Transistor’s nuanced world-building and clever storytelling render its narrative original and intriguing. Its combat system presents a myriad of viable choices but remains indifferent toward how the player chooses to engage them. Its painterly visuals and pitch-perfect use of musical themes call to mind the greatest moments of 90’s-era Japanese role-playing games. Its attention is focused on the first time through the game, but not lost on the second or third. Completing any one of these objectives would have been enough to satisfy those with a particular affinity toward a specific style, but watching them succeed as parts of a larger game widens its appeal and makes a declarative statement; Transistor is how games should be made.
To dive into Transistor’s finer plot points is to ruin some of its greater gifts, though there’s no harm in exposing its premise. Red, an acclaimed vocalist in the city of Cloudbank, was attacked by nefarious group known as the Camerata. She evaded capture, but the incident birthed her sentient weapon, the Transistor, as well a hostile takeover by a nebulous force known as the Process. The Process is literally wiping out portions of Cloudbank, and it’s up to Red and her Transistor to drive away the all-consuming evil.
One of the more impressive aspects of Transistor is how it manages the subtlety of its narrative alongside its central conceit; it’s a game about a talking sword. The titular Transistor is also an omnipresent speaker alongside the actions of its wordless wielder, Red. Allusions between the Transistor and Rucks, Bastion’s similarly positioned narrator, aren’t without merit, but ignore the dynamic relationship between Red and the voice inside her lone weapon. Mechanically, the Transistor is used to guide the player along some of the game’s finer edges, but thematically it serves to enrich the world Red inhabits. She needs the Transistor, and the Transistor needs her; the core of the game is figuring out why.
Contextualizing its world is one of Transistor’s greatest strengths. The Process, from its menagerie of creatures to its arcane methodology, is likened to a computer virus wiping out a complex system. Likewise, Cloudbank is broadcast as a tech-noir city with a functioning flow of information, providing certain landmarks with visible hard data. Approach a reflecting pool and you’ll receive a stat dictating how many people illegally swam in it. Walk by an abandoned bar and hear about the good times folks used to have there. Inescapable is Cloudbank’s collection of OVC Terminals, which can serve as information stations, whimsical asides, and direct communication with the Camerata.
Combat is Red’s only obligation, leaving most of these terminals as purely optional. Ironically they’re also where I grew to adore Transistor’s implicit narrative. Early in the game I walked by a diner named Junction Jan’s, a favorite from Red’s oblique past. Close by I found an OVC Terminal and ordered a to-go flatbread from Junction Jan’s menu. Later I stumbled upon Red’s deserted home to find, yes, that sandwich I had ordered from Junction Jan’s. From the tiniest accessory to the unlockable paragraphs that expose its latent cast, Transistor feels built to entertain a detail-hungry player. Most importantly, it does all of this while leaving its main thread mindfully alluring and quietly complicated.
Transistor has a button dedicated to making Red step aside from her duties and sing, for god’s sake. Can you imagine any other game doing this? Through most of the game the player has the option to take a step back and allow Red to hum along with the piece of music is playing in the background. With tracks ranging from moody, Portishead-inspired to brief flirtations with drum and bass, Transistor boasts some beautiful pieces of music. Combined with Red’s somber vocals, Transistor’s musical package helps relate the obtuse melancholy behind watching the world end. It’s an absurd predicament, sure, but Transistor‘s refusal to give itself away helps the player take its lingering plotlines and peculiar nomenclature seriously.
Absorbing Cloudbank’s abandoned urban vistas is another high point. I’m drastically uneducated when it comes to architectural styles, but its serene renditions of residential areas, extended boardwalks, and industrial trappings felt like the better endowed parts of Final Fantasy VII’s Midgar combined Bladerunner’s retro-future aesthetic (the former no doubt arrives from Transistor’s hand-painted style; if there were ever a game to relate how gorgeous pre-rendered art looked in 1997, this is it). Enriched with evocative names like Goldwalk, Cloud Alley, Seaside, and an endless fascination with the sublime country, Transistor’s handmade environments speak just as loudly as its music and narrative.
As good as Transistor is at telling a story, it’s even better at playing the part of a game. Its signature flourish is a mechanic called Turn, which allows Red to pause time and queue her attacks against an enemy. Depth is added through an energy bar limiting the amount of attacks Red is allowed to queue, and said bar only refills a few seconds after Red completes her attacks. Movement when time is paused is allowed, but also consumes her energy bar. Managing Red’s queue of attacks through Turn and – if you’re brave enough – real time is the dynamic hook of Transistor’s deliberate brand of combat.
Red’s suite of attacks, called Functions, are primed to take advantage of Turn. Breach, for example, presents a direct line of wall-penetrating fire perfect for taking out aligned enemies. Purge issues a serious of corrosive bullets that saps energy out of an enemy well after the attack is finished. Functions are more than pure offense; Jaunt speeds Red forward quickly while Mask renders Red temporarily invisible. Every move Red makes consumes a different amount of her Turn, insuring things don’t get too out of control on the battlefield.
Every Function can be assigned to one of four buttons and used independently, or it can be assigned to augment an existing Function. Attaching Purge to Breach, for example, gifts Breach’s line of fire with a lingering poison effect. Attaching Purge and Jaunt to Breach, as you’re allowed after unlocking two slots, and suddenly your poison laser can be commanded instantly outside of your Turn. A third layer is added with each Function’s passive ability, which can be assigned to function in the background independent of a corresponding attack. Mask, for example, can render the player temporarily invisible upon killing an enemy.
By way of movement, Transistor is fairly linear. By way of player choice inside its range of Functions, its potential feels open and endless. There are dozens upon dozens of load-out combinations and Transistor allows you to play it as you see fit. You never have to use any particular combination of Functions (though employing each Function in active, upgrade, and passive slots unlocks attractive pieces of data, encouraging experimentation without making it a requirement). The team at Supergiant put an enormous amount of trust in the player, but only because of the confidence in their creation. Through my time with Transistor I developed an alignment of Functions I consider unbeatable, though I’m sure others will feel the same way about a completely different setup.
In its enemy Processes, Transistor also offers a fun force in its opposition. Bastion was no slouch in this department either (who can forget Gasfellas?), and Transistor builds neatly upon its foundation. Fetches are aggressive, melee focused dogs with a penchant for invisibility. Jerks are hulking bruisers primed to pump the life out of Red. Worms can’t move, but warden off sections of the battlefield with static area-of-effect fields. Youngladies are equally aggressive and explode into a litany of cells, remnants of dead Processes Red must gather before a Process spawns again. At times, the degree of planning involved in properly coordinating the battlefield makes Transistor into a real-time strategy game.
Pacing and progression is another area where Transistor excels. On your first trip through the game the Processes all receive incremental upgrades. On your second trip through Transistor, previously earned Functions intact, Processes are delivered in harder combinations. Processes, like your Functions, are meant to be complimentary, so they way in which you choose to deal with them can always be in flux. If things start to get too easy, as they can when you’re thrashing through your third play-through, Limiters can help make Transistor harder. In exchange for more experience points, Limiters can enable the Process to hit twice as hard, increase their numbers, or take away the safety net of enabling a Turn for Red at low health. One Limiter at a time isn’t too difficult, but enabling all ten can make a serious dent in any apparent ease one may be having with Transistor.
Transistor also boasts a detached series of challenge rooms. Located through numerous Backdoors populated throughout Cloudbank, they serve as one-off segments designed to push the player through specific instances. Some task your ability to survive under the stress of time while others deliberately restrict your available Functions against enemy waves. These rooms run counter to Transistor’s laissez-faire attitude toward combat and player choice, but their separation from the proper game justify their presence. If nothing else, they serve as a more hands-on approach to teaching player mechanics (or stated literally, I thought the Get Function was useless until I discovered its underlying glory).
Transistor will be remembered for the way in embraces the strengths of its medium. Its narrative is complete, but the world it inhabits leaves a lingering curiosity regarding its foundation and greater purpose. Art, writing, and the subtlety between the two aren’t typically wielded with Transistor’s style and grace. On the interactive side, Transistor’s combat harbors an obsession with teaching the player something new. Handing out abilities and options like candy, it’s quick to wrinkle any assumed optimization, and, most importantly, it doesn’t stand in the way of experimentation. Few games, AAA titles included, get it this right. How wonderful it is for a smaller development team to come along and show everyone else how it’s done?
