All I want to do is create Havoc as a terrible goose

Before last week, I had tasted video games like a vegan barbarian at a barbecue: find a cucumber here or a slice of grilled eggplant that I could taste while still leaving unsatisfied and hungry. I played Mario Kart as a child, and Dance Dance Revolution like a preteen. In high school, I played the Simsand recently I've tried to enjoy Horizons of the city. But my ability to pay attention was short, my interest always declining, my desire to be distracted by anything in order to put the controller down and never take it back, infinite. I created a story: video games were just not for me.

I've been trying for years to enjoy a video game. I understand the call. I, too, want to forget all my anxieties and my difficulties by plunging myself into another world. I, too, want an entertainment that forbids me (by the nature of its controller) to watch my phone while I do it and to scroll through a chronicle in real time of the collapse of democracy. But I had two problems: 1) I do not know how the buttons work, so each game has a huge learning curve for me. and 2) I do not like to hit or die. It makes me feel stressed and I do not like being stressed during my free time.

What I like, is to be told a story. I love a narrative arc and a fascinating main character. I like being entertained. And that's how I became a terrible, horrible, ugly and extremely bad goose.

I became the terrible goose even before the match arrived. I saw the caravan, saw this dumb goose pulling its head out of a bush and honking, and my reign of terror began.

The goose creates chaos. The goose does not care about the rules. The goose has no interest in being "responsible". No. The goose wants to slide the pint of the bar into its sharp beak and sneak it furtively into the patio and into the pub and into the street and plunge it into the canal at the abandonment. Luck wants to buy a Nintendo Switch while she does not know how to play video games and looks forward to several days to download it. Untitled goose game with total disregard for "finances" and only because she likes the way the goose rings with its beak stuck in a glass bottle: a dull horn that echoes.

Plus, things were stressful. Maybe I thought that being a goose might help.

the Untitled goose game was released on September 20th. It was created by an Australian company called House House, who kindly thanked the indigenous groups on whose lands they created the game to their credit. According to some real critics of this game, it's a "stealthy sandbox". These words mean nothing to me because I am a terrible goose.

All I want to do is drag the rake into the lake. All I want is to make sure that a lady holds a walkie talkie and then honks her and drops her off. All I want to do is walk quietly on the road while my little orange feet slap the sidewalk and then hide in a box so someone can pick me up and carry me and I can honk them and make them to run away.

It is controlled chaos; it's an acceptable catharsis; It's an opportunity to scream in the wind without fearing that someone will hear you. This year, did not you want to launch something? Have not you felt that for once only you should have anger?

The owners of rage rooms are surprised at the number of women who come to break things. I do not know any woman who would be surprised. It was a hell of a three-year period for anyone who paid attention. Yesterday, as I watched the President lie blatantly at a press conference with the American people, all I could think of to feel better was: tonight I'll pull the stool behind the old man and he will fall on his back.

The people you have hurt in the game of goose are not real. The glasses you break are magically cleaned. If you drop a bucket on someone's head, you're a jerk, of course, but you're also a goose. There are no consequences for most of the game. The worst that can happen to you is that the villagers you terrorize can prevent you from completing something on your list of chaos to do.

I felt my face smile while I was playing. The soft color palette of the goose game and the calm music made it feel like a children's book. His superficial absurdity made him silly enough for each zone to have something that is not a goal but one that is hysterical. Why not hold the sunglasses in your mouth? You're a cool goose now.

Playing the chicken game made me feel like I was raising my hands on a big hill, greeting my friend's very good dog, climbing higher up the tree than I knew, like a bar with free snacks. It was as if … joy?

Everything is fun and everything is light and everything is rancorous. Until you are suddenly in danger.

In the last part of the game, you arrive at a model of the village that you destroyed, and you destroy it too. You can do more damage now. You tear the little bench, you drop the gardener into the lake. You are goosezilla! And then, you find something precious: a beautiful gold bell. Wear the bell at home, the game tells you.

But the beautiful bell has a consequence. You must bring him back, through every house that you have terrorized. Ring your bell lightly, otherwise it will ring. Carry slowly, or you will be revealed. You must face all the people to whom you have wronged. The moral of a children's book with a twist.

"Why can not they let me have that?" I asked myself in the last act of the game, only to remind myself that I'd cut their price at their peak, and threw their bras into a fountain and tore up all the carrots in their garden even though I was not sure. I did not need it and there was no benefit involved with this behavior.

Although I liked the game from the beginning, that I had fun and that I laughed and forced my poor friends to listen to me talk about it, during this last mission, that m & # 39; He surprised. I felt deeply, intrinsically, connected to the goose. I wanted the bell to come to my house. I wanted to be left alone. I felt sad and a little scared. I was emotionally invested in the goose! It has always been, for better or for worse, what I appreciate in art: its ability to make us feel and compel us to question those feelings. Should I succeed, a terrible goose without morals?

When I finally arrived with my bell at home, I found a pit full of other bells. The memory of a goose is short. I dropped my new bell among others and I felt happily happy. During the hours that I played, I felt only happiness, only amusement, only relief. With regard to the escape media, it is as good as possible.

I look forward to honking through the bad days that the future holds for us. A terrible goose does not have the time for news or professional problems. All that a professional goose has to do is create a bit of lawlessness. City residents can view any No Goose Allowed signs they wish. I do not listen.