Since my wife and I are shortly to have our first child, I have been thinking about major ideas like trust, accountability, leadership, and responsibility for the better part of a year. I am reflecting on my identity and how I should raise a child without passing on all of my negative characteristics. When I was in this emotionally raw state, Mouthwashing struck me in the face. Although it is mechanically straightforward—you can only talk to other characters, pick things up, and explore the spaceship you are confined to—it conveys its plot in a way that is impossible without the interactivity, making the most of what distinguishes video games from media like TV or movies.
And I do not use the phrase burden lightly because, at times, it felt just like that to keep playing (in a positive sense). I frequently thought, “Please do not make me do this,” but I was constantly driven to keep going by the desire to learn the secrets of how things became so awful on this ship.
The idea is simple: Over around a year, your perspective shifts between multiple distinct times as a group of passengers in the Tulpar, a long-haul space freighter, deal with the aftermath of a calamity. Going into further detail about the story would give away more about Mouthwashing than I am willing to because part of the appeal is the surprise of figuring out what happened and why. To put it simply, it packs as much physical horror, character development, and dread as possible into its two to three-hour duration.
Mouthwashing’s PS1-inspired visual aesthetic heightens the bizarre tone of everything that happens. Although the characters are recognizable as human, they are also sufficiently different to be written off as something else. It is a distorted representation of a funhouse mirror that illustrates how we view people in real life as tools and how simple it is to ignore the humanity of someone who is directly in front of you. It is an excellent decision because the uncanny valley effect it aims for would have been lost with more styled or hyper-realistic images. It intensifies the feeling that you are driving through fog, straining to see what might be happening just out of sight, thanks to the equally distorted sound and limited, muffled voice acting.
The structure is no different. It is confusing to jump back and forth between the pre-disaster and post-disaster periods, but I never lost the plot. Similar dreamlike scenes are intercut, offering you routine chores like opening doors or preparing drinks that are always tinged with danger, making the ordinary unnerving. You are constantly on the lookout for evil, but it frequently manifests itself in dull and realistic ways that, when taken out of context, seem quite normal: minor exchanges, slightly inappropriate inquiries, and statements that pique your interest in danger detection. And that is how evil in real life frequently manifests itself—by posing as honesty until you discover it for what it is, ideally before it is too late.
The evil is occasionally more overt, particularly as Mouthwashing comes to a close, and more practical mechanics are employed to emphasize the reprehensible behavior and worldview of the Tulpar’s crew members. I will not give away too much, but one character, in particular, was so reprehensible that I had to take a step back and think about why I was reacting so strongly to them. I could only accept that there are people like this, and even though they are portrayed in extremes here, I can almost understand their perspective in my darkest moments. It is an unsettling experience to relate to someone you despise and witness the harm that can result from someone refusing to take a serious look at oneself (or just by doing nothing).
Furthermore, these characters are not overwritten, even though their actions may be excessive. The team talks clearly, and a lot is left up for interpretation. Although screen flashes, loud noises, and associated messages occasionally veer toward the extreme, they never feel like jump scares; rather, they are merely methods to highlight narrative events. One in particular led to an epiphany that both explained the meaning behind the term “Mouthwashing” and hinted at how sinister this tale was about to become.
It is not always the most seamless transition, though, when it does leave its gripping dialogue and move into a few slightly more action-packed scenes. Although originally unique, brief excursions into survival horror or even first-person shooting were a little annoying because the clumsy controls demand more patience than the rest of the narrative. These parts were annoying even though it seemed like they were meant to be that way. Fortunately, they are also fleeting, so they did not significantly reduce my delight.
It should go without saying that mouthwash is not a game that was designed to be played by those who are easily agitated or squeamish, particularly when it comes to losing bodily autonomy. It is a startlingly intimate look at people with serious flaws, and it is not shy about using a magnifying glass or, in this instance, a real ultrasound to peer even closer.
That nervous portion of my brain is still screaming at me as I wait for my baby to be born, an event that makes me incredibly excited, and Mouthwashing has put language to my concerns: “Who are you in your worst moments? Is that individual trustworthy enough to raise a child? Few games have had such a profound impact on me at such a particular moment in my life, but good art does just that—it serves as a mirror. And I hope you like the way things look in the past.
Verdict
Mouthwashing is disgusting, uncomfortable, and very alluring. Although the truly awful tasks you must complete are extremely unnerving (and occasionally annoying), they are not extraneous and are employed to convey strong messages in a manner that games are perfectly suited for. When combined with a clever low-fidelity graphic aesthetic, strangely muffled sound effects, and straightforward but straightforward prose, Mouthwashing depicts our worst selves and does not let us get away with it.
