Mouthwashing is a Psychological, Space Horror Masterpiece – Review

Horror is a mask. Good horror, anyway. It is the thing that lies on top of true fear; it is the lens through which we communicate that fear; it is the object through which we can resolve meaning out of fear. Horror is not the fear itself — many genres dabble in fear — it is the use of fear as a tool to say something. To mean something.

Sometimes, at the juncture where good horror becomes great horror, that mask is removed. And what is underneath the mask, the message of the art, is far more hideous and terrifying than whatever fear masked it prior. There is a common adage among horror aficionados that seeing a monster is less scary than not seeing the monster; that the imagination is more potent and deadly than any monster that could be shown. This, however, is false: put simply, there are some monsters so terrifying that, when unmasked, they shake us to our core.

And Wrong Organ’s Mouthwashing, more than any other game I’ve played in a long time, understands this truth. Understands what horror is, and what it can be used to do. It is scary — oh, yes, it is scary — but it is also devastating. Terrible, in the classic sense, meaning “causing or likely to cause terror.”

I will not belabor the point: Mouthwashing is a horror masterpiece. It is a perfect example of a story that can only be told in a video game, but one that evokes all the best parts of the best horror films and books of all time. It is a thematic triumph, layered and complicated and so, incredibly upsetting both in its literal events and its larger implications. Mouthwashing is, in all likelihood, going to be my game of the year, and I want to tell you why.

0 Days Before the Crash

Like any proper space horror story, Mouthwashing begins with a reference. A blue-black sky fills the screen, small white dots representing stars flicking across it. Text appears: we learn that we are on the Tulpar, a “Pony Express Long-Haul Space Freighter” with 5 crew members. We are nearly a third of the way done with our year-long voyage.

The screen doesn’t depict the Tulpar — we never see the ship from the outside at any point — but in all other ways it replicates the original Alien movie, which used its opening moments to displace an extremely similar screen describing its spaceship, its crew amount, and its purpose. I will discuss how these references add so much to the work later, but for now, it is enough for you to know that they are there.

In the next screen, ominously plastered with the text “0 DAYS BEFORE CRASH,” you are given control. You are the captain of the Tulpar, sitting behind a wall of green screens and cockpit controls. The computer recommends for you to manually correct leftward, to avoid a piece of space debris. And, then, you are given control.

The first thing you do in Mouthwashing is kill everybody.

Or, at least, you try. Playing as Captain Curly, you manually steer rightward, toward the space debris. Then, alarms begin to flare, and you eventually use a key in order to access a big red button, overriding the ship’s autopilot, which would prevent the crash. After that point, nothing can be done. The Tulpar will crash, and everyone aboard the ship will die.

“Why, Captain Curly, Why?” is the focus of the entire game, the centerpiece question. The mask of horror that hides the truth. A truth I will not reveal in this review: go play the game.

Regardless, the next moments are just as interesting as the first. You leave the cockpit, and find yourself wondering labyrinthine halls, halls that are cramped and resemble a submarine’s. You learn just after this scene that these strange, narrow, endless halls are not actually part of the Tulpar as it is; and here we are introduced to another element that makes Mouthwashing great: what is real and what is imagined is never always a clear-cut line.

It is common for a horror game to attempt to play with unreality. To try to make the player questions what is real, and what is false. But, oftentimes, it doesn’t go beyond that. Maybe there are some cursory mentions of the word “sanity,” but in truth, it is an excuse for the developers to create more abstract, symbolic environments. And, more often than not, those symbols and what they represent are shallow, if they truly mean anything at all.

Mouthwashing takes a different approach: it is not trying to “trick” the player into questioning reality. In fact, with some thought, noticing when you’ve wandered from “reality” into a more surreal dreamscape is not too difficult. Instead, Mouthwashing uses these blurred lines to contribute to an ever-growing narrative. Because, you see, these segments of unreality, it isn’t that they didn’t happen. It’s that they did happen, from the perspective of the player character. The unreality is as authentic as reality, for all it matters. And, as you learn more about what happened — about why Curly would try to doom everyone, about the cruel circumstances that led to that decision — these unreal segments matter just as much as the real ones. It’s all a spiral down, and there are things to see, even when you close your eyes.

I’ve only described the first five minutes of Mouthwashing.

2 Months After the Crash

This review is already going off the rails — or maybe it is falling from orbit — but let’s reign it in. After a short jumpscare in the impossible hallways of the imagined ship, we cut to the future. We are introduced to four of our five main characters. Each bares some obvious similarities to classic horror movie archetypes.

Anya, taking on aspects of the Shining’s Wendy Torrance, is representative of a squeamish and insecure woman, fragile and desperate. Daisuke is a coddled, irresponsible 20-something, trying to make something of his life, but being a bit too dopey to actually manage it. And Swansea is the old curmudgeon, the heavy-drinker whose practical approach to life lets him know what’s what, and to do what has to be done. And you? You are Jimmy. Good ol’ acting captain Jimmy, whose been thrust into a role of leadership without being prepared for such an honor. Poor Jimmy.

And now, before we talk about how good these characters are — and, my god, they are great, in all the worst ways — we need to talk about references. Because Mouthwashing is packed full of them. I just mentioned how each character is a reference to a horror trope — and likely each is even a direct reference to a specific character — and how the intro to the game referenced Alien, but imagine that that persists the entire time. Visual Elements are remixed from Sunshine, the cabin-fever narrative often echoes The Thing, and several of the puzzles beg comparisons to classic games like Resident Evil or System Shock, with even graphical allusions to more modern cult horror gems like Signalis and Paratopic.

And Mouthwashing is filled with this. References to other properties — The Thing, The Shining, and Sunshine are all obvious examples, but there are countless others. At first, I thought Mouthwashing was being cheeky. Letting us know its inspirations, in the way that indie developers are often wont to do.

But I was wrong; as the game progressed, it became clear that Mouthwashing was not simply referencing these old horror classics, it was expanding on them. On their ideas. For instance: Mouthwashing does not take from Alien simply because it is, similarly, space horror. Mouthwashing, instead, engages with many of the same topics as Alien: from parasitism to corporate greed, from the hubris of man to the idea of a monster stalking the halls (though not in the way you might expect).

Mouthwashing, like much great art, builds upon that which came before. It does not see fit to simply compare itself to these other works, it is in conversation with them. It rebuts or reaffirms their points, where their messages intersect with Mouthwashing’s own. And it also uses the powerful visual language of these movies and games to accentuate and complicate its own very distinct visual language.

More on that in a moment, but for now, let’s return to our characters. They are discussing how to make due. There is enough food, power, and oxygen for another few months, so all that there is to discuss, really, is how to make due. And Jimmy, good ol’ Jimmy, suggests cracking open the cargo hold — something freighters like them are not allowed to do — in order to see if it might contain something important, like tools, parts, medicine, or even better food. I’m sure it’s nothing absolutely petrifying.

And, in this simple conversation, one where the group simply discusses a simple choice, the character’s personalities are on full display. I was able to immediately understand each character from the get-go. And, on my full playthrough (because this conversation was in the demo as well), I picked up on a few extra lines, hidden details that revealed a bit more about them. And then, replaying the conversation a final time for a second playthrough (something I just had to do right after my first playthrough; such is a demonstration of my adoration for the game), I picked up on a dozen more layers. Not just foreshadowing, either, but little tidbits of characters that can only be appreciated with full context.

Again, we are only about 7 minutes into the game. I have to move faster. We have to get to the good stuff. The stuff you came for. The horror.

Take Responsibility

At the table, discussing whether or not to open the Tulpar’s cargo hold, there was one person missing from the crew of five. Captain Curly. The cause of the accident. In the conversation, you learn that he is still alive, but he isn’t there.

You find out why at the same time as you discover the most grotesque, symbolic, and powerful single image in the game. Captain Curly, lying on a stretcher in medical. His skin has been entirely singed off, replaced with crude and wet bandages. His lips are gone, and his teeth stick portrude from their roots, painfully and horribly white against the red crust of the rest of him. And, worst of all, is the eye. The guilt-ridden, eyelidless blue eye, staring up at you with an expression that might be somewhere between “I’m sorry” and “I wish I’d succeeded.”

Because, you see, in Mouthwashing, despite Curly’s efforts, nobody died, even though he intended to kill everyone. Instead, everyone aboard the Tulpar was, to use the phrase Producer Kai Moore told me in a recent interview, “cursed to live.” Nobody gets out easily. Least of all the man responsible: Captain Curly, who has to suffer the most for the wretched actions of the ship’s chrash.

And that, that is the crux of the story. That is where it is all leading. Everything surrounds that question: “why did he do it?” And that question is answered, oh so horrifyingly answered, over the next two and a half hours. As you uncover clues as Jimmy and delve deeply into the psychology of Captain Curly, you learn — through grotesquely gorgeous use of symbolism, imagery, dialogue, and gameplay — exactly why the pilot would want everyone dead.

Is it because he realized that their year-long voyage was simply to carry a cargo hold full of meaningless, useless, mouthwash (hence the game’s title)? Is it because of friction with the crew, who he wanted vengeance on (or freedom from)? Is it because he was simply tired of the monotony, the futility of it all? Or… is there something else, something yet to be seen?

And, even more pressing, how can the man that did all this — that stranded him and his entire crew on a lifeless rock, praying for rescue — live with himself? Not that he has a choice, but, if he lives, how can he take responsibility? What even does responsibility mean, after such a deplorable action?

Playing through the game, the answer to these questions and more become increasingly complex, and increasingly interwoven with each other and with other minor themes that present themselves. Mental health, guilt, responsibility, leadership, corporate greed, the purpose of life… All of it and more, explored adeptly and in unique ways over the course of the two-and-a-half-hour swan song of the Tulpar.

And, like Wrong Organ’s previous game, How Fish is Made, the conclusions that one is forced to reach are a cause for despair. Mouthwashing was never going to be a happy story, but the turns it takes, the way it digs the knife (or axe) in to each of its themes and messages, comes off as downright sickening, in the best way. You remember when I said horror was the mask? Oh, just wait until that mask slowly comes off, to see just how nasty and wretched the truth is.

A lot of this review, thus far, has been devoted to those narrative elements. To the thematic heft that Mouthwashing swings around, to its myriad, practical references, to its characters that grow fractally as you learn more about them.

But it only gets there off the back of its presentation, something which is equally deserving of praise as its grim and powerful story.

Warning: Emergency

It is almost a shame that I haven’t already spoken more about the incredible visual achievement that is Mouthwashing. Just by looking at it, you might get the feeling that you’ve seen it before. “Oh, an indie horror game emulating PS1 and PS2-era graphics! How original!” You might, sarcastically, say. It’s a trope, in and of itself.

But, believe me when I say: there is so much more going on artistically than Mouthwashing portrays at first blush. In yet another demonstration of why art direction matters more than graphics, Mouthwashing’s visual flair is so intense, so pointed, and so damn good to look at that it should be studied in and of itself. I’ve mentioned “symbolism” a lot in this review, and essentially all of that symbolism only works because of the incredible dedication to visual power that Wrong Organ took in making Mouthwashing.

It is a rare thing to see visuals so perfectly spin so many plates. Firstly, and most immediately, the graphics obviously do harken back to games like Silent Hill and Resident Evil. But, in that visual style, they are also clearly cinematic. And I don’t just mean referentially; I mean that Wrong Organ is somehow able to turn a first-person camera set inside a PS1-era graphical world — with all the limitations that implies — into a truly cinematic piece. Lighting, color grading, imagery, symbolism, mood, walk speed, references, art styles… If I were to go into detail about everything that worked for Mouthwashing’s visuals, I’d be able to write a book. It’s actually astounding.

It’s all astounding. From the submarine-inspired hallways, to the Vegas-inspired longue; from the dreamy blood lake to the static-filled television channels; from Carpenter-esque creature designs to lovingly crafted character models. Every single detail is placed to add to the mood of the game, to serve some clear purpose.

The lighting isn’t just made dim because dim lighting is scary; it is dynamic and smartly used to communicate exactly what Mouthwashing wants to communicate. The designs of various creatures seen throughout the game aren’t just made to be spooky to look at, they are clearly designed from the top-down to both represent something more and to accentuate fears that are already present in the rest of the narrative. Even the small things, like the code-scanner’s black-light that illuminates things in a sickly green, all add to the whole.

This, of course, also extends to the audio design. The sounds in Mouthwashing are incredible, clearly showing that Wrong Organ understands that good sound makes good horror, and increases the production value of a piece of art massively (seriously, sometimes I forgot I was looking at such technically simply graphics).

And there is the moment to moment writing which, at times, touches on the poetic, and truly deserves to be mentioned as part of the artistic achievement that is Mouthwashing. Quotes from this game are going to live in my head for years to come. They are so gutting, so interesting, so thought-provoking, that there is nothing else. I mean, Swansea’s monologue near the end of the game left me shivering even on my second playthrough.

It was just that good. It’s all that good. Well, if good can be used to describe the events of Mouthwashing, that is…

0 Hours Until Judgement

And, I guess that’s it, isn’t it? It’s just that good. I can’t say much more about Mouthwashing without spoiling it — and honestly, I’ve already said too much, you should just go and play it. It is a perfect cabin fever story. It is a perfect horror game. It is a perfect exploration of guilt and responsibility. It is a perfect shipwreck-survival experience. It is a perfect character study. It is a perfect game, or at least very near to it.

The only really critique I have of the title is that there are a few segments that I’d love to be expanded upon. I’d play an entire game just dealing with mechanics like those in the vents, or those above the cargo hold (when you know, you’ll know). But, at that point, I’m just nitpicking — wishing there was even more of a perfect thing, even though its brief playtime is also another thing that makes it perfect (after all, I don’t want another Outlast situation, where a great horror game overstays its welcome). “This game’s only flaw is that there isn’t more of it.” That’s good stuff.

This is not just a game that people who like horror should play. This is not just for indie fans. This isn’t just something that artsy-fartsy, prentious “narrative gamers” (like myself) will love. No: Mouthwashing is such an incredible experience that, to be frank, you should play it. I can’t possibly do it justice just by describing what I liked about it; it is a dense, and smart, and tragic, and morbid tale that simply should be played, period.

You can (and should) pick up this masterpiece on Steam when it releases on September 26th here.

I hope this hurts.