Rainy Season
PC
To most, the setting will be unfamiliar, but the scenario is universal. We all had this experience as children: you’re excitedly looking forward to a day out, only for the fates to scupper your plans. In Inasa Fujio’s short firstperson narrative game, you play a disappointed Japanese boy denied a trip to the amusement park by inclement weather. Stuck at his grandmother’s house, he decides to explore and discovers that a seemingly uneventful day at home can still be quietly memorable in its own way.
Cramped and cluttered, this household is a treasure trove for an inquisitive young mind. Boxes are stacked up behind tatami doors, and rare is the surface that isn’t covered with books, paper stacks, ornaments or other curiosities. As you poke around, an internal monologue notes that their grandmother may be a hoarder, but that the mess makes the place feel cosy; indeed, there is a comforting warmth here that belies the spartan surroundings. You can be that kid who incessantly asks questions of family members, bringing objects to your mother or grandmother to find out more about them. The dialogue, meanwhile, captures that innocent bluntness we all once had. A treasured doll is described as “scary” and “ugly,” while after finding a photo of his late grandfather, the boy suggests to their grandmother that she’ll likely be joining him soon.
Certain rooms and items jolt his imagination: opening a locked door upstairs prompts a supernatural encounter, while discovering a keyring from the local aquarium results in a rapturous fantasy sequence as jellyfish (“like steam buns”) float impossibly around the garden. Venture outside with a transparent umbrella and you can almost inhale the petrichor as you watch the raindrops trickle down the PVC. There are charming details in the character interactions, too; witness the reaction to the moment your character’s mother suggests instant noodles as a special lunchtime treat.
As a one-man project, a few rough edges are inevitable. Still, if the controls sometimes feel clumsy, as you drag the mouse to open doors and drawers, sometimes colliding with them as you do so, it’s clear some of that awkwardness is deliberate. On one occasion we pull a window too hard and it slides back along its runners to close again, while in attempting to lift a drinking glass from a cupboard for a closer look, we send three tumbling to the floor – exactly as a child given the run of the house would. Fujio’s empathetic tale could almost be a playable short from filmmaker Hirokazu Kore-eda; like Kore-eda’s best work, this compassionate snapshot of Japanese working-class life finds pleasure and wonder in the routine.