The Company of Myself

[Flash game: Play here]

This may be my personal favorite out of all the games that fall into the ‘artistic’ category. In fact, it was this game that got me started on the entire ‘psychological games’ kick, and it was this that changed my view of gaming. It’s easy to understand the beauty of the storyline, the music, the melancholy yet innocent tone with which it is all delivered, but it’s a bit harder to understand where the beauty comes from.

For starters, it’s told from a very unique viewpoint, which I will not explain just yet, since it is not revealed until the end of the game. Before the game begins, it runs the player through a brief prologue, explaining that he is now alone, and that where he once had the company of others, now he only has the company of himself. The simplistic, matter-of-factly way in which the narrator tells his story leads the player into the character’s mind, and, if played from an emotionally open viewpoint, allows the player to see through the character’s eyes.

The tutorial levels, where you learn the controls and rules of the game, are presented in an amusing fashion, where the character becomes completely infatuated with the goal object. Through the character’s eyes, every object is a person. A chance at companionship; a chance at escaping loneliness. With this emotional perspective, completing each level becomes a desperate struggle to escape isolation. Maybe not as dramatically as it sounds, but players will find themselves wanting to complete each level for a new reason, other than ‘to beat the game.

The gameplay revolves around a unique, yet not overly-challenging concept: The ability to clone yourself.

If you were to run to the left, stop, jump, and then clone yourself, it would mimic those actions while you are free to act differently. Throughout the game, players must rely on their clones to succeed.

This presents a clichéd philosophical idea: If you could go back and start again, what would you do differently? With your past “clones” aiding you, with that analogous ‘prior knowledge,’ you can reach where you couldn’t before, and without having to go through the same actions as your past “clone.” Knowledge of future occurrences would allow us to skip over them, jumping past things that we were already aware of. Theoretically, with enough “clones,” enough “prior experience,” we can achieve anything we wanted in a fraction of the time. Viewing the future would essentially be identical to time travel.

The game progresses to the point where he is explaining what happened to his second passion, Kathryn. This sub-story paints a picture of flawless love and cooperation, not only with words, but in how the two must rely on each other to get past obstacles. It is the very definition of a solid relationship, and, combined with the elegant storytelling, the image becomes very vivid, embedded in the player’s mind. Two key words are repeated, time and time again: ‘Perfect’ and ‘mutual.’ The very symbol of joined happiness. Kathryn is now a part of everything.

And then, she’s gone. Plain and simple. Through necessity, the player must erase her from the story, and the guilt and pain that the character feels is shared by the player, because it had to happen. And the player is the one who did it. In the explanations afterwards, where he is detailing how scarred he is because of the incident, the sense of empathy is overwhelming. The player shared in the experience, giving them the same mindset and perspective as the character, and we can all imagine, if not understand, how painful it is to lose someone so dear to them. The fact it happens so abruptly causes a double-take. One move. Now she’s gone.

What if we could start over from a different perspective? Undo everything we’ve done, start from a fresh slate, in a different place, as someone else. The guilt of what happened will cause any ordinary person to wish they didn’t exist, that things didn’t happen. Directly after it does happen, you gain the ability to start from a different perspective. A different place. As the character retells his sorrowful story, the player is able to share in it through their actions and necessary sacrifices. The player feels everything the character does, and it is beautiful.

The epilogue after the game sends empathy through the roof. You learn of who he is, what he’s been through, and how he has lost, literally, everything. I will not explain it, because the ending caps a brilliant game with a perfect ending, and everyone should experience this ending themselves. After the credits, there is a single message that will make things even more emotional, as it expresses that things stated in the epilogue are not true, and that he simply wanted, needed, someone to listen. That’s all he needed, and it is the last thing he loses.

What really puts the icing on the cake is the music. It is repetitive, yes, but the minor chord progressions, the mystical triad of higher notes in the second part, the ominous base octaves, the staggered, loosely-defined rhythms, all contribute to form a musical score that just feels sad. This goes beyond hearing, and all of the parts combine to make a bittersweet whole. While letting the game run in the background as I am writing this, I feel almost lonely and disheartened, from the music alone.

The game is crafted beautifully, and is a dramatic success due to its ability to integrate the player into the character’s shoes. By telling the story, endearing everything in a lovable way, and then forcing the player to live through the story as it takes a turn for the worst, it forces people to become emotionally linked to the game. It forces them to share in the character’s pain as he loses everything.

This is what a beautiful game feels like.