Coming In From The Cold
Alan Wake. Screenshot courtesy of the author.
By Brice Puls
I live in an old apartment. It’s got these great big bay windows looking over the street which, while giving me the great benefit of continuing my beloved past-time of people watching, also has the unfortunate side-effect of letting in the outside elements. The wood is falling apart, the seals have rusted away, and the glass can only try it’s best to prevent the outdoor conditions from making their way inside. But it feels cozy still, because when I come home from my responsibilities, I can get under a blanket, lay on the couch, and watch the world outside. I get to feel that transition of moving from one state to the next. One part of my day is over, another point has begun.
The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
When we were getting together last month to discuss a collaborative article topic for the zine, I brought up how much I loved the satisfaction of that feeling. Stepping into a moment where you can take a break feels like such a rewarding experience in art. I think of Frodo waking up in bed in Rivendell in The Lord of The Rings, the father finding the basement shelter in Cormac McCarthy’s novel The Road, or stepping into a tavern in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. The moment where your characters can take a break from their normal state, whether it’s running, shooting, exploring, creating, or whatever loop fuels the story’s core motivation.
As games become grander and more complex, with every action you take being a piece of serving the overall goal, we lose out on those moments. The joy of participating in interactive non-sequiturs seems to be lost as returning home means you must spend time crafting, shopping, training, playing a mini-game, or some other activity that can be “leveled up” or expanded. I spent a lot of time designing my base in No Man’s Sky, so flying home will always feel comfortable and rewarding, but the game seeks you to move further, and returning to your planet feels like a step back. Assassin’s Creed Valhalla lets you customize your town, but being there never feels like rest, there’s always another step to take. When I play a game I like to choose a spot where I imagine my character can settle down, where coming back to this one place gives them a feeling of comfort, of coming inside from the cold.
Sea of Thieves. Screenshot courtesy of the author.
Those moments stand out far more to me than the most bombastic of events; the come-down periods in Red Dead Redemption of riding your horse while a quiet song plays in the background, the feeling of finding a warm campfire in Superbrothers: Sword & Sworcery EP, the relief of reaching calm light in Alan Wake, the joy of standing on the deck of my ship in Sea of Thieves with my friends, playing a sea shanty in the virtual moonlight. Even Mirror’s Edge, a game which has a gameplay loop entirely based around the concept of not stopping, gives your character a moment to take a breath and look at herself and her surroundings.
Something is to be said for the joy of idle time in games. Strengthening the player/avatar relationship is all about allowing the player to take actions they wish to see those characters make. And that’s not to make a blanket statement against games which choose to convey relentless energy and drive against a grand objective. There’s many games of action and intensity I find immensely valuable and engaging. But as we spend time crafting these worlds that are so detailed, so expansive, and continuing to evolve as more things are possible with the technology we are given, sometimes we’re lucky if we’re given the slight benefit of being able to sit in a chair, or pet an animal. When all you have are tasks, everything begins to feel like homework. And it’s not just about including a mechanical respite as a solution to comfort, it can be as simple as anesthetic. A place to visit that feels calm, that feels welcoming, that feels like a little bit of home.
Outer Wilds. Screenshot courtesy of the author.
The game Outer Wilds is about making the most of the time you have. You’re an explorer, stuck in an ever-repeating 22 minute loop which continuously culminates in a beautiful explosion of light, obliterating your galaxy and everything within it. And every time you wake up again, right where you started your adventure a few short minutes ago. The game is a rush to hop in your tiny little spaceship and fly through the doomed cosmos, trying to reach hard-to-navigate areas, solve puzzles, and discover clues. And no matter what you do, you’ll find yourself back at the beginning. A little bit wiser, a little bit wearier, and wondering what you should try next and how to end this cycle. Your tiny little spaceship is packed with personal effects, warmly lit, and is your ever-present companion. It’s your only home in a galaxy of constant turbulence. But there’s moments where I’m overwhelmed. I have too many problems to solve, and no idea how to progress forward. In those times, if time is running low and I see the end coming for me, there’s no better joy than to hop in, float in the beauty of space, and just relax in it’s kinetic glory, waiting for the inevitable to come.
The adventure will be right there when I head out again, but it’s a relief to take a break from the cold.