The Impact Factor

Dark Tendrils

Review

That Dragon, Cancer; Numinous Games (Mac)

Abstract: That Dragon, Cancer by Numinous games is one of 2016’s most powerful experiences. The personal narrative of a family dealing with their son’s terminal cancer is not one you often see in games. That Dragon, Cancer takes you through vignettes of the human experience, from the depths of sadness to the unquantifiable small moments of joy. The striking art design, clever symbolic representation of the abstract, and archival nature of That Dragon Cancer are exceptional. Unfortunately, uneven pacing and a less-than-ideal control scheme hampered some enjoy of the game, often breaking my immersion in its incredible world. In the end, however, That Dragon, Cancer is absolutely a game worth playing and one that still resonates with me weeks after completion.

That Dragon, Cancer is brave. It’s a game that tackles one of the most difficult subjects I can think of: the death of your child. It takes narrative conventions and retools them to fit the unconventional structure of the story being told. It takes gameplay conventions and fuses them, hybridizes them, to form an experience that comfortably exists in a niche of its own making. That Dragon, Cancer is an emotion-filled diary of the highs, lows, and existential crises of a family dealing with one of the most pervasive diseases known to man. Despite high expectations, That Dragon, Cancer still wowed.

Everyone knows the story of the struggling indie game dev team. It’s a small group of individuals trying to cut through the noise of a crowded games space to get their voice heard, and their creative vision into the hands of the players. Numinous Games, the developer behind That Dragon, Cancer was struggling with more than financials or press or being the next big name in independent development. They were struggling with love, loss, and cancer. I came into my time with That Dragon, Cancer knowing more about the personal life of the game’s developers than I do most titles. A piece produced by Radiolab gave me an introduction to the Green family, Ryan and Amy, and their son Joel who, at the age of 1, was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. An atypical teratoid rhabdoid tumor in his brain. With this mindset, I came into That Dragon, Cancer thinking I knew what to expect. But there was a whole lot in the game that was unexpected.

That Dragon, Cancer is a first- and third-person light adventure game, with elements of familiar genres like adventure or walking-simulator. The game takes you through the earliest days of Joel’s diagnosis up to his eventual death at the age of five. You’re taken through vignettes of the Green’s time with Joel, abstracted and made emblematic through the artistic power of games. In each scene you’re told something new about Joel’s life, or about the thoughts and struggles of his parents who are trying to stay afloat in the tumultuous waters of their terrible situation. In one scene, you’re taken to a park where you can interact with a time-frozen Joel as his swings, slides, or rocks on a horse. Another takes you to the hospital where you must walk through a treatment ended party for another unseen child, knowing full well Joel’s treatment will only end once he has passed. And yet another where you’re taken to an enormous cathedral, replete will filigree and pipe organs, as Joel moves onto another life. That Dragon, Cancer is filled with profound sadness. A kind of sadness that kicks you while you’re down. That Dragon, Cancer is also filled with profound love. Not only is the game itself a love letter to Joel, but also through numerous interactions you can see just how much burden these parents bear for their children. You don’t have to have experienced what the Greens went through to be moved. The life snapshot narrative of That Dragon, Cancer is deeply affecting.

 

Following this family's journey is deeply affecting.

The game’s developers go to great length to personalize, and humanize, your abstract experience of playing the game. Husband and wife, and the game’s creators, Ryan and Amy voice themselves throughout. Much of the game’s audio comes from family recordings. The archival nature of the Green family is astounding. It made me uncomfortable, in the best way, to hear Amy’s tear filled pleas recorded from a prayer event for her son. Or her exasperated voicemail after learning Joel’s last round of chemotherapy was ineffective. When not real-world recordings, Amy and Ryan have recorded audio that reflected how they felt as they went through this process. One moment that stuck with me in particular is when the two get in a huge fight about maintaining hope for Joel’s eventual recovery. Ryan, exhausted by the struggle and continual reminder that his son’s cancer is terminal, is drowning in sorrow. But Amy will not let him grieve a son he hasn’t lost yet. The Green family was clearly still affected by their experiences while making the game, and it comes through in every facet.

What it's like to be lost.

Playing That Dragon, Cancer reminded my of the power of video games as an artistic medium. Numinous Games takes full advantage of the medium to share this experience with players. Interactivity is at the heart of games and is central to your experience in That Dragon, Cancer. Walking through hallways, opening letters, pushing Joel on a swing, feeding him pancakes. All bolster the narrative rather than detract. That Dragon, Cancer also does an excellent job at creating symbolic representations of complex, and abstract, concepts. For example, balls of dark tendrils represent Joel’s cancer and are present in nearly every scene. Sometimes in the background, sometimes in the fore, the dark tendrils are a reminder of the ever-present nature of Joel’s disease in the family’s life as well as a great artistic interpretation of the physical tumor itself. Another poignant symbolic moment was when the Green family is told that Joel’s care is switching from curative to palliative (i.e. making his end of life as pleasant as possible). You’re in Amy’s perspective for this scene, in a quiet room with doctors sharing the terrible news. Suddenly storm clouds form in the room and your world shrinks. Water quickly fills the room as the storm rages, Amy now transported onto a small sailboat rocked by crashing waves and lighting. You can circle the giant-like doctors as they sit still, cold and hollowed by the devastating news that had to share. That Dragon, Cancer is brilliant in its smallest moments and in its ability to combine art, narrative, and interactability to create an experience only possible in games.

 

The cancer is always there. Encroaching further and further into their life.

Intentional or not, however, That Dragon, Cancer does suffer from some pronounced pacing problems. Some of the game’s moment linger longer than they should, outstaying the concise sentiment they portray. The sequence of events also leaves something to be desired. Life clearly doesn’t fit neatly into conventional narrative structuring, I get that, but the way you move through the narrative felt notably uneven. It was hard for me to focus in on one, or even one set of, emotions as I played. This emotional confusion broke my immersion several times throughout That Dragon, Cancer. Pacing issues led to an increased gamification of my experience. I noticed myself pushing to reach the end of a certain sections as quickly as I could, rather than letting them flow naturally, because I needed the game to progress. These gripes are minor, sure, but did detract from my sum experience with the game.

The gameplay itself in That Dragon, Cancer is functional. It gets the job done. The most powerful moments of gameplay were those when I forgot I was playing. You click to move from one part of a scene to the next, sweeping the player camera from one location to the next. There were moments where the click-to-move control scheme failed, however. And unfortunately those moments also break immersion. Perhaps I’m more accustomed to the kinds of stories like the one depicted in That Dragon, Cancer being found in more traditional ‘walking-simulator’ games. Games in which the player has full control over the player character, camera, etc. Regardless, I found That Dragon, Cancer’s controls wonky at times. That Dragon, Cancer places you in some beautiful and expansive first-person environments but never looses its control of player moment. Having to click each and every time I wanted to move slowed down my exploration and highlighted the extreme linear nature of the game. It also led to many awkward moments where I would click and not move, or click and move to the wrong location. Control issues made it feel, at times, like I was just being shown the story rather than what I truly love: when I feel like I’m discovering a story and interacting with it.

 

It would have been great to have a less awkward movement option
at my disposal. The game's world is fantastic.

That Dragon, Cancer consistently finds ways to surprise the player with new type of gameplay, however. Each vignette brings a new element to the table, whether it is a mini-game or light puzzle solving. These micro gameplay experiences range in quality, but I appreciate how much thought went into their inclusion. I found myself smiling from ear to ear when Ryan’s bedtime story about Joel the dragon warrior turned into a 2D platforming game. I felt dread when I was tasked with controlling a balloon-holding baby Joel as he was forced to navigate a maze of dark tendrils—knowing full well that no matter how proficient I was at dodging, the tendrils would pop my balloons and Joel would fall. Other games were less successful, however. A constellation-based mini game had poorly communicated goals and a kart racing section, while cute, controlled so poorly it was something I just wanted over as quickly as possible. Still, That Dragon, Cancer offers a multifaceted gameplay experience that complements its abstract and multilayered narrative, and ultimately it comes together as one cohesive package.

 

Not all mini-games work as well as they should.

One last minor element I wanted to specially commend is the game’s tone. It’s astounding. Sharing a story about the death of your child, cancer, religion, and family strife could have gone in any number of different directions. I was worried that That Dragon, Cancer would work too hard to make me sad, to play at my heartstrings. I was also worried that the religious background of Ryan and Amy would override other ways of interpreting Joel’s experiences. I’m happy to write that That Dragon, Cancer perfectly nails a mature, thoughtful tone. The game is respectful, sad but not exploitative, open but not voyeuristic, discrete but not vague, hopeful but not saccharine, artistic but also grounded. That Dragon, Cancer is human. That Dragon, Cancer is great.

 

My heart goes out to the Green family. Rest in peace, Joel.

That Dragon, Cancer continues to astound me with just how much the Green family felt comfortable sharing with the world. I said it once but I’ll say it again: That Dragon, Cancer is remarkable. As a tribute to their son, the game succeeded. As a narrative experience, the game succeeded. And as a game, That Dragon, Cancer succeeded. I feel privileged to have gotten to play That Dragon, Cancer. It’s not perfect. But neither is life. Try to find the time to play this one.

That Dragon, Cancer

4/5