PLATFORMER WITH A SCREW LOOSE
It is no particular pleasure to lambast the retro-flavored indie platformer Iconoclasts. After all, it was developed by a single individual over the course of ten years. His name is Joakim Sandberg, though he goes by the alias Konjak. His broad game-design competence is immediately apparent, with 2D art direction and animation clearly being his greatest strengths. Iconoclasts’ tale of the young mechanic Robin and her struggle against religious dogma unmistakably stems from the mind of someone driven by a strong desire to tell stories.
Konjak harbors several intriguing ideas. Iconoclasts seems to challenge old, rigid “truths” about game design. The strange, highly detailed boxes and triangles that form its environments evoke memories of early 8-bit platformers. Those sidescrollers were blocky due to technical limitations; here, however, the geometry feels deliberately elaborate and uncanny. To me, this visual approach mirrors a central narrative theme: why stubbornly cling to old methods when we now possess the tools to refine and expand upon them?
Konjak clearly believes in his vision. That he managed to complete a project of this scope on his own is remarkable—these production values would test even a fully staffed indie studio. Still, the essential question remains: how does Iconoclasts actually play when compared to similar games? I have previously enjoyed ambitious one-man projects, most notably the cult classic Cave Story (2005), which shares several traits with this title. I launched Iconoclasts hoping for a comparable experience.
Having now finished it, I find myself reflecting on a journey that began with great promise—likely buoyed by a strong first impression—only to gradually unravel.
The unfortunate conclusion is that Konjak could have benefited from a few trusted collaborators. Constructive feedback might have highlighted not only what worked, but also what did not. In a game this dense with content, missteps were almost inevitable. Nearly every aspect of Iconoclasts contains something admirable, yet each is undermined by a flaw significant enough to diminish the enjoyment.
Let us begin with the story. On a conceptual level, it is excellent. Iconoclasts unfolds in a richly imagined world governed by a religious cult known as the One Concern, which dictates every citizen’s role in life—from profession to place of residence. You play as Robin, the tomboyish daughter of a humble mechanic. As the game opens, she chooses to defy the law by taking up the wrench of her deceased father.
Initially, Robin assists fellow villagers in need, until she is caught by agents enforcing the regime’s rules. This incident propels her into a long, rebellious journey aimed at toppling the oppressive order. Along the way, she meets new allies, and in brief segments you are given control of some of them.
The world-building is detailed and evocative, but the story itself is often bewildering. Frequent perspective shifts and interludes disrupt the narrative flow, while cutscenes regularly unfold in unfamiliar locations and reference characters the player has yet to meet. Add to this a barrage of loosely defined terms—“Transcenders,” “Penance,” “Isi,” “Progenarians,” “Mother”—and it becomes difficult to grasp who belongs to which faction, or how they are connected.
The dialogue, too, poses challenges. Although Konjak’s command of English is strong, he has not yet mastered the nuances of naturalistic dialogue. Lines often require rereading to fully comprehend. This is unfortunate, as one can sense something genuinely compelling beneath the surface; it simply fails to emerge clearly through the characters’ voices.
Enemy encounters are another persistent annoyance. Early foes are straightforward—shoot them and move on—but later enemies frequently become frustratingly opaque. Each new enemy type demands that the player decipher when to parry, which weapon to use, or which ammunition is effective, often with little to no guidance. Should you rush in with the wrench? Keep your distance with the gun? Trial and error becomes the dominant strategy.
Boss fights fare unevenly. One standout occurs late in the game: a stripped-down duel in which you briefly control a crippled, sword-wielding man advancing toward a determined human opponent. The design is clean and legible, clearly signaling attack windows and defensive options. When I finally prevailed, both of us were reduced to a single sliver of health—the next strike would have decided everything.
Unfortunately, many other bosses are burdened by excessive complexity. Overly large sprites and dense visual effects make it difficult to read the battlefield or anticipate threats, leaving little room to maneuver. One particularly poor encounter involves an invisible, stealth-based boss. Its rules take time to decipher, and once understood, the fight devolves into a repetitive pattern stretched far beyond its welcome. It feels like a forced justification for a half-baked stealth mechanic—mercifully one that never reappears.
The controls are generally responsive and well-matched to the game’s intricate level design, and the map does a good job of indicating objectives. Still, odd movement restrictions undermine this strength, especially in the Tower level. Robin can crawl through narrow passages, but re-entering them often proves impossible unless the opening is either at ground level or just barely within reach. Anywhere in between, and she is barred, which makes no sense.
I could also dwell on the poorly implemented crafting and upgrade systems—apparently added late in development—which fail to encourage exploration for hidden resources. Or on puzzles that rely on such pixel-perfect timing that it becomes unclear whether failure stems from flawed execution or flawed design. These issues all point to the same overarching problem: nearly everything irritates in some way.
Iconoclasts is a game rich with potential, yet it realizes very little of it. I adore its 16-bit-inspired art style. The lush environments, expressive character animations, and colorful cast give the world a strong sense of personality. Style alone carries a surprising amount of substance—but it never quite breaks through the accumulation of small, persistent flaws. The game fails to fully draw me into its world or its story.
Both gameplay and narrative feel unstable, as if constantly threatening to collapse under their own ambition. While the story eventually regains its footing during a strong final act—complete with several effective boss encounters and a satisfying conclusion—the near-misses along the way are far too frequent. This is not a comfortable journey.
Overall, playing Iconoclasts feels like experiencing a great game in a room full of mosquitoes. No matter how compelling it might be at its core, everything surrounding it irritates and drains you, little by little.
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