The Retrospectre

Inside immediately introduces us to the familiar minimalist UI, or lack thereof, many remember from Limbo, with the title screen revealing itself to be the opening scene of the game. Our protagonist slides into view, and we gain control. Right off the bat, we can sense that there is something seriously wrong as the boy sneaks past ominous patrols of cargo and pickup trucks in the forest setting. We can sense that the boy is possibly being hunted, and our suspicions are confirmed when he’s spotted, and a man comes chasing after him.

Here is where we run into our first issue, something that also comes up in Limbo. The player is quickly introduced to the trial-and-error style of gameplay that Playdead seems to rely on in many parts of the game. As the boy runs from the pursuer, he trips over a branch on the ground, runs out into the headlights of another truck, and trips over a log, resulting in death in all three situations.

The game, in my opinion, often does a poor job of telegraphing “puzzles” or obstacles, where it seems almost necessary to have to learn through dying due to the weakness of visual cues. These don’t result in an “A-ha!” moment that drives the core of most puzzle games, but in “oh, alright. I see” moments where you finally understand what it is the developers intend for you to do. These moments are not only unsatisfying when beaten, but often rip the player from the experience. Playdead is excellent in their mastery of setting the tone and creating an immersive atmosphere, but they undermine that by constantly throwing these trial-and-error puzzles at you. These types of puzzles evaporate any accumulated tension as the player needs to sit there and figure out exactly what it is the developers want them to do.

But lets return to what I mentioned about the atmosphere, because again, that is where the game shines. This game almost entirely carries itself on its tone, atmosphere, and setting. The washed out colors of a oppressive and horrifying world blend perfectly with the echoing soundtrack to create a world that is stressful to navigate, but mesmerizing to watch. The player is drawn to learn more about this world the boy inhabits, and that acts as the driving force for most of the game. Playdead truly understand how to create a world that entrances and pulls in its players. And while most would call inside a puzzle-platformer (myself included), I would argue its the environmental storytelling that is the true “meat” of the game.

And that’s both a good thing and a bad thing. The puzzles are the core of what you’ll be doing in the game, sure. But they aren’t innovative or compelling enough to carry the game on their own. To put it bluntly, they simply act as things for the player to do while they gaze with wonder and horror at the environments Playdead has created. In fact, it can be argued that the puzzles work to the detriment of the game.

Almost all puzzle games that take place in a physical world space need to have a certain suspension of disbelief. The idea that there just so happens to be puzzle after puzzle standing between the player and the end goal, and that these obstacles can be overcome with everything lying in near proximity. The exact suspension of disbelief needed depends on how well the game explains these puzzles. Inside... doesn’t exactly do this. Some of the puzzles do successfully masquerade as “That’s... just how the environment happens to be configured!” While others will make the player wonder “Who in their right mind would design a door to work like this?” And once again, this method of puzzle design breaks the immersion that the game so heavily relies upon.

Here we’ll be heading into spoiler territory, analyzing the game’s message and overall themes. If you haven’t played the game and don’t want the ending spoiled for you, then now would be a good time to tune out and return when you’ve finished the game. 

Its clear from the very beginning that Inside is about control. Early on we’re introduced to a core mechanic of the game, the mind control helmets. The boy puts these helmets on and are able to gain control of various zombie-like “drones” in the area. The boy also seems to have some sort of control over various animals throughout the game, being followed by baby chicks early in the game and then schools of fish later in the underwater sections. The game is very subtle in its exploration of the themes of control, but does well in keeping the player reminded of its ubiquity throughout the game. 

At one point it’s shown that the boy can use a helmet to control a drone who’s also wearing a helmet to control a third drone. This mechanic is extremely well done because it introduces the player to the idea that multiple layers of control are possible beyond the superficial aspects we’re familiar with. One might immediately wonder whether or not the boy is being controlled by an unknown entity, and even more meta, the player can become conscious of the fact that they themselves are controlling the boy. This is an amazing use of a mechanic to blur the lines of the game world and the real world and question if the game’s narrative adheres to this distinction. 

Finally, towards the end of the game, the boy reaches the end goal; a giant mass of humans melded together into a grotesque huddle. The boy frees the Huddle by removing the various restraints, which look suspiciously similar to the mind control helmets being used throughout the game. This scene seems to suggest that the Huddle itself was controlling the boy all along in an effort to free itself from its prison. And as the boy is absorbed into its mass, assimilating with the huddle, player control is shifted to the Huddle. After wreaking havoc on the facility behind these experiments, the Huddle lies peacefully on a beach, with a thin ray of sunlight shining optimistically on the beast. 

More observant players will notice, that during the Huddle’s rampage, it falls into a tank containing a diorama of a coastal setting fully identical to the beach at the ending, complete with an artificial ray of sunlight. Playdead seems to imply that the Huddle, despite its murderous rampage, was actually still somehow acting within the confines of the facility’s experiments. That its entirely possible that the beach itself was a staged setting, for reasons that are not entirely explained. 

This implication does, however, lend to the overall themes of control and shows that the game not only explores the idea of direct control, but also indirect forms. Did the facility “control” the Huddle and guide it towards this pre-ordained end goal? Perhaps it goes a step further, and says that even after breaking free, the player is still under the control of the game, continuing to head toward the right as they’ve been doing throughout the game. The questions of control and player agency once again blur the lines of just how deep a story is Playdead trying to tell.

And finally we have the alternate ending, unlocked to the player on a second playthrough if the boy manages to unplug all the various orbs of light throughout the game. The boy is able to enter a new area and finds a room with various monitors and computers. At the end of the room is a mind control helmet, and should the boy pull it, he slumps over into the same position as the other inactive drones littered through the game. The screen fades to black and the game ends.

This alternate ending can be seen as a commentary on player agency. Its often said that even in the most linear of gameplay experiences, the player always has a choice; to continue playing or to turn off the game and stop. This alternate ending seems to be an easier-to-swallow option, whereby the boy pulls the plug and the player loses control of him, implying that the narrative does recognize the player as the controlling force behind the boy. And the player makes the decision to pull that plug and end the game before its truly “over”, similar to the idea of putting a game down before completing it.