Like freedom itself on occasion, it’s not unreasonable to suggest that we perhaps we take for granted the liberty that games often provide us with. Take Grand Theft Auto V for example. You could be quite happily driving along before witnessing some gangsters roughing up an innocent bystander; do you stop and help or do you just drive on by, safe in the knowledge that you could have acted if you wanted to? Regardless of your choice, the fact remains that you have that ability to make a difference and because of having that choice, you effectively own the moral and ethical fallout from whatever choice you make.
What if however, a game stripped all choice away from you? What if, in addition to taking your ability to impact the world away, this hypothetical game also forced you to watch its cornucopia of narrative tragedy unfold; almost as someone has pinned your eyes open and forced you to gaze upon something unspeakable?
This is precisely what The Invisible Hours, the latest effort from Rime studio Tequila Works, sets out to do.
Set against the backdrop of murderous happenings in a cliffside estate wherein the player can follow the various guests around its interior and exterior spaces, The Invisible Hours asks not that you stop or enable anything, nor does it seek to identify the orientation of your moral compass regarding the events unfold – it simply just asks you to watch; watch, listen, absorb and ruminate, before doing it all over again.
As this formless observer, you bear witness to terrible things unfolding in what almost seems like slow-motion, but you’re powerless to stop it; every gaming impulse that you have which has been cultivated over a span of years, screams at you to intervene but you can’t and it’s here, in the absence of typical player interaction that something else, something darker and hopeless resides in its place; an inescapable feeling of dread inevitability.
The resonance of these grim situations is magnified too, not least because of the fact that you grow attached to these characters and though they’re flawed creatures as most of us are, seeing them wind up in the unfortunate scenarios that they do tests the boundaries of the player-character connection. The evocation of such an emotional link is a testament to not only the calibre of writing that is encompassed within The Invisible Hours, but also the toil and artistic conviction of the voice actors who portray them as well.
Further substantiating the depth that these characters each possess are the physical performances that they give, too. Above the din and hushed conversations of a typical theatre setting, such thespian flourishes tend to largely go unnoticed; but with the intimacy that PSVR provides, you get to see every mannerism, and every subtle gesture, the sum total of which serve to flesh out these characters in a fashion that you so often just don’t see in contemporary efforts.
In the end, what Tequila Works has cleverly done with The Invisible Hours is effectively weaponize that lack of interaction; turning the whole experience, one already steeped in tragedy, into a cloying prison where you can observe and not touch, and more crucially, suffer and watch others suffer whilst not being able to alleviate any of it yourself.
All of this happens within just over one hour, imagine what Tequila Works could do with more.