Alexander Bruce’s 2013 puzzle-platformer Antichamber presents a mind-bending experience intent on defying the conventions of the first-person genre and subverting the player’s understanding of three-dimensional space.
From the very beginning, Antichamber forgoes any standard “main menu” and instead opts to immediately immerse the player in its world, placing the playable character in a white-on-black gridded antechamber facing a diegetic menu.
On this menu, the player can adjust a limited number of settings, but more importantly, the first and only explicit lesson is given: how to move and look around, how to jump, and how to return to the antechamber (or exit the game). To the immediate right of the settings, a countdown clock ticks down from 90 minutes with no indication of any consequences should the time reach zero. On the wall to the right lies a map through which the player can warp to unlocked rooms (only one room at first) to begin (or continue) the adventure. As the player progresses through the game, the map becomes increasingly complex and convoluted, with junctions, warps, and dead-ends abound.
Upon entering the first room, the player is greeted by a stark white, line-drawn chamber punctuated by a bright cyan, pixelated “JUMP!!” over a large chasm in the middle of the room.
Upon attempting to jump over the gap, the player falls (extremely) short of the other side and lands at the base of the deep pit, where clicking on a sign of a comic-like drawing reveals the phrase “Failing to succeed does not mean failing to progress,” the first of many aphorisms that serve to both guide and mock the player throughout the game. Walking through the open passage next to the drawing, the player eventually arrives at a pair of staircases: the left one tinted red and leading downwards, and the right one tinted blue and leading upwards. Traversing either one (or both) any number of times will lead the player to the same room, sharply highlighted by another aphorism: “The choice doesn’t matter if the outcome is the same.” The player eventually discovers that the only solution is to retrace through the original passage, which now mysteriously leads elsewhere. Although simple, these beginning puzzles serve to destroy the player’s preconceived notions of three-dimensional Euclidian space through a limited subjective lens and lay a foundation for further exploration and questioning of the world’s governing physical laws.
Moving forward (or perhaps more accurately backwards, upside-down, and inside-out) through the rest of the antichamber presents the player with increasingly complex puzzles, each providing a new piece of information on how the world works, granting the potential to unlock different parts of the map and solve more puzzles. Elements like the “matter gun” are introduced, with each level of the gun allowing an increasing amount of interaction with colored blocks to assist in solving puzzles and navigating obscure paths. While problem-solving ability is always needed, often times knowledge gained through experience, rather than ingenuity, serves to be more advantageous when returning to a previous room. Returning to the “JUMP!!” chamber above, for example, changes the text to “WALK?”, revealing the correct solution to traversing the canyon (a floor of tiles appears across the gap if the player decides to walk instead of jumping).
The first-person perspective factors heavily into Antichamber’s ability to distort our understanding of space. While Antichamber’s subjective view may immerse us in its world, it draws a sharp line between immersion and realism through its use of “impossible” non-Euclidian room geometry and layouts. Many chambers utilize a mechanic whereby turning away from a certain wall, door, or view effects change needed to progress. Because these changes happen entirely offscreen, however, their processes remain inexplicable to the player, leading to observations without explanations. Additionally, the first-person perspective prevents any assumptions about the “character” inhabited by the player, contributing to the universality of the Antichamber experience. The player's point of view prevents looking at oneself, and when the matter gun is acquired, only the gun body is shown—no part of the presumed hand or arm is visible. Ultimately, the player can neither confirm nor deny that the character inhabited is even humanoid, much less of a particular sex or race. De-emphasizing the importance of the particular entity navigating the antichamber draws the player to focus only on his/her/their own subjective experience, and prevents the lack of context from interfering.
The true exhilarating fun of Antichamber lies not just in solving puzzles, but rather, in its appeal to our fundamental human curiosity to examine and understand the world around us. Our desire to learn compels us to question our circumstances and enter the beginning “JUMP!!” chamber when dropped immediately into the starting antechamber. While other games may feature a concrete reward system (i.e. coins, xp, items, narrative development, etc.), Antichamber only induces more jestful aphorisms from the seemingly omniscient force behind the creation of the antichamber. Yet the presence of this bizarre entity that can seemingly predict our every move feels only natural in a game as twisted as Antichamber—perhaps we find solace that when we are placed in a foreign world with strange governing physical principals, our penchants towards discovering and deciphering lead us to act in a way that can only be described in one way: human.
“We can appreciate the entire journey by looking back at how far we have come.” –Sign 119, from the puzzle The Escape
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