I was very excited for Split Fiction. I mean, who wasn’t? I, like everyone else in the world, loved It Takes Two. I played through it with my brother, and the whole experience was reminiscent of our childhood, passing a Game Boy Advance between us to test our mettle against particularly tricky Super Mario World 2 levels.
The story was cliche and the dialogue was shlocky, but it fitted the tale of family strife. This was a cheesy family game, and the dialogue reflected it. But I expected more from Split Fiction.
This was a combination of fantasy and science-fiction tales, threaded together with a metaphor for AI stealing writers’ ideas. The overarching story is one that many creatives feel keenly, with the likes of Meta training their LLMs on real writers’ real work.
I guess I thought that It Takes Two’s dialogue was a choice — cheesy delivery for a wholesome story. But that same cheesy dialogue plagues Split Fiction, and in this story it’s a major problem.
Split Fiction’s Cardinal Sin
The first problem is the writing itself. It’s that same corny script that doesn’t sound like any real person I’ve ever talked to. I could let this go when it was a fraught family affair, but in a more serious setting? It doesn’t work, and the flaws in the script are more egregious when dealing with serious topics of grief.
The second problem is that Split Fiction is incredibly rote. There is a level based on Dune. You turn into Iron Man at points. It’s got levels inspired by everything from Metroid to SSX. From a gameplay perspective this keeps things fresh and you never know what to expect. But the ludonarrative dissonance is overpowering. Split Fiction liberally borrows every narrative thread from sci-fi and fantasy that has come before. It does new things, too, but it’s narratively bereft. When the primary antagonist is stealing ideas, the irony is simply too much to bear.
Shoutout to the original ideas that do show up in the game. The pig level and subsequent hot dog set-piece were fantastic.
I can forgive borrowing mechanics. Flitting between genres is Hazelight Studio’s whole thing. One level that feels like a Star Wars: Fallen Order can be seen as an homage or parody, but a script that constantly steals ideas while disparaging a villain with the same plan takes the biscuit.
Is Split Fiction Worse Than It Takes Two?
Specific writing choices aside, I thought that Split Fiction would have a better story than It Takes Two. Hazelight Studios’ 2021 Game of the Year winning game spun a creative emotional tale within the confines of a house and its garden, so what would the same team do with the limitless worlds of fantasy and science fiction at their disposal?
Not a lot, it turns out. Both sci-fi and fantasy levels feel generic and bland. There are some clever mechanics and enjoyable platforming sections, but combat is dull and anything involving a vehicle is an instant turn-off due to poor handling and awkward respawns. It’s not bad enough to completely kill my enjoyment of the game, but It Takes Two’s creativity helped me to look past the cr*p script. There’s not enough to Split Fiction’s levels to do the same.
There’s one saving grace in this co-op affair: the side quests. As soon as I descend into one of Split Fiction’s strange orbs, I know I’m in for a treat. At the moment, about halfway through the game, I get more excited for a side story borne out of Zoe’s whimsical childhood than Mio’s cynical outlook, but both are usually enjoyable. I mentioned the pig/hot dog level earlier, but there are countless examples of creative storytelling and enjoyable platforming that come from side quests.
I’d go as far as to say that these optional levels tell us more about our characters and their motivations than any line of script. They’re routes through our dual protagonists’ minds, emotional journeys and clever storytelling devices in their own rights. Whether you’re a farting pig or have been transfigured into a chair on the hunt for a lost, spectral cat, Split Fiction’s side stories never fail to spark joy and bring a smile to my face. It’s a shame that the whole game isn’t presented with such whimsy and freedom. If I see another sci-fi level where we explore the bowels of a generic spaceship, I’m going to jump into the nearest orb and never return.
