Worst Game Ever

“Why would I want to do that?” my friend asks, creasing himself up at the shedding identities thesis expressed in my 2015 Game Chef entry Folie à deux.

Um. The relationship between truth and fiction, I say. You know: unconscious symmetries. That kind of stuff.

“I’ve spent years constructing a narrative for myself,” he says. “I can’t afford to let it go now. Getting old is bad enough.”

One of the peer reviews I received via the competition was even more pointed:-

This does not seem like a game to us. It seems like a way to smash five years of friendship into an hour. Who giggles at a father and daughter struggling over alcoholism and sexuality? It may sell to therapists, but beyond that, it seems risky to play with anyone.

I’m not yet in a position to call myself even ‘a fledgling game designer’ but this may well be the best feedback I’ll ever receive.

The other peer reviews were kinder but implied the same point: too much jargon, not enough fun. They’re right.

I’ve decided not to try to make Folie à deux any better. It’s an interesting experiment, by which I mean, of course, a bit shit. I had a spiritual crisis while writing the game: I’m not sure I can truthfully call myself an ‘atheist’ any more. It was a bit like that cosmic dump I took at the Glastonbury Festival in 1992, only this time I was high (only?) on myself.

It would be greedy to ask for any more than that.

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