A scene from "Flower," thatgamecompany, 2009

Though it sounds strange to say, few games have ever provided the rush that "Flower" does. The third release by thatgamecompany (TGC), "Flower" is a downloadable PS3 game that provides a two-hour ride over open plains and through deep canyons. You use the console's Sixaxis motion controller to direct a current of wind that, along its journey, accumulates flower petals. You tilt the control, and the wind tilts with you, a mechanism only complicated by having to push a button (any button!) to spur the wind forward. In the six levels, all obliquely cast as a flower's "dream," you're asked to touch, and collect, petals with the ability to animate the environments around you, ones crafted with an eye toward evocative detail (the sway of grass, the range of colors, the shifting temperament of the weather) and scored to a delicate combination of melancholy music and twinkling sound effects. Sounds "artsy"? It is, a status advanced by devoted fans like "Pan's Labyrinth" director Guillermo del Toro, who said it's "like Haiku poetry." Don't let such yucky, fawning praise dissuade you. On a purely sensory level, this daring title is more stirring than almost anything found at a mass retailer, imparting a heady blast of sensations -- of flight, of blooming, of birth, of renewal -- via a simple, abstract experience.

Founded by Jenova Chen and Kellee Santiago, the SoCal-based TGC has made its name with three games -- the PC's "Cloud," and the PS3's "flOw" and "Flower" -- that attempt to expand the boundaries of what games can do and what they are. TGC is at the forefront of a growing indie game movement fostered by the major consoles' new online distribution channels, which can deliver not just supplemental material for major titles, but also idiosyncratic stand-alone products aimed at niche audiences. And that's how one might describe "Flower," which has no avatar to embody, no enemies to kill and no concrete narrative to complete. Well, maybe that last point is debatable, especially with regards to the game's later levels, but we'll get to that. What's most notable about "Flower" is its ability to generate intangible emotions through its simple conceit. A surprising swell in the chest greets your first go-round with the game, which induces a potent feeling of limitless freedom, of being unshackled, thanks in part to how the controls create a tangible, tactile relationship between user and content.

If I sound enthusiastic about "Flower," and I am, it's because TGC's latest is that rare instance in which familiar gameplay mechanics -- touching a series of objects to unlock challenges; motion controls; cut-scene clues -- work not to further a traditional plot but instead to elicit primal emotions. Calling it a "zen" game, as many have, is apt when looking at its first four levels, which are pleasantly tranquil, requiring the player to coast through a windswept field, a windmill-peppered valley, some ravine-marked terrain and a nocturnal countryside dotted with bales of hay and lampposts. That peacefulness, allowed to flourish by a conceit that initially avoids burdening itself with overt meaning, has led many to make "Flower" a case study in the ongoing "games as art" debate, as it (like "Braid") self-consciously employs, and manipulates, time-honed formulas to stimulate both the head and the heart.

"Flower" is another heartening example of how games are evolving. But it's not, despite the praise I've just showered upon it, a revolutionary triumph, or really even a complete success when judged on its own terms. Considering how moving the game's opening sequences are, it's easy for enthusiasm to give way to exaggeration, a situation that's plagued many critical assessments of TGC's Little-Download-That-Could. But as it moves from levels of serenity to those of ominous darkness, progress that's mirrored by the gradual revelation of a guiding story, "Flower" loses its way, forgoing what made it so compelling in favor of delivering an experience offered by a bounty of on-rails shooters and platformers ("Sonic the Hedgehog"'s coin-collecting, tube-navigating race sequences being a direct influence) that gamers have been playing for the better part of the past 20 years.

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warcraft gold

Can a video game be like a poem? I think so! It's possible. Well, This new video game entitled "Flower" is totally different and interesting. I really like the concept of this game. Seeing some reviews about this video game makes me want to play.

warcraft gold

Can a video game be like a poem? I think so! It's possible. Well, This new video game entitled "Flower" is totally different and interesting. I really like the concept of this game. Seeing some good reviews about this video game makes me want to play.

Peng33

I think this review/essay misses the point of the fifth level and why it needs to be in the game for it to succeed as it does.

Yes, it obviously IS the most game-like level, and is also the least enjoyable. You may find the urban/rural, nature good/technology bad (I prefer to think of it as Everything in Balance) message heavy-handed, but I think the game goes beyond this. It's very subtle during that much-maligned fifth level, but once you complete the game, I think it becomes a lot more apparent that one of the other major themes of the game is not anti-technology, but anti-gaming (to an extent).

Think about it. You open the game with the freedom to do everything at your own pace, with non-threatening, non-challenging goals. This is completely different than ANY standard gaming framework since the industry came into being. But level five slams it into your head that this IS still a game, and introduces something more challenging, a lot darker, and a bit claustrophobic. Of course, this is also the least enjoyable level of the game. Do you again really think it's by coincidence that the least enjoyable level is also the most overtly game-like and the darkest?

This theme is furthered by the last level, where you are tasked to bring life back to swingsets, slides, etc (things children played BEFORE the advent of videogames, and more than likely rarely do nowadays). Once the game is "beaten," the formerly quiet, lifeless, dark apartment is now inundated with sunlight, voices of children playing outside, and a jazz musician playing from somewhere outside of the apartment. I believe the message conveyed here is again, everything in balance. There is a time and place for videogames, but there is also a time and place to build community instead of holing oneself into an apartment and participating only in an online community.

This anti-gaming message (at least, that's how I interpreted it, to an extent) makes Flower, in my estimation, one of the most subtly subversive games ever made.

I've been gaming since the days of Pong (my grandfather had Pong hooked up to his TV), and I can say without a doubt that Flower is one of the two best games I've ever played. It has one of the most engaging storylines, the most subtext, and the most emotional impact of any game I've ever played, and it does so without a single piece of dialogue and very minimal (to the point of being pretty much non-existent) use of words at all.

It's good to see that IFC does acknowledge that games can be considered "art," but I think the reviewer missed the point a bit in dismissing everything that comes after the fifth level. But that's the thing about art...each person has his or her own interpretation of what it means, and can look as deeply into it to discover its meaning as he or she wants.