Under an azure blue sky, green grass sways gently in the soft breeze. A single white flower rests in the warm sunshine. For a while nothing happens. Then the wind tugs a petal free and it rises slowly into the air. It drifts and bobs a few feet above the ground, first one way, then another, in the stray gusts of wind. Gradually it moves closer and closer to a second flower. This one is similar to the first, but hangs with its petals closed. Patiently waiting for something.

As the petal passes close by it touches the closed flower lightly. The furled petals ripple slightly – and then the flower bursts into bloom. Even as it does so, a new petal becomes detached and is caught up in the same zephyr as the first. Both drift on, lazily – and yet somehow more purposefully.

More quickly, they draw near to a third flower. It too spins into life, adding a third petal. Faster still, a fourth flower is wakened, and then a fifth. The petals are rushing now, a lively wind pushing them forwards. They swirl in amongst the flowers of the field, and more and more add to the stream. Soon the entire field is bursting into colour. Clusters of scarlet flowers rise like flames sparked into life; circles of yellow flowers unfurl and glow in the daylight.

A tide is sweeping across the field, and beneath a storm of iridescent petals, a silent song of joy rings out. Soon, in every corner of the grassy plain flowers are dancing in the wind. Finally, all that remains is the old, gnarly tree that stands in the centre. For years it has been dead and dry. Now though, a river of light is leaping towards it, an arrow propelled by a purposeful wind.

The petals dive downwards towards the tree, and then past it, sinking into the surrounding grass. For a moment the field is still – then the dead tree begins to come to life. Withered, grey branches begin to straighten and become vibrant again. The tree stretches towards the sky, and young twigs erupt from the end of ancient branches. Finally, emerald green leaves burst outwards all around, creating a sudden and beautiful canopy. Birds flutter down, singing as they land in the renewed branches.

One last petal drifts to the ground, and where it lands, a new flower blooms. Waiting for the next time a little magic is needed.

Well done, you have completed level one. Flower, 2009’s surprising hit game from the maker of flOw doesn’t read like a NES-era Mario game – or even a modern blockbuster like Assassin’s Creed. It lacks an antagonist, a way of losing, and any instructions on what your aim should be. It’s also unabashedly beautiful, and a brilliant game.



There has been plenty of ink spilled reviewing Flower; that’s not the purpose of this post. Just a few comments from me. Firstly, Flower is the next in a series of examples I’ve been giving on “games as art”. Jenova Chen, the designer of both flOw and Flower, insists on something near and dear to my heart: That games are primarily about the emotions they evoke in people. Now, this may be laughter, it may be an intense desire to succeed in the face of a difficult challenge – I don’t deny these – but, perhaps sometimes, they can also show us beauty, and evoke wonder.

In Flower, you control a petal that gradually gathers others to itself by touching sleeping flowers. As you do so you will transform dead trees into living ones, brown fields into bright colours, and polluted wastelands into beautiful paradises. The game is aided in all these things by excellent PS3 graphics and careful art design, and perhaps more so by an evolving, orchestral soundtrack, with each part of each level having its own unique music that builds organically as you progress.

To discuss how each carefully crafted piece contributes to the whole would take a while - why not stop by and talk to me about it! But that's not my point here. Simply put, there’s something conveyed in Flower – over and above it’s simple narrative of the hope of regeneration of our tired, polluted landscapes – that simply couldn’t be achieved in any other medium we have. What painting, piece of music, or even film can give one the delight of seeing your own touch bring the natural world to a joyous reawakening?

I leave Flower’s all too short levels with a new appreciation for the beauty of Creation, with a desire to see our human habitats renewed, and with a tingling sense of wonder. Liz sums up her reaction to the game much more succinctly: with a gasp of delight as a valley bursts into rainbow colours.

Flower is only available for the PS3 on the Playstation store, and costs about £6.