There's a melancholy to Backbone. Like a stale perfume, it permeates everything – the environments, the weather, the dialogue, the music, the story, even the characters' names. It's not out of place, exactly, because at first it fits this pixel-perfect, "post-noir" detective tale, but later, when that tale takes an astonishing and inexplicable turn, it feels disingenuous. A long-con, even. Because what Backbone purports to be is very different to what it really is in the end.
Your life as PI Howard Lotor – a raccoon detective with the obligatory trenchcoat and a penchant for the dramatic – kicks off pretty much as you'd expect. He lives in a small, run-down apartment, unable to let a single thought pass through his mind without lacing it with a healthy dose of cynicism. His work – an endless parade of cheating husbands, apparently – is neither exciting nor inspiring, and Howie's keen for you to know exactly how unrewarding it is to him.
Despite its moodiness, though, Backbone's journey through dystopian Vancouver takes you to some truly stunning backdrops, painstakingly fashioned in stylish pixel art. Jogging up the street in Glanville, rain speckling the screen as neon reflections dance in pavement puddles, you can peer into the windows of the apartments stacked above the shops and offices along the main strip, watching as the creatures within eat or smoke, silhouetted against the flickering light of their TV sets. It's endlessly fascinating for a voyeur like me and – accompanied by a broody score and fantastic sound effects – it's testament to masterful world-building that successfully delivers a universe that feels authentic and relatable despite the anthropomorphic creatures lining the streets.
