Proteus is a beautiful little game, visually. It appeals directly to my love of low fidelity video game aesthetics, and even seems to anticipate the 90s videogame aesthetic revival that would hit several years after its release, with retro shooters like DUSK, or Devil Daggers. Unlike those recent games, Proteus uses its simple visual style to illustrate nothing more than a peaceful island, randomly generated for the player on every unique session. The game is composed of simple sprites transposed on simple polygons. Chunky pixelated textures cover every surface, allowing the game’s bold color choices to dominate. The style allows for some striking tableaus, like when the glaring red sun begins to set behind the figure of an obscure sculpture and the sky melts into vivid hues.

The game looks incredible when its pieces align, but the graphics have some nagging annoying qualities. It’s generally not a problem, but the game doesn’t really bother with collision detection on entities other than the player, allowing for some awkward-looking moments where a creature is embedded into a piece of geometry. Though the lighting and colors often create strikingly beautiful vistas, they also regularly generate very washed out looking environments cast against a dull sky. And most frustratingly, for a game crafted from such simple components, the draw distance in the game is remarkably short. When I wander up a mountain to the highest point around me, I expect to be able to get a clear view of most of the small island, but the landscape dissolves just a few hundred meters away from me.

There is little interaction in the game, and I spent my first session with the game aimlessly meandering over hills and appreciating the views. I discovered a handful of curious landmarks across the island, from a giant tree that forms a cathedral-like space below its wide branches, to a tiny cabin nestled in a valley, to the ruins of an old stone tower. As I wandered, the island progressed through a day-to-night cycle over the course of ten minutes, and the shifts in lighting really bring out the best in the game’s minimalist art style. At one point, the sun set as I crested a hill and a gallery of shooting stars opened up before my eyes. Since every element is composed of colorful flat planes, Proteus’s island feels like animated handmade papercraft, and my first twenty minutes of cluelessly wandering its landscape were wonderfully pleasant.

What I didn’t know, and it took me looking up a guide to realize this, is that the game does have an end state that it encourages players to reach. Though never explicitly explained, the game can be progressed by entering a stone circle found somewhere on the procedurally generated island. To help the player out, the circle gives off a shimmering glow of particles that can be seen from a distance. When entered at night, time speeds up. The sky whips past at blistering speeds, days and nights passing in seconds. When a smaller circle of particles is entered, the player’s vision fades to white and they awake to a new season on the island. The game begins in spring, and progressed through summer, fall, and finally winter. The seasons are indicated by shifts in overall color palettes, different weather possibilities like rain or snow, and a different array of small critters to discover roaming about the island.

The island is playful and seems to invite me to play with it. Mysterious mushrooms blip and bloop, but jump and disappear into the ground when I approach, only to pop back up when I turn my back. Chickens hustle away from me when I pursue them along low hills as glittering piano keys emphasize the chase. The rows of upright stones give a low cheer as I pass them, calling to the wind that rushes in, causing the trees to shake with excitement. At its best, the island is a symphony of musical flora and fauna, with each musical moment encouraging the player to explore the island’s abstract mountains and valleys.

But at its worst, the game is a simple diorama. The first time I no longer felt inclined to pursue the jingling bells of a hopping rabbit was a disappointing one. In time, the wonder of Proteus fades to understanding. The colorful trees appear familiar, and the various behaviors of the island’s wildlife become reduced to an straightforward algorithm.

In more mechanics-focused games, understanding is the beginning of deeper play. Once a game’s systems are understood, the player can self-direct their play, set challenges for themselves, and attempt to move towards mastery if they so choose. In Proteus, there are no such options. The game is contingent on wonder, and once that wonder is experienced and internalized, there is little else to offer. There is not much narrative here either, one with ideas to chew on as one wanders, as in other mechanically simple walking simulators like Dear Esther or The Path.

There is some broad theming. The title Proteus could refer to the Greek sea god of the same name, the son of Poseidon who was associated with the ever-shifting nature of the Earth’s bodies of water. It was said he could transform his shape at will and would do so often. Transformation is at the core of this game, as expressed in the near-infinite variations of islands that can be generated, and the shifting of seasons that can be prompted by entering the stone circles. Beginning a new game in Proteus starts with the black screen opening up to a view of the island, like eyes awakening from slumber. The player begins on water and must walk towards the island, as though rising out of the sea. Perhaps the player is meant to think of themselves as Proteus, or at least someone who dreams themselves to be Proteus, coming out of their home in the sea to observe the forms of land dwellers. Or perhaps the player is one who was rescued by Proteus and brought to this island. The various colored rabbits that beckon me to chase them about the island disappear when they jump into the sea - could these, and maybe other creatures on the island, be the god Proteus, toying with me? By the end of the game, once the player has progressed through winter, the screen flutters to black like eyelids closing once again. A fleeting dream perhaps, a thought in the mind of a mighty sea god? No one can say. All intriguing ideas ideas, but the game won’t give up its secrets, if it has any at all.

I suppose the best experience is to complete the game and put it away, only choosing to reopen it after some time has passed and the wonder can be felt anew. Yet, for as beautiful as Proteus can be, I can’t help but want even a little bit more. The island seems to want me to play with it, but all I can do is slowly walk around. I want to run and jump after the rabbits. I want to grab a chicken and toss it around. I want to clamber up the castle ruins and chuck something into the water below. I am all for abandoning strict goal-oriented play in videogames - I wouldn’t be working on a whole series on walking sims if I wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean game developers need to abandon play altogether. Self-directed play - as a child might do to entertain themselves alone in a park, running around, climbing things, chucking rocks - is still valid. I want to play in Proteus’s beautiful little islands, but it won’t let me.

Further Reading.

Mike Rose Interview on Gamasutra

A charming interview with Proteus developers Ed Key and David Kanaga, as well as another installment in the classic “Is this a game discussion.” The devs discuss whether they should have added more interactive elements. Dear Esther gets a namecheck.

Proteus Guide

I probably wouldn’t have experienced the time-shifting mechanic without finding this guide, so shoutout to Steam user Pudding.