Stuck in the water temple with Abzu
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There’s a scene halfway into Abzu (Giant Squid, 2016) where your shark friend attacks a piece of ancient machinery and causes you both to fall into an abyss, dazed and broken. The shark dies and you - a robotic diver - are reduced to thin industrial limbs and exposed metal, revealing clockwork movements and a clear connection to the technology which attacked you. It’s meant to be arresting - the music swells while the diver struggles to pull themselves off the ground, the camera zooming in as the shark’s eyes close - but all I felt was the echo of something I’d already experienced more acutely in Journey (thatgamecompany, 2012) as that game’s hero similarly struggles against their failing body.
It is impossible to avoid Journey when talking about Abzu. The games not only share much of their development crew but also their emotional beats and sensory flourishes. To say Abzu is Journey but underwater is reductive, but not entirely wrong. The visual language of lush natural scenery and saturated colors mirror one another, the narrative arc of descending towards some place of mythical importance is geographically inverted, and Austin Wintory’s score is an iteration of his work for Journey (if perhaps larger in terms of orchestra size).
I adore Journey. If Giant Squid wants to own that game as some sort of house style I wouldn’t be unhappy. But Journey was a singular experience that I wouldn’t envy following, let alone trying to replicate, and you can probably guess where this is going. Abzu is Journey without an emotional center. It lacks the elegance of that game’s minimalism, as well as its consideration for pacing. Abzu never feels confident in its vision. It stumbles, flinches, shows you something beautiful then checks if you’re amazed.
One of Journey’s least discussed aspects is how oppressively lonely it is. You wander a literal desert surrounded by ruins and the history of your lost people. If you happen upon another player there’s no way to interact with them. You can chirp at each other, walk in tandem to the next meditation point, but there’s no guarantee they’ll be there when you come to. It is a game of intense, soul ripping beauty, and you are the only one who can see it.
Abzu is not this. Abzu is brimming with life, each grain of sand now a fish or whale or underwater vine swaying in the current. Sentient robot jets hide in the dirt, and even the mines seem to have some sort of living core. More so than even the biome change this difference in mood is what sets Abzu apart from Journey. Which is an issue because Abzu is otherwise structured almost identically. It’s much harder to be amazed when in the end you overcome your body’s fragility and gain superpowers when at no point before that has the game felt alienating or unwelcoming.
In-between levels you enter a spirit realm to forge a connection between the physical and spiritual worlds, thereby restoring life to an area. The first time this happened I thought I had come upon a hub-world. There is thankfully nothing quite so constructed, but the function of delineating areas is the same. These points close out a chapter, highlight a cool creature you just swam with, then whisk you off to the next place. There is no continuity, just many loading screens stitching points of interest together. It creates the feeling that each chapter is not part of an ocean but a bespoke aquarium, made expressly to wow you with its organic vibrancy while keeping you within its walls.
It is the first time that Abzu calls attention to its artifice, but it is quickly followed up by lever puzzles, collectible crustaceans, and doors the robot jets have to open. Abzu might reflect Journey but mechanically it more closely resembles that game’s predecessor, Flower (thatgamecompany, 2009), borrowing its clumsy attempts to map traditional game elements to an experience that is hindered anytime it has to stop. It is like watching ballet and being asked every 15 minutes to go help the crew operate the curtain. Why introduce this needless burden? What am I gaining from slowing down to find the one winch locking the door? Is the world not beautiful enough I’d explore it without the promise of hidden trinkets?
I’m not asking Abzu to just be Journey, but if it is already working from that point of reference it’s strange how little Abzu understands why Journey worked at all. If Journey was a ballet Abzu is a SeaWorld show. Flashy, controlled, at times inspiring, its artifice fully on display. It’s a shallow kind of excitement, the most exquisite fish screensaver ever created. I am left not enriched but casually entertained, enjoying the colors and the music and not caring much when it ends after an hour. This perhaps is enough, but compared to the intensity of Journey - the impact of which I still feel years later (and have felt again each time I show the game to someone new) - Abzu barely registers.
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