Telltale’s Sam & Max has taken a genre still suffering from an over-reliance on the principles that birthed it some thirty years ago, fed it though a successful episodic formula then worked their arses off to ensure that each season built upon any mistakes they made along the way. Season Three follows this trend by not only being a more adventuresome series of bite-sized quests than those that precede it, but by spit-roasting the results over a curiously potent combination of insanity, Twilight Zone-esque noir and a healthy foundation of self deprecation.
The final chapter was spared most of the obligatory tying of loose threads, because this was done skilfully throughout the series: rather than waving clichéd cliff-hangers at gamers, Telltale instead did their level best to recreate Innerspace with a grim-faced dog detective as Martin Short, and a one hundred foot high demonic rabbity thing as Dennis Quaid. After Beyond the Alley of the Dolls swapped euphoric victory for unfortunate pagan transmutations, Sam is forced to face a reality sans his tiny, angry sidekick who now has more tentacles than helpful crime-solving hints and is busy eating the majority of downtown Manhattan.
To aid him come a collection of friends and foes, past and present, that need to pool their considerable resources to advocate such mundane tasks of turning the agency car into a giant corndog or tricking Giant Demon Max’s brain out of its food coma so travel between the various sections of his body can be opened again. Everything’s intersected with kitschy 70’s action fragmentation, including action-movie stat picture freezes and quarter-screen interludes of the bickering cast, as well as more than one moment that will turn the creeping Hitchcock vibes the series has been stealthily advancing sorely on their heads. In between all the cerebral deconstruction of pop culture references and sly digs to nostalgic moments viewed over our shoulders comes comforting slices of self satire. Sam argues with the floating, flaming head of his floppy-eared sidekick over the olden days, taking sly shots at criticism of the new game’s (lack of) difficulty and how the aesthetics don’t match up. They discuss what happened in Season One before admitting they don’t remember much of it, and use the annoying voice of one of the initial agonists to initiate a heaven safe from rampaging bunny beast.
The only notable issues are those that preceded the season’s final chapter; the awkward control scheme added to make the series applicable to the iPad being the most striking. There are times when you take control of Giant Max, and the virtual joystick that has you hold down your mouse button and drag in the direction you want him to go only helps if your goal is to stagger awkwardly into buildings every other step. It’s a (hehe) stumbling bock, but one easily overwritten by clever puzzles, witty writing and enough in-jokes to drown in. The City That Dare Not Sleep is an incredibly funny and, at times, surprisingly sobering, experience that concludes a fantastic series that Telltale will have their work cut out to top.
My money is on them doing just that.
