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As an installment of the popular Theme series, Theme Hospital features familiar gameplay and graphics with a unique brand of twisted humour. Much like other popular simulation titles, such as Rollercoaster Tycoon, it can be manipulated the way you want.

Any ideas you have for your hospital can be implemented and as the levels progress, it becomes more and more challenging to create a successful business. For many kids growing up in the 90s, Theme Hospital was a staple in PC gaming.

What may be a nostalgic trip down memory lane at first will quickly turn into seriously addictive gaming as players build their way to their fortune with lots of laughs along the way.

Have you tried Theme Hospital? Be the first to leave your opinion! Laws concerning the use of this software vary from country to country. We do not encourage or condone the use of this program if it is in violation of these laws.

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Based on our scan system, we have determined that these flags are possibly false positives. It means a benign program is wrongfully flagged as malicious due to an overly broad detection signature or algorithm used in an antivirus program. What do you think about Theme Hospital? Players can choose the location, period in time, structure, appearance and specialisation of their hospital - in fact, just about anything they like.

There's'just one condition: it's got to make money. Before you start to make rather droll comparisons with current Tory policy on the NHS, let me add that it's all in the same cartoony-graphic style except this time it's in hi-res , and players must turn their miniclinic into the biggest, most sophisticated and profitable hospital ever.

Theme Hospital is due for release in spring Waiting lists permitting. The sort that not only slow down when passing a car crash, but also get out, prod the wounds with a stick and take tourist snaps of protruding bones. The genius of Bullfrog's follow-up to Theme Park back when all the talent had yet to leave to start off their own companies was to turn all the pain and misery of hospitals on its head and combine pathologically addictive gameplay with funny ideas and a colourful presentation that never feels too childish.

The premise follows the basic blueprint that dozens of Theme and Tycoon style games have so unsuccessfully tried to copy over the last few years: start out with an empty building and buy medical equipment, furniture, vending machines and so on, while at the same time hiring doctors, nurses and receptionists and investing money in new research.

Just like in the cut-throat world of the NHS, you have plenty of targets to meet, and each level offers new challenges, as well as new wacky diseases and ways of treating them. For example, Slack Tongue requires a sort of guillotine, while Elvis impersonators will need qualified shrinks and a comfy couch. This is a classic that deserves to be revisited. One Of The Strangest Moments of my entire life occurred one summer's evening in I was being thrown out of a flat at the time.

Not my fault, I hasten to add - the entire household was refusing to pay the rent, for reasons that were entirely justified, but far too dull to repeat here. Anyway, the landlord -a squat, stocky guy who had so much extraneous body hair he looked like he'd liberally smeared himself with glue and rolled around on a gorilla's carpet for a couple of days - was outside, hammering on the front door with his ugly little fists, hollering abuse in the inept way that only a particularly stupid proponent of pidgin English can You are scum!

I kill your face! I was scared, I don't mind telling you. Not because I was afraid of him the only circumstances under which he'd be scary would be if you found him sitting on your lap, winking and wriggling around , but I was afraid of one of the more specific threats he kept making: namely, to return with a van-load of his 'friends', who were considerably larger, bolder, and far more likely to stove heads in with crowbars.

So anyway, I was hiding upstairs, cowering, contemplating the scene that would doubtless unfold: me, having my legs broken with a hammer. Me, having my face cut open with a rusty bread-knife. Me, being tied into a pretzel and hurled bollocks-first from the top floor window by his knuckleheaded cronies. I was utterly convinced that within the hour, I'd find myself being wheeled into the casualty department Hospital, fading in at of St.

Mary's Hospital, fading in and out of consciousness, choking on my own blood and mumbling desperate prayers to a God I didn't even believe in, balancing precariously on the f brink of death's precipice. I And then noticed I what was going on i outside. At the back i of the building was a community centre, which habitually hosted wedding receptions, parties, school discos and the like.

It wasn't unusual to hear the muffled thump ofloud dance music and the babble of the party crowd throbbing out well into the early hours. But that night, there was something unusual I could tell the crowd were lapping it up - by the sound of their enthusiastic hoofing, they were dancing in formation - but under the circumstances, I found it unnerving.

Deeply unnerving. So, Theme Hospital. Theme Hospital is a sequel, of sorts, to Theme Park. It's a Cgod game' in which you must build, manage and maintain a successful city hospital. Now, everybody I've mentioned Theme Hospital to seems to say the same thing: Eh?

Theme Hospital? Can't see how that's going to work There seems to be a consensus of doubt about the game's appeal: after all, its chosen territory conjures up images of endless white corridors, impassive administrators, emaciated patients eking out their last days with only a drip for company, bedpans, blankets and starched white bedsheets. Not exactly a barrel of laughs.

Did you ever play Theme Park? That had such an air of fun about it. Where's the fun in a bloody hospital simulation, for crying out loud? Well shut up. You don't know what you're on about. Not only is Theme Hospital far far Cwackier' than Theme Park, it also pisses over it from a great height in terms of gameplay. If you're harbouring any doubts as to whether hospital management can actually be enjoyable, you can dispel them now. Playfulness and tension go hand in hand in Theme Hospital.

In this world, both the diseases you'll encounter and the equipment you'll cure them with are surreal and cartoon-like. The colours are bright and snappy, the scenery teems with life. Watching the on-screen hustle and bustle is peculiarly relaxing Never before have matters of life and death seemed so jolly, and yet simultaneously stressful. Which is why the most accurate description I can come up with is that the experience of playing it is actually rather similar to the experience of hearing a hall full of people cheerily jigging about to the strains of the Casualty theme tune, while nervously harbouring the suspicion that you're about to be thrashed senseless at the same time.

Boot up the game and. Everything needs to be built from scratch and slotted into place - and I'm talking everything - from the most expensive piece of cutting-edge medical equipment to the lowliest pot-plant.

You get to plan the layout of every single room yourself - and you wouldn't believe how neat the interface that allows you to do this is. As with Theme Park, it's not unlike using a simple paint package. Choose the facility you want to build from the pop-up menu and your cursor is replaced with a little trowel. Click on the floor and a kind ofCinstant blueprint' appears.

You can drag this out to whatever size you want, place the door wherever you see fit, even pop windows into the walls if you think it needs them. The next stage is deciding which pieces of furniture to use and where to place them, in an orgy of interior decoration that would have the slobbiest, least house-proud philistines on the planet umming and ahhing over the positioning of each tiny chair as if it were a matter of global significance.

Now, none of this may sound that interesting in print, yet in practice it's so intrinsically satisfying to muck around with that you'll find yourself creating new rooms and pissing around with the layout of existing ones you can go back and re-edit everything if you want just for the sake of it. Of course, there's more to efficient room design than being able to decide which corner you'd like to place a pot plant in. As with everything in this game, there are about sixteen zillion other factors to consider.

Is the room sufficiently large and well-lit enough to prevent the occupants from feeling claustrophobic and depressed? Is it small enough to leave space for new facilities to be built alongside, or will you need to buy a new plot of land? Have you put radiators and fire extinguishers in place? Is the room easy for patients to find? Do you want to purchase extra equipment and furniture for the room in order to increase efficiency? And so on, and so on, and so on. Once again, none of this may sound very enthralling in black and white, but when you're playing it yourself it's all peculiarly compelling.

As you may have gathered by now, Theme Hospital is a game of details. Endless details. So far, I've only mentioned the room design, but that's really the most basic part of the game.

There are just so many things to do, so many things to keep your brain occupied. Hiring and firing staff, researching drugs, making sure your caretakers are cleaning up all the piss and vomit, dealing with emergencies and epidemics I can't even begin to explain how many different elements there are. And since it lets you tinker around with everything, you just can't help getting helplessly immersed within 20 minutes.

I defy you not to end up playing it for far, far too long each time you boot it up. If you're in the slightest bit nosey and who isn't? Here's a game in which you can click on a complete stranger and discover their entire medical history. You can watch them getting undressed and being examined. You can tell what mood they're in and whether they need to go to the toilet or not.

It makes you feel a bit like an interfering old lady -the sort you overhear at bus stops gossiping about the lady at number 26 who apparently likes 'doing it the greek way' - but it ain't half compelling. Now, if sales figures are anything to go by, each and every one of you already owns three copies of Theme Park. Therefore, you'll be familiar with that game's main failing: it climaxes too soon. It starts off like an over-enthusiastic teenager, desperately trying to impress you with its looks and its user-friendliness, hammering away at your pleasure receptors as fast as it can until all of a sudden you realise that it's fired off all its surprises in one go, and there's nothing left to keep you occupied.

It always gives you the option of going back for more by starting a new park , but deep down you know it's just going to be more of the same. Interest wanes, you withdraw, and before long you've begun to salaciously eye up the other, perkier games on the market. Theme Hospital, on the other hand, is a considerably more assured and sophisticated lover. It has far more interesting tricks up its sleeve, and is mature enough not to play them too early. In the early stages it soothes and arouses you with relaxing, involving gameplay and quirky little touches.

As you grow in confidence together, it pulls off altogether bolder strokes, continually maintaining your interest with increasingly inventive moves. Then the pace begins to quicken and you lose yourself completely. Entirely at its mercy, the best you can do is try to keep up, as it plunges challenge after challenge after challenge deep into your brain, with relentless zeal, working towards a climax.

Just as you've reached the peak, when all the demands of a particular level have been satisfied, and you're sitting back, serenely watching the Ccongratulations' screen with a slow-burning cigarette in your hand, it rolls over and starts doing it again, presenting you with another blank hospital, and a whole new range of tasks to complete. And you know that it's going to be just as much fun as it was last time, only even more intense.

Frankly, by the time you reach the final levels, it's grabbing the back of your head with both hands, balancing on its elbows, and repeatedly ramming its fearsome girth into you like some kind of demented jackhammer, while you clutch the headboard and wail with pleasure.

If there's one Ctheme' that truly relates both Theme Park and Theme Hospital, then ipious amounts of vomiting is it. Get down on your knees and pray that you have sufficient cleaning staff to deal with a Cvomit virus', should such an outbreak occur.

Otherwise, the consequences are dire: corridors full of retching, choking patients, emptying their guts all over the floor like E-Coli sufferers at a kebab-eating convention. Well, Theme Hospital also introduces a new bodily function into the fray If a patient can't get to the toilet in time, they'll eventually go on the floor.

Doubly disgusting during an outbreak of vomiting. If Bullfrog keep upping the Cbody fluid' stakes like this, the next CTheme' game should logically be filled with hundreds of little people endlessly vomiting, pissing, crapping, spitting, wanking, snotting, and picking the wax out of their ears and flicking it. Theme Reading Festival, in other words. Theme Hospitals visuals are so crisp and neat, you could cut your finger on 'em.

What's more, they're incredibly busy. Absolutely every action each character could conceivably perform seems to have been animated. You can watch people typing on keyboards or using vending machines. Surgeons wash their hands and adjust the lighting prior to an operation.

Caretakers sit on their arses, watching the staff room telly while the rubbish piles up in the corridors. You can even see people straining as they try to pass a particularly unforgiving stool in the lavatory. The sound effects are equally elaborate.

You can hear everything. And I mean everything. You can tell if the people straining in the toilet are doing Cnumber ones' or Cnumber twos', thanks to the telltale Csplosh' sound of the occasional turd hitting the water.

None of the patients seem to do the old Cbung a layer of sound-deadening bog roll onto the water surface' trick - they just don't care who hears their embarrassing noises. Perhaps they've noticed that the hospital doesn't actually have a roof, so it doesn't seem to matter.

In the same way that its predecessor revealed Theme Parks to be little more than cynical money-making engines, Theme Hospital tackles the medical profession with a barely-disguised air of gleeful subversion. Keeping patients alive is encouraged, but mainly because it harms your reputation - and therefore your income - if they start dropping dead in the corridors which happens right before your eyes, by the way. There are times when it pays to have the clinical business acumen of a Bill Gates, and the human compassion of a Genghis Khan.