I’m not entirely sure if I played Mountain or if Mountain played me.
Don’t get me wrong. I like sullen introspection just as much as the next single guy, but in the short time I “played” Mountain, I just kept asking myself “why?”
And not “why?” in the existential sense that the game is likely aiming to prompt from me. But more like – why was it made? As a conversation piece? A commentary on the definitions of what a game is and should be? A cautionary tale about how actual floating space mountains have feelings?
One thing is for sure – Mountain is pretentious as hell.
That’s not a bad thing, necessarily. Maybe I just have more of a tolerance, or dare I say, even reverence for that sort of thing. After all, I’m someone that willingly sat through all five hours of Andy Warhol’s “Sleep”. I’m attracted to the avant-garde experiments, the outliers of a medium, the works that seem to be designed simply to test boundaries, even if those labels are in reference to what can be easily derided as nothing more than an emo screensaver. At the same time, I can’t help but wonder if we will not only praise something simply by virtue of being different, but for some misguided fear that we’re the only one that doesn’t understand it; like the art critic staring at a painting of wild squiggles, pretending he surmised their greater purpose.
Maybe Mountain doesn’t have a greater purpose. Cynically, maybe it’s just to fleece people out of a dollar. Optimistically, it was created simply to have that discussion. It’s an aimless thing without a discernable goal, just floating around in the vastness of space. Sometimes there’s music. Sometimes it’s scared. Sometimes it dies. It’s just a thing.
You know, just like… life, man. We’re all mountains if you really think about it, looking for our reason for being.
By the way, I have a pamphlet I’d like you to read.