of the game, the progression from
‘this is an institution who doesn’t
care about me’ to ‘this is a specific
AI who personally hates me’ is
marked. The shift from ‘we,
Aperture’, to ‘I, GlaDOS’ only comes
when GlaDOS drops the conceit and
her narration becomes entirely
unhinged. Even then, as much as she
insists on party and cake, there are
still some chilling lines as you move
beyond the purview of her all-seeing
cameras. “I know you’re there, I can
feel you here.”
The testing, the surveillance, and
the battle for control don’t only build
to a sense of general dread, but one of
institutional horror. Aperture could
be a hospital, or a prison, and the
trappings would barely change. But
in them, Chell is an initially
powerless individual, subject to the
whims of someone with the authority
to say “the difference between us is
that I feel pain”.
The atmosphere that Portal builds,
and the shift in weight between its
first and second parts, wouldn’t work
without how well the puzzles are
designed, either. Each testing
chamber gradually teaches you how
to intuit various skills. When you
might need to use conservation of
momentum to fling yourself to a
great height or distance, or how to
time portals to go around lethal
obstacles, or even the simple training
to look for light tiles.
When you find yourself outside of
the testing chambers, you’re no
longer being asked to test, and these
abilities become survival skills. It’s
still all puzzle design, of course, but
without the visual cues of test
chambers – the step markers, the
clearly marked entrances and exits- you’re forced to think on your feet.
If the first half of the game is hostile
because the chambers feel designed
against you, the rest of Aperture isn’t
designed for you at all.
BOX ART
Portal is funny. GlaDOS is ridiculous,
the jargon for ‘cube’ and ‘button’ is
excessively over-the-top, and turrets
say ‘ow’ when you knock them over.
But it’s as funny as it is because it
goes to such dark places. Portal 2 sets
this darkness aside for more
gag-based comedy and a jilted-exdynamic with GlaDOS – which I can
appreciate on its own merits – but it
also cements the Portal series as one
remembered for its comedy. In the
years since its release, the details
contributing to its atmosphere of
oppressive discomfort are flattened.
In under three hours, Portal uses
the time it has to not only teach you
exactly how to play it, but also to
notch up tension until the necessary
moment where it breaks. It’s effective
for horror and a punchline both, with
no room for emotional fatigue. It’s
worth reinstalling for that experience
specifically: of a short, creepy game,
that’s clever and not bloated, and
plays with the fine line between
sinister and absurd.
Before booting it up again for this
piece, I’d last played Portal only two
years ago. Judging by my screenshot
library – and memories of who
exactly I’ve bullied into playing it- I’ve played it every two to three
years since it was new to me. The
puzzles are burned in muscle
memory by now, but the interval is
just enough time for any inoculation I
had against the creepiness to wear
off. ‘The cake is a lie’ might be a
well-worn joke, but the help painted
onto the floor in the same area is
unsettling every time.
BUT IT’S AS FUNNY AS IT
IS BECAUSE IT GOES TO
SUCH DARK PLACESEXTRA LIFE
NOW PLAYING I UPDATE I MOD SPOTLIGHT I HOW TO I DIARY I WHY I LOVE I REINSTALL (^) I M U S T P L A Y
‘She’s watching you.’