I have been playing video games since before I can remember. I've played so many types of games from all different genres, consoles, companies, directors, and regions. I have no idea what I'm really saying, but I guess sometimes it feels like I've experienced it all; there are so many repeated ideas and mechanics, and I've become so literate in games, so knowledgable about how they work that it gets harder and harder for me to be impressed, harder and harder to feel anything.

Outer Wilds is an anomaly.

No game I have ever played has ever made me feel genuine awe the way Outer Wilds did. The natural wonders of this solar system are indescribable; literally watching gravity in action on the hourglass twins, experiencing the terror of floating past gigantic space anglerfish, delving into the deepest depths of Giant's Deep. You have never seen a sunrise until you've seen a sunrise on Brittle Hollow. There are too many to name, and none that I dare spoil, but I spent the majority of the game excited to wake up and experience what else was out there. It's like a mix of the addictive exploration of Breath of the Wild, the unrelenting atmosphere of Dark Souls, and intriguing mystery of Ghost Trick.

But the more I played, the more of the universe I discovered and the more of the Nomai's secrets that I uncovered, the more that awe turned into hopelessness. The entire solar system is open to you from the very beginning of the game, and the only barriers to progression is your knowledge of the universe and your knowledge of how the game's mechanics work, both of which you must uncover for yourself. And while the drive to learn more kept me hooked for the first 2/3s of the game, the last 1/3 was filled with frustrations at my own failures and lack of answers. With every supernova, it sunk in more and more that I would never be able to escape death. By mere chance, I was fated to be stuck reliving the same 22 minutes over and over again, and no matter what I did, what I learned, or where I went, that supernova would consume me every time, assuming I didn't die by much more tragic means beforehand.

Outer Wilds is the first game since Nier: Automata to make me ask genuine philosophical and theological questions outside the context of the game. Why bother doing anything if I'm fated to die in 22 minutes? Holy shit, how is creation this amazing? Why make an effort to learn more when I know I'm powerless to change my fate, and even if I were, there are dangers in this universe that are greater than I ever could've imagined? Wow, how can a star exploding and wiping out all life be this beautiful? How do I accept the fact that life has become an inescapable prison? Why does life seem like it's worth living when I hear this gorgeous music, and when the music reminds me that there are other people out there making discoveries just like me?

Outer Wilds' openendedness is a double-edged sword, simultaneously encouraging the player to see more, but also beating them down by forcing the player to save the entire universe completely on their own. What a daunting task, and I don't think I've ever played a game (and may not ever play a game again) that is so effective in fulfilling it's intended purpose. My thoughts may change about the experience as a whole with time, but I will never stop thinking about it.

Reviewed on Apr 03, 2021


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