A sequence towards the end, where the two lie in bed contemplating the nature of human purpose, is extremely long, taking up about fifteen consecutive minutes of reading. Ao and Bo are hugely introspective – Bo even comments that they “live too much in their heads” – and they will talk at length about their issues. What’s talked about is divisive, but not because it toys with controversial subjects. It feels like the world is teetering on a precipice, which is reflected in the characters’ states of mind. There’s a sense that the two characters are imprinting on the house in some way, their emotional states running rampant, and it gives No Longer Home a sense of a world that’s holding back its monsters. We have to be careful not to reveal too much here, as we came in cold and benefited from that, but characters and geometric shapes intrude on the house, and Ao and Bo are incredibly nonchalant about them. It’s a magic-realist streak that is consistent throughout No Longer Home. As the characters talk about the infinite possibilities in front of them, the world literally opens up and presents them with their paths. It breaks this dialogue-heavy game up, adding interest, but it also adds vital commentary too. Characters will sit and look at the night sky, before the perspective shifts and puts them among the stars. ![]() ![]() It’s a magical effect, and No Longer Home is puckish about how it uses this trick. In one superb moment, Ao, Bo and their friends sit down to play a computer game, and the walls lift up to put them inside the environment of the game. While you are talking to someone, the perspective might shift and walls, roofs and furniture will be gurneyed out like you’re in a high-concept theatrical performance.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |