Tunic is one of my favorite games of all time. For this reason, I know discussing it in any meaningful way is to spoil its magic for those who have not experienced it. Before I share my thoughts, I want to urge anyone who hasn’t played Tunic to turn away. Read this after — it won’t go anywhere.
In the wake of the horrors this week, and really the atrocities I’ve been witnessing over the past couple of years, I’ve turned to Tunic. Not simply to escape, but to resist; to fight back in the way I can best. Before I explain that, though, I have to unravel my thoughts on Tunic somewhat.
It is entirely possible to, literally and physically, play the game to the credits and still have missed playing the Tunic I love.
This is not the first time I have said as much. I’ve probably even declared this multiple times on various platforms as part of the reason I love Tunic so much. It is not the game you initially think you are playing. However, discovering this is its own, unmarked, objective. And I was recently reminded of that when I threw myself into an online discussion with other players.
Tunic is, in part, about breaking our gaming expectations. Its world is built purposely to be nostalgic. Game manuals marked up with handwritten notes, old-school Zelda-like design, and an easily identifiable hero’s quest are as familiar as it gets for long-time gamers. It’s so familiar, in fact, that we don’t even need Tunic to give us instructions in a written language we can read. Players can find their way through almost the entire game by instinctively reading the game world.
It’s a brilliant and devious trick. Tunic’s surface layer is so masterfully designed that anyone could engage exclusively with it and still have an enjoyable experience. All the while, unaware of the rabbit hole plummeting ever further downward beneath their feet.
Despite its vibrant graphics, adorable protagonist, and comfort-food-made-playable world, it is vital to never turn your brain off in this game. It blooms under diligent consideration. As an aside, this is why I balk when people suggest it’s a game for children. Its world of discovery is geared towards players who have been immersed in this hobby long enough to know its language. To know that the overwhelming darkness in the tomb needs an item. To know that the scribbles in the margin point to secret truths. To know that something doesn’t feel quite right.
This is a game about dying. Failure as an integral part of a game is not revolutionary, but it’s perhaps unexpected in this brightly wrapped space. A Dark Souls, for example, is upfront with its gloomy world, unsettling boss designs, and tagline (Prepare To Die), letting us know getting to the end will require many, many sacrifices.
On the other hand, Tunic literally gives you an option in the menu to take no damage. It’s a mechanic purpose-built to obscure its deeper elements and feed on conceptions about the kind of game that might offer this sort of system. That is, easy games, comfort games, and cozy games are the only ones that are supposed to be so accessible — a misconception I could spin out into its own lengthy opinion piece. So Tunic, in offering this tool, must be one of those. Therefore, there’s no reason to look any closer at it. Right?
In many games, beating the boss is the vital key to progressing in the game. In Tunic, dying is. Because you learn more from failure than success. Because Tunic is a puzzle game. The key to figuring out the puzzles is the knowledge you, the player, gain while engaging with the world — whether that’s finding secrets tucked behind a corner, close-reading the in-game instruction manual, or returning to face down a boss.
I can’t even remember how many people have looked at me, puzzled, because I rave about how deep Tunic is. After some discussion, I often realize that’s because they’ve played the game with the No Damage mode turned on.
They therefore have never been resurrected. They don’t know how life and death are connected to another plane dominated by a deceptively ethereal being. They don’t get the necessary feedback that a boss is too strong, and they therefore need to power up (or they never even discover that there is a way to power up). They literally miss the entire second half of the game because it demands that you die in a struggle you really don’t want to fail.
I love a game that confounds me. Not the convoluted confounding that stems from indulgent complexity — that’s only baffling in the way that popcorn is filling — but the kind that urges me to dive into its cleverness. In a game like Tunic, I get a chance to swim in my thoughts and emerge shielded from a world that increasingly requires armor.
Waking up to find oneself a hero with a mission is a trope so well-worn it keeps many from even considering it. But you should consider it in Tunic. Why are we sleeping on that beach? How did we get there?
As the game reveals some unsettling truths about how this adventurer’s wonderland operates, I can’t help but ask myself, “What is my role in all of this?” Curiosity sparks a need for answers. And knowledge is just as much an answer in this game world as it is in ours.
Tunic’s world is dominated by a cruel, cyclical system. It rules absolutely. We can debate where this power comes from and who controls, but there is no arguing that every being contained within the realm’s shores is subject to it, even those who seem, to us, powerful.
An oppressive regime demands of its citizens two things: loyalty and mindlessness. In the game, as in life, the answer to overcoming authoritarian suppression is coming together and sharing knowledge.
Tunic is about coming together and sharing knowledge.
This is one way I fight back: Keeping my critical mind turned on so I can then attempt to identify and point out the issues I see around me. So, when a United States citizen is shot by ICE, and I read Assistant Secretary, Office of Public Affairs, Tricia McLaughlin’s public statement on Twitter regarding the incident, I can call bullshit. I’ve included it below.
Today, ICE officers in Minneapolis were conducting targeted operations when rioters began blocking ICE officers and one of these violent rioters weaponized her vehicle, attempting to run over our law enforcement officers in an attempt to kill them—an act of domestic terrorism.
An ICE officer, fearing for his life, the lives of his fellow law enforcement and the safety of the public, fired defensive shots.
He used his training and saved his own life and that of his fellow officers.
The alleged perpetrator was hit and is deceased. The ICE officers who were hurt are expected to make full recoveries.
This is the direct consequence of constant attacks and demonization of our officers by sanctuary politicians who fuel and encourage rampant assaults on our law enforcement. These men and women who are simply enforcing the law on the books are facing 1,300% increase in assaults against them and an 8,000% increase in death threats.
This is an evolving situation, and we will give the public more information as soon as it becomes available.
Notice the inflammatory and biased language “violent rioters,” “terrorism,” “demonization of our officers,” and “increase in death threats.” Even if I knew nothing else, these would be red flags — especially since there are no sources cited for any information provided. Knowing that there is actual footage of the shooting that prompted this statement underlines, highlights, and puts a giant spotlight on its propagandistic function. It’s the kind of message that leads readers to knee-jerk emotion, rather than level-headed scrutiny. I’m disheartened by how many likes it currently has.
Which is why Tunic is not far from my mind today. It reminds me to keep thinking, resisting, protesting, and combating the ignorance that would allow hate to swallow the world I live in.
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