Neva Review – A poignant platformer that will make you cry

People mistakenly believe that "artistic" games are insincere: psychological manipulation of colors, sounds, and themes designed to make players feel something. Some are undoubtedly too heavy-handed—their narrative strokes are too predictable, their allegories too obvious—but even in the best cases, they require a degree of emotional work on the part of the player to succeed. neva river It was one of those experiences.

When Nomada Studio burst onto the indie scene in 2018 with the award-winning Gris, it provided one of the best examples of how video games can be compared to poetry. That's a very high bar for any potential follow-up. Regardless, Neva is a confident second outing from the same creative lineage, one that's closer to a traditional action-platformer than a typical indie art project. Berlinist, the Barcelona band that scored "Gris," are also back with another piano-tinged score, albeit one that's more orchestral and operatic. it will Gives you goosebumps; it might make you cry. Like Gris, it was a match made in heaven.

Neva is not so much the successor of Gris as it is the other side of the coin. Gris clearly represents the five stages of grief, while Neva is more subtle. The Anthropocene themes of Neva surface on the surface, but delve deeper and it exemplifies motherhood. The bond between the young swordswoman and the magical white wolf is what holds this story together. We nurture the eponymous Neva from a gentle puppy into a mature adult, and then feel the loss of letting go as she struggles on her own. Adjust the lens again, and you might even see a study that breaks the cycle of intergenerational trauma. Look again, this is the great beauty and inevitable tragedy of having a pet. However, if Gris is a portrait of sadness, Neva is a portrait of hope.

No matter how you interpret Neva, it is first and foremost a 2D platform game. "Gris" paints a flat picture-book landscape on a watercolor background, while "Neva's" parallax environment gives its world weight and depth, making it far less cerebral. Unfortunately, it sometimes lacks visual clarity. It's not always clear which platforms are traversable; in one memorable moment, I mistook a pillar in the foreground for an obstacle to progress. It's not a universal issue, but the moments where artistic presentation takes precedence over gameplay are a minor setback. Characters sometimes get lost in these backgrounds, too—my beloved wolf companion transforms into a pair of eyes and antlers whenever we cross a white background, and the red on Alba’s cloak isn’t enough to penetrate the fog or darkness.

Neva's environmental puzzles offer a level of challenge, but not to the point of being frustrating. It also regularly introduces new platforming mechanics to keep things fresh. In one level, I had to pass through a nightmarish series of portals to progress. In another game, my controls were reversed when I used reflections to cross an invisible platform in an ice cave. The pinnacle of the Neva platform challenge involves navigating complex structures that wouldn't look out of place in Gris. These sterile gray buildings stand in stark contrast to the natural world around them, a landscape that reminded me of Heart Machine's "Super Light Drifter" - another cautionary tale of ecological destruction.

In this regard, the work of Hayao Miyazaki is Nomada Studio's primary inspiration. The curse of Neva's world manifests itself as a group of matte black bodies and white masks, similar to the Faceless Men from Spirited Away. Their twisted, elongated bodies also reminded me of the shadow creatures in Éric Chahi’s Heart of Darkness. Neva's body horror is subdued and devoid of gore, but no less compelling. The most obvious reference point, however, is Princess Mononoke . A young girl in nature, seeing herself as its protector and willing to fight to her last breath to protect it? I don't think I need to elaborate. We even had a confrontation with a wild boar, whose ravaged carcass was manipulated by the corruption within just for good measure.

Nomada Studio tested AI companionship in Gris — one of the levels involved leading a shy cuboid creature to eat apples until it trusted you enough to help solve a puzzle. Neva is also built on these same principles, although she is much more complex. She can be ordered around, but she also has autonomy, and once she reaches adulthood, her abilities far exceed those of her guardians. Attachment is not difficult. of course You can pet the dog, but you can also call her. I quickly discovered that this was more than just a "press X for Jason" prompt. Alba's voice changes depending on the situation; her anger when she channels Neva when he's a carefree puppy is a world away from her distraught cries when the two are forcibly separated. Don't. Ostensibly, this mechanic is just there to add flavor, but it does do some significant heavy lifting in fostering connections between players and companions.

None of this would be as effective without Nomada Studio's award-winning animation, which has become even more refined and sincere in the years between Gris and Neva. The latter's cutscenes speak for themselves. When Neva was released last year, its opening sequence was already notorious for making players cry. However, Nomada Studio's dedication to authentic body language also extends to regular gameplay. Neva's movements clearly mimic those of real-world canines, making her fun to watch. Meanwhile, Alba's low-key shenanigans of drawing a sword when facing an enemy are enough to send chills down the spine.

Going into Neva, I was worried that Nomada Studio might throw in the combat to make it more suitable for an audience that doesn't like peaceful platformers. Thankfully, the studio approached this challenge with the same design philosophy as everything else. The combat system is lightweight; there are no complex combos, skill trees, or abilities, just simple dodges and sword attacks. Yet the act of fighting itself is imbued with meaning. Skirmishes reveal Neva's growing power, and boss battles are the perfect stage for great drama. It has only one fatal flaw: contact damage. Thematically, it makes perfect sense that these corrupting forces would be harmful to touch. However, this traditional feature of classic platformers becomes even smarter when paired with a combat system native to modern action RPGs.

Alba's close range attacks forced me to dash right into enemies' faces to attack them, but the invulnerability frame built into the dodge animation wasn't always enough to roll away without taking damage. This wouldn't be so frustrating if such a small mistake didn't cost Alba a third of his health. A small amount of lost health can be restored at a time - but three attacks in quick succession and you're out. It's a jarring transition from the leisurely pace of an art-driven platformer to the high-stakes action-adventure combat, but that seems to be the point. Every encounter is a real threat, and coming out (mostly) unscathed is a victory. That said, no amount of intention can make up for the dissonance of sudden death. Thankfully, there's a combat-free "story mode" to fall back on, but relying on it does feel like accepting a narcotic experience.

Commuting time on the Neva is about four hours, making it easy to do in one trip. However, I recommend dedicating a gameplay session to each chapter. Like Gris, Neva has a few collectibles that encourage players to comb through its environment on a second playthrough, but it's likely to be a one-off experience for most. From this point of view, it is still worth savoring. The value you get from the Neva depends on how well you can integrate it into your own context. After the recent loss of a beloved family pet, Neva was heartbreaking but also healing. It allows me to endure love and loss, testing its tender, bruised edges without flinching. For me, this is the function of art and the value of the Neva.