There are certain clichés that are inescapable. In horror, the term “cliché” has almost become one in and of itself. It’s reached a point where audiences have come to ironically cherish these all too familiar hallmarks of the genre. It’s bled into our day to day lives and vocabulary. I prefer to call it “the bullshit factor.” Every facet of life, be it politics, marriage, career, or entertainment, all come dressed in varying layers of bullshit. For example, how many people have told you that they’re afraid of clowns? Now, how many of those people do you think are ACTUALLY afraid of clowns? Probably not many of them, because for most people, being “afraid of clowns” is just some bullshit thing they think they’re supposed to say. As a living, breathing human being who has been blessed (or cursed) with a sense of self, it’s up to the individual to decide exactly how much bullshit they’re willing to stand.  Funcom’s The Park is at times clever, but it isn’t without its own bullshit. I’ll try to dance around specific plot points to avoid spoiling any twists.

The game opens on the outside of an amusement park called Atlantic Island Park. The player assumes the role of a single mother named Lorraine who has just spent a day at the park with her son Callum. It’s now dusk, and as the sun drops down behind the local terrain, the once inviting landscape turns evermore grim and foreboding. Turning her back for a moment, Lorraine’s son runs back into the amusement park. She has no choice but to chase after him as the park closes up its gates behind her, locking the two of them in for the night. Letters, journals, and newspaper clippings strewn about the park piece together the dark story of its past. But, while facing the evil that lurks in the shadows of the park, Lorraine confronts the evil within herself. Perhaps they are one in the same. For the next 90 minutes, it’s an existential battle for the soul as Lorraine attempts to rescue her son before she loses her own mind.

Nothing much about The Park is fresh or innovative. The constant jump scares in the first hour of the game seem hollow and without purpose for anything other than cheap thrills. Some of Lorraine’s inner dialogue sounds as bad as teenage poetry. But, the ambitious goal to which Funcom aims for becomes more apparent in the third act of the game. Is Atlantic Island Park possibly a metaphor for Lorraine’s mental state? Could Lorraine have killed her own son? The final set piece is a haunted fun house. We enter and exit through many of the same rooms multiple times, and though this may sound like a chore, this is where The Park reaches its high point. With each pass, the rooms change, becoming rife with the signs of murder and mental decay. The tension reaches a boiling point as Lorraine literally descends into madness. I may have already said too much.

The mechanics of the game are simple. Like Gone Home, the story of The Park is revealed through various newspaper clippings, journal entries, letters, etc. But, unlike with Gone Home, you never reach a point where you actually care. What worked brilliantly as a narrative tool in Gone Home quickly becomes unbearable to point of being obnoxious in The Park. I had to force myself to explore various areas of the game rather than just plow through it, directly to the end. However, I must say that though the scares are at times cheap, they are undeniably effective. Hollow or not, they do what they set out to do. I played this game with headphones on, and periodically, I had to take them off due to the tension.
I hope I’m not coming off overly harsh. Funcom deserves admiration for their attempt. The third act is quite clever at times and shows a potential for great storytelling. Greatness was not achieved with the Park, but I think there is a talent level there at Funcom that makes it very possible in the future. Also,  if all you’re looking for in a horror game is some good quick frights, give this game a shot. The price is certainly right for it.

Conclusion:

Even with a clever third act, Funcom’s The Park isn’t able to escape the tired clichés of the genre.

6/10

Dylan Hackworth

Dylan is a writer/performer in Chicago, Il. Let’s figure this out together, shall we?