Retrospective: Dreamfall: The Longest Journey

Zoe's path is one, as the opening chapter title so carefully explained, that's tainted. As much as we see this teenager regaining direction, fighting for purpose, we know that ultimately she's in a coma. A coma in which, in the final moments of the game, she dies.

Meanwhile April's story also ends in apparent death, stabbed in the stomach at the moment of her faith's reawakening, falling into a deep swamp. Kian is arrested for treason, inevitably to be executed. And Faith gives up her ghostly grip on the Wire that is causing the "Static" that would have destroyed the world, and dies.

It's of some note that this remains an optimistic game. Because, as Zoe explains at the end to her unknown audience, the job is for the person hearing the story to pick up on its themes and pass them on. It's a game about the restoration of faith, despite life or death.

It's a game about the power of story and storytelling. Zoe, in death, enters The Storytime - an unexplained place with Aboriginal Australian tones - in which she is asked to tell her story. She's a Dreamer, and her story must be told.

And despite the significant issues, it's a game with a depth of understanding of how to tell a story.

Despite the graphics having dated in the last five years, the overall look remains remarkably fresh. Which is thanks to its being a game that was directed.

A clear understanding of film technique is evident, albeit occasionally relying on some rather cheesy George Lucasy shots. But that someone had thought about the framing of a scene at all still stands out as a rare treat in gaming. Often the slow pans, carefully timed with the excellent score, are just as responsible for the emotional resonance of a scene as the writing.

As with The Longest Journey, the writing begins with perhaps a little too much cliché and misfired attempts at peppy banter. But again, as with The Longest Journey, the further you go into its 15 or so hours, the better it gets. As Dreamfall exchanges flippancy for sincerity, it creates some scenes that will stick with you forever.

Zoe's discovery of the laboratory in which Faith grew up is of particular note. A mock bedroom, packed with medical equipment, has children's drawings on the walls and toys on the floor. Zoe quite dispassionately discusses objects you ask her to look at.

But find the video file of the diary of one of the scientists, that documents Faith's final weeks as she slowly died, and a return visit to that room is bursting with sadness.

Look at the same objects and Zoe explains them with despair, horrified at how the girl had been treated, and devastated by her tragic life. Poignancy is a word so rarely associated with gaming that I didn't know how to spell it. Writer/director Ragnar Tørnquist may be a little too keen to opt for Joss Whedon's flippancy where Aaron Sorkin's sincerity would work better, but when he hits he hits hard.

And his enthusiasm for a haunting phrase of fantasy nonsense is always appealing. "The Undreaming is unchained," we're told as the credits roll. Brrrrrr. I've no idea what that means, but I'm quite certain it's terrifying.

"You belong to the Storytime," Zoe is told. There's a phrase I've been waiting my whole life for someone to say to me.

It's certainly a shame that all this is stuck in between bouts of the horrendous combat and run-and-fetch puzzles. But not enough that it shouldn't be played. Zoe's voice can be cloying, but at all the right moments it hits the tone just right. The few puzzles may be daft, and the "hacking" woefully out of place, but the message behind it all is worth hearing.

It's about faith, and why it's worth fighting for.