Luto is the kind of game that greets you with a firm, sweaty handshake and then locks you in a room with your unresolved trauma for several hours. It’s the debut outing from Broken Bird Games, and despite its name sounding like a poorly translated breakfast cereal, Luto is an impressively unnerving first-person psychological horror that deals with death, grief, and very disturbing bedsheets.
Gaming Heaven
First off, Luto nails its atmosphere with such commitment you’d think it had a mortgage on dread. The house you explore morphs like a fever dream after three espressos – hallways repeat, rooms invert, and staircases loop back on themselves in a way that says “sod your sense of direction.”
The horror is largely of the creeping variety – less “BOO!” and more “Did that shadow just move, or am I slowly losing my grip on reality?” It’s elegant, unsettling, and rarely feels cheap. The bedsheet ghosts sound like something from a children’s party, but when one bolts at you down a pitch-black corridor, you’ll rethink your stance on linen-based lifeforms.
The visuals are properly gorgeous in that “everything-is-awful” sort of way. Photorealistic lighting and impressive textures bring the house – and its emotional rot – to life.
Gaming Hell
The puzzles range from “mildly cryptic” to “might need a PhD in existential dread.” It occasionally feels like the game expects you to read its mind, then criticises you for failing. The narrative also tries to juggle introspective trauma and meta-horror. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it feels like two games trapped in the same cardigan.
Final Judgement
Despite its occasional tonal tug-of-war and a few puzzles that demand clairvoyance, Luto is an ambitious, chilling, and visually stunning meditation on grief. It’s like grief therapy: confusing, haunting, and you’ll probably come out of it with a flashlight. Recommended.
