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There's a scene in the film Hook where Peter Pan and the Lost Boys sit down for a glorious feast, pungent vapour wafting from pots and pans piled high on a table before them. The lids come off and the children stuff their big satisfied mouths, but Pan, the adult, stays still. He's forgotten how to use his imagination: he can't see the food. He no longer sees the magic.That's how I felt playing Lego Dimensions at Gamescom in August: disappointed, like I was missing something. It's a shame, because I love Skylanders. I've seen expressive toys brought to life so convincingly that my five-year-old son plays with them long after the TV is turned off. I've pored over posters making wish-lists of Skylanders I would like for my birthday or for Christmas, if Santa thinks I've been good enough. I've invented new ones with crayons, discussed powers I would personally like - and, of course, I have gone into shops and I've bought them. But as more games and figures came out and my bank balance was eroded, so too was my enthusiasm. The magic faded away.
I looked at Lego Dimensions and saw only what was literally in front of me: an expensive toy set and a game too complicated for my son to play alone. If I couldn't figure out the puzzles and positional portal placement mechanics, how could he? But something changed last week when I took a copy of the game home - and it started the moment we opened the box. The first thing we found inside wasn't a video game but a Lego set - a proper one, a set like any other we've built together, destined to be displayed briefly then broken into pieces and amassed into one big, jumbled box. Toodleoo Avengers Tower, cheerio Batcopter - you were fun for a weekend!
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