
When I recently played Closure, I couldn’t help but wonder how much thought the developers put into how players would respond to it.
It must come as a huge surprise to game devs when they hear about all the different experiences people have with their games and all the readings people walk away with. As someone who used to paint a lot, I’d always be amazed at the way people would read into my artworks and see things that I felt weren’t there. “Your landscapes have gotten darker and muddier – were you going through a darker patch in your life?” Ummm, no? “I love the way you painted the prostitutes in that scene!” Err…they’re ballerinas. *Beat*
Game developers and creators of texts can shape our experience with their creations by playing on common feelings and perceptions that most people hold; there are things they can expect from the audience. They can anticipate that having a swarm of zombies charge out of the darkness and straight at the player will induce a sense of panic, or that a dark, dilapidated corridor stained with blood is more likely to create suspense for a player than a camp fun-land with rainbow floorboards (although that in itself can be quite suspenseful and leave me shit-scared). There are elements that a developer can control that will guide the player in the direction that they want the game to be played. But then there are the elements that can’t be controlled. Developers can throw in all the zombies, stained corridors, rainbow flooring and camp fun-lands as they like, but the one thing that determines how a game is experienced lies in the hands of someone else – the player.
I’m not talking about a player’s particular style of gaming. Rather, I’m referring to the specific things that we pick up from our interaction with other texts that come to shape our experiences with games.
This wasn’t something I’d thought about until I played Closure a few weeks ago. I kept associating elements of the game to artworks by Alberto Giacometti – an artist who has always made me feel uneasy – and that unease found its way into the game.
Closure required me to move orbs of light around, illuminating my surroundings so that I could see where I was going. But I also had to use darkness to my advantage. If an area was lit and visible, it existed and was tangible to my character. If it was hidden in darkness, it did not exist. There were elements of the game that reminded me of Echochrome inasmuch that what was there was only there if I could see it. Walls and entire surfaces would cease to exist the moment they were cast out of the light. If I took a step into what I couldn’t see, I’d fall into the chasm of darkness and, presumably, die.







