Don't Get Your Hopes Up: A Trip to Architectural Hell (and Pigeons!) That's Wildly Charming
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
Dive into *Don't Get Your Hopes Up*, an interactive comic that masterfully blends architectural horror and human warmth with stoic pigeons, all while dissecting the modern housing crisis with charming irreverence and a dash of brilliant surrealism.
Right, so, picture this: I'm tinkering with my digital tea leaves this morning, trying to suss out the next big thing, when this absolute gem pops up. It's called *Don't Get Your Hopes Up*, and fair dinkum, it starts by telling me Amsterdam doesn't exist. Now, I don't know about you, mate, but my mum's got pictures of her first encounter with a SMEG fridge over there – a true rite of passage, I reckon. But hey, I'm not one to argue with a game that promises 'architectural horror, human warmth, and unnervingly stoic pigeons.' Sounds like my kind of Tuesday, honestly.
This isn't just another game, mind you. The brilliant minds behind this interactive experience describe it as a 'short interactive comic about housing shortage and horror in architecture.' But calling it 'short interactive comic' is like calling a wizard's accidental portal to a dimension of sentient socks 'a minor spatial anomaly.' It's free, it's under an hour, and bloody hell, it’s got a literary quality that’s just *chef's kiss*. Plus, it introduced me to the band Neighbours Burning Neighbours, so already, it's a win in my book. You know that feeling when you cast a spell and it works a bit too well, opening up unintended but utterly delightful side quests? Yeah, that's this game.
Now, the setup: you're immediately dropped into what *seems* like Yan's apartment. Sun-drenched, olive glow on honey cupboards – even a SMEG kettle, naturally. And my initial thought? 'Ah, a lovely, cozy domestic scene.' I basked in that implied warmth, the comfort of a luxurious space. I let my guard down. I got my hopes up. Literally, seconds after the game's title told me not to. It's a clever bit of psychological trickery, that. Turns out, you're just at a flat viewing, and the implied comfort is a cruel illusion. That's when you meet 'Prof. Dr. Landlady' (yes, that’s her actual name, and yes, she's exactly as subtle as she sounds). When Yan mentions being a PhD student, her immediate response is, 'You probably don't make a lot of money.' Ouch.
I'll be honest, sometimes I get a bit weary of games that are *so overtly* 'about' something. You know, the ones that hit you over the head with their message like a blunt instrument. I mean, sometimes you want three power chords and a chanted chorus, not a nuanced orchestral piece, but there's a fine line between impactful and preachy. *Don't Get Your Hopes Up* dances right on that line with characters who are definitionally villainous in that 'you'll never achieve your perfectly reasonable dreams!' way. Yet, and this is where the magic happens, it absolutely charms the socks off you. It’s righteous, yes, but it delivers its punch with such engaging style that you can't help but be captivated. It’s like a slightly chaotic wizard whose spells are a bit too direct, but the visual effects are so stunning you forgive the lack of subtlety.
From that initial viewing, a soul-grinding ritual begins: daily applications, each one a digital scream into the void. It’s a manic, yet meditative process, punctuated by the cold, hard comfort of constant rejection. At least it's reliable, right? Then come the actual viewings, and this is where the 'architectural horror' kicks in, full force. You and Yan get separated in an impossibly subterranean basement apartment that repeats on itself like twin mirrors reflecting twin mirrors, a genuinely unsettling M.C. Escher nightmare. Or you might find yourself on a landing overwhelmed by the scent of 'mass-market fish sauce,' where a court of stoic pigeons ushers you into a pitch-black cave of a domicile, haunted by extinct species. *Extinct species, mate!* It's wilder than a rogue spell turning your pet dragon into a teapot.
Despite the absurdity and the outright horror, there's rarely an option to *not* apply. This game absolutely nails the feeling of desperation. It shows you the absurd lengths people are forced to go to just to put a roof over their head, transforming the urban landscape into a predatory beast. But crucially, it also gives you a sense of communal resilience. You're not alone in this surreal, maddening quest. That shared struggle, that human warmth amidst the concrete jungle, is what truly elevates the experience beyond mere polemic.
My strongest memory, having just emerged from this journey, is of the city map you return to between scenes. It’s so detailed, full of twisting streets, unique flourishes, and nodes that hint at a sprawling, non-linear adventure. But here’s the kicker: that interactivity, that freedom to explore, never truly materialises. And you know what? It feels absolutely right. It fits the narrative perfectly. You are, after all, trapped in a system, at the whims of a 'concrete beast' that simply doesn’t bend to your will. The illusion of choice, the tantalising promise of agency, is just another layer of the horror. It’s a brilliant meta-commentary on the player’s agency in games versus a person’s agency in a broken system.
So, *Don't Get Your Hopes Up* isn't just a game; it's a wonderfully crafted, gently unsettling, and profoundly resonant interactive experience. It takes a thorny, real-world issue – the housing crisis – and weaves it into a narrative tapestry of architectural nightmares, genuine human connection, and yes, even unnervingly stoic pigeons. It's a prime example of indie devs flexing their creative muscles to say something important, without sacrificing charm or compelling gameplay. If you're looking for something genuinely innovative, thought-provoking, and a bit bonkers, you'd be a mug to miss it. Just don't get your hopes up... or maybe do, just a little bit, because this one's worth it.
Tags: indie games, narrative games, interactive fiction, social commentary, horror
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun