Closure doesn’t stoop to unfair puzzling depths, but it’s not close-minded or comforting. It’s real. There are issues hidden in those shadows. There are questions and doubts that we concoct. The task is to live with those doubts and fears or find a way out. We have to craft and manipulate the light we’re given to illuminate an escape. We can’t live in the dark.
Every level is pitch black. The only thing lit at all times is my character. Hidden somewhere in the dark is a door that leads to the next level. I find the door and pass through it – into more darkness. Platforms only exist while lit. Without light, the platforms disappear and I plummet down… down. I’m given sources of light – bulbs, let’s say – that are my only weapon against the darkness. As long as I have one of the light bulbs, the ground will remain aglow, concrete. Drop the light bulb and with it I go.
The intricacies of Closure are difficult to explain with words, which illustrates how well the game utilizes its interactive experience. Closure, put as simply as I can interpret, is a game about fear. A claustrophobic space is constantly pressing in. I see nothing other than what the game wants me to see. I am, at all times, fearful of what I can and cannot do; fearful of what I should and should not do; fearful about playing this intoxicating game.
I begin Closure as a faceless demon creature. Where eyes, a nose, and mouth should be, it has a hole. The hole is first filled with light bulbs, but that’s not enough. The creature takes on the personas of three human characters, giving me three separate world-puzzles to solve. Each world has its own charm, from mechanical monstrosities to a harrowing circus. Humans search for their own ends, but it’s the demon that needs resolve. Really, it’s me that needs it.
Most levels are ports that move the light bulbs to other sections, illuminating more platforms to play with. Later, these ports are used to reposition lamp heads scattered around the level, giving even more platforms, along with movable blocks and wheels. With each new world comes new tools and atmosphere: guns for shooting targets like a carnival game; plant life in need of warming light to sprout and unlock doors.
In haunting fashion, Closure envelops. Its eerie persona perpetuates discomfort in an enthralling way. The levels bleed into one another. The yearning to continue never fades, even as unsettling flicks of piano stare you down with each failed puzzle. Their tireless notes screech logic and clarity, the powerful, uneasy chemistry between music and game.
Self-doubt and curiosity plague the mind. What did I miss hiding, or lurking, in the shadows? The mechanics tame exploration. I let it out of the cage every so often, but it wouldn’t go far.
