I love this about it, but I’d rather not have to re-tread every little nook and day in order to see a few dialogues with Gregg at the Snack Falcon. But I’m a gamer and human with finite time, and NITW is by design slow-paced. It could be argued that missing a few things is reason enough to play through again, and I very well might some day. “I’m sorry I skipped major elements of your storyline, Gregg.” I don’t resent missing small secrets or sidebars that were scattered about (those are great and up to me to find or miss), I mean main-line story elements of what amount to all of the secondary character’s deep(er) stories. Missing out on certain aspects of Angus’ or Bea’s or Gregg’s tales in particular seem like getting short-changed, especially in light of how arbitrary some of those misses feel. While I commend the experimental use of slightly branching and shifting stories, and I understand that most of this was intentional, there were moments where I wished I could experience all, or at least more of the story possibilities. Therein lies a small gameplay/narrative complaint with the context of Night in the Woods. I treasured its exploration, and I treasured unexpected divergences and side trips. I came to love Mae’s daily routine as it gently and naturally expanded or got disrupted. I was reminded at times of my compulsive love of Animal Crossing, but instead of endless bug catching and furniture re-positioning, here we’re collecting bits of narrative, scene, and character. The game moves forward at a slow and deliberate pace, peppered with unrequired but rewarding diversions. I was particularly fond of Mae’s roof platforming and triple-jumping, which yields some neat surprises, and feels like a part of her character as much as it is a gameplay element. While unnecessary (but hey, what isn’t, really?), they add a wonderful spice, like a dash of sassy gaming cayenne. They range from wonky-cute and wonky-poignant to downright enjoyable (the band practice rhythm game was a high point for me), and the nifty asides never crested on annoyance and mostly enhanced the experience and connection to the characters and moments. The varied and fun mini-games work, too, and go a ways to bring the experience back towards the territory of actual game. Perhaps moreso because they are cats and bears? Either way, it works, and filled me with a powerful connection to this well-crafted world. Deep and resonant themes of abuse, psychological trauma, mental illness (anxiety and depression), class struggle, socio-economic decline, and queer identity are woven into the everyday experience of these characters, and all of it feels relatable and real, but never heavy-handed. Like a skipped corner on the well-drawn map of Possum Springs, many character and story elements were so deftly handled that it’s easy to miss them, too. Most importantly, the setting reflects Mae’s struggle, and the moment I stepped into town I related to the paradox of comfort and discomfort inherent in returning home from your first steps into the wider world, finding beauty, despair, and new complications that stubbornly beget wisdom. The look is edgy but clean, adorable but flawed, much like the collective psyche of the cast. Visually stylized and well executed, Possum Springs evokes the best of indie comics and modern cartoons, a kind of Chris Ware and Samurai Jack meets Richard Scarry’s spookiest world, all bursting with detail, smart design, and well-chosen color palettes (all of which holds true for the excellent character design, as well). The setting feels like a character in itself and plays an integral and gently expanding role in the fine storytelling. The cast is brimming with realized portraits, and even incidental and momentary characters (and creatures and places) feel as if they live and breathe, and I was left wanting to know them all. I felt like I was hanging out with the smartest damaged twenty-somethings in town, and I wanted to sneak out back with them to break some stuff. And the conversations all sound authentic, oozing charm, self-deprecating wit, and depth. Unlike too much fiction, both interactive and otherwise, many of these characters grow and change as they converse. The main tier of beastly acquaintances are her parents and her closest friends, all of whom have their own micro-stories, all of whom you’ll come to appreciate, each in their own wonderfully flawed ways. The protagonist, Mae, is richly realized, as are the roguish pile of supporting characters surrounding her. NITW’s most noteworthy achievement is its characters, and the funny and poignant words that come out of their adorable mouths. More like this…Cuz this is what this beautiful game actually looks like.
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