Game Review

Photopia

Warning: The following review contains blatant descriptions and analyses of elements of the game Photopia. The review will almost surely spoil the game for you if you have not played it.

Ever since I was old enough to be cynical, only one work of art, of any kind, has ever made me cry. (It was a rather mediocre book). And even then, I was barely that old. Since I was old enough to notice and revel in my cynicism, only one book has even come close to making me cry -- and that was The Great Gatsby. Photopia, Adam Cadre's recent game, however, brought me just as close to tears as Gatsby did.

Photopia is an amazing piece of work; it has incited both criticism and praise for its masterful focus on story rather than on puzzles -- or, to use the popular analogy, on fiction rather than on interactivity. Because of this, its detractors have scorned it as being "not a game at all," and its supporters have hailed it as a breakthrough in the medium.

In a sense, both allegations are correct, and even self- predicting. Any game which breaks new ground (and Photopia does), can be considered a "non-game" using the old standard. But the details of the "theory" of interactive fiction are neither pertinent nor illustrative to this review. Photopia is at its best when it is viewed alone, without preconceptions.

The unusual nature of the game is apparent from the outset. The first screen displays "Photopia by Adam Cadre" in the status line, and then a sudden question: "Would you like color?" "What?" asks the inveterate IF player. "Color?" An unusual beginning to be sure; but this is only one of many surprises.

It is difficult to attempt an analysis of the story's structure. Where do I begin? Where does the story begin? Where do I end? Where does the story end? These questions are unanswerable, but, on closer inspection, it seems they are irrelevant. The very power of the story is derived from the fact that events are not presented in any discernible order. In fact, the work as a whole is almost impossible to piece together after only one run through; one almost has to play it several times just to understand exactly what is happening when. Moreover, no portion of the game can be completely understood until its relationship to some or all of the others is realized.

For example, the first scene of the game -- the frat boys driving through town -- begins abruptly, ends abruptly, barely develops the characters at all, and seems totally disconnected from the next few scenes. But once the entire game has been played (or played twice, or three times), this scene can clearly be seen to have two purposes: First, it draws the player (reader?) into the story with an unexplained tragedy; and secondly, it lends emotion and explanation to Alley's death later on. A young, brilliant girl's death in a car accident is already tragic; when another element is added -- the fact that the drunk, totally guilty, and apparently altogether useless frat boys are not injured at all -- the tragedy is multiplied many times.

The two "endings" of the story also complement each other. In chronological order, the earliest segment seems to be the segment which ends the game (the crib scene). Thus, the last scene of the game is actually the beginning of the story. When this is recognized, a whole new pattern emerges: The story can now be seen as a transition from the happy baby Alley, full of potential, to the teenage Alley, dead, her potential destroyed. Another connecting link is the Photopia itself. The entire game is itself a series of intersecting images, paralleling the Photopia. So from one perspective the "real" Photopia (the events of the game) begin when the game begins, and end at the last scene. This last scene, however, is the scene in which the Photopia is introduced. (It is briefly mentioned, but tantalizingly not described, earlier in the game.) Again, the beginning is the end.

Likewise, the end is the beginning. The initial scene with the frat boys occurs, chronologically, at exactly (or almost exactly) the same time as Alley's death. So this beginning is itself an end (the end of Alley's life).

Continuing this comparison, the scene which ends the story chronologically (the scene in which Mr. Mackaye wakes up in the hospital) provides yet another contrast with the ending as seen by the player (the crib scene). Whereas the "real" ending (the crib scene) has a message of hopefulness (albeit shattered hopefulness), the story's ending has a dark tone. The final words are: "And suddenly the room seems colder...".

These examples are clues to the more subtle duality of the entire work. In fact, when we take a step back and examine the story from outside, we see pairs everywhere. Everything seems to have a doppelganger somewhere.

There are two timelines: The "real" timeline (the order in which the player sees the game), and the story's timeline. Like the Photopia's circles, these timelines move independently of each other, but influence each other. The crib scene would have been much less effective if it had been placed at the beginning of the real timeline, as it is in the story's timeline, because Alley's character would not have been developed, and the contrast between her potential now and her tragic death later would have been reversed. (Somehow, seeing a death and then musing on its tragedy later is much more moving than musing on the tragedy of a death that has not yet occurred.)

There are two stories: The "real" story (the events set in the real world) and the bedtime story. Again, these two can be associated with the Photopia. In the bedtime story, the hero (Wendy) crashes, and then flies later. But in the real story, Alley (the hero) is just on her way up when she suddenly comes crashing down. These two interlocking sequences recall the Photopia's intersecting circles.

There are two kinds of color: The "real" colors (black and white) and the "fantasy colors." The real colors are stark, unremarkable. The fantasy colors are vibrant and full of life. Thus, the contrast between the real world and the fantasy world is emphasized.

And there are even two cheerleaders with Alley in the gym scene. Among these numerous pairs, the connecting link is the Photopia. Its traveling circles mirror the perambulations of the various characters and storylines. Appropriate, then, that its name is the title of the game.

The actual prose of the game is extremely moving. Nearly every scene leaves the player with some emotion. Then the next scene suddenly begins anew, leading up to another emotion. The final sentences of the scenes could be collected as a series of memorable lines: "I wanted to see if the water looked the same UNDER the water as it does OVER it." "You can't help but feel a little sad about that." "...it was green, it was green."

Overall, though, Photopia is a work whose strengths and weaknesses can not be accurately identified. No one aspect of it is either good or bad. Is this itself a strength? Or is it a weakness? Or is it neither? Perhaps, as with the story itself, it is not the parts individually that matter, but the net result, the whole.

-- Brendan Barnwell
BrenBarn@aol.com

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