This is what I was thinking while playing Dream web. "Of course. They're the chaps who did The Fury, Nemesis the Warlock and everyone's favourite illiterate adventure Slaine". (That's me suddenly remembering who Creative Reality are).
"Oh Dear". (That's me realising the inexplicable pauses when the game locks up but the cursor is still movable before everything unpredictably snaps back to life are going to continue to happen about every 15 seconds throughout every session I play. Perhaps it is 'decrunching data', or something. It can't be loading from disk I know, because then it helpfully turns your cursor into a disk).
"Oh Dear". (That's me realising this is one of those point-and-click adventures that, far from having the courtesy to tell me which objects in the picture are of value when I point to them, is in fact to regale me with an excitingly lengthy text description of every single object, supporting character and piece of scenery in the game universe and then put a 'use' option in the top-right screen.
It's only when I click on this option that the game admits if the object (or whatever) is of any use or whether it has been put there solely to 'enhance the atmosphere'. And not, for example, for the purpose of intensely annoying me because I'm now forced laboriously to check everything (and that is, of course, everything so as to be sure not to miss that vital object or giveaway clue).
"Oh Dear". (That's me realising that this is one of those point-and-click adventures that demands pixel-perfect cursor control. Curiously, the programmers have clearly realised the folly of this because there is an invaluable option to have a window display a blocky close-up of my immediate surroundings.
They have, however, declined the opportunity of realisation to, say, repair the damage by redrawing the graphics or throwing away at least some of the near totally pointless clutter in every screen).
"Oh Dear". (That's me discovering that after trying to use my in-game computer by clicking on the keyboard and reading the excitingly lengthy description only to discover it is useless, clicking on the mouse and reading the excitingly lengthy description only to discover it is useless, accidentally clicking on the mouse mat while trying to click on a disk but reading the excitingly description anyway only to discover it is useless, and clicking on the monitor and reading the excitingly lengthy description only to discover it's my virtual girlfriend's in-game computer and I shouldn't be messing with her stuff, that I'm supposed to use my in-game computer when I find it by clicking on its monitor screen).
"Oh Dear". (That's me realising that whenever I click on something, the game arbitrarily decides I'm standing too far away to see it properly and so I have to confirm I want to go over to it (which may involve my character walking round in an unnecessary circle) before I get the option to examine it).
"Oh Dear". (That's me realising I've not yet left the first location).
"Oh Dear". (That's me later that morning, having gone to my character's flat. Upon leaving my virtual girlfriend's house, my character mused, "I can't help feeling I've forgotten something". This turned out to be the mystical key hidden in her microwave cooker.
At my character's flat, I'd used his in-game computer to discover he'd been fired from his job at a bar. I'd instantly travelled to the bar ready for a jolly good argument, only to find this is one of those point-and-click adventures where, instead of getting multiple-choice questions and answers, I merely click on someone and the game conducts the whole of an embarrassingly banal, badly-written conversation on my behalf).
"Oh Dear". (That's me realising I'm carrying too many objects and will have to drop some. I do so only to discover the game places everything I've specified in a single heap on the floor, so if I've inadvertently discarded something important I'm going to have to pick it all back up again later. Except I can't, because I'm carrying too much. So I shall have to crawl the cursor about the heap pixel by pixel, patiently waiting for the 15 seconds catatonics to pass, until the game has decided I'm pointing to a bit of the object I require.
Fortunately, since this is only an 'adult' adventure starring the dregs of society even the dregs of society shun as dregs and featuring graphical violence and murder aplenty. I can rest assured that the pile of objects will never be stolen).
"Oh dear". (That's me cottoning on to the artificial size of the game. To separate the interesting bits and so make it appear larger and more complex than it is, each set of locations to which I can travel via the main map requires me to walk stoically through irrelevant streets and hotel lobbies, using lifts that only go to one floor and passing locked rooms whose inhabitants never answer the doorbell, before reaching my intended destination).
"Oh dear". (That's me being told trying to 'use' the suspiciously loose lift controlpanel isn't going to work. Apparently I'd be well advised to 'use' something sharp here. Phew. I'd been careful to pick up that excitingly lengthily described knife from my virtual girlfriend's kitchen for just such an occasion. Now I've exposed some wiring. Now I've had to 'use' the knife again with a separate 'use' command to cut the wires. It appears the lift is now safe to climb on top of. Lucky I didn't fall for the old ignoring exposed wiring trick, eh?).
"Cripes". (That's me being shot by a guard when I 'use'd a fire axe to break to the doors of the floor above).
"Oh dear". (That's me having reloaded my saved position and attempting to drop my axe to show the guard I mean no harm. The screen now shows my axe lying on the floor next to me holding my axe. I recall a similarly shoddy bug from earlier on, when after seeing a crime boss and buying a gun, I return to the building to be told the crime boss is impatiently waiting for me. I get shot again).
"Criminy". (That's me having 'use'd the axe, unexpectedly swinging it at the man besides me I'd assumed was the fellow I'd been chasing around the city but who in fact turns out to be another guard. This throws the aim of the man with the gun, and I'm able to shoot him. I reflect on the ingenuity of this scene. From bursting through the doors to the man firing at me. I've been given a few seconds to call up my inventory and make a plan. It's a real-time action sequence in a point-and-click adventure - THAT WORKS! I am pleased).
"Oh dear". (That's me in the next part of the game. I'd found the man I was chasing and killed him, only to be dragged to a place where someone explained the plot of the game. Since the point of the firs part is that you are wandering around in bewilderment, convinced you are going mad, only a cockroach would spoil things by revealing what is really going on. In the next part of the game I am to kill another man. But where is this next victim? There appear to be no new locations on the map.
But wait. I go to my character's flat and use his in-game computer to read an embarrassingly banal and badly-written news report that mentions the victim is to appear at a television station, reminding my character that he knows where the station is. It is now visible on the map, replacing the locations used in the last section. Still, it's not as if they're needed to, for example, create a cohesive, rounded 'feel' to the game rather than reducing it to a series of aloof sections with everything you need to solve them contained within. Or anything).
"Oh dear". (That's me in the studio after cunningly gaining entrance by shooting the security guard. I am upon a high gantry above the set from where my enemy is broadcasting. A fused winch supporting a gigantic crate points to my method of dispatching him.
But after having just shot a harmless old fellow, I decide instead to fire at my enemy from above. But the game decides I had better not use my pistol at the moment, even though nobody has shown the slightest interest in my blasting down the elderly security guard)).
"Oh dear". (That's me realising that instead of bypassing the blown fuse with, say, an identically-sized piece of metal, a wire exposed at both ends, a knife, a screwdriver or (rather cleverly I thought) a chewing gum paper wrapper excitingly described at length as being tin foil, I'm meant to examine a brochure to discover a security pass and use this to enter a storeroom containing a single brand-new fuse).
"Oh dear". (That's me realising that I'm halfway through the game and the puzzles are indeed going to remain at the same level of failed text-adventure feebleness. The game stops for its irregular rest break. I throw myself wearily at the guns of some guards).