
Umihara Kawase: Shun is the odd little platformer that asks one straightforward question: what happens when a sushi chef's recreational fishing line evolves into a full-time parkour tool? The sequel to the 1994 Super Famicom original, Shun moved the series to the PlayStation and into a mildly disorienting 3D side-on world. It kept the original's minimalist inputs and replaced subtle clarity with angled blocks, trading pixel-perfect platform edges for a delightfully springy rope and the constant feeling that gravity is a suggestion rather than a law. If you like your platformers with a side of physics homework and a garnish of surreal fish, this is the dish.
The core of Umihara Kawase games - and Shun is no exception - is gloriously simple on paper and infuriatingly deep in execution. The game is built from fields: enclosed areas full of static and moving platforms, ladders, spikes, and enough enemy sea-life to make you question whether the chef should have stuck to wasabi. Each field offers one or more exit doors, and each exit leads to another field deeper into the level tree. The goal is not a single linear path but finding one of multiple final exits, ideally while discovering clever shortcuts and optimised routes that will make speedrunners swoon. Controls are basic: run, jump, climb, and throw the fishing line. This line is Shun's entire personality. Throw it, hook it to almost anything, and you'll either swing, lower yourself, catapult into the stratosphere, or learn a new curse word while falling into spikes. In Shun the line's physics were adjusted from the Super Famicom original: it is generally shorter, more elastic, and bouncier - less 'floppy rope' and more 'spring disguised as cord'. That change brightens up the moveset but adds a new layer of unpredictability. Swing arcs feel springier, catapults are snappier, and perfecting moves like the one- and two-step rocket jumps becomes a matter of precise timing and stubborn practice. Fields are designed with complexity in mind. The PlayStation's 3D side-on presentation allowed designers to introduce angled and jutting blocks that the earlier 2D versions couldn't: lovely, cruel geometry that hides platform edges behind perspective trickery. Where the original was sometimes slowed down by struggling CPU cycles (a charming quirk that had players adjust strategies around frame drops), Shun enjoys clean performance on the PlayStation and trades occasional slowdown for sharper, if slightly less readable, visuals. The fishing line isn't just for travel. Hook an enemy and reel it in to stun or collect it; fish go into Kawase's pink rucksack, giving you points and the occasional extra life. The game is not about collecting 47 different trinkets - there are essentially no collectibles beyond 1-ups - it's about routes, mastery, and shaving fractions of seconds off your run. This lack of filler leaves the gameplay feeling concentrated and purposeful: every swing matters. Because the physics model is thoroughly uncompromising, you shouldn't expect to feel graceful straight away. Novices will flail. Veterans will discover how to exploit elasticity to catapult across entire fields. The payoff is the same either way: tiny, satisfying improvements that compound until you move through levels with the eerie confidence of someone who has learned to treat a fishing line like a small, temperamental missile. And fans of speedrunning will appreciate the multiple exits and the way optimised door routes can let a skilled player finish Shun in minutes. If Shun has a flaw from a gameplay standpoint, it's less a flaw and more a design choice that weeds out a casual audience: translating the rope's physicality into predictable movement requires time. The 3D angles that let designers craft more devious layouts also make it harder to instantly judge where a platform begins or ends. That uncertainty is part of Shun's personality; dislike it if you must, but know you are being offered challenge rather than convenience.
When the series left the Super Famicom and entered PlayStation territory, it took a left turn at the art station. Shun's graphics retain the series' fondness for unusual, often photographic backgrounds in some releases, but the PlayStation era chose a 3D side-on presentation that emphasizes angled, jutting blocks and layered geometry. The result is less 'clean retro sprite clarity' and more 'mildly mysterious platform architecture.' It's attractive in an odd, utilitarian way - like architecture made by someone who cares deeply about climbing routes but not about telling you where the ledges are. The hardware gains are clear: Shun doesn't suffer from the CPU-induced rope slowdown that occasionally hampered the Super Famicom original. The line physics feel responsive and lively, and animations are competent rather than showy. Character models and enemies are simple, with the game's personality coming from movement and level design rather than texture work. Purists who prefer the palette-rich Super Famicom backgrounds might miss the old charm, but the PlayStation version gives the rope a livelier feel, and that's the point. You don't buy Shun for haute cuisine visuals; you buy it so your chef can defy decorum and physics in equal measure.
Umihara Kawase: Shun is a niche classic that rewards patience, curiosity, and a willingness to be slightly mean to your reflexes. It made a conscious design choice: push the rope physics into springier territory and expand level geometry into the third dimension, then let players discover everything through trial, error, and eventual triumph. The result is a game that's at once maddening and addictive, perfectly suited to people who enjoy learning a system until it sings - and who enjoy being humbled by a sushi chef's grappling hook. If you want a forgiving, hand-holding platformer, Shun will politely hand you a fishing line and then point you toward a cliff. If you want a precise, physics-driven playground with multiple routes, neat speedrun potential, and the kind of weird charm that only a Japanese indie collaboration could muster, give it a try. The visuals won't steal awards, but the rope will steal your sleep. Score: 8.3/10 - it's clever, weird, and more fun than any reasonable person has a right to expect from a chef with a line and a grudge.