Reviews

NOTE: this is [not] a review a review on The Beginner's Guide. this is [not] an analysis of The Beginner's Guide. in fact, the only place in this 'review' that I mention The Beginner's Guide is this little introduction. this is merely an essay that I wrote after experiencing the game. that is all. I know how 'meta' the game is, I get the 'plot points', don't worry. just take what I wrote as it is—a standalone work. an essay on creation

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"If we opened people up, we would find landscapes."   -Agnès Varda

Looking at your reflection in the mirror and not knowing what you're looking at is a horrifying feeling. I mean, we are ourselves. I am myself, myself is me. If no one could understand me, recognize me, that's alright, because at least I know who I am....right? 

Sometimes the answer to that question is a resounding "no". And if you're the 'creative type', the kind of person that makes something—art, music, games, anything—you'd at least expect that although no one else might get what you're making, that you would. Personally, 99.99% of the time I make something, I don't have a single clue what it means, why I subconsciously chose to do that. Sometimes, I can live with that notion. Other times, it scares the absolute fuck out of me—fear of the unknown.

I mean, I know how the process usually goes. Random inspiration, random inclination to make something; proceed to make said thing, allowing the subconscious to take control of the steering wheel and create; finish the work, subsequently look at it and think: "what the hell did I just make?" Then I'd spend a good portion of time trying to put the pieces together. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. Then after all that, I share what I made.

It's a strange phenomenon, letting go and allowing your subconscious to flow through your nervous system, grab the reins, and work its magic. You have to allow yourself to become completely vulnerable across all fronts. The result of that process, in my opinion, yields the most genuine and authentically 'you' results. By letting go, you free yourself from any outside influence, channeling that energy of yours that is unique. I create all of my art this way. And no one has yet to really understand anything that I have made. Anything. And most people haven't even tried.

It's not their fault that they don't get it, or that they don't want to get it, or that they don't want to try to get it. It's not my fault for making something so seemingly difficult to comprehend. There's nothing wrong with not understanding something. Sometimes, you don't need to 'understand' something at all, but rather feel it. But at the end of the day, what I created is an extension of myself. It is me. It's not all that I am—my existence goes far beyond one work or several—but it can serve as a reflection of myself, or a reflection of a fragment of myself.

I don't find joy in making things. I really don't. I have made lots of things, and I can't say I enjoyed making a single one of them. It's a stressful and emotionally draining process. I usually get that random inclination to create when I feel like absolute shit, which is admittedly more often than not. Nonetheless, I create anyways. I continue to create. It's like I'm driven to, although I suspect that eventually one day, I will stop. I don't know why, but I will. 

I share what I make, against my own will, in an effort to get myself more comfortable with being 'open' and 'confident'. I've gone an entire lifetime without sharing any fraction of my being with anyone. I guess it's like a plea to the world, as if I'm standing on the top of a building with a giant megaphone, shouting: "LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT WHAT I MADE! LOOK AT HOW I THINK AND FEEL!" I don't make things for attention. In fact, doing that is pretty counter-intuitive I think. I guess I just want people to acknowledge my existence in some way, to take what I have to say seriously. We all deserve that.

At the end of the day, I really make these things for myself. No matter how many times I share them, no one really looks at them. Most of the views I have on my works are my own. It's a lonely landscape, but it is mine—and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

"If we opened people up, we would find landscapes." -Agnès Varda

Ori and the Blind Forest used to be the best Xbox One exclusive title, until it was ported to other platforms. While some Xbox fans would certainly feel as if they got cheated out of an exclusivity title, this does bring something even more important and, in return, beneficial to the conversation: anyone with a video game console of this generation can enjoy this masterpiece of a game. Ori and the Blind Forest is a metroidvania with incredibly tight, responsive controls for it’s stellar, well weighed movement. Areas are not overflowing with collectibles and unnecessary fodder, like other games of the metroidvania genre; instead, Ori and the Blind Forest’s areas and all of their collectibles all feel as if they are essential to your character. Experience point capsules in various sizes are laid out across the map, a lot of them locked behind skill walls that are later accessible thanks to having gained new abilities. Speaking of, the abilities in Ori are not only the core of how magnificent the movement and the in-game combat are, but they’re also extremely well paced, with each ability having a bit of a back story to go with it. Story overall doesn’t feel like the main focus in the game, instead, it takes a second focus, picture storybook approach, with the gameplay and moveset evolution taking center stage. The music in the game is also absolutely fantastic, with a huge focus on wind instruments, which gives the game and its mystical forest setting life. With Black Friday just around the corner, I highly recommend anyone who was mildly interested in this game to pick it up.