SHADOWS TAKE ME DOWN
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This debut game from Danish studio Playdead paints its world as
monochrome, muted dread. Not a single color can be seen, only shadows and
shades of grey. The brightest things on the screen are often the tiny eyes of the protagonist. He doesn't utter a single word in the entire game. In
fact, the game contains no written or spoken language at all, except the menu
screen, the crooked neon "HOTEL"-sign halfway through the game, and the title
itself: "Limbo".
Limbo illustrates what I've been missing in some other
indie-2D-puzzle-platformers I've reviewed; the desire to tell a story through the game's
action and visuals alone - all the while keeping it as simple and
gameplay-focused as possible. Its themes about death and anguish are similar to the subsequent
Gris, but Limbo's symbolism is much more alluringly distinct, and the somber tone makes it
much more impactful. And believe it or not, it is also great "fun" to
actually play, although we've seen similar mechanics before and after.
The definitions of the word "Limbo" are: "Being trapped in an uncertain state
between two definite outcomes", and "Where dead infants go if they're not yet
baptized." The environments you run through are forests, cities and factories, all tied together by their atmosphere of silent death and uncertainty. You hear no
soundtrack, and as a result the sound effects are amplified. The controls are simple and
forgiving - the d-pad (or the left analogue stick) for movement and two action
buttons. If you can't quite make a jump, the boy will automatically grab on to
the ledge and pull himself up.
From the sense of horror, it's quite certain that this is a sort of
purgatory, and that the boy searches for some way to escape it and find his peaceful
rest in the afterlife. The events that led to his demise are open to
interpretation, but the trials you go through tell us he led a short, harsh
and tragic life, full of fears. The clues lie in the visual language, and the
opposition and obstacles you face on your way to the abrupt ending.
Through the simple control scheme, Playdead creates some devious puzzles that
often get brutal. It implements a physics engine that allows you to push and
pull objects to use as traps, rafts, platforms or whatever you need to clear
an obstacle. In spite of featuring a youthful protagonist, the game doesn't
shy away from gore - death by impalement, drowning, crushing, electrocution,
gunshot wounds and bone-breaking are all possible outcomes for failing.
But whenever you fail, the game has a forgiving checkpoint system that
alleviates a lot of frustration. As a result, a playthrough shouldn't take
more than 2-3 hours. It might sound too short, but it spends that time well,
constantly adding new environments, puzzles and hazards that implicate some of
the life events that lead to the shocking end. It weaves storytelling, visual
design and gameplay into a singular, scary tale of great personal tragedy.
And without spoiling anything, the ending is a big mystery that doesn't
explicitly tie everything together. I personally love it, for the same reason
I loved the enigmatic end of the TV series The Sopranos (1999-2007). That show became a big talker, and was still relatively
fresh when the ideas behind Limbo were still taking shape, and I suspect it
might have influenced this devastating ending.
Limbo's presentation isn't manipulative. Its horror isn't trickery - it
doesn't use jump scares or any sort of shock values to maximize its immediate
effects. Instead, it exists on a deeper plane, where it provokes classic
psychological responses out of symbols and archetypes that seem ingrained into the human
psyche. The big spider on the cover is a prime example. Darkness, loneliness
and abandonment are others. Bullying and social isolation feature heavily
somewhere in the middle, soon followed by a loss of control. And on it goes.
And the minimalist depiction of these events allows the player to develop
their own response to the horror. Whatever you feel when you
encounter these might stem from yourself as much as than the craftsmanship. It
might sound pretentious, but it is actually one of the strengths of minimalist
art design; to encourage the audience to fill that void by weaving parts of themselves into the
narrative. It might not always work, but when it does the result can be profound. It also incentivizes players to return to the game over time, and see whether their life experiences help them understand it even better.
Limbo's short length only adds to its strength. Everything fits together
almost eerily perfect. It is gameplay within visual design as storytelling.
Its puzzles are challenging, its atmosphere is oppressive and its wordless language is
universal. If it feels hard to deal with, then it's because it belongs to the
dark corners of our souls, where the rainbows don't shine and the light only causes the shadows all around to grow scarier.
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