The Vanishing of Ethan Carter begins in a tunnel. At one end of the tunnel is Red Creek Valley (the mystical province to which Paul Prospero, paranormal detective and protagonist, has been summoned by the titular and elusive Ethan Carter); at the other end is the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel made manifest. If the curious deviant capitulates and walks up the tunnel instead of down, the proverbial light simply fades back into the tangible entrance to Red Creek Valley. Although only the deviant will be treated to this simple loop of logic, it acts as a terse introduction to the transient geography of Red Creek Valley.
The process of solving a puzzle, or the solution itself, alters the environment or transports Paul Prospero to a previously inaccessible or visionary area. This geographical transience is complemented by the subtle, yet tangible, ethereal quality of Red Creek Valley. Although lacking the entrancing natural beauty of Dear Esther (one can’t help but draw comparisons), the often saturated colours of the vegetation and the almost preserved exteriors of some of the buildings (contrasted effectively with the neglected and, as a direct result, degraded interiors) complement the mechanical, unnaturally rhythmic, uncanny valley-swaying of the grass and leaves; and also their static illustration when distorted by the motion blur if Paul Prospero begins to run. Thus: what is at first arresting in its veneer of natural beauty soon abandons this veneer; revealing its synthetic undertone and, by this process, successfully helps in developing a surreal and unsettling atmosphere.
The order of geography is important in achieving this effect: the crisp unpredictability of the opening forest immediately introduces Paul Prospero to humanity’s frightening influence on this otherwise virginal wonderland; this primitive influence soon becomes not only more technologically advanced, but also more insidious and dishonest. Otherwise innocuous machinery is misappropriated for the express purpose of murder; then abandoned. And then humanity’s influence is re-introduced with a distant, teasing glimpse of idyllic architectural facades; but these idyllic facades are perverted by their decrepit interiors and, on closer inspection, the signs of decay are apparent upon the facades themselves.
Yet, the aesthetic quality of Red Creek Valley is not The Astronauts’ most impressive geographical achievement. The almost circular construction of Red Creek Valley allows one to move through Red Creek Valley in several different directions; at one’s own discretion. There is a similar distance between each puzzle so that, regardless of the direction one chooses, the pacing is not adversely affected. And, if one wishes to return and try another direction, Red Creek Valley is so designed that backtracking is swift and cleverly disguised: although the pathways from puzzle to puzzle are sometimes empty of interactivity, they nevertheless allow one to return to a familiar location via an unfamiliarly decorated divergence.
However, the impressive technical design of Red Creek Valley emphasises rather than dilutes The Vanishing of Ethan Carter’s jarring technical flaws. The save system is directly tied to the completion of puzzles and a few geographical locations which are too far apart, or too close together, to be of much practical use. This is especially frustrating in one of the two major puzzles: the process of its solution includes the laborious combing of a guarded maze; if Paul Prospero must pause his search mid-puzzle, the only way for him to save his progress is to retreat from the puzzle’s location some distance to the nearest geographical save point or, alternatively, but even more awkwardly, solve a different puzzle.
Although these puzzles can be solved in any order, they must all be solved before Paul Prospero can sow together the threads of the mystery into the final tapestry of truth. When Paul Prospero reaches this tapestry which unfurls with answers, he can conveniently fast-travel back to any unsolved puzzle; yet he cannot fast-travel back to the tapestry itself! Woe betide any Paul Prospero if he has left unsolved any of the earliest puzzles or even any of the lattermost puzzles; so impractically great is the distance between the final tapestry and the puzzles themselves.
The vast majority of the puzzles are composed of two parts. The first part requires Paul Prospero to word hunt (a little like pixel hunting) for the relevant clues to the puzzle in question. If an item is missing, he touches the place in which this item belongs (denoted by words) and thus employs his paranormal powers to discover the item’s exact location (align the fluttering words, then hold down the left mouse button). Once all the clues have been gleaned, or gathered and replaced, then the latent spiritual energies of the scene are revealed as glowing blue apparitions which Paul Prospero must numerically tag in the correct order so that these apparitions act out their pantomime in chronological accordance with the script.
These pantomimes obliquely, and then gradually more explicitly (by order of geographical distance from the tunnel), unravel the story for Paul Prospero to re-sow into the final tapestry; never quite fully capitalising on the synthetic and yet ethereal atmosphere created by the environmental design and aural ambience due to an entirely expositional expression of narrative. For this same reason, the conclusion is more of an intellectual satisfaction than an emotional one. It is, therefore, more in line with Lovecraft than Bradbury—two of the more overt influences on the narrative and aesthetic.
There are scarcely few other technical blemishes (some nitpicky: the distorted, two dimensional quality of certain geometric textures; some more serious: I, among others, could not launch the game with any intensive anti-aliasing option enabled, and I was also treated to several surreal and disconcerting graphical glitches—okay, maybe that’s still a little bit nitpicky) or aesthetic blemishes (the floaty, intangible quality of movement does little to add to the ethereal or synthetic qualities of the aesthetic; but successfully removes Paul Prospero from the environment) and, happily, some of the puzzles are more involving than the oft-repeated two part process (the highlight is delightfully abstruse; the key to its solution discovered spontaneously with little overt direction) but, for all this technical and aesthetic achievement, a pervasive shallowness lingers in the depths of The Vanishing of Ethan Carter’s design; waiting to be discovered and released. Whether this is due to the slightly protracted sense of pacing or the ultimate emotional hollowness of the narrative or even the simpleness of the puzzles is merely a part of the mystery that only Paul Prospero can solve.
