Jettomero: Hero of the Universe offsets despair with panicky optimism and traps the ensuing fallout inside of a dizzy planet-obliterating robot. It's an alien venue for exploring the range and control of depression, but also one that expresses comfort and warmth along its journey. Resolution, through either perception or reality, casts Jettomero as a sympathetic hero negotiating inescapable desolation.
I tried my best to be careful.
Jettomero, the enormous robot lumbering across planets as he causes unimaginable destruction, did not mean to do any of this. He also cannot stop himself from doing any of this. On a physical level, pushing this colossal collection of sentient metal across alien landscapes is akin to watching a toddler (or a drunk) negotiate a living room. His mental state, however, is benevolent and conscience-stricken. Jettomero is a tornado of destruction that was only trying to help.
Jettomero: Hero of the Universe opens as a colorful, heavily stylized game about an invincible giant robot stomping across planetoids. Procedural generation populates a small collection of planets across a mini solar system, and Jettomero feels it is his duty to land on each of them and protect humanity from other giant monsters roaming the surface. Once that solar system is monster-free, he finds a wormhole and travels to a different system—or a parallel universe, the implications of wormhole travel are weird—and repeats the process. Rolling credits requires two or three hours of repeating this task.
Action is straightforward and deliberately unsecured. Jettomero is top heavy and can’t help but smash into large buildings or obliterate the instantly-scrambled defense systems. He must collect yellow crystals, which he converts into fuel, in order to create escape velocity and leave a planet. Sometimes Jettomero can find pulsing red targets, which he can stomp to find new body, arm, head, or feet parts. Jettomero can also flail his arms around, but this isn’t a needed (or even labeled) part of the button interface. Jettomero is never completely under control.
When it comes to fighting a monster, Jettomero puts on his game face and acts brave. He will tell them they are no match for him [link] and that he must save humanity. The player is then tasked with a brief button sequence and then prompted to repeatedly mash one button. This fires Jettomero eye lasers, which quickly explodes the frame of other giant robot. Jettomero is technically victorious and it is time to move on.
None of this seems to be doing Jettomero’s brain any bit of good. Everywhere he goes leaves a path of destruction, and it’s often indistinguishable if the planet was better off before he got there. Jettomero is conscious of this and responds by apologizing profusely. I didn’t mean it. I do apologize. I mean no harm. I need to be more careful. The player has a bit of agency here—it is possible to minimize some of the damage he does—but there’s an emerging sentiment that Jettomero is doomed to a cycle of unstoppable chaos.
Jettomero’s predicament appears to be an allegory for dealing with depression. He feels like the world is against him no matter how hard he tries. He gets nice things (i.e. new parts) for himself hoping it will make him feel better, but it doesn’t have a long-term impact. The people he’s trying to help inevitably bring him down. His perception of victory is skewed while alternate levels of denial and vague optimism continue to power him forward. There is goodwill inside of Jettomero but, due to his construction and sheer size, he is incapable of expressing it. A machine built for death only has the available tools for that purpose, trapping his brain in a prison.
It’s not Jettomero fault. At some point a vague entity appears and literally tells Jettomero that this isn’t his fault. The player, in a neat ciphering minigame, can also unscramble a series of very short stories that fill out Jettomero’s history. It provides material insight into the science that did this, but it remains a valuable metaphor for dealing with unavoidable depression. It’s a part of Jettomero and his means of self-medication is ultimately self-destruction. For a fun looking game about a hapless robot stomping around colorful planets, this is the last thing I expected to find.
Whether you find it at all is a matter of perception. Jettomero came to other platforms last year, and this sentiment didn’t surface in other reviews. Depression is a nebulous ailment that can manifest in myriad terrible examples, but, having grown up around it, I felt like I could see it instantly. Jettomero’s speech, action, and (depending on a choice the player has to make at the end) ultimate fate seem to make it clear. A depressed person can seem happy and boisterous while simultaneously expressing a great deal of pain.
Jettomero: Hero of the Universe offsets despair with panicky optimism and traps the ensuing fallout inside of a dizzy planet-obliterating robot. It’s an alien venue for exploring the range and control of depression, but also one that expresses comfort and warmth along its journey. Resolution, through either perception or reality, casts Jettomero as a sympathetic hero negotiating inescapable desolation.
