Tunic
This sweet little masterpiece reminded me exactly why I fell in love with video games as a kid. It’s as charming as it is esoteric—the first game I’ve played in a long time that made me go, “This is genius. Why didn’t I think of doing this?”
Tunic taps into a well of nostalgia that will resonate deeply with anyone who grew up during the golden age of gaming. Its design, with an emphasis on exploration, cryptic hints, and limited handholding, feels like a throwback to classics like the old Legend of Zelda titles or Secret of Mana. But it comes with a modern twist: the in-game manual. Each page you discover is like a time capsule, filled with vibrant illustrations, cryptic symbols, and fragmented instructions. The manual is the heart of the game—a puzzle in itself that is integral to every other puzzle in the game. This is, without a doubt, some of the most unique and innovative game design I’ve ever seen.
There’s a level of game literacy that I straight up did not have as a child, meaning I spent an inordinate amount of time pouring over physical game manuals (and unofficial walkthrough books) that used to be as ubiquitous as games themselves, trying to figure out what to do. While a lot of games these days seem afraid to frustrate players (see my Ghost of Tsushima review), Tunic seems perfectly content to leave players pulling their hair out as they try to work out where to go next. But that’s part of the fun! While you run around lost, wondering what you’re doing and where you’re going, you’ll inevitably discover something you weren’t actively looking for. It’s just excellent game design.
When I was younger, I used to stay on the phone with my cousin while I played video games, asking her for advice on bosses and how to find my way through the world. Tunic had me calling my wife in to do her knitting on the couch so she could help me parse puzzles. While not all games are necessarily co-operative, I’ve always loved having someone to talk to while I play. It’s part of the joy for me, and there haven’t been many games I’ve played as an adult that have required that second pair of eyes in the way Tunic did. It was just another little burst of nostalgia; one that felt tailored just for us kids who sort-of sucked at going it alone.
The game’s difficulty curve is another nod to retro gaming, but with a modern layer of accessibility. While the combat is challenging, it’s never unfair. (I shouted at the TV when I realized how large the hitbox for one boss was because I’d been making it so much harder for myself for no good reason by sticking as close to it as the game would allow.) Players are given tools like checkpoints and an extremely forgiving stamina and health system to balance the difficulty. Tunic also has a feature I sincerely wish some of the old titles had incorporated: for those who want a cozy experience, there’s a no-fail mode, ensuring Tunic can be enjoyed by players of all skill levels. I plan on making full use of this on my next playthrough.
Ultimately, Tunic isn’t just about reliving the past—it’s about reimagining it. It draws on the spirit of classic games but modernises their best ideas to create something entirely its own. It’s a testament to how game design can evolve without losing sight of what made those early experiences magical. For both lifelong gamers and newcomers, Tunic bridges generations, proving that nostalgia and innovation can coexist in near perfection.
To avoid spoiling anything for anyone who decides to play the game, I won’t say anything else other than: give the ten-year-old in you a treat and please go play it.