17th August, 2008: Thoughts on: Braid.
Braid. Everyone’s talking about it, and, for a game so small, it seems to be garnering some strong opinions, one way or another (Just some of these are summarised on the Braid blog; otherwise, use Google). So my “proper” inaugural post here is simply adding to all that noise, but I will offer my thoughts on what is (hopefully) a very slightly less well-trodden aspect.
Why? It’s because someone actually asked: I noticed this in my inbox, from the lovely Christina Xu: “What did you think about the relationship stuff in Braid?”
Now admittedly, she did point me towards this rather excellent post at feministe.us, which happens to cover a good proportion of my thoughts on the subject already, but nonetheless.
So I’m not going to talk in depth about the game in general, other than saying that both of these are Truths:
- Braid is not (just) a game. It is, quite simply, a spine-chilling, brain-aching, rib-tickling, heart-tingling experience in a game-shaped box.
- Braid is a game; and furthermore, the “perfect” game. Or, perhaps more accurately, if the line “small but perfectly formed” should ever really apply to anything, it’s Braid.
So I’m not going to discuss too much in depth what else I love about the game: that is, the stunning visuals, the hauntingly beautiful music, the humorous homage to classic platformers, the fluid marriage between narrative and gameplay, the challenging-but-not-frustratingly-so puzzles. (Interestingly, a lot of criticism comes from questioning these exact latter two points. Of the last, however, I’d say that it’s a game that makes you feel like you want/need to be clever; thus, at least on the couple of puzzles that really stumped me, perhaps admitting that you’re getting frustrated to a point of giving up is like admitting you’re not clever enough to play the game. At least, maybe that’s what kept me going…)
Anyway, so to the “relationship stuff in Braid”: to me, this was an interesting question, because despite everything else about the game, the overarching feelings I was left with were all about the nature of love, relationships, obsession, and of course, causality.
(Quick interjection here before the cut: I had a very weird Braid-esque moment yesterday as I boarded a train from Waterloo to Battersea Park. I sat in a backward-facing seat, and as the train pulled away from the station, the mistaken announcement came on that “This train is now approaching London Waterloo.” Okay, so it doesn’t sound like much, but I felt a bit crazy inside for at least a few seconds. Later that day, in Battersea Park, a man cycled backwards past us.)
The rest of the review is a bit spoilerific:
i'm sorry, but the princess is in another castle.
From the opening moments of the game recounting Tim’s apparent ‘breakup’ with ‘The Princess’, and talking about the nature of forgiveness and causality, I was hooked. Then, throughout all the obscure text we are offered in subsequent worlds (just one of the narrative mechanisms – the others being the gameplay and environment) the story becomes increasingly fuzzy. Who is the princess? Beyond the humorous references to Mario, we ask if Tim is simply trying to fill some kind of void in his life with some elusive notion of a person who doesn’t really exist? Is he really that different to so many of us? I almost began to feel some sort of strong sense of empathy with Tim and his quest.
As I progressed into the realms of Worlds 5 and 6 however, this sense of empathy became somewhat fragmented – Tim’s narrative becomes contradictory, and rather creepy. He speaks of fiercely protecting her, though the themes of obsession and possession become increasingly prevalent, and suddenly, I felt unconvinced by Tim. However, I was still hooked by this – after all, a quest of any sort can only be driven by some level of obsession; I suddenly started regarding Mario and Link with considerable suspicion.
Still, like Tim, somehow, I had hope that the Princess would really exist. And with her, would come some sort of revelation. Perhaps then, I still had at least that in common with Tim.
Even up to that last level when Tim finally sees the Princess escape from an apparent captor and she and Tim race across the screen to save one another from a fiery end, solving puzzles. I found myself wondering whether this was all about some sort of co-dependency. “Awww”, I thought. “I wonder what will happen when they meet at the end?”
Of course – what happened was, the princess went into her room, and was suddenly asleep in bed. Time then stops. It can only be reversed. Then, jaw dropped, I watched in horror as everything I had just done was replayed in reverse – Tim pursuing the Princess, her desperately trying to get away from him, doing everything she can to stop him trying to harm her. Everything is turned on its head, and she is saved by who we thought to be her “captor” – a mysterious knight in shining armour. The princess having eluded him, Tim stands there, contrasted – his dark suit, red tie, and ginger hair vaguely flapping in the breeze. The whole sequence sent chills down my spine. This was a simple concept, perhaps – but then again perhaps all the best twists are.
Interestingly, in the epilogue, we then read more text which changes when Tim is hidden from view – a female voice sings out, and we hear her perspective:
“You’re burdening me with your ridiculous need,” she said. Or, she said: “You’re going the wrong way and you’re pulling me with you.”
However – the Princess has escaped from this, and ran off with her knight in shining armour. Tim, however, consumed with obsession never stops searching for her – and in this epilogue, we’re given glimpses into the desperate, the grotesque, and the plain disturbing.
Who is Tim? Is, as suggested by many, the obsessive stalkerish ex-boyfriend? Who is the princess? Is she more than one woman? I had a train of thought that led to me wonder whether each world within Braid is actually about Tim’s relationship with a different girl – all in search of the Princess. Especially so in World 5, which describes a relationship with someone who, despite not quite being close enough to him, waits and loves him whilst he searches for the Princess. I’d be interested to hear some other thoughts on that one, actually.
Perhaps the overall point is that as with any art – it is down to personal interpretation, and I’m under no illusion that my reading of Braid isn’t heavily influenced by my own life experiences. I’m a bit of an overthinker when it comes to these things at the best of times; perhaps Braid gave me an opportunity to simply indulge my overanalytical nature when it comes to thinking about things like relationships. (Also, Ste suggested yesterday that perhaps I am a 15 year old boy. Thanks!)
So really, to answer the question, what did I think of the relationship stuff in Braid? My answer is that I’m not sure. But I am certain that Braid made me think about relationship stuff. A lot. And that’s pretty darn cool.
Overall – yes, Braid is a difficult game, and, I suspect, it is a game which only truly “works” for a relatively small subset of players – though this is not, perhaps, a bad thing. It is difficult, and does require a lot of skill to complete – but arguably, it exists, I believe, to show seasoned gamers that games can do this, and to at least tickle at the edges of their understanding about some rather fuzzy yet potentially uncomfortable issues.
Posted at 9:01 pm | Comments
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