by Bruno Dion
Steven Poole wrote a pretty compelling opinion piece about Journey , with the latter part truly being the kind of love letter this game deserves. What bothered me though, and incidentally what I want to tackle here, are his feelings toward the last act of the game. The way he sees it: “[…]Journey doesn’t know when to stop . […] [It] wants to wring as much pathos as possible out of the freezing scene, but then give us a happy ending as well, but then make us suspect that the happy ending was an illusion, while hoping that it wasn’t, etcetera ad infinitum. It’s a cop out . ” Although he makes some good points as to why the last sequence may feel out of place and cheap, I think he is wrong in his analysis of what this game is trying to evoke.
“It is a fond yet unyielding comment on the simplistic quest-triumph narrative of nearly every other videogame, and a memento mori demonstrating that all lives, whatever joys they contain, end the same way.”
What if Journey is a video game about video games? What if the ending is not the game “not knowing when to stop”, but rather an embrace of what makes video games so different from real life? Not that they all end in the same way, but that they are repetitive loops, both in the actions you are afforded and that the ending of a game is only the conclusion of a certain occurrence; whether it is by the death of your character or by an elevating triumph against all odds — which Journey’s last sequence so faithfully evokes.
As Poole wrote: “The prophecy on the pixel-tapestry cyclorama had been true”. This tapestry is prophetic in the same way a game’s guide is. The outcome is known from the start, but only revealed to the player as he turns the pages or, as in Journey, when the game lets you peek ahead. It is also not innocent that this “pixel-tapestry” is a cyclorama. It is not only prophetic but also cyclical. The prophecy doesn’t end with your character dying on the frozen peak, it simply doesn’t end. The cyclorama goes around and leads you back to where you started, as a mysterious light lands in the desert.
While this may explain why the Traveller’s death is not the end, Poole’s issue as more to do with the final sequence and how it may be a betrayal of everything Journey has built up till that point. The game could have easily killed off you character in the snow storm and then have it’s “soul”, or whatever you want to call it, fly back to the desert to begin a new cycle.
The final sequence is important because, as Poole said himself, it is so joyous. It is about the rush you get when you complete a game, the sense of freedom you get when you look back at all the obstacles you had to overcome in order to get to that point. It is true though that this final rush in Journey is provided by an outside party, the “glowing white spirit-mother,” as she sends you hurling through the clouds and towards the peak.
While this may make the last act feel unearned, maybe we shouldn’t look at this as part of the journey, but as a reward. It’s a bit of heaven before you are forced back down to earth. A taste of the freedom of flight this game teases you with all the way through. Whether your character is dead or not doesn’t really matter. The adventure is over, this is your salvation, your final glorious flight before resurrection and, inevitably, more suffering as you cross the desert once more. It is true that Poole’s vision of the ending could have been bolder, more risky, and maybe a better story. thatgamecompany chose to celebrate the act of playing a game, and everything that comes with it, from the crushing obstacles to the euphoric victories.
Further Reading: Journeys: A Curated Collection of Writing on thatgamecompany’s Journey (Medium Difficulty)
