Charm’s an intriguing thing. It can get you a hell of a long way
through life – even if you’ve all the substance of a bickie crumb.
But if it’s the only string to your bow you’ll usually be found
Enough D&M, but there’s a point. Raskulls has charm aplenty,
peculiar cobbling together of snarky space rat pirates and bizarre-o
skull creatures with a penchant for dress-ups and all. It’s the
idiotic-but-fun storyline sticky-taped to what’s billed as a puzzle
game (but ultimately only has limited need for brainteaser noodling
out) that appeals for its silliness – such as a super-weapon trying
to be all foreboding whilst operating under the hefty acronymic
With allure credentials confirmed, what about the actual game? It’s
a collision of Mr Driller (fucktonnes of Mr Driller)
with everyday platforming fare (including obligatory hub world) and
most any race-against-the-clock game ever – well, from a
point of view.
This is where Raskulls, much like our example in that opening
paragraph up above there, is exposed. We reckon the ultimate goal of
any game should be to be fun, not to make blood boil and have players
chucking category five tanties able to decimate anything within a
lounge roomic radius. There’s way too much stress here, with
frustrating impediments frequently impedimenting. When
puzzle-oriented levels actually do show up, such as having to
carefully allocate zaps or turbos, they’re a blessed relief as your
brain actually gets a turn.
Up to four players can be funnerer, but playmakers are penalised by
clearing a path for competitors to yoink. Oops.
If we were more vapid we’d rave endlessly about Raskulls
based on charm alone. But we’re deep bitches and see through the
veneer, so them bones’ll have to suck on a...