This is the first article in an exciting series that explores a video game's mechanics, themes and effect, in the same manner any other piece of art would be analysed. The article is divided into sections and subsections, each handling a different aspect of the topic.
Thesis
The world of Subnautica is unique. Immersed into the ancient ocean of an alien planet, the player is invited into a vibrant world, teeming with life, mystery and danger. The game is described as an "action-adventure survival game", and, superficially, the game doesn’t have much in the way of typical horror - there are no jumpscares, no grisly moments of gore, and, in fact, little in the way of real threats to the player character. Though one will encounter a variety of aggressive alien creatures over the course of a playthrough, rarely will they pose a real threat of danger, and in my 200 hours of playing the game, including multiple full play-throughs, I have died far more often due to running out of oxygen than I ever have due to the fauna. However, though Subnautica might not be described as a horror game, I would argue that it is fundamentally a horror game experience, and one which is much more carefully crafted than other games in the genre. Subnautica is not like a Slasher film, in which jumpscares and violent scenes create the thrill of easy scares. It is more like a psychological horror, where the atmosphere and tension is built in just the right way for a sense of dread to underpin hours of its gameplay. Subnautica, and its game experience, thrives on anticipation, in the ability of its game design to make the player imagine their own worst nightmare.
Section 1: Plot and Storytelling
Subnautica and Solitude: the Lifepods
The first key part of Subnautica’s horror experience is its story – its unique form of storytelling, and the way it uses this storytelling to create a sense of isolation and solitude. Released in early access development in 2014, Subnautica is a single-player open world survival game. It takes place in the far future, on the mysterious ocean planet known only as 4546B, on the very edge of mapped space. The story begins with the player character escaping their spaceship, the Aurora – a titanic vessel on a voyage to the edge of the galaxy – as it hurtles towards 4546B, severely damaged from an unknown source.
Concept art of the Aurora, hurtling towards 4546B at the beginning of the game
From the first moment of gameplay, a key theme of the game’s story, and an important part of its atmosphere, is made clear: solitude. The first thing that greets you when your escape pod lands, and you climb the ladder to get a view from the top, is the wide expanse of the ocean, spanning out before you in every direction. The only thing that breaks this view is the gargantuan wreck of the Aurora, looming dauntingly on the horizon, covered in smoke and flames.
In-game screenshot of the player’s first view of 4546B, the Aurora’s wreck looming in the distance
From this first image of total emptiness, the game continually fosters a constant sense of loneliness. Though the game has a long and complex plot, with a string of sub-plots alongside the main story, there are no other characters you interact with directly in game until the very end, and certainly no humans, meaning that for the vast majority of the game, you are entirely alone. This is certainly a unique choice compared to any number of other story-focused titles.
Indeed, throughout the story your total loneliness on 4546B is continually emphasized. Despite the Aurora’s violent crash, it can be correctly assumed at the start of the game that the player’s lifepod was not the only one to escape the ship. In fact, frequently there is hope alluding to this: distress signals, some automatic, some direct recordings of panicked survivors, frequently make their way to the player’s radio, giving the coordinates of their escape pod. Every time this occurs, and one hears the voice of a potential ally across the radio, the sense of pervading solitude is temporarily muted, only to be reasserted stronger than ever when one follows the distress call and finds the lifepods from which they originate: inevitably, each lifepod is sunk, badly damaged or entirely destroyed, often with nothing left behind but the grim recordings of the last moments of its inhabitants.
A screenshot of Lifepod 2, one of the many destroyed lifepods the player encounters across the game. This is one of particular significance, as the survivor of this pod actually escapes and leaves a message for the player to come and find her. But this inevitably ends with her death before the player can reach her.
Soon, this occurrence becomes a grim loop: receive a distress signal, navigate to the lifepod, find yourself too late, with only recordings as the remnants of there having been anyone there at all. It quickly becomes clear to the player, reminded through the nine sunken lifepods, and numerous mangled wrecks of pieces of the Aurora scattered across the map, that you are the sole survivor of the crash, and you are very much on your own.
Comments