PixelVixen707

I am terrible at Crayon Physics Deluxe.

After missing the prototype and snoozing through the hype, I finally nabbed a PC copy and gave it a whirl. In less than an hour I had whizzed through half the levels, and I was getting worried. Not because it was too easy: because I was doing it wrong. I was playing it very, very badly and I was winning.

If you’ve never seen the game, prepare to be charmed. The whole thing looks like the work of a toddler android. It takes place against a backdrop of bunged-up construction paper, and each level is literally drawn in crayon. So are the play elements. You control a crayon that draws objects in midair. They can be weights, planks, levers, pulleys, or hinges. Draw a big heavy block, and it’ll fall. Set up a ramp, and balls will roll up it - if they have momentum. The point of each level is to get a red ball to smack into a yellow star or two, and the game doesn’t care how you do it.

Now, my live-in boytoy Zach is an artist. He keeps plenty of scribbleware around the apartment - including crayons. Truth be told, he loves crayons. And he loved Crayon Physics Deluxe. In no time he was sketching - wait, do you sketch with crayons? - no, he was doodling fantastic monstrosities and elaborate Rube Goldberg devices. The virtual reality of it had him hooked. I’ve long been suspicious of cuteplay, where a precise blend of childishness and verisimilitude charm the player beyond argument. The outside world thinks games are an apocalypse of blood and bare breasts, and yet grown gamers want nothing more than teddy bears, baby schema, and the same damn Mario system after system after system.

Okay, but I’m cranky because I know I’m losing even as I’m winning. Zach loves Crayon Physics Deluxe because he can do anything. I’m skeptical, because I can do anything. My solutions are either blunt or clumsy. I drop wedge after wedge onto a ball to nudge it across the ground. Gaps and breaks can be tackled simply by drawing a line from point A to point B and pushing the ball along it.

This puzzle has room for two hinges. Neat, right? Well, here’s what I did:

Not that simplicity is wrong. But it looks damn dull compared to what Zach drew:

Or take “Falling to Emptiness.” Here’s me:

And up at the top is Zach’s. It doesn’t work. But does he care?

Why do I care? Well, the game doesn’t score you on elegance or most moves or failed attempts. In a way, this is elegant on the part of the game’s sole designer, Petri Purho. His factoids on the making of Crayon Physics Deluxe are a deft blend of commentary track and comedy of errors. E.g.: “The only reason I started working on Crayon Physics Deluxe was to get a free pass to the Game Developers Conference. I figured that I could do something that I could submit to the Independent Games Festival and get in to the finals, because if you’re an IGF finalist you get a free GDC pass.”

Purho’s stumble into greatness mirrors my stumble to the stars. Crayons are meant for play. They’re clumsy and goofy, and they taste funny, especially the weird ones like “raw umber.” There’s a fine wit here in using crayons in a physics game - with its precise gravity and momentum - plus a puzzle game - where you’re supposed to be tempted by easy solutions until you clinch the true, tricky one that brings victory. Am I mad that I’m not pushing myself to greatness?

Well, that’s up to you what is a game types.  I only know this: by the end of the night, Zach was back in his studio, this time scratching out drawings in Crayola.  And I was off to a game I could beat fair and square.