But my fear that Gris would be another terminally dull experiment that fused stunning design with half-arsed gameplay is entirely unwarranted. Like Bayonetta's hair-suit- thing it's an odd conceit, and admittedly not one I fully understand, but to be fair, you don't need to understand it to know how it works.Īnd, no, I didn't know who artist Conrad Roset was before Gris, and what I know about expressionism extends only to the Wikipedia page I skimmed half an hour before I sat down to write this. Her dress - apparently a manifestation of her sorrow - is the core mechanism at play here, able to transform into a solid, meaty block to keep her grounded in high winds, or perhaps send her hurtling skyward when the right wind is behind her. Gris never feels like it's about the destination.Īs she explores, however, she'll grow, unleashing life and colour in her wake and learning how to embrace twists and turns that ultimately lighten her steps and set her free. Each step is sluggish, her pain physically and spiritually weighing her down. Sadly, so is our titular protagonist, too. Initially, this world is cold and inhospitable, bereft of life and colour, hence its name ('gris' is Spanish for 'grey', Google kindly informs me). Gris is a barely-there tale balanced on delicate mechanics that should, in essence, be dull to play but somehow isn't. It's a truly masterful blend of form, flair, and function pinned in place with languid visuals, an evocative journey that sends you spinning through a story that never says a word. But for every hundred words I type here, I can show you a screenshot that'll instantly convey so much more. I know I don't like it when people say that in reviews, either. My god, it's beautiful, though beautiful to look at, beautiful to listen to, beautiful to play, although in truth, Gris isn't played as much as it's experienced. Which I guess is kind of fitting because, on paper, Gris doesn't make much sense, either. There are disparate words I can use - soft, delicate, fragile, beguiling, soothing, melancholic, hypnotising - but strung together like that, I know they're unhelpful. What I want to say about Gris isn't coming to me in fully formed sentences it's just snatches of sentiment coming in dreamy, ethereal wisps, a warm, gloopy mess of incomplete sensations and emotions. I'm perilously close to my deadline, but I'm trapped in a mindless cycle of typing, hesitating, reading, grimacing, deleting, and starting over. I've been staring at the cursor flashing on my screen for a while now, silently aggrieved by its cheerless, eyeless blink. An artful puzzle platformer that'll stay with you long after its short running time.
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