It was the weighted walking that sold me on the fantasy. The slow, ponderous movement, as protagonist Stan struggles to navigate a rusting facility Under the Waves of the North Sea. One foot placed precisely after the other, a sharp exhale after every action; the underwater pressure on Stan's slumping shoulders is palpable, even from the lingering distance that the camera keeps. Deep sea diving doesn't seem like the easiest career choice out there, but as we learned in genre-stablemate Firewatch, a change of scenery can be cleansing for the soul.
I still wonder whether the comparison to Campo Santo's legendary narrative-driven adventure is a fair one to draw, even though my mind began to automatically trace lines between them as I played Under the Waves. I think it may have been the abject beauty of its world that set me down this path. There's something awe-inspiring about seeing naturalistic landscapes rendered in this way; only lightly inured by human interference, the ocean floor appears almost alien.
Perhaps it was the silence that did it. The crushing, absolute isolation. Stan is surrounded by so much life, but it's difficult to see him as more than a deep well of grief – one that could crack at any time, the poison spilling out of him and throttling the ecosystems surrounding him. You shouldn't let your career become your identity, but Stan's position as a professional diver, sequestered beneath the waves for a week while working for an oil company, seems almost poetic.
I want to step back for a second and take stock of the picture of Under the Waves that I've sketched out for you so far. Okay, so I've made it sound slow, silent, and appropriately awe-inspiring. I suppose that's all true, but it doesn't quite
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