It’s Alive Review

Way back in my youth, when I was a proud owner of a Commodore 64 in a world full of chump-change Spectrum 48k losers, I had a great affection for a little-known game called Mad Doctor. It wasn’t the best game in the world, to be honest, but it had more atmosphere than ten of your Gears of War type efforts. (I’m probably talking shit here. Nostalgia will do that.)

He was always hungry and thirsty, this bald bastard.

The game saw you skulking around a village, stealing corpses. You’d cut dead criminals down from the gallows – which is every young boy’s fantasy, despite what the reactionary British right-wing press will tell you. Then you’d be chased back to your castle by the villagers and you’d animate a corpse and it would be extremely ungrateful and murder you. And at the start of the game you’d always get confused over whether you use joystick or keys. Or both at the same time. And that’s pretty much it. Oh, and you get hungry and thirsty far too often, meaning you’d walk really slowly and eventually die if you couldn’t find an apple. It was rubbish.

It was superb.

It’s Alive, from Reiver Games, is a game with THAT VERY THEME. Get bits of dead people, build a monster, bring it to life. It differs from Mad Doctor in that it is superb without being rubbish at the same time.

Body parts strewn everywhere. Like Glasgow's Sauchiehall Street at three in the morning.

The interesting thing is that the game, designed by Yehuda Berlinger, wasn’t always about the desecration of graves and the abominable blaspheming of the dead. It was originally about candles. Called The Menorah Game, it was the very same gameplay experience. The very same. But here’s the beauty of a clever re-theme. Now it’s about monsters. And monsters beat candles any day of the week. Well, unless you’re planning a romantic bath with your partner – monsters floating in the bathtub might kill the mood somewhat.

Anyway. Here’s how it plays.

It’s a set-collection game with auctions flung into the mix. A genre I like to call “Set-Collauction.” (I will point out that no-one else on Earth likes to call it this.)

Each player gets a beautifully illustrated screen, behind which he will dabble in profane knowledge, or ASSEMBLE WEE CARDS REPRESENTING BITS OF A MONSTER. Each player also receives a little pile of starting coins. A stack of cards is placed in the middle of the table. At the start of each player’s turn, he draws a card and turns it face-up in the middle. The card will usually display a body part, with a number in the corner representing the value of the part. The player can then either BUY that card for the whole value, SELL that card for half its value in coins, or begin an auction for the card by making a bid. If you win the auction, you might get the card cheap. If you lose in the auction, the winner pays you, and you might get more than you would have earned if you sold it. The screen means that no-one else can see how far along your monster is, or how much money you have. That’s the meat of the game right there.

The pack also contains Coffin cards, which are wild cards that can be used to fill any slot on your monster. They’re expensive, and very desirable. Just like real life, everyone loves a coffin. And then there are the Villager Uprising cards. These cards must be “paid off” with money or, disaster of disasters, parts from your monster.

MAD DOCTOR: (From window) “Sorry for being evil, fine villagers! Now take this money and fuck off.”

ANGRY VILLAGER: “Okay. Thanks. See you next week!”

One more neat mechanic: parts that you sell are ditched into your ‘graveyard’, which is a discard pile in front of your screen. Other players can pay to send evil men to your graveyard to retrieve the top card from that pile and bring it into play. Therefore, you need to be sure of what you’re ditching. One man’s severed arm trash is another man’s severed arm treasure. Or something.

It’s a very simple game, and very easy to teach, but it’s a game full of choices. Let me confuse you with some of them.

Louise’s eyes move across the filthy creature that lies on her slab. It is almost complete. It needs only a brain and a heart, and then it will be free to marry her, because she loves it. To her right sits Joanne. She has drawn a delicious heart. Joanne eyes the heart. She peers over at Louise. “You need a heart, right?” Louise shrugs. Everyone else nods. Someone screams “LIAR! YES YOU DO!” It is Robert, who isn’t even playing, so should shut up.

Joanne ponders. Does she sell the heart? This would drop it in her graveyard. Could Louise afford to claim the heart from the graveyard? Has she been saving the pennies for her wedding day? Possibly. Too risky. Joanne’s thoughts turn to an auction. The heart is worth 8 coins. She is sure that Richard, sitting opposite, has a LOT of money. If she makes a bid of 5 coins, Louise will be forced to bid higher. Then, unless he wants Louise to get that heart, Richard would be forced to outbid everyone. Louise doesn’t get her heart, Richard gets a heart he doesn’t need, and Richard loses lots of coins.

“I bid 5,” Joanne smiles. Richard’s eyes widen.

“I bid 6,” says Louise. All eyes turn to Richard.

He looks at the pile of money behind his screen. Three coins. He’s broke. “I can’t…” he mutters.

A miscalculation. Louise greedily claims the heart, and at a bargain price too. She pays Joanne and stares down at her beautiful husband-to-be. A man without a brain.

“Soon, my darling,” she coos.

It’s Alive has just enough going on to never feel too frothy or silly, and just enough thematic silliness to never feel too dry. It sets up fast, it plays fast, and is one of those games where everything just sort of works. It’s a sweet 30 minutes, with the last ten minutes being a tense race to the finish, everyone constantly asking each other “You’re nearly finished, right? RIGHT?!” and getting prepared for the final insult.

The final, glorious insult: When you complete your monster, you shout “It’s Alive!”

If you play in a group like mine, those two words will be bellowed into people’s faces. Those two words will be screamed by a maniac who has leaped onto the table and is pumping his fists in the air, as phlegm flies from his twisted, dirty mouth. There is no sweeter climax to a board game than one that allows you to ROAR your victory into the pale, sickly faces of the maggots you’ve crushed underfoot.

“It’s ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!” You scream. And they smile, and pretend not to be bothered. When in reality they want you to die.

Buy this.