Eclipsium is an unexpectedly remarkable first-person cosmic and psychological horror game with a pixelated aesthetic, one that is fully exploited from the very first minutes of play. There is no doubt about that. At first, it gives the impression of constant transitions between states of reality, but it soon becomes clear that it is far more than that. Symbols, allegories, personal demons, inner fears, traumas of mind and body, and associative storytelling carry you through a continuous dreamlike motion from one space to another, sometimes calm and almost soothing, other times dragging you into the deepest pits of human nature and imagination.
Deception is at the forefront. I kept thinking I knew what would happen next, only to be proven wrong each time, surprised by the game’s inventiveness and how it resonated with my own psyche. After a while, I began to grasp its meaning, to see where it was heading, yet I understand that, much like a surrealist painting, it may make sense to some and not to others. Even when two viewers engage with the same work, what they take from it is rarely identical. Eclipsium works the same way, it invites multiple interpretations, which is one of the great strengths of art itself.
The player is searching for something, and along the journey, their eyes, whatever their gender may be, though it hardly matters, witness many things. There is undeniable intensity in these experiences, amplified by the special abilities gained gradually, which both advance the story and provide the necessary gameplay element. After all, something must occupy you as you walk, right?
Some of the early puzzles are simple but meaningful, later growing more complex, not at the level of Return of the Obra Dinn or The Talos Principle, but still fitting for the game’s atmosphere. I was satisfied with that because Eclipsium isn’t designed to exhaust your intellect. It wants to challenge you and make you think in other ways, and it succeeds brilliantly.
It’s admirable, and perhaps even courageous, that the developers chose, or maybe were compelled, though I prefer to think it was a choice, the pixelated aesthetic. It lends the game a raw, primal feeling, like playing something from an earlier era when creators were still discovering the medium’s possibilities, and experimentation outweighed everything else. That spirit has always fascinated me. I don’t mean to imply that such experimentation no longer exists, but rather that Eclipsium feels modern while carrying an old soul, in the best possible sense.
I also appreciated the non-linear storytelling, perfectly aligned with the game’s emotional logic. Feelings don’t follow order, hierarchy, or control; they arrive and sweep everything away. Don’t try to resist them, or they will consume you.
Absurdity, horror, and the uncanny are the game’s key words, along with the anxiety of fulfillment. Together, they summarize its essence in just a few lines.
Perhaps I’m mistaken, maybe carried away by its feverish rhythm, but I think I spotted a subtle reference to Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man. I could be wrong, of course, but if you notice it too, or if something else in this remarkable indie game strikes you, let me know.
A stunning finale, accompanied by music that elevates the entire experience—and thankfully, it’s available for listening in full.
Don’t miss it.
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