JETT: The Far Shore is afraid of having confidence in its vision. This was a voice playing in the back of my head when I started playing and finished the intro and the first chapter. I hoped it would grow quieter, and that the experience would over time, begin to trust you as part of its world. I rationalized at first that the continuous co-pilot chatter was to inspire and drive home that sense of communion. You are after all, not alone, and one of several pilots all working together to make sure that these new, earnest steps actually make it to a new world intact. In some ways that's still true, visions and pictures, all of the 'acts' you will take serve the colony and make true on the directives of your group religion.
However, the most damning part of JETT is that it cannot and will not trust you. Picture if you will, this example: in one instance, you need to protect a fellow crewmember's ship from enemies that are about to come across. You need to intercept them and then disable or draw them away. The game will pause, for every, single, enemy that shows up. The game will then pause, and show you a way to stop them, and then another way. After about a minute each. It'll even do this when you're already acting, after you've already disabled them, coming in complete violation of what's happening on screen. This isn't in an early chapter mind, this is the penultimate one, very far and near the end of the journey. They've already taught you to disable these enemies before, in the same ways they even present to you now. They've already step-by-step detailed how to intercept chapters before. In the end, they must be damn sure that you know exactly what you should be doing.
I felt a deep pain in my heart when not long after this I came to one of them on the mother ship and they told me how brave and self-directed I was, how strong a scout and example I made for the colony. All while in that same breath I could just remember the people who might as well have been talking to me as a dog following orders. I felt a dissociative pushback when at a couple moments, there would be quiet time. A time to just explore, and even there I could not get minutes of solace, because the objective would update or the co-pilot would chatter about what I'm already seeing.
To me that's extremely disappointing, almost hurtful especially when the story really stresses at points that there'll be a time to Adapt that will bring your group to its knees, and you must help them. Was I really? Was I really a part of this journey? Was I my own person at any point? I do not feel like a walker on these shores, I am no explorer discovering the planet, I am no voice within the cacophony of radio, I am no identity in these cosmic waters. I am merely the glorified observer, brought out of my role when the priest has deemed me minutes to act on something more, wishing that we were truly something more.
However, the most damning part of JETT is that it cannot and will not trust you. Picture if you will, this example: in one instance, you need to protect a fellow crewmember's ship from enemies that are about to come across. You need to intercept them and then disable or draw them away. The game will pause, for every, single, enemy that shows up. The game will then pause, and show you a way to stop them, and then another way. After about a minute each. It'll even do this when you're already acting, after you've already disabled them, coming in complete violation of what's happening on screen. This isn't in an early chapter mind, this is the penultimate one, very far and near the end of the journey. They've already taught you to disable these enemies before, in the same ways they even present to you now. They've already step-by-step detailed how to intercept chapters before. In the end, they must be damn sure that you know exactly what you should be doing.
I felt a deep pain in my heart when not long after this I came to one of them on the mother ship and they told me how brave and self-directed I was, how strong a scout and example I made for the colony. All while in that same breath I could just remember the people who might as well have been talking to me as a dog following orders. I felt a dissociative pushback when at a couple moments, there would be quiet time. A time to just explore, and even there I could not get minutes of solace, because the objective would update or the co-pilot would chatter about what I'm already seeing.
To me that's extremely disappointing, almost hurtful especially when the story really stresses at points that there'll be a time to Adapt that will bring your group to its knees, and you must help them. Was I really? Was I really a part of this journey? Was I my own person at any point? I do not feel like a walker on these shores, I am no explorer discovering the planet, I am no voice within the cacophony of radio, I am no identity in these cosmic waters. I am merely the glorified observer, brought out of my role when the priest has deemed me minutes to act on something more, wishing that we were truly something more.