Written by: Ruby Kim
Gris begins with a moment of loss. The main character’s voice fades, and the world turns pale. Nothing is explained, but the shift is clear enough to understand that something important has changed.
As the game unfolds, the world slowly rebuilds itself. Gris is a 2D platform exploration game with simple controls, but every scene feels carefully placed. The world responds quietly as you move. Shapes come back together, and small traces of color return to the pale landscape. Blue feels heavy, green feels calm, and red carries tension. These changes appear little by little, and the restoration of the world becomes the main sense of progress.
What stood out to me was how Gris uses space. Some areas open up, others suddenly narrow, and short mechanics appear just long enough to shift how you move. None of this feels difficult, but it keeps your attention because each moment shows a different side of the world. The game never pushes you. It lets you follow its pace.
Unlike many platform games focused on speed or combat, Gris moves in a different direction. Without those elements, your attention shifts to how scenes connect and how transitions are shaped. You start to notice timing and structure, and how the environment guides you without saying anything. It creates a kind of engagement based on observing the world rather than reacting to it.
There is almost no dialogue, yet the visual direction is clear. The layout of each area, the timing of movement, and the sound all work together consistently. Nothing feels random or added just to stand out. The game feels built around one steady idea.
When I look at digital products, I often think about how they shape the way people move through a world. Gris let me watch that idea in a different form. It shows how pacing, structure, and small visual changes can create meaning on their own. The game doesn’t rely on intensity, but it stays with you because the world feels intentional and complete.
For me, the experience felt like walking through a long installation, where each section continues the last. Watching the world slowly return to itself leaves a quiet impression, and I think many people, regardless of what they have faced, could find a small sense of comfort in that slow reconstruction.