Unhappy King Charles Board Game Review

Year Published: 2008

Players: 2

Playing Time: 240 Minutes

As I’ve delved deeper into the wargaming sub-genre of board games, it’s given way to various minor revelations that mirror the journeys of others who are interested in wargaming’s simulationist depths. It’s also taught me a lot about what I personally want in a game, even one where the design intent is vastly different than most other games that I play.

Because wargaming is different in ways that other genre categories aren’t. I don’t say that to intimidate; please give wargaming a try even if you know nothing about it! But the truth of its differentiation lies in the investment asked of its players, in ways that other games don’t demand. We’ll get into why this is, and why Unhappy King Charles (UKC) is an exemplar in discussing these types of investment.

And we’ll also get into why it’s a lovely game.

Autonomous Value and Wargaming

There’s an insight about wargames that UKC crystallized for me.

A movie adapted from a book will, on average, provide a deeper experience for the book reader, one who knows the lore-driven backroads behind the movie’s more truncated plot.

Similarly, wargames will only truly unlock their full potential for someone steeped in the history that the game models.

UKC is not an easy game to internalize for numerous reasons, but the internalization happens more fluidly when you understand the historical realities that its somewhat fiddly upkeep and one-off rules simulate.

This is not a revelation in and of itself. This is a feature of all wargames to some extent. But it bears reminding even its core audience. Strip some Eurogames of their theme and another will do just as well. Or no theme at all, as is nearly the case with some minimalistic older-school Euros.

Strip UKC of its theme and it will seem designed by a madman. Layer the history onto it, though, and suddenly those odd, janky rules take on narrative heft in the sweep of the game.

So not only will someone steeped in the game’s history understand the rules more swiftly, but they’ll appreciate the game more fully. That same fiddle transforms the game into a deeper experience. I’d go so far as to say this historical background is, in this instance, a prerequisite for enjoying the game.

It’s also the point I think some wargamers fail to make when talking about how easy it is to get into many wargames. Learning UKC was work for me. Numerous essays, a dozen or so hours of podcasts, Wikipedia dives, multiple trips to the Rulebook and accompanying Playbook. And so on. It’s the most work I’ve had to put into learning any game, ever.

That isn’t a critique, but to categorize it any other way would be a disservice to the effort involved. And I believe the only reason I enjoy the game is because of this pre-work, which is a commitment that’s unnecessary for 99% of board games.

This will immediately limit the game’s audience significantly, but it also promises excellent depths for those who make it through.

The War That Need Not Have Been

An obstinate King who missed numerous chances to broker peace – even post-war! – with Parliamentary forces opposing him. Regional generals as focused on their own political and religious aspirations as on any unified cause. Multiple failed attempts at governance in a new and wild political landscape. Troops that frankly didn’t always want to fight, and would desert or disperse at the first sign of trouble as often as hold their ground. Boozy or unqualified generals who were, at best, working with incomplete knowledge of enemy troop movements and strength.

It reads almost as farcical, except that lives and governance were on the line.

But it’s a grand stage for a war. Not because there are a guaranteed number of epic moments, but because if you squint hard enough, you can imagine the Benny Hill Yakkety-Sax theme playing in the background, which juxtaposes insanely with the fact that this all resulted in a beheading and numerous reforms – some that stuck, many that didn’t – for an entire country and one of the world’s major powers at the time.

This backdrop also correctly sets the tone for a war that won’t always be fought directly. Often, for instance, battles only happen if both sides feel like it, so you’re likely to never see a brutal beatdown of a minor army by a massive force, or even clearly mismatched armies going at it unless an equally dire consequence exists for the outmatched general, should they disperse their army.

I tend to like my war sims visceral, bloody and to the point, so on paper this is a bit of a mismatch of styles. And this was my initial fear as I began to play.

I’ll get into why this fear remained unfounded, but first I’d like to talk about the game’s genesis.

The Lineage of Unhappy King Charles

UKC is a direct descendent of We the People, Mark Herman’s wargame of the American revolution. I haven’t played that one, but I did play Washington’s War (WW) – also by Herman – which also spawned from We the People. WW was my immediate precursor to UKC.

Usually, all else being equal, the more streamlined iteration of a central idea or style of gameplay will appeal most to me. My gaming life boasts extremely few exceptions to this rule. So when I liked but didn’t love WW, and some of its gameplay grated on me a bit, I didn’t have the highest hopes for UKC.

This isn’t to cast aspersions on WW, which is a well-regarded game in its own right. But it’s a clear example of how similar design ideas can sink or swim for some gamers based on the adjustments of a few key variables.

Let’s get into those variables.

The Shifting Maelstrom

The gentleman who onboarded me into UKC (and Washington’s War) made an excellent observation at one point. He pointed out that it was harder – in fact, next to impossible – to form unified fronts in UKC due to the nature of the map and troop movements. By contrast, some of our WW contests eventually saw more-or-less unified fronts and large swaths of uncontested territory that were logistically impossible for the opposing side to contest with any seriousness.

Opportunities for cleverness or drama still existed in those sessions, but the options and points of interest were fewer and further between.

England and the surrounding areas in the time of Charles the First were not unified bodies of influence. Local lords and their militia armies commanded nearby territory, while national forces would inevitably be spread thin trying to put out every conceptual fire in the land created by the enemy.

It’s easy to dart around or through opposing strongholds in the game’s geography, or lock down a local lord with a minor army and limit their influence even in their home territory. The game’s system also allows for oblique uses of history, such as goading an enemy into an odd and strategically pointless area, then dispersing and repopulating those forces elsewhere on future actions.

Do you spend some time overturning a fortress? Or galavant about through more minor territories, drumming up influence and ignoring the larger – but more difficult – prizes?

These are among the many questions asked of the game’s player. But my overarching point is that they create a tapestry of options that is a lot more complicated than the more straightforward Washington’s War.

And in layering these geographic and historical complexities atop one another, it creates a more diverse and interesting strategic pool in which to swim around. Send Prince Rupert to terrorize the eastern regions? Forfeit the normally Royalist-leaning Wales to disrupt travel lines through the Midlands? Send aid to the Covenanter Scots as they invade the North or use them as a menacing distraction while you toil elsewhere? History informs the types of options but not your decisions or their outcomes, so on any given turn – as well as in the aggregate – you’re presented with too many problems to vigorously pursue all of them.

For me, it’s more interesting, simply put. This also flows backward into the card system, which will be familiar to anyone who’s played WtP or WW. Whereas those games can feature card draws in rounds that are categorically worse for your current situation, “better” and “worse” draws still exist in UKC but the extremes are less pronounced. And it’s because you can always do something interesting and unexpected with them to be a thorn in your opponent’s side. The best rounds of WW hit some excellent highs too, but I could sometimes look at my cards in WW and know it was going to be a painful round. I was never wrong. By contrast, I never feel like I lack robust tactical and strategic options in UKC.

Part of this is the mandatory operations cards that both players have each round. But I think a lot of it is simply due to how many ways the game’s actions can manifest on the board. I don’t think my issues with card draws in WW would suddenly appear in UKC if the mandatory OPs cards went away. I simply think it’s a game that finds better use for the tools it provides the players. Perhaps I’m being too hard on WW (and, by proxy, WtP), which laid the sturdy groundwork for UKC. But this was both my immediate and lasting reaction upon playing both.

I also want to praise UKC on its own for these qualities, not just in comparison. It’s a handy comparison, but the fact that Vasey’s design is a fascinating tactical environment is a compliment that stands on its own, outside of any hobby-level context in which it resides.

Unhappy King Charles – Conclusions

Do I still occasionally lament having to have the rulebook open for numerous turns? Sure. There’s a lot to internalize, and unless you’re playing regularly, you won’t keep all of it straight for quite some time, if you ever do. For instance, my play partner was still learning or remembering small bits here and there after years of playing the game.

And would I recommend this game to, well, anyone except the subset of gamers interested in both the English Civil War and card-based wargames? No, frankly. It’s a specific game for a specific audience.

But when the interactive, tactical environment and narrative elements are commensurate with a game’s procedural upkeep, I can excuse the latter for the majesty of the former. Happily, Unhappy King Charles has this in spades.