Ynglet Review

Welcome to København

Ynglet opens with several (seemingly) aquatic creatures watching television on a small planet, or in a bubble; the television foreshadows the meteor which will burst said bubble, transforming this tiny universe into what appears to be a map of Copenhagen. Each level seems to be inspired by the place from which it draws its name. Oerstedsparken , for instance, features trees growing on its bubbles (turning them into two-dimensional tropical islands), as well as two blue lines; these blue lines and the trees are surely a reference to the real Oerstedpsarken’s small lake and “leaflet sanctuary”.

But blue lines also recur in other levels, as they serve a practical purpose: the creature which one is in control of skips over them (unless it leaps straight through them), like a dolphin skimming the surface of the ocean. There are also red lines which, after unlocking the ability to leap through the air, the creature can fling itself into and bounce off of (or glide through); giving the player much needed air time, for Ynglet is all about momentum and defying gravity.

The creature may move as it pleases in each bubble, but between each bubble it is reliant on the momentum it has built up being enough to carry it from one bubble to the other without succumbing to gravity’s embrace.

The combination of red and blue lines result in some tricky maneuvers being required to collect the seeds which act as keys to the end of some of the levels, or the colourful triangles hidden in most levels. These triangles also encourage exploration and—due to their scarcity, the seamless movement and the ways in which the music changes based on the creature’s interaction with the world, as well as the platforming puzzles some ask of the player—are a joy to discover and collect.

Ynglet’s music is algorithmic, and changes as the creature flings itself from bubble to bubble, or hops on a train—indeed, another wrinkle adding depth to the platforming mechanics are train stations. Swim into one, and the creature will be catapulted along train tracks, allowing it to travel quickly around the larger levels, gain greater height in jumps, or save itself from an untimely death as it plummets towards the bottom of the screen.

Death itself is handled in an interesting manner. Float still in a normal bubble, and a little pink line will wrap around it: upon its completion, this bubble will act as a checkpoint, and the creature will find itself respawning there after any ill-timed leaps. I say normal bubbles, because there are abnormal bubbles, too; some will dissolve or solidify if you use the creature’s dash maneuver, making you plan your trip through the trippy suburbs of Copenhagen in advance—a leap of faith to transform what is presently a silhouette into a bubble is often necessary; in turn transforming the bubble from whence one came into a silhouette, and thus dashing any hopes of a retreat to safety.

Bubbles, also, must be avoided when collecting the triangles which require the creature to touch several different nodes without brushing against the safety of a bubble, as doing so will reset said nodes.

As the creature navigates and plays among these bubbles, flowers will blossom in the background, accompanying the ever-changing music to create a kaleidoscopic, joyful aesthetic experience which is just as original and exciting as the clever take on two-dimensional platforming is.

Indeed, while indie 2D platformers have been something of a cliché for over a decade now, the closet thing there is to Ynglet is Eufloria, and even then the similarities are only skin deep.

When you’ve completed the full game, you can play it all again in negative—an equally enthralling aesthetic experience! One only wishes there were even more—perhaps algorithmic ala the music—ways in which the aesthetic could be played around with, so beautiful and malleable is Ynglet.