Move Me
How do we feel when we struggle through a narrow path? How do we feel when we stroll through a wide corridor of trees or an open field? Freedom of movement—or lack of it—can amplify feelings of grief, love, surprise and happiness.
*** Spoilers | Play Game here first ***
In the winter transition scenes after discovering the father or mother had died, I wanted players to feel grief without directly showing it. I wanted them to feel it even if they didn’t fully understand what had happened yet. So barren trees and rocks complicate the path ahead. It never progresses to becoming a maze. I toyed with arranging trees and rocks into a maze but decided against it: putting players into problem-solving mode would detach them emotionally from what was happening. Just a little bit of friction was enough. Make it hard to move forward, literally and metaphorically.
Time passes and the landscape opens up. Greenery breaks through the snow. The player arrives back at the home and sees how things have changed. Their grief isn’t a fresh wound anymore but an old scar. The next transition area widens into a path filled with flowers. The daughter is an adolescent. She stands looking down at you from an overlook, out of your reach.
After the daughter grows into an adult and leaves to explore the world, she unexpectedly meets someone and falls in love. How could players “stumble” into this person the same way the daughter would have? It’s hard to surprise players when they have a birds-eye view of everything on the path ahead. The solution: have some finicky turns to navigate through when players first enter the screen. Enough to divert their eyes from what lies ahead—the daughter and her future husband. Before they realize it they already stand next to the transfixed pair.
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I’ve already been interviewed there once already but if you want another one I’d be happy to do it. I’ll message you on Instagram.