Disclaimer: This review is based on plays of 7 Wonders Dice on Board Game Arena.
Ah, the roll and write. First comes a successful board game. Then comes the card game version. Then comes the roll and write cash in. 7 Wonders is no different, albeit it’s taken quite a bit longer to get here than some of the other examples I’m referencing, *cough CastlesofBurgundycough*.
In 7 Wonders Dice, you’re competing with your neighbours to earn the most points by managing your resources and utilizing the whims of the dice most effectively. If you’ve played a roll and write before, you’ll recognize the scorepad fairly well. Half a dozen coloured sections for you to scratch off, half a dozen different ways to score, and dozens of tiny symbols that promise synergy and cascading combos, which is my favourite part of a roll and write, if I’m being honest.
The player boards, much like in the full game of 7 Wonders, are slightly asymmetric. Each one is themed around a different wonder, and will offer players different rewards when they progress their wonder. Some of the symbols on the main mat are slightly different too, making different coloured dice more valuable to some players than others.
The dice part of 7 Wonders Dice is the more interesting system. At the top of each round, 7 dice are put into a box, and the box gets shaken, Boggle style. The box is slammed down, the lid lifted, and inside will be the dice sitting in one of the four quadrants. Each player gets to select one die, pay the cost based on which quadrant it’s sitting in, and do the action depicted on the die, paying any resource costs listed on the space they want to action on. Following similar themes from its big brother, the blue are straight points, the yellow focuses on economy, the reds have you competing against your opponents, and the greens give you special abilities.
7 Wonders Dice comes to an end when someone has completed 3 sections of their board, and that may happen sooner than you think. The wonder itself only has 3 stages and can be taken at any time by any dice. The yellow and white sections only have 6 spaces, and that white dice can let you take 2 actions in a specific colour, potentially ending the game faster than you’d think was possible (although you do need to unlock the white, black, and purple dice before you can do any of their actions).
Image Credit: W. Eric Martin @W Eric Martin via BGG
At the core of your decision process is going to be money. Every space costs resources, but you can always buy a resource for 1 dollar. You can spend a turn to earn a resource, giving you a permanent discount of 1 for the rest of the game, but how many turns do you want to burn taking resources? Inevitably, you’ll find yourself a coin short at the most inopportune times. I’m not a big fan of this system, as all 6 of the resources are completely arbitrary. Every resource offers a discount of 1 to every other space, and because this is so powerful, pretty much everyone’s first 3 rounds are going to be just taking resources, which is less than interesting.
Speaking of inopportune timing, you’ll probably also curse the dice a lot. Once you exhaust all the options of a particular dice face, that die face is now useless to you. The yellow die offers 3 spaces for both camels and treasure boxes. If you take that camel 3 times in a row and exhaust that half of the pavilion, any future camels that get rolled are functionally a dead die for you. Conversely, you might be waiting round after round for a specific symbol, only for it to finally show up, but in the 3 coin quadrant and your purse only has 2 coins remaining. Bad luck.
7 Wonders Dice lacks the universal appeal and strategic depth that launched the original to its stardom. It also doesn’t have the endless replayability that makes 7 Wonders Duel a top 10 game for me. I would never say there’s anything wrong with 7 Wonders Dice, it’s a perfectly serviceable roll and write game, but it’s not very interesting on repeat plays. The first time, you’ll be tickled in seeing the familiar icons and systems with a fresh coat of paint and some novel reworkings. But after a couple plays, I never felt like any game was particularly different from the others. I don’t think there is a particularly high skill ceiling, as in most games, you’ll be able to achieve most of each section in each game. It lacks the trade-offs and branching paths of bigger roll and writes, such as Hadrian’s Wall.
I will say that I enjoy 7 Wonders Dice a lot more as an “easier 7 Wonders” than the completely arbitrary 7 Wonders Architects, but that was a very low bar to clear. The simultaneous action selection does make this game flow quickly, letting you knock out a 4 player game in under 20 minutes. Sometimes you’ll earn a bonus that lets you do a bit more on your turn, but those are a far cry from the bombastic cascading turns of something like That’s So Clever or Draft & Write Records.
7 Wonders Dice is an enjoyable, but pretty unremarkable roll and write game at the end of the day. You aren’t building a civilization, drafting cards and watching your empire slowly grow. You’re ticking off boxes, watching your decision space shrink over time. I wouldn’t ever say no to playing it, but I’d be hard-pressed to choose it over either of the first two 7 Wonders games, let alone any other roll and write that I already have sitting in my closet. If you’re new to roll and writes or want a lightweight 7 Wonders appetizer, this game might land for you. But If you already own a few entries in the genre, there’s very little here you haven’t seen before.
Growing up, I was a console gamer. I didn’t really have a game-worthy PC until after 2010, meaning I skipped over a lot of the old PC favourites, one important one being the Civilization franchise. That is to say, tech trees are not a part of my gaming background. I’m not ignorant to tech trees, but it’s not a mechanic that I’ve spent a significant number of hours with.
For the uninitiated, a tech tree is a hierarchical visual representation of the possible sequences of upgrades a player can unlock. Think, you have to invent Mining before you can invent Masonry. You need to discover both mathematics and construction before you can discover engineering. You need to learn how to walk before you can run type of thing. In Beyond the Sun, designed by Dennis K. Chan and published by Rio Grande Games in 2020, the entire main game board is taken over by this 4 tier tech tree, that players will crawl up, unlocking new actions and special abilities to give them an edge in their quest for dominance over the stars.
One of the first things that grabbed me was how Beyond the Sun uses dice. At the start of the game, your player board is packed full of inert crates. As the game progresses, those crates are unlocked into crew members, and later upgraded again into spaceships with power values ranging from one to four. All six resources in the game are represented by different faces of the same die. Instead of rummaging through a supply looking for the right ship, you simply rotate a die to the face you need. It’s elegant, intuitive, and I absolutely love it. It’s the kind of design choice that once you see it, you’ll wonder why any other game bothers with piles of chits when they could be using dice instead.
As I mentioned above, most of the real estate on the table is taken up by the tech tree board. Starting with the first four techs laid out face up, the rest of the tech slots are covered with blue advancement cards. Along the far left side of the board are the basic actions that everyone has access to, and on each player’s turn, they’ll take their little action pawn and place it into an available action slot, blocking it from other players. Simple worker placement stuff, really. Most of the actions revolve around researching other techs, deploying and moving ships around the planet board, or colonizing planets.
I really appreciate is how production works. At the end of every turn, you choose to produce either crew or ore. Production starts modestly, but can be improved by removing discs from the bottom of your player board. In many games, production is an action in its own right. An action that eats a full turn and often feels obligatory. in Beyond the Sun, it’s folded neatly into the rhythm of play. The result is a game that keeps moving, where turns feel productful and players are rarely left feeling like they’ve ‘wasted’ a turn while other players are zooming on ahead.
Each of the techs belongs to at least one of four categories, commerce, military, science, and economics. Each of those categories will generally feature abilites that cater to something specific, like military techs will generally revolve around ships and movement, while scientific techs will generally assist you in researching more techs. Many techs are a blend of two, perhaps offering the military heavy line of techs a much needed science boost. What’s most interesting is that the person who takes the action to research any new step of the tech tree, gets a choice of 2 cards to lay on the board, a tactical advantage for sure! Everyone who comes after them are just following in their footsteps. This makes the big tech tree dynamic and different in every game.
Running alongside the tech tree is the system map, made up of eight planets, four of which are represented by cards that grant special bonuses and can be colonized for even more bonuses. Gaining majority strength on a planet lets you place a production marker, increasing your income and sometimes triggering an immediate benefit. Of course, that control is fragile. If another player seizes the majority, your marker is kicked back to your board, and the sting of losing income is very real. Interaction here is indirect but sharp, and it’s often where the game feels most openly competitive.
If you manage to have the prerequisite number of ships on a planet, you can take a colonize action, which removes that planet from the board, and the ships you used to pay for it. That planet goes into your personal supply, with an additional income disc, and your ships get slotted back onto your player board. That might sound like a negative, but in reality it’s a boon. You see, when you take your crew income, you take one crew from every column that you’ve revealed along the bottom of your row, and if crew make their way back onto your board, you’ll probably be able to get all those spent ships back as crew with a single action or two. Yay for efficiencies!
By now, it’s probably clear that Beyond the Sun is a game of two halves: the tech tree and the colonization map. Neither is clearly more important than the other, and ignoring either is a fast track to falling behind. That said, the relationship between them isn’t always as seamless as I’d like. Advancing technology doesn’t always meaningfully enhance your spatial presence, and strong planetary play doesn’t necessarily open new research avenues. The systems coexist, but they sometimes feel like parallel paths rather than deeply intertwined gears.
In the end, Beyond the Sun is a game I adore. I love how clean the systems are, how the dice do so much heavy lifting, and how every turn feels purposeful without feeling bloated. At the same time, that split focus between research and planetary expansion can leave the game feeling a little disjointed, like two excellent ideas politely sharing the same table rather than fully embracing each other. Still, every time I play, I find myself thinking about the different paths I could have taken, different technologies I wanted to see come out, different planetary gambits might try next time. And that lingering feeling, that urge to come back and do it all again, perhaps just a bit better, puts Beyond the Sun in a rare position. A game that requested again and again, which is the best achievement a game could aspire to.
I adore Lost Cities. It’s the perfect 2 player game for my wife and I. Competitive without being directly mean, random enough to make your risks feel like you’ve hit the lottery if you win, but also don’t really feel too bad if they don’t pan out, and I end up with a bucket of negative points. In my opinion, it’s my favourite game designed by Renier Kenizia. What I didn’t know until somewhat recently was that in the same year that Lost Cities came out, Schotten Totten was also released. Schotten Totten has players manage a hand of cards, playing them to your side of a line, trying to claim control of either the majority of the spaces, or three consecutive spaces. From an abstract view, it’s pretty comparable to Lost Cities, but when it comes to how the games feel, they couldn’t be more different.
A deck of Schotten Totten consists of 54 cards, numbered 1 to 9 in six different colours, and 9 stone tokens. The stone tokens are laid out in a line between the players, the deck is shuffled, and each player is dealt 6 cards. On your turn, you play a card to any of the 9 stones, and then draw a card to replace the one you just played. Any card can go on your side of any stone, but each stone has a capacity of 3 cards per side. Once a stone is full, it’s evaluated, and whoever has the stronger showing on their side of the stone claims it for themselves.
The strength of your side is determined by which cards you put on your half of the stone. A colour run is the strongest, 3 consecutive cards of the same colour. Then, three of a kind is the next strongest, 3 cards of the same value. Then any flush, three cards of the same colour, then a run, 3 consecutive cards of any colour, and finally, a sum. 3 non-consecutive cards of different colours.
Schotten Totten is a masterclass in tension in a 2 player game. It’s incredibly tactical, as you only have access to 6 cards at a time, the likelihood of you drawing a run or flush is fairly low. This forces the player to place cards and hedge their bets that the next card they need is going to show itself eventually. At the start of the game, you’ll place a card here and there, but before you know it, suddenly every card you play is starting to remove options from the future. You have to play a card, but doing so might mean closing off the opportunity for a run on a particular stone. Using a red 5 for three of a kind on one stone means the red 3 that was waiting for the red 4 to show up might end up being a weaker plain red flush instead of the powerful flush run you were hoping for. Before when the 9 stones looked like a wide open field, suddenly the battle line has become clogged and claustrophobic.
One way you can put the screws to your opponent even harder, is if you can prove that there is no way for your opponent to win a stone from you. Say you have three of a kind on your side, and your opponent has a yellow 9 and grey 8. All 3 of a kinds beat all runs, so you can just claim that spot as your own. Not only does that add to your victory conditions, but it also removes a potential schluff spot from your opponent, as once a stone has been called, you can’t play any more cards to that stone. Now, if they need to burn a card from their hand as they search the deck for cards they actually want, they’re going to have to make further sacrifices on their other stones.
For all its tactical brilliance and excitement, Schotten Totten feels quite a bit more confrontational than Lost Cities. In Lost Cities, it’s possible for both players to come out positively on a single colour, should they both choose to chase that suit. Schotten Totten is a zero-sum game. In order for you to win territory, your opponent has to lose it. And honestly, that just feels bad. It’s the kind of bad feelings that makes me not want to play a game with certain players, such as my spouse. I realize that the reasons I prefer Lost Cities will be the same reasons that someone else with slightly different proclivities will prefer Schotten Totten.
Schotten Totten is a great game, but it’s a great game that demands a certain temperament. It thrives on denial, pressure, and the quiet cruelty of watching your opponent’s options evaporate one card at a time. For players who relish that kind of direct confrontation, it’s a masterclass in tight, tactical design that has aged remarkably well and that perfect package of endlessly replayable in a real small box.
For me, though, I’ll always reach for Lost Cities first. I value the tension of risking points without the discomfort of taking something away from the person across the table, especially when that person is my wife. That preference doesn’t diminish what Schotten Totten accomplishes; if anything, it highlights just how precisely it delivers its intended experience. Nearly three decades on, few two-player card games generate as much sustained drama from such a small deck. Schotten Totten knows exactly what it is, and for the right pair of players, it’s pure tactical perfection.
A copy of Maul Peak was provided by the publisher for review purposes.
The 2 player game field is a crowded one. From all the excellent Duel games (7 Wonders Duel, Splendor Duel, Dorfromantik: The Duel, and so many more) to the excellent 2 player games not based on multiplayer games (Lost Cities, boop, Santorini, Hive, Fox in the Forest, and so much more). And this isn’t even getting into multiplayer games that simply play excellently with only 2 players, it makes any 2 player only game have some stiff competition when vying for shelf and table space.
Maul Peak is the stand-alone sequel to Skulk Hollow, both designed by Eduardo Baraf and Keith Matejka. with art by Dustin Foust, Sebastian Koziner, and Helen Zhu, and published by Pencil First Games. In Maul Peak, one player takes on the role of the Grizzars, a tribe of bears with various abilities, while the other player takes on the role of a titan. A towering behemoth, emerging from its lair to lay waste to the land. Feeding into the asymmetry, Maul Peak features 4 different titans to play as, each one having their own abilities, victory conditions, and maps for the Grizzars to climb on. Not to mention an excellently sculpted giant wooden token, unique to each titan.
A druid and its spirit companion face off against Sabaso
The gameplay is simple. One player takes actions (usually by playing a card) until they’ve reached their action limit. They draw new cards and the other player does pretty much the same. Most of the actions each player can do is based on the cards they have in their hand. For the Grizzars, the cards will have you moving on the 3×3 map, leaping from the ground onto the monster (moving your meeple from the ground map onto the titan map), preforming melee attacks to damage the beast, and gaining rage tokens, which can be used in a myriad of ways, but perhaps most importantly, for summoning more Grizzars to the battlefield.
The titans, on the other hand, are much more varied. Saboso freezes characters, and can imprision them within his chest. The giant spider Veblyn lays webs, forcing the Grizzars to discard cards to escape her sticky traps. Quagra is a four-headed hydra who turns the Grizzars against themselves. Each of these titans have their own, unique decks of cards, and force the Grizzar player to adapt their strategy based on the monster they’re facing.
The goal for both players is to defeat the other, by either fully damaging every appendage of the titan, or wiping the map of all Grizzar tokens, although the titans do have an extra win condition, unique to the titan that you’re playing as. The variability is impressive, as the four titans all feel like different challenges to overcome, and you can and should swap sides to experience each titan from both sides of the conflict. If you happen to own Skulk Hollow too, then it’s exponentailly more variable, as the Grizzars can take on the titans from Skulk Hollow, and these beasts can challenge the Foxen too.
I personally found the rulebook a little hard to get through. There were these helpful little boxes all over the pages letting you know how Maul Peak differs from Skulk Hollow, which I imagine would have been incredibly useful, if I were at all familiar with that game. But i wasn’t so I kept on stumbling over the boxes and ended up with several rule questions as I sat down to my first game. There was enough ambiguity to cause confusion, which is a shame for a game as rules-light as this. I will say that once we got through that initial learning curve, the gameplay was pretty smooth. Take your actions, pass to the other player. They take their actions, play passes back to you.
Maul Peak is much more tactical than strategic. What you can do is heavily limited by the cards you have in your hand. There are moments where you have a window of opportunity to further your objective, but if you aren’t holding the right card, you might just be up the creek without a paddle. The titan player starts off intimidatingly powerful, but once a Grizzar starts putting a dent into some of its abilities, as once you fill a titan appendage with blue hearts, they can no longer use the associated ability, suddenly the titan’s deck is full of dead cards.
There are lots of moments in Maul Peak that feel like a war of attrition. Saboso deals one damage to the bears. The bears leap, leap, and do a melee action for one damage. Saboso wacks the bear off, dealing one more damage. The bears summon a new character with a full health bar, leap up and damage Saboso for 2, disabling its whack ability. Saboso mends the whack ability and then whacks the bear off, dealing one more damage. Again, it’s tactical, if you have the cards you need, you can slowly progress your goals, as can the other player. I rarely felt like there were a ton of choices to be had, though, as the optimal option was often very apparent. After a couple of rounds like the one above, the turn to turn gameplay can feel very repetitive.
It is exciting, as the game comes to a close, however. If you’re down to one bear token left, and the titan has a mere two hearts remaining. Who will draw the correct cards first? Did you make the right call to destroy the grey bear earlier in the game, or should you have smote the green one from the map instead? The decision you made 15 minutes ago has suddenly come back to bite you in the butt.
If he can’t whack me, I’m safe on his body!
Maul Peak is a good game, even if it doesn’t quite muscle its way to the front of an already crowded two-player shelf. Its production is excellent: the titan meeples are striking table presences, the artwork sells both menace and personality, and the Grizzars’ Brother Bear meets fantasy adventuring party vibe is oddly charming. The asymmetry is the real hook here, and the four titans do a lot of heavy lifting in keeping the experience fresh, especially if you’re willing to swap sides and see how differently each matchup plays out.
That said, Maul Peak is a fairly simple, highly tactical affair. Your options are often wholly dictated by the cards in your hand, and while the push and pull of attrition can be tense at times, it can also drift into repetition once you’ve seen the core loop a few times. Still, at around 45 minutes, it rarely overstays its welcome, and its straightforward rules makes it an approachable entry point into asymmetric conflict games. If you’re looking for a beautifully produced, head-to-head duel that emphasizes short term adaptation over long-term planning, Maul Peak is well worth the climb.
Every so often, a game comes along that defies expectation. Upon first encounter, you’ll think, “that’s it? What’s even the point?”. You’ll try to hide your skepticism, as some people call it genius. The Mind is one of those games. It’s a cooperative card game, but it feels more like a social experiment. It’s part telepathy, part tension, part collective panic attack. And somehow, it’s wonderful.
I remember hearing about The Mind after it’s first debut at Essen. All the reviewers and podcasts I listened to were raving about this game. I looked up the rules and thought I must have the wrong game. The rules could fit on a bar napkin. Everyone gets a few cards numbered 1–100, and you all need to play them in ascending order. The catch? No talking. No hints, no gestures, no eyebrow wiggles (at least not intentionally). You just… feel when it’s your turn. It sounds laughably thin. In the abstract, you’re silently sorting cards. It sure doesn’t sound engaging.
But then when you do engage with the game, some magic builds. After that first awkward round of silent hesitation, people start to tune in to each other. A rhythm emerges. The tension builds. Someone slowly reaches for their card, and everyone collectively holds their breath. The player moves slowly, thinking, “There’s an 18 on the table and I have a 38. Surely someone else has to have something in between?”. But when it’s right, the entire table exhales in relief. When it’s wrong by one number, the groans are primal.
We recently brought The Mind to my brother-in-law’s place for Christmas, where it became an instant hit. Within minutes, the quiet kitchen table was full of screams. Joy, frustration, triumph, defeat, all wrapped together. We’d cheer like we’d won the Stanley Cup if we managed a perfect round, and howl when we lost by just two cards one point apart. There was one holdout, however. My brother-in-law had wandered by, scoffed, and dismissed the idea out of hand. His wife tried to explain the rules, and he waved it off: “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Just think high and count backwards until you play your card.” “If it’s so easy, join in!” we challenged.
Two hands later, he was laughing harder than the rest of us. The Mind has that power, it turns skeptics into believers.
It’s also one of the funniest unintentional comedy games I’ve ever played. Once, we were playing with someone who was a little too stoned. Everyone sat in perfect concentration, waiting for their moment to strike. The inebriated person played their 30. A pause. Then, they played the 36. Another pause, eye contact. Then they played the 40. Then they looked at the last card in their hand and said, “Oh no. I have the 38 in my hand.” We completely fell apart laughing. It killed the round, but nobody cared, moments like that are the whole point of playing games.
For me, that’s why The Mind works where so many bigger games don’t. It’s not about the cards, or the rules, or proving your mental superiority. It’s about the people. It’s about reading micro-reactions, guessing intentions, and celebrating failure as much as success. Somehow, sorting a 100 card deck creates pure drama. You don’t play The Mind for strategy. You play it for the shared silence, the tension, and the explosion of laughter when someone ruins everything.
Not everyone will love it. We tried to introduce it to one player, and he just absolutely did not get it. Didn’t get the concept, didn’t get the rules, completely fumbled at the lack of structure. It turns out that some people will hate the vagueness or feel silly “concentrating” at the start of each round. That’s fine. The Mind only truly sings when everyone at the table buys in. But when it clicks, it’s magic.
This review is based off my plays on Board Game Arena. If I play it in person in the future and my opinions change, I’ll be sure to amend this review.
I’m a sucker for a good theme, and there are few themes that connect with me better than Movie theatres. Back in my early adulthood, a combination of sudden disposable income and lack of post secondary educational prospects, I saw almost every movie that hit the theatres that summer. Popcorn, designed by Maxime Demeyere and published by Iello, embraces the theme of running your own movie theatre, complete with spoof-filled movie posters, and I’m here for it.
Even before I knew how it played, I wanted to play it. When it popped up on Board Game Arena, the cartoon art and cheeky parodies of blockbuster films had me grinning before I’d even looked at the rules. At its heart, Popcorn is about efficiency through bag-building. You start with a small mix of generic and coloured meeples, who make up your initial offering of loyal moviegoers. Each round, you’ll draw from your bag, fill your seats, and activate bonuses from both the seats and the movies, if you manage to get the colours to sync up. Those bonuses will see you earning coins, hooking new customers, and popping the titular popcorn, which count as victory points.
The gameplay loop is simple but satisfying. During the pre-show phase, you can buy new movies to fill your theatres, replace the seats in your three theatres, and activate promotion tokens, which allow you to fill your bag with more meeples, either from the supply, or directly from your opponent’s discard piles. During the movie phase, you assign your meeples to seats, then activate each theatre, getting the bonuses I described above. After nine rounds, the player with the most popcorn wins, with bonus awards for everyone’s secret award cards, and some bonus points for the player who spent the most money on their theatre.
One mechanic that I found interesting was that in-between your showings, your movies slowly expire. You slide a little audience token up the side of the movie, covering actions from the bottom up. This encourages you to swap out an old film to keep your theatre humming.
Also in-between the showings is your chance to buy one new film and one set of new seats for your theatre. The markets here are quite limited, 6 total films, and 9 seats. If the colours or actions you’re desperately seeking after one of your shows has it’s actions exhausted by time doesn’t show up, you’re really up the creek without a paddle.
Popcorn sits comfortably in the “light euro” category, generally rewarding good planning but never really punishing you for making a mistake or taking a slight gamble. The obvious star of the show is the bag building mechanic, which I’ve been a fan of every time I see it employed (see Automobiles and Orleans). In Popcorn, the bag building represents you curating your audience, trying to lean into one of the genres to maximize the number of actions you get during every showing. Of course, randomness plays a major role. A bad draw at the wrong time can kneecap your plans, leaving you poor going into a new round while your movies are quickly expiring. For players who prefer full control in their euros, that unpredictability may be a deal-breaker.
For a light euro game, Popcorn does have a surprising streak of mean-spiritedness. When the visitor supply runs out, players can “borrow” guests from each other’s theatres. And I say borrow, but the reality is that you’re wholesale stealing them. Likewise, if you draft last in a round, the options for new movies might be slim pickings, but at least the rotating first-player marker keeps things fair across the session.
That said, the luck factor is real. Money is tight, and one of my plays taught me that if you run out of cash, and don’t have a seat power to generate some, you are effectively out of the game. The award cards, while perhaps adding some replayability, can feel uneven. Some are straightforward and lead into natural engines, while others depend on some lucky draws or specific combination of theatres and guests. And while the shared market of films makes for fun tension, it does mean turn order can be everything. Sitting late in a round often means your best-laid plans are eaten alive by hate-drafting opponents.
Whatever mechanical complaints might exist, Popcorn nails its presentation. The artwork is an absolute standout, every movie card is a spoof of a real blockbuster, complete with witty taglines and tongue-in-cheek flavour text. Looking at pictures and videos of the physical production, The components themselves are just as charming. The first player token, a vintage popcorn bucket character that looks pulled right from the Steamboat Willy era of animation, is thematic perfection. The dual-layer theatre boards look to keep everything stable, and each player gets their own charming popcorn bucket to store their victory points.
There’s a sweetness to Popcorn that reminds me of games like Quacks of Quedlinburg or Cubitos. It’s light, colourful, and just a little bit unruly. You can teach it in five minutes, play it in an hour, and still have room for dessert afterward. But perhaps a bit like empty calories, while it was satisfying in the moment, there was little of substance that made me want to come back. Many modern euro games are great to play once, and I feel that Popcorn is one of those examples. It looks and plays great the first time you get it to the table, but there’s little there to pull me back in. The variability in gameplay comes from the movie market and award cards. The game feels the same every single time, and there’s precious little in the way of system mastery to be explored here. Just, hope the luck plays out in your favour.
Popcorn is the perfect game to play at a board game café. It has some clever ideas that are fun to explore, great humour in the cards, and the game doesn’t overstay it’s welcome. It doesn’t reinvent the bag-building mechanism, but it does manage to feel fresh right out of the box. It’s a good game to play once, especially if you have a particular fondness for the cinema.
