Gris

I can explain.

You know what? No. It's not my fault that every single indie Switch game has overlying themes of death and loss. I didn't ask for it! It also isn't my fault that these sad mfers (production teams) really know how to treat a lady (gamer). 

The most beautiful landscapes. Elegant, layered story lines. Scores that will transport you to other dimensions. Especially the makers of Gris. 

This game caught my eye pretty early on when perusing the sales section. The art was unforgivingly beautiful. (Is this English? Perhaps not. And yet you cannot help but agree, yes?) The style felt like it was straight out of an adult animated film. Not that kind! Far from it. More like the artfully animated grand tales from the eighties with just-too-adult themes. (Couldn't rent those for the sleep over.) There was something nostalgic about it, like I'd been "always wanting" to play this game, but never had the means to. Too young, too poor, too busy, but now was finally my time!

But that was impossible - the game only came out in 2018 and I certainly had never heard of it. (2018 was still within the time-frame of me taking a break from gaming and doing something terribly adult, I'm sure, with my free time.)

Upon starting it: I loved how I knew I wasn't going to get the full picture spilled for me. Nothing plainly spelled out. This one was going to be left up to interpretation. (Just the way I like my art-house grief.) Every screen is a gallery. Every movement a ballet. The flow, the fauna, the themes and threads.

Hardly any reading (if any, I honestly can't recall: the whole thing felt like a fever dream) and no cringe-inducing voice-overs! The puzzles and levels were challenging enough for me to turn to my old friend youtube a time or two. The journey felt equal parts terrifying and thrilling. Familiar and unexpected. You'll be whisked away deeper and deeper into the dream, the desert, the forest until suddenly - 

You're done.

Graduated from your grief. 

Sobbing uncontrollably into your midnight ramen and wondering how you possibly lived without this game. How you're going to live without ever breaking into another level.

This ending does not emerge. It does not grow from a soft symphony. It just lands.
Like a biblical slate from the heavens.

WHAM.

But like... in a beautiful, graceful kind of way. 

I thought maybe it's closer to what real life feels like when you're going through something so heavy (grief, depression, things of the like). You're in it, past the part when it's new and raw and all you can think of is "what now?" and "what could possibly come next?". You're at the place where the mental cartwheeling and disappointment and hurdles all seem so comfortable now. You're just in it. Until, before you know it, you're not.

There is no one watching you. No one to guide you, making sure you get the right lessons out of each step - that you don't go too far too fast. No kind sage. No supporting characters or credit roll. Just you. 

Maybe the production team designed it that way and maybe they didn't and I'm getting too philosophical about it all. But then again it is a game that kind of invites such pondering. 

This game is already on my "replay" list. For that time I take a vacation and... spend it on the couch? Crazier things have happened.

Highly recommend this one. Stay tuned for its sister game, Neva!