Discover

The first time I stepped into the eerie, abandoned theme park of Crow Country, I’ll admit I was braced for tension. As someone who’s spent years dissecting survival horror mechanics—from the punishing corridors of Resident Evil to the atmospheric dread of Silent Hill—I’ve come to expect a certain rhythm: scarce resources, nerve-wracking enemy encounters, and that constant, gnawing fear of the unknown. But within an hour or so, I realized Crow Country was charting a different, far gentler course. And honestly? It’s a design choice that’s as fascinating as it is divisive.

Let me be clear: this isn’t a difficult game. If you’re coming in hoping for a brutal test of your resource management skills or your reflexes, you might leave feeling a little underwhelmed. The survival aspect here is surprisingly forgiving. I made it a point to explore every nook and cranny—a habit ingrained from playing classics in the genre—and I was practically swimming in supplies. I’d estimate that by the midway point, I had accumulated over 120 handgun bullets, nearly 30 shotgun shells, and a stockpile of around 15 med kits and 8 antidotes. Unless you go out of your way to pick a fight with every single creature you see, you’ll likely finish the game with more than you started with. This abundance fundamentally shifts the experience from one of survival to one of exploration and puzzle-solving.

And the enemies? They’re more like occasional speed bumps than genuine threats. I remember the first time one of those skittish, Pinocchio-esque creatures darted across my path. The sudden movement and their unnerving speed made me jump, I won’t lie. Then there are the skeletons, their bones rattling as their elongated forms shuffle toward you. The sound design in those moments is fantastic, and my initial instinct was pure "nope," a visceral reaction the game expertly elicits. But that feeling is fleeting. Both of these enemy types are relatively rare, and their attack patterns are simple enough that you can usually breeze past them after a single encounter. I think I died maybe three times in my entire 7-hour playthrough, and each time it was due to my own carelessness rather than the game presenting an insurmountable challenge.

This is where Crow Country deviates most sharply from genre conventions. You won’t find any of those classic, heart-stopping moments—no pack of zombie dogs crashing through a window, no frog-like hunters waiting in tight corridors. The absence of these scripted, high-tension encounters means the game lacks a certain visceral punch. The challenge, for me, wasn't in staying alive, but in unraveling the mystery of the park itself. The puzzles are clever and satisfying, often requiring you to backtrack with new key items, and that’s where the game’s true heart lies.

Perhaps the most significant departure is the complete lack of inventory management. As a veteran of the genre, I’m used to the agonizing decisions of what to carry. Do I take the grenade launcher and sacrifice two inventory slots, or do I keep the space free for a potential key item? In Crow Country, that entire layer of strategy is stripped away. You can carry all your weapons and items at all times. Walking into the final boss fight with all four of my firearms fully loaded—handgun, shotgun, magnum, and flamethrower—felt… strange. There was no tension, no last-minute scramble for ammo. I simply unloaded everything I had, and the battle was over in under two minutes. It was visually cool, sure, but the sense of reward was severely diminished. The combat never felt like a culmination of my skills or preparation; it felt like a foregone conclusion.

So, who is this game for? I’d argue it’s a perfect gateway into the survival horror genre for newcomers. Its lower barrier for entry allows players to enjoy the atmospheric exploration and storytelling without the frustration that can sometimes accompany its predecessors. For a hardcore fan like me, however, the experience was a bit like watching a thrilling mystery movie where you’ve already guessed the twist. I enjoyed the ride, appreciated the art direction and the clever puzzles, but I missed the desperate struggle for survival that defines the genre for me. Crow Country is a beautifully crafted, confident game, but its decision to prioritize accessibility over adversity means it carves out a unique, if less perilous, niche in the world of survival horror.