What Remains of Edith Finch
Unearthing forgotten things in WHAT REMAINS OF EDITH FINCH
The Important Writer sat in an inflatable chair in the glittering Citadel of Games Opinions. At his feet, captivated thralls hung on his every word. “Of course,” he said, taking a long drag on his bubble pipe. “The real star of What Remains of Edith Finch isn’t actually any of the people… but the house itself.” His audience wept with joy. Darkness turned to light. The flow of time stopped. He’d saved games journalism again.
There are two problems with skewering this take. Firstly, I’ve definitely done it in an attempt to dodder towards my word count. Secondly… the house in Edith Finch really is very good. It feels like a place people lived in. Or, more accurately, died in. It’s the sort of building that makes me look at my own home and wonder if I could install a hidden passage to my reviewtorium (office). And while it’s obviously a fantasy, purely on the grounds of the planning permission required for a sixth-story homeschooling room you can only reach via acrobatics and riddles, the entire building is convincing enough that it feels like distinct people occupied each area.
Those people, too, feel gruellingly real. The flawed, doomed Finches might be the best realized family in all of gaming. That’s perhaps a low bar, given the industry’s fascination with warring dynasties who kill each other with volcanos, but any one of the characters here has enough depth to warrant a game of their own. Which they sort of get, to be fair—more on that in a bit. It’s an especially raw game to play if you’re a parent, or indeed a human being with empathy. A thick blanket of heartbreak muffles most of the game. For the most part, this is the same kind of sad as a child watching their favorite balloon float away, rather than screaming, hair-tearing despondency, but it leaves a mark.
HOUSE RULES
In fact, things are so bad for the Finch family that it almost becomes blackly comic. And the brief snippets you experience detailing the last moments of their lives are so imaginative that they must make all the other games feel stupid and clumsy and worthless. One moment you’re experiencing the action in a perfectly-pitched horror comic, the next you’re taking photos of a feted wilderness excursion, complete with a timed snapshot of your own death.
It’s magnificently conceived and executed—everything here feels like story working in perfect harmony with play, whether it’s the thoughtful way the game fetters your abilities to distinguish each family member, or something as simple as floating text keeping you on the correct path. Just inhabiting a space as interesting as the Finch house would have justified this game’s existence. But when that detail is combined with systems that constantly challenge and surprise, it becomes something more than that—a walking simulator that plays with all things you’ve learnt in a lifetime spent playing games.
The Finches might be the best realized family in all of gaming