Reflecting on 2012's real Game of the Year.
http://www.nintendoworldreport.com/blog/33076
I didn’t know exactly what to expect when I downloaded thatgamecompany’s third and final PlayStation Network game, Journey. PlayStation Plus members had access to the game about a week early, and the buzz on the Internet was that this was something special. But nobody could really describe the game, which seemed adequate to me. “You’re walking toward a mountain” is about as detailed as it got. That seemed awfully vague. Was there platforming involved? Do you collect Bafmodads? How does combat work? Despite not really knowing anything about the game—I had been unwittingly ignoring all preview coverage—I happily downloaded it on the promise that it was something different.
Before we continue, I should mention that I am not an emotional person. The last time I’d shed any significant amount of tears was when I was at the vet having my cancer-ridden dog put down. I certainly got misty-eyed at the end of Metal Gear Solid 3 and for some odd reason; my eyes similarly well up at the bitter end of Jurassic Park, when Alan is looking out the helicopter’s window at the flock of pelicans. But in general, it takes a bizarre confluence of factors to make me exude salty eye-sweat. That said…
I almost lost my composure TWICE during Journey. It is a powerful game.
It is powerful precisely because it’s so simple. Ask me what the game’s about, and I’ll tell you the exact same thing: “You’re walking toward a mountain.” And on the way there, as Mike Sklens so eloquently put it, you learn things about yourself. Journey is gaming stripped bare of all unnecessary content and gameplay. There are no enemies to fight, there isn’t any purpose-driven platforming, and the game’s only collectible is completely optional and exists mainly to facilitate altruism (more on that later). You do three things in this game: move around, sing, and jump. But that’s all you NEED to do. There are no extraneous gameplay features—the fluff, the bloat, is gone. This is gaming distilled to its purest form.
Without distraction, the focus becomes the journey itself. You are a small, robed figure whose singular mission is to head toward a mountaintop, its beacon ever present on the horizon. You move through the ruins of a once-great civilization and meet magical creatures who help you reach the summit. While most of the game takes place in the desert, a significant portion has you wandering through the ruins themselves, while the final, desperate act sees the protagonist wearily trudging up the mountain in question. It should be noted that Journey would not have the emotional impact were it not for the Grammy-nominated soundtrack written and performed by Austin Wintory—who worked on the soundtrack for three years. His efforts are well worth the time spent. I cannot listen to the soundtrack without being reduced to tears. The memories of the game associated with that music are powerful and unique.
Imagery is powerful stuff, people.Speaking of images, Journey’s art style is at once simplistic, brilliant, and melancholy. There are no living things in this world anymore, save the occasional flying carpet-like creatures. For all intents and purposes, your character is walking through a post-apocalyptic wasteland—not the usual Fallout-style wasteland, but one reclaimed by the desert. You see hints of the great cities, and you are exposed to ancient hieroglyphics that document the civilization’s gradual downfall. The brilliant reds and oranges of the dunes and cities, the way the sand shifts beneath your feet, and the golden reflections of the environment during a sunset—these images combine with the soundtrack to make your heart swell. Your final march, through a snowy wasteland, is both hopeful and fraught with uncertainty. As the robed protagonist struggles against the wind and cold, avoiding overhead dangers in search of the still-distant mountaintop as the frantic strings drop into an anxious minor key, the gravity of the situation is palpable. And as the music gives way to ambient sounds of crunching snow and cruel wind, a horrible calm flows over you. The futility of your journey, the very thought of failure, is overwhelming. But then, as you’re about to lose all hope, something amazing happens. It’s something open to interpretation, but the resulting sequence is joyous but also inevitably bittersweet. The entire scope of your adventure suddenly snaps into focus, and, again, the soundtrack provides tearful closure.
By one’s lonesome, Journey is a deeply spiritual, emotional game. But with another person, it’s a whole different level of pathos. TGC implemented perhaps the most brilliant multiplayer system ever seen in a video game: randomized, anonymous, drop-in/drop-out multiplayer. While exploring one of the game’s expansive areas, you may come across a fellow traveler. This character looks just like you, save for subtle differences in his cloak’s design, or perhaps he’s wearing white (that’s an unlockable feature). You call to him using the Circle button, and he calls back. You join up, as your goals appear to be in sync. The addition of a companion greatly enhances Journey’s emotional appeal. Despite not being able to directly interact with your friend, you feel bizarrely compelled to follow him, to aid his solving of environmental puzzles, to thank him for pointing out secrets or safer routes, and to warn him of coming danger. If he is struck down by some terrifying stone guardian, you feel helpless and horrified—worse, perhaps, than if it had been you.
Crap, that is still REALLY far off.The feelings of camaraderie only inflate over the course of the game, and during that final, arduous climb, there can be no doubt, as you huddle together to stay warm in the cold, that your separate journeys have truly become one. Your fates entwined, Journey’s end becomes a celebration: we did this together, you and I. When the screen fills with white as your two silhouettes fade away, you feel happy for yourself and your partner. That feeling of togetherness is so powerful that it’s difficult to imagine playing Journey without an anonymous companion.
Journey is a game I recommend to all my friends and family, regardless of gaming experience. As I said before, its simplicity allows Journey to be more than a typical video game, exploring spiritual and emotional frontiers that would be untenable if thatgamecompany was at all concerned with more typical gaming tropes like platforming challenges, item collection, or health bars. It sits far outside—and I would argue above—the current video game spectrum and is thus difficult to adequately describe. You are walking toward a mountain. This is the direction video games need to move in: emotional engagement, a focus on beautiful art direction, and simplicity in game design. By stripping down the art form to its essentials, Journey is able to tell, and focus on, a far greater story, and a far deeper experience, than any other game on the market today.
Journey is not just my Game of Year—it may be my favorite game of all time.
Topic: A Spiritual Journey (Read 2656 times)
