Puyo Puyo x Tetris / Dopamine x Reflexion

Puyo Puyo Tetris is a game…
To talk about Puyo Puyo is to evoke…
The history of Tetris is sprawling, and it will take…

Oh, what the heck. Finding an angle for this article seemed impossible. Why? Why even talk about Puyo Puyo Tetris? How do you approach a game that uses formulas that might seem worn out, mechanics that we’ve known since… 1984 for Tetris? Is there still anything to write about? Yes. Of course. The question is always how, from what angle, with what impact, and what reflection behind it… Unless, of course, that’s precisely the “problem.”

Before I elaborate, I need to tell you something. First of all, writing “I” in what I consider to be a press article is a form of heresy, for me, that is. An anomaly born of a formatting that none of the journalists or editors are responsible for, mind you. Something very personal and at the same time very… educational? We are taught not to write “I” because it is not our opinion that counts, but the reflection we present… which is born of our opinion, our values, what makes us who we are. 

It’s a vicious circle, but that’s not the only reason. Behind the decision not to use “I” is also a desire to leave room for you to project yourself. An open door so that “this gameplay doesn’t suit me, as a tester/journalist” can be transformed into “the gameplay is like this, it will suit some people and not others, it suffers (or not) from a lack of optimization” or whatever else. It’s up to you to form your own opinion, take the information and do with it what you will. Of course, no one is fooled. Objectivity does not exist (with all due respect to some of my students)…

Okay, okay, but what does this have to do with Puyo Puyo Tetris? I’m getting to that. If I’m honest with myself, I know why I struggled so much to find an angle for this article: it’s because I always want (and perhaps need) to link my writing to a broader reflection, to a specific angle, to place it within something that is close to my heart or that advances a kind of collective reflection. It’s something between me and myself. I know I’m putting pressure on myself over nothing, but what can I say? I can’t help it. 

I write reviews with the aim of advising you whether or not to buy a game. I write analyses to expand on a game’s themes (hello Home Sweet Home, The House and Blue Prince!). I conduct interviews to enlighten you and help you discover new things… I love sharing, telling stories, and dumping information on anyone who’s willing to listen.

But then, with a game like Puyo Puyo Tetris, what could I possibly write about? What is the purpose behind this game? A relevant analysis of these saturated color screens, of this gameplay that we’ve known for so long? Will I have anything intelligent to tell you?

What if that’s the problem?

Puyo-pamine

In my eagerness to analyze, I forgot to play. Or rather, I play “for myself,” without sharing my gaming pleasures anywhere other than in conversations on social media or with friends. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that my articles could also reflect the dopamine rush and immediate satisfaction that this type of game can give me. 

And if I’m talking about it today, it’s because I think it’s also a bigger problem. I’m not saying we should stop intellectualizing everything, on the contrary. We need these reflections, these games that push us to think and see things differently. These games that allow us to fight against the rise of fascism, to make revolution, to make us think about our representations and our choices. 

But we also need to do nothing. To put our brains in a corner of the room, let the little hamster of anxiety run alone in its wheel, and hold on to nothing but the pleasure of immediate dopamine. The satisfaction of seeing the cubes stack up just right to form a line, a group of colors, against a backdrop of high-energy pop-electro music. 

And that’s exactly what Puyo Puyo Tetris offers. A break from our thoughts, a pause that requires reflexes, that calls on both muscle memory and memories of arcade gameplay from yesteryear, almost a rush of nostalgia, even for those who never experienced the neon-lit arcades of yesteryear. 

Is that really all we ask of it?

The philosophy of the arcade machine

In a way, Puyo Puyo Tetris calls for a break. We want to score points, to beat the opponent who isn’t necessarily playing the same game as us (one person might be playing Puyo Puyo while the other is playing Tetris). We want to throw penalties at them as we manage to make lines or groups, in short, to “tidy up” our playing space. Speed, satisfaction of a job well done, we even forget the hackneyed aesthetics of schoolgirls in miniskirts… Yes, there’s a lot to be said about that too.

But you can’t see anything anymore. With the controller in your hand, all that matters is the rectangle that ultimately occupies only a third of the screen: your playing area. Let your opponent (AI or the person next to you on the couch) fill their screen alone. You’re going to beat them. I’m going to beat them. I’m going to stack those pieces, unlock the score, release the dopamine, forget my brain still sitting there in the corner of the living room.

I wanted to drop everything, to keep stacking things in my bubble… A bit like when I discovered A Little to the Left, a highly satisfying game of tidying up and placing objects in different orders, but just as “dopamine-releasing.” Or when I opened this book this weekend, which finally gave me a way to write this article: L’art de lancer des choses (The Art of Throwing Things), by the Comité des bons conseils, published by Les Bricoles, dedicated “To the pebbles of the Drôme, the best” (and if you’re wondering, this book really does exist, but only in french, sorry).

I could go on and on. You could recount my frenzied sessions with myself, the scores I wanted to beat even though I had just achieved them. The art of sitting down for a few hours without thinking about anything other than the best way to hold my controller to be as effective as possible. 

And sometimes, that feels good. And for once, it made me want to write this editorial, this article that lays some groundwork for reflection (I can’t help myself) on our relationship with gaming, or even with this notion of “guilty pleasure.” Because deep down, I think that’s also what prevented me from writing this article until now. The “guilty pleasure” aspect of a game that doesn’t seem to offer much, a game of Tetris that we’ve known since 1984, a Puyo Puyo that revives my echolalia and whose gameplay we’ve also known for a long time.

Should we feel guilty for just wanting to score points or play a game without thinking too much? For writing more personal things, showing that this time, we’re putting ourselves into these articles? I don’t think so. Of course, this opens up other, deeper reflections, which belong in another dimension of articles and reports. 

But sometimes, I just want to forget about the world and relax. On Hades II, playing the basic brute who just wants to HIT; on a supercharged Tetris where the slightest mistake can bring new difficulties; on A Little to the Left, tidying things up on a screen rather than in my apartment. 

And I promise, as soon as I recharge my batteries, tomorrow or in an hour, I will resume my reflection and my struggle. I’ll analyze what makes this game a bridge between genres. Why another game pursues a science fiction reflection with roots that are more sprawling than they appear. What bothers a certain segment of the population is not being able to identify with a woman, but seeing no problem in playing a brick in a Lego game.