Epanalepsis is some more damn fine storytelling from the creator of Catachresis.
It's a short story, cardinally structured with three POV characters who inhabit the same space in different times through a kind of Nietzschean reincarnation device. I like it because playing the game feels like a ritual; you repeat the same montage of events in each of the game's acts: an introductory dream sequence, a mundane fetch quest, and finally a walk down a street (the same street in each story) to make a delivery, before being yanked out of your life by the overarching science-fiction framing narrative which remains elusive even after the game ends.
(I'm going to spoil the general storyline from here on out.)
In the first story, we get a glimpse into the life of a young, independent woman in the 1990s. Typical point-and-click adventure narrative techniques piece together this archetype: the personal importance of Judith Butler, dealing with roommates, one-sided pestering calls from mum, zines, and rowdy rock clubs are all part of this tapestry.
Then we jump ahead to the near-present day, in which we live the life of a gamer whose escape from life is not dreams and cultural theory but his overwhelming immersion in the commercialisation of video games. His apartment is adorned exclusively with game figurines and posters, with contemporary cultural references (which if you're the sort of person who reads Steam reviews, you'd be intimately familiar with) that are at their thinnest-veiling towards Indie Game: The Movie and Monkey Island. The only books he reads are the novelisations of his favourite MMO. Then when we take the now-familiar trek down the street, what was once the rowdy rock club has been gentrified to a fairtrade, organic cafe complete with a pitch-perfect, bearded barista straight outta any such place in Melbourne. This centre act is perhaps where the game is at its heavy-handest, but the developer should be commended on his commentary on modern, commercialised life and gamer culture for being neither contemptuous nor shallow; it's simply how folks find meaning today, and the game treats it with the same reverence as it treats our first protagonist's tastes and priorities. And using the form of an indie game itself (or, if you won't, an art-game) is the most apt place to paint such a portrait.
In the final story, which is the most interesting and unique, we are placed in the shoes (or wheels, as it were, in a refreshing change of literal pace) of a robot in a near-future dystopia. The narration style of the classic, point-and-click adventure is twisted to mediate a robot's point of view of the world. Each mouseclick qua 'examine' verb sets off an overzealous desire to REPORT ILLEGAL TERRORIST ACTIVITY and interactions with humans takes on a Sam & Max 'little buddy' tone, undercut with reminders that... you *do* realise there's a human behind the controls of this, right? Yes, yes, but look at the cute, little guy zip around! Way to go! Yeah! Set off that bomb! ...What?
There are a couple of choices to make in the game and an ending of sorts and although I haven't played the game more than once, I get the sense that any divergence from the narrative ultimately won't change much; that these characters are resigned to fate, as the mysterious, sci-fi visitors keep trying to tell us. And I like that. It gives you something to reflect on and leaves unsaid what needs to be unsaid, rather than trying to cram a complex, branching narrative of choice and consequence into your brain. It absolutely succeeds in conveying a sense of place, tone, theme, and atmosphere. Don't come looking for a satisfying, resolving story, because there's not even the intention of that being on offer. Instead, expect good and stylish storytelling and plenty of thought and attention to carry a one-hour experience.
