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You can't save him. If your idea of a video game is a world to be conquered or a puzzle to be solved, then That Dragon, ******* the autobiographical game from Ryan and Amy Green about their terminally ill child Joel, can come as a melancholy shock. It's not something that can be won or, in that particularly crass term, beaten; it is instead a tour through the lives of a family touched by the shadow of cancer that can be testing and trying in a way unlike many other video games before it.Told in 14 short episodes, That Dragon, Cancer is a necessarily personal game: a diary of faith, hope and grief as Joel's illness progresses over four years that are flicked through across some two hours. Seeing a family tragedy unfold from such an intimate perspective could have been uneasily voyeuristic, but there's a warmth to That Dragon, Cancer that gently ushers you in. In its more grounded moments, That Dragon, Cancer speaks to the universal experience of seeing a loved one taken ill, and of trying to come to terms with the impending loss.
You'll see it in the exacting, almost painful detail of the hospital room where you occasionally sit, helpless, with Joel: a cramped chamber muted by time, its flat blues and greens touched by indifferent light, a cheap vinyl chair against one wall and a small sofa against another on which to catch an hour's stolen sleep. That Dragon, Cancer takes that space and folds it inwards, claustrophobia giving way to numb disassociation and then on to something else. If video games excel at telling stories through the exploration of space, then this is one of their triumphs - a place that's all the more touching for its authenticity.
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