Keep Driving made me very sad. There's a part of me that thinks that making me feel sad wasn't the intention, but this makes no effort to pretend as though this isn't a period piece playing on nostalgia. Nostalgia is a potent, dangerous thing; we don't romanticize the parts of our pasts that sucked shit, leaving us yearning for disparate fragments. It's easy to argue that memories alone are not "real", since it's impossible to remember or experience every particular detail of something that happened before, which makes it all the more obvious that nostalgia is an utter fabrication of the past. It requires one to filter out all but the warmest memories — memories themselves already an unreliable phenomenon — with a further self-editorialization that life and its circumstances were simpler or better or both "back then". It's a sort of desire to surrender all present responsibilities and expectations, hence why people only ever seem to miss the days when they were children or teenagers, or at their very latest when they were in college; nostalgia infantilizes. I'm aware of this, but I'm still susceptible to it. I am simple flesh and blood. Knowing that you're not immune to falling into the same thought traps as everyone else is not itself enough to stop you from falling into them. Struggle with something for long enough and you'll start to miss the years before you had to worry about anything all that seriously. Of course, you can only go back so far before you run out of memories. I know I've run out. It's this lack of anything tangible I can grab onto in my past that makes me worry, sometimes, that I've spent about twenty-six years waiting for my life to start. Not even exclusively for a lack of trying; I'll go some place I've never been, or talk to people I've never spoken with before, or get really good at a new creative endeavor, and then find myself dropping all of it to wind up right back where I started. Getting sober was neat, but not being addicted to drugs is how most people operate by default. There's no prizes awarded for being normal. I think I'm tired of the feeling that I keep giving up on myself, with compounding failures to make meaningful change stacking on top of themselves like a house of cards catching the breeze. The idea of packing my life into the back of a car and driving to a place far, far away in the pursuit of a shiny new goal is a pleasant one. Maybe I was born to be a nomad. Keep Driving takes this desire to push everything aside and go off on your own to a place far away, and then runs it though the filter of early-2000s teenage nostalgia. It's a time just before cellphones, just before everyone was always connected at all times, and when you had just enough freedom to take a hundred bucks and drive yourself to a festival all the way on the other side of the country. Of course, you're never too burdened by the responsibility that your freedom would otherwise bring; while you're given the choice early on to have a bad relationship with your parents, there's nothing stopping you from giving them a call to bail you out if you ever get in over your head. You're free, but not too free. You've got a lot of leg room in your gilded cage. That's the unfun part of nostalgia, is having that realization. Those times that people yearn for may make them feel like they were free with the rose-tinted glasses on, but true freedom drags you down. It burdens you. When you have to be responsible for yourself — for people besides yourself — that's the weight that freedom imparts on you. To feel unladen is to be unaware of the boundaries others have set for you, and to have boundaries you've never crossed. Like an animal in a pen surrounded by electric wire, nostalgia only feels free because it relies on the edited memories of a person in a controlled environment. Even if you had a rough upbringing, there will almost always be something that your brain tries to latch on to as the good times. It can lead to some complicated feelings when you try to remember all of the bad and find that your brain didn't keep as many records of it as you know there ought to be. There's a lot of empty space in Keep Driving, which meant I had a lot of time to think on all of this. I would turn over why I was feeling so sad in my mind as I played, watching the world outside my car fly past to the sounds of Swedish indie dream pop. Yet I still wouldn't say there's enough empty space; long stretches of road are peppered with events and encounters, all loot crates and combat sections that break the flow in a way that didn't annoy me, but often felt like too many interruptions. Intrinsic to the idea of the road trip is monotony. I'm not expecting every game to be Heatstroke or Desert Bus, taking several real-world hours to drive down an empty stretch of highway with nothing to do, but overstuffing your game can be as detrimental as understuffing it. Core to the gameplay is the act of picking people up on the side of the road and adding them to your "party", often bringing with them side missions for you to complete. The hitchhikers are great, but I wish they were more integral to everything here. It's hard to get a feel for them and their personalities when they're so frequently reduced to little more than a description blurb and some ability flavor text. They'll occasionally chat amongst themselves while you drive, which is a nice touch, but these conversations come infrequently. YCJY still does a phenomenal job with what they have, weaving in little stories through the addition of gameplay modifiers. Characters like The Sleeper (no relation to Citizen Sleeper) play themselves out in the obvious ways — he's a narcoleptic, so he randomly falls asleep in the middle of combat — but there are some that are a lot more clever, like The Musician having his ego bruised if you don't use him in combat. You can get entire narratives entirely from the way that they change the way in which you interact with the game. The Hurricane is both the best example of this and the best character in general. This is largely because of how terrible of an influence she is; an early skill of hers forces you to steal an item from any shops you enter before you can buy anything, and she gives you a quest as soon as she gets in the car ordering you to get drunk and go for a drive. It was easy to imagine her and the driver having a summer fling where they drag the other down further and further until one of them realizes how deep they're in it and bails. The Hurricane wants to go to a house party being held by one of her friends, but there's nothing stopping you from ignoring her wishes and driving her all the way across the country to go to a music festival she hasn't expressed any desire to go to. She gets to a high enough level and develops a trait that makes your character permanently tired. I bought coke from a dealer outside a gas station at one point to see if snorting some on the road would impress her, and then tossed it out the window after I thought for a second about what the fuck I was doing. You let the thrill of adventure sweep you far enough out, and you'll wind up stranded in the middle of the sea. I have to wonder how she felt when she realized we weren't going to that party. What really let me down, though, was that the game ends as soon as you reach the festival. Getting there is one thing, but this journey doesn't end until you've gone all the way back home. The festival is a destination, but it's not the last point of your trip. You're still young, still living with your parents, still beholden to going back home no matter how far you try to go away from it. As it is in life, you're not as free as you remember yourself being. You'd pull back into your driveway alone, unpack the car, and go up to your room. By the end of it all, you're right back where you started.
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