Spiral – A Beautiful, Devastating Story, About As Stable as Its Lead’s Memory

Editor’s Note: The review code used for Spiral was sent alongside a small package containing several thematic goodies, including a sticker pack, some postcards, and a “letter from Bernard.” We believe ourselves to be objective enough to not have our opinions swayed by stickers, but believe it important to be transparent about any products received in the process of reviewing a game.

Like many people, my life would not be the same without my grandmother. Her gentle lessons helped me learn to write, and her strong encouragement helped me show it to other people. Eventually, that is what led to me becoming a professional journalist. She had many other positive traits, and taught me many other memories, but that, more than anything, is what stuck with me.

Like many people, my life would not be the same if not for dementia, which has stolen from my grandmother that which she most cherished: her memory. The last time I saw her, about a month ago, she just recognized me, but only just, and only as a child. She asked me whether I was still writing “my little stories,” and then asked if I ever finished the one about the castle. I told her I had, more than fifteen years and hundreds of memories ago.

Every time I see her, more of who she was is taken from her, and eventually, there will not be much left.

I share this story, at the front of my review of Folklore Games’ Spiral because it is the kind of thing that the developers would want me to do. When I spoke to Project Manager Jes Vallaincourt a few weeks ago at PAX West 2024, she told me that Folkore Games wants “people to play the game and then reach out… and share their story,” and that is mine.

And so, at least for now, Spiral — which sees you take control of Bernard as he relives his ever-fading memories — has achieved one of its goals. Whether it is able to reach its other goals, as a game and as a piece of art, however… Well, those are a bit more complicated.

A Short Life-Long Story

Spiral is a narrative experience. There are very brief minigames, and there are some things that could be called “mechanics,” but to fixate on the gameplay would be to do a disservice to Spiral. Instead, it bears much more resemblance to “walking simulators” (a genre I will always appreciate) or visual novels. That isn’t to imply that there isn’t action, or drama, or choices to be made, but simply that the game is slow, thoughtful, and focused primarily on its story.

And that is a good thing because the story that Spiral tells — soft, gentle, mundane — is worth every bit of effort that went into it. It’s heart-wrenching, it’s moving, and it’s smart. I could come up with a thousand more adjectives — and Bernard, the main character and writer — probably could as well, but it is better to describe things. “Show, don’t tell,” after all.

First of all, it should be noted that, despite Bernard suffering from some kind of progressive mental disorder that impacts his memories (Alzheimer’s and dementia being the obvious touchstones), Spiral is not about those disorders. Unlike similar games — “That Dragon, Cancer” comes to mind — the medical realities and actual symptoms of the disease from which Bernard suffers take a back seat to the story being told. Bernard, as a character, suffers with memory loss, but the story is not really about memory loss.

With that out of that… What is the story about? Well, this might sound pretentious, but it is about life. It is about Bernard’s life, specifically. Jes, in our interview, told me that players will “remember for Bernard,” and I see what she means now, having completed the entire, moving experience.

The story of Spiral is told through vignettes — short gameplay sequences (with transitions featuring an ethereal, spiral staircase) that see Bernard recall his most precious and important memories, roughly in order of when they occured during his life, beginning with his childhood.

At the beginning of the game, for the first two or so chapters, Bernard remembers these events with decent clarity. He recalls a time when his dog, Elfie, ran off, and him and his mother had to track her down. He recalls playing “C&C” (the game’s version of Dungeons & Dragons) with his three closest friends. He recalls fishing and making chairs with his father.

There are some very slight pacing issues with how long the beginning of the game is, and just how many of the memories shown during the game take place during Bernard’s childhood (his adulthood takes up a much smaller percentage of the memories, curtailing Bernard’s story by about 40 years). But, despite that, those memories are important, impactful, and curious, and the choice to focus on them was smart for Folklore Games’, allowing them to highlight Bernard’s most important, most defining, and most life-long connections.

And, for those first two chapters, while Bernard’s memory is still intact, the game is… Interesting. It moves fairly slowly, and there isn’t much happening — either narratively or in the gameplay — to really keep players engaged, except for the promise on the tin: that, in this story, Bernard will forget.

Remembering For Bernard

And it is that lingering threat, which begins to pay off in earnest during the third chapter, that makes those early, slice-of-life segments worthwhile. Because you can see Bernard forge his relationships, you can watch him as he gets closer and closer to those he loves, knowing that, inevitably, that will be lost.

Eventually, by the end of the game, every beautiful thing you see will be forgotten…

And so, the question remains, what is left, after everything else goes? What remains, when Bernard forgets his sister’s name, and then her existence. What remains, when Bernard can no longer recall the words to the story his father used to tell him, nor even when his father died. What remains, when Bernard can no longer remember the nature of the object that you know he had since childhood?

What remains? That is the question. And, wow, does the final chapter of Spiral deliver an answer. Long after Bernard has played his last game of C&C and has said goodbye to those he loved, the game gives an answer — one that I would be remiss to spoil — that fully earns every single moment that came before it. That beautifully sums up the journey that Bernard went on, both during his life, and during his spiral out of it.

I would say more, but I dare not take that catharsis from those who would benefit most from Spiral. So, instead, I’ll say this about Spiral’s story: if you know someone who has suffered or is suffering from Alzheimer’s, put this in your cart on Steam right now. Wait to buy it — I have a lot of caveats, coming up next — but get it there. Tempt yourself, and see if that wanes by the end of the review.

If all the negatives I’m about to tell you don’t end up dissuading you, however, don’t waste any time: buy the game. Spiral’s story is just that strong, is just that moving.

Spiraling Out Of Control

But all is not well, and I don’t just mean with Bernard. Because, and I really hate to say this, Spiral might be one of the most unstable games I’ve played in the last five years. I played Creatures of Ava a bit over a month ago, and chastized that game for its myriad issues, and this game — which is, by all accounts, simpler — is worse.

First of all, Spiral was plagued, for me, by crashes, graphical errors, and extremely fiddly interactions (the kind that don’t feel intentional). The feel of playing Spiral — when I’m not emotionally gutted by its story — is akin to how I imagine it would feel like to live within a toothpick house. Like any small shift will simply break the whole thing.

The worst of these breakages were the softlocks. There were numerous segments that I had to replay (and thank goodness the checkpoint system is at least a little robust in Spiral) upwards of ten times because a prompt that should’ve appeared simply… didn’t. The first time this happened, in a library during the first chapter of the game, I had retrieved a key to a locked gate and stood, dumbfounded, in front of it for five minutes, mashing every button trying to get the gate to open. And then I did it again. And again.

Eventually, I found someone on YouTube playing the game, and having no issue with the lock, and so I reopened the game and — after trying to restart once and finding myself softlocked in a different, earlier memory — found that it just… suddenly started working.

That was the first, but not the last, time I had to close and reopen the game, replaying several minutes worth of dialogue each time, to get the game to understand that I’d passed a trigger and should be allowed to progress. Spiral, for all its narrative and aesthetic (we are getting to that) high points, sure does feel like it was put together in the same way that Luna put together her C&C dungeons — with cardboard and tape.

Thankfully for Spiral, the story and visuals are strong enough to make up — somewhat — for the ramshackle nature of the game, but I really think this game could’ve gotten above a 9 from me if it just worked right. Even understanding the realities of indie game development, I have to acknowledge that Spiral is, frankly, in an unpolished and unfinished state, and I hope to be able to report on massive bug fixes soon.

Taking a Breather at the End of the World

Thankfully, what kept me from losing my temper after replaying the same, slow gameplay for the dozenth time was the absolute visual splendor that erupts out of Spiral’s bittersweet tale. That is to say: Spiral is beautiful.

No one will ever say that Spiral is one of the most graphically impressive games ever made. Far from it. Character models, lighting, and textures are all, by any technical metric, dated, to say the least.

But, in a perfect demonstration of the difference between art direction and graphics, Spiral didn’t need any of that to visually (and occasionally audibly) floor me. I will be dreaming bittersweet dreams in pastel pinks and blues thanks to this game, and that is a wonderful thing.

The visual language of Spiral is dreamlike, almost Seussian (as in, yes, Dr. Suess). Vibrant pastels, uneven lines, and creative flair define every part of Spiral’s world, from its multicolored trees to its endless, blue void. Scenes are color matched, reminding me of a mood board, and character designs are exaggerated in such a way as to accentuate their personalities, making the lovable characters just that much more memorable (and that much more tragic when they are forgotten). And, as the tone shifts in the game, so does the art: the chromatic, many-colored haze of early childhood fades into the kind of cerulean hues that remind me of a late-night jazz club during blues hour.

But now I’m getting poetic. Let’s change subjects.

Also of note is the game’s excellent music accompaniment that, while not as varied as I’d like, services these changes in mood well. There aren’t any “stand-out” tracks, but the discordant, soft melodies that most often accompany Bernard on his journeys do manage to get done what they need to: to make sure that the player’s emotions are heightened during important moments.

And, of course, it would be ridiculous of me to neglect mentioning the voice acting work, which is universally somewhere between “good” and “fantastic”. Michael Drew as Bernard himself is magnetic in the role, delivering a heartfelt performance for the entirety of the game. The other actors are not weak themselves, though they do struggle to compare. Some minor audio issues (mostly to do with sound balancing and dialogue timing) do occasionally let them down, but overall the voice acting adds quite a bit to the game.

There’s Always An End

But, alas, here we come, to the bottom of the Spiral. To the end of the road, or maybe the start of the tracks (you’ll have to play to see what I mean). And, here at the threshold of our time together, I’m conflicted.

On one hand, Spiral is a gorgeous game, and one that has an incredibly moving story that really deserves to be shared. The tale it tells — one which could only be told in a video game — is potent and important, and witnessing Bernard’s story through his lovingly hand-crafted life is something I’ll never forget (or, at least, should hope not).

On the other hand, I cannot ignore the technical issues with the game, nor can I really excuse how those technical issues exacerbate Spiral’s general slowness. While I can overlook a lot of jank, replaying the same memory, with the same dialogue, walking at the same glacial speed… Well, Spiral being an indie game can only excuse so much… To say nothing of the many other unpolished and glitchy things I encountered.

And so, I’m left with unsatisfied, and forced to doom Spiral to a mediocre “better than 7, worse than 8” score. Not because the story that Spiral tells isn’t worth a much higher score and much more appreciation (and it really, really is), but because the nature of scoring a video game means that I can’t just ignore the “game” parts when they don’t work right.

As a piece of art, Spiral is fantastic. As a game, it is unfinished. And so, I hope this review reflects that.

If you previously, at my suggestion, put Spiral in your cart, ask yourself now if you can take that frustration that will come from the game’s instability. If you can, it will be worth every penny. If you can’t, take it out for now and hope to see the words “Major Update” next time you come across it.

In either case, I leave you with this:

Though our memories may one day fade, the person we become, shaped by those memories, never truly leaves, even after we are gone.

But I’ve gone on long enough. On September 21st, the day after Spiral is released and this review goes live, it will be World Alzheimer’s Day. And so, I have to go give my grandmother a call. If you know anyone suffering like her, or like Bernard, I think you should, too.