Six is a delicately wrought little personality, her eyes darting to puzzle props as she cups the lighter's flame, and there's a mild absurdity to the sight of her lobbing enormous tubes of toilet roll at breakable surfaces, or tugging a giant key from a peg by swinging back and forth.
Your goal, having popped out of an abandoned suitcase at the outset, is simply to get through the game's swaying labyrinth intact - yanking on switches and dragging objects around in order to activate mechanisms or open doors many, many times your height. Little Nightmares casts you as Six, a diminutive stowaway in a luminous yellow mac, armed with a flip-top lighter that is used to kindle lamps which serve as checkpoints. Clambering across the scenery often carries the risk of knocking something over, and the game's horrors have sharp ears.
LITTLE NIGHTMARES REVIEW FULL
But where LittleBigPlanet's boulder-sized yarnballs and undulating felt backdrops are paeans to infant daydreams, Tarsier's latest offering channels the fear of a toddler navigating a world it doesn't yet fit: that period in life when the edge of a dining table is an impassable horizon, stairs are climbed one at a time, and turning a door handle requires the full weight of your body. Like LittleBigPlanet (and last year's overly saccharine Unravel), the game is a testament to the power of childish make-believe. A side-scrolling 3D platformer that conjures up a wealth of grisly implications within a brisk five-hour runtime, it reapplies Media Molecule's conceit of playing a nimble tot among gargantuan domestic objects to a fetid, ocean-going warren of beaten metal and oozing flesh, touched a little questionably by imagery derived from real-life atrocity. Little Nightmares is everything you may have loved about LittleBigPlanet thrown into a sausage grinder with everything you may have dreaded in Silent Hill.
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