Note: This review is taken from my Medium page, where I wrote about it as part of a list about my favourite media that I experienced in 2022. It's written for an audience that is unfamiliar with the game, so it's more expository than most of my reviews.
This PS1 game was developed around the same time as its much more well-known anime as part of a multimedia project. It is not an adaptation of the anime, but rather its own story, to the point that it does not share continuity with the anime. For those unfamiliar with Serial Experiments Lain, the anime is a work of sci-fi set in the then-present day. It delves into the emergence of the internet and its effect on the way we perceive reality and identity. It’s held up remarkably well and I would still position it as the best work of art about the internet in general. The game deals with similar themes but takes things in a much more psychological direction. It’s structured as a database where you can listen to audio of therapy sessions, read diary entries, watch short video clips and listen to audio of the therapist’s clinical diagnoses. As you may expect from that description, the game’s premise is about the character Lain undergoing therapy. It reverses the dynamics from the anime — the anime is primarily about the sci-fi concepts relating to the Internet and digital consciosuness, while Lain’s mental illness and alienation are secondary elements. Of course there’s plenty of intersection between the two, but the anime’s conclusion turns her characterisation into a more abstract one. The game’s story is much more grounded and dives deep into the psychological dynamics between Lain and her therapist Touko. Touko is a game-only character written with as much depth as Lain, with her insecurities and changes in persona being impressively realised. Both characters descend into despair in a way that is uncomfortably slow and realistic. I have a high tolerance for upsetting material in art, but this one left me very shaken. I would recommend going into this game knowing that it will pull you into the darkest parts of the characters’ headspace and that it does not offer catharsis at the end.
While I’m calling this a game for convenience, this is one of those works which might not fit into any medium. When I say it isn’t a game, I mean it lacks gameplay, not that it just has limited gameplay. Your only choices in the game are the order in which you access files (and even this is heavily limited, as many files only become accessible as you go through the game) — you have about as much influence over the narrative as you do with a book or film. Because the game is so focused on audio files, it is perhaps closest to the medium of audio drama, but the database structure fragments the narrative completely. The presentation remains incredibly important. The separation of the files conveys one of Lain’s primary themes — that our concept of the self is never stable and constantly being split by circumstance. We see a completely different Touko between her therapy sessions with Lain, her personal diary entries and her clinical diagnosis. The points where these personae intertwine are when Touko is at her least stable, showing her lack of control over her own self. The process of navigating and accessing the files also gives the player space to consider their own role in their consumption of the narrative. I felt a sense of voyeurism due to my role in accessing files of material that should be private, and it’s unlikely I would have felt this guilt if it were presented as a standard audio drama. Finally, the database structure builds the feeling that the game’s narrative has already happened (as opposed to the typical form of games that narratively operate in the present tense) and that you’re traversing through the digital ghosts of these characters. It’s an incredibly haunting experience.
The game’s obscurity comes down to it being a PS1 exclusive that was never released outside of Japan, while the anime got a wide enough release to gain a cult following. Fortunately, it has become much more accessible through a fanmade port of the game for web browsers called lainTSX. This is how I played the game, and I found it worked much better than trying an emulator. Despite video games being a relatively new medium, they tend to be poorly preserved by their distributors. This often leaves dedicated fans as the ones who preserve this work and allow it to continue being experienced. On one hand, I’m moved by how some people are passionate enough about the art they love to do this work, but on the other, I wish that the work's preservation wouldn’t be left to the unpaid labour of fans. Regardless, I have great respect for the lainTSX team for allowing this game to be played by all, and I hope their work leads to a greater appreciation for it. The game is not just a footnote to the Lain anime, but a brilliant work in its own right.
This PS1 game was developed around the same time as its much more well-known anime as part of a multimedia project. It is not an adaptation of the anime, but rather its own story, to the point that it does not share continuity with the anime. For those unfamiliar with Serial Experiments Lain, the anime is a work of sci-fi set in the then-present day. It delves into the emergence of the internet and its effect on the way we perceive reality and identity. It’s held up remarkably well and I would still position it as the best work of art about the internet in general. The game deals with similar themes but takes things in a much more psychological direction. It’s structured as a database where you can listen to audio of therapy sessions, read diary entries, watch short video clips and listen to audio of the therapist’s clinical diagnoses. As you may expect from that description, the game’s premise is about the character Lain undergoing therapy. It reverses the dynamics from the anime — the anime is primarily about the sci-fi concepts relating to the Internet and digital consciosuness, while Lain’s mental illness and alienation are secondary elements. Of course there’s plenty of intersection between the two, but the anime’s conclusion turns her characterisation into a more abstract one. The game’s story is much more grounded and dives deep into the psychological dynamics between Lain and her therapist Touko. Touko is a game-only character written with as much depth as Lain, with her insecurities and changes in persona being impressively realised. Both characters descend into despair in a way that is uncomfortably slow and realistic. I have a high tolerance for upsetting material in art, but this one left me very shaken. I would recommend going into this game knowing that it will pull you into the darkest parts of the characters’ headspace and that it does not offer catharsis at the end.
While I’m calling this a game for convenience, this is one of those works which might not fit into any medium. When I say it isn’t a game, I mean it lacks gameplay, not that it just has limited gameplay. Your only choices in the game are the order in which you access files (and even this is heavily limited, as many files only become accessible as you go through the game) — you have about as much influence over the narrative as you do with a book or film. Because the game is so focused on audio files, it is perhaps closest to the medium of audio drama, but the database structure fragments the narrative completely. The presentation remains incredibly important. The separation of the files conveys one of Lain’s primary themes — that our concept of the self is never stable and constantly being split by circumstance. We see a completely different Touko between her therapy sessions with Lain, her personal diary entries and her clinical diagnosis. The points where these personae intertwine are when Touko is at her least stable, showing her lack of control over her own self. The process of navigating and accessing the files also gives the player space to consider their own role in their consumption of the narrative. I felt a sense of voyeurism due to my role in accessing files of material that should be private, and it’s unlikely I would have felt this guilt if it were presented as a standard audio drama. Finally, the database structure builds the feeling that the game’s narrative has already happened (as opposed to the typical form of games that narratively operate in the present tense) and that you’re traversing through the digital ghosts of these characters. It’s an incredibly haunting experience.
The game’s obscurity comes down to it being a PS1 exclusive that was never released outside of Japan, while the anime got a wide enough release to gain a cult following. Fortunately, it has become much more accessible through a fanmade port of the game for web browsers called lainTSX. This is how I played the game, and I found it worked much better than trying an emulator. Despite video games being a relatively new medium, they tend to be poorly preserved by their distributors. This often leaves dedicated fans as the ones who preserve this work and allow it to continue being experienced. On one hand, I’m moved by how some people are passionate enough about the art they love to do this work, but on the other, I wish that the work's preservation wouldn’t be left to the unpaid labour of fans. Regardless, I have great respect for the lainTSX team for allowing this game to be played by all, and I hope their work leads to a greater appreciation for it. The game is not just a footnote to the Lain anime, but a brilliant work in its own right.