With my ancient LCD and tiny PS2, a band of grubby duct tape still clinging to the save card, the conditions were as authentic as you can get more than a decade after the fact. Emulators of the game do exist, and playthroughs of Rule of Rose are on YouTube, but they betray some of the game’s original visuals and awkward combat, brightening its palette and detaching the fixed camera. I dug up an old 15 inch LCD slim panel TV I bought in 2005 and dragged it and my PlayStation 2 into my bedroom, where I balanced both on my breakfast tray to enjoy while reclining in bed. Which there is-at least three people popped up to offer me their copy).Ĭurious to see if the game‘s cult status has any merit, I recently decided to play Rule of Rose, under similar conditions as I might have experienced when it was released. Combined with the game’s limited release, it’s made Rule of Rose something of a commodity, with used copies still commanding $200 or more on reseller sites (leading me, in pursuit of this article, to ask on social media if there were some sort of games community lending program for Rule of Rose. This, of course, has produced a sort of Barbara Streisand effect there’s nothing like a strict taboo to pique curiosity. Originally developed by the now-defunct Punchline, it was published by Sony Japan and later distributed by Atlus in other regions, leading to a ban in England due to rumors of the game’s violent and sexual content. In videogames, this holds true for Rule of Rose, a 2006 PlayStation 2 title that still surfaces on “best of horror game” lists across the internet, despite its scarcity. There are many reasons why a piece of entertainment might reach cult status many have a diamond in the rough quality that, combined with an inaccessibility and good word of mouth, cultivates an irresistible, almost Pandora’s box like draw, motivating people to seek it out despite, or perhaps because of, its flaws. There’s something almost forbidden about the appeal of a cult classic.
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