Captain’s Log. Stardate: 9.15.09. 5.45.

I have just gotten home from picking up my copy of 5th Cell’s highly anticipated Nintendo DS game, Scribblenauts. I have been waiting many long months for this moment. My anticipation grows with each passing moment, the plastic wrap cannot come off of the case quickly enough. Luckily, the cellophane gives way to my iron will, and the case is mine. Scribblenauts feels so pristine in my hand, the gem I have been spelunking for years to find. And now it’s mine. The exuberance is near-overwhelming, my pulse at breakneck speeds. Before I insert the cartridge into my DS, I take several deep and calming breaths, and don my pre-order bonus, the much-discussed Rooster Hat. All is right with the world.

Captain’s Log. Stardate: 9.15.09. 6.45.

I have been experimenting with Scribblenauts’ playground for nearly an hour now. I have pitted god against the devil. I have set pirates against ninjas. I have seen a great white shark eat a giant squid. “Has the perfect game been achieved?” I ask myself. Possibly, and yet the answer is still unknown at this point. I must pull myself away from the sandbox and get to work. As I begin the “Challenge Mode,” I am pushed through a series of boring, albeit informative, tutorial missions. The real game begins after 10 of said tuturials. The first mission starts, and I am tasked with giving certain individuals cerain items required for their certain occupation. The baker draws me in first; his hat was just as flamboyant as my own. “What do bakers bake?” The answer strikes me instantaneously: Dough! Bakers bake dough into oh-so-many treats of culinary fancy. I type in “dough” on the game’s keyboard, and *Poof!* dough appears. I hand the dough to the baker, anticipating his next move. Will he make cookies, or cake, or crumpets? My mind is awash with lavish possibilities. But as I hand said dough to said baker, said possibilities do not occur. The baker eats the dough. No pause to consider the concoctions. No thought of cookies or cakes or crumpets. He simply devours it.

Captain’s Log. Stardate: 9.15.09. 7.05.

“Okay, maybe the baker was just hungry,” I say to myself. I’ll move on to the next occupational wonder-the fireman. His hat is the same fiery crimson as my own; we are brethren. “I must be CREATIVE!” The game’s tagline, “Write Anything. Solve Everything.” is a challenge, a goal, a lofty ambition. I ponder, “What do firemen use?” I toss out all obvious, and therefore unworthy, answers. “This fireman is from my own red-hat clan. I must satisfy his need for a friend as he has done for me.” All firemen do have a friend. “A DALMATIAN!” I exclaim. I pat myself on the back for thinking so creatively. 5th Cell would be so proud of me. The dalmatian appears, and wanders around the small forested area of Level 1-1. Nothing. Not only does the fireman not accept the lovely pup as a friend, he shuns it. No lean-over-and-pet-the-dog motions. No oh-i-have-a-dog-treat-in-my-pocket niceties. NOTHING. This fireman is a traitor. At this point, Scribblenauts has transitioned from merely befuddling mishaps (baker doesn’t bake dough, he eats it) into almost insurmountably undeniable mistakes (fireman rejects dalmatian.) My wit has near reached it’s end. I finish the puzzle with obligatory solutions (police officer gets handcuffs, doctor gets needle.) I press on to undo the hurt the very first level has given me. The rage builds, but slowly subsides as I leisurely mosey through a handful of puzzles, using simple answers to avoid any further confrontations and confusions. Evidently, with 5th Cell’s latest work, they are altogether unavoidable.

Captain’s Log. Stardate: 9.15.09. 7:55.

I have been invested in Scribblenauts for just over 2 hours now, and the aggravations have only grown in quality and quantity. I now refuse to be blinded by the ability to spawn nearly 29,000 nouns onscreen. Many of them seem to be obscure sandwich types and different-colored pieces of notebook paper. The controls of the game, all mapped to the stylus, are laughable at best. The game’s hero, Maxwell, moves around with the ease of a ’72 Buick. He cannot seem to grasp the idea of walking two strides to the right, or three steps to the left. Everything is a hop, skip, or a jump with Maxwell. And when it comes to the use of any hand-tools by our dear Maxwell, he has as much precision as a blind elephant. Whatever task is presented before him, he feels the need to go around it. While using a shovel or a pickaxe, two rudimentary and therefore easy to use digging tools, Maxwell feels the need to dig in every location except the one I require him to unearth. And as is such with my overall feeling of Scribblenauts at this point. 5th Cell had so many tools at their disposal to create such a vast and epic handheld masterpiece, but every time their game came close to greatness, they just couldn’t seem to hit the nail on the proverbial head. As the night comes to a close, I put away my DS gladly, setting aside the numerous disappointments of my most recent gaming endeavour. The coming days will hopefully show me some more enjoyable Scribblenauts experiences, but at this point, I am severely doubtful.

Captain’s Log. Stardate: 9.20.09. 8:00.

I write my final entry in this log as a warning. I have spent the last 5 nights awaking my DS, entering a new puzzle in Scribblenauts, and promptly turning it off in anger and frustration beyond belief. No amount of words or photographs can describe my disappointment with this game. I have placed this in a category of gaming many will refer to as “Stinkers.” As above photo illustrates, this “Stinkers” category has only one place in my household. There are many games that some may consider “Stinkers” in the sense that they are flat-out terrible games. I classify those as “Duds.” My “Stinkers” category is reserved for games that I look forward to with the utmost of anticipation, and disappoint me on a great, and therefore irrevocable, level. The term “Stinker” can also apply to games that had amazing concepts, and failed to deliver these concepts into the hands of the consumer. I will not go into any further detail of what other games have achieved a “Stinker” label with me, but any and all may inquire within. I feel that Scribblenauts is a sour achievement in gaming history. A game with such gastronomical amounts of hype and promise that fell so unbelievably short of its ambitions. As stated, this log is a warning. 5th Cell should’ve  released Scribblenauts as a free flash-based game on the internet. $30 is a lofty price for a game as rudimentary and as broken as this. I do not understand how Scribblenauts ever made it past the play-testers at 5th Cell. I may or may not ever finish the game. Only time will tell.

MidwestGamer, aka Zack, Gamertag: AbsentAmpersand