So, “Doki Doki” was an excellent game when it released in 2017 and would’ve been worth spending money on even if it wasn’t free. These factors supplement the more traditional horror elements in “Doki Doki” and make its commentary on the medium all the more effective. Many of those titles are great in their own right, but how many of them feel like they would only work as a video game, as opposed to a film or a television show? Visceral interactivity doesn’t have to override narrative power, and that’s not an issue here: There’s not much “gameplay” in “Doki Doki” - nearly the entire game consists of clicking through dialogue boxes and occasionally doing a simple word association minigame to court one of the Literature Club members - but it screws with your sense of control and things you’d take for granted in video games in a handful of creative and unnerving ways. Most big-budget games in the genre feature grisly and graphically-impressive scenes of action and tension that aim to coalesce into something like an interactive horror movie. The scares in “Doki Doki” are not as frequent or as visually extreme as those in some of its genre contemporaries, in gaming or otherwise, but it achieves much of its horror in ways only possible in a video game - and in ways that horror video games rarely do. The mix of a fan-service anime aesthetic and smart writing probably helped “Doki Doki” find quick success, but part of the reason that the game’s popularity has endured is likely due to its innovative use of horror. Some of these come in the form of cheeky asides: Why does the game assume that the player is a man? Why do you, the player, presumably think that this game takes place in Japan when everything is Americanized and in English? Other points are more closely woven into the game’s overarching plot and often serve as gut punches when players connect their significance to seemingly-innocuous lines of dialogue in the cheerier parts of the game. The game raises sharp questions about the entertainment mediums it is a part of and offers strikingly relatable musings on a number of broader topics. As the game spirals ever-increasingly out of control, both the scares and the ongoing narrative are used to deconstruct the stereotypical elements that comprise much of its initial dating simulator veneer. The jarring tonal shift in “Doki Doki” is not just horror for horror’s sake. The Literature Club members are presented as a collection of anime tropes - Yuri is the shy but intellectual dandere, Natsuki is the blunt and confrontational tsundere, and so on - and much of the game’s first half is dominated by incessantly flirty conversations about poetry and friendship. The music is lighthearted and whimsical and the dialogue is played out in a pink polka dotted text box. Your character doesn’t have an interest in literature, but he does want a girlfriend, and the Literature Club is populated by a quartet of cute anime women who take an inexplicable liking to the protagonist. The original “Doki Doki Literature Club” marketed itself as a stereotypical cutesy anime dating simulator you play as a faceless high school otaku who is coerced by his bubbly childhood friend into joining the school’s small Literature Club. Stop reading, and go play it.įor the uninitiated who have only peeked at the game’s cover art or various screenshots, that’s all probably a bit confusing. It’s also a game that is best experienced by going in with as little information as possible if you’re a newcomer, in short, the game is phenomenal. “Doki Doki” is a subversive narrative experience, a clever commentary on video gaming, anime, and the people who consume those things, as well as a contemplative look at serious mental health issues. To understand why the legion fanbase of “Doki Doki Literature Club!” - a free visual novel that was released on PC in 2017 - are ecstatic about the game’s new $15 special edition, it’s easiest to begin by discussing what made the original game resonate so strongly with its audience.
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