Games With Grey

Close to the Sun’s art direction is easily its finest achievement; the core explorable environment, the ship Helios, is striking indeed. It would be totally inaccurate to describe the space as beautiful – or, more rightly consistently beautiful. For beauty is frequently rejected, rejected in favor of atmospheric, almost oppressive moodiness. Reflecting this, the exploration process, which constitutes a considerable quantity of the gameplay proper, is exhausting; the environment literally acts upon the player, principally by inspiring their dread and a stark sense of smallness. For Helios, tossed about on some oceanic vastness, is defined by its massiveness, which reaches or even exceeds that selfsame oceanic vastness. This fixation with largeness serves a distinguishing function. In so many horror titles – and Close to the Sun tentatively belongs to said genre, even with ample departures in the gameplay and narrative realm – developers deliberately foster a sense of claustrophobia, realizing that claustrophobia, when evoked and maintained, redoubles tension, and consequently unnerves the player. Close to the Sun manages to similarly unnerve the player, but this unnerving is directly connected to player and player character weakness and fragility, rather than some outside, arbitrary force. Suitably, the player character, Rose Archer, is miniscule and accordingly inconsequential, especially when considered alongside sprawling and demoralizing Helios. The ship fast becomes a character in its own right, anchoring the narrative by establishing a consistent sense of place – immersiveness swells. 

Many games embrace the moodiness embraced here, of course; the game is not totally set apart. But Close to the Sun is set apart in terms of inspiration and intention. The developers boldly adopted a more retro-futuristic aesthetic, an adoption which fosters fantasticalness. Helios is simultaneously believable and unbelievable, grounded and detached. However one interprets this environmental complexity, the world building cannot be praised enough. The most dramatic successes again revolve uniqueness, though reflecting the industry’s diversity and the plurality of different genres and inspirations, it inevitably follows that some derivativeness does in fact exist – always.Consider the Helios alongside, say, the Rapture prominently featured in Bioshock and Bioshock 2. Consider again Helios, the inventor Nikola Tesla’s masterwork, and Rapture, a construction of many hands, many hearts, and many minds. Overlaps are immense, even and especially in the environment and level design. These games, collectively, act upon the player, and the worlds proper are central to that stimulation, be it positive or distressing (and the stimulation is frequently distressing; literal and figurative brightness is minimized in Rapture and Helios both). For all their combined grandeur, the game worlds adopt a fallen, dystopian state; that formerly ubiquitous grandeur is dealt a mortal blow. And so Helios – and so Close to the Sun – is characterized by bleakness, just as it is characterized by diversity, another manifestation of fantasticalness, all-consuming. One moment, the player explores a sprawling garden complex, a major feat in its own right which speaks much of the ingenuity possessed by all aboard the Helios – how could trees, a vast collective of trees, exist in the middle of the water, the fast-churning waves? Somehow the oceanic dwellers sustain that collective; they are set apart for their apparent intellectualism, which seemingly earned them a spot aboard the Helios, a research vessel of sorts, its construction orchestrated by idealistic if demented – though still sympathetic – Nikola Tesla. A major feat of engineering, that selfsame sprawling garden complex exists directly alongside, for instance, a massive theatre where plays and other shows were performed in an earlier era, before dystopianism grew to total prominence. And so the player navigates a vast railway station, that transportation hub essential to the Helios proper, facilitating as it does rapid traversal; even here, with the trains proper, comes another manifestation of the believable and advanced, the fantastical and the grounded. In many ways, the railway cars, the railway station, mark another technical triumph, existing alongside a myriad of other technical triumphs. 

It is rather difficult to overpraise these masterful design flourishes, which together prompt transportiveness; from the first moment Helios is introduced and made navigable, the player is removed from this world, this current, real world, and is instead sent elsewhere. Fortunately, the ample creative successes and flourishes are buttressed by general technical excellence, rather unexpected – and consequently admirable. For Close to the Sun is certainly not a conventional AAA title; here is no Ubisoft or Activision. Here instead is a smallish Italian studio, who excel despite that smallness and the financial constraints which necessarily accompany it. Lighting generally is masterful, fostering moodiness and in most instances uneasiness; dread is consistently inspired, and dread consistently mounts and mounts as the narrative progresses, as new and new environments are explored. Texture quality is mostly excellent, too, though draw distance is always of paramount importance. For if the draw distance was excessively and frustratingly low, then the Helios’s largeness would go ever inexpressible; the exploration process would suffer. Instead, the draw distance is sprawling, save in the locations which are totally and absolutely consumed by shadows, where in visibility is expectantly scarce the developers ever and always manipulating light and shadow. Even something as seemingly miniscule as fire effects are cleverly implemented, infernos ever having their place, physical manifestations of humankind’s darkness, destructiveness. Each individual environment essentially eclipses in impressiveness all the environments which came before. Diversity abounds, and diversity’s calculated existence injects life into the experience, even as it falters elsewhere; divided Helios is dazzling – and distressing. Its vastness is occasionally disorienting, certainly, as corridors upon corridors are explored, each aesthetically similar to the last, though disorientation’s tangibility contributes to the world’s charm, complexity, and affecting nature.  

Close to the Sun’s narrative, a rather flawed construction, is investigative in tone and intention. In the opening moments, the player character is introduced, as is the Helios and a reason for the Helios’s exploration. For Rose Archer, the protagonist, receives a distress signal from her sister Ava, an admired and capable scientist dwelling aboard the windswept, waterswept Helios. Ava’s desperation is observable in the message, with its labored, pained delivery (voice acting generally is excellent in the title). The reasons for that all-consuming desperation, however, are not immediately conveyed. In this regard, Rose proceeds to the Helios in an essentially blind state, not anticipating the horrors which await her aboard the vessel. And horrors are immense; after discoursing with Ava for a bit and assessing her surroundings, partially acclimating to the Helios vastness, Rose encounters death and destruction; she encounters literal disembowelment, corpses strewn about the environments, literally cleaved in two, clear signs of suffering. Some seemingly endured worse fates, subjected to torture before murder, or subject to increasingly gruesome execution methods. Either way, death is widespread, and this ubiquitousness furthers the Helios’s defining eeriness. In this regard, Close to the Sun greatly emphasizes environmental storytelling, crucial in that the narrative as manifest elsewhere mostly lacks intrigue. Emotional heft has its place fortunately, and this heftiness serves a sustaining function. And so Rose discourses with Ava time and time again, their shared speeches neatly conveying the sweet intimacy of their former relationship; their sibling affection is clearly immense, and the sister / sister banter only increases Rose’s likability and by direct extension Ava’s likability. Ava’s endearingness increases the pain accompanying her gruesome murder. And gruesome it is, not simply for Ava but for Rose as well, as that latter figure is tangible witness to Ava’s slaughter, helpless to prevent said slaughter; the creature of Rose’s greatest affections is reduced to nothing almost on the instant. The narrative develops gradually, rather than heaping development upon development; the pacing, then, is rather slow, though this slowness is actually an asset, as it preserves the investigative atmosphere and heightens emotional and cerebral engagement.  

For it is revealed early on that the Helios has entered into a widespread quarantine, affected seemingly to curb the spread of infection and the death which accompanies it. Essentially every scientist aboard the Helios contributed to this quarantine’s necessity – they “played God,” in a way, meddling, ever meddling, all in pursuit of some advanced, inexhaustible energy, a mostly altruistic pursuit to be sure; the researchers researched for the benefit of all.. The experiments went astray, though: the energy, recently kindled and channeled, grew destructive and volatile, literally spawning monsters animated only by the murderous impulse and the murderous impulse alone. Ava’s research alone can right this situation, for her research presumably holds a unique and valuable insight, awareness as to how the energy might be channeled properly. To this end, Rose is tasked with finding a pair of notebooks written in her sister’s hand. This narrative is, again, a very slow burn; overbearing bombasticness is rightly, boldly absent.

A few secondary narrative threads emerge, meanwhile, which do inject (relative) complexity into the narrative proper – see most obviously one Aubrey, presented as a scientist just as Ava was a scientist. Projecting himself as singularly fragile and helpless, he charms and disarms Rose, manipulating her so that she might affect his rescue and more protracted security, ever appealing to her humanity, a state which prompts natural concerns for beings outside the self. The pair speak often over the radio, and their banter generally is excellently written – if occasionally bizarre. Bizarre in the sense that Aubrey develops a more intimate relationship with Rose almost from the instant, affectionately calling her “Rosie,” even while they are essentially still strangers. But, Aubrey is strangely likable, and the voice acting contributes to that likability, as it suggests a certain sagaciousness and overflowing wisdom.. Ultimately, Aubrey executes a betrayal, rather unexpected. This betrayal’s unexpectedness, meanwhile, increases its impactfulness. After the revelation is made, after Aubrey’s darkness is revealed, the narrative pacing escalates, and from a simple narrative perspective successes in the late game vastly surpass in greatness and intrigue the narrative presented in the very opening; at long last, the game finds its footing. Some nonsensicalness unfortunately persits, and many questions go ever unanswered, though the concluding moments are masterful, even though mystery is mostly dissolved by this point.          

Close to the Sun’s gameplay is dull and simplistic – player engagement is fleeting. Foundationally, the game belongs to the walking simulator genre, as exploration is prioritized above all else. Were Helios ugly or unexciting, then, the entire experience would collapse; enjoyability would disappear. This is not the case, of course, and even while simple traversal is grounded and basic, still traversal evokes some delights. These delights are all intimately connected to Helios, whose clever design sustains player engagement while ever intensifying immersion. Outside of exploration and Helios’s rewarding navigation, puzzle-solving has a very limited presence. The puzzles which are included cling to the simpleness defining the other gameplay systems, like the very movement mechanics, constraining. Most frequently, the player will manipulate locks and safes, inputting a code which is typically discoverable in the environment, quite often near the locked object itself; triviality again overflows. Some masterful anomalies in puzzles exist – see for instance a locked safe in Ava’s quarters, a safe with an especially complex locking mechanisms and a safe home to one of Ava’s research journals. Actually solving this puzzle was rewarding indeed, and these rewarding sensations only increase the desire for more and more elaborate puzzles, puzzles which are essentially absent. 

Potential abounds, though it is ultimately missed potential. True, some timing based “puzzles” have their place, as switches must be activated within a narrow frame of time. While the limited window of opportunity heightens tension, the sense of excitement and reward still go largely unseized upon. Logic says – excitement should overflow, even within the simplistic puzzles. In this conception, rewards should exist in fair abundance. This largely proves untrue, even as in the timed puzzles, the player must navigate dangerous obstacles, like fields of electricity or plumes of fire, which conveniently weaken in intensity, allowing the player to proceed unharmed and unmolested. While exciting superficially, dullness ultimately takes a stranglehold; the spark of life is absent. Frustratingly, that spark exists just below the surface, well within reach. Again: added puzzle complexity and diversity would fundamentally improve the experience. Consider again the groundedness, a major, constraining flaw: here is no Outlast, where the player can climb this and that obstacle with relative ease, where the player is almost master of the environment. There, the player character’s litheness only opens up opportunities in exploration. Here, Rose can feebly climb ladders, while in a scant few instances she can clamber over this object, crouch and proceed through that one, but the sluggish movement and the paltry jump height are sorely felt. These limited movement systems only intensify the sense of linearity, a defining attribute. Some opportunities for exploration are present, though the general act of exploration suffers somewhat from the groundedness, which strips the player of power (though simultaneously communicating Rose’s humanness, her human fallibility and weaknesses).

It is logical and instinctual to make such comparisons, to consider Close to the Sun alongside the Outlast series or the more recent Resident Evil titles, which boldly and novelly adopt the first-person perspective. Comparisons in movement have been noted, but these comparisons are worthy of expansion. In, say, Outlast or Outlast II, the player is plagued and oppressed, periodically yet painfully plagued and oppressed, by this or that hostile NPC, an NPC of traditionally fair strength and fair menace. Their menace is of such immensity as to make direct combat unviable, a futile endeavor. To this end, whenever these enemies spawn, the player has two distinct options available to them: the player can either sprint away wildly, placing as much distance as possible between self and NPC. Or, the player can employ evasion, gaining some distance and then retreating into this or that object for safety – see a closet or wardrobe, or the under portions of a bed or some conveniently placed, spacious table. In Close to the Sun, all stealth systems have been totally excluded. Outright combat is absent, too, meaning the player’s only option is flight, whenever enemy NPCs spawn. And they do spawn with fair regularity, their spawning inevitably prompting a chase sequence. In these instances, Rose dashes this way and that, navigating corridor after corridor, ever trying to elude the pursuer, be they the menacing, subhuman Ludwig or the bestial monsters spawned as offshoot of the energy experiments. 

This decision to embrace flight and flight alone does create relative uniqueness – Close to the Sun is set apart from the Outlast games and even the Amnesia games, which place dramatic emphasis upon stealth, for forced stealth again communicates humankind’s limitations – in the face of deranged cultists or crazed asylum patients subject to ample experimentation as in the Outlast games, the player character is helpless – stealth suitably and naturally becomes a necessity. But this is frequently a frustrating necessity – stealth systems are steeped in flaws. None of this applies to Close to the Sun, so indifferent to stealth, indifferent to its implementation or potential perfection. Instead, everything revolves around flight. Tragically, these flight sequences are flawed indeed. While they are overflowing with tension – and they are absolutely overflowing with tension – they are simultaneously overflowing with potential frustration, alienation. For the sequences are excessively punishing and demanding; if the player falters for even a fraction of a second, is hung up on some environmental object for even a fraction of a second, death is a certitude. Were the developers a bit more forgiving here, the pacing of these sequences would be more consistent, while the overall frustration level would be minimized. But it is not meant to be, and all instances of gameplay intensity and freneticism stem from these sequences, for elsewhere is calmness. As is so often the case with Close to the Sun, a bit of additional diversity would only have positive repercussions. The decision to reject stealth prompts fair uniqueness, but no compelling or engaging systems emerge to counteract this absence, sometimes sorely and painfully felt. Simplicity overtakes all, and even the conventional survival horror mechanics so integral to a Resident Evil or an Amnesia are missing. The player need not fret over tinder boxes or lantern fuel, just as they never need puzzle over health restoratives or ammunition.

While Close to the Sun meets with repeated and intense successes in world-building and art direction, the game lacks the spark of life which elevates great games from good ones. Sorrowfully, in many ways the game is unfun and tedious to play. With so many immersive and engaging experiences, play sessions have the innate tendency to bloom, as one hour becomes two, two becomes four, and so and so on. None of this applies to Close to the Sun; addictiveness in all forms is absent here. While the game absolutely matches or exceeds in immersion many other conventional video games, walking simulators among them, this beautiful immersiveness cannot mitigate the flaws evinced elsewhere. See most sharply flaws in gameplay, which is largely devoid of cerebralness; save for a few scattershot puzzles of fairer complexity, in many ways the gameplay is strictly automated (though the occasional maze-like structure of the level design ever necessitates player interest, player attention). Ultimately, the experience’s profoundness is dealt a sharp blow by the rampant gameplay simplicity, which is only worsened by the game’s almost chore-like nature, compelling Rose ever acting upon the whims of others – see only Ava Archer or even Aubrey. The narrative, Rose’s narrative, is personally very divisive. Rose does anchor the narrative with her stolidity and her resiliency, her determination to assist and rescue her sister, a determination which actually enables eventual, safe removal from the Helios, crumbling under the effects of quarantine, the deaths it wrought. Ava and Rose both are rather compelling individuals, and the decision to provide Rose with a formal, clearly practiced voice actor serves further distinguishing functions, as so many titles – especially first-person ones – deliberately exclude voice actors for the player character, an artistic yet practical decision.

The narrative’s ever increasing maddeningness and chaoticness both preserve player interest, even as the crucial spark of life is absent. Still: flaws and simplicities are transcended, and while Close to the Sun is not necessarily an enjoyable experience in the conventional sense, it is an engaging and thoughtful one, raising many poignant questions like the nature of humanity and humanity’s inherent relationship with hubris, humankind’s constant, destructive tendencies to overreach. For in many ways, those of Helios, Nikola Tesla’s Helios, invited their own death and devastation, for they intensely and repeatedly engaged in such overreaching. The experience is not only thoughtful but is also memorable; seeing for the first time that sprawling theatre complex, that sprawling, verdant garden complex, is ever etched upon my mind. The game’s greatest successes, then, are intimately connected to environment, a major source of uniqueness and stimulation. These successes are most dramatically tempered by failures in gameplay and general automatedness, though still Close to the Sun marks a valuable contribution to the walking simulator genre. For it is not a conventional survival horror experience, for it lacks the depths inherent to said genre. For some, this shallowness is appealing, for it points towards a more relaxed experience – or at least a less cerebrally challenging one. For others, shallowness is alienating, ever alienating. Reflecting this, the title is the perfect encapsulation of division, just as its genre is steeped in division. It is a compelling thought to consider where precisely the walking simulator genre will be in the coming years, as the industry changes and diversifies. For my part, games such as this one, though intensely flawed, must always and ever have their place.