Ethan Divon

I cannot overstate how stunningly sorrowful this game is. Its lush environments, depicted with rich watercolor hues and supplemented by the absolutely stupefying soundtrack, render in perfect image the most awe-inspiring, grief-filled story.  

“Gris” will make you cry.  
 

The story follows a young girl as she journeys through her own grief. Personal. Intimate. And through that intimacy, you truly feel that grief weigh on your heart. The game begins with a breath-taking world of color, and in an instant, that joy—that color — is ripped away to the blank canvas of despair. Left in that void of white, you feel any sense of life and joy emptied from your soul.  

“Gris” will make you cry. 

The rest of the game follows as you would expect. You follow the girl; her journey is not easy—as the journey of healing is not easy—but it is rewarding. I won’t spoil any more of the plot, but needless to say, the game is about how a person torn asunder by grief can find peace enough to move on, and for that: 

“Gris” will make you cry. 

In a time of endless stress—issues larger than any one person could imagine, students and professors alike crumpling under the strain of the end of the semester, and just the world feeling that much more overwhelming—“Gris” is a soft moment of reflection. This game, like the soft sigh that comes after a heaving sob, asks you to stop for just a moment, breath, and feel. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that you should consider playing this game. In that moment—that soft inhale as you feel your heart sink into the well of despair—in that moment… 

“Gris” will make you cry, but you will be thankful for it.