I could use these clumsy words to describe the brief snippets of audiovisual poetry that are scattered throughout Samorost 3. I could try and literally tell you what happens during those moments. It’s filled with moments of odd beauty that defy description. Despite occasional frustrations, Samorost 3 feels alive and wondrous and weird in a way that most games aren’t. Maybe Samorost 3 eschews language in an attempt to convey something words simply can’t. Unlike, say, Fez, where the player literally learns the game’s puzzle language, I never felt like I learned the “correct” approach to solving puzzles in Samorost 3. This problem is only exacerbated by how the puzzles exist as discrete challenges and never build on previously taught concepts. As ever, the game provides very little indication of what’s going on, which can lead to a lot of trial and error. The studied minimalism of the game that is initially inviting can also lead to frustration, as there were several puzzles in which I didn’t realize that I had to click and drag an object instead of just clicking on it. There are also puzzles that span several screens, and having to manually walk back and forth can get a bit tedious. Some of the puzzles can be legitimately solved with a bit of thinking (there’s one towards the end, for example, that involves cross-pollination and paying attention to which plants produce which types of fruit), but some of the solutions in Samorost 3 can feel a bit, well, adventure game-y. One series of puzzles involved clicking on an insect’s antennae in a certain order, and as far as I could tell, the only way to find the solution was to simply brute force your way into guessing the correct pattern. In other words, this is an old-school adventure game, though thankfully the game has a built-in hint system for when you’re stuck. Some of the puzzles, like an early one that involves rearranging a series of cards, are genuinely clever, but too many of them boil down to “click on everything as many times as possible and see what works.” This strange dream-logic translates into Samorost 3’s puzzles as well, which tend to be hit or miss. You’ll encounter impossibly weird creatures within these gorgeously realized worlds: a hot tub-loving monkey couple, a giant turtle with a bubble wrap shell, and a trio of beatboxing amphibians. The backgrounds are a combination of photo collage and hand drawn art that looks entirely unique, and the eclectic soundtrack evokes a sense of mystery and melancholy. As you move from planet to planet, you discover more of the game’s narrative in the form of NPCs and collectible graphic novels.īut even without the hook of an overarching story, the environments of Samorost 3 are so richly detailed that you’ll want to explore just for the sake of exploring. The game then settles into a comfortable groove: land on a new planet, explore, and take off again. Other times nothing will happen, the space gnome will shrug, and you move on to the next thing to click.Īfter an early sequence that has you assembling a spaceship out of a disposable water bottle and what appears to be a garlic bulb (things only get weirder from there), you fly away from your home planet to explore new worlds. Sometimes you play a clarinet ditty and summon ghostly outlines that tell tales of woe or that cause mushrooms to sprout or that awaken giant moths. The horn is the only permanent item in your inventory (this isn’t the sort of game where you have to sort through dozens of different doodads), and you use it to listen to certain spots in the environment. Your journey begins when a horn falls out of the sky. With a development period of over five (!) years, Samorost 3 feels like the consummation of Amanita’s ethos: endlessly charming, occasionally frustrating, and deeply suffused with a sense of wonder. Playing it today, it acts as a sort of proof of concept for Amanita’s later releases - wordless, minimalist, and surreal - and was followed by Samorost 2, breakout hit Machinarium, and the nature-themed Botanicula. This contemplative style of point-and-click adventure has been Amanita Design’s signature since the release of its first game, the original Samorost, in 2003. You’re meant to take a breath, poke around, and watch what happens. Nothing is spelled out for the player, quite literally. Save, load, and quit are all represented by simple, self-explanatory symbols.įrom the very outset, Samorost 3 positions itself as a game about observation and interpretation. Even the main menu is deliberately minimalist. The unnamed, pajama-clad space gnome that you control communicates purely through grunts and gestures, and the NPCs that you encounter speak in animated speech bubbles. Aside from the credits and the occasional numerals or coded sequence of letters, there’s no written text in the game.
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