Although it’s still something that’s debated, there’s no question in my mind that video games are an art form. Some more than others, of course, however there’s a place that many come to occupy where their job is to kindle imagination and draw emotion from its player as though it were a bloodletting ritual. After Gris, and how it traversed the profound impact of grief, Nomada Studio has gone back to work to ensure their second project, Neva, is as much a doorway to devastation as their first.
Neva is a beautiful story, told primarily through its arresting audiovisual presentation, about the ever-strengthening bond between Alba and the titular wolf cub who journey, protecting one another, in a world on the brink of decay. Princess Mononoke feels like a lay-up in terms of comparison, especially with regards to design, however I feel the Studio Ghibli classic also shares thematic threads with Neva if you care enough to tug on and unpack them. The notion that nature is indifferent, often cruel and that living in total harmony with it might be a pipe dream is something of a through line for both. Neva is a game developed largely throughout the pandemic, so it is no surprise its world is a brutal one on its knees.
While I continue to question whether Neva quite exceeds the emotional summit of its predecessor, I’m at least glad it attempts to gamify its themes and deeper meanings a bit more. While both games are beautiful experiences from front-to-back, Neva folding combat into the formula Gris otherwise perfected on the first try is clearly welcome. On top of wonderfully designed puzzles and eking out microdoses of tension through titanic confrontations with mountainous, metaphoric tokens of Alba’s journey, being able to brandish a sword against the corrupted remnants of your dying world adds a little power to this fantasy.
Seeming to serve the cinematic feel of the game more than anything, Neva’s swordplay never really challenged me throughout the game’s adventurous, albeit modest, five hours. Even more critical, it holds back on its most interesting hooks until it’s too late, resulting in an exciting homestretch that makes the opening feel a bit limp by comparison.
Where others might have overcomplicated things, adding parries, heavy swings, and stamina bars in the pursuit of the oft-fruitful Soulslike tag, Nomada kept things exceedingly simple for their first run at combat. Alba might draw her sword with a flourish worthy of a practised duelist, however, her limited repertoire, which would prove dull in a longer game, leaves a simple, one-note attack, a downward plunge, and a dodge roll on offer for a bulk of proceedings. As the seasons roll by, Neva will mature into a magnificent, powerful wolf who evolves from travel companion to battle mate, as her paranatural abilities service both the game’s combat scenarios and late-game environment puzzles.
For those after a bit of extra credit when combing through Neva’s dying world, there are collectibles that can be found in the form of flower buds that’ll bloom with life once in Alba’s presence. A lot of them are straightforward and only require the player to veer ever so slightly from the expected path, though there are a handful that require a reasonable mastery of Alba’s platforming nous to reach. As in Gris, other hidden achievements task the player with completing small objectives throughout the adventure, whether it’s ensuring Neva, a growing cub, has had her fill of fallen fruit or startling all of the hard-to-spot birds perched upon snowy branches in winter. In a game where the story is largely inferred by the player due to a lack of spoken or written dialogue, these small moments felt like a subtle means of character building to me.
Neva marks the second coming together for artist Conrad Roset, who serves as the game’s creative lead, and fellow Spaniards Berlinist, the band behind the tender, heartrending arrangement that pairs with the game’s action better than fish and chips. As the narrative moves between seasons, Roset is able to experiment with and use specific colours so effectively, as the autumnal fall colours lead to Alba’s struggle, represented by bold, blinding reds that fill the sky before giving way to a blinding, white winter.
And while the world itself is quite beautiful, the designs of Alba, Neva, and the plagued creatures that wander it are incredibly Studio Ghibli-coded, it’s hard not to believe it’s an homage at least in part. The purity of Neva’s white coat, and her magnificent antlers, pop against the frequently colour burst backdrops, and even more so against the tortured, inky abominations that contort and shapeshift before you. So much illustration fences its colour in with bold outlines and, thankfully, that isn’t the case here.
It’s all crafted gorgeously with an express control of water colours and their painterly ways. Without spoiling it, there’s one portion of the game, about three quarters through, where Roset’s breathtaking direction for environment design feeds into both the combat and puzzle craft, it’s one of many incomparable five minute bursts that cemented Neva, in my mind, as a fascinating work of art. I can’t overemphasise how much of the game’s emotional impact stems from the marriage of Roset’s art and Berlinist’s virtuoso score. I’ve spent many hours streaming the Gris soundtrack, and I expect Neva’s will prove to be just as much an ear worm.
Although the game gets in and out pretty quickly, it lasts just long enough that its simple systems don’t get the chance to grow tiresome while its art, evocative music, and bond between Alba and her endearing wolf cub shoulder the burden of wringing out and exhausting everything from the player. By the end, as the credits began to roll, I was a glassy-eyed mess who knew full well I’d just experienced something special.