Gris is watercolor wonderland fashioned to explore and confront elements of despair and anguish. Its communication through sound and motion paints visually arresting moments and creates intimately powerful movements. Concealed inside all of this is clever and versatile platformer, an asset Gris is confident to hold as collateral for the sake of its delicate heart.
Gris is a visual language of emotion expressed through phrases of watercolor and animation. It speaks without saying a word and its message is as powerful and poignant as one can find in a visual medium. Gris neatly ties its narrative objective to the agency of its player and its protagonist, obliging the adverse label of puzzle-platformer with tricks as fleeting as they are clever. Unique in a crowded field, the totality of Gris is unlike anything else in the same space.
Gris opens with its titular protagonist suffering the loss of her voice. This collapses her world and leaves her in an eyes-down depression barely capable of movement. Action is limited to resignation, as the press of a button only puts Gris back on the ground. Perseverance comes when Gris wipes her eyes, breaks into a run, and finds her action changed from falling down to jumping up. Reversed piano keys highlight an alien black-and-white world, channeling Gris into recovery by leaping into the sublime unknown.
There is unlikely to be another videogame that looks, sounds, and plays like Gris. Its watercolor artwork is the specialty of Catalan artist Conrad Roset, a person whose portfolio, outside of games, stands as unique in his field. Gris’ music is from Berlinist, a chamber-pop group also from Barcelona, whom literally describes their sound as we make music like dreams. Nomada Studio, a new development team with a focus on visual design, is behind the guts of Gris’ operation. Together they stand as an unlikely but skilled collaborators.
Gris’ action keeps pace with the will of its protagonist. It takes shape in the form of an escalating series of additional mechanics. “Heavy” adds weight to Gris’ cloak, allowing her to either resist the wind or break through fragile ground. A double jump propels her higher. Further extensions allow Gris to take advantage of underwater environments and manipulate otherwise static objects. Most of Gris operates as a platformer where skill is derived from logic and problem solving instead of mechanical proficiency.
A brisk pace keeps Gris supplied with fresh ideas. Reliable genre staples—platforms that disappear and reappear with alternate jumps, flipping the world upside down, and walking with an AI double on a separate part of the level—vanish almost as quickly as they are introduced. More novel challenges, like two sequences where the screen “flashes” and creates a temporary frozen image of Gris, are so surprising and satisfying it’s disappointing Gris isn’t willing to do more with them. In any case Gris is not content to remain idle while it prepares to push the player forward. It’s always more interested in something new.
Progression is contained under thematic levels and sequences. Tiny white dots are found at paths branching out from a level’s central hub. These dots act as keys and open up new, usually climactic, sequences to close out each of Gris’ levels. A game-wide constellation also consumes these dots and informs the player of their overall progress. Gris is clever without feeling arduous and it shouldn’t require more than four to six hours to reach its end state.
It is impossible to fail in Gris. No fall is lethal and any sort of reset is minimal. Antagonism in the form of giant birds and eel creatures creates moments of quick tension through sequences that are, deceptively, canned to unfold without much input from the player. Despite this, Gris does not operate as a content-touring walking simulator. There is resistance and there is challenge, albeit not in a manner typical of the hardcore, grueling class of most independently produced platform games. It’s possible to experience Gris as an enthusiast without compromising its ability to challenge more skilled players.
Excess challenges, structured like Trophies or Achievements, are available as collectibles and vague goals. Each of Gris’ levels contains a handful of white concentric rings identical to Gris’ orbiting logo. These are almost always in places slightly out of view that call for a more demanding application of Gris’ mechanics. Other challenges (like smashing every stone pile in a rock-focused level) are a bit more nebulous, but seek to reward attention and curiosity.
Gris’ thematic undercurrent crashes in waves of color. While it opens under complete desaturation, primary colors are added and blended into to each successive environment. This allows Gris’ arid desert to flourish in monochromatic red, its forest in shades of rust and turquoise, and its subterranean caverns in a spectrum of blue. Gris concludes in fluorescent antiquity, matching its protagonist’s resolve with sculpted architecture and a deliberate application of bright light and translucent color.
Art-focused games have a tendency to rely too heavily on the strength of their technical presentation. From Earthworm Jim and El Shaddai: Ascension of the Metatron to Plastic’s Datura and Bound, there’s a visible habit of passing off serviceable or minimal challenges under the protection of extraordinary or otherworldly visuals. This isn’t a problem. It also is not a solution. Gris doesn’t keep away from this routine, but it takes its drive for engagement further than its contemporaries. Gris’ climatic level, in particular, flourishes metroidvanian potential before quietly walking away toward its conclusion. Like the rest of Gris’ ingenuity, there are signs that it stopped when it could have kept repeating. It proves restraint is an undervalued asset.
Gris’ power is determined by the signals broadcast through its art. Intense desperation and agony are clearly visible in crumbling statues of women with their face buried in their hands. Anger is represented through antagonizing forces of birds and eels. A bottoming-out depression finds its place under the sea. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’ five stages of grief are an influence Gris states clearly. This model guides and enhances Gris’ texture and helps ease its protagonist’s weaknesses intro strength. Empathy is the byproduct and grants the player agency in allowing Gris to make her way forward.
Traditional animation also plays a large roles in Gris’ presentation. The opening sequence, where Gris discovers her voice is failing, is wildly effective at relaying her astonishment and desperation. Other brief sequences showcase dynamic moments of grace, triumph, and revelation. In basic motion Gris moves through hand-drawn levels buoyed by parallax background layers with a misty, watercolorly overlay that extends the reach of its natural environments. As Cuphead was an ode to Fleischer Studios’ animation, Gris makes a similar case for Roset’s range of influences.
Gris’ music is also vital to its production. Moments of climax are soaring orchestral pieces that felt like someone removed Purity Ring’s aggressive editing and replaced it with proper strings and keys. Other sequences, like when the wind picks up in the desert level, sync with Gris’ volatile futility and desperation. Vocals sometimes fill out harmonies and create a kind of dramatic euphoria when they capitalize on moments of hopelessness and distress (and it will be hard to forget what happened in a particular sequence with a turtle). It’s easy to see that Gris is stunning but it’s a nice, surprising compliment that Berlinist’s soundtrack is just as appealing to a difference sense.
In the moments that I played and experienced Gris I believed it was the most dazzling and elegant game I had ever seen. It was the most I’ve been in to a game in the current calendar year. Astonishment is temporary and hyperbole rationally fades into coherence, but I hope the strength and singularity of Gris stays with me forever.
