EUREKA!
As players grow more and more conditioned to prefer 'realism' in modern games, the medium's full potential as escapist entertainment remains increasingly underwhelmed ever so ardently. Bless Tim Schafer and his Double Fine crew then for delivering one of the most endlessly, consistently creative visual works of the millennium, to prove the enriching, artistic power of the craft.
Psychonauts offers nothing less than the evolution of an entire genre, merging adventure game design with a 3D worldscape, where the human mind offers a multitude of labyrinths to plunge into. The serpentine levels address a stream of consciousness, while the meticulous construction implicates an inherently methodical subconscious.
Child abuse and neglect form the backbone of the plot's engaging metastasis, and artistry becomes an arbiter for literal escape. Yes, in spite of its '1970s summer camp flick' aesthetic, Psychonauts is a grim tale of mental anguish, in which an array of subjects propose a perpetual torment besides their greatest insecurities and misgivings. But aside from dishing out some curse words every so often, the game is most astutely mature in its regard to profound musings on psyche.
While a script's instinct to explain its universe normally undermines natural worldbuilding in any work, here it prompts rumination on the human brain's fantastical properties which distinctly set reality apart from fantasy. Classic adventure game logic translates here through traditional 3D action platformer behaviors. Player abilities become manipulable puzzle items to progress. Symbolic representations of psychical patterns level up the character. Health, currency, and ammo items (infuriatingly) have a mind of their own, as if to portray the mind's animated status, constantly whirling like cogs in a machine.
As the Clairvoyance perk humorously suggests, we all see the world and our neighbors differently; logic is molded by subjective perception. Indeed, this mythical venture through chaotic suburbs in the sky, mental battlefields, monstrous underwater pursuits, and even monster movie homage is infused with a healthy dose of reality. One cunning sequence follows the bold, inquisitive Raz into the operatic mind of a retired stage actress, whose subconscious has been littered by self-criticism and childhood trauma as enacted like cheap theater starring a stilted subject of sunny energy. The villainous critic represents any artist's greatest nightmare: their own sense of failure directed back at them from the inside and out.
Raz might as well be named Alice, as he tumbles down rabbit hole after rabbit hole on a crusade for personal overcoming and righteous justice-serving. Double Fine's mischievous item quests have arguably never fit more in line with a crafted universe than here -- paintings grow into traversable vines, stop signs and rolling pins provide comically unconvincing disguises, tags rekindle pent-up emotional baggage. Indeed, this endless tea party is as mad as a hatter; a slyly psychosexual romp (Raz's parental disdain implicates an ingrained prejudice towards the non-conformative) amidst lunatics and everyday people just trying to overcome their apprehensions and misgivings.
The game's glorious sense of humor is most portentiously rooted in an increasing social numbing of the mind by the consequences of media overconsumption, illustrated with poignancy as a brainless child repeatedly demands: "TV." An ironic notion given the screen's potential for artistic creation, and nonetheless a parallel conceptualization of media's prescribed rabbit holes we plunge ourselves into time and again.
Psychonauts defies typical genre musings to ruminate on the various everyday existential squabbles we endlessly endure, that which form our perceptions of time and space and identity. It posits rehabilitation through empathic understanding. It's a psychological horror comedy unlike any other.
As players grow more and more conditioned to prefer 'realism' in modern games, the medium's full potential as escapist entertainment remains increasingly underwhelmed ever so ardently. Bless Tim Schafer and his Double Fine crew then for delivering one of the most endlessly, consistently creative visual works of the millennium, to prove the enriching, artistic power of the craft.
Psychonauts offers nothing less than the evolution of an entire genre, merging adventure game design with a 3D worldscape, where the human mind offers a multitude of labyrinths to plunge into. The serpentine levels address a stream of consciousness, while the meticulous construction implicates an inherently methodical subconscious.
Child abuse and neglect form the backbone of the plot's engaging metastasis, and artistry becomes an arbiter for literal escape. Yes, in spite of its '1970s summer camp flick' aesthetic, Psychonauts is a grim tale of mental anguish, in which an array of subjects propose a perpetual torment besides their greatest insecurities and misgivings. But aside from dishing out some curse words every so often, the game is most astutely mature in its regard to profound musings on psyche.
While a script's instinct to explain its universe normally undermines natural worldbuilding in any work, here it prompts rumination on the human brain's fantastical properties which distinctly set reality apart from fantasy. Classic adventure game logic translates here through traditional 3D action platformer behaviors. Player abilities become manipulable puzzle items to progress. Symbolic representations of psychical patterns level up the character. Health, currency, and ammo items (infuriatingly) have a mind of their own, as if to portray the mind's animated status, constantly whirling like cogs in a machine.
As the Clairvoyance perk humorously suggests, we all see the world and our neighbors differently; logic is molded by subjective perception. Indeed, this mythical venture through chaotic suburbs in the sky, mental battlefields, monstrous underwater pursuits, and even monster movie homage is infused with a healthy dose of reality. One cunning sequence follows the bold, inquisitive Raz into the operatic mind of a retired stage actress, whose subconscious has been littered by self-criticism and childhood trauma as enacted like cheap theater starring a stilted subject of sunny energy. The villainous critic represents any artist's greatest nightmare: their own sense of failure directed back at them from the inside and out.
Raz might as well be named Alice, as he tumbles down rabbit hole after rabbit hole on a crusade for personal overcoming and righteous justice-serving. Double Fine's mischievous item quests have arguably never fit more in line with a crafted universe than here -- paintings grow into traversable vines, stop signs and rolling pins provide comically unconvincing disguises, tags rekindle pent-up emotional baggage. Indeed, this endless tea party is as mad as a hatter; a slyly psychosexual romp (Raz's parental disdain implicates an ingrained prejudice towards the non-conformative) amidst lunatics and everyday people just trying to overcome their apprehensions and misgivings.
The game's glorious sense of humor is most portentiously rooted in an increasing social numbing of the mind by the consequences of media overconsumption, illustrated with poignancy as a brainless child repeatedly demands: "TV." An ironic notion given the screen's potential for artistic creation, and nonetheless a parallel conceptualization of media's prescribed rabbit holes we plunge ourselves into time and again.
Psychonauts defies typical genre musings to ruminate on the various everyday existential squabbles we endlessly endure, that which form our perceptions of time and space and identity. It posits rehabilitation through empathic understanding. It's a psychological horror comedy unlike any other.