“How does walking tell the story?”
For this critical play, I chose to play Dear Esther, the game that arguably started the genre. The game was created by The Chinese Room originally for computer platforms, but eventually due to its sheer popularity (selling over 800,000 units) it was released for virtually all platforms. I played it on iOS (iPad). Its target audience is anybody who enjoys a mysterious story, and it honestly may be geared more towards non-gamers due to its pure walking mechanics.
So, how does walking tell the story? Well, Dear Esther uses walking to tell the story by controlling the user’s digestion of information, namely by pacing the game with a steady walk, controlling viewpoints and desired paths, and by allowing the users to feel some sense of agency and autonomy over the story’s evolution.
When Dear Esther starts out, the player is awoken on the shore of an island with only two instructions given to them: move and look. Throughout the game, these are the only two control mechanics available to the user. With no backstory and no other explanation, the user is left to explore by just walking at a steady pace, with the audio of the footsteps matching the terrain the user traverses.
As I began to walk around, I was forced to keep walking at the same, monotonous pace. Originally frustrated, I dragged along the path until I realized that this forced slowing was a feature, not a bug. With a constant, slow walking pace, I had no other option than to look around and admire the beauty of the desolate island, which struck me with both awe and fear. This mechanic created the slowed-down dynamic that made me wish to explore even more, because from the outset I wondered: what am I doing here? Where am I supposed to go? What does this all mean? By making me move at a slow pace, I had to slow down, which made the anticipation build. If I could sprint, or jump, or move in any other meaningful way, I would just race to the end to “figure it out,” an innate human desire to know.
Adding to this, Dear Esther is masterfully designed in how you traverse the island. From the very beginning, you have a north star, namely the radio tower with a red blinking light in the distance. There are rough paths that lead in the general direction, with fences to lead the way and landmarks to guide your journeys. In addition, when the path is unclear, the developers are nice enough to place candles or lights in the desired direction to keep you on track. By keeping track of what is seen and unseen, and what paths lay before the player, the developers intentionally create an inviting, explorable world that doesn’t feel like a conveyor belt, but also doesn’t feel like a complete open space with no direction. This is a huge part of what makes the game, and walking simulators in general, special: guiding a player along a story while ultimately allowing them to choose how they digest information.
Which brings me to my final point, that Dear Esther ultimately succeeds in telling the story by making users feel a part of it. Since we are assumed to be the narrator, we feel that our movements and exploration are driving the story forward. Unlike a movie where every action has already occurred, the story is unfolding with us. For example, there is a part near the middle where the narrator approaches a cave, and while approaching describes that their femur has broken from a large fall. Once the narrator finished this description, I threw myself into the cave which presumably led to the narrator breaking his leg. This involvement in the story makes it much more enthralling and makes me feel much more invested in the outcome, with an intense desire to finish the game.
Overall, Dear Esther is a masterfully crafted experience that lays out a story in the perfect speed with encapsulating mystery. It feels strange to call this a “game,” because it played more like an interactive movie. By using forced speed, perspective, and giving agency to the user, the story takes on a life of its own for a highly replayable experience.
