I Was a Fool for Not Playing GRIS Sooner

What can I say? There are no excuses for this. GRIS is nothing short of a masterpiece, and I failed to experience it sooner. Yes, I admit it freely—I only completed it this week. A journey that took me barely six hours. I waited until I thought I had the time, and truth be told, only after playing the beautiful NEVA—from the same developer—did I finally take the plunge. And yes, GRIS deserves time. It demands it. As evidenced by this reflection, in hindsight.

Grief in Monochrome

Despite its initial lack of color, GRIS immediately hit me with an emotional axe. A crumbling statue. A beautiful, long-dressed young woman unleashing her soprano voice like a bombastic swan song, accompanied by the deep piano chords and strings of the masterful Berlinist. A fractured world. And then—a fall. A plunge into the depths. The Falling Woman. Miraculously landing without injury.

The camera frequently zooms in and out, perhaps to remind us that this woman, fragile as she may appear, is the central figure in this poetic parable. Her hair now dyed green, echoing the distortion of her universe. Footless and handless, she walks with her head bowed through a stark black-and-white void. At times she collapses, kneeling in a mist that only grows thicker, heavier. And yet—suddenly—she realizes this cannot go on. She begins to run. To seek those necessary orbs.

Transformation Through Movement

Later, running becomes enhanced with a ground pound. But not just any ground pound—you become a block. A new shape, a new form of strength. And later still, you swim like a manta ray, earn a well-deserved double jump, and even take flight—as you free the fluttering red butterflies. The verticality—or shall I say diagonal complexity—of the game opens up more and more. At first, the navigation seems simple, symbolic. A way to rise again, to explore the world, perhaps even to save it. But in the end, the true solution lies above. Or beyond.

Because above all, GRIS tells a story of perseverance, resilience, hope. And yes, this is often accompanied by raw confrontations with vulnerability—falling and rising again. Failing. Regret? She did no wrong. But sorrow? Absolutely. Even the pause menu radiates an overwhelming sadness. And it’s precisely that emotional weight that makes it all the more affecting, all the more unforgettable.

A Symphony of Color

GRIS’s evolution is unmistakably driven by color. The world’s grayscale must be undone. Each chapter—if they can be called that—ends with the liberation of a color: red, green, blue, yellow… all long lost in this somber, yet intriguing realm. The painterly palette is not just visual, but deeply emotional.

Admittedly, I sometimes felt disappointed that certain sequences—especially the escape scenes—felt more performed than played. But perhaps this removed frustration from an experience meant to be more narrative than mechanical.

Beyond the Material, Minimal to Monumental

GRIS never shies away from detaching itself from the material world. No wonder you must break bridges to form constellations—to carve your way toward transcendence. Everything is an allegory, a shadow of a dimension just out of reach. And yet, I’ll never fully grasp it. I’m not meant to. That is, perhaps, the very nature of true art.

GRIS began in stark minimalism, and grew into something magnificent. Etched into my memory now, every time I scroll through my game library.