The show’s reticence to dig into hopelessness and pain leaves its admirable optimism to feel strangely artificial.
The film heralds the arrival a bold and formidable voice in horror cinema.
The most impressive thing about the game is still the strength and specificity of its vision.
The series is gory and dour with a bone-deep cynicism, but it’s also optimistic in its own small way.
Even the jokes that land mostly emphasize how complacent the series is to coast on its crassness.
The world of the game may be small, but it brims with a weird sense of life.
The game reveals its brilliance by constantly and subtly reconfiguring the emotions behind erasure.
There’s considerable joy to poking at the edges of its ingenious interlocking systems to see what happens.
The film’s animation leans into its most jerky, artificial qualities, all the better to enhance the atmosphere of bizarre unreality.
For Cloudpunk, hardship is merely the wallpaper for a pretty yet thinly conceived gaming experience.
Though it needlessly withholds certain details for dramatic effect, the film resists embellishment or caricature.
The film locates a larger truth about the presentation of self and maintaining one’s image.
After a while, the game inadvertently becomes about the cost and upkeep of civilization.
The film’s cat-and-mouse antics play out with no sense of escalation or invention.
The game offers a refreshing focus on its sense of place rather than ease of play.
The long-form storytelling obligations of a TV series soon overwhelm this simple but compelling premise.
There’s something primal and thrilling to id Software’s further embrace of video-gamey conventions.
It comes across like yet another casualty in the long line of stories about men having their eyes opened by their angelic girlfriends.
The fallout of the main characters’ actions feels perfunctory and tossed-off in the rush to an ending.
The show’s strength lies in the rich context that surrounds its occasionally melodramatic conflicts.