointed it in the right direction then it would move.
When the wooden planks had originally turned into a caterpillar, the camera panned down to the back of it; it was the game guiding me in the direction of what I needed to do: at the back of the cart was a chalk handle that I could grab a hold of, with which I could push the cart. The trouble was that when the camera panned down to the chalk lever it was obscured by the ground above it! It’s also a good example of the finicky camera; I had checked behind the cart because of the vague direction on several occasions, but each time I did, the camera angle had not shown me the chalk handle because I could not get the damn thing to pan around to the back of the caterpillar!
This is a particularly erroneous example, but Papo & Yo is peppered with myriad moments such as this, and together they become very frustrating, and combined with the non-existent puzzles, and platforming, begin to seep into the more engaging parts of the game; it wasn’t too long before running away from Monster became more frustrating than terrifying because I just wanted to hurry on to the next section, and that annoying bastard was slowing me down! Such frustration had nothing to do with the context of the story, and how it was integrated in the gameplay. Monster attacking me was just a pain in the arse.
But I kept going. My emotional involvement was still strong, and the way that the world evolves and moulds to your will simply becomes more and more spectacular right up until the very climax of the game.
[REMEMBER THE SPOILER WARNING AT THE BEGINNING? GOOD]
The deaths of some of the characters could have been handled better; the direction of the death scenes do not meld with the direction of the rest of the game. They’re slow motion montages lifted from the worst action films; their feeling of impending doom is lifted from pantomime: “He’s behind you!” They’re abrupt, but not shocking; however they still do have emotional impact. By the time the characters involved are being killed off, they have developed so well over the rest of the game, that you are highly invested in what happens to them. And the best part? I still wanted to save Monster, no matter what he did, and no matter the cost. The sacrifice of one of the characters towards the very end was sad; I would probably never see them again, but it was to save Monster. It was worth it. Thanks, I won’t forget you, but Monster and I must press on.
Which brings me to the ending. I could see what was coming; of course Monster couldn’t be saved, but the way it was handled left a slightly bad taste in my mouth. The music at nearly the very last; at the very worst moment was almost empowering. It seems a small, nitpicky detail to complain about, and that’s not to say that there is only sadness in what happens—there is relief too—but the music began perhaps just a touch too soon; it took away from the sadness and the tragedy; it didn’t allow all the emotions involved to be expressed, and focused on one in particular, at the expense of the others. Still, it was one that was in the very back of my mind at just that moment. Maybe it really is nitpicky; there was—apart from musically—no other way to end it, though there’s a little part of me that wishes I could have simply left Monster there with a coconut tree all to himself. Sigh.
[IT'S SAFE TO CONTINUE, HONEST IT IS!]
I see we’ve gone back onto the story. It’s a little strange that a game that manages to successfully intertwine its storytelling into its gameplay to phenomenal effect can simultaneously have such an excellent story, and gameplay that treads the line between mediocre and bad, quite often teetering well over the bad side.
[THESE SPOILERS AREN'T QUITE SO BAD]
And yet while writing this review, I must admit I felt a little sad, just as I did when I tried my very best to save Monster, but just couldn’t. There was nothing I could do for him. Even if I had left him there to his coconuts, I still would have been leaving him. And I couldn’t stay. I’m sorry Monster; and I do still love you. Don’t forget that; but no matter how great my love, I still had to let you go.
[AT LEAST YOU CAN READ THIS SUMMARY]
Oh wait, there’s nothing more to read.

While the depiction of the favela has a great sense of style and scale, and watching the rickety, old shanties trundle across the ground on chalk legs, or move through the sky under your own control, is immediately engaging, it is somewhat offset by the rather poor draw distance, the ugly screen tearing and clipping, and simply the fact that I could find no way to get the game to run in widescreen without it being distorted! (Presumably a problem that anyone with a modern television will not have to suffer.)
I was quite ready to give up, and like any good reviewer, I was already thinking of a few choice hyperbolic metaphors and similes that I could use to savage the game. But like any good reviewer I persevered; I pressed on: I refused to give up. It was through this persistence that I finally met Monster.
Monster is aptly named; a hulking brick shithouse with an endearing beer gut, a menacing horn, and an appetite for coconuts and frogs. He’s equal parts intimidating and lovable, and whenever I was with him, I was always acutely aware of the danger that he posed to me, and those around me. But at the same time I needed him, and he needed me. We relied upon one another; I could not progress without him, and he would do nothing but sleep and eat coconuts without my prodding.
He protected me; he looked after me too. At one stage I found myself trapped in a chalk room that had been drawn into the ground; the walls were closing in on me and I had no way to get out. I would have been crushed if Monster had not plucked me from danger. There was a strange feeling of safety when I was with him. It was only a few moments later that he devoured a frog and I became little more than a doll for him to play with.
Despite expecting such a thing to happen—due to the focus of the game’s marketing, it was hard not to expect it!—it was still almost shocking, and despite the fact that he didn’t really pose a genuine threat to my progression (whenever he caught me he beat me up a little, then threw me away, but no matter how many times he did this, I still got up), it was just a little bit terrifying.
But of course he did have an effect on my progression, even if it was not a fatal one. I had to avoid him; I had to run away from him, and eventually, I had to hurt him. The way in which the relationship between Quico (that’s you, player) and Monster is intertwined with the gameplay is where Papo & Yo excels. Because you quite literally need monster to progress through the levels, the metaphor is all the stronger, and far more affecting. Because monster actually hinders your progress when he has had one too many frogs, then it actually adds weights to the horror of his character, and all this is within the rather abstract confines of the gameplay.
I was far more motivated to press on towards the ultimate goal of the game (curing Monster) because I would actually feel the effects of curing him: if he was cured, then I would be able to progress through the game just that little more easily; it’d be me and him against the world! Of course that’s a rather irrational contradiction, because if that was the end of the game, then I wouldn’t really feel it, would I? The game would be over. But because my emotional connection was so intertwined with my direct involvement in the game’s world (the gameplay) such logical thoughts didn’t really factor into it. That’s the genius of Papo & Yo, and it’s a nuance that very few games even attempt, let alone get right.
But there’s a problem; an elephant in the room just as big as Monster. Things only improved a little post-long winded tutorial. Sure, suddenly I was moving around not just the odd shack, but whole blocks of them, which only added more wonder to the already wonderful sense of scale, and I was tearing the world to shreds and moulding it into exactly what I needed it to be—yet another excellent marriage of themes and gameplay—so that I could progress towards my ultimate goal, and watching all this unfold was a visually profound experience, but the actual puzzles that led to such moments of splendour were no better, and the platforming wasn’t either.
The puzzles’ pacing had improved, and they had become more complex—to solve a puzzle I had to flip a great many switches instead of just one or two, but I was still literally just flipping switch after switch, without giving it any thought. It was obvious what I had to do, and I did it, and it was done. And that was that. There was no thought process involved, there wasn’t even any particular order that I had to flip the switches, or pull the levers in, to solve the puzzles successfully!
There were more platforms to jump to and from, but they were completely static, and required no sense of timing. The only time I ever got stuck on a puzzle was because I hadn’t noticed a switch, and the only ever time I messed up my platforming was due to the very poor clipping detection, the loose controls and camera, or poor visual level design. For example one time I jumped from roof to roof, only to find myself falling through the roof that I landed on! At first I thought it was a glitch, then I looked up; the wall next to the roof was exactly the same colour, so that the two were all but indistinguishable from one another when viewed from above. On top of that there’s a very poor sense of depth which meant that I had to carefully watch the platform I was trying to land on for Quico’s shadow so that I knew he was actually going to land on it; a requirement that hindered me at least enjoying jumping from platform to platform, even if little skill was involved.
There were only two moments that I can think of off the top of my hand in which the platforming provided a challenge that didn’t feature the camera and controls (which may as well have been lifted from a PS2 game) and during one of them I mistimed my jump, and found myself falling endlessly through the world, and had to restart the whole section all over again!
There were two only puzzles that required me to come up with some sort of solution beyond durr, flip this switch that the game obviously wants me to, and one of them merely required me to watch several keys being mixed together, and picking out the one that had previously been highlighted. The other one was clever and required some lateral thinking, but only really stands out due to it being one of the two actual puzzles in the game.
Of course I was stuck on several occasions due to the previously mentioned controls and visual design, but also sometimes due to the game’s poor attempts at directing the player, and the even worse instructions. Now and then you come across tutorial boxes that tell you how something works; the problem is that quite often they don’t tell you what you actually need to know. One instance that sticks in my mind was when Monster was snoozing on a collection of cardboard boxes and wooden planks. I needed to keep him moving, and to achieve this, the wooden planks he was sleeping on became a caterpillar. I did everything the instructions told me—I even checked a hint box, and did everything it suggested too—but I still couldn’t get the damn caterpillar to move, even though the game had explicitly told me that if I pointed it in the right direction then it would move.
When the wooden planks had originally turned into a caterpillar, the camera panned down to the back of it; it was the game guiding me in the direction of what I needed to do: at the back of the cart was a chalk handle that I could grab a hold of, with which I could push the cart. The trouble was that when the camera panned down to the chalk lever it was obscured by the ground above it! It’s also a good example of the finicky camera; I had checked behind the cart because of the vague direction on several occasions, but each time I did, the camera angle had not shown me the chalk handle because I could not get the damn thing to pan around to the back of the caterpillar!
This is a particularly erroneous example, but Papo & Yo is peppered with myriad moments such as this, and together they become very frustrating, and combined with the non-existent puzzles, and platforming, begin to seep into the more engaging parts of the game; it wasn’t too long before running away from Monster became more frustrating than terrifying because I just wanted to hurry on to the next section, and that annoying bastard was slowing me down! Such frustration had nothing to do with the context of the story, and how it was integrated in the gameplay. Monster attacking me was just a pain in the arse.
But I kept going. My emotional involvement was still strong, and the way that the world evolves and moulds to your will simply becomes more and more spectacular right up until the very climax of the game.
[REMEMBER THE SPOILER WARNING AT THE BEGINNING? GOOD]
The deaths of some of the characters could have been handled better; the direction of the death scenes do not meld with the direction of the rest of the game. They’re slow motion montages lifted from the worst action films; their feeling of impending doom is lifted from pantomime: “He’s behind you!” They’re abrupt, but not shocking; however they still do have emotional impact. By the time the characters involved are being killed off, they have developed so well over the rest of the game, that you are highly invested in what happens to them. And the best part? I still wanted to save Monster, no matter what he did, and no matter the cost. The sacrifice of one of the characters towards the very end was sad; I would probably never see them again, but it was to save Monster. It was worth it. Thanks, I won’t forget you, but Monster and I must press on.
Which brings me to the ending. I could see what was coming; of course Monster couldn’t be saved, but the way it was handled left a slightly bad taste in my mouth. The music at nearly the very last; at the very worst moment was almost empowering. It seems a small, nitpicky detail to complain about, and that’s not to say that there is only sadness in what happens—there is relief too—but the music began perhaps just a touch too soon; it took away from the sadness and the tragedy; it didn’t allow all the emotions involved to be expressed, and focused on one in particular, at the expense of the others. Still, it was one that was in the very back of my mind at just that moment. Maybe it really is nitpicky; there was—apart from musically—no other way to end it, though there’s a little part of me that wishes I could have simply left Monster there with a coconut tree all to himself. Sigh.
[IT'S SAFE TO CONTINUE, HONEST IT IS!]
I see we’ve gone back onto the story. It’s a little strange that a game that manages to successfully intertwine its storytelling into its gameplay to phenomenal effect can simultaneously have such an excellent story, and gameplay that treads the line between mediocre and bad, quite often teetering well over the bad side.
[THESE SPOILERS AREN'T QUITE SO BAD]
And yet while writing this review, I must admit I felt a little sad, just as I did when I tried my very best to save Monster, but just couldn’t. There was nothing I could do for him. Even if I had left him there to his coconuts, I still would have been leaving him. And I couldn’t stay. I’m sorry Monster; and I do still love you. Don’t forget that; but no matter how great my love, I still had to let you go.
[AT LEAST YOU CAN READ THIS SUMMARY]
Oh wait, there’s nothing more to read.