Dos jugadores asumen los roles de amantes separados por inmensas distancias en el profundo espacio. Pasean por playas solitarias junto a un océano simulado, reflexionando el uno sobre el otro entre el viento, una música suave y gaviotas eléctricas. Este indie simulation game se inspira en los antiguos escritos terrestres de Marguerite Duras, fusionando una melancólica soledad con conexiones surrealistas.
Los jugadores corren hacia abrazos holográficos en el ciberespacio, donde una partida de ajedrez les permite intercambiar palabras preestablecidas. Exploran tesoros como campos abandonados, montones de carbón o un perro muerto, para luego deambular por cafés, villas, casinos y ruinas. Los jugadores casuales en busca de paseos tranquilos y cargados de emoción, junto a charlas holográficas íntimas, se sentirán atraídos por su irresistible tirón de amor y dolor.
Bientôt l’été is a videogame for two players. Two players who pretend to be lovers. They pretend to be lovers separated from each other by lightyears of deep space. They have lonely walks along the shore of a simulated ocean, thinking wistful thoughts of each other. Thoughts from ancient Earth literature by Marguerite Duras.
The empty beach, the strong wind, the gentle music and a small colony of electric seagulls are their only companions. Yet their heart is full and their mind confused. Walk along the shore, until they meet the emptiness.
When it all becomes too much, they run towards each other. Enabled by intergalactic networks, they touch each other’s holographic bodies in cyberspace. A surreal game of chess becomes the apparatus through which they, man and woman, can talk. The words they have were given to them, as they have always been to lovers everywhere.
The sea remains, tugging at their hearts when not at their hairs and clothes, as it itself is tugged by the virtual moon. And as great as the desire for the other may be, they cannot stay away from the wind and the waves and the sand. Every time they find a new treasure. An abandoned tennis field. An heap of coal. A dead dog. Ordinary. Absurd. Meaningless. Yet comforting.
Enter a café, exit a villa, enter a casino, exit the ruin of an ancient colonial mansion. We know this is not real. So it doesn’t surprise us. Nothing surprises us. It doesn’t matter when you feel the pain of love. Of being in love, of falling in love, of leaving in love. There is no such thing as time. There is only love. And it never stops. No matter how much it hurts.
