When playing Problem Attic, I found the initial controls to be very sensitive and the aesthetic and art of the game as something I had not experienced before. The colors, patterned boxes, and jagged, almost unfinished look of the game arose a unique feeling of uneasiness and confusion. With no instruction and a vast space, the goal of this game was unknown to me.
After various frustrating attempts, repeatedly wiping my eyes after all of the vivid shaking, and taking breaks after constant restarting levels, I decided to watch the play throughs, which allowed me to view the more complex aspects of the game in the latter levels.
In this post, I will attempt to explain my assertion of feeling Problem Attic as being effective in its art. This game takes on an anti stance against Braid, creating a feeling of an “atari nightmare” (Liz Ryerson). Ryerson’s game has central themes of gender, rape culture, and general frustrations with power dynamics. The game effectively constructs a world where the art makes the player work towards feeling the necessary themes. Each room presented depicts a novel world where new mechanics bring about unknown tasks for the player. In the beginning, the player fears and evades the cross objects, however, as the player progresses, they must learn to decide to either trust or escape these crosses, or face having to restart the level. Additionally, the three layers of existence, background, middle ground (player existence), and foreground appears in a continuous vertical landscape. Also, the protagonist, a small anonymous construction, carries no identity, allowing for either the player to either construct a meaning or omit any sort of connotation around it-allowing for greater emphasis to be placed on the encompassing environment in which the protagonist is exploring.
Through the art created in the flexible game mechanics, vastly vivid forms on each plane, and in the evoked emotions in the player’s experience, Problem Attic takes on an ugliness, very raw aesthetic. Through these artistic directions, Ryerson constructs an abjection (Kristeva) in which the player feels an uneasiness, almost disgusted with the game in its constant reminders of frustrations, negativity, and the unknown. In this game, like Braid, the player cannot die, leaving the player, in some levels, in a literally endless loop where sentiments only fester and grow. On many levels, the player has an unknown goal, and in some where the level may appear direct, the player has to commit themselves to new actions, like allowing oneself to be vulnerable and utilize the cross blocks, taking a leap of faith, or allowing themselves to restart in order to slowly understand the layered, at times blocked, setting around them. Many of these features cause feelings of frustration, at the game and at the creator. But, they effectively remind the player of various themes: death, violence, and feelings of loss. In this, Ryerson is able to evoke player abjection, relating towards the overall themes they had meant to include and portray in their art and game.
I really appreciate that you chose to focus on the functionality of art in Problem Attic, especially given how much it stands out compared to more mainstream game art. I believe your connection between vulnerability and interacting with the crosses aptly ties into the theme of rape culture. Similar to Lawerence, I initially found Problem Attic to be frustrating due to erratic changes in difficulty and “glitches” that reinforced the feeling of being trapped. After finishing the game, I now understand that Liz Ryerson utilizes gamers’ impatience to convey a fragment of an experience that cannot be characterized by words.
I really like your reading of Problem Attic. In my experience playing the game I was definitely frustrated and at times literally stuck on an endless loop where the screen just shook and vibrated. However, your reading offers a nuanced perspective on the unpleasantness of the game and gives more meaning to my experience with Problem Attic. As I was trying to piece together the meaning of Problem Attic through my own playing experience, I definitely found it hard to get past the initial frustration and confusion of the game. One thing that really struck me during game play was the behavior or the "enemy-like" cross sign monsters that would chase after you. I found that at times they moved…
I like that you described the necessity of using those threatening crosses as "allowing oneself to be vulnerable" as I think it's really fitting with the game, but also with things that Ryerson said of creating the game herself (such as, feeling a little forlorn when Problem Attic released and people didn't understand it). I definitely felt a similar uneasiness when playing, and it almost felt as if every thing I was doing was somehow the wrong thing to do. I went about restarting the game several times thinking that there was something wrong with it, before realizing that my goal actually was to access those intimidating puzzle-piece monster things.
Like you pointed out in this post, as I continued to play this game I realized that the amount of frustration that I possessed progressively increased. I felt that the game was rigged against me because every time I passed a level the rules would change and I would get lost again. I had to work around the discomfort that this game made me feel and at times work with it. However, I now understand that was a part of the beauty of this game and a part of message that this game was trying to put across.