Pine: A Story of Loss Review (Switch eShop)

‘Game’ is a funny word. On its face, it describes lighthearted, fun, frivolous things. Even a very serious game of snooker, in which people wear waistcoats, is ‘just a game’ on some level. But of course video games can be very different, and Pine is one such game. The subtitle gives it away – A Story of Loss – and it does exactly what it says on the tin.

You might be inclined to imagine something like Arise: A Simple Story, where some light platforming guides you through allegorical landscapes in between cutscenes. However, Pine could be politely described as ‘gameplay-light’. The protagonist is an unnamed man living alone in a forest clearing. He fells trees for firewood, grows vegetables in a small allotment to feed himself, and does little else besides carving little statuettes of a woman he loves but has lost.

Clearly prioritising touchscreen controls, you begin the game with plenty of swooping your finger to pre-empt the swing of an axe into wood, lifting and placing to simulate the management of the vegetable patch, or tapping to eat food from a plate, chomp by chomp. Playing with a controller really trivialises this, as the interactions are essentially reduced to pressing down a few times languidly, pressing ‘A’ a few times lethargically, and so on. That said, even the touch interactions are pretty bog standard. The idea of replicating on-screen actions with similar gestures is one that’s been well and truly done, and painting guidelines on the screen so you can put your hand in the way of the lovely artwork is actually kind of anti-immersive. Brief puzzle interludes likewise risk interrupting the narrative flow.

While we appreciate this is not painting a thrilling picture of Pine, there is something going on here that is worth a look. The artwork is attractive, and the sounds are evocative of the simplicity of the work our man is doing to keep on going with life in the face of having lost his true love. The music breathes in and out, swelling and fading, driving the sad persistence of the story.

And persisting is all the protagonist is really doing. It’s a portrait of depression and grieving, so be ready for that if you are going to give Pine a shot. The game only lasts a couple of hours, but it felt longer, sometimes like we could see the paint of the artwork drying in front of our eyes. That’s the point, though, as it leans into the monotony and bleakness of half-heartedly pressing on. The later stages lighten the interaction even further and are more like watching an animated film with only occasional button inputs. It becomes ‘Press A to Continue… Existing’. Whether you find the resolution of the tale relatable is of course going to be very much a personal matter, but we didn’t quite click with it, interpreting a message that loss is to be forgotten more than digested.

Pine, then, is part of the video game world, but it’s far from ‘just a game’. With appealing visuals and a haunting atmosphere, it demands patience and introspection. For those eager to explore its ideas of loss and moving on, it’s worth a look; for others, it might feel like the world’s saddest gardening simulator.

'Game' is a funny word. On its face, it describes lighthearted, fun, frivolous things. Even a very serious game of snooker, in which people wear waistcoats, is 'just a game' on some level. But of course video games can be very different, and Pine is one such game. The subtitle gives it away – A Story of Loss – and it does exactly what it says on the tin.

You might be inclined to imagine something like Arise: A Simple Story, where some light platforming guides you through allegorical landscapes in between cutscenes. However, Pine could be politely described as 'gameplay-light'. The protagonist is an unnamed man living alone in a forest clearing. He fells trees for firewood, grows vegetables in a small allotment to feed himself, and does little else besides carving little statuettes of a woman he loves but has lost.

Clearly prioritising touchscreen controls, you begin the game with plenty of swooping your finger to pre-empt the swing of an axe into wood, lifting and placing to simulate the management of the vegetable patch, or tapping to eat food from a plate, chomp by chomp. Playing with a controller really trivialises this, as the interactions are essentially reduced to pressing down a few times languidly, pressing 'A' a few times lethargically, and so on. That said, even the touch interactions are pretty bog standard. The idea of replicating on-screen actions with similar gestures is one that’s been well and truly done, and painting guidelines on the screen so you can put your hand in the way of the lovely artwork is actually kind of anti-immersive. Brief puzzle interludes likewise risk interrupting the narrative flow.

While we appreciate this is not painting a thrilling picture of Pine, there is something going on here that is worth a look. The artwork is attractive, and the sounds are evocative of the simplicity of the work our man is doing to keep on going with life in the face of having lost his true love. The music breathes in and out, swelling and fading, driving the sad persistence of the story.

And persisting is all the protagonist is really doing. It’s a portrait of depression and grieving, so be ready for that if you are going to give Pine a shot. The game only lasts a couple of hours, but it felt longer, sometimes like we could see the paint of the artwork drying in front of our eyes. That’s the point, though, as it leans into the monotony and bleakness of half-heartedly pressing on. The later stages lighten the interaction even further and are more like watching an animated film with only occasional button inputs. It becomes 'Press A to Continue… Existing'. Whether you find the resolution of the tale relatable is of course going to be very much a personal matter, but we didn’t quite click with it, interpreting a message that loss is to be forgotten more than digested.

Pine, then, is part of the video game world, but it’s far from 'just a game'. With appealing visuals and a haunting atmosphere, it demands patience and introspection. For those eager to explore its ideas of loss and moving on, it’s worth a look; for others, it might feel like the world’s saddest gardening simulator.