(Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/24/2024)
[Image from glitchwave.com]
Omori
Developer: Omocat
Publisher: Omocat, Playism
Genre(s): JRPG
Platforms: PC, Switch, PS4, Xbox One, 3DS, PS Vita, Xbox Series X
Release Date: December 25, 2020
I debated with heavy consideration whether or not to tackle Omori for the upcoming Halloween season. Since 2021, I've annually handpicked five or six video games to review in October that correspond with the major holiday occurring on the final day of the month. Overt horror games such as Resident Evil and Silent Hill are fairly self-explanatory for even the least avid of gamers. Still, the classification of what constitutes a game appropriate for this time of year has been bent and reconsidered per my better judgment. Castlevania, especially the 8-bit titles on the NES, couldn't even startle a jumpy toddler. Still, an homage to the Universal horror classics of the 1930s makes it equally an essential elder statesman to its medium like the gothic monster movies that inspired it. Destroy All Humans and War of the Monsters are both relatively fitting because the bygone atomic horror period that they’re both tributing used to genuinely frighten audiences during the 1950s. Luigi’s Mansion still evokes the eeriness of navigating through a haunted mansion like Resident Evil even if it forgoes the gore for campy, lighthearted goofiness. With something like Omori, however, there’s something about its conceptual identity that strikes me as inappropriate to induct it into the October canon of horror-themed video games. Sure, there isn’t any doubt that the game fits its psychological horror label like canned juice through a laundry chute (that’s a Silent Hill 2 reference for you), but the way that Omori directs its brand of cerebral torment veers more towards gloom and forlornness rather than panic-inducing encounters with mentally fabricated monsters. Depression, grief, and mental illness are constructs that plague humanity in real life, and the grave nature of these afflictions strike a chord of solemnity that wipes away the fun factor of fictional scares. Omori plasters all of these grim concepts on its thematic bumper like stickers on a minivan, which is the primary reason why I felt reviewing Omori was a tasteless digression from the exhilarating spirit of the spooky season. However, I did state that what crowned Silent Hill 2 the king of horror video games was its unparalleled integration of similar themes into its narrative, evoking a potent feeling of something I dubbed as “emotional horror.” I’ll eat my own words in this instance, for I now must know if Omori expertly captures the same peculiar phenomena that skyrocketed Silent Hill 2 to interactive horror prestige.
One probably couldn’t discern Omori’s horror elements just by taking a gander at it. Okay, the gray and hazy flashes in the opening shots are rather discomforting, and all the reassurances in the text such as “don’t worry” and “everything will be okay” signal that perhaps the aura of Omori is worrisome and that everything might be a catastrophe. Still, this opening sequence evokes cries of angst rather than screams of terror. Once the game includes player involvement, the homey pad known as “WHITE SPACE” may perturb some players with its eerily monochromatic and minimalistic design, and the drawings found in the notebook would send any child straight to a psychiatrist. Again, any and all feelings of consternation set by this scene are negated by Omori’s presentational elements, namely the chibi-sized playable character and other setpieces seen here rendered by the endearing, pixelated graphics. Leaving “white space” through the conveniently generated door teleports the player to a place that could be described as if a zoo managed to put the sickeningly colorful Nyan Cat in captivity and displayed it for human amusement. The land outside of this variegated cell isn’t as profusely vivid, but a more restrained and consistent color scheme still proves to be equally as stimulating. One particularly alluring aspect of the visuals is that while each individual area of Omori’s world disciplines itself to a concrete color palette, the game still displays an overarching idiosyncratic style no matter the specific shade. If the pixelated graphics weren’t charmingly rough-hewn enough, Omori scribbles in the insides of those grainy outlines with pencil-drawn shades where blank, white slivers lie in between for authenticity. The doodle drawings matched with the vibrant, lightly-toned colors of the foregrounds portray something very child-like. They not only speak to the whimsical nature of childhood, but craft something akin to an art style typically associated with children. Even though the art style is amateurish, an inexperienced child could never possibly match Omori’s refinement. Omori doesn’t look scary in the slightest, but its visuals are still wonderfully appealing.
Once the player sees similarities between Omori and a certain Nintendo title from the SNES era, they might make inferences that its horror elements are stealthily waiting beneath the surface for the opportune moment to violently erupt on the player like lava gushing from a volcano. The game I’m obviously referring to is Earthbound, a cult classic oddity with some deceptively disturbing content that has become the building blocks for a plethora of acclaimed indie titles released over the past decade. The quirky, seemingly guileless aesthetic both games share is a fair parallel to draw from, but a more apparent connection to Omori and its primary influence is the relationship between the player and their RPG party. For a sad sack with a perpetual glower, Omori, the title character, has an enterprising social life. South of the tree stump that houses Omori’s aforementioned cell is a playground where all of the local children play merrily until the sun sets. The bossy Berly and her burly, candy-covered companion Van seem to run the roost here but for the sake of relevance, let’s focus on the three central children who encompass Omori’s supporting team. It’s difficult to say which of the three is Omori’s best friend, but the token girl, Aubrey, seems to express the strongest affection towards the grey, stoic boy to the point where I’d call it puppy love. If you ask me, she has better romantic chemistry with the immature and impulsive Kel, and their constant butting of heads will likely lead to a future as teenagers in the back of Kel’s Dad’s Dodge Challenger on prom night. Kel knows not to provoke Aubrey too severely, for he might become victim to a literal butting of Aubrey’s head or a swift clobbering with her baseball bat–hence why she’s the muscle of the group. Add Kel’s older and winsome brother, Hero, into the mix as a positive proton to the negative charge Aubrey and Kel emit and this ensemble is certainly dynamic. As for where Omori fits in this group, he’s essentially Eeyore–the taciturn one that everyone still accepts into their social circle despite his doleful demeanor.
I think the sight of the other three children tailing Omori in a straight and unified line at all times is the image that empirically proves the game’s heavy Earthbound influence. However, this connection between Omori and its much older RPG muse is a tad more nuanced than simply having four children as the playable party members. In Earthbound’s mixed bag of both brilliant and bullshit aspects, one of the game’s better attributes relates to how each kid Ness would scrounge up to aid him on his quest served uniquely different roles on the team. Not only does this apply to their physical stats in combat, but it also applies to how each party member was a distinctive character with their own interesting personalities that made the quartet so eclectic. In Earthbound, characterization kind of slows to a glacial halt for each kid once they are absorbed into the Ness collective. While the characters in Omori hardly look dissimilar on screen unless the player squints, the personability of the title character’s friends never wavers because the game barely ceases in highlighting their distinctive personalities. Banter between characters through frequent dialogue does its job effectively, but Omori extends the transparency of every partner’s distinctiveness through their actions outside of conversation and combat. Traversing through Omori’s weird world will often be stopped by various progress impediments, and each of Omori’s friends has their own particular solution to specific problems. For example, if an object like a ceramic pot or a barrel are blocking the path, Aubrey will smash it to smithereens with her trusty baseball bat. Her hitting skills are also applicable to activate switches as well. However, if those switches aren’t in close quarters, it’ll be up to Kel to stand on a pedestal and channel his inner Dennis the Menace by aiming his slingshot and pelting the button or other object from afar. In the instance where the hindrance is a sentient being, Hero will take the stand to persuade the recalcitrant figure with his nice guy suaveness. Omori’s specialties are mostly contingent on hefty progression milestones, such as being able to slice the spiderwebs in front of the entrance to Pyrefly Forest and swim to the underwater Deep Well after conquering his fear of arachnids and drowning respectively. The player will have to swap out who is leading this congo line in order to enact a character’s specific field talent, and the transitional photos of one character tagging the other are both adorable and on brand for how the foursome perceive one another (I.e Aubrey’s elation when Omori tags her versus the irritation she feels when Kel does it and Hero giving his younger, smaller brother a noogie). The special abilities are just another example of Omori expertly fleshing out its characters outside of their combat attributes, engaging the player with these kids on a scale that Earthbound neglected to reach.
Still, the quartet’s dynamic during combat remains essential as it would for any archetypal JRPG team. If the merged movement of Omori and his friends on the field echoed Earthbound, one can imagine the combat system to be as equally uncanny. Upon encountering a boss or a common enemy, any battle is depicted with an immobile image of the foe at the center with the four characters framed in each corner. Attacks aren’t physically seen and are rather implied by flashes, and enemies are prone to waste a turn nodding off at times. Omori does not borrow Earthbound’s winding slot health mechanic, for perhaps that is a patented attribute whose use in other properties is impermissible. Each character has their individual health bars and magic meters, and they all have a unique set of skills that drain what is known here as “juice”. More skills are unlocked as each character levels up, but many revolve around their designated right-hand item or field ability. Omori stabs and slices foes with his knife like a sashimi chef, Aubrey emerges from her box to wallop enemies with her skull, Kel’s rubber ball ricochets around wildly, and Hero miraculously manages to whip up restorative baked goods with his spatula despite not also being equipped with a stove or oven. If the player instead chooses to engage the standard attack to conserve “juice,” they can still deal critical amounts of damage through the passing mechanic. Before attacking, a menu appears in the blink of an eye with three directional options. The current character can follow up their attack by passing it to one of the others, and the nature of the collaborative encore depends on the character’s skills and interpersonal relationship with the other person. Hero will yell chants that inspire confidence which heal both health and juice, while Kel will toss a ball to his friends, particularly Aubrey, to hit a grand slam into the enemies. Even when there is no dialogue or overt story exposition on screen, Omori still finds ways to cleverly cultivate character interactions.
Passing an attack to Kel when it's Aubrey's turn, however, will instead cause a peculiar status effect, which is my segway into discussing what is probably Omori’s singular contribution to the turn-based RPG combat. Omori is unquestionably a game that revels in vulnerability, wearing every emotion on its sleeves as prominently as an arm-spanning tattoo. Since emotions are a stark thematic construct in Omori, Omocat, the core creative force behind Omori, had the bright idea to integrate this element of the game’s essence into the combat. Whether Omori and friends are inflicting mercurial shifts on the enemies or on each other, the emotion mechanic is vital to success with the game’s combat. Depending on the character, the player can exhaust a bit of juice to either give them a pep talk to fill them with happiness (Aubrey), read them a somber poem to evoke feelings of sadness (Omori), or anger them through annoying yelps and screeches (Kel). Stacking these status afflictions with the same special skills will increase the severity of each emotion to ecstasy, depression, and rage respectively. Only Omori can push the emotional threshold to their extremes with mania, misery, and fury. Basically, the utility of the emotions operates on a rock, paper, and scissors system where an emotion is forceful against one and delicate to another both in terms of offense and defense–as helpfully illustrated on an artful schematic once the mechanic is introduced. While the goal is to contrast the opposing emotion felt by the enemy, the state of each mood still carries certain benefits relating to aspects such as speed, luck, defense, etc. Sure, one can argue that this is a reinterpretation of Pokemon’s (or Shin Megami Tensei) elemental system. However, the way that Omori weaves one of its chief thematic attributes into the combat plausibly and practically makes it anything but derivative.
While the emotion system is more than an admirable mark of intuition, it comes with a glaring flaw that almost soils the combat entirely. Omori’s combat is easy to learn and easy to master, which will cause any lucid player paying attention to never experience strife at any point in the game. The issue stems from the fact that emotions are perpetual until the battle ends, and they can be altered without much effort by the player at any given moment. When the party is all donning the opposing shade on the emotional spectrum, they’ll be able to trounce the enemy with several consecutive super-effective strikes and still have the time and energy to have a joyous picnic afterward. An example of how fundamentally broken this system is with the Sweetheart boss fight, a regal, narcissistic brat who resembles Strawberry Shortcake if the wholesome character had a yandere streak. As the fight progresses, she’ll elevate her “cheerful positivity” to the heights of pure, rapturous bliss. It’s intended to convey the notion to tread lightly around her at her maximum potential but as long as Omori dampens himself and his friends in a shield of sorrow, they’ll smack that manically gleeful smirk off of her irritating face while she barely dents any of them with her pink medieval flail. The intended formidability of this fight is rendered into a sweatless joke, which can really be said about any instance of combat in the game. If the emotions were a temporary slight or stat boost and the player was forced to take advantage of the slimmer window of opportunity, the mechanics would prove to be a thrilling tint to the combat. As it is, I wonder if the title character’s expressionless face is inspired by boredom rather than despair.
Speaking of the aforementioned boss whose battle is practically effortless, Sweetheart involves one of the numerous detours the game takes from Omori’s main quest. The primary goal for Omori & company is to find their sensitive, plant-enthusiast friend Basil, who disappears without a trace after the events of the prologue. The gang must scour every crevice of the Vast Forest to find their frightened, flower-crowned compadre, which will lead them to countless corners of dangerous, uncharted territory. As I stated beforehand regarding Omori’s eclectic color palette, the necessity of sprucing up the pixelated graphics with every shade of a rainbow is to highlight distinctions between all of the world map’s varied districts. The “Otherworld” moon colony that requires the longest ladder imaginable to reach is an audacious fuschia, an attractive, unconventional shade for a quasi-urban environment. The creamsicle sands of the Orange Oasis are the grounds of an excavation site, luring tourists to dig for treasure with its accessible, marketable dinosaur mascot. Places where NPCs are less likely to be found include the misty, spider-infested Pyrefly Forest and the watery trenches of Deep Well, and the latter area evokes such a mesmerizing underwater atmosphere that it made me yearn to remain down here until the character’s lungs collapsed from a lack of oxygen.
I enjoy that the map I’m forced to search every nook and cranny of to find Basil is wonderfully diverse but ultimately, all the diversity does is distract the foursome from their primary objective. Once they deduce that Basil hasn't stepped foot in the Otherworld neighborhood, the gang then shifts their focus to finding an intimate mixtape for a lovesick character called Capt. Spaceboy in its local junkyard. Aubrey receives tickets to a bachelor auction in the village where the common sprout mole enemies reside, and attending the show leads to a long escapade trying to escape Sweetheart’s vain and extravagant castle estate where the fountains jet a richly red liquid that the game describes as “not for children.” Aubrey said she’d humor this outing IF they found the time, and someone responsible like Hero should’ve stamped their foot down and said no to this nonsense. Severing Omori’s friends of their unpaid employment at the Last Resort casino feels like an unconcealed distraction by design, and not a single vital piece of information to Basil’s whereabouts could ever have been found in the elaborate insides of Humphrey the Whale. The gang actually struggles to remember Basil at this point in the game and quite frankly, his relevance was getting a bit fuzzy in my mind as well. Look, I understand that the impetus for all of these plot deviations is from Earthbound doing the same at every waking moment. Random happenstances worked in Earthbound’s favor because the game was unabashedly absurd, and the overarching plot of reaching the sanctuaries allowed for some extracurricular activities in between. In a game where the characters communicate more often on a mission where time is of the essence, too much rerouting makes the player think there’s a glitch in the matrix and that the characters are nonchalant little dickheads.
I’m fairly patient with Omori’s wonky trajectory, but I did reach a point where I found myself asking what was the point of this quirky investigation involving a brooding Myspace-era emo kid and his three friends. Omori’s arbitrary events didn’t even match the humor of Earthbound’s because the game is too puerile and squeaky clean, even though there is clearly a latent sexual tension between Aubrey and Kel. I struggled to find the substance of Omori until Capt. Spaceboy was defeated, for the game then warped to a scene where the title character awakens from the interactive dream that I was just experiencing. Before you dismiss this occurrence as a maddening cliche, transporting to the realm of consciousness unlocks Omori’s foundation that I was beginning to believe the game didn’t have. The world surrounding The Protagonist, who is canonically named Sunny here and not the title’s namesake, once he snaps out of his slumber is where the “domestic RPG” aspects of Earthbound start to shine. Or, it’s when the alluring veil of fantasy is ripped off to expose a drab and dull reality, depending on your perspective. Gone is the lush, psychedelic tint to the visuals, as Sunny’s actual residency adopts a sober, realistic rendering of the real world–pixels withstanding. This also extends to how the protagonist and the NPCs are portrayed, with more melanin in their skin fit for a healthy human being instead of a bunch of bed-sheet-white anemics. There are no submerged casinos or cities in the sky, as only the park is the real-world parallel that crosses over into Sunny’s dream land. That is, unless you discount that he’s inserted his favorite comic book superhero Capt. Spaceboy and the popular starlet Sweetheart into his subconscious, giving context to the elements of HEADSPACE that seemed irrelevant. The character progression that comes with turn-based combat is not relevant here, as Sunny cannot gain experience through battle and is limited to one attack and a single skill involving meditative breathing to restore his health. I wouldn’t be surprised if several players loathe every section of Omori that takes place after Sunny wakes up and exasperatedly rushes through them, for the vibrant locations and the RPG mechanics that grab the player’s attention cryogenically freezes. While nothing here is as appealing as the components of “HEADSPACE,” revealing that the roundabout realm where erratic, almost episodic, events happen on a whim are all but a fabrication conjured up by The Protagonist’s subconscious justifies the scattered progression. Personally, taking a breather from the turbulence of HEADSPACE to a more grounded dimension is refreshing.
The effectiveness of the Persona-esque juxtaposition between Omori’s two realms is based on one universe informing the context of the other. Anyone who has ever slumbered before will tell you that the elements of one’s dreams are ethereal embellishments of recognizable attributes, and this observation is expressed by Omori’s reality if the park is any indication. People’s dreams also tend to feature familiar faces they regularly interact with, so you know that Sunny’s three friends have to be circling around the vicinity somewhere here. However, they are not all waiting in the same spot together, eager for Sunny to meet them and gallivant off fighting the local wildlife or helping an elderly woman save her cat that got stuck up in a tree. In fact, the friendship dynamic of the foursome is fractured entirely here. The young adult Hero has shipped off to university and Aubrey is spending her time with an entirely new group of local kids that vaguely resemble the figures found at the park in Sunny’s dreams. She’s almost unrecognizable with her bubblegum pink hair dye job, and her attitude has shifted into that of an unruly miscreant like the rest of her playground chums. Their prankish deeds barely outdo the Gangreen Gang from The Powerpuff Girls in legality, but they will still draw ire from players because they are obnoxious jerks to Sunny, Kel, and especially poor Basil. Aubrey has entered her “Chloe Price” phase, and comparing her to that hellacious character sickens me considering her HEADSPACE counterpart was so sweet and full of natural exuberance. Kel still exudes the same high spirits, albeit now as a dorky, overly positive goodies-two-shoes instead of a reckless bull in a China shop. Maybe he’s rekindling the energy he once had because he’s excited to see Sunny again after years of The Protagonist’s absence, and perhaps he’s in a people-pleasing mood because Sunny is permanently departing from the neighborhood in three days. Whether it's the fact that Sunny’s lifestyle has turned his name into the pinnacle of irony or that Aubrey is now browbeating her old friends instead of appreciating them, it’s evident that the tender connection these kids once had has been ripped to shreds to the point of total dissipation. Once the player learns of the conditions surrounding the present state of The Protagonist’s being and his non-existent relationships with his former friends, the whimsical ecstasy felt in the HEADSPACE portion of the game is swapped for a potent melancholy. Sunny has ensconced himself in a dreamy, exaggerated dominion of nostalgic bliss, when life was simple and free of both internal and external conflict. The nebulous nature of HEADSPACE that once confounded the player becomes appreciated when we get a glimpse at the bleak reality that spurred its creation. Suddenly, the player is hanging on every moment taking place in HEADSPACE and is as enveloped in the fantasy as the character that created it.
Why Sunny became a recluse and how his loving group of friends was torn asunder isn't another secondary mystery arc taking place in the realm of reality. The player learns as soon as the first full day that Sunny’s dear friends separated due to the untimely death of Mari, Sunny’s sister and beloved member of his friend group. Even though she’s only a memory to the other characters in the real world, the player receives plenty of exposure to this departed character in HEADSPACE where she facilitates the save function with her picnic baskets. She does nothing but supports the gang and praises her younger brother just for being himself, even though he just interprets her compliments with that sustained look of apathy he has. When the player browses Basil’s photo album, either the real one or the HEADSPACE equivalent, seeing Mari in these photos alongside the other characters in their most intimately cherished moments effectively conveys the weight of their loss. She was clearly a lovely influence on her younger brother and their shared group of friends, so it's baffling to everyone why she would’ve committed suicide in her backyard. However, as the game unravels, it’s clear that someone at the local PD should’ve conducted a thorough autopsy. Once Omori collects the keyboard key collectibles necessary in spelling out “WELCOME TO BLACK SPACE” in a game of hangman, completing the puzzle unlocks the passageway into a shadowed mirror version of Omori’s home of WHITE SPACE. It’s here in this sterile, dark no-man's land where the momentary sprinkles of horror that Omori has been dropping to foreshadow this section blossoms into a Wonka’s Tunnel of Terror of freaky, surreal occurrences–ranging from dissecting Sunny’s cat as “punishment” to the fingers of a graphically refined hand being gruesomely severed. The objective surrounding the cavalcade of strange and upsetting instances is to collect the Polaroid pictures scattered around the ground, and piecing all of them together in a photo album in chronological order reveals the truth behind how Mari died. From what I can tell, Mari accidentally broke Sunny’s violin in a scuffle because she felt he was too inexperienced with his instrument to perform a duet with her on the piano. In a fit of anger, Sunny retaliated by pushing her down a flight of stairs, and the impact proved to be fatal. Panicking, he dragged her body to the backyard and hung a noose around her neck to make it seem like a suicide, avoiding the severe consequences of his actions. It’s not clear whether Basil was a witness or an accomplice to this shocking scene, but his involvement here explains why he’s been so inactive in Sunny’s cognizance–avoiding the truth by avoiding the only other person who is privy to it. The black, discorporate figure that has been present during Sunny’s anxious episodes of mental dissonance is also revealed to be the indelible image of Mari’s swollen eye peeking over her hair as she motionlessly hung from the tree branch. When that piece is inserted into the greater puzzle of Omori’s narrative, it’s so upsetting that I’m afraid that I’ll start seeing it when I rise from bed at night to use the bathroom.
They pulled a James fucking Sunderland on us. Up until Sunny’s descent into BLACK SPACE, I was confident that the ethos of Omori was rooted in coping with the bittersweet inevitability of change. I was going to confidently state parallels to Earthbound’s themes of maturing and adapting to the trauma of that initial loss of innocence. Instead, I’ve come to find that the character I’ve been empathizing with and was hoping that he’d pull himself out of the rut he created over something out of his control caused his own crippling malaise. Regardless of whether or not his actions were inadvertent and if his remorse is eating him alive, it doesn’t change the fact that *he killed his own fucking sister.* James Sunderland even had more rationale for doing what he did! Anyway, the damage is irrevocable and is now out on the table. Sunny cannot resurrect Mari, but he still has the power to positively change the outcome of his future without her. If the player has been attentively stomaching the sections in FARAWAY TOWN, it’ll put Sunny on the path of redemption. He’ll still confront Basil in his room which will result in both boys ending up in the hospital, but Sunny will still barge in and say “I have something to tell you…” with his friends all present–signifying that he’s come to terms with his actions. Any variation of this route may also result in Sunny killing himself when the grief is too unbearable to take, especially when he gives into his defeat fighting his Omori doppelganger in WHITE SPACE. Alternately, the player can also abstain from ever interacting with the real world and sink even further into delusional degeneration. The player is in control of Sunny’s destiny, and the outcome could also subtly illustrate how they’d act if they were faced with the same circumstances.
I didn’t think that the cannon that fired a crushing grapeshot of emotion into my gut after playing Silent Hill 2 had more ammunition to do it again with Omori. Alas, Omocat’s creation threw me into the torrent of overwhelming guilt and grief just as effectively as Konami’s masterpiece without copying anything from Silent Hill 2's narrative. Really, the game of interest that Omori bunched itself in a tangled knot with is Earthbound, and some of the assets borrowed from that game ended with complications involving the pacing and combat. However, Omori’s comparatively starker resemblance to Earthbound than the rest of the game’s indie acolytes makes me see that it has flourished all of the aspects of Nintendo’s cult classic that I found excruciating with modern accessibility and a better emphasis on character growth and interactions. It lacks Earthbound’s edge, but all of the improvements more than compensate for that. I’d argue that it takes Earthbound’s template further into refurbishment territory than its own sequel. With its impactful narrative, layered characters, and moments that will make you both sob and keep you awake at night, I can see why Omori earned the same rabid following on the internet as Undertale once did. Omori will persist as a contender for the horror classic canon of gaming.
