Reading the phrase “intertextual knowledge to subvert the player’s expectations” didn’t really mean much to me, until I played Frog Fractions. Not only does the game have nothing to do with fractions, but that’s just the beginning. There are layers of subversion that kept me on my toes, and others that simply didn’t make sense.
During the first 30 minutes of gameplay, I noticed the intentional lack of direct hints or tutorial style instruction. At first, I found this confusing, but it gradually made sense as a strategic choice fitting the genre of subversion. Initially, I kept tapping the controls and assumed the frog’s tongue could only extend a short distance. After some trial and error, I realized that holding down the button allowed for a longer reach. What I first saw as a communication failure turned out to be one of the many subversive elements in the game, and more were certainly on the way.
That said, fractions aren’t completely out of the picture. As the frog captures more insects, points are displayed using fractions and decimals. Even so, this mechanic felt arbitrary and confusing, and I’m still not sure if it serves a deeper purpose. There are also other terms like “fruit,” “indignity,” and “zorkmids,” whose functions remained unclear throughout my experience.
One moment that stood out was when I unlocked an upgrade. At first, I didn’t fully understand what had changed, but after some experimentation, I had a real “oh wow” reaction. For example, when I unlocked the ability to move the lily pad or target bugs more precisely, or when damaging colored balls suddenly started appearing, I found myself surprised and unsure of what to expect next. The randomness of the upgrades, and the lack of an obvious sequential logic, left me questioning whether any of it was supposed to feel cohesive.
There were moments when the subversion really hit me. One was when I accidentally pressed the down arrow and suddenly received infinite fruit. This was unexpected but oddly satisfying, even though I wasn’t sure what the fruit was ultimately for. Another moment was when the dragon suddenly launched into space, transforming the gameplay from catching bugs to dodging asteroids. I remember my eyes widening; I literally gasped.
There were also points that I simply didn’t understand. For instance, when I found myself in bug court and received a hearing and verdict, it felt entirely arbitrary. There was no clear logic to whether I was found guilty or innocent. Later, in class discussion, I learned this was a deliberate parody of games that pretend dialogue choices matter. Here, the illusion is stripped away: your choices don’t matter, even though they’re framed as though they do.
Later on, the game shifts again, forcing the player into a desk job involving repetitive typing and form-filling. This section felt mundane, and perhaps was meant as a commentary on the monotony and perceived insignificance of routine work.
So if you ask me how I feel about Frog Fractions, I’m honestly not sure. I’m still on edge, half-expecting to be subverted again. I never really felt a sense of coziness or accomplishment – the feelings I typically look for in a game. It was an interesting and thought provoking experience, though definitely not my go to genre.
