![]() It's a bit like the first time you listened to Kid A. The words, visuals, and sounds add flavour without providing a proper concrete narrative blueprint from which to navigate. ![]() ![]() Where it seems most games these days are trying to emulate movies, Pigs is more like a poem or a song. That it's so hard to grasp only adds to its charm. Instead of focusing on a pat little tale, it creates an atmosphere of dread so potent that the conventional criteria of what we look for in a game - things like puzzles, plot, win/lose conditions - are thrown completely out the window in favour of an abstract, wondrous experience that hits notes other games simply don't. Pigs, as I'll call it for short, hangs its remarkable artistic achievements (Dan Pinchbeck's flowery, rotten prose Jessica Curry's screeching, shrapnel bomb of a score Sindre Grønvoll's's Grand Guignol labyrinthine environments) around the most threadbare of plots. ![]() I don't think it's meant to when even its creator admits that he has "two or three fairly contradictory interpretations of what might be going on at the end of Pigs at the same time". Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs doesn't make a whole lot of sense and that's fine. ![]()
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