One of the most memorable levels sits about halfway through the game, in September 2010 Every home prior to that one is bright and colourful, the main character’s mark all over every room even when they’re sharing a flat. But that’s not the way life works, and so that’s not the way Unpacking works, either. It’s easy to assume a version of this game that’s just an upwards progression through bigger and bigger homes, each one more elaborate, with more stuff to unpack-and, by extension, with trickier puzzles to solve. Life is a journey of ups and downs, and that sits at the heart of Unpacking. Some things will appear in one level and never be seen again: pieces of a life lived in that moment, but left behind as this person moves onto new, different things. Some objects will persist through every stage, from that kid’s first room in ’97 to the home they live in 20 years later. Each new move is a new milestone in life-moving out of home, moving into a bigger place, moving in with a partner, and so on-and the process of unpacking that life, again and again, paints a vivid picture of who they are and what they’re going through. You’ll never meet this kid or see what they look like, but over the course of the game that follows, you’ll become intimately familiar with them. Upon completion, a snapshot of the room gets saved in a photo album (which serves as Unpacking’s level select), with the caption “Finally, my own room!” There’s a bunk bed with a desk underneath it, a few shelves and a small cabinet-not a huge amount of furniture, but enough for a couple of boxes’ worth of toys, school things, and clothes. The first level, taking place in May 1997, sees you unpacking a single room: a child’s bedroom. This is where the real beauty of Unpacking lies. Rather, this is a game about the stories contained within all those mementos: the memories that live in what’s kept, and the snapshots of someone’s life that each box represents-both in what makes the move, and what doesn’t. Unpacking takes that idea and delivers on it flawlessly, and yet, the satisfaction that comes from solving these organisational puzzles is the least memorable thing about WitchBeam’s latest outing. That’s not something you can say about the real-life equivalent. The process of finding just the right spot for every little object, piece of clothing, book, and so on is oddly soothing-especially in the context of a game, where you know there must be a solution, even if it’s not immediately apparent. The concept of a puzzle game built around moving into a new house and unpacking boxes is a neat one.
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