over a grave, then a cut scene that tells us the grave belongs to his mother, who was lost at sea. He was there: he tried to help, but couldn't save her. The boy is interrupted by his older brother, who is with their father. The father has fallen ill, and now it's your first task to bring him home in a cart that requires the two brothers to work together to operate. This is where you're introduced to the game's core, innovative control scheme. The left side of the controller (that is, the left stick and left shoulder trigger button) control the older brother, and the right side of the controller belongs to the little brother. Your viewpoint is akin to a bird's eye view, but will zoom in and out as necessary and to always display the two brothers on screen at once.
I must say, I don't think I ever fully got used to the controls. There were many, many moments though when the control scheme synergized and felt incredibly natural and fluid, allowing me to solve puzzles and claim a sense of accomplishment. Other times, I was acutely aware that my brain wouldn't allow the little brother to run left unless he was behind the big brother - like the left stick had to be "first" on the screen. The opposite holds true: when moving the two brothers right, the little brother (the right control stick) had to be on the right of the screen. But you could move them completely independently, and often times I would. There are many moments - many puzzles - that has one of the brothers staying put while the other throws a switch. The puzzles get more complex, and involve timely use of the action triggers. Swinging the two from point to point in later levels required concentration and thought.
As a result, I became conscious of how careful I would become with various puzzles. This is in stark contrast to other games, where typically you're rewarded with going through things as quickly as possible, or you just feel the need to do so on your own anyway. Patience was abundant while playing this game. You're rewarded with beautiful vistas, incredible environments and wonderful small touches throughout. As the brothers begin their journey for medicine, you run through the town and can interact with people and things, including a small girl with a ball. You can throw the ball around, play "monkey in the middle" and even throw that ball down a well, if you're so inclined. There are benches all over the world, representing an opportunity to view the world you're about to enter, or give you a break from adventuring to appreciate the beauty of the landscape.
All the characters speak in gibberish, so it's up to you to identify the subtleties in their mannerisms and their interactions with the environment to progress. It's not a difficult game by any means: clocking in at around three hours, the game is more of an experience than anything else, one which I highly recommend. And from here, there will be spoilers. If you plan on playing, I recommend leaving the article now.
Taking away any language allows for some interpretation, but also allows the game developer to strip away some unnecessary layers to focus on emotion. These are characters, who are vibrantly animated. Their mannerisms give clues to puzzles, but it speaks volumes about their personalities and allows you to connect with them on a fundamental level. Throughout the game's progression, you care more and more for these two: you're acutely aware of the little brother's fear of water and drowning (the way his mother passed) so you're looking for alternate routes. And when you are forced to swim, you hold that trigger down with all your might, allowing the little brother to hold onto the big brother's back to make it across - and you don't let that finger slip.
It's all you can do to avoid it, but it's inevitable: big brother is gravely wounded just as you reach the "medicine" which turns out to be a magnificent tree that contains within it water, which holds magical healing properties. But it's too late, big brother has passed on. Instead of treating us to a cut scene, attempting to wrench emotion from us, the game puts us in control: we must bury the body. As you bring little brother slowly towards the body, you are acutely aware that you're still using the right control stick. You move the left one a bit. Nothing. Then the left action button. This causes the boy to break down sobbing on his knees. You - the player - had some hope that you could do something, but instead, you grieve with the weight of the situation. Pile by pile, you throw dirt into the grave. Already, this game has expanded my experience beyond what I thought possible.
Then, it goes further.
We're back home, on a beach that leads toward your father. With the elixir in tow, you run along the beach, anxious to now save your father, but there is another obstacle. Water. It's dark; you can't quite see how deep is. The boy enters the water slowly, then stops. You're familiar with this action: he shakes his head and takes a step back. The water is too deep, the boy, too scared. Again, you're reminded that big brother is not there to help. There is no other way around. As the controller begins to vibrate, you press down on the left trigger - big brother's action - and the vibration intensifies. Little brother leaps forward into the dark water. With all the strength his older brother bestowed upon him, you help push him forward. He's sloppy, but he's making it. Please make it. You can do this, you say, as you have both triggers securely locked down and both control sticks pushed forward. Just a little more. He makes it. You make it. I'm getting choked up just writing about it. Another obstacle awaits, that previously required the help of his brother. But now, again, with the increased strength and drive, little brother makes the jump. He's able to save his father, but has lost his brother. The two stand at the graves of the mother and brother, and as his father breaks down we look deep at the little brother: he's not the same boy he was when you started this journey. We fade to black, and solemnly watch the credits.
These are the moments in gaming that surprise me, and remind me why I play in the first place. This experience was not expected. Initially, I thought it would be an interesting play with a unique control scheme. I got so much more than that, with an adventure that was compelling and moving. The end of the game invoked emotion. The two couldn't exist without one another: as big brother passes, you feel bear the emotion of the game, but you're also acutely aware of his missing presence as half your controls are torn away from you. You and the boy discover your new strength at the same time, which has brought me closer and more involved with a game than ever before. These are the moments you play games for.
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