Oh what a feeling, monster guts on the ceiling
Time to have a gander at Still Wakes the Deep today, can't really think of what to write in terms of an introduction and even with copious editing, this post wound up a damnsight longer than I initially thought it'd be (at one point, I checked the word count and it was 6666 - hail Satan and then some!) and even during that proof-reading and tidying process, I still had other Thoughts and Feelings to add, so there's a chance this post may yet change in future, with further mind-marinating odds and ends, or it might just remain as is, like a fossilised little cosmic horrorette... (that should be a word. Get it in the OED. Horrorette: a tiny little horror, small enough to fit in the palm of the average person's hand.) So before this post gets any further out of control, let's get to it.
This game opens with a lovely example of brisk and efficient storytelling; we start off with a letter from a beleaguered and exhausted Suze, expressing her frustration and the strain on her relationship with her husband, and that the kids have made their dad a Christmas card. This is read out over the bleak waves of the North Sea, before it's revealed that the letter is in the hands of our protagonist; roughest of all known diamonds, hot-headed but kind-hearted in equal measure, Cameron McLeary, who is reading it in his cabin on an oil rig. Briefly processing what he's just read, he's brought crashing back down to earth by a stark warning from just outside his door: Go get your breakfast or someone will make off with it. With that in mind, it's up and away we go.
From here, we're introduced to our co-workers in a pleasing and natural way, first having a quick lark with Finlay, who is my personal favourite among the crew - she's blunt but amiable, compassionate and practically-minded - and she subsequently cadges a lighter off Caz. In the canteen, we get chatting over the scran, and we get a good feel for the camaraderie, banter and in some cases, the tensions on the Beira D. Raffs is anxious about his first dive and Brodie (who I also have a big soft spot for), while well-intentioned, is not having much success with calming the lad down. Trots is trying and failing to rally the troops into action against Cadal over the shit working conditions, Addair (some knuckle-dragging gobshite who never psychologically matured beyond secondary school) is appropriately tucked away on his todd at the back and Roy, Caz's mate from the mainland and a delightfully avuncular chap, is attending to the vitally important task of rustling up the nosh. During their brief exchange, it's revealed that Trots has put Roy's insulin in his cabin for him, and that Caz is in some kind of trouble with the manager, Rennick.
If you fancy exploring the cabins and the lounge on your way, then you're also offered some more subtle cues on the characters, which is a lovely touch. The items in their rooms immediately give you an impression of them, such as Trots' digs being crisply organised, containing old, well-worn books, workers' union flyers and a notice of strike action ready to send to the higher-ups; he's chronically exasperated but his heart's in the right place, he's in a bloody big tangle because he cares. Gibbo and Dobbie have a cute little psychedelic crash pad set up (space reserved for obligatory out-of-tune rendition of Sunshine of Your Love here...), with a lovely Aztec-style rug and a few '70s computer mags strewn around to boot. On the jukebox request list, we get a feel for the crew's musical tastes; most notably, Finlay wants I'm Not in Love by 10CC (a good choice!), Caz is appropriately after Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen and someone's requested D.IV.O.R.C.E, although there's no clarification on whether that's the Tammy Wynette song, Sheb Wooley's parody, or Billy Connolly's version.
Oh yes, and in the shower room, there's some geezer with his arse out, apparently having the longest and most luxurious shower known to mankind, whistling Christmas carols. A lot of these seemingly innocuous interactions are quietly setting up points in the narrative that become much more important later on; there's some really delicious attention to detail here that continues throughout. These interactions and bits of set dressing (and the bare-arsed whistler) also do a great job of setting a scene of casual normality, which of course, is completely turned on its head just a short while later; that contrast is made all the more effective by this rather cosy introduction.
The horror starts earlier, and more subtly than you might expect, as we have the opportunity to inspect the notice board in the canteen and man alive, there is some frightening shit up there (FLUFFY. MACKEREL. PUDDING. NO. WRONG.) Caz, however, seems to be unperturbed by the murder-food on display; indeed he is quite enticed by leftovers, and the promise of neeps and tatties. In the interest of balance, when we're scouting about in the lounge, there's a mention of lorne sausage at breakfast time (ooh!), shepherd's pie igloo (a fantastic concept) and of course, the classic, fish 'n' chips... I did not expect to be talking quite so much about food in relation to a game that involves so much sentient monstrous viscera, but 'ere we are.
Rennick is a cunt, but he's a pretty funny cunt at times.
Making our way up to the manager's office, we see why McLeary is in quite such hot water, being pursued by the rozzers, who have tracked him down after he's fled from the mainland. Rennick is a very true-to-life, power-tripping, self-ordained "iron fist" type, who inevitably reveals himself to be a spineless, self-serving milksop deep down, but we're getting ahead of ourselves with this character assassination 'ere.
In the wake of this little war of words, Mr McLeary gets his marching orders, makes his way to the helipad and the flow of events is suddenly interrupted by a thunderous explosion which rocks the oil rig. Admittedly it's a little bit difficult to make out precisely what transpires in the next few seconds (eyesight problems again, so your mileage may vary) but the upshot is another one of the workers, Gregor, has lost his balance, fallen over the edge and is struggling to maintain his grip on the railings. Caz rushes over to rescue him, another crash rattles the oil rig a second time and a fair swathe of the crew, these two included, are sent tumbling into the ocean.
The way the story builds up to this point where it fully pitches into the horror side of things is really well done. The workers on the rig had their complaints about the state of the place and subsequent issues with the machinery, but none of them saw this coming. Even though most players would likely at least have some inkling of what's going on ahead of time, the way this scene plays out succeeds in making it an impactful moment for the audience, with the everyday tensions suddenly turning into something considerably more sinister.
Roy's heroic stance here though. He is such a treasure.
Following a brief interlude where we see a bit of history between Caz, Roy and Suze (and a belter bit about a missing cake that properly made me laugh), our man gradually comes to his senses. In a series of hazy scenes, we see him being rescued by Brodie and Douglas, noting that he has hypothermia after falling into the ocean, and as we resume control, we see he's been left to recover by one of those bloody lethal old gas heaters while they get off to attend to other concerns and check on other survivors. Upon heading outside, it's immediately evident that something is seriously wrong. Brodie is examining the diving bell with Raffs seemingly trapped inside, and the structure is swaying wildly, with thumping and screaming coming from within. For now, we're left to work out what's going on in there under our own steam, as we're sent on our way to Engineering.
Heading under the rig, we have our first encounter with the Siren, and it's given appropriate gravity with a brief cutscene and a harsh, eerie musical cue (sounds like a mix of orchestral and synth sounds, with a vintage dystopian sci-fi kind of tone), as Caz takes it in seemingly with a mixture of horror and some degree of fascination; his gaze is drawn first to the creature wreathing around the drill that disturbed its slumber, then to the sea below, where the swirling mass came from. He doesn't have long to consider this, though, as his attention is diverted by Douglas, who warns him to come away from it and get his arse indoors, pronto. In this section here, we also have our first encounter with the traversal mechanics in this game and look, this is a tropey-arse joke but I'm making it anyway: This is where the real terror begins. There, I said it, now let's get on...
In terms of its strengths, this game builds on the mechanics of Dear Esther and Everybody's Gone to the Rapture, feeling familiar in terms of being relatively minimalist and focussing on the story, but the stealth and traversal mechanics add an element of challenge and freshen things up a bit. This time it's more linear though, and much as I normally enjoy exploring in video games, I appreciate having a clear path to follow in this specific setting. If the player had the freedom to just go on their jollies around the oil rig, it would seriously dampen the tension, the pacing would be absolutely snookered and navigation would be a colossal pain in the arse. One of the reasons why this game works so well, to my mind, is because it's so tightly focussed and it wouldn't have the same impact if it was more loosely structured.
Now, onto the hairier bits. For starters, the climbing and jumping sections here are the bane of my fucking existence. Granted, I may be somewhat biased, having quite severe acrophobia, but look, I can respect when horror games play on that because indeed, they are meant to be scary, and yes, this game also does a bastard/brilliant job of using precarious heights to create tension as well. The issues here are that the physics feel ever so slightly too slippery, and the run-jump-grab mechanic is a sodding nuisance, like every so often, it'll just have a lovely little duvet day, resulting in an entirely preventable death. Honestly. That said, Caz yelling "OH FER FUCKSAKE!!!" before carking it is pretty funny, so that takes the edge off a little bit.
Likewise, getting about underwater leaves me with mixed feelings. To clarify, I love swimming in video games; for the most part, it's calming and liberating but when it's put to work in horror games, being underwater creates a particular kind of tension and vulnerability that is just superbly effective. Here, the hazy aesthetic and weighty feel of the physics add a lot to the atmosphere and in that regard, I do like the underwater sections. However, navigating with poor visibility, in a labyrinthine setting where it's far too easy to get turned around, or sometimes just impossible to see where you're going in the first place, can get frustrating in quite short order. I'm a patient person who appreciates a challenge, but one section in particular wound up being a "Tomorrow Alex Problem", as you're in pitch darkness in rising water, the yellow bars that indicate where you're meant to go quickly become damn near impossible to spot once the water rises and if you want to catch a glimpse of them before you're submerged again, you need to swim like a striped dolphin on speed. Screw that up and you're plunked back at the beginning of the section, doing it over from the beginning until you either manage to do it without dying or just quit for the night. It's just a bit much, especially on a first playthrough. These issues only become more apparent later on, when you make your way through the flooded Engineering section, and navigation feels like more luck than judgement, even the second time 'round. Grumbling aside, however, I do appreciate the additional mechanics here; it brings variety to the game without it cluttering it up.
Our initial forays through the Under Rig and Engineering sections act as a brief tutorial for getting about and interacting with the environment, which is nicely woven into the story without interrupting the flow. It also gives us some time to prepare for dealing with our first monster encounter, as we hear plenty of thundering and howling before Finlay very firmly warns us to watch out for Gibbo, and this brings us neatly onto our next line of enquiry...
So, the monster guts. How does this stuff work? Is it alive? Does it possess sentience and knowledge or is it driven purely by an instinct to assimilate everything it comes across? How do the roving monsters relate to the main body of the Siren? I like the fact that these questions aren't fully answered in-game; we're left to mull it over for ourselves, which is quite refreshing. In the narrative, it makes sense that the people on the rig aren't arsed about understanding the nature of the beast; their main priorities are escaping and surviving.
From what information we do get in-game, it looks as though the degree to which the creature takes over, psychologically at least, vacillates. Finlay mentions that after the initial explosion, Gibbo immediately attacked her, presumably under the influence of the Siren, creating a sudden overwhelming urge to assimilate more lifeforms. Later on, Caz mentions that there's still something of the victims in there, and the subtext in his remark there is that everyone needs to keep their guard up, particularly as he indeed has a very fucking close brush with death when he momentarily tries to comfort O'Connor, who is crying and calling out for his wife and is still crying even when he's attacking Caz. The implications there are just plain harrowing on both fronts, the victims being aware of what's happening, posing a danger to the people they'd been chatting with earlier that same day, being powerless to do anything to stop it. For the survivors, it's entirely understandable that they might be swayed by the sound of a familiar voice, especially if they're panicking and not thinking clearly, but being taken in would mean death and likewise, there's nothing they can do to help when someone's been taken by the creature. It's an absolutely brutal situation.
We also hear Muir at one point, plainly expressing his frustrations about the job as if everything's still entirely normal and that he "just wants someone to help." This feels like the entity could be using these impressions from the thoughts and personalities of the people it's assimilated in order to try to deceive more potential victims. It could even be a bit of both, as the mind of the victim and the influence of the Siren are at odds with each other, vying for control, and this ambiguity works well. We're dealing with an unknown being here; having clean-cut answers about the creature would lessen its impact immensely.
The Siren, specifically in the sense of the swirling, pulsating fins, also seems to rely on some disarming manipulation of its own, tapping into the memories of people who are nearby and exploiting their feelings of affection for their families back home. We see this on several occasions throughout the story, as Caz relives conversations with Suze when he's close to it and later on, Finlay says that she can hear her son singing. This suggests that the creature might be trying to draw victims in willingly, rather like the Sirens of Greek mythology, drawing sailors to their deaths. The monsters are a more active way to capture victims, and the main body acts in a more... well, this isn't quite the word, but it's the nearest term I can think of to get the point across, benign fashion. If you want to look at it charitably, the way this creature behaves might not necessarily feel actively malicious, so much as something that is incompatible with humanity, automatically doing what it needs to do in order to survive, with horrific consequences.
Back to Gibbo, when we encounter him, it's pretty bloody chilling. We hear a scuffle and some shouting nearby; it's hard to work out precisely what is being said but whatever has happened, it doesn't sound encouraging. His outbursts at first are incoherent and a bit baffling, and the way Caz responds to him, keeping a calm tone and choosing his words carefully, as if he's trying to appease the creature, adds to the surreal feeling of the encounter. After a short while, we find out that Gibbo's killed Douglas, he's completely aware of this and is deeply distraught about it, saying that it "wasn't his fault" and that he "keeps seeing his face." Even though he's patrolling the area as a horrendously distorted beast, looking for more victims, at the same time he's calling out warnings not to look at him and to keep away. It's another example of how the tightly woven storytelling works here, where we see this harrowing internal conflict going on, and all we can do is put our own safety first and just leave, because trying to do anything about it would be lethal, and would probably wind up putting others in danger as well.
Even when there are Horrors on the loose, there's still time for banter.
Not all of the monster wrangling here is of a tragic bent though, as we have the aforementioned tosspots, Rennick and Addair, to deal with. These two act as a counterbalance, giving us a different kind of release, with something to rally against and some victory! moments to enjoy. They maintain the tension in terms of survival, but they take the edge off in the emotional sense. Admittedly, having a dark sense of humour, the way the cats-yowling-at-3am-style conflict between Caz and Addair plays out gave me some good laughs, particularly when you distract the creature and Caz will be grumbling things like "Go have a look, there's a good little cunt." Brilliant stuff.
Relatable priorities.
As you'd expect from any horror game worth its salt, there are also quieter moments that ease the tension. This gives the player a break for a bit, so we don't get burnt out, and the more dramatic moments have room to breathe, which heightens their impact. The camaraderie we saw at the beginning continues throughout, now taking on a different shade, as a way for the survivors to cope with this stressful and confusing situation, having these little moments of normality, like coming up for air. There is some brilliant gallows humour in this game, which is a fantastic way to cut through the oppressive mood from time to time, without completely derailing the tone of the story.
Checking in with Roy gives us one such break; he's delightfully down-to-earth and a pleasantly stodgy sort of bloke, completely in contrast to the strangeness and encounters with the unknown going on outside. He and Caz have a bit of friendly back-and-forth in the galley, but there's still pressure there. It's too dangerous for him to go and retrieve his insulin, he's struggling without it, and there's the issue of escape. On an emotional level, there's no question about it: we need to rescue Roy; he's been a friend of the family for years; beloved godfather to Caz's daughters; he's not being left behind. Man, who would even think of abandoning that absolute earth angel?! But on a practical level, Roy brings up the elephant in the room: It's a desperate situation; he's not in a fit state to traverse a partly-destroyed oil rig or run from monsters; there's a risk that, even with our good intentions, we might have no choice but to leave him behind.
Brodie has the absolute patience of a saint, no-nonsense but pragmatic, always focussing on the practicality of the matter. The composure on that chap is just plain inspirational.
Continuing the theme of conversation, phones are scattered throughout the game. In most instances, they're knitted into the story and nudge Caz onto his next objective, but other calls are optional and they become increasingly surreal and unsettling as the game goes on. Where at first we have conversations with other workers attempting to co-ordinate their escape from the oil rig, later on these calls reflect Caz's memories of home. This sheds more light on his background for the audience, as well as bolstering the psychological threat posed by the creature, and suggesting that our man there could well be reflecting on his past mistakes that led him to this hopeless situation in the first place.
On a lighter note, depending on your outlook, we're treated to a lovely exchange with a chap called Davros, and he has something to say about the lifeboats...
That genuinely made me laugh. A lot. I appreciate that he is presumably fighting to make himself heard over the crashing of the waves and the creaking oil rig and all the rest of it, but after Caz answers the phone in such a sedate fashion, Davros absolutely roaring on the other end of the line just completely threw me. 10/10, no notes.
Regarding the lifeboats and the helicopter for that matter, this is an interesting moment in relation to the familiar trappings of cosmic horror. Granted, I'm not super well-versed in this genre; we're talking a few William Hope Hodgson novels; Forbidden Siren (compelling story, fantastic atmosphere, really creative use of game mechanics, but so difficult as to be borderline unplayable) and The Sinking City (absolutely brilliant storytelling, I love it, go check it out), but a common thread here is that the creature or supernatural force exerts some kind of influence, which makes the surrounding area inescapable. The people within this sphere of influence are seemingly unaware of that fact and in some cases, they have an escape route planned, but right at the last moment, something, whether a physical disaster or a psychological impulse, will sack off their efforts, and it feels like that might be the subtext here as well.
When the lifeboat collapses into the sea, the automatic assumption from the crew is that it's shit construction on the oil rig, and that is the logical place where your mind would go in that situation, cosmic horror or no. Things get more sinister when Rennick tries to make off in the helicopter, though. He starts out with a perfunctory effort in summoning the workers to the helipad, but gets a bug up his arse and decides to make tracks before anyone can get there. This backfires when the bird takes off, though; at first, it disappears into the distance, only to come careening back moments later, swinging at a concerning angle and crashing into the oil rig. I double-checked there, and nothing visible seems to fling the helicopter off course, which is where this interpretation is coming from.
We don't have to wait that long to find out what became of fuckin' Johnnie Cope there following this crash, as of course, his grotty face turns up (somehow even more red than before) in the corridors of the rig, with a genuinely frightening chase ensuing. On this one occasion, I'll let the chase sequences slide because they mix things up a bit, giving us some sections with more urgent pacing and in a stunning turn of events, one such chase is actually one of the most bangin' moments in the game (!!!), but we'll get to that in a minute. It's during these moments that the self-proclaimed "king" wears his true colours; he starts out yelling some (frankly a bit cartoonish) threats but later on, when he realises his goose is cooked, then he reveals just how desperate he is and tries to exploit our protagonist's better nature, calling out things like "Don't let me die here." Well, tough shit, pal. Rest in piss, Rennick, you claggy-arse twat.
It's interesting how the individual monsters can be killed, which makes me wonder if this represents the limits of the Siren's strength, or if the monsters themselves, while being assimilated, still possess some degree of functional human anatomy which in turn, leaves them with some kind of Achilles' Heel. In Rennick's case, he dies by drowning, so logically, he must at least have functional lungs. That said, as John Cooper Clarke put it, "If he can just piss all over the opposition, there's no dramatic tension"*, and that same logic absolutely makes sense here; the balance there gives the audience some feeling of hope that the Siren can be dealt with, but it still got me thinking.
* - That's from a whole tangent about how to kill Dracula which was absolutely hilarious but it tragically disappeared off Youtube years ago. If anyone has a recording of it, please do upload it, I would be eternally grateful.
Now: the other chase sequence. The pièce de résistance. Fucking hell, this bit is a belter. So, after a tense stealth section in a tight, squirrelly area with Addair patrolling in uncomfortable proximity the entire time, we sneak out to relight the flare stack under Brodie's instruction, up on a partly damaged metal structure, at horrifying height above the ocean, and that in itself is nerve-wracking enough, really. Proceedings become particularly hairy when the creature comes after Caz and what ensues is a bloody intense chase, scrambling over damaged parts of the structure, breaking a padlock off a gate in full knowledge that there's a monster hot on our heels, and astonishingly, in a gorgeous comedic moment, some raw banter. Addair is still giving it his schoolyard bully routine and Caz gives him a proper bollocking, as if it's just a normal day on the job and he's chastising his co-worker for getting in the way of him doing his job; it is fucking fantastic. The upshot of this is that Addair winds up being set on fire and has a bit of a tizzie-tantrum before plunging into the sea, after which the tower starts collapsing, leaving Caz to make a mad dash back. This fails at the last moment, as the structure gives up the ghost while he's still on it, bringing a suitably dramatic end to this deliciously spicy scene.
It's during this scene that we get confirmation as to what happened with poor Raffs as well. Granted, it didn't take much mental gymnastics to work that out anyway, but out here, we can look down to see the diving bell knocked over, and what remains of Raffs with tentacles shooting about, mindlessly reaching for more victims. It's another nice bit of attention to detail there, not immediately giving an answer to the audience, and so much happens in between that you could quite easily forget about this whole plot point, but it's still addressed for those who held it in mind.
The dream team!
Getting back into the rig, we convene with Brodie and Finlay, and we hear from a desperate Roy, who has fled to the roof after it was no longer safe to stay in the galley. Brodie takes a bit of convincing but between them, Finlay and Caz appeal to his softer side, and we're off to the rescue. On the way there, things become more outwardly surreal in terms of visual and audio cues, again leaning into the trappings of cosmic horror. Once again making our way back through Accommodation which is now flooded and increasingly encroached upon and distorted by the fleshy masses, it feels as though being in proximity to the creature for an extended length of time could be affecting Caz's senses. We have the clearer cues mentioned earlier, in terms of hearing Suze's voice, and seeing more of Caz's memories; on a more subtle level, when looking out of certain windows, where you'd expect to see rainwater and views across the rig or the sea, we can see an endless string of windows, swaying back and forth, with the blue light of the Siren shining through them. It's really subtle in how it's done, easy to miss, but it's bloody unnerving.
We have more monster encounters here, coming across the tragic remains of the bare-arsed whistler where else, but in the showers (Goodnight, sweet prince. He died doing what he loved: hogging all the hot water) and narrowly avoiding Trots who is patrolling the area and again, seems to be vacillating as to who or what is running the show psychologically. We don't have much time to contemplate that in the moment though, as we're in a hurry both for Roy's sake, and due to being pursued through the tight corridors and the claustrophobic remains of the flooded cabins. The environment during this part of the game has a much more melancholy atmosphere now than it did at the beginning, and on a second playthrough, it feels a lot like foreshadowing the desperation and hopelessness of the situation, as we know how it ends and what it's all building towards. We carry on pushing forward because it's the only choice we have, but the odds are insurmountable, and that is reflected in our surroundings as we navigate the wreckage, which has an additional feeling of emotional weight to it the second time 'round.
During quieter moments, when we see parts of the Siren, there are a lot of these visuals that tread a line between being grotesque and beautiful. The lighting effects and water webbing surrounding the creature are strangely appealing.
Unfortunately, when we reach Roy, we're too late. Like a lot of the other seeds that were planted in the beginning of the game, it felt like a bit of light set-dressing at first, then it's been in the background this entire time that Roy needed his insulin, we even pick it up on the way, after a brief chase leads us through his cabin and gives us this little glimmer of hope. Still, with one thing and another, we weren't able to get there in time, he died before Caz could reach him and our detour, while well intentioned, was all for nothing. The voice acting throughout this game is excellent but it must be said, in this scene in particular, it's done to perfection. We've dealt with a lot of loss so far and while that is upsetting, there's previously been a degree of distance there that lets us... well, there's no 'nice' way to put this, but we've mostly shrugged that off up to this point. Especially if you've played a lot of survival horror games previously, then you can wind up getting a bit used to supporting characters just being cannon fodder, for lack of more sensitive phrasing. Losing Roy, however, is genuinely heartbreaking and we're given the time to sit with this, as Caz expresses his grief, on his own in the cabin, with the rain lashing down and the indifferent creature looming outside. The following phone call is similarly impactful; Caz's hesitation on the phone, how Finlay expresses her concern in an initially bluff way and offers to give Roy a telling off if he's causing a fuss, but clearly knowing that something is wrong under the surface, it feels completely natural and it's all the more emotional for it.
What follows here is, as mentioned previously, some harrowing work at heights. The monsters and stealth ease off for a while, as we make our way over precarious, crumbling structures, some of which sway back and forth in a vicious storm, needing us to time our jumps very carefully. Aside from the nerve-wracking aspect of navigating the distorted metal bars and girders, this section feels like it reflects the situation Caz is in at this point, absolutely reeling but being forced to progress regardless. The choices in setting design and mechanics here feel appropriate to underline the previous scene with something that serves as a quiet moment, but also maintaining tension. Taking a wider scope for a moment, this section could also be interpreted as reflecting the way life carries on after we've lost someone, and how precarious and isolating that can feel, as we have no choice but the get through the day despite feeling completely unmoored. These scenes aren't easily digestible by any means, but they strike a relatable chord that feels very cathartic.
Our next destination is Marine Control, at this point the monster encounters return and this is put to work to sublime effect. We have Roper in here, in close proximity, partly assimilated by the creature, and we have to go into this room on several occasions to get advice on how to handle the controls from Finlay. All the previous encounters with the monsters during the game have drummed it into us that we have to bloody stay away but here, if we're to continue, we need to get uncomfortably close, repeatedly so. On my first playthrough, this part was absolutely diabolical to get through, the entire time half-expecting to be jumped at any given moment. In order to activate the console, we have to retrieve a key from Roper's hand. Getting right up close to the creature in the process. Now, I don't know if you're pursued after this happens, frankly I didn't want to find out, but while attending to the computer, I did memorise the location of the nearest exit, and had Caz absolutely shift it out of there as quickly as humanly possible. It's a good thing that geezer can get a decent hop on, really. On this occasion, our man there is in a hurry, and I respect that.
Shortly after flooding the pontoon in order to float the rig, we have our final encounter with Rennick, as covered previously, and rather more pressing, we have one last phone call, with our moment of victory just moments prior turning sour. Here, we have to say goodbye to Brodie - he's trapped in the pontoon with no hope of escape, but being a treasure to the end, he still doesn't want the others to worry. He tries to comfort them, sharing his memories of home, with the beautiful water surrounding the Isle of Skye, and coaxes a brittle attempt at levity out of Caz while Finlay sits in silence, barely keeping it together. I don't say this lightly, the whole scene is just fucking devastating. It effectively sums up what exactly is so charming and engaging about Brodie's character; this whole time he's been acting as den-father to the others, taking a role of firm but fair leadership. He's been offering encouragement, understanding that they're stressed, allowing them to blow off steam without judgement but still co-ordinating and doing his best to keep them focussed. Even when he's facing death, the wellbeing of his friends is still his priority and he's seeking a silver lining in this bleak situation.
As this goes on, Finlay is also grappling with a deeply troubling realisation. In the panic and chaos after the explosion, everyone's minds immediately went to survival and escape, trying to get the workers off the rig and heading for safety. That's understandable, but this leaves the matter of the creature unattended; if they were to escape, the creature would still be there, and the implications of it reaching the mainland really don't bear thinking about. Caz is initially perturbed, thinking that Finlay is being irrational and a chase ensues; he's determined to stop her but as the rig continues to crumble and collapse around them, the two of them are brought to a halt as debris falls, Finlay is fatally injured and before she passes, she convinces Caz to see reason. There's too much at stake, the creature needs to be eradicated, and the only way they can realistically do that, with what they have available to them, is to drop the lighter into the gas and oil, blowing the rig, and the beast, to oblivion.
Reaching the end, it comes full circle in a lot of ways, making our way down to the drill where all of this horror started, getting the lighter back from Finlay, accepting the reality of the situation and putting a stop to it. Caz, completely surrounded by the swirling mass of the Siren, comments that "We never had a chance" and one of the last prompts we're given, after igniting the lighter, is "Let go," eerily echoing Brodie's last words. Even if they were all physically separated, Caz, Finlay and Brodie were together there, at least symbolically, in the end. It's beautifully done, and a really cathartic conclusion to the story. The whole struggle wound up being hopeless for the crew of the Beira D but this last effort at least secured a future for their families, and for the rest of humanity.
After the explosion, we have a brief scene of Caz's final reflections. While he was never able to physically go home, he does have one last moment in his flat to say goodbye to his wife, before leaving. In the beginning, when he stepped out of this door, he was running from the consequences of his actions but here, going through that same door, he steps out into the vast emptiness of the North Sea, where his story comes to an end.
As Suze's letter opened the game, she also has the last word, having a change of heart from when she wrote her previous letter, and reassuring Caz that no matter what happens, she'll stand by him. It's refreshing to see this kind of purely human shifting of strong emotions here, presented without judgement. It's just an honest and believable reflection of people handling difficult situations. You don't always make a bee-line for the logical solution, you don't always do things "right", sometimes you say things or act in the heat of the moment and regret it or change your mind later. The letters acting as bookends here reflect the same kind of inner conflicts that have been going on during this whole ordeal on the oil rig. It's bleak and raw but it's impactful, and it makes a lasting impression.
Over the end credits, we have a mournful Gaelic song, Fath Mo Mhulaid A Bhith Ann, which was popularised by Flora MacNeil (although I've had trouble finding her performance of it), a folk singer from the Hebridean island of Barra, and performed here by her daughter, Maggie MacInnes. The song's lyrics tell the story of a woman who moved to the hillside after her marriage, and feels like a stranger in the glen, as she longs for the coast, where she truly felt at home. It dovetails in a moving way with the plight of the workers on the oil rig who are trapped out at sea, and it draws a line under the story perfectly, reflecting the most human element that had been running through it all along: the feeling of longing for home and their loved ones.
To sum up, Still Wake the Deep does an excellent job of pulling off some really difficult balances. The surrealism of the creature and the down-to-earth aspect of its setting and characters is blended really well; it's genuinely scary (which is rare for me), and strikes a powerful emotional chord, but that also is well-balanced with the believable banter and occasional bouts of deliciously dark humour. It's ultimately a very bleak story but it doesn't feel at all gratuitous in that regard; it's an exploration of themes that a lot of people can relate to, interpreted through the lens of cosmic horror. It looks at human nature in the midst of a crisis; the way some pull together while others just cover their own arses; the difficult decisions you have to make; handling loss; making sacrifices for the greater good and accepting that sometimes, no matter how hard you try to succeed, sometimes you still have to admit defeat in the end. All of this is handled without feeling didactic; it just focusses on telling the story and letting us find our own meaning in it. In case it wasn't already obvious, I absolutely bloody love this game - wouldn't be writing about it if I didn't, and hopefully this absolute tangent has gone some way to expressing what makes it special.
So, after that got a lot deeper into the emotional honesty than I initially intended, let us give the final word to the unsung hero of this game. This, of course, means the scran.
Incidentally, as a result of this, I have been looking into procuring some haggis and looked up a recipe for neeps and tatties, will report on the outcome of this culinary endeavour at a later date.
.png)
