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It’s this cartoon satire that keeps Tycoon from being a strictly sleaze-laden affair. Symptoms are illustrated with the exaggerated slapstick of mushroom cloud flatulence and red throbbing craniums. Your hospital is even judged on it’s beauty - in order to progress you’ll have to bejewel it with art, plants, posters of attractive nurses, and mirrors where attractive nurses can verify their cuteness. The doctors here are equally dazzling, and when these Abercrombie man-freaks aren’t healing the wretched, they’re flirting. You can even accelerate these courtships, resulting in snuggly smooching or seething scream-fights between jilted lovers.
And it’s this micro-management that makes Tycoon enjoyable. You control every tile of the hospital floor, from the amount of vending machines to how much you pay your surgeons. It does get tiresome, especially after hearing the bossa-nova-flavored lounge music loop for the 70th time, but for a short while it can be as addictive as OxyContin.
