IF YOU GAZE LONG INTO A NAVEL...
The First Tree is one of those sensitive indie games that almost seem to exist beyond criticism. It is written, developed, and funded by a single creator, David Wehle, in his spare time between work, family life, and everyday responsibilities. That alone invites generosity. Add to that the fact that the story revolves around Wehle coming to terms with the loss of his father at a young age, and the game positions itself as something deeply personal—almost untouchable.
And yet, it is precisely because of this framing that The First Tree invites scrutiny.
The game has you controlling a fox wandering through a mountainous dreamscape, searching for her lost cubs. Parallel to this, a narrator recounts memories of his father through voice-over conversations with his wife. The intended emotional bridge between these two narratives is fragile at best. The fox’s journey feels less like a metaphor that naturally emerges from grief and more like an abstract device forced into place to heighten emotional impact.
As a result, I often forgot what I was supposedly doing as the fox. The cubs become incidental, while the spoken story dominates the experience.
The narrative and aesthetics are clearly the main attraction—and they are also where the game falters most. From the opening moments, the dialogue tries too hard to be gentle, intimate, and profound. The hushed tone between the spouses feels rehearsed rather than lived-in, drifting into self-conscious sensitivity.
The performances, delivered by David Wehle and his wife Elise, aim for understatement but land in artificiality. The writing itself is intellectual in a way that might read well on paper, but feels deeply unnatural when spoken aloud. The result is an uncomfortable clash between lofty phrasing and amateur voice acting, undermining the sincerity the game so desperately strives for.
Worse still, the game insists on answering its own existential questions. Nothing is left for the player to reflect on privately. The wife character functions as a constant emotional interpreter, offering reassurance, explanations, and conclusions. This removes any space for ambiguity or personal projection, reducing the player to a passive observer.
Mechanically, The First Tree offers little resistance. You guide the fox through several open environments, following trails of glowing stars toward a large tree in the distance. Beams of light signal where to dig up artifacts tied to the narrator’s past. There are one or two rudimentary puzzles, but no real challenge—only forward motion toward the next voice-over.
The game concludes with a visually elegant moment I won’t spoil, and it is genuinely effective. Unfortunately, it arrives after nearly two hours of monotony.
The journey there is undermined by awkward controls and stiff animations that border on unintentional comedy. The sentimental soundtrack, paired with the hyper-sensitive narration, constantly pushes rather than invites emotion. And while the environments look appealing from afar, they fall apart under closer inspection.
I tried to resist my growing resentment. This is clearly a personal work, born of real loss. But having dealt with similar grief myself, I found no resonance here.
Despite its short runtime, The First Tree stretches itself thin: too much space, too little interaction, symbolism spelled out rather than felt. The message is straightforward, yet delivered with a level of self-importance that feels disproportionate.
Grief, in my experience, is rarely beautiful. It is raw, awkward, unresolved—often ugly. This game opts instead for polished landscapes and gentle metaphors, turning mourning into something scenic and consumable.
By the end, I felt less like I had shared in someone’s healing process and more like I had been invited on a carefully curated hike through grief, asked to admire the view rather than engage with the pain. The result is not cathartic but alienating: a piece of introspection that collapses into navel-gazing.
The First Tree is not offensive because it is personal—it is frustrating because it mistakes vulnerability for insight. I came away unmoved, irritated, and unconvinced, and I would urge most players to spend their time elsewhere.
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