Upon entering my own randomly generated world, I was dropped into the water – or on it, really. In this world, I do not sink. A nearby beach is barely visible through the fog ahead, and as I approached the visual style that makes this island unique becomes immediately apparent. The pixel-art landscape opened up before me, and with it a whole world of interesting stuff to look at.
Yes, those are crabs. Or, at least Proteus' version of crabs.
Which is good, because walking around and looking is all I was going to do here. There's no jumping, no real interaction with the world or characters to interact with beyond ambient wildlife, and no traditional story telling me where to go or what to do. As I wandered, animals and plants simply moved and made noise around me. There's a droning, yet pleasant soundtrack that backs everything up, and it's constantly being interrupted by the noises of the world.
Making Sense of the Wild
Quickly, a realization hit me: that's all that really needs to happen to make exploration compelling. For example, early in my first playthrough I ran into a series of small obelisks. As I approached, one made a deep gonging sound. I came close to the next, and it played another tone. One thing led to another, and soon I found myself running along the row, taking joy in simply making noise.
Want to see what's inside this cabin? Sorry, no can do.
This sort of thing happens constantly in Proteus. Each animal and plant has its own unique, 8-bit-style noise, and at first, walking around sounds like a cacophony of noises that don't mesh, with the sounds of frogs leaping clashing with crabs' skittering and the flapping of an owl's wings. But I eventually found a bit of a rhythm to it. Like walking through a forest and listening to all the noises of the bugs, birds, and other animals, I found that it seems natural and relaxing. There was no need to worry there. Nothing is coming to kill you and you've got no obligations to be anywhere.
A Game for All Seasons
As I roamed, I found a circle of obelisks. Of course, I ran around them to draw out their atonal, yet calming song. Soon, night fell. The stars rose, and lights began to flicker around me, rising and spinning to meet in the center of the obelisks. They took me up, pushing me towards the middle of the vortex. As I reached the center, the world began to spin. The sun and moon passed over and over again, moving quicker and quicker. A bright light flashed. As the world came back into view, the warmth of spring was gone, replaced by the blazing sun of summer.
Even the bleak white of winter holds its own beauty.
It was the same island as before, but there was more to see now. The bright-green grass had browned a bit, and animals were a bit less active. Perhaps they were waiting for it to be a bit cooler out. Plants that had previously been mid-bloom had shriveled. This change in seasons happened twice more. Each time, the randomly generated island felt fresh and new, even if the landscape itself didn't change. Just finding new plants and animals was enough to keep me pushing forward.
Proteus is a short experience. I could have rushed through it and gotten to its end in about 45 minutes, but the best parts come when you take your time and discover. Walking over a previously unexplored ledge to find an entirely new meadow and the previously unknown animals is an absolute pleasure. It manages to evoke a strong sense of childlike wonder in the way it encourages us to wander around, looking at things we've never seen before.
A touch of rain can make the most beautiful sunsets.
Really, that's what makes Proteus so special. And because it's so short, I was compelled to play again and again, with new experiences each time. I watched the sunset from the top of a mountain in one playthrough, was covered by an impenetrable fog in the next, and made my way through a dense swarm of fireflies in the third. Each time, I've found it to be a surprising and wonderful experience.
Editor's Note: We decided not to officially review Proteus. While it's a fascinating virtual-world experience that's well worth talking about, we don't believe it's actually a "game" due to a lack of goals, rules, or anything we can call gameplay. Applying our game-rating system to something that isn't a game could break both.