Escaping the Problem Attic through Forgiveness

I would be lying if I said that I did not enjoy Problem Attic on my first play through. At first, I thought that the story was dis-jumbled, the game was not visually appealing, the music was not interesting, and that the mechanics were nothing special. While I still think some of these critiques are valid, after reading Liz's article, "The Other Side of Braid," I was given a new perspective that allowed me to appreciate the game from a different angle.

When I read that this game was vaguely about prison, I tried to look for evidence of this. I found that having limited paths to follow, as well as blocks that followed and pushed you around were some aspects that could reflect prison. But now, I believe I took prison too literally. Liz bravely describes her past trauma and abuse, and how she was repeatedly caught in the same cycles. That, I believe, is the prison that Problem Attic attempts to display. The cycles of life's cards and our thoughts.

Liz describes multiple times that she kept needing to return to the very same abusive household that she tried to escape from. The same way these memories and elements of her life haunt her, I believe the blocks that follow you haunt the player. There are rarely moments where the character is able to slow down and relax; most notably, the blocks are invasive and lead to a headache-inducing shake of the screen. To push this imprisonment further, there are levels where you have no choice but to use the block to solve the puzzle. This parallels very deeply to Liz needing to borrow money from her abusive parents. In both situations, one needs to deal with a parasitic entity in order to continue on with one's life.

I believe the narrative also contributes to elements of this mental imprisonment. Every dialogue except the last contains either hostile messages to the player ("I fucking hate you") or melancholy thoughts ("I don't know who I am anymore"). It's not clear who is speaking, but I suspect that these thoughts are from Liz to herself, or from the players to themselves. This cyclical mental negativity is one that is hard to escape and traps many people. Yes, in addition to being trapped with the circumstances of her own life, Liz is also imprisoned by her own deprecating thoughts. When we see these dialogues, they come across our screen in large bright letters, almost impossible to avoid.

Of course, it's clear that there is a lot of pain deeply embedded into this game. As the levels progress, the music and the colors become more intense, certainly to a point of discomfort. But that is not to say that it ends with pain, and this is where my appreciation of the game grows. In the very last scene, after a seemingly never-ending sound buildup with a shaking screen, the music calms, and the screen stops moving. It feels as though you have stopped suffocating from the chaos. You become the block that has annoying killed you for the entire game, especially after you collected enough "M"s and "F"s on that one level. You can even run into the blocks and no longer be affected by them. You have quite literally gained control of all that can hurt you. As you move, letters appear on the screen. "You hurt me tremendously... But that is okay." And just like that, the game is over. The way you have escaped prison is by forgiveness and acceptance to those who hurt you. Forgiveness and acceptance to yourself, and those around you.