"Katamari Damacy" is clearly not an easy phrase to translate from the Japanese, for the publishers of Katamari Damacy have, in defiance of all tradition, allowed it to cross the Pacific intact. In video gaming, where even a simple, straightforward name like "Biohazard" needs to be sexed up and re-engineered for North American audiences into something along the lines of "Resident Evil," this is a departure indeed.

But the box says "Katamari Damacy," and if that confuses a few people that is OK. It is actually a good thing, because once they get the shrinkwrap off and stink the thing in their PlayStations, they will be even more confused. Katamari Damacy is a festival of nuttiness and non-sequiturs, a blast of hot fresh idiocy and silliness. It does not make any sense, and it will make less sense the more time you spend with it. That is OK too. This is a brilliant, brilliant video game. It deserves a far larger audience than it is likely to find in the Autumn Of The Blockbuster Sequels. It is a serious candidate for best game of the year. Do not miss it, or you will be sad. You will be even sadder when you have to spend $100 to buy it on Ebay a year from now.

So, what is it all about?

Um.

Well, for a start, it is about this guy named the King Of All Cosmos. He is a bit like God, only more of a screw-up. One day he is learning to juggle, and because he is the King Of All Cosmos he uses stars. He is not a quick study. The stars go missing. All of a sudden there are no stars anywhere. This would make the KOAC sad, except that the KOAC only has one mood, and it is much too self-satisfied to admit any gloom. Nonetheless, the problem of the starless sky remains, and it must be solved. The KOAC is a man of action.

Rather, he is a man of delegation. You, his son, the Prince Of All Cosmos, get the call. You are to go to Earth, where you will gather up giant lumps of debris, which the KOAC will turn into new stars. No, the physics are not very realistic. That is OK.

As you begin work on your first new star, the KOAC gives you a brightly coloured ball, which he calls a "katamari." Then you and your katamari find yourselves in a typical suburban Japanese home, which is exceptionally cluttered with stationery items and foodstuffs. You roll the katamari forward over some thumbtacks. They stick to it. You roll over some paper clips. They stick to it too. You try a pencil. It, too, sticks to the katamari, but it throws the balance out of whack, so it makes a wobbly clunk with each rotation.

As you wheel your katamari around the room it grows like a snowball. Now it picks up erasers, now index cards, now entire notebooks. Then you roll it over a mouse (rodent, not computer), just for the hell of it, and find yourself delighted to see it stick too, squeaking indignantly and struggling to get free. If you bump your ball of debris into anything larger than it, it will bounce back and a few items will fall off. But as the katamari grows larger and larger, fewer and fewer items can evade capture. Before long you have cats and dogs and people and cars and, indeed, entire buildings stuck on your katamari, bumping along just like those first few thumbtacks did.

Every once in a while the KOAC will show up and collect a ball, which he will set alight and release into the sky. Then he will drop you back into Japanese suburbia, where you must roll up an even larger katamari. He will tell you that you disappoint him. Also, he will tell you that Spain is really great and you should visit. You will not understand this, but it will make you happy.

You are very small and unimpressive for a prince. You are a wimpy chartreuse colour, and your head looks as if it is made of a 7up can turned sideways. The KOAC has a head like that too, but he is in charge, so who are we to say it doesn't look good?