Crystal Catacombs Review

Chin up, Crystal Catacombs; it's not all bad. In an increasingly troubling world of games that slap roguelike elements on like cheap paint on a used car, Crystal Catacombs earns a gold star for actually putting some thought into it. Good roguelike elements significantly alter the core experience with each playthrough, while bad ones just rearrange the rooms every now and then and hope you don't notice you're really playing the same game every time. With gameplay this tight, where a few pixels here and there can make all the difference in the world, it's no surprise that Crystal Catacombs does well here. Sure, the totally-not-Simon-Belmont's whip might only have a tiny bit of extra reach than the sword and lack an overhead attack, but it's enough to completely alter the way you approach scenarios. Same goes for the other weapons you can find, all of which prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Captain Basil Cravenraft really is living in a NES crossover fanfic. With the fireball, you can take on enemies from a distance and bypass the whole ugly business of dodging their attacks; with the Wave Beam – yeah, they call it that – you don't even have to be in the same room as them, or on the same footing. That's a new dimension to gameplay, not some pedestrian health upgrade that pushes you ten hitpoints away from death. There are even potions with mystery effects, just like dear old Nethack used to do.

Here's the thing, though: if a good roguelike is like dipping your hand into a tub of Lego bricks and building something out of whatever you pull out, then Crystal Catacombs is like dipping your hand into the same tub, rummaging around concernedly for a bit, then taking a peek inside to discover that it contains five bricks, a couple of wheels, a gear, a chewing gum wrapper and a dead silverfish. It has the principles down, and even the right environment to implement them, but there just aren't enough items to actually create variety. While each individual weapon might have a profound effect, there are only a handful of them in total, so after a single playthrough you've seen pretty much everything there is to see. Upgrades and consumables suffer a similar problem, in the sense that they often massively change the course of gameplay – turning you invincible, granting you the power of flight, summoning a gaping hellspawn to butcher that one boss you can't seem to get past – but there are barely enough of them in total to fill a shopping bag. Spelunky got away with this because the complex interactions between its level elements provided innumerable new platforming challenges with every reflexive smash of the 'restart' button; Crystal Catacombs just has stuff that sits around and hurts when you touch it, and consequentially can't compete on that front.

By the way, remember how I was so enamoured with the game for its... let's say, bumbling nature? Yeah, turns out the charm of a cute puppy soiling the living room rug only stays endearing as long as you're not the one cleaning it up. Numerous times I was locked in the map or inventory screen by some manner of arcane bug and had no choice but to restart the game, something that would have soured the experience with a dustbin full of lemons had I made the mistake of playing the 'proper' roguelike mode. One time I consumed a mystery potion and had the misfortune to be teleported into a solid object – something I could have perhaps mistaken for a breathtakingly audacious stroke of malice had it not trapped me there permanently without so much as a 'game over' – and there's at least one enemy that has such disdain for the game's platforming that it just decides to skip it entirely, regularly teleporting straight to the ground beneath it halfway through a jumping attack, no matter how many storeys away that happens to be. If that's a deliberate design decision I will eat a stack of post-it notes.

Ultimately the problem with Crystal Catacombs is that it's just somewhat dry. From a design perspective there isn't all that much wrong with it – frustrating platforming aside – but it's so shallow, safe, and devoid of fresh ideas that after five minutes with it my eyelids feel like they've been tied to an ocean liner anchor that's just been thrown overboard. It feels strange to use the term 'generic' in a space that has – traditionally, at least – so brazenly disregarded the messy little pigeon holes we use to define genres, but it's the word that springs to mind again and again. In the triple-A market, or in the indie sphere, it's the one label guaranteed to ensure apathy. That or a deal with a television producer.