Neva review – a poignant platformer that will make you cry

There’s a misplaced perception that ‘artsy’ games are disingenuous: a psychological manipulation of color, sound, and motif engineered to make players feel something. Some are undoubtedly too heavy-handed – their narrative brush strokes too predictable, their allegories too obvious – but even at their best, they demand a degree of emotional work from the player to succeed. Neva is one such experience.

When Nomada Studio burst onto the indie scene in 2018 with the award-winning Gris, it delivered one of the finest examples of how videogames can be analogous to poetry. That’s an extraordinarily high bar to clear for any prospective follow-up. Regardless, Neva is a confident second outing from the same creative pedigree, aligning closer to traditional action-platform games than a typical indie art project. Berlinist, the Barcelona-based band that scored Gris, also returns with another piano-tinged soundtrack, albeit far more orchestral and operatic. It will give you goosebumps; it will probably make you cry. Just like Gris, it is a match made in heaven.

Neva isn’t so much a successor to Gris as it is the other side of the coin. Whereas Gris was a transparent representation of the five stages of grief, Neva is a bit more nuanced. Neva’s anthropocenic themes are bobbing about on its surface, but delve a little deeper and it’s an illustration of motherhood. The bond between a young swordswoman and a magical white wolf is the tie that binds this narrative together. We nurture the eponymous Neva from a tender pup to a full-fledged adult, then feel the loss of letting go as she strikes out on her own. Adjust that lens again, and you may even see a study in breaking the cycle of intergenerational trauma. Look again, and it’s the great beauty and inevitable tragedy of pet ownership. However, if Gris is a portrait of grief, Neva is a portrait of hope.

However you interpret Neva, it is, above all else, a 2D platformer. Where Gris had a flat, picture-book landscape mounted on a watercolor backdrop, Neva’s parallax environments lend its world a weight and depth that make it far less cerebral. Unfortunately, it occasionally suffers from a lack of visual clarity. It’s not always immediately obvious which platforms are traversable; on one memorable occasion, I mistook a pillar in the foreground as a barrier to progress. It’s not an endemic issue, but moments where artistic presentation takes precedence over gameplay are a minor frustration. Characters can also occasionally get lost in these backdrops – my beloved wolf companion is reduced to a set of eyes and antlers whenever we cross a white background, and the pop of red from Alba’s cloak isn’t enough to cut through fog or darkness.

Neva’s environmental puzzles offer a healthy degree of challenge, though not to the point of frustration. It also regularly introduces new platforming mechanics to keep things fresh. In one level, I must pass through a series of nightmarish portals to progress. In another, my controls are inverted as I use my reflection to traverse an ice cavern’s invisible platforms. The pinnacle of Neva’s platform challenge involves navigating elaborate structures that wouldn’t look out of place in Gris. These sterile grey constructs stand in counterpoint to the natural world around them, a landscape that reminds me of Heart Machine’s Hyper Light Drifter – another cautionary tale of ecological destruction.

In that respect, the works of Hayao Miyazaki are Nomada Studio’s paramount inspiration. The curse that takes hold of Neva’s world manifests as a swarm of matte black bodies and white masks analogous to Spirited Away’s No-Face. Their distorted, spindly bodies also take me back to the shadow creatures of Éric Chahi’s Heart of Darkness. Neva’s body horror is muted, devoid of gore, but no less arresting. However, the most obvious point of reference is Princess Mononoke. A young girl ensconced in nature, who sees herself as its protector and is willing to fight to her last breath to defend it? I don’t think I need to elaborate. We even get a confrontation against a wild boar, its ravaged corpse puppeteered by the corruption within, just for good measure.

Nomada Studio tested the waters of AI companionship in Gris – one of its levels involved leading a shy, cuboid creature to apples until it trusts you enough to help solve a puzzle. Neva is built on these same principles, though she’s far more complex. She can be commanded, but she’s also autonomous, and far more capable than her guardian once she reaches adulthood. It’s not difficult to get attached. Of /course/ you can pet the dog, but you can also call for her. I quickly discover this is more than a “press X to Jason” action prompt. Alba’s voice changes depending on the situation; her fond exasperation while guiding Neva as a carefree pup is a world away from her distraught cries when the pair are forcefully separated. Ostensibly, this mechanic is just for flavor, but it does some remarkable heavy lifting to foster the bond between player and companion.

None of this would be so effective without Nomada Studio’s award-winning animations, which have become more elaborate and heartfelt in the years between Gris and Neva. The latter’s cutscenes speak for themselves; its opening sequence is already infamous for reducing players to tears in Neva’s reveal trailer last year. However, Nomada Studio’s dedication to authentic body language extends to regular gameplay. Neva’s movements are clearly modeled after her real-world canine counterparts, making her a joy to watch. Meanwhile, the understated badassery of Alba unsheathing her sword when facing down her foes is enough to send chills down the spine.

Going into Neva, I was concerned that Nomada Studio may have thrown in combat to make it more marketable to an audience that doesn’t care for pacifistic platformers. Thankfully, the studio approached this challenge with the same design philosophy as everything else. The combat system is lightweight; there are no elaborate combos, skill trees, or abilities, just a straightforward dodge and sword attack. However, the act of combat itself is infused with meaning. Small skirmishes reveal Neva’s growing strength, while boss battles are the perfect stage for high drama. It has just one fatal flaw: contact damage. Thematically, it makes perfect sense that these corruptive forces would be harmful to the touch. However, this legacy feature of classic platformers smarts when paired with a combat system native to modern action RPGs.

Alba’s close-range attacks force me to get right in an enemy’s face to hit them, yet the invincibility frames built into the dodge animation aren’t always enough to roll away without taking damage. This wouldn’t be so frustrating if such a minor misstep didn’t cost a third of Alba’s health. It’s possible to regain lost health a fraction at a time – but three hits in quick succession, and you’re out. It’s a jarring shift from the laidback cadence of an art-driven platformer to high-stakes action-adventure game combat, but that seems to be the point. Each encounter is a real threat, and emerging (mostly) unscathed is an earned victory. That said, no amount of intention makes up for the discordance of a sudden death. Thankfully, there is a combat-free ‘story mode’ to fall back on, but relying on it does feel like settling for an anesthetized experience.

Neva clocks in at around four hours, which makes it easy to complete in a single sitting. However, I recommend dedicating a play session for each chapter. Like Gris, Neva has a few collectibles to encourage players to comb its environments in a second playthrough, but it’s likely to be a one-and-done experience for most. In that respect, it’s worth savoring. The value you get out of Neva depends on whether you can contextualize it within yourself. After the recent loss of a beloved family pet, Neva was heart-wrenching for me to play, but also healing. It allowed me to sit with that love and loss, and test the edges of its tender bruise without flinching. That, to me, is the function of art, and the value of Neva.