For this critical play, I used my phone to play Monument Valley 3, designed by Ustwo games. The title is best suited for older teens and young adults because of its elegant, visually driven puzzles and slow, contemplative play rather than reflex‑based challenges. By focusing on the core mechanics perspective‑pivot architecture and the Totem companion blocks, the designers make the puzzle solutions themselves carriers of meaning, while the game’s absolute absence of violence reshapes the player’s emotional posture toward curiosity and calm.
The perspective‑pivot mechanic lets you rotate or slide whole architectural segments until impossible structures snap into a new, Escher‑like alignment that Ida can traverse. Because the camera is locked in orthographic view, depth collapses into a flat canvas, turning the level into an interactive optical illusion. Crucially, nothing moves until you have paused, inspected, and chosen just the right viewpoint, so the mechanic rewards patient observation over rapid input. Thus, each successful rotation feels like a whispered revelation as you realize that the world remains the same and only your perspective has changed. This design choice really strengthens the narrative of Ida’s pilgrimage of discovery. Every new angle is both a path forward and a metaphor for looking at reality differently. In this way, spatial manipulation itself becomes the storytelling device. I found myself reading the landscape as a mutable text rather than an obstacle course. Below is a picture that illustrates this clearly. The boundary between the game and the background isn’t so clearly delineated and the plants kind of come into the game. The wonky perspectives and shapes that you tread on add to the sense of alienness and novelty. Here in particular, Ida is standing perpendicular to the screen which is a perspective that playable characters rarely take in the game. Usually games will pivot the perspective so that the playable character is always right side up. This choice to leave Ida in an awkward angle adds to the fact that the focus and emphasis is on the environment and world of the game and not the player’s perspective. This drew me to really appreciate the art and the world and acted as a pull for the embedded narrative of the game.
Mid‑campaign the game introduces Totem, a mute, stack‑shaped pillar that Ida can stand on while you drag him through water, around corners, or beneath archways. Mechanically, Totem turns single‑character navigation into a quiet form of co‑operative geometry, guiding two interconnected pieces of the puzzle until both reach safe ground. I felt weirdly attached to and protective of Totem as if he was my companion or pet. This is not because the game punishes failure but because his gentle eye and stoic patience cast him as a friend rather than a tool. Furthermore, I feel like the way the game forced us to move around together and the imprecision of the controls felt like Totem was a living thing and I was negotiating with him as we traveled. This emotional attachment raises the stakes of otherwise straightforward slides and lifts, and movement through the game’s environment becomes an act of caretaking. Like the perspective pivots, Totem simply waits for guidance so progress feels like mutual uplift rather than domination. Moreover, when you are first introduced to Totem, the game forces you to complete puzzles where you don’t move Ida, but rather slide the Totem to complete the puzzles. This seeds the origin of friendship you and Totem will have as the game forces you to rely and depend on it from the start.
In terms of ethics, because the game is so pacifist it’s hard to find issues with it. However, the choice of removing violence from both mechanics profoundly alters the game’s ethical temperature. Without enemies or time pressure, Monument Valley replaces the adrenal spikes of threat with the soft hum of immersive art. Rotating towers and sailing with Totem invite a meditative frame of mind where I’m solely focused on soaking in the art and experimenting with movements. The result is an emotional space where wonder, and gentle satisfaction are rewarded over triumphalism. By making mastery synonymous with perception and companionship rather than conquest, the design quietly asserts that empathy can be as engaging as conflict. In a way, making a statement about the ethics of games more broadly and calling into question the necessity of violence. Perhaps, we can all approach games with greater openness and curiosity.
