Chicken Hunt sees the player assume the role of a humble chicken-herd in the upper Caucasus region, scouring the piti- fully rendered Soviet landscape in search of two hundred missing hens. The task is arduous, the gameplay is sparse and un- eventful. Critic Alexander Mitchyanovka suggested that the game’s ‘stubborn refus- al to become anything even remotely close to enjoyable’ ingeniously resembles the ‘aching tedium of real life’, where the ‘be- lief in a better future is perpetually quelled by the crushing reality of the present.’ It is, however, worth noting that Mitchyanov- ka’s gloomy stance on ‘real life’ is often at- tributed to the fact that his own ‘real life’ was spent solely playing Chicken Hunt, locked in his estranged father’s hunting cabin.* He tragically died before finishing the game, having only succeeded in find- ing one chicken. I managed it in about forty five minutes.
*It is a matter of intellectual dispute as to whether Mitchyanovka was ever aware of being locked inside the cabin; some schol- ars suggest he never even tried to open the door, and others suggest he didn’t know it was a door, owing to the doorless nature of his favourite and only pastime. (See Komkachov’s heart-wrenching epic poem ‘No Door to My Heart’ for a refreshingly candid take on the subject.)
Next issue: Number Four - Prikly- ucheniva bravogo Kevka batrak (The Ad- ventures of Kevka the Good Farmhand)