Given gaming’s affinity for post-apocalyptic worlds, it’s funny how hardly anyone competes with Enslaved: Odyssey to the West for the prettiest. Submerged is one of those rare few following Ninja Theory’s esteemed title, but this decision goes beyond colourful vistas; as a contrast to the team’s previous work – spanning the BioShock, Tribes, and XCOM series – Uppercut Games wanted to excise violence in favor of pure exploration. The world has mutated creatures (of various sorts) to be catalogued rather than combatted. By wading close to the waters of “walking sims”, its central dilemma becomes capturing a nuance that’ll buoy player investment.
The works of thatgamecompany and Team ICO serve as key inspiration. A motorised dinghy putters across vast seas with two passengers onboard: Miku and her gravely-injured kid brother Taku. Upon reaching this waterlogged metropolis and finding refuge, she sets Taku on a stone bench – echoing both premise and iconography from Shadow of the Colossus. Instead of wrestling against towering beasts, she’s scaling precarious heights for emergency supplies conveniently scattered atop ten different mega-structures. Regardless of which one she chooses, basics like food and water are sequentially unlocked before medical treatment. Similar to Colossus, acquiring a crate immediately plops her back at home base, plays a brisk cutscene assisting her brother, gives some backstory through a wordless comic strip, and the cycle begins anew.
Submerged centers around fetch quests. Oh, joy. Whether you toggle UI on or off (hopefully the latter), the only formal assist for spotting primary crates, secondary collectibles, and boost upgrades is through Miku’s telescope; of course, one could go solely by context clues – like glittering objects or skyscrapers signposted with tattered parachutes up above and climbable vines down below.
It’s interesting from a design perspective, being able to boat anywhere within the map’s confines and collect these boxes in any order. Lacking boost upgrades early on discourages trips farther from home base, but never outright blocks them either. On the one hand, its unadulterated freedom emphasises Uppercut’s design ethos; on the other, there’s no semblance of a difficulty curve. The first minutes of gameplay are about the same as the last. The only scintilla of system mastery is boating: grab another upgrade from a capsised ship, see how far your new boost level goes before hitting empty, and so on; even then, it doesn’t take damage nor need fuel, so any challenge is player invented.
On-foot mechanics are even simpler. Whether climbing up ledges, clambering across lush vines, balancing over skinny beams, and so on, platforming is relegated to one control stick. Scaling everything is automated with no fail states and impressively repetitive. In other words: imagine a game about climbing Ubisoft towers where the training wheels never come off. It’s hard to think of a more deflating premise in modern times; granted, similar offenders are barely more complex, but they’re elevated by detailed animations, serviceable controls, and other traditional mechanics alongside. The main entrée here isn’t even cooked properly.
Perhaps Uppercut figured the one-dimensional and familiar could stay afloat through wonderous presentation; it’s hard to blame them at first glance. Beyond flexing its then-new Unreal Engine 4, the visual splendor of what were once iconic landmarks for this city – Ferris wheel, suspension bridges, etc. – half-swallowed by the ocean organically calls attention to itself. Whether appreciating refulgent seas during the day or bioluminescent activity under the waves at night, it also won’t take long for wildlife to tail you. Everything from whales to pelicans have been altered by what looks like radioactive moss, but they’re not hostile from this mutation. That genial, Disney-esque attitude is also complimented by Jeff Van Dyck’s mellifluous score; though far too reliant on recycling, his best tracks capture a sense of adventure and intrigue – a genuine yearning to surmount these tremendous heights.
Trying to be effective in spite of sparse material also epitomises Submerged’s storytelling. To its credit: there’s something here on paper. With the UI toggled off, there’s no way to make sense of Miku’s gibberish soliloquies (akin to Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons). This isn’t a problem because of how much is conveyed visually. Two separate stories share the same format: Aztec-like pictographs. The difference is their delivery. For this sister-brother dyad, an aforementioned four-panel comic strip follows their tale chronologically with each new strip showing a previous family life until their inevitable egress; for the city itself, each secondary collectible is one of sixty unique comic panels providing more background of its downfall. Though over half are on the same emergency supply buildings, the rest are scattered within desecrated husks that take a mere minute to grab.
Juggling between linearity and patchwork discovery represents an interesting dilemma in narrative design – especially for a structure without cinematic flashbacks and audio diaries. It’s among the most sensible post-apocalyptic game worlds because getting battered down to this extent would necessitate such primitive means of communication between unique peoples. Beyond those, Miku’s persistent debilitation while gathering provisions is another tale sandwiched in between. Even though this gangrenous affliction crawls up her arms and legs, she has to move forward. Her brother depends on it.
Sadly, these different storytelling methods can’t minimise a meagre narrative with nary a good surprise. Both the siblings’ and the city’s backstories are blatantly telegraphed. Though not to dismiss contentions about the golden path taking under two hours whilst retailing for $19.99 (standard), the better critique is how Uppercut strives to leverage collectibles – doubling its runtime – despite contextual confusion. How can you fuse breezily collect-a-thoning hieroglyphs off the beaten path alongside saving her brother’s life? Despite no in-game countdown, each cutscene implies he’s barely hanging on from his ghastly stomach wound. There is a post-campaign Explore option, but that throws out continuity. All of this is to say: between secondary collectibles and Miku’s ailment creating artificial tension, it’s important for every storytelling cog to feel purposive and click in unison; stuff for its own sake rarely pans out.
So much setup with no satisfying payoff is Uppercut’s modus operandi here. Sure, among the tidal wave of mechanically-limited adventure games, Submerged deserves credit for crafting a post-apocalyptic world without any violence. What’s to replace it, though? No suitable answer to this query is given; even several of its other contemporaries explore nuances that make their worlds feel tangible – vibrant, even. It has a bag of tricks – unconventional storytelling, day/night cycle with a dynamic weather system, and so on – but they’re inchoate baubles, missing a through-line to press onward. By being a stranger with no arc nor lasting impression made on this city, you may as well be driftwood.
