Theme Hospital
Wrongly Forgotten Sequel #4
Type of Game
Surprisingly cool hospital management, which our political leaders would do well to take inspiration from.
Release date on our machines
March 1997, in the midst of the mad cow crisis. Coincidence? I don't think so!
Developer
Bullfrog Productions, Ltd., which seemed unstoppable at the time. Sob sob.
Publisher
Electronic Arts, Inc., which still seemed stoppable at the time. Boo-hoo.
Theme Hospital : available on GOG, and the EA store.
Already a big fan of Theme Park, I was eagerly awaiting the sequel. I was hoping for a more beautiful game, a little easier to access, and above all, packed with crazy attractions! When I learned that this new instalment would no longer take place in an exciting fairground, but in a mouldy hospital, my enthusiasm evaporated in three seconds, and I turned my attention elsewhere. However, while almost none of my friends had played Theme Park, a significant number of them set their sights on Theme Hospital. I should have guessed there was a reason for this, but I stuck to my reactionary positions until we found a common topic of conversation later on (Abe's Oddysee and Exoddus, in particular). Looking back, of course I should have listened to my friends. I never listened to my friends enough, I admit that now. Too late, much too late, they're all gone. Sob. Why try to be cool when it brings nothing but contempt?
Resentment Park
The hospital is mental
Theme Park could sometimes make you smile, with its customers throwing up because of disgusting chips, attractions exploding, underpaid employees who no longer work, ridiculous mascots dancing until they drop, hoping that someone will say hello to them... and just everyone's faces, in fact. In Theme Hospital, you laugh every thirty seconds! I think the developers understood that if they wanted to make a hospital management game interesting, they had to let loose a little on the humour front. So you become the boss of a completely crazy establishment, where the strangest things in the world happen. What a great idea to invent diseases, rather than asking the player to treat people with cancer or advanced septicaemia.
We have a blast deflating enormous heads, returning invisible people's very real appearance, or ensuring that a forest of hair no longer grows on their noses (some individuals could really use this treatment in real life, by the way). The sound effects add a touch of subtlety to the whole thing, especially when you fly over toilets filled with people who are feeling unwell. The receptionists' announcements, such as ‘patients are requested not to die in the corridors’, are funny. Even the usual grumpy old men and killjoys find them amusing. And yes, I'm speaking for them, because I'm one of them. Fortunately, Theme Hospital has more to offer than just its British humour. Did you also say ‘British humour’ in the 90s? Without knowing whether it was or not, I mean.
Well, I wasn't taking too much of a risk, given that Peter Molyneux is actually British. I don't think I learned that at the time, but maybe I did. Or maybe I learned it several years later, or maybe not. It doesn't matter! This game follows the Theme Park formula, revisited to suit any self-respecting clinic. You have to recruit staff, but not too many. Not only do you have to build the various diagnosis and treatment rooms, but you also have to think about all the details that will make your building a little less depressing. So don't skimp on chairs, plants, or even KitKat dispensers. Product placement in video games is nothing new, for goodness' sake. When faced with a still unknown disease, doctors must find a solution as quickly as possible. Well, you can also leave patients in misery, but that's not really advisable.
Cleaning men (yes, I did say men) can specialise in watering plants or looking after equipment, among other things; it's up to us to choose their favourite activity! The player must ensure the well-being of both patients and employees by maintaining a comfortable temperature throughout the facility, offering salaries that respect human dignity, and allowing people to relax in rooms filled with arcade games or pool tables. Here, we realise that we are not running a shabby hospital in a rural area suffering from a lack of medical services. The few new gameplay features I noticed seemed very pleasant, such as staff who progress over time and gain skills. Thank you! Progression! More, more!
We manage our budget as best we can, glancing fearfully at our available funds every ten seconds, while our virtual advisor (a sort of defeatist, slightly sadistic guardian angel) bombards us with passive-aggressive comments. We dread the arrival of an inspector in the midst of an epidemic who could ruin our reputation. We sweat at the sight of a small piece of dirt on the floor, which could lead to an invasion of rats (also ruining our reputation). We tremble at the thought of a highly sophisticated machine exploding in the middle of a patient's analysis, reducing the patient, three nurses and two doctors to dust... and so on and so forth, with even more stressful scenarios. Well, yeah, when you're busy laughing at the absurd situations unfolding before your eyes, you forget to manage the hospital. Three seconds of inattention is enough to derail everything. The ghosts of Theme Park and its legendary difficulty still linger in the corner.
We treat you with joy and good spirits.
Just like in Theme Park, the music doesn't claim to be one of the game's strong points (at least, I hope so for Russell Shaw's sake), but it still irritated me less than in the aforementioned game. It's closer to a quiet background playlist than tracks that trigger depending on where you're flying over on the screen. That alone is a huge improvement on the soundtrack. That and the fact that it no longer sounds like a dilapidated funfair in the depths of the 1970s, in the heart of a region ravaged by war and famine. Obviously, the soundtrack leans more towards hotel lobby music than the unlistenable drivel that destroys our brain cells during a session of bumper cars. A few electronic sounds have been added to reflect the high technology that is ever-present in hospitals, and the whole thing is wrapped up in cheerful, upbeat vibes. Because who wants to brush with death while listening to a funeral march? Who would really want to die by subjecting themselves to music similar to that of Theme Park? In the end, we still come across a few compositions that make us want to play with syringes and swim enthusiastically in a pool of pills. We should try playing these tracks in crowded emergency waiting rooms; maybe it would make the torture a little more bearable.
A short, unpretentious break
Oh yeah, now I realise that. I would have loved to tell my friends about my medical adventures during break time at school. ‘So, how did you do? Did you manage to treat fifty patients with big ankles?’ ‘'Gosh, I recruited a doctor who killed more patients than he treated! That's crazy.’ ‘How did you get through mission 14? I can't clean the toilets during the diarrhoea epidemic.’ These conversations might seem meaningless and uninteresting today to anyone who has forgotten their inner child addicted to video games. As a not-so-popular secondary school pupil, these conversations were of the utmost importance. If I had known the game, of course. But I could only listen in silence.
Too bad, it would have allowed me to mention that I knew Theme Park too, and that it was super cool, and that no one would have known that without me, and that... well, no one cared, never mind. Populous? Even worse? No problem, I would soon regain the upper hand with my Bullfrog knowledge by falling under the demonic spell of Dungeon Keeper, which in some ways was reminiscent of managing patients in poor health (have you seen the faces of the Bile Demons and Trolls, honestly?). Mind you, you could look at it another way: not having played Theme Hospital, I missed an opportunity to brag about my gaming achievements at the time. Not that they were anything to write home about, but I imagine my mates were able to breathe a sigh of relief. You're welcome, lads.
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