SOMA Review
What did we think about Frictional’s latest horror escapade?
By John P.
What does it mean to be human? Are we defined by the physicality normally associated with humanity (flesh, bones, skin, opposable thumbs)? Or is it our thoughts and emotions, regardless of the vessel which contains them, that ultimately define “humanity”? SOMA sets out to ask these questions and more, and the result is a wholly uncomfortable, terrifying, wondrous experience.
The game starts off in an unremarkable fashion: as protagonist Simon Jarrett, you were involved in a car accident prior to the game’s opening moments and you’ve sustained brain damage. Soon enough, a mysterious group offers to scan your brain to determine the best course of action to heal you. Almost immediately after, you awake in a decrepit, apparently abandoned underwater research station with no knowledge of how or when you got there. I won’t discuss specific plot points any further than this; this is really a story that needs to be experienced with as little knowledge of the core narrative as possible. Suffice to say, things get pretty horrific pretty quickly. And considering the pedigree of the developer involved (Frictional Games, the masterminds behind Amnesia: The Dark Descent), “horrifying” is putting it lightly. This game scared the shit out of me. Bio-mechanical terrors which may or may not have lingering human characteristics rasp and moan their way through abandoned laboratories and rusted hallways, inspiring terror and a surprising sense of pity. Their presence is announced not only by the very off-putting noises they emit, but also by static rolling across the screen, which intensifies as they draw closer and reminded me strongly of Silent Hill 2. They’re wonderfully unsettling and I found myself genuinely afraid while huddling in the pitch-black corner of some hallway, praying they’d stagger past without noticing me.
The atmosphere present is thick enough to be cut with a knife, and is clearly inspired by Frictional’s previous efforts. But from the ruined, submerged buildings to some of the creature designs, I found myself having Bioshock flashbacks. Control is tight and responsive, and revolves around stealth; there’s no way to attack the monsters trying to kill you, and your only recourse is to stay hidden. Holding down R1 and moving right or left allows you to peek around a corner, but that’s all you get: no hiding in lockers, under tables, etc. It was fine for what it was, but after playing Alien: Isolation I’d have appreciated more options to stay hidden. The visuals and sound are top-notch, and a great step forward from the admittedly drab-looking Amnesia games. The awful moans of the piteous horrors shuffling through the darkness and the creaking and groaning of rusted metal sound great coming through good speakers or a headset. Lighting and particle effects are especially impressive, especially in some areas where you’re moving along the ocean floor or passing through a darkened hallway pierced by ragged beams of light. Technically, the game runs at a mostly consistent 30 fps, although I did notice some slowdown and framerate hitches during moments where the game was loading the next area. These were sporadic and didn’t have too great an impact on the overall package, but on occasion it took a few moments for the ship to right itself, and did serve to break the immersion from time to time.
I know I said I don’t want to touch too heavily on the story, but I do want to talk about choice. In many games where choice is present (Dishonored, Until Dawn, Heavy Rain, Bioshock), it’s made clear from the beginning that your choices WILL ultimately affect the outcome. This is usually done through character exposition and button prompts. The most unsettling thing about SOMA, to me, is the fact that the game often presents you with a life-or-death choice, and then leaves you to it. No button prompts, no voiceover about “it’s up to you”, and no apparent effect on the ending. I first noticed this when I came across an individual on the floor, connected to a horrific life-support machine by hoses, mostly lucid and in great distress. You have the option of speaking a few lines of dialogue with her, and she mentions the machine is keeping her alive and “won’t let her die”.
After exhausting her dialogue options, I explored the room and noticed I could interact with the hoses plugged into her torso, and I realized I had the option of unplugging her. This proved to be an unexpected moral quandary; would killing her be a mercy? It’s not like she asked me to end her suffering. If I DID leave her, how long would she remain here, plugged into this bio-mechanical computer? How long HAD she been there? What was I supposed to do? I won’t tell you what I chose, but I can confirm it had zero bearing upon the ending of the game. You’ll run into several situations akin to this throughout, and the game will absolutely not hold your hand through them. Hell, you may even miss some. Even without any apparent effect within the game, the choices I made were more meaningful and potent than anything I’ve seen in a long time, and linger with me to this moment. Bravo.
