Anyone who knows anything about my taste in games understands that I *love* atmospheric, story-focused platformers. That descriptor is simultaneously too vague and also weirdly specific, so let me paint you a picture of what I mean by this. Games like Inside, Little Nightmares, Gris or Far: Lone Sails are wonderful experiences because of their focus on minimalism and mood.

Oftentimes, the mechanics for these games are limited to running, jumping, interacting, and a combination of the three in puzzles typically light in complexity. These simple tools act as a means for forward momentum, propelling the player from one set piece to the next in a guided tour of whatever cool and/or interesting setting the developers have cooked up. These games often excel in the art of ‘show don’t tell’, which is why I tend to enjoy them quite a bit. They tend to respect the player’s intelligence, and reward those with the patience the experience through with a memorable story.

The Cub finds itself a contemporary to this subgenre of game. Its tale is one of an Earth left behind by the rich and powerful, after an ecological disaster renders the planet inhospitable to most human life. You play the role of an orphaned child, left behind during the evacuations to Mars and forced to fend for themself. They, along with many other kids, are soon adopted by wolves and taught to fend for themself in a harsh wilderness.

This is no tragedy, however; if anything, they appear to thrive in the climate. What we would consider a post-apocalypse is just this child’s home, and one they are keen to protect. The game opens on this kid chasing a juicy-looking bug, only to stumble across humans who have travelled back from Mars to investigate the planet, and assess it for their return. The child (who I’m gonna call Cub from now on so it’s less confusing lol) is pursued by these travellers, who wish to capture them to presumably experiment on them in cruel and unusual ways until they die, as rich people are oft to do. Cub spends much of the game on the run from these guys. At least, that’s how it appears, but Cub appears to have more up their sleeve than they let on.

The story is serviceable at best. It seeks to depict a period of time in this universe the developer has built, and it does so effectively. What’s more interesting is the time you spend getting to know the world surrounding these events, discovering what caused the world to end through various messages, newspaper clippings, and other environmental storytelling.

Essentially, you find that this world the game resides in is basically our own, just a little further along in the timeline. Its vision of a dystopian future is one of vast skyscrapers wrapped in greenery, and the lonely remains of their residents, drenched in flickering neons and stark LED lights, lost in eternal solitude.

There’s a quiet melancholy to the world of The Cub, where every decaying skeleton you find wasn’t caught unawares by some large unstoppable force, but simply sat back, knowingly, and awaited the end of all things. There’s a certain haunting beauty to the idea of someone, with nowhere to go, doomed to their fate, deciding to spend their final moments across from a television playing Michael Bay’s Armageddon.

There’s even a note to find where the author moans about the abundance of apocalypse media in mainstream circulation, and speculates in companies are simply attempting to soften people to the idea of the end of the world. It’s this self-awareness from the people in The Cub about their own dire situation, a certain knowing wink into the void, that sets this game apart from other post-apocalypse fiction. Most importantly though, it’s an attitude that feels all too familiar as a person living in the year 2024 on our own Planet Earth.

If there’s one thing this game excels at, it is presentation. Without its gorgeous visuals and my beloved Nostalgia Radio, The Cub’s rendition of Earth would simply not be as memorable. Cub is made a fun character to follow primarily due to how expressive they are. They interact with the world around them like, unsurprisingly, a child would. They hug teddy bears, blow raspberries at their hunters, and eat random berries, and sweets from abandoned vending machines, only to expel an almighty burp afterwards.

They’re a very charming wee character, and most of all, you get the sense playing as them that the world they inhabit is essentially a playground to them, albeit one filled to bursting with threats. It doesn’t ever really feel like you’re going up against unknown odds because Cub exudes this confidence about them. It makes for a different vibe than your usual atmospheric platformers, which often sees characters entering into unknown territory and scraping through by the slimmest of margins.

However, it’s not a difference that’s all for the better. What ends up happening is an experience that feels a little hollow to actually play through. I didn’t feel a lot playing this game. Missing was the tension and excitement of games like this, because ultimately this is a character who knows what they’re doing. It clashes with the inherent experience as a new player of being surprised by new experiences and learning how to navigate them effectively.

Much like an Inside or a Limbo, this game has an awful lot of trial and error in its design. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing when done right, but oftentimes The Cub‘s set pieces fell closer into the realm of frustration and tedium, rather than a compelling challenge or puzzle to overcome. I rarely came out the other side of encounters feeling as though I understood the game’s world better for beating its adversities; rather, I was relieved to be through what was usually just a test of my reflexes.

It is oftentimes difficult to buy into the atmosphere of this game because the experience of playing it feels a little cold. Inside made me feel like a speck of dust entering an unknowable machine; Little Nightmares made me feel like a small child navigating a world of huge, imposing adults with evil motivations; Far: Lone Sails made me feel like an adventurer sailing into the great unknown while becoming one with my trusty ship; The Cub had me feeling like everything was under control and I knew better than my foolish adversaries. An interesting narrative for sure, and a compelling a bait and switch from the usual small-child-in-big-world fare, but not very engaging as the framework for a video game.

It’s a shame, because there’s so much to love about The Cub on its surface. I’ve been listening to the soundtrack all day and it absolutely bangs. I find myself cycling through my screenshots because they’re just so pretty to look at. I think that’s the issue with this game, in a sense: it’s a game at its best when being looked at or listened to, but not played. I’d struggle to recommend it, not because the platforming isn’t fun – it is – or because the game is buggy – it isn’t, but rather due to the simple fact that I just don’t think it needs to be experienced as a game. The medium doesn’t really lend itself to the intended emotional experience, in my opinion.

If you found the way that I described this game’s world compelling earlier, I’d recommend looking up a let’s play, or you could instead play Demagog’s previous game Golf Club Wasteland, which is set in the same universe as The Cub, and, in my view, is the more engaging experience. With all that said, I’m interested in whatever this developer decides to cook up next. At the very least, it’s gonna hate the fuck out of capitalism, and that’s not nothing to me.

★★☆☆☆