Journey, the long-awaited and much-praised third release from American game developer thatgamecompany, presents a simple enough story: a humanoid that must travel from a barren desert to near the top of a mountain. A beacon of light guides the traveler in between peaks. Along the way, the player can invigorate swaths of fabric, bringing them to life–thatgamecompany has no interest in creating a Sisyphean lecture and the flourishes of the magical comfort the player that wonderment instead is the primary focus– which also provides the player with the brief ability to fly. For about an hour and a half (it’s no coincidence that a game with such a cinematic flair also takes as long to complete as a film) the player will traverse a series of beautifully-rendered environments using a combination of flight and foot.
If the idea of spending nearly two hours with little to do but indulge in exploring essentially half-a-dozen or so elaborate sandboxes sounds dry, stay far away from Journey. The game, as with any travel, demands an investment from the player–even a walk through Paris can seem trite if one doesn’t want to be there. On nights where I was exhausted and then tried to play, I quickly grew restless with the game, but upon returning with a full night’s sleep I could find space to let its not-inconsiderable charm overtake me. Much effort has been placed in the design of the half-a-dozen or so environments the player can navigate through, with dream-like landscapes and intricate architecture, and when combined with the moments of flight the game causes the heart to race as happens in real-life before a grand adventure.
Flight, if included, is often the most exciting part of most games. Who hasn’t dreamt of the freedom of movement a bird has or imagined themselves in the shoes of Icarus? The navigation through three-dimensional space is behind many beloved videogames such as Pilotwings and Nights. Flight holds power over us because of our drive for exploration, an action implicit in videogames, be it as straightforward as discovering new levels or as subtle as unraveling the premise of a game itself as one plays.
If there is one thing that prevents me from whole-heartedly loving thatgamecompany’s game it is that Journey falls short of the expectations that are evoked by the use of its title. If a game is to render so many genre conventions as distractions–the killing of enemies, the counting of lives, the accumulation of currency–then there must be a deepening of what remains, the exploration. However, the environments are too bounded–step too far of course and a strong wind will blow you back on track–so that one feels like a bird in a cage, albeit a large and beautifully-crafted one. What’s lost is that exciting sense of possibility, of what might be over there. Even if logically one knows she will never make it to there–it might be too far, too difficult, too dull a journey–having that potential is much of the thrill. There is a sinking feeling in realizing that this adventure is set on rails, without even the illusion of something unplanned.
This isn’t to say that thatgamecompany hasn’t thought of the inclusion of spontaneity (and a fantastic one at that) in the form of Journey‘s multiplayer option. Assuming the player is connected to the internet, the game will quietly pair players at random to provide an organic companion. Incorporating the human factor into a game isn’t novel, but here with each player unable to communicate aside from releasing a sonic call and with a purposeful anonymity for the duration of the game, new layers of meaning are added to the game.
In my first playthrough, I encountered a player who seemed to have no idea how to navigate the land. Despite my calls to follow and my repeated attempts to shadow what to do, the other player frustratingly fell behind. After a moment’s consideration I left them behind. Having finished the game now twice, I wonder if I once again found myself with such a companion would I instead just hang out and savour the brief interactions we could manage?
In my second run, I was paired with someone who had a mastery of the game and led me around the environments with a child-like enthusiasm. It recalled a treasured memory from a few summers ago on Canada Day when a few friends led me to a secret place to watch the fireworks and the camaraderie that was built from a shared adventure. In Journey, the length of a scarf flowing behind the characters signals how experienced they are in the game: my companion was dressed in a white robe with a lengthy scarf that stretched off the screen. At one point in the game I misstepped and a dragon made of stone attacked us. We both survived but afterwards I noticed my companion’s scarf was a stub compared to before. I felt deep remorse.
Although earlier I mentioned my disappointment in the limited, but carefully-staged environments in Journey, I also can see a reason behind it. The smaller scope allows players to become familiar with the spaces and in turn feed a change in behaviour toward their companions. With Journey, thatgamecompany seems to say that the lives we each lead are disarmingly similar and that in the interactions between one another is where the true adventure lies. This isn’t a shocking epiphany, but a philosophical stance demonstrates a willingness for thatgamecompany to take on weightier topics, something I, as part of a generation of players heading into midlife, welcome.
The concept of embarking upon a journey is a well-tread territory for videogame players. Many game developers draw their stories from a homogeneity of sources–Tolkien, Roddenberry, and Lucas–and thus a surfeit of videogames are recursive takes on the archetypal monomyth. This is perhaps more of an observation than a criticism: given the interactive nature of the medium, inhabiting the role of an adventurer is a natural fit; however, the failure point of such works occurs when the makers of videogames fail to differentiate them from the legion of existing games.
For Journey, what separates it from other titles may well be the role of faith. As a sometimes lone traveller with little to guide you except the belief that the destination up upon the mountain is a worthy one, faith is essential to progression. When a companion appears, there are many unknowns, but again faith in the other player’s motives is key to creating a connection where ostensibly there should be none. And finally, there is the faith in thatgamecompany itself, a belief that as players we should willingly trust in the young studio to deliver an experience that can reside in our hearts and minds alongside the best voyages we have taken physically, spiritually, or metaphorically. Much of Journey delivers on this promise. As for the parts that don’t, no journey is perfect, and what’s comforting is the very human ability to find worth in whatever’s there.
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