![]() ![]() I was provided with a copy of Twelve Minutes in exchange for a fair and honest review. I now can’t hear my doorbell without thinking I’ll be choked to death within 60 seconds. While it’ll offer an experience many won’t enjoy, understand, or figure out, it’ll stays with you for a long, long time–even if its repetition results in Pavlovian conditioning. Twelve Minutes isn’t perfect, but it’s one of the very few games I’d recommend everyone should play. ![]() Luckily, it’s not the point Luis Antonio’s vision is realized perfectly, and the faceless, nameless characters only highlight his commitment to the story, amplifying inner monologues and honing the intrigue even more. It’s just as well Twelve Minutes isn’t a looker, and is the latest in a long line of games that brandish the “optimized for Series X/S” logo without ever really showing why. However, the sheer amount of work put into its story and character development–alongside award-worthy performances from McAvoy, Ridley, and the incredibly intimidating Dafoe–makes it feel wholly worth it. Twelve Minutes’ rollercoaster of trial and error does eventually come to a close, with an ending I’m sure will split its players. She died that time, too, but it was her own fault. Most of the time, it’s down to critical thinking, but a couple of my own major turning points were born out of luck, my favorite being the time I spent an entire loop trying to be the biggest prick to my wife. When you do get that breakthrough, you’re on cloud nine. Occasionally, the game does throw you the odd tip, through slightly advanced dialogue options or McAvoy’s exasperated and often hilarious responses to the start of each new loop, which can tip you off on what you ought to explore further or consider next. The game ensures you leave no stone unturned, and after several unproductive loops, dabbling with uxoricide seemed as good an option as any. I stared at a painting for six solid minutes, hoping for a clue, wondering if it represented something deeper. This, combined with seemingly pointless interactive items, means you often hit walls, and you’ll find yourself doing things for the hell of it. It simultaneously offers banal, unhelpful questions and omits many you’d immediately ask yourself it occasionally overlooks knowledge you’ve gained from your failed attempts. Still, Twelve Minutes’ huge script– something McAvoy told me was the biggest he’d ever worked with–often proves surprisingly restrictive. A phone, a knife, a mug, and more become central to uncovering your steps forward, as do your relationships with your wife and unwanted guest–something underpinned by predictably superb acting from the ensemble cast. You forget as much as you learn, but eventually, intrigue and perceived dead-ends turn into options and ways to progress, and you develop shortcuts to move things along more quickly. ![]()
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