The Twilight Zone review: an occasionally compelling triptych

When I first learned of a Twilight Zone virtual reality experience, I was less than enthused. It seemed unlikely that the iconic anthology series created by Red Serling—intoner of that unforgettable spiel about the makeup of another dimension, “not only of sight and sound but of mind”—would comfortably convert into VR. In hindsight I admit to being a little judgmental: while this game is simple and gratingly repetitive, with no fresh or innovative ideas, it does take its connection to the source material seriously, and there’s something invigorating about old-timey mystery elements brought into new forms of experiential storytelling. 

The Twilight Zone VR is faithful to the anthology format, split into three self-contained narratives. The first is a stealth hide-and-seek mission involving escaping from a cyborg-like monster; the second a quest across desert-like dystopia; the third an alien abduction narrative with the objective of escaping a simulated The Matrix-esque world. All three are visually baron, with a sliver of narrative justification: office environments such as those depicted in the first look sterile and soulless, for instance, and the parched Mad Maxian settings in the second are mostly desolate by design. 

Still, this game is very far from aesthetically interesting. There are some ambitious environments—including a fairground in chapter two, engulfed by red-orange desert—but they look terribly bland, suffering from a lack of detailed design and constrained by graphical limitations. Some productions camouflage these limitations by providing narratively relevant environments—the dim lighting and difficult to see locations for instance suiting Blair Witch VR. Other, more stylized experiences—like The Under Presents and Superhot—abandon the idea of aesthetic realism altogether, embracing a more surreal style. 

Before The Twilight Zone properly begins, a couple of playful touches indicate its impish spirit. For example: a statement appears inside a notification screen-like box that reads “Unfortunately The Twilight Zone VR is experiencing issues. Please wait, do not turn around.” This of course guarantees we’ll turn around. When we do, the box has changed into a door, which opens to reveal the shadowy outline of a man, who commences a Serling-esque monologue as we’re thrust through the entryway and blasted into outer space, sent hurtling towards a planet-sized eyeball. The “do not turn around” prompt is a gimmicky but fun touch, but better as a once-off joke than an activity that launches the experience every time.

The tutorial, meanwhile, contains the most vulgar of jump scares. Text appears explaining that crouching can be activated by holding the joystick and, hey, why don’t you try it? When we dutifully crouch and crawl under a desk, we’re attacked by a hideous human-like apparition. What sort of childish swine came up with that idea?

The three chapters vary in quality and gameplay. In the first we play a tyrannical CEO of a game development studio, stalked through the office by a game character that comes to life and murders employees; it’s passably entertaining but a pale imitation of the excellent Westworld: Awakening (which itself was inspired by plenty of other stealth games). My expectations had bottomed out by the end of chapter two, a crude apocalypse-set FPS with goofy looking monsters and gameplay reminiscent of an old school console. I was pleasantly surprised by the third, which bakes repetition and a prosaic setting into its premise. We play a sci-fi author abducted by aliens, and inserted into a simulation of our home. We’re forced into a loop (eat, go to the bathroom, watch TV, go to bed) from which we must escape. Notes scattered around the house implore us to “break the cycle” and provide clues for how to do so.

This segment hits peak trippiness when the house is tipped around spatially, the ceiling becoming the floor—like in the spectacular final stretch of Half-Life: Alyx. At its most compelling, this chapter boils down to a simple question, persistent across countless video games: what’s on the other side of the door? At one point opening a door reveals another door, just a few feet away, which opens to reveal another, then another, and another, and on we go; there are notes of the great indie game The Stanley Parable. Before long it reverts to clunky, boilerplate FPS gameplay—but for a brief period, at least, it’s tripping and compelling.