I was inspired to think about this after listening to a recent episode of the IGN UK Podcast where the team discussed the appeal of so called seven out of ten games. It struck me how often these games, the ones that critics tend to describe as solid but unspectacular, end up being the ones that stick in my memory. We spend so much of the conversation about games celebrating the tens, the once in a generation titles that redefine genres or deliver jaw dropping levels of polish, and sometimes we dismiss anything that falls short of that. But in practice there are plenty of times when a game that sits comfortably in the middle of the scale is not only enough but exactly what you want.
Take Mad Max. When it came out in 2015 it did not set the world on fire and most reviews landed it squarely in the sevens. Yet for anyone who picked it up with the right expectations it was a deeply satisfying experience. The desert wasteland looked incredible, the car combat was crunchy and enjoyable, and the rhythm of driving across open spaces, picking off war parties, and scavenging for scraps was almost meditative. It was repetitive, sure, but that repetition turned into a comfort loop. You knew what you were getting each time you sat down with it, and instead of chasing novelty you could relax into the mood and atmosphere of that world. Not every game needs to reinvent the wheel. Sometimes it is enough that the wheel spins smoothly and makes you smile while it does.
That same energy runs through RoboCop Rogue City, a much more recent example. By any traditional metric this is not a game that competes with the biggest blockbusters. The shooting is a little stiff, the environments can feel dated, and its structure is as old fashioned as the source material. Yet that is precisely the charm. It understands what it is trying to be, an unapologetically faithful RoboCop fantasy, and delivers it with confidence. Walking slowly but unstoppably through neon lit streets, laying waste to criminals with the Auto-9, and quoting lines straight out of the films is joyful in a very specific way. It does not need a sprawling open world or endless side activities. It just needs to let you feel like RoboCop for a dozen hours, and in that narrow but satisfying space it succeeds completely.
GreedFall is another that found its audience by leaning into its strengths even while carrying plenty of rough edges. It is not the most polished RPG and its combat is serviceable at best, but the blend of exploration, faction politics, and a setting that feels different from the usual medieval fantasy gives it a unique personality. The fact that it is slightly awkward is almost part of its charm, reminding you of the AA RPGs of the late 2000s and early 2010s, games that wanted to give you choices and world building on a smaller budget than the giants of the genre. For players who crave a role playing experience but do not necessarily want to commit hundreds of hours to a behemoth like Skyrim or Baldur’s Gate 3, GreedFall sits in that sweet spot. It gives you just enough narrative and just enough freedom to sink into without the pressure of it being a lifelong commitment.
Vampyr fits the mold as well. On paper it is a fascinating premise, letting you play as a doctor turned vampire in a gloomy vision of early twentieth century London. In practice it is uneven. The combat can be clunky, the pacing stutters, and the production values are modest. But that premise and the moral dilemmas at the heart of it carry the experience. Choosing whether to feed on certain citizens, weighing your hunger for power against your oath to heal, is a mechanic that lingers in the memory long after you have put the controller down. Vampyr is not great in every department, but it is memorable because it dares to focus on atmosphere and theme. That is a hallmark of the best seven out of ten games. They may not achieve technical perfection, but they excel in giving you a very particular feeling that bigger and safer titles often avoid.
Evil West might be the purest example of this entire conversation. It is a game that does not pretend to be more than a pulpy, monster slaying, cowboy adventure. The story is thin, the dialogue borders on cheesy, and the combat is straightforward. But playing it is simply fun. It harks back to an era where action games were less concerned with vast open worlds and endless collectibles and more concerned with throwing waves of enemies at you and letting you tear them apart with exaggerated weapons. Sitting down with Evil West is like watching a late night B movie. You know it will not win awards, but you also know you are going to have a good time.
What unites all of these games is that they understand the value of being enough. They do not overreach, and in their limitations they offer something honest. A so called perfect game can be exhausting, demanding total attention and pushing you to dissect every detail. A seven out of ten game often provides the opposite, a chance to relax, to enjoy familiar mechanics, to settle into a rhythm without the pressure of constant awe. They are the games you pick up after work when you just want to blast some enemies or explore a world without worrying whether you are making optimal choices.
There is also something freeing about their imperfections. A slightly rough combat system or some dated graphics can actually lower the stakes of play. You are less worried about breaking immersion, less concerned with the critical discourse around them, and more focused on having your own fun. These games invite you to meet them on their own terms, and that can be refreshing in an industry that increasingly chases polish above all else.
So while tens will always get the glory, and fives and below will always be the stuff of YouTube compilations, the sevens deserve more appreciation. They are often the games that quietly fill the gaps between the big releases, the ones that surprise you when you take a chance on them, the ones that leave you with a fondness that lingers. Mad Max, RoboCop Rogue City, GreedFall, Vampyr, and Evil West might not top many lists, but they embody the strange comfort and simple fun that only a solid seven out of ten can provide. Sometimes good really is good enough.