Auteur theory is pervasive in videogames. BioShock and BioShock Infinite are widely accepted as Ken Levine’s creations. Deadly Premonition is synonymous with SWERY and Goichi Suda is symbiotically linked to Grasshopper Manufacture. While a director’s influence is undoubtedly extensive, hundreds of people are applying their talent to major projects (and focus groups are then sanding off the rough edges). It’s a collaborative effort, no matter which way publishers or press try to spin the message.
Memoir En Code: Reissue is part of a smaller circle. It’s the product of a single person and his presence is felt in each of its transient sequences. Memoir En Code chronicles different pieces of Alex Camilleri’s life, each of which expressed through metaphor and interpreted as if it were an LP. Just as you would set aside time to listen to a cherished record and breathe its experience, Memoir En Code is intended to function as a momentary plunge into the recess of his memory. It’s funny, painful, relatable and, unfortunately, a little heartbreaking.
A series of loosely connected vignettes composes Memoir En Code’s thirty minute run time. It opens with a Twine-inspired take on Alex parting with his long-distance girlfriend. I found it odd that an autobiographical game was allowing a fairly diverse selection of dialogue, the likes of which could drastically alter the tone of the conversation. A text-based developer commentary, available after your first run through Memoir En Code, revealed different intentions. The sequence was based off a number of different instances where Alex and his girlfriend had to say goodbye. In one manner or another, all of the choices and feelings were experienced from his point of view. This felt clever.
What follows are brief but significant bits of relatable experiences translated into interactive minigames. Insecurity over physical appearance, an inability to properly take advice from a family figure, and a winding bedtime story all help compose Memoir En Code. The player’s role either comes down to feats of timing, selecting which text you’d like to say, or top-down 2D sequences that function as rudimentary puzzles. Given their diversity and insistence on moving quickly, there’s a WarioWare-lite quality to Memoir En Code minigames. Each of them also has their own de facto “win” state, where there is a defined objective you’re trying to complete (and notified handily by the in-game achievements). It’s not necessary to do this, like a music album you’re free to skip around Memoir En Code at any time, but it does help identify a goal in a game that lacks traditional boundaries.
If viewed independently of their autobiographical origins, these sequences may feel aimless and weary. One in particular seeks to bare the mundanity of life in the Netherlands, allowing the player to aimlessly button through a series of prosaic everyday errands. You unfold an umbrella to stay out of the rain, struggle with the right response when a cashier scans your groceries, and hesitate when trying to figure out if you should fist-bump your buddy or shake his hand. This part of Memoir En Code wraps up with an innocuous sequence of Alex riding his bike across the road.
If riding a bike down the street is an alien experience, the sentiment from this sequence of Memoir En Code may feel anemic. As I thought about this, however, my mind gradually shifted to a relatable time in my own life. Every year my wife and I take a week’s vacation at my aunt’s condo in southern Florida. There’s a cruiser bicycle at her place, and I have many fond memories of riding it up and down the flat and sandy sidewalks of Naples. It’s an entirely different experience than riding my bike in my hometown, and it feels special whenever I’m back home. If I were able to translate that experience into a videogame, no matter how it wound up looking, it would remind me of that time and allow me to share it with people. With many of the sequences in Memoir En Code, this is what I imagine Alex to be doing. These pieces, no matter how ordinary that may seem, are there because they made an impact on his life.
The beginning and end of Memoir En Code signal a breakdown in Alex’s personal life. If produced as a form of catharsis, Memoir En Code could be seen as a valuable coping mechanism for an ailing game designer. The player, especially if they’re aware of the nature of Memoir En Code’s construction, may feel like a fly on the wall during a painful situation. It’s a unique sensation even among single-author games. Dust: An Elysian Tale, Alone With You, and even Axiom Verge can’t relate to Memoir En Code, leaving Cibele and The Beginner’s Guide, as its closest modern acquaintances.
It’s possible to play through Memoir En Code and feel nothing. It’s also imaginable to look at its austere sequences and feel genuine empathy and recognition for pieces of Alex’s life. I identified with the latter point of view, but at $5 and with two play-throughs clocking in at under an hour, Memoir En Code won’t damage your personal time or your bank account. Playing is hardly a risk, and it’s certainly one worth taking.
