IGNORANCE IS BLISS
Story-driven exploration has never been my preferred genre, but if there is one fictional universe tailor-made for it, it’s the Cthulhu mythos. H.P. Lovecraft’s stories revolve around existential dread, occult investigation, and the slow realization of humanity’s cosmic insignificance. As a video game, Call of Cthulhu—loosely inspired by the tabletop role-playing game of the same name—sounds like a perfect match. Unfortunately, the execution rarely lives up to the premise.
The game is weighed down by squandered potential. Good intentions are present, but they’re undermined by shallow mechanics and half-formed systems. I do enjoy the somber atmosphere established early on: the oppressive fog, the sickly color palette, and the general sense that something is deeply wrong all work in the game’s favor. There are also fragments of an intriguing story buried beneath the surface. But when it comes to gameplay, there simply isn’t much to engage with.
The role-playing systems feel particularly undercooked. Skills and skill checks are presented as important, yet it’s unclear whether they meaningfully affect anything. Why does the game even include a strength attribute? I explored thoroughly and used it exactly once. The illusion of choice collapses quickly.
One mechanic I do appreciate, at least conceptually, is the sanity system. As Edward Pierce uncovers more eldritch truths, his mental state deteriorates. Dig too deep and you lock yourself out of a “good” ending; stay ignorant and you may never grasp the full picture. It’s counterintuitive by design, and thematically sound—ignorance is bliss in Lovecraft’s universe, because human minds aren’t built to process cosmic truth. Unfortunately, even this system feels more symbolic than mechanically impactful.
The story takes place on the isolated island of Darkwater, off the coast of Boston. Edward Pierce, a private investigator, arrives to look into the suspicious death of a client’s daughter. Predictably, this spirals into something far more sinister. Throughout the game you’re asked to make what appear to be important decisions, yet how these choices affect the outcome remains frustratingly opaque. Four different endings exist, but by the time the credits roll, I felt like I had been ushered down a largely linear corridor regardless of my actions.
Combat—or rather, encounters with otherworldly creatures—are rare and disappointing. Initially, being trapped in a room with one of these horrors is genuinely unsettling. That tension evaporates quickly once it becomes clear how toothless these sequences are. They’re either trivial or confusing, and exist mainly to disrupt the otherwise sedate adventure-game pacing.
Character development is thin, but that’s not necessarily a dealbreaker. Lovecraft’s work rarely focused on deep characterization. Instead, the emphasis is on psychological erosion. In that respect, Edward Pierce fares better than most—his increasingly haggard appearance and deteriorating state do make him sympathetic. He looks like a man being slowly crushed by the burden of knowledge.
Visually, the game is a mixed bag. Some locations are genuinely striking, especially the otherworldly environments toward the end, where the scale of the cosmic threat finally becomes apparent. Character models, however, are distractingly ugly—made all the more embarrassing by the fact that this game released the same year as Red Dead Redemption II. Sound design is mostly forgettable, with the notable exception of the deranged mutterings in the asylum chapter.
That particular section also introduces the game’s poorly implemented stealth mechanics. Enemies are extremely near-sighted, follow rigid patrol routes, and react sluggishly when alerted. Getting caught is rarely punishing—you can usually jog away, hide for a moment, and watch them instantly forget you exist. Any sense of danger evaporates.
Adding to the inconsistency, Edward suddenly acquires a gun late in the game. It raises an obvious question: why now? There are multiple earlier situations where simply brandishing a weapon would have made sense, if not actually firing it. The moment feels unearned and undermines the internal logic of the experience.
Ultimately, my biggest issue with Call of Cthulhu is a critical one: it isn’t frightening. The generous checkpointing removes any fear of failure, and the rigid linearity means I never truly worry about making the “wrong” choice. Little of what I do feels consequential, which makes it hard to invest emotionally in the outcome.
That said, I do appreciate the increasing sense of confusion and fractured reality toward the end. What’s real? What’s imagined? The first-person perspective helps sell this disorientation. But after a promising opening, the game never fully takes off. The lack of genuine horror turns what should have been a slow-burn nightmare into a largely forgettable experience.
My playthrough took about twelve hours, at a deliberate pace. While I can’t call Call of Cthulhu a success, I’d still like to see Cyanide take another shot at the mythos. There’s potential here—in the setting, in the themes, and even in the ideas behind the skill system. Next time, make the choices matter. Make the mechanics bite. And for Dagon’s sake, hire someone who can model a human face without accidentally channeling Frankenstein's monster.
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