[rwp-review id=”0″]
When I saw the first trailer for SOMA in 2013, I had a feeling that this would be an expansive Amnesia mod that is set in outer space. The game’s tone and direction, while futuristic, looked distinctly similar; there was what appeared to be a killer robot harvesting humans; you’re unarmed and afraid.
Flash forward to 2015, and my perceptions have changed. In fact, not only is SOMA a much superior spiritual successor to Amnesia; it is by far one of the most thought-provoking video games ever made.
SOMA is a journey into what it means to be a human being. It is a video game experience that explores existential crisis with incredible elegance, a remarkable feat given that is only 10 or so hours long, depending on how much exploration you do. What is consciousness? What is humanity? What is the mind, the body … how are they connected? What is self-perception? In fact … what is reality? As a close friend of mine once told me, “perceptions are one’s reality”, and it could not hold more true in the world of SOMA.
“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” — Philip K. Dick
You are Simon Jarrett, a Canadian living in Toronto who suffered a terrible car accident that left people dead and inflicted brain damage on you. You wake up one morning to go for a routine brain scan. You make yourself comfortable on the chair – after an opening sequence that helps you familiarise with the controls – and the scan begins.
The next thing you know, you wake up in a strange facility.
You begin your journey trying to understand what is going on, before realising you’re in a terrible, horrifying lab with some paranormal anomalies going about. Soon, you meet Catherine, who stays with you throughout the game, establishing communication with you every once in a while, giving you guidance and a familiar voice that is at once comfortable and apprehensive; you never truly are able to understand her true intentions, and your self-doubt grows as you progress through the game and unravel what has happened to the world around you.
That world is Pathos-II, a subterranean research facility that was once full of life and is now barren. Pathos-II is not only your physical world; it is your running metaphor of the game – the further you progress, and the darker the mysteries you slowly unravel, the deeper you go down into the ocean, and the darker the game gets in its tone, colours, and surroundings.
The horrors in SOMA arise mostly from the story, which revolves around what it means to be human. Revealing any more is to spoil the game, but the decisions you make along the way allow you, the player, to define your own rules on what humanity means to you. Philosophical banter takes centre-stage between Simon and Catherine as the game progresses, and the more you explore the station’s computers, log files, audio clips, and black boxes of those who were once on board, the more your decisions weigh heavily as you make them, and the tenser the conversations between Simon and Catherine become. Everyone’s fate on Pathos-II, their morality, their choices, and their thoughts will weigh heavily on you. There is no right or wrong; everything is circumstantial. As much as you would feel disgust, you would also have great empathy.
As a videogame, SOMA has its terrifying moments. Pathos-II is haunted with some creatures – and though they are very few and far in between, they represent set-puzzle-pieces that can become nerve-wracking, although they never are as frustrating and horrifying as the encounters in Amnesia. That is a good thing, though, as each is deliberate and memorable, allowing you to focus more on the unnerving story rather than the creatures that are by-products of it (in a way, you might even feel sorry for them).
Pathos-II is beautiful and depressing to look at, and certainly takes many cues from the first BioShock. Unfortunately, the “outdoor” areas are a drag, and save from the last section really deep in the sea, their presence only provide a sense of scale to Pathos-II’s various outposts and facilities, and a breathing room from the otherwise oppressive corridors. While the game is certainly narrative-driven, the visuals and the audio have not been compromised. Pathos-II is full to the brim with incredible – and often disturbing – detail. The subterranean station is textured with barnacles and rust; lights flicker to reveal (or hide) details and creatures; blood and black goo are ominous and often leave you begging for a clean room to recuperate. The sound design is spectacular; conversations are natural, delivering the complex story with convincing emotions. Pathos-II’s ambient environment of machines, air vents, water, and a shriek here and there fully immerse you in its depressing world, particularly with headphones on.
It’s incredibly difficult to talk about SOMA without talking about the story (and that mind-blowing ending). I will be writing a separate post with a massive spoiler alert warning, but as far as a non-spoiler game review goes, all I can say is that SOMA is an essential game to play. Not only does it push the boundaries on what the medium offers in terms of narrative, but it is so well done and thought-out that it will haunt you for a long, long time to come. Those emotions experienced in the last few moments of the game are ones you will never forget.
