I gave it a try, but it didn't really do it for me. I think you're projecting a lot of your interpretation. You could say a lot of the same things about Mario.
No offense, but you couldn't say a lot of the same things about Mario.
Maybe you have never analyzed literature, and that's fine, but the game demonstrates a clear relationship between the player's avatar and the crystals; the more crystals you get, the more fucked up the environment becomes. The entire game is about the relationship between the astronaut and the crystals.
If I was to say that the graphical glitches were the result of drug addiction, or the dreams of an astral unicorn, that would be projection (because those exist outside the context of the game).
Using Mario as an example, to say that his repeated deaths is a product of his own torn psyche, that would be a projection, which would also be debased by the fact that he clearly has a finite number of lives that regenerate him (top of the screen), no matter how many times he dies. His death is put into the context of the game. Collecting coins exists only to a) boost ones score and b) eventually get another life. They do not otherwise interact with Mario or the world around him (scores and lives are intangible).
I could go on on and on...
Maybe you have never analyzed literature, and that's fine, but the game demonstrates a clear relationship between the player's avatar and the crystals; the more crystals you get, the more fucked up the environment becomes. The entire game is about the relationship between the astronaut and the crystals.
If I was to say that the graphical glitches were the result of drug addiction, or the dreams of an astral unicorn, that would be projection (because those exist outside the context of the game).
Using Mario as an example, to say that his repeated deaths is a product of his own torn psyche, that would be a projection, which would also be debased by the fact that he clearly has a finite number of lives that regenerate him (top of the screen), no matter how many times he dies. His death is put into the context of the game. Collecting coins exists only to a) boost ones score and b) eventually get another life. They do not otherwise interact with Mario or the world around him (scores and lives are intangible).
I could go on on and on...
This is a game I will play. Thanks for putting it out there. I can't play it right now, but I'll bookmark this page.
Gee was I glad to read this. Redder is one of my favorite browser games of the year, for most of the reasons you explore. It's been a while since I checked the updates of the members I follow, and I'm happy I did.
While I don't think much of the same could be said about Mario, I do think however that your thoughts about dying could be applied to many contemporary games without too much of a stretch. Over the last decade in particular (you might trace it back to the "memory-lapse" technique of PoP Sands of Time), more and more games have eliminated the finite lives and other "game-like" aspects of in-game death to just treat it as a minor stumble in an otherwise steady continuum. And so we find ourselves with games like Uncharted, which follow up their violent deaths with simple fades to black and instant retries without so much of a diegetic justification, but that could STILL be interpreted as "visions of the hero dying" or "the spirit still persisting", if you really wanted to. Of course, Redder's considerably higher level of abstraction renders this aspect much less problematic, and in fact comes across as much more coherent than the high-gloss productions that brush off such key issues while still reaching for claims of "authenticity" and whatnot.
Personally, I enjoyed the game most as an exercise in pure design and aesthetic deconstruction, but I like that room is allowed for more if one is inclined to read into it, as your account proves. Going through Redder in a single sitting is indeed quite an experience, on a number of possible levels, and I'd pay a lot for a peek in the brain of someone undertaking the journey with an open perspective. For now, however, we only have our own minds, and quiet introspection is the best thing a game like this can produce.
(+ props to the fantastic music!)
While I don't think much of the same could be said about Mario, I do think however that your thoughts about dying could be applied to many contemporary games without too much of a stretch. Over the last decade in particular (you might trace it back to the "memory-lapse" technique of PoP Sands of Time), more and more games have eliminated the finite lives and other "game-like" aspects of in-game death to just treat it as a minor stumble in an otherwise steady continuum. And so we find ourselves with games like Uncharted, which follow up their violent deaths with simple fades to black and instant retries without so much of a diegetic justification, but that could STILL be interpreted as "visions of the hero dying" or "the spirit still persisting", if you really wanted to. Of course, Redder's considerably higher level of abstraction renders this aspect much less problematic, and in fact comes across as much more coherent than the high-gloss productions that brush off such key issues while still reaching for claims of "authenticity" and whatnot.
Personally, I enjoyed the game most as an exercise in pure design and aesthetic deconstruction, but I like that room is allowed for more if one is inclined to read into it, as your account proves. Going through Redder in a single sitting is indeed quite an experience, on a number of possible levels, and I'd pay a lot for a peek in the brain of someone undertaking the journey with an open perspective. For now, however, we only have our own minds, and quiet introspection is the best thing a game like this can produce.
(+ props to the fantastic music!)

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