Disney has always been there to serve as comforting entertainment. As kids, it gave us a chance to escape into a fantastical world with catchy songs. There were darker moments, but good always won out in the end. When you watch these films as an adult, there are deeper meanings, but there’s always positivity and joy to be found in every animated feature. The birth of the company came from the creation of Mickey Mouse, and his warm and jolly appearance is now public domain, and Bad Cheese abuses that comfort in terrible ways.
The house of mouse was built on happiness and family. A multi-million dollar organisation built by trips to Disneyland, myriad of cartoons on the silver screen, and endless merchandise. We can all enjoy what Disney has given to us with the ones we love, but what happens when broken homes and unstable childhoods are the basis of a Steamboat Willie nightmare? Bad Cheese has some deeply disturbing themes at its heart, and it’s that dichotomy of trauma and Disney magic which makes it so unsettling.
Solo-developer Simon Lukasik has built something creepy and simplistic. The art style of 1920s cartoons has always had an heir of weirdness, and it’s what makes Bad Cheese unsettling. Horror is subjective, so depending on what you expect, this might not tick all the boxes. There’s no gore or environments built straight from nightmares. That terror comes from being grounded in an unwelcomed reality – from abuse – and it’s those ties to sadness that leaves you feeling uncomfortable.
In terms of its gameplay, Bad Cheese is a first-person psychological horror. You’re a young mouse who is left at home while his mother is away. You have to clear the house and keep it tidy because you want to keep your father happy. You’re tasked with tidying beer bottles, washing the pots, clearing spider webs, and other chores, using a variety of gadgets to get these jobs done. That impending fear of what will happen if you don’t is what provides the fear in those initial moments. You know something’s coming, and it’s only a matter of time.
Occasionally, you’ll have to fight off creatures, but they don’t scare you in the slightest. Movement is clunky, and there’s no satisfaction from fighting them off. Early on, I was swatting bugs and it was almost impossible to tell if I was hitting them. One of them even got stuck on top of the refrigerator and wouldn’t come down, leading me to restart the game to be able to progress. The design of these weird creatures and uncanny valley versions of pre-war cartoons help add to the uneasiness, but they certainly aren’t scary in the obvious sense.
There are collectibles to find, and there’s food scattered around the house which you can eat. This food doesn’t serve to regain health. I’m fairly sure you can’t lose health when attacked. Stuffing sausages and potato chips into your mouth is more symbolic for finding comfort in eating as a coping mechanism. As Fat Bastard from Austin Powers in Goldmember once said, “I eat because I’m unhappy and I’m unhappy because I eat.” These little touches help you to appreciate the story, albeit with a stone in your stomach.
Unfortunately, Bad Cheese fails when it tries to be a horror. Jump scares are frequent but never work. I much preferred it when I was left feeling the tension from the impending return of the father. That slow-burning sensation left me tense. When I was face-to-face with the gamey moments that tried to scare me, I was hoping to get through them so I could see where the rest of the story took me. As far as the environment and aesthetic goes, this was what made me the most terrified.
Bad Cheese has some smart ideas when it comes to its gameplay. You’re given plenty of tools to clean up the house. Later sections also offered different things to do, but it was the story that left me on edge. The themes of domestic abuse and alcoholism weren’t subtle by any means. It was how rooted in reality while playing as a recognisable family mouse that made it so creepy. It’s definitely worth playing just to experience the wonderful work Simon Lukasik has put into his own brand of horror.