Adorned with Aurora: A review of the game Child of Light

Montreal, a great European-inspired metropolis, thoroughly awed my teenage self on a visit during 2007. Recently, I had the opportunity to indulge my connection to the city. On Juneteenth (June 19) this year, I finished the 2014 game Child of Light, which was developed by Ubisoft’s Montreal branch. Typically, finishing a game is in the evening…but for some reason I felt the rare itch at 7 am to finish the game. There was no choice but to write about it at more length. Herein I talk about the incredibly charming Child of Light.

In this game, the backgrounds are littered with lovely landscapes with screenshots towards the end. Places of darkness, and places of light. Symbols of sun and moon appear often throughout the game. Within this neatly crafted world is a simple though heart-piercing narrative. The lively child Aurora falls ill from poison and grows cold to the touch. On the verge of death, she is whisked away to the mystical forest-strewn land of Lemuria, clad with magic. Upon first encounter, Igniculus – the firefly who provides light symbolically and literally to our heroine Aurora – mistakes her tears for dew that creates moss. (As an Oregonian, I really do feel this comparison.) Truly an adorable misunderstanding for a non-human being. Ultimately, this narrative follows the earnest trajectory of the Child of Light driving out the shadows and despair from Lemuria. Though simple, this story perfectly matches the wholesome nature of the land of Lemuria.

Instead of a traditional composer, Canadian indie pop singer Coeur de Pirate helms the music. Though without her vocals, the vibes are different – but there’s a melodic lyricism to the instrumentals retained. Urgent, sweeping strings powerfully orchestrated and cleanly recorded. Even within the orchestrated realm, there is a beautiful intensity in pieces like “Metal Gleamed in the Twilight” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olZMC6SKESo). Truly every note in this soundtrack hits and that’s a great feeling. In closing, Coeur de Pirate composes and performs the stirring credits theme, which beautifully complements the game’s whimsical feel.

Certainly, Child of Light is a peculiar game as an RPG that is around 15 hrs long on average. Though the game mixes platforming and RPG elements, there is never a sense of gameplay feeling shallow. At the same time, not a maddeningly complex game. An hour of your time can feel very rewarding – especially as you are likely to hit a reward or a checkpoint or boss.

There are many minor modifications to make in this game. You have several partners to choose from and can decide how to proceed. My favorite is probably Oengus, the mighty behemoth of a warrior seeking to be accepted back into this tribe; both a powerful warrior, and someone with a heart of gold who saves Aurora from imprisonment. A minor critique is that some of these partners feel forgotten, but that still creates a sense of replayability.

There are elemental forces – namely electricity, water, fire, and dark – that are beneficial against certain enemies. You can also craft certain gems that have elemental or other effects. Ruby, sapphire, emerald (my birth stone), onyx and even tourmaline. From these options, I can only imagine that a future playthrough may look quite different.  One odd glitch appeared: the Exit Game option refused to appear on my first play session, forcing me to close the game using a command outside the game. Fortunately, this never reappeared. Altogether, a very engaging game that would likely do well with a sequel to tighten the core mechanics.

As an afterthought, I thought about the international nature of games. Ubisoft is (in)famous for extremely long credits that thank people from every Ubisoft studio. In a way, this feels like a great nod to the international community of game creators. Headquartered in Montpellier, France but also with another branch in France alone (in Montreuil, which is an offshoot of Paris).

By contrast, Child of Light boasts a relatively small development team. The team is still more than happy to credit a variety of characters including two people named Guillame, the QC testers in the Indian city of Pune, and even Ubisoft Bucharest (the second largest branch). Apparently, according to a friend, text localization aimed for rhyming in every language as possible. This was certainly true in English (the version I played), but just imagine what the French and Japanese versions must feel like.

To write this reflection, I opened Child of Light again this afternoon and played through the short first chapter. Still, meeting Igniculus the Firefly again felt nostalgic. Such a clear sign of a great game.  Strangely enough, there feels like room for a second game – to tighten the mechanics and deliver an even better experience. Overall, a remarkable experience that makes me want to play GAMES again period.

To close off, here are some striking screenshots from the game:

Voyage of the Sunset Treader: A reflection on Gankutsuou

Paris is known as the city of love. The great Molière wrote magnificent plays about humans feigning illnesses (The Imaginary Invalid), faking religious piety (Tartuffe), and even faking love for humanity (The Misanthrope) – stories often set in Paris with the upper classes. Such a city features historical monuments like L’Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre museum, and the Notre Dame cathedral. Yet within that same city is the infamous Centre Pompidou, a jarringly modern building filled with colored pipes visible from far. Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo embraces this maze of contradictions, creating a striking experience.

Pursuit of revenge is a clear thread through the story. On the alien world of Luna, where the show begins, the Count (played by the beautifully menacing Jouji Nakata) lavishly hosts our main characters Albert and Franz; he uses his influence then to save the life of a self-admitted murderer from public execution but leaving the other two prisoners to their fate. (Probably my least favorite scene in the show.)

This is a coming of age story and this – as a character drama – is where the show shines brightest for me. In spite of his idealism, Albert (played to great angst by Fukuyama Jun) falls for the charms of the count. Franz – played earnestly by Daisuke Hirakawa – serves as the best friend and arguably a great ship for Albert. (We only get *one* episode in before Albert asks if Franz is his girlfriend. Sarcastically of course but still.) With Eugenie, the prodigious female pianist and childhood friend to Franz and Albert, these three form a remarkable trio. Another great character is Haydee the harp player – from fictional Middle East in Space (Janina) – who adds depth to this complex tale. Of course, at times the drama is downright soapy, but throughout we see the humanity of all. Even the Count, a firm believer that he is evil to his core.

Gankutsuou’s most unexpected character is arguably Peppo (voiced by the great Mai Nakahara). Her first appearance is just moments into the show with her tossing Albert a bouquet. (To be honest, I noticed this when revisiting Ep 1 to eye any possible foreshadow.) In short, Peppo speaks crudely, teasing sharply, but also has a heart of gold where she wants nothing but the best for Albert. She even serves as the maid in his house. If anything, Peppo could have appeared more often, given her ability to insert into any situation. Most striking is the implication that Peppo is a trans girl who breaks free of constraints of society to become a model herself. I truly wish that Peppo had appeared more often, especially for her to talk to Albert again. At the least, that possibility was never closed off.

I, as did others, noticed the overwhelming aesthetic present in the show. Garish. Gankutsuou can be described this way. Headache inducing. Director Mahiro Maeda probably leaned too much into orchestrated catastrophe amalgamating the shiniest, most metallic looking computer-generated images (including rocket ships) and straightforwardly drawn images. Such a fascinating disparity extends to the art direction as well. There are ornately decorated locales, like in the Auteil mansion, existing in contrast to a standard sky view, with blue and a few tufts of white.  Even as Last Exile pioneered this blend, Gankutsuou strikes a level higher, a fact best pronounced by characters dressing with intricate carpet patterning (as described by a friend of mine) on every garb and strand of hair. Often fluid animation is not the goal as much as filling each frame to the brim. In all its odd, jagged glory, Gankutsuou is a hair removed from being too much and certainly represents the peak of Golden era Gonzo aesthetic. Somehow, the headaches were worth the travails still.

Music shines brightest when it strikes at human emotion. Here the most striking pieces are somber yet light, capturing the melancholy of revenge echoing in this series. A simple repeating guitar line dominates one such piece, with guitar as driftwood and rocking strings as the sea. Curiously, the name Jean-Jacques Burnel appears in the credits for music. Burnel is best known as the bassist for the Stranglers, an English band best known for songs like “No More Heroes”, and is even credited under the band’s name in the OP. In opening, Gankutsuou features Burnel’s sweeping vocals and singing piano clad with lines like “Our dreams were not soured by life.” Eloquent strings decorated with pristine monochrome drawings by show character designer Hidenori Matsubara. Compared to this artful drama, the ending theme is grungy, filled with promises of revenge uttered by Burnel with maliciousness; directed by 3DCG pioneer (and then-frequent Gonzo contributor) Yasufumi Soejima, the ED is visually aggressive, ending with a scene of the Count laughing maniacally.

Count of Monte Cristo is a book I have at home, but never read. After traveling through space to be here, in this moment, I realize that comparing the book to the anime may just be a great idea. Even with the plethora of bells and whistles, Gankutsuou is an earnest tale of Albert, impressionable and idealistic, halting a plot of mere vindication carried by the Count. This tale carries with it the markings of an honest character drama, which is what will stay with me the longest. Grateful to have finally seen the show…now onto the book sometime!

Eyes that Maketh Murder: A Reflection on The Silver Case (1999)

The songs “Blue Monday” by New Order and “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division hold a very particular space in my memory.  This is hardly the most salient detail of 1999’s The Silver Case, spearheaded by the famous game designer Suda, yet this certainly captures my attention. Truly an aesthetically striking, mechanically stubborn game. There is pulp and mundanity spilled together in a unique pattern. After all this, totally count me in for more Suda games.

(Naturally, this reflection contains some spoilers on the game but is largely written for anyone to read.)

At its core, The Silver Case is a tale about society being apparently rocked by a proficient serial killer named Kamui. However, evidence mounts calling into doubt that he could have performed the murders. Kamui even seems to possibly be more than one person. Main character Akira (our self-insert that you can name) encounters this mysterious man as a soldier and later as a detective. Of course the cops are investigating Kamui in connection with the titular Silver Case, but competing factions show up. This all helps illuminate the game as a tale of society at large rather than simply our main character.

Some games will have you solve intricate environmental puzzles. Here the “trigger” for the next event could come from checking email or observing a pet turtle named Red (shown above; image is a screenshot taken from Steam Community). Often, you will even open a door after activating enough triggers. This game is obtuse in numerous ways yet this largely comes across as an appeal. As stubborn as grumpy alleged old man Tetsu complaining about the nonsense of life. There is a beauty there.

The particularity comes across through the game elements. As a work of game, it is clunky. You move slowly and awkwardly. At some point it becomes familiar enough as the routines get set (like checking your computer frequently). In other moments, it takes ten minutes to find a hint of shadow that is meant to communicate you look up (and progress the chapter).

 

Even with stiff gameplay, The Silver Case is striking as an audiovisual work that draws upon one’s eyes. The graphics are often simple, hosting a realistic-ish style. Remarkably, the game is incredibly clear on time of day: often a clock will be matched with a graphic that shows the exact daylight glow or nightly lack of sun.

 

Music undoubtedly strengthens this game’s presentation. Masafumi Takada (of Danganronpa fame) delivers a soundtrack that is haunting under a guise of pop, filtered through a very 90s sense of sound design. Strangely enough, the main character’s apartment theme has the scariest theme of all….I don’t get it….Truly, for me, this music brings the aesthetic to a comforting rhythm even against mundane actions.

Some aspects of the Silver Case did not jive well with me. Namely, the frequent use of swearing and slurs in localization (including, yes, *that* one loved by the internet to describe intelligence) took me out. For a game with a relatively recent release in the West, there sure are some STRIKING choices.

Still, even after finishing the game, I am also hesitant about the portrayal of identities around gender and mental disability. Few female characters play a major role compared to a preponderance of male characters in the spotlight. There is also a supernatural characterization that obscures the lived experiences of characters who live with ‘multiple’ personalities (some use the term ‘plural’ or the more stigmatizing Dissociative Identity Disorder).  In some ways, this depiction may be empowering, but there’s a lot of concerning material that feels more palpable.
 
I also had a difficult time with the concept of cops as they exist in The Silver Case (1999). The job is clearly brutal and takes a toll on people like Tetsu, Akira, and all. Civilians are “processed” for seemingly arbitrary reasons. That said, the confusion of the law enforcement is largely portrayed as a matter of the higher-ups favoring something other than public safety. Cops are not quite pushed back on. That said, these characters do illustrate how cops warning people about crime can in fact *inspire* crime.

Taken together, Silver Case (1999) delivers an intriguingly satisfying sense of rhythm. This rhythm rather than outright explanation carries you through to the end. Without the in-your-face elaboration, you are left to wonder about whether the characters did right. Yet somehow the game does a good job of avoiding moralizing too much, stepping away from good vs evil. Instead, a certain character loosens up and tells you the player to find the light and snuff out the shadow, and there the game ends (in a way), which gives you a direction but not a destination. There’s an appeal to this ambiguity that forces you to discuss a game right after finishing it.  Many of these comments made here, however, may need some updating after I play The 25^th Ward.  Looking forward to more Suda!