Unless you’re a streamer, a microphone isn’t always (or even usually) an essential to playing games. I can’t think of the surprise I would have felt during this first moment if I hadn’t already been streaming with my microphone connected. The game instructs you to sing at your lowest comfortable range, which then calibrates which notes the game will request from you. Its at this point that the game mechanics make themselves known. A singular street lamp breaks the illusion, like a beacon that implies to you, “hey, this way is forward.” It feels like a melancholy city that recently experienced rainfall. The dim palette of blues and greys in the background nicely blends between your character and the world. Your character then emerges from a kind of energy cloud, enshrouded in pastel colors that breeze by you, lighting the sky with peach, pink, and orange wind. The contrast between your innocent looking character and this uncanny monstrosity inspires a brief moment of dread about what’s to come. This blob monster runs past, reminding me of the climax to Inside. This peaceful introduction of your character is met with something rather disturbing: a massive blob with a million legs. Atmosphere acts in context as a narrator. What is this world? Who is this character? In some sense, as a player, you aren’t worried about answering those questions because the raw novelty and beauty are captivating. You are dropped into a world swirling with atmosphere and intrigue, something deeply reminiscent of how Journey brings you through a staggeringly beautiful, mostly peaceful, and at all times mysterious world. One Hand Clapping combines unexpected gameplay mechanics, lore, and surprisingly silent storytelling.
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