Ghost Giant review: gorgously crafted and emotonally engaging

In this very sweet and unexpectedly poignant puzzle game, we assume the role of a huge benevolent being with translucent blue hands, who assists an adorable pint-sized creature named Louis. We’re his “Ghost Giant” and we help the little tyke through this day-to-day life, performing tasks such as opening doors, locating particular items and moving around bits and bobs to achieve particular outcomes—like helping start his car, growing plants on his farm, and locating missing things. Which doesn’t sound like a narrative experience but the story is emotionally affecting, warming the cockles of this jaded critic’s heart. 

The narrative momentum is stop-start, pausing while we figure out what we can activate in the game’s beautifully designed diorama-like environments, which include Louis’s farm home, the town square and a harbour. But one feels the presence of a dab hand from the writer’s department steering the experience in psychologically interesting directions. It was written by a Swedish novelist, screenwriter and playwright Sara B. Elfgren, who nurtures an affinity between us and Louis from the poignant first immersion: a blackened out tableau in which all we see is the cute wee thing crying, his tears forming whorl-like patterns on the ground.

When we tap Louis on the head he looks up at us and reacts in fear (“it’s a ghost…a giant ghost!”) then hides behind a nearby bush, visually revealing more of the space. Every time we interact with him he scurries away, again exposing more of the space, bringing colour and form to the darkness. This is a lovely way to combine narrative and spatial reveals while layering the experience emotionally. Those layers deepen when we learn about Louis’ circumstances: in one key plotline for instance it’s revealed that his mother has depression—a revelation handled sensitively. In one tender scene, we lift up the roof of his home and watch him interact with her as she lies in bed with the black dog, shutting herself off from the world. 

Director Olov Redmalm addresses, from the very first scene, a fundamental issue often neglected in third person VR experiences: the question of who we are within the narrative world. In Moss, for instance, we control the titular character—a mouse—but can also interact with elements of the environment that the protagonist cannot. Therefore, we are sort of Moss and sort of not. Similarly, in Down the Rabbit Hole, we control an Alice-like character, but also operate elements she can’t reach. We are Alice…until we’re not. 

In Ghost Giant, Redmalm is serious about the nature of our presence and shaping the experience around it. Like in Wolves in the Walls, another emotionally engaging VR production in which we embody a child’s imaginary friend, we’re visible to the subject, who alone registers our presence. Logical-wise this doesn’t entirely make sense, given our actions also change the physical reality of the world around him. But criticizing the experience on these terms would be rather nitpicky; chances are you won’t care, because you’ll be swept along by the lovely currents of the story. 

Part of that loveliness emerges from a sense of community, observable through our presence as an omnipotent-like being who can watch people going about their daily lives. Sometimes we spin around buildings, or remove chunks of walls, and observe furry little characters doing various things—an artist painting a picture, for instance, or a florist tending plants. There’s a strong sense that this world is busy and lived in.  And while the supporting characters are cute, everything comes back emotionally speaking to our relationship with Louis—a lovable, well developed character with whom I felt a genuine connection.