I realize I post this in effect the day it is due, clashing entirely with the intent behind my last post, but in my defense, Iāve been quite busy.
So, you may have heard of my fellow student and ex-band-comrade-in-arms Nic, a loyal seventh-block student who obstinately refuses to have a k associated anywhere near his name. Well, Iāve been conversing with him about our respective Independent Study Projects⢠this past while, and I realized his next intended subject could also serve quite nicely as a subject of mine as well. That subject being, of course, Doki Doki Literature Club.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The Stuff of Nightmares
In the case you havenāt purviewed his ISPost yet, Iād advise you do so posthaste. It will get the point across far better than I could in such a short span. But in gist, this psychological horror of a game masquerades as a more typical dating-sim type of game, before taking one of the sharpest turns in media history, glitching out and breaking in all sorts of spooky ways before it deletes itself altogether. Itās a wonderful, beautifully executed game that is perfect for both your friends and enemies, and deserving of most all of the accolades awarded to it so far. I speak about it mostly from research and second-hand knowledge, however, as Iām unable to play through the whole thing simply because I get too freaked out.
Thatās hardly the topic at hand, however. So I get spooked easily, itās simply a fact about myself that Iām aware of and work around(psychological side note in spirit of the blog, that sort of thinking is far healthier and constructive, in my opinion, than being embarrassed or ashamed about such a fact). Rather, I think the most interesting thing to come out of this concept is the nature of the fear it sparks itself. You might think to yourselfĀ āwell, psychological spookiness aside, itās still a game about cute anime girls, right?ā. And while that is wholly valid, thereās more going on than just the medium delivered in or art form that makes something scary.
Rather, Iāll be breaking fear up into three separate categories. Primal, Reactive, and Cerebral. I believe theyāre mostly self-explanatory, but primal is the deepest, most instinctual fear. Fear of death, fear of falling, fear of strange people sneaking into your room at night, all of these stem quite directly from the history of humanity, most concerned with survival. Then, reactive, which is simply theĀ ājumpā aspect of fear, when something scary leaps into view or flits around in the corners of your vision. Youāre startled, and maybe a bit disgruntled if the image is quite scary indeed, but it passes fairly soon. And finally, cerebral fear is the sort of terror we make for ourselves. Itās in this unstopping imagining and visualizing and extrapolating and amplifying and multiplying and polysendetoning out of a base fear trigger, like a simple spooky concept or image. The source itself might only be moderately scary, but if displayed and presented in the right manner, it can trick the viewer into making it much scarier than it necessarily has to be.
Cerebral fear is thus the core of what makes this game scary, and in my opinion, makes most anything the scariest. There are some more jumpscarey things in the game, sure, but the greatest spook it delivers is through your interpretation of it. A simple image search of the title reveals copious enough fan art and renditions of the game to show the power that well-planned fear can create. And if you do go searching for long enough, I wish you pleasant dreams for the night. Youāll need all the help you can get.