I mistakenly wrote in a previous article thatHarold Halibutonlyused three and a half buttons; three face buttons to navigate menus and interact with the various people and paraphernalia aboard the Fedora 1 spaceship, and then the left trigger to stop whatever Harold is doing and zoom in for a close-up. The simplicity was the point. It forced you to take notice of your beautiful, handcrafted surroundings instead of just powering through.
But a fourth button appeared. Somehow, throughout my thorough testing of what buttons did what things when I started the game, I didn’t notice that holding ‘X’ made Harold run. As such, I sauntered about the Fedora 1 for four hours, Harold taking his time to get anywhere, his slouched posture reminiscent of a Thunderbird with its strings cut. I enjoyed the slow pace of the game’s opening as it fit Harold’s lackadaisical character. And then, I realised he could run.
His little jog is every bit as adorable as his walk, but it’s simultaneously disconcerting. The faster pace doesn’t fit Harold, nor the eponymous game he resides in. I’m not even sure it could be called a jog. It’s more like that awkward power-walk you do when a car lets you cross the road in front of you. It’s self-conscious, like Harold knows that he shouldn’t really be speeding up in this gently-paced game. When you jog, Harold hits his head on sliding doors that don’t open quick enough. Loading screens feel more interruptive, seeming to last longer in contrast to Harold’s heightened pace. Besides, Harold doesn’t seem the type to jog – his race through the Arcades proves that much.
So, I determined to continue to Not Jog. I took each level as a roleplaying exercise. I would only press X if there was an emergency - a blaring siren, delivering antibiotics to an alien, or the like. The rest of the time, Harold remained unmoved, unbothered, and unrushed. He’s a walker.
Walking around the Fedora 1 is a relaxed affair, especially at Harold’s pace. It forced me to slow down, too. I took notice of the details in the game’s environments. I took the time to go out of my way to check wobbly computer readouts because I knew they’d look funky. I stared out of the submerged windows at the schools of fish swimming by. I took notice of the game for what its developers were trying to achieve: beauty, simplicity, evocation.
The simple control scheme, the slow pace, it all added up to the developers trying to tell you to take notice of your surroundings and conversations. Characters take the forefront, not action. Harold’s jogging pace is hardly Titanfall 2 movement, but it speeds things up unnecessarily. I understand that walking simulators are a popular genre, and I love many of them myself, but more games should slow down. This pace should not be restricted to one genre.
I wantedCyberpunk 2077 to let me stop and eat the noodles. There’s nothing I love more thanhanging out at a bar in Skyrim. RPGs often provide the opportunity to roleplay at your own pace, but I could use the downtime in action games. Kratos needs a chance to take in the spectacles of Midgard from that ever-so inventive camera angle. Perhaps that would have grounded me in the story more than throwing an axe at a thousand samey enemies.
This is why I love battle royales so much. The slow start to a match not only allows you to loot up, rotate, and isolate enemy fights, but it’s a chance to take in the intricacies of the map, work out sight lines, and just shoot the shit with your mates. When you get towards round four or five, you’re ready to lock in and get down to the real business, but that gentle start is an underrated element of the BR format.
Harold Halibut’s slow saunter has made me wistful for a different pace of game. It’s made me want for more relaxed periods in more ferocious games. It’s made me realise that perhaps the best parts of the games I love are not the beastly boss battles or emotional narrative twists, they’re the chance you get to sit at a sci-fi food stall and eat mushroom soup.
