Games With Grey

Deadly Premonition’s open world environment of Greenvale, Washington is defined by a pervasive dreariness – the sun’s presence is scarce, as eerie grey skies dominate. Eerie grey skies such as this are upsetting individually, but when that dreariness is paired with other sources of dreariness, spectacular – troubling – are the results. And so it is in Greenvale, that city often plagued by torrential rains, which do impart a certain moodiness; the game generally is highly atmospheric, and the thematic and aesthetic consistency achieved here is dramatic and impressive indeed. But clashing sensations exist, too. If Greenvale is overcast, if the sun is frequently missing from the sky, and if rain comes down violently in sheets, then logic suggests more alienating attributes would thrive – Greenvale would repel any given player, rather than attracting them, pleasuring them. Ultimately, alienation is rejected; light exists alongside dark in this profound environment. The towns varied citizens, the NPCs, are the greatest bastions of light; compelling all, they inject vitality into the environment, and by extension the narrative – characterization matters in Deadly Premonition; characterization serves a grounding, stabilizing function. Besides being beacons of positivity, these individual NPCs are beacons of resilience; clearly those who can brave this savageness, nature’s harshest and most unflinching displays, are stolid and patient individuals indeed. And so they are, and so these NPCs represent a certain warfare, humankind exchanging blows with ferocious, indifferent nature. This relationship, this struggle, is of paramount importance. In most locations of the present moment, the warfare, the feuding between civilization and nature, has largely been settled – the sprawling city is emblematic of humankind ‘s victories in the struggle. But here, in isolated Washington, resolution is elusive. Curiously, Greenvale’s citizens are oblivious as to this struggle’s very existence – rather than clashing with nature, they approach it harmoniously. And harmony does indeed thrive here, thrive in a singular fashion – for all the dreariness, foundationally the town and surrounding countryside is frequently quite beautiful; it is understandable why precisely the various NPCs should choose to remain there, for beauty continues to exist alongside innocence.

In this respect, Greenvale’s citizens are uniquely situated; they cling to vestiges of simplistic purity, while the larger world proper wallows in darkness and corruption. With this critical distinction comes weariness – collectively, the citizens are suspicious of outsiders, perhaps detecting in outsiders dangerous potentials – if they integrate in Greenvale society, the outside world’s horrors might see gradual insertion. Crucially, the narrative specifically revolves around this conflict, the outsider forced to intrude into the microcosm – the player character, FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan, is of the city. Being of the city, for Greenvale’s residence he is instinctively shrouded in darkness. While the dominant narrative thread revolves around a murder investigation – a plucky teenage waitress named Anna Graham is slaughtered under mysterious circumstances – another thread focuses on York’s relationship with the other NPCs, as he sets out – even if subconsciously – to assimilate into their society, backwards though it may be. Certain NPCs, though, are of especially profound hesitancy – consider only George Woodman, the town’s sheriff. A hulking and gruff individual, at the narrative’s opening he directs towards York not only weariness but also outright disdain – the struggle for assimilation is to be an uphill battle indeed, an intense battle. But reflecting humankind’s affability, some welcoming gestures are indeed executed – consider only Emily Wyatt, George’s junior assistant in the sheriff’s office. An affable individual, she is immensely likable, and is linked to York in a fashion lacking in all other characters – she was an outsider, too, only settling in the region briefly after high school. And so the pair are linked, and so an intimate relationship blossoms between them. George Woodman represents one camp – the resistors. Emily Wyatt represents another – the inviting and the friendly; diversity thrives in Greenvale, meaning believability also thrives. Some portrayals are unexpected, too. Consider only Anna Graham and her youthful companions. Logic suggests these youths would rebel against Greenvale, frustrated at its barrenness and perversity, its relative dearth of liveliness. No such resistance is ever depicted – uniqueness abounds. These characters’ affectionate embracing of backwards Greenvale only communicates the town’s inherent majesties, its appealing idyllic nature – beauty exists alongside quietness, too.   

Each named NPC – and they are abundant – possesses a boldly unique identity. Some of this uniqueness sprouts of exaggeration, as characters behave in an unrealistically eccentric fashion, typically for comedic ends. Eccentricity is clearly observable with Roaming Sigourney, who expectantly darts about Greenvale, shaking strangely as she moves, suggesting restlessness. Whenever encountered in this fashion, she frequently utters and reutters the same phrase: “My pot is getting cold!” Rather charming at first, the line eventually grows tedious; Roaming Sigourney is defined by one dimensionality, lacking in profound character attributes or character growth. With her static nature, she is like the antithesis to an Emily Wyatt or a George Woodman, both of whom undergo dramatic character alterations as the narrative progresses. But Roaming Sigourney’s insertion serves a vital function, again communicating Greenvale’s ample diversity; quantitatively, the town is scarce. But in terms of intriguing characters, Greenvale is overflowing. And intrigue need not spring exclusively from eccentricity or the boldly humorous – consider only Sally Graham, mother to the murdered Anna. Naturally, she is a creature defined by grief; her broken heart is discernible in the pained groans she utters, the tears which streak her cheeks – she is a tragic figure, and while her narrative role is lacking, she too serves a grounding function, being emblematic of the game’s more mature, bleaker themes – the narrative revolves around murder, after all, eventually snowballing to revolve around serial murder, the body count expanding, ever expanding as York circulates throughout the region, as he investigates. Reflecting tonal confliction, though, other NPCs align with Roaming Sigourney in their strangeness, their exaggerated strangeness. Consider only Keith Ingram, joint owner of the Milk Barn convenience store with his wife Lily. She is normal and believable, is quite charming in her plainness. Keith, however, wears a punk rock jacket, has boldly styled hair, and every sentence invariably features some instance of, “dude,” “man,” or “pal.” Surprisingly – and perhaps unexpectantly – these uttered phrases do not result in obnoxiousness. Indeed, Keith can be quite endearing, much of this endearment stemming from the earnestness which runs throughout the narrative, the world-building, and all of the central characters – Deadly Premonition has heart, and essentially all NPCs are carefully and cleverly designed. Some dangerously straddle the line between endearing and obnoxious, though most frequently endearment wins the struggle.  

Greenvale’s history and lore is rich, expertly developed. In the narrative’s opening moments, York settles into the Great Deer Yard Hotel, run by the antiquated Polly Oxford. A kindly woman, she expectantly displays her eccentricities, eccentricities which bolster her likability. Given her advanced age – and a seeming life time spent within Greenvale – it follows Polly is an insightful creature, afforded ample time and opportunity to observable the town and its mostly dynamic nature. And observe she did, her role as hotel proprietor resulting in a certain prestige. In a rather protracted early cutscene – and long cutscenes are commonplace in Deadly Premonition – Polly overloads the player with information, communicates the nature of her observations. Several decades before the narrative’s opening, Greenvale was a thriving industrial town, with an abundant workforce and consumer base – the location was bustling. Now – as Polly stresses – the town is but a husk of its former self, the population size a tenth of that seen at the town’s greatest extent. This former surge continues to exert an influence, principally upon buildings and other constructed structures. Consider only Polly’s sprawling hotel, a sprawlingness York cannot help but remark on, a sprawlingness directly suggesting former glories. It is easy to imagine that liveliness, which only makes more unsettling Greenvale’s haunting loneliness in the present moment – NPCs may move to and fro, though the streets are often vacant – here is no booming industrial town. The hotel is especially eerie, its vacantness unsettling. Here was a construction which could sustain hundreds, boasting a cavernous dining room with impossibly long tables, rustic and beautiful. Now, though, the hotel’s sole permanent resident is Polly herself, as she could never leave the location – it has far too long been essential to her existence. Roaming the silent corridors is unsettling and sobering indeed. Crucially, too, other Greenvale structures suggest faded glory – consider only a sprawling community center existing in relative isolation, suggesting might and prosperity. Now, the entire population could huddle together in the community center’s walls, never feeling uneasy or uncomfortable, in that space is abundant. But it is easy to imagine the cramped nature present in those selfsame walls when the town was bustling – just as the NPCs and Agent York are dynamic, then, Greenvale is also changing, was subject to especially profound and dramatic changes directly preceding the narrative opening. Consider also a massive bell tower, a beautiful construction emblematic of humankind’s desires to exert their influences over nature, to tame it or beautify it in their own distinct fashion. Nature and civilization do, again, exist in a strange and troubled union in Greenvale. Just as community centers and bell towers have their places, non-manmade objects are also prioritized – consider only a majestic waterfall gushing forth that liquid constantly and beautifully. Consider also the winding rivers – very abundant – which necessitate bridge construction; grappling transpires, and Greenvale’s history – developed gradually – only makes the act of grappling more engrossing – the location, steeped in reality, is singularly immersive.    

In Greenvale, then, nature is regarded with reverence and respect – rather than dismantling nature for their own expansionist ends, the citizens build around nature; see the manifold constructed bridges. But nature’s prioritization does not instantly correlate to reduced civilization or cultural inclinations. Consider only an art gallery, run by the seductive and cultured Diane Ames. Given her status as curator, it follows she is culturally refined indeed – it follows that she is set apart. Being so distinguished, she is treated not dissimilarly to York, in that both represent an outsider existence. And still she commits herself to her work, clearly lavishing ample time, directly ample dedication, towards the gallery’s expansion, desperate to bring art to the masses; she merely seeks to temper the waterfall and the rivers with manmade beauty. Reflecting humankind’s unpredictability, meanwhile, one lone figure clings to Diane and the civilizing impulse she represents – Nick Cormack, chef at and co-owner of the A&G Diner, a fixture in the Greenvale microcosm, and the former place of employment for the slaughtered Anna, she serving as waitress. Art, then, has its place within Greenvale, even while deeper interest in art is lacking – Nick and Diane are somewhat distinguished. But if creative intonations and aspirations are selective and scarce, self-indulgent inclinations are commonplace, universal. Reflecting this, two distinct bars thrive within Greenvale, each being aesthetically unique though united in atmospheric sensations produced – they are seedy constructions both, with entire walls dedicated to dart boards, with massive pool tables occupying prominent positions. It is all too easy to imagine the sharp imbalance in occupancy and business generated; the Muses Gallery struggles; the Swery 69 and the Galaxy of Terror surge. But whether the seedy or the refined is explored, interior locations in Deadly Premonition are richly detailed, only contributing to the overall sense of immersiveness. The bars feature their pool tables and dart boards; the Milk Barn convenience store boasts realistic item organization, with individual aisles carefully rendered; there are fruit sections, vegetable sections, and so on. Simply navigating and observing these places is rewarding indeed, even if all one does is navigate and observe – Deadly Premonition excels in the quiet modes of plodding exploration. Fortunately, enterable interior environments are quite abundant, and each location is defined by distinctness – and impulses for believability. Such overtures for believability are observable not only in the furnishings used and their arrangement, but in subtler fashions, too. Consider only the A&G. The player can navigate the restaurant, talking with Nick Cormack or Olivia Cormack, or observing the other unnamed patrons munching on their food, sipping their coffee (their presence serves a vital function, further suggesting life; Greenvale is host to characters other than those central to the narrative – here is a population of six hundred). But beyond conversing with the owners, the player can actually purchase items from Olivia, meeting with fierce resistance whenever attempting dialogue with cagey Nick. Her menu is expansive, featuring foodstuffs unpurchaseable elsewhere – sandwiches and such. This inclusion actually bolsters immersion, fosters role-playing impulses; in eating daily, in buying food and drink at the Milk Barn or the A&G, the player is truly inhabiting this strange world; this inhabitation, so casually achieved, is a true achievement – exploring both sides of Greenvale, the austere and the accultured, is rewarding indeed. Environmental storytelling abounds, too, each named NPC given housing quarters. Not all of these locations are enterable, though their size is very telling – the doctor Ushah’s housing is a sprawling construction, illustrating his wealth. Other citizens – see Thomas MacLaine, Emily’s partner in the sheriff’s department – live in humbler and unassuming quarters. These characters may speak infrequently, but the spaces they inhabit speak much; environment informs narrative.  

While world-building ambitions and attention to detail both are triumphant successes, Greenvale inevitably suffers from its relatively advanced age – technically it is very unimpressive. The moodiness consistently evoked during exploration is compelling indeed, though the game could be considered objectively ugly – draw distance is poor, texture quality is also lacking, while even pop-in has a periodic presence. Many titles transcend technical limitations and eventually achieve greatness – Deadly Premonition is just such a title. Time matters, too. The game released in 2010, a consequential statement. Industry trends at that time gravitated towards blander color palettes – greys and browns had a prominent presence, as fierce displays of creativity and vibrancy were almost discouraged. And so Greenvale is grey and brown, greyness being especially emphasized – consider the ominous, rain-promising skies overhead almost always. This blandness’s predomination, meanwhile, makes more impactful vibrancy’s periodic insertion; sunny days of tranquil azure skies are arresting indeed, while patches of striking reds and oranges – belonging to towering trees – are disarming in their unexpected beauty. But whether dreary greys or inviting blues thrive at any given moment, the world design foundationally is clever indeed, again reflecting the developer’s ambitions for realism. The town generally is scattershot – it is the exact opposite of a dense construction, the exact opposite of the world Agent York inhabits. Roads and highways cross and crisscross the landscape, crafted bridges permitting traversal over the many rivers and waterways. But patches of density do exist – the bars congregate together, while the A&G and the Milk Barn serve an anchoring function, central as they are to the Greenvale society broadly. This spread-out nature results in loneliness, absolutely – consider only meek and ancient Polly Oxford, whose hotel is positioned at fair remove from the café, the store, the bars, or really any patches of life – hers is an almost pitiable existence. But world design informs gameplay, too. Given Greenvale’s sprawling nature, it follows the player is forced to rely upon vehicles for traversal. And such is the case. From the first, Agent York has access to a police cruiser, his own vehicle being wrecked in the narrative’s opening moments. Additional cars can be purchased in time, each featuring variable statistics – better or worse handling, better or worse speed and the like. Whichever car is driven, driving also immerses the player in the gameworld, in that a first-person camera is present. The driving generally is clunky and rarely rewarding, but simply navigating Greenvale, taking in its strange beauty and observing its profound relationship with nature, is central to the entire experience. Immense are the successes here; the game triumphs over its technological constraints and the era it was developed in. A stylized map further anchors the exploration process, though its usage is actually unwieldy and unintuitive, suggestive of the developer’s division – they clearly have a firm grasp on world-building and what makes for a compelling and engaging game world, though still they struggle – flounder – when approaching gameplay. And the game world is compelling, a few instances of singular beauty present. Consider only Harry Stewart’s manor, situated at the foot of the towering waterfall. Consider also those isolated locations which permit undisrupted views of the beautiful Washington mountainscapes, whose presence only grounds the narrative further – believability again shows itself.   

Deadly Premonition is a terribly flawed game, its combat clunky and unengaging, its erratic narrative alternately profound and repellingly bizarre (profoundness ultimately triumphs). Aesthetic and technical failures exist in fair abundance, too. But flaws and all, the simple act of exploration, the constant process of immersion into the gameworld, so detached from reality and yet so closely related to it, brings ample enjoyability – the joys of exploration evoked here are unparalleled indeed, even as exploration generally is characterized by quietness, a deliberate quietness – here are no violent or random encounters, no overflowing of hostile NPCs. Many developers include these constructions out of fear, as if they believe any given player will become unengaged if not constantly subjected to bombasticness. The quiet, contemplative tone of exploration and Greenvale’s atmospheric nature mark a rejection of this principle – and inspires fierce and compelling uniqueness. Uniqueness and originality being prerequisites to genius, it follows that Deadly Premonition is a true stroke of genius – at least in terms of world building and world design. Inhabiting this strange world for some twenty hours offers considerable delight, and the developers greatly encouraged – and rewarded – a more experimental, leisurely approach to exploration. Side content is abundant – some fifty distinct quests are completable throughout the narrative. But just as they are abundant, they are oftentimes minimized – the developers rarely stressed their presence, the end result of this decision being missed content. The decision, flawed as it is, is certainly understandable – the developers again regarded their playerbase with certain expectations, trusting they could make sense of the senseless or incomprehensible – the developers respect the player. Ultimately, though, I failed to justify their respect – looking at the list of side quests after narrative completion, I had completed maybe a quarter of all secondary content; massive amounts were missed, and developer choices mean my experience is likely fairly commonplace. But when this content is engaged with, when the NPCs and Greenvale proper are interacted with, again the rewarding sensations are immense. Deadly Premonition is uniquely situated, too, especially when considering presentation. Many titles benefit from remasters – ports and enhancements to newer platforms and such. With this precise title, a remake might actually deal the experience a sharp, painful blow; the game excels despite its jankiness and flawed gameplay mechanics – the game excels because of its jankiness and flawed gameplay mechanics: some experiences should go undisturbed, absolutely. While these are seemingly noble admissions, tragedy lurks, too. Players of the present moment have long adjusted to more impressive, almost life-like visuals; creative overtures are overflowing in today’s industry. If the player is so adjusted, Deadly Premonition could be terribly repelling, antiquated as it is aesthetically. But those who can brave this antiquatedness are presented with a singularly enjoyable experience, one chiefly directed by a clearly discernible swelling heart and earnestness – passion overflows in Deadly Premonition, and this passion is most easily observed within Greenvale proper, a monumental triumph.