Hirogami Review: A World Beautifully Folded, but Roughly Played

When I first booted up Hirogami, I was immediately taken aback by how gorgeous it looked. Everything in Papyrunia, from the trees to the enemies, is folded like origami. Screenshots really don’t do it justice once the camera pans across a field of paper grass swaying, or you see a boss unravel into crumpled scraps, you get this sense that the developers poured everything into making the game feel handcrafted. As someone who has played platformers for years, I can say confidently that I’ve never seen another game with this exact vibe. But while Hirogami nails its look, the question I kept asking myself as I played was: Does it play as well as it looks? That’s where things get a little more complicated.

Transformations

The central mechanic is Hiro’s ability to transform into different origami animals: an armadillo, a frog, and an ape. On paper (pun intended), this system is fantastic. The armadillo rolls and smashes, the frog leaps and bounces, and the ape brings raw power. Early on, I was constantly swapping forms and felt like the game really wanted me to experiment. But as the hours went on, I found myself leaning heavily on the armadillo spin. It’s simply more reliable in both combat and traversal. The frog’s jumps, while flashy, sometimes left me overshooting platforms because of the camera, and the ape just felt too slow for how quickly enemies swarm. Instead of feeling like a toolbox of balanced options, the forms felt lopsided, and that cut into the fun.

Platforming

Platforming is the backbone here, and as someone who grew up on Crash Bandicoot and Banjo-Kazooie, I know when it feels right. Hirogami gets close but doesn’t quite nail it. The level design itself is creative swinging platforms, collapsing bridges, and puzzles that ask you to switch forms mid-run, but the controls don’t always keep up. More than once, I lined up a jump, pressed at the right time, and still slipped off the edge because of floaty movement or the fixed camera. When I missed a leap, it often felt like the game’s fault rather than mine. That’s a huge difference. In a good platformer, failure motivates you to try again; here, it sometimes just made me sigh. That said, when everything did come together rolling as the armadillo through spikes, immediately swapping to frog, and sticking a long jump to land on a tiny paper platform, it felt amazing. Those moments show the potential that Hirogami has, even if it doesn’t always reach it consistently.

Combat

Combat isn’t the main draw, but it pops up enough that it matters. The problem is that it rarely evolves. Most enemies go down with a couple of hits, and the best strategy is usually to spin through them like an armadillo. The frog and ape moves just don’t feel as fluid, so why bother? Bosses are a bit better. They use the environment in creative ways, like forcing you to roll under waves of paper projectiles or leapfrog over collapsing terrain. Still, even bosses are more spectacle than substance once you figure out the pattern, they go down without much resistance. After about five hours of play, I realized I was going through the motions in combat rather than actually looking forward to it. That’s not a great sign in a game that sprinkles fights throughout every level.

Story

The story is light, almost to a fault. You play as Hiro, tasked with purifying shrines to restore balance to the land. Along the way, you meet spirits and allies who offer encouragement, but don’t expect much depth. Personally, I didn’t mind the simplicity; it let the visuals and platforming challenges take center stage. But if you’re the type of player who needs strong characters and emotional stakes, this one won’t stick with you. The plot is more of a framework than an actual narrative, and I found myself forgetting the details the second I closed the game.

Atmosphere

What I will never forget is the feel of Papyrunia. The soundtrack is subtle but perfect, mixing soft strings and woodwinds that give the world a fragile, almost sacred vibe. I loved how the sound effects leaned into the paper them, the enemies collapsing into crumples, Hiro snapping into a new form with a satisfying fold. Combined with the visuals, it creates an atmosphere unlike anything I’ve played before. Even when the gameplay annoyed me, I kept playing just to see what the next area looked like. That’s rare.

Replayability

Each level has optional challenges, beating it without damage, finding hidden chests, and finishing under a time limit. These add some replay value, but I’ll be honest: I didn’t feel motivated to 100% the game. The platforming just isn’t consistent enough to make flawless runs satisfying. Instead of thinking, “I’ll get it next time,” I often thought, “Do I really want to fight the camera again?” That said, I can see completionists enjoying the extra layer of difficulty, especially if they’re more forgiving of the controls than I am.

Real Talk

So here’s where I land after finishing Hirogami. It’s not a bad game by any means; in fact, it’s one of the most visually striking indie platformers I’ve played in years. But visuals alone don’t carry a game. The uneven platforming controls and shallow combat left me more frustrated than satisfied. I see Hirogami as a game with a brilliant concept and uneven execution. I don’t regret my time with it; the artistry alone made it worth playing, but I can’t pretend it stands shoulder to shoulder with the greats of the genre. It’s a paper world worth unfolding once, but maybe not one I’ll be rushing to revisit.

FINAL SCORE: 65/100