Last summer I went on holiday to a place called Loch Tay in Scotland. It's probably one of the most beautiful areas of the UK, and one of the few to compete with the kind of iconic wilderness expanses you get in North America.
Hilariously, I thought it was the perfect place to ride a bicycle for the first time in over 15 years.
I wasn't stupid though: a "gravity-assisted" downhill mountain bike ride sounded perfect for a couch potato such as myself. Sit on a bike, and let physics do all the donkey work.
Which would've been fine had I not gotten cocky ten minutes into the ride, steamed ahead of everyone else, and... well... allowed gravity to assist me a little too much. I came off the bike hard, snapping both my seat and my arm.
That would've been tolerable if we'd had any phone signal and could've called the organiser to come and pick me up; "Just call me if you get into any trouble!" he'd told us, shortly after revealing he'd moved to Scotland to get away from brown people.
Unfortunately, being in the literal middle of nowhere meant no phone signal whatsoever, and I had to cycle a further 30km across undulating terrain, with a saddle that would only stay put through judicious application of my inadequate buttock muscles - falling off roughly every 30 seconds - and only one functioning arm.
To add insult to injury, when I managed to get to the rendezvous point some seven awful hours later, and asked the organiser whether he thought my arm was broken, his response was to adopt a camp voice and tell me "The only thing wrong with that, ducky, is your limp wrist".
It was the worst day of my life. Though I thank Firewatch for putting it in some sort of perspective.
Hilariously, I thought it was the perfect place to ride a bicycle for the first time in over 15 years.
I wasn't stupid though: a "gravity-assisted" downhill mountain bike ride sounded perfect for a couch potato such as myself. Sit on a bike, and let physics do all the donkey work.
Which would've been fine had I not gotten cocky ten minutes into the ride, steamed ahead of everyone else, and... well... allowed gravity to assist me a little too much. I came off the bike hard, snapping both my seat and my arm.
That would've been tolerable if we'd had any phone signal and could've called the organiser to come and pick me up; "Just call me if you get into any trouble!" he'd told us, shortly after revealing he'd moved to Scotland to get away from brown people.
Unfortunately, being in the literal middle of nowhere meant no phone signal whatsoever, and I had to cycle a further 30km across undulating terrain, with a saddle that would only stay put through judicious application of my inadequate buttock muscles - falling off roughly every 30 seconds - and only one functioning arm.
To add insult to injury, when I managed to get to the rendezvous point some seven awful hours later, and asked the organiser whether he thought my arm was broken, his response was to adopt a camp voice and tell me "The only thing wrong with that, ducky, is your limp wrist".
It was the worst day of my life. Though I thank Firewatch for putting it in some sort of perspective.
FIRE STARTER
The opening moments of Firewatch unfurl as a sort of choose-your-own adventure detailing the path of a tragic relationship.
It's a series of surprisingly effective gut punches, rendered in minimalist style, and setting up a story and a character that you'll want to engage with.
This is how you, as Henry, end up as a fire lookout in a remote corner of Wyoming's Shoshone National Forest; a man running from guilt, from heartbreak, from regret. Someone taking himself out of a world that hasn't always been kind to him.
And if that all sounds a bit heavy, well, yeah... Firewatch is a game about redemption and learning to live with yourself, far more than it is about a bloke up a tower looking for fires. And yet there's a lightness of touch to it that never lets it get bogged down in the sort of humourless drama that typically loses me in so many story-based indie games.
The core of Firewatch is a first-person walk 'em up, as Henry goes about his day-to-day tasks in the forest. Much of this is soundtracked by his radio banter with Delilah, his supervisor, who stays in near-constant contact with Henry from a different tower. Though they never meet, their relationship is the core of the Firewatch story - one that rolls through being warm, flirtatious, funny, and suspicious.
So much of the game is about seemingly mundane character-building that it's almost a shame when the real plot kicks in.
The opening moments of Firewatch unfurl as a sort of choose-your-own adventure detailing the path of a tragic relationship.
It's a series of surprisingly effective gut punches, rendered in minimalist style, and setting up a story and a character that you'll want to engage with.
This is how you, as Henry, end up as a fire lookout in a remote corner of Wyoming's Shoshone National Forest; a man running from guilt, from heartbreak, from regret. Someone taking himself out of a world that hasn't always been kind to him.
And if that all sounds a bit heavy, well, yeah... Firewatch is a game about redemption and learning to live with yourself, far more than it is about a bloke up a tower looking for fires. And yet there's a lightness of touch to it that never lets it get bogged down in the sort of humourless drama that typically loses me in so many story-based indie games.
The core of Firewatch is a first-person walk 'em up, as Henry goes about his day-to-day tasks in the forest. Much of this is soundtracked by his radio banter with Delilah, his supervisor, who stays in near-constant contact with Henry from a different tower. Though they never meet, their relationship is the core of the Firewatch story - one that rolls through being warm, flirtatious, funny, and suspicious.
So much of the game is about seemingly mundane character-building that it's almost a shame when the real plot kicks in.
FIRE WORKS
Almost everything about Firewatch works; the core walkie-talkie control system (you release a button to speak with Delilah) is genius.
The stylised art design is sublime - and shows all those wannabe photo-realistic open world games how it should be done.
It even manages to avoid any issues with the uncanny valley by not letting Henry get too close to anyone.
Whether intentional or not, that's quite a metaphor for what's driving the main character.
Though the wilderness you're in is essentially a series of outdoor corridors (you drop in and out of each day at pre-determined times - which shows off the lighting system beautifully - and make your way around using a map and a compass), it never feels claustrophobic.
It makes incredible use of its setting. The dialogue and acting is sublimely naturalistic; it's impossible not to enjoy spending time with Henry and Delilah. Though both are hurting, both dealing with it in different ways, they're funny and fun.
Unfortunately, the story - such as it is - never really delivers on the emotional set-up. It becomes a paranoid thriller with a conclusion that lands slightly out of nowhere, and is thrown away almost as abruptly as it's presented. This isn't a huge problem, because so much of the rest of the game is such a joy, but given its 4-5 hour running time, it did leave me feeling a little underwhelmed.
With hindsight, however, that might simply be because everything else in Firewatch is so strong. You don't expect the game to drop the ball quite so acutely. Which is a shame, obviously, but it's the likes of Firewatch that are making me love games again. Coming in the same week as that Doom campaign trailer - which filled me with nothing but ennui - Firewatch shows off the broad potential of video games as a storytelling medium.
SUMMARY: The great outdoors has rarely been so appealing. Become a firewatcher, (twisted firewatcher).
SCORE: Fahrenheit 451 out of Fahrenheit 460.
Almost everything about Firewatch works; the core walkie-talkie control system (you release a button to speak with Delilah) is genius.
The stylised art design is sublime - and shows all those wannabe photo-realistic open world games how it should be done.
It even manages to avoid any issues with the uncanny valley by not letting Henry get too close to anyone.
Whether intentional or not, that's quite a metaphor for what's driving the main character.
Though the wilderness you're in is essentially a series of outdoor corridors (you drop in and out of each day at pre-determined times - which shows off the lighting system beautifully - and make your way around using a map and a compass), it never feels claustrophobic.
It makes incredible use of its setting. The dialogue and acting is sublimely naturalistic; it's impossible not to enjoy spending time with Henry and Delilah. Though both are hurting, both dealing with it in different ways, they're funny and fun.
Unfortunately, the story - such as it is - never really delivers on the emotional set-up. It becomes a paranoid thriller with a conclusion that lands slightly out of nowhere, and is thrown away almost as abruptly as it's presented. This isn't a huge problem, because so much of the rest of the game is such a joy, but given its 4-5 hour running time, it did leave me feeling a little underwhelmed.
With hindsight, however, that might simply be because everything else in Firewatch is so strong. You don't expect the game to drop the ball quite so acutely. Which is a shame, obviously, but it's the likes of Firewatch that are making me love games again. Coming in the same week as that Doom campaign trailer - which filled me with nothing but ennui - Firewatch shows off the broad potential of video games as a storytelling medium.
SUMMARY: The great outdoors has rarely been so appealing. Become a firewatcher, (twisted firewatcher).
SCORE: Fahrenheit 451 out of Fahrenheit 460.
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