Games With Grey

Coffee Talk: Episode 2 possesses an astonishing degree of charm and heart; the game’s defining attribute is its overflowing sincerity. At the heart of this charm, this sincerity, rests the core narrative, a rather profound construction indeed, frequently dwelling upon profound matters and featuring traditionally profound characters – all throughout are successes. Complementing these inherent graces, meanwhile, is a striking sense of originality and maturity; the themes touched upon here have long been neglected in the industry, even with the recent ascension of sometimes-challenging indie games, their masterful flourishing. Here, multiple, disparate threads are developed simultaneously, but rather than feeling disjointed or fragmented, this design decision instead signals developer ambition, perhaps by extension fearlessness; further manifestations of the developers’ heart emerge and expand; artificiality is rejected outright. A sharp vision is in place, then, and this sense of focusedness, when paired with the lofty ambitions observable all throughout the title, makes for an engrossing experience, posing many poignant questions, chief among them being technology’s role within the modern existence. Is technology’s ubiquitousness an asset or a hindrance? Do its benefits outweigh its potentially corrupting and distorting nature? This thread is repeatedly explored, anchoring the narrative. And in discussing these precise matters, the developers never force an opinion upon the player, instead allowing them to forge their own perceptions on issues. Heavy handedness is boldly and totally absent, absolutely.   

Given Coffee Talk: Episode 2’s swelling ambitions, naturally other narrative threads are developed, the most striking involving racial matters. Characters are, again, central to the narrative and to the entire experience. In a wonderfully fantastical and imaginative flourish, though, this world is peopled not solely by humans but by a plurality of different races. And so there are elves, succubi, werewolves, vampires, mermaid-like individuals, and so on. All of these races coexist with conventional humankind, a race whose inclusion grounds the narrative, principally by preserving relatability. Still, whatever race is being discussed, the topics of discussion are suitably morbid, steeped in conflict. The word coexist employed above is not always applicable, owing to intense racial tensions. Elves, for instance, may outwardly and vocally disdain succubi, who may in turn reciprocate that frustration and disgust. This precise illustration is observable in the elf Baileys’ relationship with the succubi Lua, both characters being featured in the original Coffee Talk. Having surmounted many challenging obstacles, the pair begin an engagement, their discussions here inevitably and always revolving around their upcoming marriage, a great preoccupation. In this regard, their relationship has many optimistic attributes, suggesting that love conquers all, reassuring indeed; love and fraternity can transcend all barriers, the developers suggest, meaning morbidness is occasionally tempered by gaiety. 

As was the case with the profound Baileys and Lua, a considerable portion of Coffee Talk: Episode 2’s central characters were included and developed in the original title – consider only the vampiric Hyde and the werewolf Gala. As characters, their fraternal bonds are intense, the pair clinging together and supporting each other; together, all darknesses can be braved, a reassuring thought indeed when considering the hardships subjected upon vampire and werewolf both, that former race blessed (cursed?) with immorality, that latter race forced to undergo a monthly fit of “fury,” whereupon much sensibleness is involuntarily discarded outright. Their lives, then, are fraught with tension, not unlike Baileys’ life or Lua’s life. This tension manifests itself in various ways, making Hyde cynical and abrasive, making Gala surprisingly docile, even with his hulking frame. All respond differently to stresses, then, pointing towards individuality, which is expertly developed throughout the narrative, each character having distinct emotions with distinct fears and desires. Consider the shapeshifter Rachel, another holdover from the previous title. In the original game, she was defined by her youthfulness, supposedly a hinderance in that it prompts vulnerability. Now, though, some maturation has settled itself within her breast, and she is forced to grapple with the travails of adulthood, perhaps desiring a return to youthful innocence and ignorance, a return forever unachievable. The profoundness is unending, observable also in the mermaid Aqua. Foundationally, she is rather stereotypical, defined by a commanding shyness, which is unnecessarily exaggerated and which accordingly deals her characterization a sharp blow. Exaggerated or not, Aqua is incredibly charming and endearing, her hesitations directly contributing to that charm. And Aqua has a kindly character standing alongside her: the orcish Myrtle. Hulking just as Gala is hulking, she is a headstrong character though still one of swelling kindness; Aqua and Myrtle are uniquely compatible in disposition, and their relationship seems wonderfully real and believable, seems something all social creatures can somehow relate to.           

For all the fantastical races included, this is Seattle, meaning a human presence is expected. According, humans have their place, spearheaded by Jorji, a night time police officer whose beat frequently seems him circulating about Coffee Talk, a naturally alluring place and one which serves as magnet – Jorji frequents the place neigh nightly, and his absence is sorely and painfully felt, pointing towards the wonderful bonds in time forged between player and NPC. Jorji is expectantly steeped in conflict too, though his is of a two-pronged sort. On one hand, he is forced to grapple with the demands of fatherhood, having children at home but no assistant to help in her raising. Difficult indeed, this difficulty points towards potential frustration and despair. Instead, Jorji regards the matter favorably and patiently, doting upon his children, further increasing his inherently endearing attributes – Jorji’s presentation is almost flawless. And central to his identity is his occupation, which naturally sees him come into contact with sordid persons and sordid deeds. As the title’s narrative is unfolding, Jorji is investigating a string of vehicle vandalisms executed in the environs immediately surrounding Coffee Talk. In including and discussing these crimes, an almost investigative dimension is boldly adopted, and as more and more about the crimes is communicated to the player, the overall lore and richness of the gameworld expands dramatically. But while Jorji’s portrayal is absolutely steeped in reality and groundedness, a duo of other secondary characters radically departs from reality – see Silver and Amanda, extraterrestrials both. Silver – also originating from the original Coffee Talk – has mostly assimilated into Seattle society, can easily pass as human, his appearance drawing no excessive attention, even with his snow white hair. Amanda, however, occupies the same status that Silver formerly occupied, still wearing an oversized and bulky space suit, completely detached from humanity and thus very conspicuous, even in this diverse and mostly welcoming Seattle. These distinguishments are naturally a great source of humor, and the Silver / Amanda banter is very charming, emblematic of the traditionally excellent writing seen all throughout.

But the narrative benefits further still by the inclusion of two totally original characters – the satyr Lucas and the banshee Riona. Clashing racially, it follows the pair clash aesthetically. And so they do. Riona’s appearance is especially noteworthy, in that it attracts excessive and oftentimes demeaning and disgusted attention – her skin is a sickly shade of blude, as is her hair, while her cheeks bear a sprinkling of prominent freckles. When considered collectively, then, Riona courts dismissal and disdain, frustrating when considering her character complexity and periodic displays of intense kindness and even selflessness. More than any other character, then, Riona is absolutely defined by her race, her race directly influencing her worldview and societal perceptions (perceptions which are, expectantly, cynical). In efforts to stave off depression and dejection, she takes to driving, regarding her vehicle as a “mobile fortress.” Taking a job as a delivery driver, it follows she has further incentive to drive. And so she does, seemingly engaging in ample contemplation while in transit – the developers stress her introspective nature. Immensely flawed and perpetually struggling, Riona is endearing also, and her precise nature and circumstances, how she reacts to those circumstances, imbue her with almost reassuring dimensions, especially when considering minorities. If she can triumph, then so too can they. Lucas’s portrayal is not quite as complex or compelling. Similarly to the shapeshifter Rachel as seen in the first Coffee Talk, Lucas is largely defined by his youthfulness – and consequently his ignorance. But whereas Rachel’s ignorance made her susceptible to potential exploitation and accordingly made her a sympathetic character the player could care about, Lucas’s youthfulness manifests itself in obnoxiousness – or at least a total lack of self-awareness. Lucas speaks far too often, while the uttered words are frequently brash and direct. If any character is unlikable, then it is Lucas the satyr. Connecting with the themes of technology, meanwhile, Lucas has a very prominent presence on social media – he is a social figure with an audience to consider always, and while they support them, their existence excessively influences his own actions; Lucas, it seems, cannot act totally autonomously, but instead obsesses over his image and outward perception. Lucas executes some kind overtures, to be sure, as when he consults Riona, eager to help her launch her own online presence, though this kindness is overshadowed by damning character flaws, flaws which ultimately provoke player disinterestedness; Lucas is simply dull.  

While the core cast of characters is exhaustive indeed, another character must be considered: the café Coffee Talk itself. As location, it is steeped in atmosphere, especially moodiness. Being in Seattle, it follows rain is a near constancy, and the torrents are observable through an included window, which also makes visible the dark silhouettes of pedestrians moving to and fro on the cold, dreary streets. In terms of scale, the bar is not large, while it is viewed from one perspective and one perspective alone. Theoretically, this dearth of environmental variety would prompt boredom and repetition. In practice, however, both of these negatives are avoided altogether. And so the player has view of the entryway, of the prominent window and the large bar which fills the role of primary seating area. Some clever creative flourishes see implementation, too. Consider only the bell that chimes whenever the door opens, or consider the periodic beeping of the barista equipment, a beeping which reminds the player of their existence, and the objects’ centrality for the player character’s occupation and livelihood. A few secondary characters – see Lua and Jorji – smoke incessantly while in Coffee Talk, and their smoke curls upwards to the ceiling as they take anxious drag after anxious drag, while the steaming beverages also produce smoke of a sort, a direct indication of their scorchingness. Fantastical visual design and creative flourishes are not exclusive to the café, either. The character spritework is masterful and boldly artistic. Generally, a dull staticness is absent – energy abounds. Besides smoking of cigarettes and sipping of beverages, characters are wont to move their eyes about, looking at a speaker when being spoken to, suggesting respectfulness and awareness of societal expectations of deportment. Some characters execute very visible sighs if in apparent distress, while some characters avert their eyes whenever bothered or overwhelmed. Aqua, shy Aqua, is prone to blushing and nervous gestures, while the banshee Riona occasionally makes frightful displays which also validate the negative perceptions of banshees, namely that they are violent or at least wildly and totally unpredictable. Humanness and believability abound, and the title is wonderful stylistically, showing a certain artsiness. Consistently enchanting music further intensifies immersion, and while some players might lament the lack of voice acting, zero voice acting is always preferable to poor voice acting.   

Episode 2’s core gameplay is rather barebones, though not necessarily devoid of enjoyability; pleasures can be had, though they are of a stranger, more unique and imaginative sort. Foundationally, the title is essentially identical to its predecessor, centering upon drink composition. Whenever a patron arrives – be they Lua, Riona, Jorji, or whoever – they will in the course of time ask for a beverage. Sometimes these customers request the same drink repeatedly, and acquired knowledge of their preference suggests much; whenever the player sees a downtrodden Jorji, they can almost intuit that he will order an espresso; the player / NPC relationship again shows intensification. But while it is reassuring to have this information, it is more engaging from a gameplay perspective to be presented with a rather cryptic order, one where the player must puzzle through the various ingredients, rather numerous and diverse. It can be immensely satisfying and immersive to receive such an obscure request and somehow conjure up the desired beverage; here, the player feels like a barista. In an interesting turn, however, such opportunities are rather scarce, in that many drinkers are more explicit when communicating their drink order. They might say, “I would like green tea as a base with some honey and a small amount of lemon to finish it off.” When this explicitness shows itself – and it frequently does – the gameplay adopts an almost automated stance, and in this regard departures were made, for in the previous title such crypticness was abundant – the game did not repeatedly play itself. This decision, these alterations, have some logical dimensions, to be sure, in that they make the experience more relaxed and more forgiving, but the decision does minimize the more abstract, puzzle-solving aspects of the experience, so central to the first game’s identity. Still, some depth persists, the player presented with numerous different ingredients which can be combines in a massive variety; hundreds of distinct drinks are seemingly craftable, and the addition of a few new ingredients – see hibiscus – further increase the drink list. Positioning matters, and a mixing of coffee / milk / milk yields a different result from coffee / coffee / milk. Much exists to be mused over. While the gameplay is simplistic and directed, while it undergoes no dramatic alterations in the campaign’s bulk, like the characters it is strangely endearing.

A major failing defining the original Coffee Talk was its incessant hyperlinearity and general dearth of player choice, both of which are preserved here, though of a somewhat reduced intensity. Not all games need ample player freedoms, to be sure – they are not a prerequisite to success. But here, their absence is especially damning in that this is a dialogue driven experience, and accordingly the player should have some sway in that dialogue and in the broader narrative development. All presented player dialogue here is inalterable, and the player character’s speech periodically and inevitably clashes with how the player might act and speak in such a situation. Here, then, is a major failing, even though some tentative efforts at crafting a branching narrative exist here. Admirable efforts, still they are underutilized. As illustration, consider the Xbox achievement system, specifically one which says something like, “serve the wrong drink to Riona three times, and drive her away from Coffee Talk.” If this end is indeed achievable, if consequential Riona can indeed be repulsed, then the narrative could take on many different, unique dimensions; that such a major character could be killed off is astounding indeed. But these circumstances are never communicated to the player or are only vaguely communicated to them. In a conventional Telltale Games title, an explicit indicator shows onscreen whenever a highly consequential action is executed – “Clementine will remember that.” No such cues are present here, and accordingly the branching narrative shows many abstract dimensions, forcing the player to puzzle through the narrative, to grope about blindly – a bit of added explicitness here would truly go a long way. Comparisons could be made between this title and, say, 999, a highly narrative-driven title with a massive amount of different endings and character interactions. The excellent writing presented in Episode 2 could theoretically sustain the curious and engrossed player though two or three playthroughs, but the barebones gameplay inevitably means additional campaign completions are insufferable, not exciting. Still, in emphasizing a subtle branching narrative, the developers here shown ample rebelliousness, directly pushing back against Coffee Talk’s hyperlinearity, though player choice remains mostly stifled. Developer efforts at player empowerment were mostly fruitful, though the strides were not quite bold enough, for the player cannot fully project themselves upon the player character.   

Coffee Talk: Episode 2 is a profound and memorable experience, even as consequential deviations from its predecessor are lacking. These deviations’ scarceness suggests developer safeness – though not necessarily constrained ambition. The formula earlier employed was a successful formula, even as the drink composition process is and remains slow and plodding – the game’s pace can sometimes seem glacial, even in the narrative’s heftiest moments. Safe and conservative as the title is, its core narrative is the greatest source of that profoundness and that memorability. Here is swelling maturity, the developers grappling with present and eternal social issues and individual struggles, from the new issues revolving around technologies to issues dwelling upon an uninviting world, one which oft looks unfavorably on outsiders. Open-mindedness and patience are essential in relationship formation, the developers stress; receptiveness must be nourished. And so they dwell upon the banshee Riona, and so they dwell on Lucas the satyr, and on and on. This emphasis upon narrative necessarily comes at the expense of gameplay. As construction, it is altered only by the new impulse for branchingness, which was achieved though only partially. Branching or no, it is difficult to shake off the slowness, even as such slowness is a wonderful identifier of uniqueness – here is no bold and bombastic FPS or expansive open-world title. Instead, here is a wonderfully measured title, one which directly challenges this industry fixation with action and the perception that every moment need be brimming with such action. Coffee Talk: Episode 2 is not entirely alone here, to be sure. Instead, it stands alongside a litany of other indie titles, the indie scene reassuringly surging in the present moment. It is a slow title living amidst other slow titles. But this game distinguishes itself from those myriad others by way of its swelling heart, sincerity – all artificiality has been excised, and this excision results in a directed experience and a singularly charming experience, a singularly inviting experience. The barrier to entry is low, and the title’s artsiness, when paired with its uniqueness and mature themes, heightens its appeal beyond the traditional gamer.