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The Sandbox: "Flower"’s Video Game Poetry, continued
By Nick Schager
on 07/03/2009
A scene from "Flower," thatgamecompany, 2009
“Flower”’s action is framed by a level selection sequence in which you “enters” a flower sitting on an apartment table, with quick images of a dour metropolis flashing by before you get to the game’s primary, upbeat space. It's an unobtrusively was to establish the games urban-rural, industrialization-nature tensions. In the same way, while free-reign exploration is only allowed to an extent (gusts blow your wind current back on course if you stray too far from the beaten path), the game’s conventional underlying structure is executed so subtly that it doesn’t hinder the sensory experience. Until, that is, level five, in which the sky goes black, thunder cracks overhead and flowers become positioned amidst scraggly metal towers which, when touched, produce a jolting electric charge that reduces your colorful wind current to one solitary, charred petal. Demanding that your navigate harmful obstacles, and soon after smash through those impediments in order to reach key destinations, this level (as well as “Flower”’s final two stages) calls attention to “gaming” elements with a suddenness and harshness that’s jarring.
It's intentional, of course -- a way to create danger and tension so that the hopeful ending will resonate more strongly. But it’s a transparent device, and one sabotaged by the eventual raft of urbanized imagery that makes the game’s narrative aims too plain. “Flower” never gets so literal as to pin itself to a sole, specific meaning, but the weight of its intent become heavy-handed by game’s conclusion, and this shift from the abstract to the semi-abstract mucks up your efforts to maintain a strong emotional connection to the proceedings. By pushing too hard a reading for their text, the power of which comes from its interpretative openness, as well as by resorting to classic gameplay devices that sabotage the early going’s unique, transporting vibe, TGC’s game stumbles down the home stretch. Still, it's a small complaint when the preceding action is so rapturous. On the basis of its introductory passages alone, “Flower” proves another example of indie gaming’s burgeoning potential, not to mention a unique trip most every gamer should take.
The Sandbox, a column about the intersection a film and gaming, runs biweekly.
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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.
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.
