Cookie Cutter's hyper-violent translation of old-school Metroidvanias does not bog itself down with convoluted modern flourishes. A unique visual palette and satisfying progression leave a bloody impression before ever growing stale.
Cookie Cutter‘s brazen attitude towards violence, sexuality, and legibility is one of its crowning strengths.
Few games have insisted upon bathing themselves in such gratuitous displays without coming across as adolescent, edgy, or entirely thoughtless. But Cookie Cutter‘s carefully constructed aesthetic reminded me of such champions like Aeon Flux, Ghost in the Shell, Hotline Miami, and Splatterhouse.
What opens as a pastiche of gore, neon cyberpunk, damsel in distress, and punk rock ferments into a faithful translation of old-school Metroid and Castlevania: Symphony of the Night before a genre was birthed into existence. As I brutalized my way through Cookie Cutter‘s dystopian future, I realized I was playing an action platformer–nay, a Metroidvania–that stripped itself of modern contrivances.
To say that I dislike such things as roguelikes and lites, Soulsbornes, randomly generated levels, or even post-death currency loss would be a lie. A teething-based difficulty and progression centered partially around luck and death have been genuinely exciting to me for a long time now. Yet there comes a time when I seek out a bit of purity in both genre and general gameplay experience. Sometimes it feels great to blast through an FPS that is a series of explosive missions focused on guns and nothing else. Occasionally a third-person adventure featuring a great story but lacking an open-world is a satisfying balm with a relatively speedy end.
Cookie Cutter, like many of the classics that came before it, sends its robotic heroine Cherry out into a corrupted world of interconnected hallways packed with enemies and powerups. Ledge too high? You’ll need a double jump. Weird ball laying around with an odd glowing basket glued to a nearby roof? A void power is probably going to help you dunk that sumbitch. Dead? Don’t worry, all those enemies respawn but you don’t have to race back to your point of perishing to recover upgrade currency.
There’s a distinct purity to the way in which developer Subcult Joint handcrafted an action platformer evoking both past and present for aged players like myself. The accomplishment feels all the more spectacular because Cookie Cutter fits a kind of mold I wouldn’t imagine is entirely kosher in this day and age. As a product of late 80s and early 90s culture, I was privy to a deluge of cartoonists and game developers growing into burgeoning talent and acclimating to advancements in tech. While no amount of expressive pixels can compare to what Cookie Cutter‘s visuals accomplish, this game reeks of the stylized fare you may have seen on late-night MTV or more charged, adult comic books.
And I’ll just go ahead and say it. Cookie Cutter in a few instances toes the line of content that most would deem acceptable. Profane may not be the right word, though I can envision an environment in which an air of cancelling could be floated around.
But an attempt to wave Cookie Cutter away based on its bravado would be distancing yourself from a game that idolizes the risque and taboo clash and marriage between adult content with a childlike sheen.
In the game’s orbit is an eclectic cast of characters and a simple, direct story. Heralded by a man named Salem Garbanzos, a power deep inside a construct known as the Megastructure has been harnessed. Garbanzos is attempting to use his power to create a “City of Gold” where his rule is supreme and human souls placed in robots called Denzels will obey his every whim. Defying the oppressor is a former employee named Shinji who has created her own Denzel, a special one called Cherry, the game protagonist.
Cookie Cutter opens with an ominous, narrated crawl of images and text detailing this flurry of proper nouns and concepts. It isn’t entirely one I immediately latched on to but the framing was enticing enough. More important was the knowledge that Cherry also became a romantic partner to Shinji, making Shinji’s kidnapping and Cherry’s horrific destruction all the more impactful in the game’s opening.
Player’s control a gory, dismantled Cherry, crawling her eviscerated corpse out of Shinji’s dwelling to watch her be kidnapped. Both disheartening and aesthetically astounding, the artwork Subcult Joint employs in Cookie Cutter is technically impressive and evocative. This is a feat for hand-drawn games. The amount of animation frames and their corresponding fluidity directly impact the quality of both the game’s action and its world. Cherry rapidly kicks and maims all manner of robot, creature, and humanoid. Seamlessly transitioning from weapon-based special attacks to speedy platforming.
With a heady enough plot involving a deeper lore explained through various terminals, Cookie Cutter does not lack meaning in its narrative. But more interesting than the actual story is the bizarre quality in which its characters live and breathe. Cherry herself is a redhead robot doused in roller derby skater style with tattoos and a side-buzzcut. She’s brash and has a thirst for violence and her skirt rarely covers her cotton-white panties.
It may sound crude to have a main character constantly flashing her underwear but the game doesn’t necessarily bring attention to it. The visual is not overly sexualized either. In fact, the world of Cookie Cutter employs crude humor as normality. In this universe, Cherry comes equipped with a Navi-like guide called Regina. The joke? Regina is Cherry’s robot crotch, just capable of speech that everyone can hear and during dialog sequences flashes red beneath Cherry’s skirt when speaking. It got a chuckle out of me but I recognize that it may produce a dour expression on others to have a literal talking robot vagina.
As wacky as it may sound, Cookie Cutter splices these types of crass elements across its cast. Garbanzos’ henchman are called Dickheads who have golden, mechanical heads that look vaguely like penises. Players can break through a hidden wall and discover a Metroid “nod” with a “Chodo” statue instead of a Chozo statue. As you may have guessed, instead of a bird head its a grotesque phallus clutching an item between its hands. Subcult Joint referred to Garbanzos as “a young Marilyn Manson-Mafia Mobster-Trapper Musician” and they nail that image quite efficiently.
Humor, like many things, is entirely subjective. Cookie Cutter may strike certain players as crude, childish, and low-brow. Thing is, I would kind of agree. And I imagine the writers and artists of the game would too. But it isn’t conducted without a level of taste. Framed in this twisted, anarchic world, the absurdity is quite cozy. The content is disarming almost, asking the player to become acclimated in an attempt to disturb and humor.
When players happen upon the various biomes of the connected world, they all make sense through the gameplay, the narrative, and the aesthetic. Who gives a shit if a factory is covered in buzz saws and furnaces that Cherry has to avoid? It’s a game! But it’s also a weird universe where a maniacal corporation would likely implement such drastic measures for whatever sinister or financial purpose.
And I’m not simply ignoring Cookie Cutter‘s shortcomings or baffling direction. These choices feel quite deliberate as an attempt to craft a game with a style that players can neither ignore nor forget. Levels being handcrafted with progression and platforming in mind means they have a feeling of permanence over a game that may throw the player into a vat of randomness.
Progression is also one of those strengths that Cookie Cutter culled from prior greats in the genre. Notably, the game may take around 10 hours and no section overstays its welcome. Screens vary from tense platforming challenges, wave-based fights, and general navigation and combat. After a brief tutorial, I suggest taking the path left, it’s where the double jump is and these games just sing when jumping doesn’t feel inhibited. Secrets lie in wait for those determined to overcome a tougher foe or are simply curious enough.
Ultimately, Cookie Cutter is a great game to merely explore and navigate in. Dying sucks but respawn points are extremely generous. Plus, players can dash through enemies they don’t want to fight. But exploration is rewarded by unlocks and upgrades for Cherry. Currency can be used to purchase equipped boosts like health amplifiers, combo enhancers, and automatic resource generation. But these have to be managed by an energy meter, with certain boosts costing an amount of energy Cherry may not be able to afford until grabbing more items.
The flow of gameplay in Cookie Cutter is natural and relatively not complicated. The range of enemies and bosses Cherry encounters are creative and varied enough that when multiple types are thrown together, it makes the player have to think somewhat tactically. While Cherry can rip through mobs, they can attack her with relative ease. Not all attacks stun Cherry and I appreciated that I could soak up damage while not relenting.
Where combat gets more interesting is in its use of void energy. In addition to her health, Cherry has a pool of void energy that is used to execute specific moves and attack with special weapons that do more damage. Gracefully, players can also recharge health by consuming void energy, meaning a balance can and will be struck between offense and defense. Void is finite and players can recharge it by hitting enemies with primary attacks.
Better yet, Cherry has the capability of stunning enemies and parrying them, opening up for a devastating attack. Shred through enough of an enemy’s health bar or time a block maneuver at the right time and boom, a press of the button will cause Cherry to annihilate an enemy with a gory, flashy attack that is meant to be as over-the-top violent and pleasing to the senses as possible. Plus, killing an enemy this way nets void and health pickups and possibly some upgrade materials. I’d make an argument that Cookie Cutter didn’t feel absolutely difficult in many parts, though I did make it through many encounters by the skin of my teeth. Perhaps for me that meant the difficulty was almost perfectly tuned.
And that’s Cookie Cutter. A brisk series of combat and platforming challenges set in a cacophony of blood and weird characters. As incredibly unique as it is, it’s also relatively straightforward in execution. Subcult Joint knew what type of game it was making an did so with flair and one of the best animation styles I’ve come across in years. Though it may all seem surface level, that surface is polished in such a way it feels pristine.
Cookie Cutter is hyper-violent translation of old-school Metroidvanias that gracefully does not allow itself to get bogged down with convoluted modern flourishes. Exploration tools drop the player into a satisfying progression loop that doesn’t rely on random elements and combat is not overtly punishing. But it’s Cookie Cutter‘s unique visual palette and uncompromising absurdity that truly leave a bloody impression before ever allowing itself to grow stale.
