Funded through Kickstarter and inspired by creator Matt Gilgenbach’s battle with obsessive-compulsive disorder and depression, Neverending Nightmares revels in tension and survives through conservation of its primal resource. What unfolds is kind of a weird paradox; a game that actively campaigns against a traditional desire to play it, and yet seeks to capture attention all the same. What Neverending Nightmares loses in playability, however, it gains raw, relatable emotion.
Neverending Nightmares puts the player in the shoes, or, more appropriately, bare feet, of a man named Thomas. Thomas is deeply affected by the passing of his sister, Gabby, though it’s deliberately unclear whether Thomas’ menacing perception of the world is fiction or reality. Neverending Nightmares has this simultaneously sinister and endearing hook of creating a questionable reality, propelling its protagonist to witness and engage in outlandish, horrible things. These instances serve as a knock-out punch so insufferable Thomas shuts down – only to wake up alone inside of another endless dream. The tragedy of Neverending Nightmares is that your task isn’t to guide Thomas to safety, but rather manage his sanity against the unstoppable force of anxiety.
A clear vision doesn’t necessarily translate into serviceable gameplay, though Neverending Nightmares isn’t necessarily uncomfortable in its skin. Thomas moves from left to right, accessing color-sensitive doors or dark hallways inside a massive residence. Paths branch and break away to several divergent themes and three unique endings, but generally produce similar instances of interaction. Manifestations of Thomas’ fears appear in the form of some garish aggressors, and Thomas’ only means of confrontation is pure avoidance. He’ll hide in closets while they pass by, sneak around without making a sound, and a handful of other tactile maneuvers.
The assault of Thomas’ opposition goes well with Neverending Nightmares’ proclivity for quick cuts and instant results. If you’ve played a considerable amount of games, surely you’re used to some form of delay upon not only upon personal failure, but any basic interaction. It’s only measured in microseconds, but Neverending Nightmares has a clear insistence on instant results when you interact with an object, enter a doorway, or meet an unfortunate end. This philosophy spreads over the trial-and-error nature of its stealth sequences, which never set Thomas more than a minute or so behind. Both cases allow Neverending Nightmares’ tension to run fluid throughout its brief runtime, sacrificing fleeting longevity for an enduring memory.
The most striking features of Neverending Nightmares run through its gothic sketchbook presentation. Drawing influence from Edward Gorey (the second game to cite Gorey this month), it combines unnerving black-and-white artwork with a dashes of red for brief instances of macabre ultraviolence. Neverending Nightmares’ binary aesthetic isn’t treated as a gimmick, but rather an integral part of its storytelling abilities. Darkness rules the roost, and terrible things tend to happen whenever black begins to consume the screen.
Neverending Nightmares’ black-and-white aesthetic may seem like a minimalist approach to style, but it’s not left wanting for feature and detail. Eyeless dolls with vague shades on sentience, creepy portraits consistent with traditional haunted mansions, and a depth of decay consistent with abandoned asylums aren’t the most original ideas around, but they’re no less effective in rendering a grim sense of futility. There a few missteps along the way; things like infinite arms reaching out of walls, for example, can make Neverending Nightmares feel like a kooky haunted house rather than an unbreakable dread machine.
If a grim visual assault gets players in the door, it’s Neverending Nightmares’ rich audio presentation that keeps them there. Typical and effective is the foreboding baseline running rampant through its soundtrack, but percussive elements, typically used a garnish, are the heart and soul of Neverending Nightmares. Thomas starts breathing heavily if he’s asked to run for more than a few seconds, suggesting he’s lead a life of an asthmatic. The wheezing that punctuates Thomas’ shortness of breath functions as an exclamation point to his frightened disposition. It’s a constant reminder of his inescapable frailty.
Neverending Nightmares’ foundations may exist independently of its execution, but knowing them in advance affected my read of the game. Gilgenbach’s depression, contained when he was younger and exposed after the commercial failure of his (excellent) recent work, serves as a metaphor for Thomas’ challenges. I’ve never suffered from depression, but pushing Thomas against the despair of loss and the insurmountable challenge of climbing his way out forged a meaningful connection between his neurosis and my lack thereof.
This connection was further intensified by the stress of disorientation and the inability to tell if Thomas was actually making material progress. Passing through a bunch of horrific hallways and watching them slowly slide into further decay made me feel witness to the potential threat of infinity. I didn’t know when Neverending Nightmares was going to reach a conclusion because any grip Thomas had on reality would always slip away. Over here in real life, I still don’t know what depression is like, but I have a greater sense of the depth of its despondency.
If excellence is judged purely through execution, Neverending Nightmares hits its notes with reasonable success. Qualifications arise when the game’s message feels more like a glimpse into the mind of a troubled individual, rather than a meaningful look into his affliction; I had already found what it was trying to show me inside its first two acts. Neverending Nightmares is powerful and affecting, but somewhat lacks the capacity to properly pace a message inside its dark dreams.
