Games With Grey

Coffee Talk’s central narrative is a mature and engaging construction, being highly character-driven. And the cast of characters is large, the characters themselves diverse, each featuring distinct aesthetics and distinct feelings – fear, bitterness, frustration and the like. Unravelling these characters’ depths ultimately becomes the driving narrative motivation; the player is largely tasked with establishing a rapport with these various characters, striving always for familiarity, and consequently transparency; as this familiarity emerges – which can take a fair amount of time – each individual patron at the titular café loses their hesitancy and guardedness, instead embracing more relaxed postures. Once disarmed in this fashion, the collective cast of characters repeatedly displays ample vulnerabilities, speaking of their flaws, their sorrows, their travails. With their ample humanity, each individual café visitor displays profound depth. More crucial, though, are their dynamic attributes – no character is static, their growth and regressions highly believable; over the span of but two or so weeks, an intense bond is forged between NPC and player, this forging being a monumental achievement – the player necessarily sympathizes with these characters, another illustration of narrative engagement. It is impossible to lavish too much praise on the narrative, grounded and mature, sometimes showing psychological undertones. But these characters are all united in one distinct fashion: they all engage in repeated and sometimes intense conflict, whether internal or external. Faced with such hardship, it is inevitable they should venture into Coffee Talk, some characters making such visits a nightly occurrence. Their coming is largely attributable to the tranquil and inviting atmosphere of the café, which is indeed very palpable; Coffee Talk ultimately morphs into a character in its own right.  

The larger game world’s presentation and lore are another source of creativity, the developers melding realism with fantasy. The narrative transpires in dreary Seattle, too, that location grounding the narrative in believability, establishing ample moodiness. But by including manifold different races, the developers do indeed inject creativity into what might otherwise be mundane or banal. Here, humans have their presence, certainly, the greatest example of humanness being the green-haired Freya, a nightly visitor to Coffee Talk. Given her repeated visits, her speech’s directness and bold sincerity are understandable – her unassuming nature is very endearing, even if her race – human – is the least imaginative of all included races. Her occupational struggles are particularly intense – Freya writes stories for a local Seattle paper, though having aspirations for greater, more fulfilling endeavors, a novel specifically. And so she overworks herself, her increasing exhaustion sometimes influencing her behavior and spirits within the café. Freya, then, is the perfect illustration of conflicted humankind, weary and overworked though pushing onwards through her exhaustion, showing profound motivation.

Freya’s portrayal, then, is absolutely flawless, though with the creative impulses driving the entire experience, those other mentioned races have considerable narrative prominence, many of them clashing with Freya in values, others identifying with her struggle. Even with this emotional identification, racial tensions abound – consider only the romantic relationship existing between the elven Baileys and his affectionate partner, a succubus named Lua. In this world, elves have had a longstanding feud with the succubi, meaning each race has a poor, oftentimes hostile perception of the other. This hostility expectantly oppresses the pair of lovers, who cling to each other indifferent to race; they are motivated by mutual affection, prepared to fight whatever the consequences. Resolute or no, reconciliation is won only with great hardship. Reflecting this, the lovers are forced to side between each other and family; if Baileys marries Lua, familial ostracism is likely the end result. Here again is a wonderful display of conflict, that unifying constancy, while the narrative’s great, imaginative qualities are observable. With the game world’s masterful lore and creativity, other races see inclusion; humans, elves, and succubi do not stand alone. Orcs have their place, vampires theirs, while even werewolves and mermaids have a prominent presence. The exchanges between these varied races are expertly written, sometimes literary, though the content of their dialogues repeatedly strives for realism – stilted speech is rejected outright, even by the seeming intellectuals. Masterful writing necessarily results in greater impactfulness, emotional and cerebral engagements. And so it is here, the narrative alternately inspiring sorrow within the player, other times evoking fierce and overflowing adulation. Here, the developers invite the player to interact with and interrogate the narrative proper, one which is grounded and easily understood, though still one which rejects simplicity; the developers’ ambitions here were lofty, the execution perfect.

Consider only another plot thread, this one concerning youthful Rachel, in this instance a shapeshifter, occupying a cat body multiple times throughout the narrative. Shapeshifter or no, her youthfulness – and consequent ignorance – are her defining characteristics, a fact almost all of the Coffee Talk patrons comment on, desperate to direct her growth, to help Rachel stave off inevitable conflict. And her life is brimming with conflict; Rachel’s success as musician is immense, though that success is regarded by her father with ample weariness; as father, he likely has greatest insight into her strengths and limitations, and merely seeks to prevent Rachel from overstepping those boundaries; he seeks to avert a disaster which actually seems quite tangible.  Here are additional displays of believable drama, while the family-focused emphasis is quite unique and compelling; the problems this pair experiences are major departures from, say, Freya’s experiences as struggling, overworked writer, or the romantic strife characterizing Lua’s relationship with Baileys. The dichotomy between age / youth marks another achievement in Rachel’s relationship with her father. But still more characters exist, the vampire character Hyde among them. As character, he is an anomaly, in that he is poorly developed and shows a relative dearth of depth: he stands alone, his defining attribute being his bluntness; he never shies away from uttering fierce criticism, if he deems it necessary. Hyde’s werewolf companion Gala, conversely, shows complexity, his race suffering from periodic bouts of fury. In these bouts, humanity and human reason are displaced by beastliness, and Gala thus has two distinct sides to his personality, perceptions. He is afflicted, this affliction naturally resulting in suffering – and greater player endearment. But standing somewhat in line with Hyde, the mermaid Aqua acts in a very conventional and cliched fashion, being defined by her shyness, her face constantly flushed in nervousness. But even here is growth, as Aqua’s orc companion Myrtle instils in Aqua something approaching confidence – dynamism abounds; characterization excels.

Narrative prioritization inevitably results in gameplay minimalization; and so it is with Coffee Talk, the gameplay systems basic though not deprived of enjoyability, engagement. The central gameplay system revolves around drink crafting, the player having access to manifold different ingredient types, the combining of these various ingredients influencing the drink produced. The diversity of craftable beverages is immense, though this immensity is not overwhelming; it is fairly easy to intuit the precise constituents of any given drink, while intuition necessarily grows as the narrative progresses; by the end game, hearing “latte” instantly informs the player that milk will be a primary ingredient. The growth here is remarkable, and the game encourages the player to think as a typical barista might think. With those various ingredient types – see objects like ginger, honey, chocolate, milk, coffee, and the like – potentially hundreds of distinct drinks are craftable. The triumphant sensations accompanying a particularly complex drink’s crafting are intense. Each individual patron, meanwhile, has their own distinct beverage preferences, though many characters vacillate between various drinks. Learning of their regular order heightens the sense that the player truly knows these various secondary characters – a clever link exists, this link being another illustration of the swelling familiarity and intimacy which expands and thrives as the narrative progresses. Consider Freya. The moment she walks through the door, the player is almost completely assured that she will order an espresso; she need not even voice her request, and crafting her drink becomes an automated process. Ample experimentation is encouraged – required – in that some customers will order extravagant or exotic drinks, the names of those beverages revealing little about the drink’s constituent parts.  

Oftentimes in these scenarios, the player will mix and remix ingredients, striving for the appropriate drink’s crafting. Failure inevitably arises in these instances, but failure’s tangibility again bolsters the satisfaction felt when the player serves the customer their ideal drink. A trial-and-error system thus exists here, though in a unique twist this system does not inspire frustration, which cannot be said of other genres, where the live / die / live / die system results in ample frustrations. Further frustration is staved off by a forgiving system’s implementation – the player can discard an incorrect drink at will, then promptly set about on producing the correct drink. But reflecting clever gameplay balance, the number of times such discarding is executable is limited, with only five discards available per night. This limitation results in considerable tension, and brewing the desired beverage while on the final available brewing sequence is almost cathartic. But the system is not wholly devoid of failings, the greatest offender being the customers’ reactions to incorrect drinks. The disgruntled patron may grumble a bit, uttering a few lines of frustrated dialogue, but just as soon as this frustration emerges it is discarded – the character returns to their traditional dialogue. This design decision almost trivializes the player’s actions, suggests they are not acting upon the gameworld. Had these characters expressed open, more lasting rage, the player would be even more compelled to craft the desired object. As it stands, there is relatively little penalty for failing in gameplay. Still, the developers took what might be a mundane sequence of events and made them exciting. 

A masterful sense of focus and temporality are established here, each individual night beginning in precisely the same fashion – a newspaper is received. While the contents of the paper cannot be perused – the player can only scrutinize the front cover – the newspapers’ inclusion only serves to communicate the constant passage of time. This repeated opening might suggest a turn towards the formulaic, towards the hyperfocused, but the newspapers’ world-building potentials and functions are indeed immense. The paper’s content, meanwhile, fleshes out the discussions observed within Coffee Talk, further cementing the game world, its various characters, within the Seattle microcosm. As was the case with the characterizations, this world is fiercely dynamic, too. Just as Rachel speaks of her burgeoning musical career, her desire to perform at the fictional Coachella music festival, the newspaper discusses the concert; the world here is reactionary, and while the entirety of the narration occurs within Coffee Talk, the player is constantly reminded of the larger world. Coffee Talk, with its diverse, oft struggling patrons, is emblematic of daily struggle, and it is easy to imagine that the world outside the café, outside of Seattle, is steeped in further struggles, sufferings – considered the multiple races, these races presumably congregating throughout the other various cities, environments.

The newspaper, its groundedness, heightens immersion, which is already intense, owing to Coffee Talk’s moodiness, atmospheric and abounding in careful attention to detail. All throughout the narrative the player will look on at exactly the same scene, but this lack of environmental diversity does not result in staleness or player frustration. Indeed, both are staved off by those wondrous aesthetics, wonders being achieved not only within the café proper, but also within the café’s various patrons – the sprite work for these characters is phenomenal, the diversity from character to character helping each individual NPC forge a distinct identity – the player has insight into their personage even before these NPCs utter their very first words. Furthering the sprites’ magnificence, meanwhile, subtle yet impactful animation is included. In conversation, the discoursers might gaze at each other intensely, only to avert their gaze once something potentially embarrassing is said, or boundaries are overstepped. These alterations, this rejection of purely static sprite work, again contributes a sense of motion, the capturing of motion meaning reality is in turn captured – real individuals do not stare forth blankly, unchanging. Consider also the smoking characters in the narrative. Their cigarettes expectantly billow forth smoke, but rather than simply letting the cigarette smolder, they take observable drags; motion and believability both are reinforced, as is the case when Aqua blushes, her sprite’s face growing redder, or as when Freya staggers into the café especially exhausted, her facial expressions and animations taking on an almost humorous direction, being detached from the vivaciousness she routinely displays. The presentation, then, is phenomenal, while the inclusion of a sole window permits the player to see passing silhouettes, to see the sometimes torrential rain pouring down in dreary Seattle. This window is a subtle inclusion, though again it establishes a sense of place. Fantastic music, typically tranquil and relaxed though not completely deprived of energy, serves to wonderfully complement the aesthetical achievements defining the café, its customers.  

Very few are the failings in Coffee Talk, the most major being the experience’s total linearity; the hyperfocusedness is a double-edged sword. Save for the drink brewing sequences, the consequent experimentation which occurs in those sequences, the game is very dialogue heavy. Fair enough. But with this emphasis, any given player will likely desire more agency in conversation, which could easily be achieved if the developers included customizable dialogue responses. This simple inclusion would only permit the player to execute greater self-expression, to imprint themselves upon the experience. Instead, every line of dialogue is predetermined – Coffee Talk’s owner will utter the same lines always. Additional freedom would have immensely positive consequences, though instead constraints are forced upon the player. When further considering the game’s dialogue-heavy nature, were the writing inconsistent or of an outright poor quality, the entire experience would collapse. Such collapsing is averted, the game’s writing of a traditionally excellent and immersive quality, minimizing somewhat the sting felt by dialogue’s limited interactivity. The shifting emphasis upon the various NPCs also results in ample freshness – and a certain degree of excitement; seeing a customer return to the café after a few days absence greatly inspires such excitement, further illustrating the connection forged between player and NPCs as the narrative progresses, the transparency they do in time display enhancing these characters’ endearing attributes. Pleasing these individuals – achieved by serving them the appropriate drink – becomes greatly desired, in that the player has naturally grown interested with their various stories, their struggles and successes.

Characters and presentation excel, certainly – the café is expertly presented, as are its manifold different patrons. Massive are the writing triumphs, too, and the only other real failing outside of the constrained interactivity regards Coffee Talk’s overall length, the entire experience being very brief, lasting no more than five or six hours, and is theoretically completable in a single sitting. I do not make this complaint lightly – shorter games are often better games, greatly rejecting the bloat characterizing longer games, like the conventional open-world title of the present moment, featuring dozens upon dozens of gameplay hours. This bloatedness is a major source of frustration – brevity is an asset. These things being said, clearly the title immersed me; narrative prolongation would only bring considerable delight. Some games cannot end soon enough – Coffee Talk ends too swiftly. With its brief length, cinematic attributes, and excellent writing, Coffee Talk is undeniably an indie title, wholly embracing artsiness and creativity, a panacea to AAA game design. Many players may indeed be repelled by gameplay slowness, desiring intenser gameplay sequences, but once the narrative takes hold of the player’s imagination, once slowness is adjusted to and accepted, spectacular are the end results. With its accessibility and frequent narrative heft, it has cross-genre appeal – even the most resolute FPS fan can derive delight from this small yet ambitious indie darling; Coffee Talk is boldly refreshing and original.