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Full disclosure: Warner Bros. sent me a free copy of Lego Harry Potter: Years 5-7 for this article.
The release of Lego Harry Potter: Years 5-7 has many parents breathing sighs of relief. In this holiday season of icky mature games involving war and blood and something called "Skyrimming," it's refreshing that developer Traveller's Tales is back with another safe, light-hearted title that promises fun for the whole family.
But is it, really?
The Lego games are immensely popular, and children all over the country are playing them. Clearly some sort of agenda exists, and once I figure out what it could possibly be, I will expose the whole twisted plot. All I know for sure is that a game that transports young players to a realm of pure fantasy and lets them have all the "fun" they want has to be up to something.
According to the Lego Shop website, "The game features lessons, spell-casting, dueling and much more for players of all ages to enjoy." If that's true, then how do they explain what happened when I sat down and played this wizard simulator with Matthew, my four-year-old nephew?
The first sign of trouble came before we had even started.
"Do you like Lego games?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
"Would you say that you're a Lego game expert?"
"Do you know what I beat? Lego Star Wars. Only I didn't get all of the guys open."
Why was he so desperate to change the subject? What was he trying to hide?
The game began innocently enough, with our characters walking around a children's playground. (We took turns going down the slide!) But in the next area we discovered that we couldn't move on without destroying an unknown person's car. Against my better judgment, I asked Matthew to make his character obliterate the vehicle with magic. The car erupted in a spectacular shower of Lego pieces. Matthew laughed.
"That was cool," he said.
Soon, Matthew discovered that he could unleash Harry Potter's arcane powers upon other objects in the environment -- namely, me.
"You shot me with magic," I said after a savage assault sent my character flying through the air.
"I was trying to shoot that plant," he offered. But I doubted it had truly been an accident.
The next level had us flying on broomsticks. I didn't see much potential for disaster...until we passed a large Ferris wheel.
"Oh!" Matthew said, and immediately launched a salvo of magical attacks at it. Luckily, the wheel suffered no damage.
After a brief flight, we landed in an area with several Lego objects that Matthew could attack. An impressive and colorful blast accompanied each wonton act of vandalism, which caused him to laugh uncontrollably and make such exclamations as, "Woah!" I could see the game working on his impressionable brain, spinning horrifying web-like connections between magic, destruction, and fun.
But his new lust for mayhem did not stop at trees and park benches. We soon found ourselves in a densely populated area, and Matthew invented a blood-curdling game within Lego Harry Potter's innocent façade. Dubbed "magic fight," the act involved targeting as many human characters as possible and unleashing a relentless flurry of magical attacks upon them. Even I was not safe from his assaults.
"Why do you keep shooting me?" I asked.
"I want to do magic fights. I want to get that guy, that guy, that guy, that guy, and that one. I want to get you guys because you're in trouble for using magic outside of school. You're in trouble, guys!"
"Well," I said, "if you're gonna be in trouble, you might as well be in a lot of trouble, I guess. That's a good life lesson, right?"
"That was a big magic fight," Matthew said after he had temporarily slaked his bloodlust.
"That was a very big magic fight," I replied.
So far, Lego Harry Potter: Years 5-7 had proven to be a shocking example of how game developers teach innocent children the ways of magic and devastation...but the worst was yet to come.
No longer content to make progress in the main story, Matthew made it his mission to "magic fight" every Lego person he saw, despite the fact that none of them could defend themselves. Eventually, I coaxed him forward, and we met a wizard who had lost his toad. I thought this was an opportunity for Matthew to do something constructive -- that is, until he revealed his strategy for locating the missing pet.
"Explode everything," he said.
The truly disturbing part was that this tactic worked. Then, before returning the toad to its owner, he insisted on "magic fighting" everyone in the room.
This behavior continued the rest of the time we were playing.
"Did you like that game?" I asked Matthew afterwards.
"Yeah," he replied.
I think that speaks for itself.
