Everything I know about the post-industrial decline of Britain I learned from listening to Ghost Town, the 1981 hit song by The Specials about some spooky creeps who hijack a Vauxhall Cresta to hunt down Margaret Thatcher. There’s also the time I fell asleep on the couch watching The Full Monty and woke up to Fight Club, which saddled me with a false memory of Robert Carlyle breaking into a liposuction clinic to steal bags of human fat. To this day, I cannot picture out of work northerners without imagining them pilfering sack after sack of warm pink goo to fund their entry into a dance competition.
Landlord’s Super is set in the dismal and rain-battered fictional town of Sheffingham, where the cruel rot of Thatcherism has taken hold and misery is chiseled into the haunted faces of everyone you meet. A well-observed mix of environmental design, an allegedly dynamic weather system that seems permanently stuck on inclement, and a visual filter that strips away all primary colours in favour of shades of nicotine-brown, articulates the mood of the era nicely. Imagine Stardew Valley with all the hopefulness stripped away, where instead of growing cabbages and marrying a goth you’re getting daytime drunk on £1.50 pints of warm ale and pissing in cement mixers.
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