One of the things that has always drawn me to Sega’s Yakuza and Streets of Rage series and games like them, is the chaotic button-mashing action that punctuates their elaborate (in Yakuza’s case) and perfunctory (in the case of Streets of Rage) narratives. Being able to whale on groups of generic thugs in the middle of the street with the aid of fluid controls that make you feel like a kind of chaotic, malevolent god has been a cornerstone of my enjoyment of those series and video games in general. 

It was with some chagrin to me when Sega pivoted the Yakuza (now called Like A Dragon in North America – it has always had this name in Japan) games from direct control over action sequences to the kind of turn-based combat most often found in traditional role playing games like Final Fantasy. Gone is the apparent ability to freestyle, on the fly, an action sequence that rivaled the best of Jet Li or Andy Lau. In its place is a more strategic approach that slows the pace down dramatically and asks you to take a few moments to plan your next move rather than instinctively reacting to your foes’ assaults. 

The pivot on Sega’s part was, to their credit, well-executed. Yakuza’s long-running protagonist Kiryu Kazama had seemingly* concluded his story in the previous installment, Yakuza 7. This eighth game, Like A Dragon, had a new lead in aspiring mafioso Ichiban Kasuga, a younger, more brash, less stoic member of fictional Japanese city Kamurocho’s underground. It was fitting, then, that with the series both changing names and changing perspectives, that the gameplay would change too. The turn-based combat is consistent with the story and in line with Ichiban’s obsession with the classic Dragon Quest video games, which also employ turn-based systems. The new system in Like A Dragon allows for Ichiban to have friends in the form of party members, while Kiryu (in part out of necessity because of the fighting system, but also because he’s kind of antisocial by nature) preferred to work alone.

That didn’t mean I had to like it, though. Not at first, anyway. I crave the direct input and ability to spontaneously craft combinations of moves. It’s one of the ways I feel the joys of amplification of input most straightforwardly. There’s lots of examples of amplification of input as a source for human pleasure, though few nail the abstraction of complex causality from mere twitches quite like video games. As Steven Poole says in his video game philosophy book, Trigger Happy (Fourth Estate, 2000), “ a joyously exaggerated sense of control, or amplification of input [means that all] you do is hold down a button, and you get to see this wonderfully complex, rich behaviour as a result. This is one very basic attraction of all types of interactivity, and it also seems to be a near-universal pleasure among humans in the modern industrialized world. Why do people enjoy driving cars? Amplification of input: you just lower your foot and suddenly you are moving at exhilarating speed.”

I’d offer that the amplification of input is the pillar and magic upon which all, or at least most, video games are built. A simple button press on a controller has you traversing expansive and interactive versions of the American West (Red Dead Redemption), piloting a high-tech jet (Ace Combat) or a clanking, deadly mechanized suit (Fallout) and all from the comfort of your couch. Though this phenomenon is so commonplace that it’s easy to take for granted, it’s thrilling and awe-inspiring when you really think about it. Mimicking your characters’ movements in an environment like VR is thrilling too but for the lazy, and I’d count myself in that group, there’s more enjoyment to be had by not throwing myself around the living room, no matter how neat the technology is. Amplification of input is still very present In turn-based games, but to me it feels like there’s an additional layer, like a permeable barrier behind which the real action resides. When you encounter an opponent or group of them, the action literally stops and throws you into a menu system from which you plan and choose your next action. It’s the abstraction of thought and strategy. Usually the options include ‘Attack’, ‘Heal’ (yourself and others), and a Magic or Item option which can do all sorts of things (to yourself and others). Until recently, I found this stop-start rhythm of turn-based games frustrating, but my attitude toward such things has evolved somewhat. 

Part of this evolution, aside from the Yak…I mean Like A Dragon games being compelling enough from a story and presentation standpoint that I can’t quit them**, has been due to the relatively-recent rise of the ‘cozy’ game, and one in particular. The BAFTA Award-winning Unpacking from developer Witch Beam has changed my outlook entirely. Cozy games (gently, kindly) throw mud at the non-stop adrenaline rush and maximalist mindset of action games that I used to crave. Instead, they encourage you to slow down and relax, to settle into a comfortable rhythm and vibe with the experience. There may not even be an antagonist against whom you’re pitted***. The heavy hitters in the cozy genre are the dual juggernauts of Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing. Stardew is of the ‘farm sim[ulator]’ type that has you growing and selling crops in an effort to expand your farm while Animal Crossing is a more expansive ‘social simulator’ which has you making friends, building out your island, and engaging with the insidiously pleasant Tom Nook. Both offer their experiences at your own pace, rather than funneling you into a frenetic one like most other games, and that’s a cornerstone of the cozy experience. Go as fast or as slow as you like, because your boxes, your crops, and your meticulously-arranged furniture will always be there. 

In Unpacking you play a nameless, faceless person who is – wait for it – unpacking after a move. Several moves, actually, between 1997 and around 2018. There are boxes to be opened and items to be put in the appropriate places in a room using an exceedingly simple point-and-click interface. That’s it, that’s the game. Within the basic mechanics and simplicity though, there’s an ingeniously-woven story about your protagonist and their growth. Unpacking’s story is told entirely through stuff. If you’ve ever moved before, you’ll understand how much both the presence and absence (and appearance and disappearance)  of stuff says about you and where you are in your life at that precise moment. Through the simple act of unpacking – starting with your childhood bedroom through an apartment you share with a partner and finally a house – you’ll learn your protagonist’s habits, their hobbies, and what (and who) they love.  All of this is done without so much as a minute of a cutscene or exposition to set things up or move things along. In the first stage you’ll unpack clothes, books, toys, and school supplies. You don’t have to worry about unpacking a bathroom or kitchen (as you will in later stages) because you’re a kid and don’t concern yourself with such things. You’ll unpack a stuffed animal and place it on your bed, and that stuffed animal will appear over and over again in different bedrooms and time periods, cementing it as an important totem in your life. Later stages in Unpacking have you setting up more advanced computers and technology like game systems, more rooms as your footprint in life and the world expands, and it’s all done with a kind of zenlike serenity. The satisfaction of the game comes from the ability to do this all yourself, with no prodding whatsoever, until the boxes disappear and you can gaze upon your hard work. And the way Unpacking meters out lovely little surprises and subtle reveals about the person whose belongings you’re manipulating is nothing short of brilliant.

All of this is not to say that Like A Dragon (or it’s followup, the expansive Like A Dragon: Infinite Wealth) are in any way, shape, or form cozy games. The turn-based combat allows for every bit of the violent chaos that its predecessors do, and the pacing of the games remains hectic and deeply dramatic, story-wise, in a way that no one could ever describe as cozy or laid-back, and Like A Dragon very much earns and retains the series’ ‘M’ rating for ‘intense violence, blood, sexual themes, partial nudity, and strong language.’ As I progressed through Like a Dragon and at the time of this writing am preparing to dive into Infinite Wealth (which, interestingly, contains a fully-featured tongue-in-cheek sendup of Animal Crossing called Dondoko Island) I feel as though the cozy lifestyle has shown me how to consider Ichiban’s next moves and his approach in a way that I never did – or could – with Kiryu. Where the first seven Yakuza games were happy to let me freewheelingly fling fists and feet and the occasional traffic cone into the faces of any that opposed me, with Ichiban I have a moment to ask myself ‘why’…Right before doing it anyway. 

Cozy games have been an unexpected boon to my gaming hobby. Not only have they provided much-needed moments of relaxation, but in doing so cozy games have unlocked a part of my brain that have made me appreciate other, more intense games by contrast. Games that evoke mundane tasks – sowing seeds, or putting books on a shelf – as a form of meditation are a welcome tonic to mowing down scores of baddies in the dangerous streets of Kamurocho even if I still crave the latter pretty often. As with Ichiban, both kinds of games have their moment, waiting to take their turn.

Side note: Cozy puzzler A Little To The Left from indie Canadian publisher Max Inferno is an even more stripped-down take on Unpacking which asks you to undergo small organizational tasks like arranging papers or pencils on your desk while your cat tries to usurp you at every turn.

*Kiryu can’t stay away, and would pop up again in the spinoff Yakuza game (with traditional button-mashing mechanics!) The Man Who Erased His Name.

** And clearly can’t stop writing about them!

***unless that antagonist is maturity and the passage of time itself, but I’m not quite ready to have that conversation.

Sachin Hingoo is taking a break from avenging the wrongs committed by the Japanese underworld to sort virtual batteries into a virtual box. Someone’s gotta do it.