I’ve always had a soft spot for shooters that don’t pretend to be anything more than pure, rhythmic action. Platypus Reclayed returns after over two decades, and is still a blueprint for the genre. It’s a claymation shmup, rebuilt from scratch, with freshly crafted visuals, new weapons, and modern sensibilities. It knows its lane.
What you see is handcrafted clay brought to life in motion, and it’s gorgeous. Every layer feels like a true work of art with foregrounds blur, mid-planes shift, enemies pop with weight. The renewed aesthetic isn’t just nostalgia with polish; the team re-photographed models, reprogrammed everything. The effect is that Reclayed feels like the Platypus you remember, but on par to modern hardware.
The loop and flow
The core loop is simple, effective: fly, dodge, shoot, survive, upgrade. You pilot your Platypus ship across stages, picking up power-ups, facing waves, bosses, and environmental hazards. It’s classic but not archaic. The pace feels calibrated: early waves let you ease in, but soon everything escalates. Spread shots, homing weapons, bombs, and special pickups come into play, layering your options rather than introducing complexity for the sake of it.
Enemies are designed to contrast some slow hulks, others fast swarms, some that trail projectiles, others that explode in arcs. You learn their patterns, and each stage mixes them to keep you guessing. Bullet clarity is important in a game like this, and Reclayed largely succeeds. Even in crowded screens, shots are visible, contrast is maintained, and the clay aesthetic doesn’t obscure danger. That said, sometimes the layering foreground blur and shadows can mask distant threats or small bullets if you’re not paying attention.
Power-ups are fleeting but meaningful. Many are temporary boosts, forcing you to adapt. Your ship feels perishable one slip, and you’re paying for it. That risk-reward tension keeps you sharpened. The design doesn’t overload you with mechanics; it builds on the familiar and trusts you to find flow.
Difficulty and accessibility
This is not an easy ride. Reclayed assumes you love patterns, repetition, and quick corrections. But there’s care here: adjustable difficulty, checkpointing, and moments of respite. For a shooter, those design touches matter.
One friction point is that early variety can feel limited and certain waves reuse their structure a bit too closely. That fatigue creeps in, especially if you marathon through stages. But the polish and pacing often carry you through before it becomes an issue.
Visuals and atmosphere
This is where Reclayed really shines. Clay models, photographed in high detail, with painstaking textures: cracks, fingerprints, tactile edges. The background scrolls, the lighting shifts, the foreground softens. All of it works to draw you in. The original visual charm was always Platypus’s calling card; Reclayed doesn’t just preserve it, it enhances it.
Because the visuals are so strong, any technical hiccup becomes more noticeable. On Switch 2, performance holds up in most sections, though heavy screens can push it slightly. In handheld mode, darker backgrounds can occasionally swallow smaller bullets, demanding a little more focus. Still, the overall experience is smooth and visually captivating.
Sound and music play their part perfectly. The soundtrack leans into retro synth textures without sounding stuck in the past. Explosions, shots, and ambient hums all carry a physical sense of impact. It’s as if the soundscape itself was sculpted alongside the visuals.
Weaknesses and quirks
Despite its strengths, Reclayed isn’t flawless. The early stages and some enemy types feel predictable, almost template-driven. I wanted more surprise mid-game. A few bosses rely too much on endurance rather than clever design testing patience more than reflex.
Because so much visual weight rests on the clay aesthetic, certain scenes lose contrast. Foreground shadows sometimes steal attention from projectiles. The game rarely becomes unfair, but it occasionally punishes you for its own beauty.
Finally, while the rework is lovingly done, Reclayed doesn’t push beyond familiarity. If you crave reinvention, this is more refinement than revelation. But in a genre that thrives on feel, that might be enough.
Conclusion:
Platypus Reclayed is more than a remake. It’s a respectful resurrection. It doesn’t chase trends or gimmicks; it just asks whether something simple, physical, and handmade can still feel thrilling. It turns out it can. It’s an accessible yet demanding shooter or players who love precision, rhythm, and craft. The repetition is there, but so is the reward. The clay aesthetic gives it soul; the gameplay keeps it grounded.
