Arise: A Simple Story

PC, PS4, Xbox One

The central conceit is a timemanipulation mechanic, powered by tilts of the right stick

Developer Piccolo Studio

Publisher Techland

Format PC (tested), PS4, Xbox One

Release Out now

Back in the mists of time – E273, to be exact – Tequila Works sound designer David García was working on the soundtrack to the narrative adventure Rime, and spoke of the influence that legendary composer Joe Hisaishi was having on his work. The Studio Ghibli master was, García told us, “a master of portraying a landscape through the eyes of a child.” García’s soundtrack for Arise: A Simple Story once again channels Hisaishi with some reverence, but this is a very different kind of tale to Rime. Indeed, it is its opposite, telling not of a young boy stranded on a strange island, but of an old man retracing the main beats of a long, tiring life.

So beautiful is García’s work on Arise’s score that we find ourselves lamenting its December release, and our having discovered it after we’ve already doled out the Edge awards, depriving it of the recognition it deserves. This is a beautiful game visually, no doubt – low in poly but vivid of colour and simply swimming in charm – but it’s the audio palette that truly makes it. García’s score sweeps, fades and swells in perfect time with the action, dynamically elevating the game’s narrative peaks and deepening its troughs. It’s a procession of yearning, mournful tugs at the heartstrings in a game that plays heavy on the emotions, and will likely play heavier the more grey about the temples you are.

This is the debut game from Piccolo Studio, a modestly sized Spanish developer founded by three former advertising executives in their 40s. The mid-life crisis jokes write themselves even before you get to Arise’s subject matter, but it’s a career change that makes a certain sense: after all, they’ve spent their careers to this point zeroing in on our emotions, 30 seconds at a time. This is a gently paced game, however, and in between the triumphs and the heartbreaks, there’s much for us to do.

The central conceit is a time-manipulation mechanic, powered by tilts of the right stick, that lets our burly, bearded old hero traverse a fantastical, curiously scaled world (at one moment he’s smaller than the stigma of a flower, an ant in the middle of a water lily; the next he’s climbing mountains). It’s a simple idea that’s exploited to the fullest, both on the micro scale – moving the sun across the sky to tilt the aforementioned flowers and create a platforming route, say – and the macro, such as where summer turns to winter, and a dumping of snow raises the ground to bring a high ledge within reach.

It’s a simple idea that’s been smartly implemented, particularly in the way it makes a notionally linear game feel markedly less so, with cannily corkscrewing level design that sees you retrace your steps from another angle, at a different point in time, to reveal a new route. One of many high points comes as you traverse a crumbling mountain range, using your newfound ability to not only move time but also lock it in place to use falling scenery as makeshift platforms, and then as elevators. In another, a spreading fire can be manipulated to burn down obstructions and save the protagonist from confronting his literal demons as he relives his more sorrowful moments.

Outside of that, there’s jumping, pulling, climbing and grappling on the menu, albeit with frequent chastening reminders that our ageing hero is no Nathan Drake. Fall from more than head height and you’re probably reloading the last checkpoint; push that knowledge to its limit and the poor fella will either land on all fours and take a couple of seconds to drag himself to his feet, or simply fall flat on his arse. The grappling hook takes an age to wind up, as he forces his heavy shoulders into gear. Climbing is similarly leaden, the effort of every grabbed handhold made plain through animation and controller feedback.

That might sound frustrating – and at times it feels a little too close to home, if we’re to be quite honest with you. But it’s entirely in keeping with the story Piccolo wants to tell. Over the course of ten brief chapters, our hero walks back through the key moments in his life, and more specifically the relationship that has defined it. It’s a tale of finding love and losing it, likewise hope, and both happen numerous times over the course of a game which handles its subject matter with a pleasingly deft touch. Statues dot the way, showing the man – alone or with his love – frozen in time. Our mute old hero says all he needs to by laying a caring hand on a statue’s shoulder as he passes by. The game narrowly skirts the boundary between heartfelt and mawkish at times, but the moment we fear the scales are finally tipping turns out to be a clever set-up for the game’s bleakest moment.

To say much more would be to spoil things – something Arise comes close to doing to itself at certain points. The controls can be a little fiddly, and veer into infuriating in one section set along a small, winding path that requires a level of fine analogue control that the game simply doesn’t support. Puzzle solutions can be obtuse, and at their worst involve standing in every conceivable spot shifting time back and forth until the way forward reveals itself. And mapping timeshift to the right stick robs you of camera control. The Y-axis lets you change its elevation a little, but it’s not enough, and some jumps are hard to judge as a result.

But we’re picking holes. This is a beautiful game from top to bottom: a feast for the eyes, a treat for the ears, a test for the brain and thumbs and a good old stress-test for the heart and tear ducts. This is a rare sort of debut: one that marks out its developer as one to watch. We await Piccolo’s next game with interest

– but if García’s not on board, we’ll want words.