A videogame developer's love letter to his son; an adventure game to inspire us to love each other; a voice for those fighting cancer.
"That Dragon, Cancer" ist ein Spiel, auf das ich schon lange gespannt bin, aber auch Schwierigkeiten habe, mich damit zu beschäftigen, weil es mich so traurig macht. Es ist nämlich ein Spiel, in dem ein Vater die Krebs-Erkrankung seines Sohnes thematisiert.
Jenn Frank hat dazu damals einen großartigen Artikel geschrieben:
I am searching the screen with my cursor when I remember the demo is supposed to end with the words “thank you.” And I realize I’ve just heard these words, and I take my hand away from the mouse and squirm out of the expensive noise-canceling headphones, and now I am staring at Josh Larson.
Josh is here – was he always here? – with a clipboard and pen. He’s going to take my feedback. I think he’s been taking my feedback.
How long have I been sitting here?
“Okay,” I tell him. I wrack my brain. “I… don’t think I’ve ever played a videogame that takes place in the ICU before.”
I give Josh Larson my design notes. I am clinical with my thoughts and suggestions. I answer Josh’s questions.
Now Josh has another question for me. “Did you understand that the game is supposed to be hopeful?”
I answer yes, and I am explaining why, and this is when it finally catches up with me. I burst into tears.
Ryan Greens Sohn ist während der Entwicklung des Spiels gestorben.
"Jesus, I can't even watch this," the man sitting next to me whispered, fidgeting in his seat. The screen in front of us played a home video of an infant child named Joel Green, gurgling happily as he played with a bunch of golden retriever puppies.