What a game considers "perk" says a lot about its soul. In "Fallout 3," for example, the game considers it "perk" to be good at killing women; in "Modern Warfare," it's being a self-important ghost who drops a grenade after you die. In "Psychonauts 2," Double Fine sells you a "Beast Mastery" pin. Spend the money to hurt something less. Another pin allows you to dance as if no one is playing, where no one is watching. It's an "honest to goodness" tonic.

As a headline, "Tim Schafer's game favors silliness over sadism" is hardly shocking. But it's been 15 years since the original version, long enough to forget the silliness of "Psychonauts" and the places where its jokes would surprise us. Psychonaut volunteer Raz left the Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp for a rescue mission that also appears in the VR spin-off "Rhombus of Ruin". You can see it all in the video, but we recommend experiencing it in person, with fascinating callbacks throughout.

And what a way to start: deceive the villains in their own minds with a Mission Impossible-style con. I always thought "Psychonauts" was doing something "Inception"-like long before "Inception," given the heroes' ability to enter and influence minds, but "Espionage" makes the similarities even more striking. Of course, "Psychonauts" doesn't settle for the mundane dreamscape of a hotel revolving corridor. Here it rides molars, zaps tooth fairies, and goes down throats. It slips through the stomachs of these repeat fans with ease.

Fundamentally, not much has changed since 2005; OK, there is a stunning beauty that comes from 16 years of HD know-how. However, under the various levels of knitting, hand-drawing, and x-ray film printing, one senses familiar gears. It's another throwback to the 3D mascot platformers of the late 90s. From the explorable hub world, you are sucked into a separate level colored with collectibles that would make even Banjo and Kazooie break out in a cold sweat.

The Hub is now Psychonauts headquarters and looks like a mixer of The Incredibles and The Muppets. The incendiary music and retro-futuristic décor sell the group's grand mission while the potato-faced weirdos tweak, and even now, 15 hours later, I regularly fast-forward to the atrium and hum its theme song, which I've heard so much about that I'm not sure I've ever heard it before. Composer Peter McConnell does a great job throughout the game, dabbling in more genres than some people tackle in their entire careers.

From there, Raz jumps around in his head and unravels personal traumas. Think of the self-contained world of Mario 64. If Tiny Huge Island is a metaphor for Wario's helplessness. On the one hand, it provides comfort food for old platformers. You'd collect hundreds of fictional characters and secure a hideout to return to later for upgrades. It's solid, standard stuff, and will satisfy completists for 20 hours. But a level is more than an obstacle course that must be cleared away.

Every mind tells a story. Not clichés like voice logs or three-meter-high "HELP ME" graffiti. This is level design as explanation. For example, one man's family alcoholism becomes a poisonous swamp, his shame appearing as the bottom of a river of discarded gin bottles. Also striking is the scene in which a bureaucrat's mental hospital is taken over by a casino. Exploring the pill-filled pachinko parlor is a visual spectacle, and one can appreciate it as such, but deciphering the metaphorical dimension is equally satisfying.

Importantly, there is no tired genre trope to be found. Try the level set in a wedding cake of a mourning widower who is "fed up with the world of slushy ice. It's a sight not seen in "Crash Bandicoot" (but I haven't played "The Wrath of Cortex," so apologies if I'm misrepresenting its psychological nuances). I like the segments where we revisit certain relationships in our old, fractured heads, each with their memories jumbled with their backgrounds as the host's barber, mailman, and bowling alley clerk. It's wistful and tragic, evoking mishaps from a swirl of human hair and unread love letters. Oddly enough, this also makes "Psychonauts 2" a good companion piece to "Yakuza": it's a good companion piece to "Like a Dragon" as a story about the struggles of an older generation that often dominates the gaming spotlight.

As I write this, "Psychonauts 2" may seem more dour than it actually is. This is not the kind of heart-wrenching misery-fest under the sleeve that makes you nod sullenly while secretly wishing you were playing "Peggle". This is a game about exploring shoes while bacteria scream about antifungal extinction events. The best levels still turn the rules upside down, just as the original did. One level explores an archipelago that looks like a miniature "Tact of the Wind," while another level is a cooking show parodying "Overcooked" with a whoopee-fruit blender competition. I'm not sure if there's anything here that surpasses the first game, "The Milkman Conspiracy," but it's close enough to hear the eggs brag about their own execution. [There are moments when I wonder if the game's writer, Tim Schafer, is playing a sort of game design "Whose Line Is It Anyway. What advice would Shakespeare give to Raz? How would a country's military history sound when sung like a Disneyland ditty? Is there a gag about cable cars?" Surprisingly, these are boring questions. In the game's most daring comic set-piece, you are forced to rewire your entire brain, and every possible combination of thoughts leads to a punchline. This is a literal joke factory, and one can only imagine the dark night of the soul spent trying to make every combo piquant.

More to the point, as I wandered the overworld and chatted with my fellow 'nauts, it began to resemble a lost LucasArts adventure. The puzzle-solving is more physical, and Raz's psychic abilities evolve, but the number of oddballs you can converse with is greater, and you find the last laugh in their dialogue trees, drawing the world as vividly as Rubacava or Mere Island. The Questionable Area, a hit of touristy Americana where you half expect to bump into Sam and Max, is heady.

The downside of the newness is that I miss the Whispering Rock gang. Aside from Lili, Raz's (maybe) girlfriend, none of the cadet kids make the trip, and their replacement, Raz's rival intern, doesn't have the same impact. Their common stalemate is blurred, and after a great first act, the story sidelines them. The beginning is very good at establishing the characters and stakes and providing a payoff (like a Pixar movie in a game, to be honest). Well, except for providing a mediocre side mission.

This is a rare moment of untapped potential in a sequel that improves on its predecessor in almost every respect. The mere act of moving makes it easier to recommend. Once Raz gets into the scar tissue of my mind, he will find the platformer in Psychonauts 1. Part of me can't stay away from the meat circus; in 2021, Raz is responsive, and the rope and pole exercises are no longer button-pushing chores. Thanks to generous checkpoints and a life counter, it's as responsive and comfortable as I've ever seen in a 3D platformer outside of Nintendo.

Combat has been similarly revamped, with easier dodge rolls and tons of auto-aim. You can go on a rampage right from the start simply by being able to telekinetically throw scenery into the air without having to worry about projectile arcs. There is also a lot of enemy variety this time around, with flying imps, mine-laying sprites, and gavel-wielding referees giving individual battles a unique flavor and a chance for all abilities to shine. The power remapping is as cumbersome as ever, but if the price is a meaningful brawl, so be it.

Considering how Double Fine can liven up a brawl, you may be surprised at how stingy it is in its distribution. The new upgrade system is somewhat superfluous, as fights are rare on most levels and non-existent on the hub world. It is difficult to get excited about more nimble lobs when they are used infrequently. This makes post-credit play particularly odd. You return to a basically empty world to increase your cadet rank and buy upgrades and power-ups, but there are no enemies to use them against. There are no enemies to fight, just you and lots of squirrels.

Perhaps it's not surprising that Double Fine is a bit unsure that "Psychonauts 2" is succumbing to convention. The studio's logo is a baby fired from a cannon. It's not just the ridiculous comic swagger, but the fact that this is a mainstream video game, a sympathetic treatment of the messy business of being human. Take away the screaming eggs and the prophets of bacterial doom, and it's a tale of regret and a way out. I don't think playing "Psychonauts 2" is going to be one of those regrets. So let's put on our beastmaster's badge.