I Write Games Not Tragedies Review (PC)

The words “I feel seen” have never been more on the nose. An Elder Emo—one who still takes the oath to visit any over thirties reunion whenever the blood moon strikes—has been presented with an invitation to attend I Write Games Not Tragedies, a visual novel and rhythm-centric hybrid that just so happens to exist beneath the black-hearted umbrella of noughties British Emo and Goth culture. Dear Studio Wife, count me in — I’ll fetch the fingerless gloves and Skullycandy headphones from the attic.

Looking back at the photos of my teenage years, I can’t say that I feel proud. The soulless expression; the multi-layered studded belts; and the haircut that would have given my own mother a heart attack on most occasions that involved formal attire. It wasn’t a phase; it was a lifestyle. That mantra more or less stick around till 2010, after which most of us became generic robots who soon came to the brutal conclusion that the word RAWR was just idiotic and cringe. Still, fond memories.

I Write Games Not Tragedies captures a lot of that era, from the subculture to the messy doodles, the post-punk anthems to the emotional turmoil, the conflict with cliques to the emotional passing of a torch. Oh, I Write Games Not Tragedies taps into just about everything that defined a generation, and I’m all for the idea of putting my application in for the business of misery. Again.

RAWR Incarnate

I Write Games Not Tragedies takes you deep into the root of post-nineties Emo culture—a time period in which teens thought screaming at the top of their lungs to pop punk anthems was the remedy for just about every problem in their lives. And it was, but we won’t dwell on that choice. No, the game takes pride in its ability to capture the beating heart of a phase that defined an entire country. It doesn’t shy away from the cringe, and it doesn’t hold back on all of the pulpy trappings that you would expect to resurrect in an Emo-centric visual novel. With that, it brings an authentic soundtrack, a lot of desk doodles, and a ton of emotional tales that tap into some rather deep topics.

The story follows Ash, a teenager who, like many of their kind, wants to find balance in a world that is driven by social norms, emotional tidings, and music. From the teething phase to the “elder” phases, I Write Games Not Tragedies takes you through a compelling visual novel that stems from a cultural experience and spirals through a whirlwind of emotions and stories, thrashing anthems and a platitude of rhythm-based lyrical outrages. And you know what? It does it all incredibly well, cringe included. Yes, it’s niche, but boy does it hit the nail on the head. “You had to be there, man.”

It’s Not a Phase

I Write Games Not Tragedies does, in spite of all its niche ideas and controversial issues, develop a great tapestry of features that bleed cultural familiarity. There’a a lot to unpack here, and frankly, some solid moments that often leave you feeling both emotional and invested in the situation at hand. Ash, too, makes for a relatable protagonist who has a myriad of traits that resonate with the target audience. The conflict between internal control and social acceptance; the desire to thrash out emotions through the conduit of musical crescendos and ballads; and just about every aspect of a teenager who just wants to pass through the stages of adolescence and find stability.

Gameplay-wise, there’s a good amount to bite into here. Aside from the rhythm-based, lyric-centric mini-games that eat up a huge portion of the game’s tale, there are also several pivotal moments that require you to navigate youth and wax friendships (or lack thereof) in order to establish a foothold in the world. With all of this comes a strikingly apt visual novel that feels highly reminiscent of noughties doodle culture. It doesn’t look perfect, but I think, when all’s said and done, that’s kind of the point that it tries to make.

I Write Games Not Tragedies isn’t the lengthiest game on the block, though it one that fleshes out its core with plenty of pulpy snippets and memorable characters. Again, it’s niche, so there’s a chance that it won’t appeal to the whole clique, so to speak. Still, if you share an undying obsession with Emo and Goth culture, then you should find this to be your cup of tea. Visual novel? Check. Emo anthems? Check. Familiar feelings of regret and self doubt? Check, check, and check. Kudos, Studio Wife.

Verdict

I Write Games Not Tragedies is the exact type of Emo pulp that I love and shamelessly crave for whenever the adolescent teenager at heart comes knocking to rekindle an old wick. It’s cringe, and it’s definitely the brunt of a bad joke that, strangely, I myself feel oddly drawn to, like a moth to a flame, or an elder Emo to a reunion for the over thirties. Of course, I knew that it would be filled with god-awful puns and tongue-in-cheek references. But, what I wasn’t prepared for was the emotional gut punch and the sensitive theme that touched base on addiction and inner turmoil. That, really, was the frosting on an otherwise black-hearted Bakewell that, frankly, I wound up enjoying a lot more than I probably should have.

Suffice it to say that, if you are deeply rooted in British Emo and Goth culture, particularly the early 2000s era during which most of us thought four studded belts and a pair of fingerless gloves were “in”‘and worthy of “RAWR” status, then there’s a good chance that you’ll enjoy romping through the adolescent scrapbook pages of I Write Games Not Tragedies.

With all of the above said, there’s an oddball concept that waxes some touching themes here, most of which gel nicely with the overarching rhythm-based system and doodle-derived visual effects. It’s emotional, apt, and absolutely bursting at the seams of its misery-incarcerated existence with all of the right references to ignite a former flame in your little black heart. What more could you want?