Omori: A Melancholic Representation Of Trauma That Is Devastatingly Beautiful

It’s 39 minutes past midnight, I completed Omori about 5 hours ago and all that pours out of me is thoughts and tears for this game. As a 20 hour game it felt right to binge, and normally this was a rare occurrence for my lacking attention span, but the hook of Omori sinks deep inside you from the first few hours with its hope and popping pastel colours. Yet there is a simmering feeling, a something, that needs to be uncovered. So you keep playing.

I want to use this review as a reflection, rather than an initial portrayal of my thoughts as its looking back that makes me well up in tears and tense in devastation when I see what the game is trying to tell us. A story of relationships, remembrance and forgiveness, Omori never holds back in its deep characterisation. We are introduced to a party of 4: Kel, Aubrey, Hero and Omori with two elusive members that act as a representation of something bigger, Mari and Basil. The core members are beautifully written, incorporating their response to trauma in to who they are as people and their dynamics with other characters. For example, Kel and Aubrey are childish, rambunctious kids who fight over any small thing, a stubbornness and aggression that reflects in how they isolate themselves from those around them after Mari’s death as they can’t maturely come to terms with acknowledging their trauma. Relationships are highlighted in every aspect of gameplay, from the ever present mirror, that serves no purpose other than to show that your friends are always behind you in its image, to the skills learnt. Omori’s ability to share his sadness with a member of the group conveys they are emotionally linked, an unspeakable bond. In focusing on your bond with your friends and the silly adventures you embark on, you are taught from the start how valuable Omori sees these bonds. This is further seen in the use of white space separating the real world and Omori’s dreams, as he is alone in this clinically white empty place, with only your drawings and tissue box for company. This loud absence in white space compared to when you leave to always see your friends playing cards, waiting for you emphasises the reliance he has on his friends, and how protective he is of returning to this happy carefree state.

Mari and Basil never enter your party of four but are still used perfectly in its narrative. Basil much more obviously in the party’s search for him when he goes missing. When the group go to Basil’s house to hang out, Basil picks up a stray photo and is possessed by fear when he sees it. It cuts to black and Basil becomes missing for most of the game. He is the focal point for Omori’s second major theme, remembrance. Basil has seen something that has triggered these harrowing emotions, this is the underlying fear set up for the rest of the game of, what did Basil see? Repression in remembrance is focally seen here, and Basil is punished for confronting it. Why? These questions are, in the beginning treated lightly as we are basically told from the start that Mari takes her own life. This memory of what truly happened is so repressed that we aren’t given much at all to begin questioning why this is happening. Mari, while only used as a side quest catalogue and a healing and saving station, is used in a way that subtly conveys the feeling that Mari is always there supporting and watching over Omori. She is confined to her picnic blanket, never engaging in fights or any kind of activity except for welcoming the party to a new area. The use of this isolation also emphasises the idea of remembrance and protection as Omori refuses to see her in any harm’s way, her memory of being alive is safe and secure. She is ultimately never has a major gameplay role in the dream world, but she is a consistent presence that acts as Omori’s grounding to happiness and security. I also wanted to quickly mention how melancholic ‘By Your Side.’ was in this game, a theme associated with every encounter with Mari and looking through the photobook. Again playing into the desire to view Mari as only her alive self, she is a warm figure of playfulness yet motherly nature that keeps everyone safe.

What will not leave me anytime soon however, is the devastatingly beautiful way the game portrays forgiveness. We have been lead through the first 15 hours of this game with the poignant feeling that we are remembering Mari whilst retaining the fun child-like adventures the gang had before their lives changed. However, this changes when we find out what really happens the night of the recital. Instead of setting up a bittersweet feeling of remembering, the game was highlighting the dissociation of trauma, the repression of what has happened and the desperation to change this. However the truth always finds a way to reveal itself, with more harm being done when you refuse to confront your fears. We find out that in a heated argument, a pent up frustration from Sunny faking wanting to play the violin just to spend time with his sister, Sunny pushes Mari down the stairs, breaking her neck and killing her. This reveal is slowly released through a new photo album, representing Sunny subjecting himself to the truth through supressed memories. This is a hard distressing section, with dissociation in rejecting spoken word, and seeing it come together in pictures and symbolism. This internal struggle and rejection heightened in Black Space where Sunny tries to reject the memories by trying to eliminate Basil, the only witness portrays how hard and long this journey of forgiveness to oneself is for Sunny. However, when all this is released and fought, with Omori, Sunny’s protector of memories is let go of, we are presented with another question regarding forgiveness. Will his friends look at him the same way when he tells them the truth? Will they forgive him in how he is trying to forgive himself? Should we, as the player forgive him what he has done? These questions are left open-ended as we are left with Sunny entering the hospital room where everyone is gathered around Basil. This choice perfectly wraps up what this game has conveying from the start. Relationships, remembrance and forgiveness. We aren’t given a solid yes or no because relationships aren’t black and white, they’re complex. Remembering the trauma they have faced is unique to each individual, there is no right or wrong way to deal with it. And finally, our ability to forgive is ours alone. Forgiveness doesn’t solve every single problem in this game, there is no satisfaction in knowing in what the outcome is or justification of what should happen. There is still accountability and a long journey ahead for Sunny even after the arduous one of this game. There is a quiet happiness in the first step he makes in what has happened, in remembering and it’s the people behind you that can guide you back to the light.

I don’t think I will stop thinking about this game for a long time, its capability to present how individuals cope with mental illnesses such as depression in such a melancholic way will resonate within me, tears are spilling down my cheeks as I type these last lines. There is no hero that comes to save the day, everything isn’t resolved in a boss fight, Omori is a game of a light you keep following until the darkness is manageable and behind you, it never truly goes away, and that’s okay.