

The puzzles you're solving are an extension of an exceedingly bizarre story involving a community of anthropomorphic animals and their one human friend, Mira. As you might have already gathered from the snippet of game dialogue I shared up top, there's quite a cast of characters to get acquainted with. Personality counts for a lot, and Donut County goes all-in on its oddball world. Maybe because everything happening around your hole manipulations supports the story, and it's all so unreservedly weird. Lots of games have this sort of gentle difficulty curve.


It's not that the earlier level is a tutorial the later one simply builds on lessons imparted earlier in the game.ĭonut County is hardly blazing a trail here. It's a tougher puzzle, but by that point you've been trained to deal with liquids in your hole. Do that with each puddle and boom, no more water. Get close to it while you have a hole full of water - which is easy to do even by accident - and the bird drinks it all up.

Solving the puzzle in this case is easy: A very large, highly visible bird stands off to one side of the screen. But it stays there, creating a pool that prevents any other objects from falling down. Clearing out one puddle is easy: the water pours right in your hole. Eventually that comes to include groups of people, cars, even whole buildings.Īt one point early on, you come across a scene where there's puddles of water between you and a bunch of objects you need to swallow. It's like an inverted Katamari Damacy, the game from legendary designer Keita Takahashi in which you commandeer a rolling sticky ball that grows in size as you absorb objects. The more trash you gather, the bigger your hole gets. As you move that hole around, objects fall into the nothingness below. It's easy to describe how you play Donut County, the new game from indie star Ben Esposito (see also: The Unfinished Swan, What Remains of Edith Finch). "A donut without a hole is still a donut," Coco said, knowingly. The bright green talking alligator (or is it a crocodile?) seems to be a local source of wisdom. No one realizes it except Mira, his human and employee and sort-of-friend.īut before she can say anything, Coco spoke up. "We should really stop to ponder this for as long as possible." "Wow, good question," BK, a talking raccoon and the proprietor of the local donut eatery, replied. That's Roma, the larger of the two talking donkeys (I'm pretty sure they're donkeys) that make up Donut County's premiere power couple.
