I've always identified myself as a gamer. Not the kind of gamer who yells in headsets or collects trophies -- but the existential kind who plays to survive everyday life. From my childish longing for a Stone of Jordan in Diablo II to my over a thousand hours in Call of Duty during lockdown, gaming has always been my free space. But when I became a father, gaming became something new. It became therapy. A sanctuary where I could sit with my son on my lap, controller in hand and feel that we were actually in sync for the first time that week. And then came Astro Bot.
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Disclaimer: Apropos Magazine received access or a review copy. As always, we share our own impressions — unfiltered.
Six stars
There is something almost poetic about that Astro Bot comes from PlayStation's own studio, Team Asobi. It's like Sony has looked over the horizon and said, 'Okay, Mario's been having fun for 30 years -- now it's our turn. ' And rather than emulate, they've created a tiny white and blue robot that feels like the soul of the PlayStation, wrapped up in a game that exudes joy, finesse and artisanal perfection.
The story? It's there. Something about an evil green alien stealing your PS5 and scattering its components across the galaxy. You have to rescue your little Astro friends and at the same time repair your console. Classic “save the world” setup. But honestly -- I didn't pay much attention. I was too preoccupied with watching my three-year-old son sit with his mouth open and tears in his eyes when we first rescued a component and brought the injured PlayStation to life. That moment was bigger than the story itself.
The thing that does Astro Bot to something special, is the way it uses the controller. After all, the PlayStation 5's DualSense is a small wonder in itself, and Team Asobi has managed to make it the protagonist. You have to breathe, shake, swipe, tap and tilt — and every single time it feels fun, intuitive and just silly enough for even a three-year-old to join in. There are no frustrations. No menus. No “tap here to change control zone”. It's just pure play.
And that's where, Astro Bot hits something that few games do: It feels like childhood in game form.
Each course feels like a new way to play the game. A new trick. A new gimmick. You gain abilities that change the whole experience -- sometimes you're flying, other times you're swimming, and suddenly you're a spring with a helmet pounding yourself in the head to jump higher. It sounds stupid, and it is stupid. But it's also brilliant.
It feels like a game created by someone who really loves making games. Not as the product of a marketing rally, but as a love letter to everything PlayStation has ever been. One rescues characters and characters from across Sony's universe: Spider-Man, Kratos, Nathan Drake, Ratchet & Clank, Spyro — you name it. And every time you do, your inner geek jumps a little higher.
My son told me to unlock everything. “Father, who is that man with the sword?” he asked. “It's Cloud, honey.”
And at that moment I understood that I was in the process of passing on my own cultural heritage to him — through a game of robots and rainbows.
I don't know how Team Asobi does it, but everything knows Astro Bot feels... easy. Not simple, but easy. There's a rhythm to it. A harmony. The music, the colors, the movements — everything is connected in a choreography in which even the enemies seem happy to participate. And although at its core the game is a classic 3D platformer, it never feels predictable.
It is a game that bythat you sit in the living room with your family. It's not afraid to be cuddly, silly or sentimental. It's just honest.
Boss fights are a party. The final battle (spoiler alert) gathers the whole family in front of the TV. One must bring Astro Bot back to life after he has sacrificed himself to save all the little robots he has freed through the galaxy. I looked at my son, who was sitting completely still with the controller in his hands. When the music built up and Astro got up again, all he said was: “Dad, he did it.”
It was one of those moments when you suddenly understand that gaming can be as much emotional resonance as a Pixar movie.
Graphically is Astro Bot an orgy of color. Each planet is a new little universe -- in some places it looks like a beach holiday in Japan, in other places it feels like an acid trip through a machine hall. The light, textures and sound side are so refined that you almost feel like licking the screen. It is the degree of detail where one understands why game development sometimes takes five years.
And then there's the sound. The music is like a mix of kids' hour and rave -- little tunes that get stuck like chewing gum in the brain. I woke up several mornings with Astro Bottheme on the brain, and my son sang along in the car. It's on the borderline where it's equal parts sweet and psychotic.
But nothing is perfect.
I won't lie: the extra “challenge levels” are a nightmare. It's as if the developers suddenly remembered that there exist adult men with far too much free time, and decided to punish them. The difficulty level increases from cozy Sunday game to Dark Souls at child height. I watched YouTube tutorials, read guides, and after ten attempts on the same course I was sitting with sweaty palms and a son who said: “Dad, why are you getting mad at the robot?”
There I had to breathe and think: OK, this isn't about winning. It's about being together.
When the credits are running and you've saved every little friend, you're not just done with a game — you've got an experience that feels like a small part of your family history.
For me is Astro Bot not just a game. It's a memory. A memory of my son on my lap, the laughter, the cheering, and the feeling that the two of us -- just for a moment -- were on the same planet.
Reflection:
There are games you play. And then there are games to remember. Astro Bot belongs to the latter category. It's the kind of experience you can measure childhood in: a father and son, a TV, a controller, and a little robot saving the world -- not because he has to, but because it feels right.
That's perhaps the most beautiful thing games can do: make you forget you're playing.
