I’ve been going back and forth as to whether to talk about Passage in one of these things – it’s been around since the end of last year, and others have already spoken at length about it, leading me to wonder if I wouldn’t end up just retreading old ground. But between a piece by Nick Montford for Grand Text Auto (best read after you’ve played the game for yourself) comparing the game to Valve’s Portal and a few conversations had at work in the last couple of weeks, I’ve decided the game is indeed worth proper discussion here. That, and I don’t care about those other things.

(Image ganked from RPS)

Passage is something of an oddity among videogames – one that speaks about people nearly as much as they do about it. A simple, five-minute long maze game, it’s the story of a life; specifically, yours. At the start of play, you decide what path to take, traveling either the simple road from left to right or choosing to navigate the trickier twists and turns of the maze below. Progressing changes your position on the screen – while at the beginning you’re locked to the left side, with your entire life in front of you, you gradually move farther and farther to the right, visibly aging as you go. The game, and your life, end when you reach the other side, leaving behind a tiny tombstone and a score to mark your achievements. The first time this happens is mildly traumatizing – I’m not sure “wistful futility” is an emotion, but it really should be.

As powerful as that moment is, all it’s punch comes from how you got there. Take for example its most effective touch, the woman who waits for you at the beginning of the maze. If you choose to meet her a heart blossoms over the two of you, signifying the beginning of your life together. And from then on she’s always with you, walking just a step ahead, a bit of comfort on your otherwise lonely trek. Of course, she also ages, and will also eventually die, a moment that hit me so hard when it occurred that I genuinely didn’t know what to do for a little while. To see it effect my character as well in the form of his appearance changing suddenly was nearly too much.

If you take the proper maze-like paths, you occasionally spot treasure chests hoping to tempt you into spending precious seconds finding the correct path to them. Some hold treasures that glitter for a moment before fading and add to your high score, while others are empty, a waste of time and effort holding you up from getting on it. If you met the woman and have her with you, these sections can be very tricky – many of the paths only fit one, see, and you can find yourself trapped in snarls, hopelessly looking for a way out. If you’d left her behind, you’d b able to get to more chests and see more of the path, but you’d do so alone. As pretty as the treasures are, the only real meaning to navigating the passage comes from having her there with you, seeing her go through the same frustrations and little triumphs as you. It all adds up to a tremendously effective experience wrapped up in a tiny package – each time I play it I come away a bit melancholy and in need of a hug. Of course, that’s very likely the whole point.

But is it a game? This was the major question of the conversations last week about Passage – as wonderful as it is, does it really qualify as a proper game? Leaving aside how phrases like “proper game” leave a bad taste in my mouth, I have to fall on the side of “Yes”. Sid Meier, him of videogames royalty, once gave his definition of a game as “a series of interesting choices”. Not trying (for once) to sound clever in front of anybody, I’d like qualify that a bit by adding to the end “made within the boundaries of rules”. Rules separate play from games, after all, creating a distinct challenge to be experienced. By that measure, Passage very much is a game, and one that abides by a single, simple rule: time is running out.

Filed under: Monday Games