Review: Frenchy Bird

Je suis Flappy Bird.

By Andy Hoover. Posted 01/30/2015 13:00 2 Comments     ShareThis
The Final Grade
grade/score info
1-Up Mushroom for...
It's Flappy Bird with 3D graphics and a stereotypically French art direction some, myself included, might find charming. Some might find the ultra simple gameplay addicting. Miiverse Stamps! Appropriately cheap.
Poison Mushroom for...
Being an outright clone of another game without even trying to add any new mechanics. One note gameplay will quickly grow old for many. Repetitive music.

The cerulean sky gives way to a fiery orange as the sun sinks below the horizon. Slowly but surely night is coming to Paris. The once bustling city streets have died down, giving way to its precious few hours of calm.

Still, the shops and cafes remain alive as three aged men find their place at a street corner. In each of their hands in an instrument: an accordion, a guitar, and a violin. One at a time they tune their instruments before striking a harmonious chord. It is time to begin.

The guitarist starts. With the effortless grace and speed of a master, he lets loose an ascending scale before settling into a mid-tempo rhythm, laying the groundwork for his compatriots. Just as the guitarist played his flight of notes a lone pigeon followed suit and took the air.

The pigeon soars above the street, approaching a forest of lamps. They rise from the earth and hang from the sky for as far as the bird can see. Within each lamp is a flame, but he is not a moth. He must not be drawn to the flame lest he fall like Icarus, dead, to the streets below. No, he must fly as far and as long as his wings will carry him.

The bird flies on as the band continues to play with greater intensity. The bird can feel the music, pressing him onward. The energy of the beauty of the notes enthralls the pigeon, but he must remain focused. He must fly.

How long has it been? How many lamps has he passed? Time and space have vanished. Every building looks the same, as though he is stuck in a loop, flying in front of the same cafes for eternity. The grand buildings of Paris loom on the horizon, silhouetted against the setting sun. The Arc de Triomphe. Notre Dame. The Eiffel Tower. Oh, how the pigeon longs to perch upon those marvelous structures. Those architectural titans. Those monuments to the aspirations and efforts of the mortal soul.

But no, it is not to be.

He flaps his wings over and over and over and over and over…

They stand still. Though he moves, the poor pigeon remains just as far away as he was when he started. How can this be? All this effort. All this energy. What is it for?

Perhaps he will be remembered. Maybe, there will be a list. A placard for all to see, and placed upon it will be his name, proclaiming how far he flew. But is that it?

Maybe a stamp as well. Something he can proudly place upon his letters to the world. Something that only those who braved such a fateful flight would be graced with the privilege to bear. Yes, people would see his words and see that stamp and know his greatness. They will know what he accomplished on this beautiful, Parisian evening.

Though these thoughts warm his soul, the pigeon can no longer deny the simple fact his wings are growing heavy. Up and down he flaps, dodging the lamps. His wings grow heavier yet. Still, the monuments remain far away, stuck to the horizon, soon to disappear with the day’s light. Still, the streets look the same, repeating as though on an endless loop.

But what of his prizes? A name on some placard. A stamp as some token for his strain. To some these might be grand things, but what are they to him?

No, it isn’t enough.

He would rather see more. He would rather see the other streets of Paris. He would rather perch atop the Eiffel Tower. He would rather soar throughout the world.

But his wings won’t carry him that far; they have grown too heavy. Another lamp approaches, its flame burning as night encroaches upon the City of Lights. Though he has evaded all his obstacles until now, his strength has finally failed him. Despite all his efforts, the pigeon collides with the lamp.


The pigeon recalls his last lucid moments as he plummets to the streets below. What if he had had the strength to fly further? What if he had flown another direction? What if he hadn’t flown at all? As these thoughts flow through his mind, his last breath flows through his body.

But the pigeon is once again soaring, not through the streets, but upwards. The cafes shrink as the ground falls beneath him. He rises above Arc de Triomph, then highest steeple of Notre Dame, and before he knows it, even the Eiffel Tower is but a mere terrestrial speck beneath him. All of Paris fades to a faint sea of speckling light. How true to its nickname.

Though his body remains on the streets far below, the pigeon is now truly flying. The hazards of burning iron among the maze of stony streets seem like a long forgotten nightmare. Now, all the pigeon can see is the vast expanse of the deep blue sky. Now, he is a spirit. Now, he is free to soar.

Far below, back on the street corner, the band has finished their song. They once again tune their instruments and strike another harmonious chord. The guitarist starts again. It’s the same song. Another pigeon takes flight down the same street as he gazes, longingly, at the perch atop the Eiffel Tower.


Nintendojo was provided a copy of this game for review by a third party, though that does not affect our recommendation. For every review, Nintendojo uses a standard criteria.

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