THIS MAN IS AN ISLAND
Also for: iPad, iPhone, Macintosh, Windows, Xbox One
As strange as it may sound, a strictly linear story exploration game like
Dear Esther benefits greatly from multiple playthroughs. I've
played through it thrice for this review. The first playthrough felt like
preparation. It built the framework and prepared me for the subject matter and
themes - it was the theory lesson before the first practice run, if you will,
and it steered my mind into a certain emotional direction.
And then, with the framework, themes and my own theories in place, the second
playthrough allowed me to add some meaning to the experience. The interaction
is extremely simple. You walk around a small, rocky island, following its
different, occasionally branching pathways towards a radio tower in the
distance. On the way you try to unlock as many pieces of narration you can
find.
You come across and search a few bothys, visit some other landmarks, walk
through a set of caverns and tunnels, and end up on a candlelit beach. The
voiceover narration doesn't make a lot of sense - you'll have a hard time
cracking that superficial code to get to the meaning behind them. However,
adding what is seen, heard and felt on the island will help you draw your own conclusions.
For my third playthrough I activated the developer's commentary. It helped me
confirm some of my theories, but also added some more, including a lot of
nuances and visuals that I missed. Afterwards, I felt better prepared get to
the meat of the story. In a narrative so scattershot, it seems like every word
of every story snippet is an invaluable piece of the puzzle.
The convincing
voiceovers convey deep regret, sorrow and torment. The visual language,
especially the blue-painted chemical formulas and electronic schematics on the
walls, point towards an almost delusional mind dealing with a
devastating loss. It radiates that heartbreaking aura of a
narrator desperate to reach out to a person who's no longer around.
In Dear Esther, like both of the creator's (The Chinese Room) other
games I've played (Everybody's Gone to the Rapture and Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs), the writing's so confusing and pretentious that it's hard to comprehend.
But the game is so short, and the playing area so small, that it encourages
you to try and try again. Going from start to finish only takes 1-2 hours.
Taking place on a Hebridean island (Scotland), the narrative revolves around a
few island residents in different stages of needing rescue. They seem,
however, unwilling to accept it. The audio design, particularly the music
playing against the crashing waves, establish a somber, depressive mood. As
you explore, you quickly realize that the island is completely deserted.
Although a naturally beautiful setting, the marks left behind by the
inhabitants are all decaying. No one has tended to the buildings, gardens or
pathways for decades. No one has reported the shipwrecks to the authorities,
and they've been left to rust. The shipping containers and their content are
left to clutter the beaches and gullies.
John Donne once wrote a poem that claims "No man is an island", but
Dear Esther hints at the opposite. At a moment of deep drug-induced confusion,
the game explicitly suggests that the island itself might metaphorically
represent a certain person. He's lying in a hospital bed, possibly being treated
for kidney stones, but also craving forgiveness for a traumatic event he feels
responsible for. And if the island really is this person,
its inhabitants might represent different aspects of that person at
different times and mental states in his life. The last two chapters strongly
suggest that the journey takes place in a dream.
Nevertheless, I believe a stark, emotional, unforgettable story
lurks deep beneath the surface. It is a story that could deeply affect anyone
who's capable of dropping their preconceptions of the "walking sim"-genre - players
willing to lower their guard and open up to wider expectations and
discomfort. Players prepared to meet the story more than halfway. Rid of such
shackles, they could ride the emotional undercurrents of this story, and I
think the strong ending could hit them exceptionally hard.
The problem is that Dear Esther expects a lot of heavy-lifting
from the player - probably much more than it should ask for. There's no "game"
in here whatsoever. It doesn't test and cross-examine your theories. Your
conclusions are never confirmed nor denied. After the ending, you'll be left
guessing, and online communities containing others' analyses are your only
crutch. Perhaps your take is unique - after all, certain elements like item
placement and voiceovers allegedly change between playthroughs. For instance,
the very first voiceover is different with every fresh start. Just try it
yourself.
It's a hard bargain. Such a vague experience isn't something everyone, capable or not, is prepared
to invest time and effort into. Especially not if they're unconvinced whether
that investment will be worth it. Maybe they'll get nothing out of it. Most
people aren't blessed with infinite spare time - nor the mental energy, for
that matter - between work hours and daily chores.
First and foremost, Dear Esther is an emotional experience, and that's what
you should expect. If you're aspiring storyteller, Dear Esther could also be
an inspiring excercise in crafting a mysterious and atmospheric narrative out of story fragments.
Feeling like you successfully puzzled the story together might help you
understand the structure behind the craftmanship. If so, why don't you share
one with the world?
If Dear Esther fails to accomplish either, you're outta luck, because then
there's absolutely nothing here for you, save from some pretty imagery - the bioluminescent caves in the third chapter are out of this world - and atmospheric melodies on
the soundtrack. Simply put, if you've already decided story exploration is not
for you, this is not the game to change your mind. But if you're still on the
fence I'd say give it a try. It doesn't take a lot of time to see it through,
and if you have a hard time leaving that narration behind afterwards, maybe
you have stumbled upon something you didn't know you needed in your life.
As for me, I never got fully on-board the emotional journey, but neither was I
bored. Like music, Dear Esther is primarily a source of emotion, where the
words can add meaning once you've established the right mood. The perceived lack of gameplay is there deliberately to help with that. For me it didn't
quite work, but who am I to determine it's not gonna work for anyone?
And just as I'm concluding this review, I insert the final screenshot above
and notice the deadly tired, sad-eyed cave exit. Dear Esther is obviously one
of those games that can take longer to analyze and write about than to
actually play. I'll settle with a slightly above average rating, which must be
the most backhanded compliment or careful insult you can give to such a
narratively ambitious project. It was the original "walking sim". I like it
less than I'd like to, but more than most of the games it inspired.
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