Squawky Review (PC)

A rubber chicken in a pumpkin patch? Sure, why not. If it’s a mascot horror, then frankly, the rules aren’t always as ironclad. In Squawky, nothing makes sense, and to tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure if it follows any formal guidelines at all. A rubber chicken toy that ejects elemental powers? Fair enough. It isn’t award-winning material, but at least it gets the job done. If also serves its purpose as an intriguing example of what a “horror” can be under the most bizarre circumstances. It does get everything right, but it definitely leaves a lasting impression. Oh, and a headache. The squawks are too irritating to comfort the senses. But that’s a story for another time.

Squawky is, above anything else, a psychological horror that mixes the familiar characteristics of a bizarre mascot thriller with the usual trappings of a chase-filled traumatic affair. The thing that sets this particular episode apart from its stern counterparts, however, is its inclusion of a rubber chicken. Yes, a rubber chicken—a powerful rubber chicken, at that.

The game takes place on Sunshine Farm, a derelict allotment that once touted flourishing pumpkin patch events, cornfields, and, weirdly, a seemingly beloved chicken toy for a mascot. Although not much else is given to you to help flesh out the context, it soon becomes apparent. Simply, in the wake of the farm’s sudden downfall, a young boy finds himself at the foot of the yard, lost, confused, and with only the comfort of a rubber chicken flashlight to guide him through the cornfields. The rest, as you can probably imagine, is pretty self-explanatory. Lost protagonist? Check. Rogue chicken mascot? Check. A cornfield of puzzles and labyrinthine set pieces? Check.

Corn With Your Chicken

At the heart of Squawky is a rubber chicken that, for some absurd reason that’s unknown to most, has the power to not only illuminate the cornfields of the recently flatlined Sunshine Farms, but obtain abilities of an elemental kind. Alone, and without the aid of a map or helping hand, you begin your journey into the cornfields with one objective: to locate the so-called Squawk-o-Matic—a machine that can alter rubber chickens to produce earth-shattering powers—and develop your flashlight into the jack-of-all-trades of agricultural products. A simple-ish concept — but stick with us.

A mascot horror at its core, Squawky invites you to venture into the farmyard maize maze and wage war with the titular antagonist, Squawky—a failed mascot created by the farmhands who just so happened to capitalize on its flaws before coming to the bitter realization that, surprise surprise, it didn’t enjoy being treated like a sideshow clown. And that’s where you enter the scene: in the wake of a former mascot’s epic meltdown, and at the foot of its homestead. The staff are no longer present, but a surplus of chickens, of all things, are. Cue the music and the irritating squawks.

Like most tiptoe-based indie horrors, Squawky spends its time giving you various tasks to fulfill—jobs that often require stealthily sneaking around an allotment under the cover of darkness, collecting items that can unlock alternate locations, and finding useful upgrades via the faithful Squawk-o-Matic to bolster your stupid rubber chicken flashlight. With that, you find yourself with a relatively simple task: enhance the chicken flashlight, and utilize the power of the elemental forces to carve deeper into the farm and uncover its wildest secrets. A weird plot, yet we digress.

Squawking at the Moonlight

Squawky is, believe it or not, an oddly scary game. It’s scary, yet just as silly and, well, downright ridiculous. Yet, despite its two-for-one approach and inability to stick to just the one genre, it still manages to find a way to make the best of its comical moments, as does it with its intense encounters. And let’s be honest, who wouldn’t find the act of fleeing from a mascot with a rubber chicken flashlight amusing? It’s stupid, but it works — and then some.

With all of the above illuminated, I will say that the game, despite having some great features and a trove of kooky moments, is still rather short and lacking in narrative complexity. More to the point, it’s a flame that fades a little too quickly. Sure enough, it hands you the keys to a gimmick, but then spends no time fleshing out the context before scooting you out of the door and into pastures anew. But maybe that’s what it strives to be: a flicker of light that doesn’t overstay its welcome or fill your head with unnecessary jargon. Given that it’s a horror game about a rubber chicken, though, I suppose it makes sense.

It probably won’t come as too much of a surprise, but there isn’t much to write home about in regards to mechanics. At its core, Squawky is a textbook romper stomper of an indie horror, meaning, it doesn’t bring much more to the table than what we’ve already seen a dozen times before. Yet, in spite of all its dull edges, Squawky doesn’t harbor any bad blood or anything catastrophically bad from a mechanical standpoint. It’s easy, and thankfully, it plays to the best of its abilities. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a game about a rubber chicken, mind you.

Verdict

Squawky does a fantastic job of meshing the comical aspects of an unorthodox thriller with a genuinely invigorating first-person survival-horror. Granted, its elemental infusions are, well, out there as far as weird gimmicks go. Yet, when put in the same pot as the other pieces of the puzzle, it miraculously becomes a match made in mascot heaven; an absurdly bashful experience that, while a far cry from a perfect horror, has all of the standout qualities of a memorable indie.

I’ve seen some strange concepts jolt to life over the years, and so, a spitfire of a rubber chicken isn’t all that unusual. Yet there’s something that I can’t help but feel drawn to here. Frankly, it’s a game that I could easily pull out of the bag if you mentioned the words chicken and horror. And, to be fair, I think that works in its favor, as it’s an unusual game that leans into its unique appeal. Maybe that’s enough for it to shine as bright as the rubber chicken it so desperately clutches onto. Maybe I’m just easily distracted and find flashlight chickens great subjects for horrors. At this point, honestly, I’m not sure what to think.