A GOOD, SHINING DISAPPOINTMENT
I’ve put this review off for far too long. That tends to happen with games that are far too long. Somewhere along the way, initial enthusiasm gives way to routine, and what once felt exciting slowly turns into a checklist. I vividly remember thinking how brilliant and enticing Horizon Forbidden West was at first. But roughly 60 hours in, that feeling curdled into impatience. I wasn’t making meaningful progress, hadn’t advanced the main story in ages, and then realized I was only halfway through. This game is absolutely choked with busywork, and very little of it feels genuinely rewarding.
Once again, you step into the boots of Aloy, the bow-wielding outcast from Horizon Zero Dawn. The first game was something close to a masterpiece: a jack-of-all-trades open-world adventure with a compelling mystery at its core. It mixed archaeological curiosity with character exploration and a looming existential threat. Aloy herself felt mythic, almost biblical, her personal history inseparable from the fate of the world. Exploring wasn’t just cartography—it was discovery, of both the world and of Aloy herself.
This sequel is not that. With the world’s history now laid bare, much of the wonder is gone. No amount of visual fidelity can fully compensate for that loss. Forbidden West focuses almost entirely on the present: tribal politics, survival, alliances. And with her personal mystery resolved, Aloy herself becomes a far less engaging companion. For large stretches of the game she comes across as curt, arrogant, and emotionally closed off. Her habit of constantly muttering solutions to herself actively undermines puzzle-solving, robbing the player of any sense of discovery. Instead of feeling capable, you feel supervised.
Set across the lush and varied climates of the Forbidden West, the main plot expands on a major thread introduced late in the first game. It’s an intriguing revelation—but one the game actually pursues for perhaps ten percent of its runtime. Introduced early, resurfacing briefly near the end, it spends the bulk of the game languishing in the background while Aloy is sent on endless errands to unite tribes and solve local disputes. The result is a massive narrative valley where momentum simply dies.
From a production standpoint, the game is staggering. Guerrilla Games has addressed nearly all the technical shortcomings of Zero Dawn. Facial animations are improved, load times are short, and the world is breathtakingly detailed. New biomes—including a vibrant tropical region—add variety, and underwater exploration looks and feels excellent.
Eventually you acquire a home base, but it’s a strangely lifeless one. Characters stand in fixed positions, repeating the same animations and dialogue loops. Erend listens to the same song throughout the entire game. Other companions periodically deliver exposition, but rarely evolve. Varl and his partner bicker in place. The space feels more like a diorama than a lived-in hub.
Aloy’s allies are underwritten across the board. The sole exception is Sylens, whose ambiguity and selfish intelligence give him a presence the others lack. Everyone else fits neatly into a “lawful good” archetype, with little chemistry either with Aloy or with each other. Dialogue scenes drag on endlessly, packed with backstory that rarely feels earned. Moral alignment is painfully explicit: villains sneer, heroes sermonize.
The skill trees are broader than before, but many branches feel unnecessary. Melee and override skills are so situational they barely justify their existence. Machine overrides, in particular, are needlessly cumbersome: clear a Cauldron, hunt specific components, return to base, and tinker—only to unlock abilities you might rarely use.
Combat remains the game’s strongest pillar. The spear is improved, though still ineffective against larger machines. Stealth remains the most satisfying approach: hiding in tall grass, setting traps, luring machines into ambushes. Some skill trees—hunter and trapper especially—offer genuinely creative ways to dismantle even the toughest enemies.
New machines are imaginative and imposing: hippos, monkeys, boars, massive turtle-like constructs. Old favorites return as well. I played on hard, as I did in Zero Dawn, but here that choice rendered certain tools nearly obsolete. The ropecaster felt pointless, and the tripcaster is inexplicably limited—restricted to three active traps unless you heavily invest in its skill tree, with no logical justification.
Standard traps are improved, and javelins are excellent additions. Still, I relied mostly on bows and arrows. They’re versatile, intuitive, and effective. While combat feels more chaotic and kinetic, some new abilities are so overpowered that they trivialize encounters. Even on hard, the game rarely feels threatening.
Exploration is still strong. World design, traversal, and combat retain the solid foundation of Zero Dawn. Expanded climbing and a glider—clearly inspired by Breath of the Wild—improve verticality. Mounts, however, remain awkward and frustrating, particularly during combat.
For the first half of the game, when the central mystery still held promise, I was enthralled. But as the world filled with bland characters and time-consuming side content, that enthusiasm drained away. Some side quests are well-written, but most deliver shallow sermons and interchangeable rewards. The first game felt tighter, more cohesive, and far more awe-inspiring.
I skipped much of the optional content. I barely touched Strike, completed only a few hunting grounds, despised the rubber-banding horse races, abandoned the melee pits early, and ignored the arena after one attempt. Despite this, the game still felt at least fifty percent too long. Upgrading gear became a chore—each pouch, weapon, and armor piece demanding multiple tiers of materials, turning progression into a grind.
Late-game technical issues didn’t help. I encountered a severe bug in one of the hardest Cauldrons that forced me to replay its entire end section multiple times due to faulty respawns. Other glitches included erratic movement and getting stuck between objects.
By the end, I was exhausted. What began as a glowing recommendation slowly degraded into a modest one, carried largely by production values and goodwill. I rushed the final stretch, finishing after roughly 120 hours. Writing this review felt almost as draining.
Despite the tone, my three-star rating stands. This is still a solid recommendation for fans of Zero Dawn. But Horizon Forbidden West is a good, impressive disappointment—an overstuffed sequel that mistakes quantity for depth. Guerrilla listened too closely to feedback and genre trends, adding systems without refining their purpose. The result is a game that feels overcrowded, unfocused, and ultimately tiring.
By the end, I didn’t want more Horizon.
I wanted it to stop.
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