A few days ago, I posted a positive short review of Outer Wilds. In it, I said I had started it, gotten discouraged, and then picked it up again after hearing all the praise it has received (e.g. not only being a strong game of the year contender, but a possible game of the decade).
In the review, I said I hadn’t finished yet, but that I could recommend it alone based on how joyously it encouraged and rewarded exploration.
Last night, I knew I could finally finish the game. I had all the pieces in place (80% through my own exploration, 20% through some light internet research). I knew what I had to do, and I was terrified to do it. Without giving anything away, the final bit involved going to a part of the solar system I didn’t like. I’ve never had an easy time distinguishing actual threat from imagined threat — I mean, I started writing these short reviews to champion games that didn’t hinge gameplay on terrifying the player. So, putting myself, repeatedly, in a situation that literally made my heart race with fear wasn’t exactly top of my To Do list.
So there I was, on the couch, knowing what I needed to do, and continually messing up due to my fear. I failed over, and over, and over again, hands shaking. Sure, I wasn’t flying into the sun anymore, but I may as well have been. I could see the finish line, and then just miss, by a hair, and have to start over. At one point, I yelled so loudly that my partner, seated in the other room, asked if I was “actually hurt, or video game hurt.”
For a moment, I thought about just not finishing it. I had looked up hints before, so why not just watch a Let’s Play of the ending?
But, reader, you know where this is going: I booted up one more time. I roasted a marshmallow over the campfire by the launch tower for good luck. And then I did it. I did the thing. I got to where I needed to go, and found myself in a post-script I didn’t expect, and which would not have been the same at all had I watched it on Youtube.
It was an incredible pivot: from being awestruck by terror, to being awestruck by beauty. This is no small achievement. Like Celeste, Outer Wilds teaches the player to be aware of a negative emotion and challenge it fully. In Celeste, the main character’s panic attacks and anxiety became a useful tool to explain the difficulty of the gameplay. Here, Outer Wilds hones in on the terror of exploring the unknown. It recognizes a deeply animal fear of the dark, of the eldritch, of the world-outside — and it asks the player to push through it to a place of wonder and curiosity.
Outer Wilds ends with one of the best game experiences I’ve ever had. Anyone who knows me knows that I come easy to tears. A beautiful sunset can make me cry. But it’s rare that a video game is able to get that out of me. I’ll get a good “aw,” in, or maybe one lonely tear squeaking past a tear duct.
I was in full, horrible sobs, completely overwhelmed by how all the threads finally came together. Once more, I concerned my partner; he walked by, saw my tear-stained face, and asked if I was OK. I managed to sob out, “IT’S JUST SO NICE.”
After I finished the game and sat in silence on the couch for a while, I watched a few Let’s Plays of other folks going through the final bit, just to see if I missed anything. I was surprised that most everyone had the same reaction I did. I don’t find it unusual when something makes me cry, but here were a whole host of gamers of various ages and genders, all brought to literal tears by an array of pixels and a (to be honest, pretty stellar) story.
Looking back, the ending was a perfect encapsulation of Outer Wilds as a whole. It was, in parts, frustrating, and terrifying, and anxiety-producing. But all those moments led to something beautiful: a bit of story would snap into place, or a new world would come into view over the horizon, or you’d crash land right into the solution of a puzzle and let out a confused “haHAH” of joy.
Anyway, this blurb isn’t necessarily adding anything new to what I liked about the game. You should play it knowing as little about it as possible, and, moreover, it’s still an amazing love letter to exploration.
But isn’t that so nice to be reminded of, from time to time? Even by an array of pixels and a (to be honest, pretty stellar) story.
After all, “stellar” does come from the Latin word stella. Meaning: “Star.”
