I realize it represents critical malpractice at this point, but I still haven’t tried Antoine Bauza and Bruno Cathala’s Seven Wonders Duel. Then again, maybe that’s a good thing, since I’m effectively immune to any questions about how much The Lord of the Rings: Duel for Middle-earth shakes up the format.

Check out Sauron’s sick tower in the Shire.

Exactly as J.R.R. Tolkien intended, this war for Middle-earth is all about yellow versus gray, staying two steps ahead of some dark riders, and erecting two to seven evil towers. It’s a weirdly effective adaptation for how blank its sides are, and is so crisply designed that at times I found myself wishing for additional snags to catch my blade on.

At heart, this is a drafting game. In each of three eras, players are presented with a splay of twenty cards, some face-down and others revealed, with the bulk of them trapped underneath their peers — not at all unlike an arrangement of mahjong solitaire, come to think of it. One by one, players claim a card, either throwing it away for cash or claiming it, often for some sort of cost, to add its benefits to their growing tableau.

It would be wrong to call this drafting anything other than perfect. It has it all: drams of information doled out to each side, tough decisions that reward both cautious and aggressive picks, even little dollops of randomness whenever cards are flipped face-up. It does that thing where even the most desirable card becomes a landmine thanks to what lies underneath. There are ways to “skip” a pick by purchasing one of the tower placards off to the side, but this poses a considerable expense. What to do, what to do.

As in Seven Wonders Duel, this is first and foremost a drafting game.

Meanwhile, it helps that the cards are incredibly useful without falling into the trap of being too interchangeable. Some are more worthwhile than others: a skill card that offers two icons instead of only one, effectively doubling your purchasing power later; quests that push you up the Ring track twice instead of once; cards with “chaining icons” that allow you to purchase their mate somewhere down the road for free. As your tableau develops, these distinctions peel apart even further. If you already have troops in Lindon and Arnor, a card that adds an extra soldier there won’t be as valuable to you as to your foe.

The same goes for alliance cards, which pull the humans, dwarves, elves, and so forth into your sphere of influence. One of the game’s victory conditions requires six different alliances, encouraging diversification (aha!), but duplicates are also valuable, as nabbing double influence in any given race allows to you select one of their special tiles for an ongoing bonus. These can swing the conflict on a dime. Ever wanted to earn an extra turn whenever you pick up one of those downer gold cards? The Elves are your jam. Want to turn the Quest for the Ring into a chance to beef up your forces? For some reason, the Hobbits will do that.

As a drafting mechanism, this is all exceptional stuff. As a retelling of The Lord of the Rings, one can feel the setting emulsifying beneath one’s feet.

It’s curious, for instance, that the whole game seems pitched toward the Last Alliance, with its Elves, Ents, and Eagles. Humans and Wizards, sure, those guys are more morally wiggly, but there are no trolls or goblins being lured on-side. It doesn’t take too much imagination to fill in the gaps, but the utter symmetry between the Alliance and the Dark Lord somewhat undersells the license. Even the Quest for the One Ring slider, which tracks either Frodo and Sam beelining for Mount Doom or the Nazgûl hot on their heels, is built to appear factional while being in fact identical for both sides. If the pieces weren’t yellow and gray, it would be easy to forget which fate you were espousing for Middle-earth.

Frodo! Don’t wear the Ring!

By no means does this ruin the experience, and anyway we’ve reached the point where too much asymmetry can come across as faddish and fussy. Still, even a little bit of difference would have gone a long way toward distinguishing the roles Duel for Middle-earth asks its players to inhabit.

Beyond that, I have no outright complaints, apart from those borne of my cantankerous nature. The whole thing is smooth and playable, so much so that it resembles a modern Disney flick. It feels like craft, in other words, like something designed to press those little buttons in our brains without doing much to ignite any deeper reflection or strain our gray matter.

Still, it’s a nice way to pass thirty minutes. Even within its self-imposed constraints, there’s room for expression and strategy. The threefold victory conditions, for instance, elevate the drafting in every sense. One can win either through the aforementioned grand alliance, filling Middle-earth’s seven regions with soldiers or towers, or by obtaining/destroying the One Ring. Naturally, getting ahead in one sphere often means neglecting the others, generating a pleasant tug-of-war.

A mature, late-game tableau.

Pleasant. That’s the word I’d use to describe it. The entire experience is anodyne, and not in any pejorative sense; it’s The Lord of the Rings as comfort food, with none of the source text’s challenge or courage. I wish Bauza and Cathala had been more ambitious, but, well, maybe that’s a tall order when you’re reimagining one of modern gaming’s runaway hits. I’m sure thousands of people will appreciate the snack. It’s not as if I haven’t.

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