IS THIS GAME HITTING ON ME?
Step inside a celebration of the 1980s universe of computer games. Remember Head over Heels, Horace Goes Skiing, Donkey Kong, Operation Wolf, Pac-Man, Manic Miner, and Q*bert? Remember the chequered, bouncing Amiga ball? Then you’ll feel right at home in Lumo, from developer Triple Eh? (Possibly the greatest developer name ever.) This is also the interactive universe I grew up in. Lumo flaunts its influences so shamelessly—and so precisely targeted at my childhood—that if it were a woman in a pub, I’d suspect it was hitting on me.
You begin by choosing your character’s gender before entering a retro arcade hall. At the back of the building you discover the SpecEye, a machine that sucks you into a digital world: an isometric labyrinth. Inside, your character is transformed into a videogame avatar closely resembling Vivi from Final Fantasy IX.
Your task is to navigate this labyrinth, solving puzzles and platforming challenges to recover four pieces of hardware. Once assembled, the resulting machine will unlock fantastic worlds (beat the game and see what I mean). Each component lies in one of four distinct worlds, all packed with traps, enemies, and precision jumping.
Lumo takes its main inspiration from the ZX Spectrum classic Head over Heels, using the same isometric perspective. A handful of minigames also appear, paying tribute to other games of the era. In a retro scene overwhelmingly dominated by Nintendo nostalgia—often to the point of creative stagnation—it’s refreshing to see the ZX Spectrum get some love.
The game follows in the footsteps of isometric Spectrum cult classics like Knight Lore, Spindizzy, Gunfright, and Nightshade. Unfortunately, I was never particularly fond of this genre. These games were clever, atmospheric—and brutally hard. Of them all, Gunfright was the only one I truly enjoyed, largely because it leaned more toward action than puzzle-solving.
A core problem with isometric puzzlers has always been visual depth, and Lumo suffers from this more than I remember its inspirations doing. It’s often difficult to tell whether a platform is above or below you, in front or behind. In the ’80s, missing such a jump usually meant losing a life—and lives were scarce. Losing them all meant starting over from the beginning.
Lumo faithfully recreates that design philosophy, frustrations included, but mercifully offers an “Adventure” mode with infinite lives and no time limit. Hardcore players can choose “Old School” mode, complete with timers and limited lives. My choice was obvious. The easier mode allowed me to enjoy Lumo roughly the way nostalgic players remember Head over Heels—rather than how it actually felt to play.
Progression is mostly linear, with occasional branching paths that usually boil down to fetching a key to unlock another route. Optional rooms contain side challenges that reward collectibles like cassette tapes, map fragments, or rubber ducks. The game rarely becomes boring, thanks to a steady stream of varied challenges.
Some rooms focus on enemy avoidance, others on pure platforming. A few evoke more modern ideas, like water-level manipulation reminiscent of Tomb Raider. Less welcome are the rotating platform frustrations that recall Super Mario Sunshine. It’s a mixed bag of influences, but one that convincingly captures the spirit of its sources—for better and worse.
Controls are responsive and minimalistic, staying true to the one-button ZX Spectrum joystick. Failures usually stem from intention rather than execution. Unfortunately, this can make mistakes feel unfair. You might perform a technically perfect jump and still miss because the platform wasn’t where you thought it was.
Later in the game, these perspective issues pile up. Some platforms are partially obscured, some distances impossible to judge. Combined with puzzle layouts that require waiting for enemies or platforms to cycle into place, frustration creeps in. Fail near the end of a room, and you’re often forced to repeat a slow, tedious setup.
The ice world was where my patience wore thinnest. Fragile ice pillars had to be pushed into place to form a staircase. They slid unpredictably, and when I finally aligned them, the slippery surfaces caused me to fall and knock everything out of position again. It was busywork masquerading as challenge.
Lumo begins as a charming, cozy adventure with understated humor. Gradually, that charm erodes, leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste. Still, it’s undeniably better than its inspirations. I’m glad it doesn’t recreate the ZX Spectrum’s technical limitations, which were genuinely awful. The visuals are cute, lighting is effective, and the muted soundtrack suits the mood.
The minigames are highlights. They offer humorous, one-off mechanics referencing classics like Q*bert, Horace Goes Skiing, Manic Miner, and Operation Wolf. Many are hidden behind optional challenges, and it’s easy to miss a few.
I feel like a jerk for saying this, but nostalgia alone won’t get me into bed. I appreciate the references, but Head over Heels remains the core issue. Like Lumo, it was clever and competent—and yet never truly enjoyable for me. Games of the ’80s had an unhealthy relationship with difficulty, one I never fully embraced.
Lumo recreates that legacy with impressive fidelity, flaws included. In doing so, it resurrects some of the less flattering aspects of retro game design. I value immersion and atmosphere over punishing challenge, and that hasn’t changed. Lumo succeeds at what it sets out to do, and many retro gamers will love it.
My lukewarm verdict isn’t a condemnation of its quality.
It’s a consequence of bad influence.
Comments
Post a Comment