Reviewer's Notes: Due to several story critiques, there will be some important SPOILERS detailed below; read on at your own risk. All experience reflects Version 1.1.1.3 of the game.

A certainty whenever doing a major renovation or remodel is buried treasure of some form: receipts, old soda cans, and other knickknacks providing a glimpse into the near or distant past. In some instances, it's easy to get lost while focusing on one of these objects – conceiving how it buried itself behind a cabinet or wallpaper; regardless of the imagined journey's accuracy, anything helps amid all of the sawing, ripping, and hammering. Similarly, Malik is happy to distract his young, precocious daughter, Dilara, while renovating each room. Sometimes she does handy work, but then she'll find an object of interest, which subsequently spurs a story from Dad.

Neither interlinked stories nor exploration via recollection are new to games, but developer Blue Backpack picks a rich setting: Berlin, Germany. The Berlin Apartment that Malik's contracted to renovate has a century of stories to tell, some happier than others. Similar to narrative-focused adventures like What Remains of Edith Finch or Hindsight, its gameplay tempo maintains control by corralling Dilara towards the next short story. It makes perfect sense: Malik would only want to open up unfinished areas he's currently working on.


Her impertinence can get annoying – as expected for a child – but it helps to frame her curiosity when ripping down a studio room's wallpaper. With just a few downward motions from the control stick, she reveals what was once a kid's bedroom. Questions begin to form, until a memento inspires Malik to supposedly recall this place near the Soviet Union's final curtain. The two main epochs of Apartment's short stories are during Nazi rule & Soviet occupation, each one with a different aesthetic, protagonist, and drama. Given the unreliable/subjective narrator, the line between reality and fantasy doesn't technically matter. The tremulous Kolja most certainly didn't have a talking goldfish chauvinistically spouting Communist rhetoric, but he was someone stuck behind the Iron Curtain.

That flexibility between the grounded and fantastical across connected stories comes with potential pitfalls. From books like Cloud Atlas, to movies like Bad Times at the El Royale, one of the format's biggest snags is a disparity of interest between perspectives. Although each contributor may be integral to the wider narrative's themes, it's tough to get through the clunkers all the same. In Apartment's case, the less-fantastical tales play out like staid walking sims with less meat on their bones. A hobbled German Jew packing his essentials to egress 1933 Germany adds greater perspective, but the "level" itself feels more like perfunctory padding. Even though his reduced speed and thudding walking cane make contextual sense, it's hard not to shout "hurry up, grandpa!" at the screen.


It's also not helped by gameplay that's blander than a vegan Thanksgiving. At first blush, there's sense to a template relying on specific control stick movements; sure, the mini-transitions between walking and those concentrated interactions feel a bit stiff, but helping Kolja fold paper planes to communicate across The Wall feels tangible enough. His pet feels worried – even a bit affronted – by him cadging and sending notes with a capitalist stranger. But then those same motions are used everywhere else with hardly any meaningful nuance or evolution. It's the Potemkin version of Edith Finch; were Giant Sparrow at the helm, each period would incorporate a more distinctive flavor to its simple controls.

That critique echoes into parts of its presentation, sadly. Whether due to direction from writers Sebastian Hilger and Florian Köhne, or the voice acting talent, most dialogue sounds too static and droll. Outside of the best level, where an author argues with her publishing agent – and the Soviet censorship board, by extension – most conversations feel like everyone's waiting their turn. It's like when an actor doesn't hit their mark for the camera; the scene's composition looks confused. The other two credited writers, Nadine Gottman and Karoline Kraut, shouldn't get off the hook either when potential missteps could've been stamped out earlier.

Something's also lost by how constrained this collection feels. Sure, the game's marketing (which I've repeated) about a "century's worth of history" hidden behind these walls is intriguing, but it doesn't quite fulfill that promise. Discounting the modern-day setting (2020), the amount of Berlin's Greatest Hits (1989, 1967, 1945, & 1939) is a bit too skimpy. Compare that to Edith Finch's expansive family tree filling up over time and the end result is night and day; even the ephemeral one-offs contributed so much to its larger whole. More eras would've also bolstered Apartment's most consistent positive: its soft-texture art style. 


Beyond that, it also beggars belief how four credited writers were necessary for what's just under a three-hour runtime (discounting completionist extras). That amount wouldn't ruffle many feathers on its own… until its impressive $24.99 retail price comes into view. As with Venba, there comes a point where an inflated asking price warrants greater scrutiny – especially with regard to craftsmanship. For example: the current Xbox Series version is damn near impossible to finish. It nearly got the better of me, but I eventually soldiered through after 20-30 hard crashes near the finale; funnily enough, success hinged on selecting a binary choice I didn't initially want to pick, just to avoid more crashes. It's ironic how said decision revolves around an author deciding whether or not to compromise her work.

In my case, it's impossible to disconnect The Berlin Apartment from its shoddy Xbox launch; it holds the new record for "Most Crashes Experienced in a Walking Sim," which is unlikely to be toppled for ages. What's sad is that that might be its most remarkable achievement, because past the technical issues, what's left is a well-intentioned but unfulfilling adventure. Think Edith Finch with scarcely any mechanical or narrative flourishes, and you're quite close to Blue Backpack's effort; or, better yet, imagine a small, bland flat with a landlord who's eager to rob you blind.

Contractor by trade and writer by hobby, Lee's obnoxious criticisms have found a way to be featured across several gaming sites: N4G, VGChartz, Gaming Nexus, DarkStation, TechRaptor, and Cubed3! He started gaming in the mid-90s and has had the privilege in playing many games across a plethora of platforms. Reader warning: each click given to his articles only helps to inflate his Texas-sized ego. Proceed with caution.