The indie classic Limbo (2010) heralded in a sub-category of darker, more solemn 2D puzzle platformers than we generally associated with the classic platforming tradition at the time. Interestingly, this is a trend that has not, as yet, been fully carried over into the realm of 3D indie platformers, where the bright, breezy collectathon mascot era of the genre still (mostly) holds sway. Consequently, I’m always on the lookout for games that combine the best of 3D platforming with a more serious tone and a gloomier aesthetic. When such a game does occasionally appear, it immediately gets my attention. Hypogea is, without doubt, the best example I’ve ever come across: a short game (my first playthrough took just over four hours) that makes a rather big impression.
Set in a derelict subterranean industrial installation, spread across a series of toweringly capacious rooms, Hypogea (the plural of hypogeum, ‘an underground chamber’, my trusty Oxford Dictionary of English tells me) is dripping with atmosphere. The opening of the game brilliantly establishes the tone of this mysterious world and economically creates empathy and compassion for the protagonist as they ‘awake’ from their death-like state. It’s a wonderful first few minutes: elegant, quiet and remarkably moving – just like the rest of the storytelling in the game.
You play as an automaton, navigating your way through the mysterious, crumbling, cavernous complex. The exploration of these vast chambers is awe-inspiring, and the environmental storytelling is top-drawer: the bodies of automata litter the floor, colossal machinery stands idle, rusty pipes loom high above, and elusive shards of sunlight tremblingly filter down through the gloom, telling enticing tales of the outside world (the subtle lighting effects are incredible). This is clearly a long-forgotten place. Buried deep out of sight and memory.
The story is also told through meaningful collectibles you discover along the way. These ‘artefacts’ and ‘recollections’ are highly allusive and utterly compelling, and certainly worth searching for. It’s a masterclass in the art of the ‘found lore’ mode of video game storytelling.
The all-important movement mechanics are of a similarly high standard. The star of the show here is a staff that the automaton protagonist receives at the start of the game. Using this simple staff, you can pole vault your way between platforms, reaching out with it at the last minute to grab on to an edge. Executing these pole vault jumps feels so good; it’s such a fresh and invigorating platforming mechanic, and it never gets old. New forms of platforms and ways to traverse them are introduced as the game progresses, which also helps to keep things fresh – although I could have happily pole vaulted about on completely flat surfaces all day long.
But it’s not only awesome pole vaults that you can perform with your trusty all-purpose staff. You can also stand on the end of it to reach high platforms and use it to turn levers. Even more uses for it come into play later in the game, as new mechanics are introduced, but I’ll leave them as a surprise.
The platforming is precise but very forgiving (the game generously allowed me to grab on to quite a few ledges I thought I’d missed). There is some jank now and again in terms of collision mechanics, but nothing that interfered with my enjoyment of the remarkable moveset; indeed, these tiny lapses only endeared me to the game and made me appreciate how smoothly the solo developer, Charlie Wagner, has got their game running.
Much like the 2D platformer from earlier this year, Bionic Bay, with which it certainly has some stuff in common (not least the dilapidated industrial aesthetic), Hypogea feels like it’ll be a wonderful game to speedrun; indeed, there’s a speedrunning achievement, which I’ll certainly be attempting soon. It also has lots of unusual platforms – giant rusty pipes and other industrial detritus – to puzzle and traverse your way along, which also adds to the inherent sense of the game’s originality.
The puzzling element itself is well-calibrated in terms of difficulty and never gets in the way of the sense of flow generated by the fluid movement. The level design is intricate, unfolding beautifully as you parkour your way around the mysterious megastructure, sometimes looping back to a previous area, enabling you to better orientate yourself among the many chambers of the vast underground world.
There’s absolutely no combat, which ties in nicely with some of the main themes of the game: friendship, community and solidarity. Although the industrial complex is a dark, lonely place, you are not alone. Early in the game you meet a fellow lost soul, another abandoned automaton who’s also desperate to escape the prison-like chambers. A bond quickly forms that develops beautifully as the game progresses. The wordless storytelling is profound and moving; indeed, there’s a quiet, understated, mythic kind of quality to it. And it all comes together beautifully in the open-ended and highly affecting ending.
The visual design of the automata friends is utterly charming, and their movement animations endearing. However, the game never sentimentalises or patronises them. They are not portrayed as cute anthropomorphic robots (although they do resemble humans physically); they are unique, autonomous beings who deserve love and respect. They certainly have mine.
