Nestlings presents a rare dichotomy. Not of the nature one might anticipate; it doesn’t exist in the purgatory between film and videogame as some, possibly even Lewis himself, would have you believe. Nestlings is a videogame, but it’s a videogame that uses the interactive language in a unique way by fusing two seemingly disparate techniques.
Borrowing the practice of incidental environmental detail from the Half-Life series and structuring an entire narrative around it, Denby’s creation walks a dangerous tightrope. That a three day development project which lasts no longer than ten minutes and takes place in an area consisting of a seemingly deserted residence and literally nothing else can approach enigmatic status is nothing short of amazing in itself.
From the off, it’s evident that sheer atmosphere drips from Nestlings’ every pore. We’re presented with this exceptionally unexceptional stone house, surrounded by trees and enveloped in darkness. We’re drawn towards it like a moth to a lightbulb. I never had any compulsion to break the illusion by running to the edge of the surrounding blackness. The venue had its own gravitational force.
The first ten seconds are reminiscent of Valve’s intangible but highly effective method of guiding the player’s eyeline and forcing specific collisions to occur without them ever appearing rigidly scripted, and that can only be a good thing. In a sense this is our establishing shot. A burned out car sits by the entrance. The lighting is positioned for maximum effect – it’s uncomfortably dark, and the ominous looking trees cast long, black shadows. A note is pinned to the door, warning Annabelle not to enter. Who is Annabelle? Am I Annabelle? At this point it’s unclear.
That malevolent presence refuses to let up upon the inevitable rejection of that advice. Again, the house itself is nothing out of the ordinary from an aesthetic or structural standpoint, but the light sources are arranged to accentuate the creeping, uncomfortable effect. Exploring the rooms and reading the notes left to the mysterious female at the centre of it all becomes gripping. Though the scribblings themselves are ordered sequentially, their placement is not, and piecing together the writer’s well captured and perenially disturbing downward spiral into obsession – via fear, self-loathing and a lot of desperate yearning – is morbidly fascinating.
IN THE MIND
The environment itself maintains the overbearing hostility throughout. It’s scary. I paused for breath before opening each door, my hairs stood on end as I tread slowly through the rooms and I became paranoid to the degree that I began to delude myself. My own footsteps, the creaking of doors and the minimalistic but perfectly befitting music [By the wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Kevin McLeod, whose music is also used in the brilliant Small Worlds – Lewis] were the only sounds in that dreadful place, but my knowledge of this didn’t prevent me from imagining distant thuds, clatters and, at worst, howls of anguish.