The main criticism against “Journey,” a PlayStation Network game created by the indie developer thatgamecompany, is that it is not really a game. Admittedly, “Journey” does not share many of the typical qualities one might find in a modern video game. An average play-through only takes about two hours, and the main character can’t do anything other than walk and jump.
Make no mistake, “Journey” is certainly a video game. In fact, “Journey” represents the purest version of what a video game should be. Its two-hour runtime is not a disadvantage, but rather it eliminates all the pomp and circumstance that comes with so many of today’s games.
“Journey” gives you a simple task: get to the peak of the mountain. You start in the desert, and as you move toward your ultimate goal you slide through shimmering sand dunes, trudge through snow and fly through the closest thing we may ever know as heaven on earth (sorry, West Virginia).
Every level is completely unique from the one that precedes it — a nice change of pace from the usual “clear the area of baddies, then go into the next, identical area, repeat” structure. The levels themselves are also absolutely gorgeous. The artistry of the sand dunes level alone would make Michelangelo blush.
What really makes “Journey” such a pure game is that everything you do matters. It takes the familiar “chosen one” trope and gives it real meaning. Games constantly put the fate of their world solely in the hands of the player, which has resulted in an odd kind of narcissism in gamers. The pressure of being the only person with the ability to save the world loses significance after being trotted out so many times, and arrogance has replaced the intended sense of duty.
“Journey” does not shy away from this pressure. The music, which, like the design, is utterly breathtaking, helps mount a sense of purpose in your actions. More significantly, the game’s mechanics feed into the triumph of accomplishment, as well as the disappointment of failure. Even if you can only use two buttons and the analog stick, the controls dig deep into your psyche. For example, as you slide through the sand dunes at a breakneck pace, the controller feels like a weightless steering wheel.
Conversely, as you slog through the snow in the penultimate level, you press the analog stick forward with full capacity and the controller weighs in your hands like a boulder. When your character falls to their knees, you genuinely feel like you’ve failed the deity that has been guiding you.
Really, “Journey’s” main appeal is its sincerity, which is why it has served as this issue’s inspiration. The game guides you through stages of real emotion that range from confidence to fright and from desolation to euphoria. It gives you a clear objective, and you feel an obligation to reach that objective. You don’t just want to beat the game — you want to succeed for the sake of the mysterious force that has commanded you for this life-affirming quest.
At its core, “Journey” represents everything a true game should be: a sense of accomplishment in a world beyond one’s means. Save the princess, catch ’em all, get to the mountain. All in a day’s work.
— Josh Johnson
