I’ve thought more about Videoverse since finishing it than any other game in recent memory. A visual novel set in 2003 centred around interacting with fellow users inside of the eponymous Videoverse, an online social network baked into the in-universe “Kinmoku Shark” video game system, this game couldn’t have been made more for me specifically, a guy who grew up on the internet in the mid-2000s and ended up meeting his wife and moving to a different country thanks to Nintendo’s Miiverse, which is the (very clear) inspiration for Videoverse. And while I would have probably been more than happy at the mere existence of some saccharine Miiverse navel gazing, it turns out that Videoverse actually has a lot to say, all wrapped up in one of my favourite user interfaces and presentations I’ve ever seen.
As a teenager named Emmett, you explore various communities of Videoverse, interacting with posts and drawings other users have made by commenting, liking, or reporting, while also taking time to private message friends and advancing those interpersonal relationships. The Kinmoku Shark is an amalgamation of various real-world video game consoles, both far surpassing the real-world technology of video game consoles from 2003, what with its touchscreen and webcam functionality, while also somehow feeling clunky and old at the same time thanks to its Gameboy-esque restriction of only being able to display two shades of the same colour at once and lack of a microphone input for video chats.
The technology of this fictitious video game console is important because the built-in touch screen lets users draw and post pictures to Videoverse. Emmett, an aspiring artist, primarily builds connections and friendships on the service through drawing pictures of his favourite video game, Feudal Fantasy, as well as commenting on the art of other users. This leads to him becoming friends with Vivi, a new member of Videoverse whose drawing abilities he greatly admires, and neatly sets up the majority of the plot.
I might be biased, but the first half hour that I spent with Videoverse was solely dedicated to poring over every last post available, absolutely tickled at how true to life its denizens felt, while also delighting at how many options I had in choosing how I could respond. I ended up playing Emmett as a tried and true “ignore the trolls” kinda guy, choosing to try and spread positivity wherever I could while silently reporting jerks and pulling my hair out over the lack of action on the part of the moderators.
It’s worth noting that there are certain dialogue choices and actions that are only accessible based on previous responses or playing Emmett a certain way, which can also affect your ability to even complete certain side quests in the game, a surprising but very welcome feature that already has me excited to start a second file to play Emmett as a bit more confident.
The bulk of the plot tends to be advanced mostly in the private video chats with Emmett’s various friends, and Videoverse manages to surprise and delight here as well. I’ll refrain from going in-depth on actual character or plot details since I’d highly encourage every single person reading this to play Videoverse, but it was more about how certain moments were handled in these chats that felt like a sledgehammer directly to my heart. Small things like characters turning their heads to talk to a parent or sibling just out of view, or a friend breaking down in tears and suddenly blocking the camera with their hand felt so real that it hurt.
But specifically, there were a handful of moments where Emmett starts writing what he really wants to say before deleting it and settling for a watered-down response that absolutely tore me up, to the point where I’m getting teary-eyed thinking about it now. Seeing a kid longing for connection but still too scared to make that last big leap and truly, fully open up about their hopes and fears had me full-on sobbing at a couple points, especially nearing the end of the game, when all the characters are acting on and living with the knowledge that the Videoverse service is coming to an end, their time left with each other limited.
I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to say that a love story is central to Videoverse’s main plot. It’s probably pretty obvious, given that it’s a visual novel about dorky, isolated teenagers talking about video games and art on the internet. As mentioned in the opening of this review, it’s a story I could heavily relate to, having met my wife on the service that directly inspired this game. I could feel Emmett’s hesitation in typing his more intimate and personal messages, the ever-hanging dread and feeling of impossibility when trying to think about how to proceed with a life with someone so removed from where he is, and the longing for certain messages to lead the conversation to places it isn’t quite reaching. It’s all achingly, heart-wrenchingly real, with some of my favourite writing in the entire medium of video games, full stop.
But it would be overly reductive to label Videoverse as just a love story between two people. It’s more accurate to describe it as a love letter to online communities that no longer really exist in the form Videoverse depicts, as well as how they could help shape personalities, spread ideas and happiness, be an outlet for people with niche interests, and even change the entire course of our lives. It’s an ode to curiosity and figuring things out; finding yourself and your people, not through vitriol and ironic detachment, but pure, joyful expression of the things you love with the people you love. It’s a reminder of where my heart is and where a lot of us came from. Rarely in video games do I see such singular, perfectly executed visions. Please, do not miss out on this one.
