Unpacking Review

 Unpacking

It's a game about putting things away. Somehow, it's also a game about growing up, love, heartbreak, finding yourself, and the life you build along the way. And yes, emptying a box feels really freaking good.

Platform: Nintendo Switch
Genre: Puzzle / Life Simulation / Storytelling
Developer: Witch Beam
Publisher: Humble Games
Release Date: November 2, 2021
Players: 1
Time to Finish: Approximately 3–4 hours
Mystery Cartridge Classification: PALETTE CLEANSER
Rating: OPEN THE CASE — RECOMMENDED

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The Case

We were looking for a palette cleanser.

After playing murder mysteries and psychological thrillers, we wanted something different. Something relaxing. Something that didn't involve investigating a disappearance, finding a dead body, or wondering which suspicious person was lying to us.

So we bought Unpacking.

How complicated could a game about taking things out of boxes and putting them on shelves possibly be?

Well...

Holy shit.

We were not prepared for Unpacking.

And neither was Bradley's emotional stability.

It's a Game About Unpacking Boxes

That's literally what you do.

A box appears.

You open it.

You take out an object.

You put the object somewhere.

Then you open another box.

That's it.

There are no enemies.

No guns.

No murderers.

No jump scares.

No health bar.

No timer.

No score.

Nobody is trying to kill you.

You are simply moving someone's possessions from cardboard boxes into their new home.

Nintendo describes it as part block-fitting puzzle, part home decoration, with the story emerging through the possessions of a character we never actually see.

And somehow, that is enough.

More than enough, actually.

Because you aren't really unpacking boxes.

You're unpacking a life.

The Girl in the Boxes

We never see the protagonist.

Not once.

There is no character model walking around the rooms.

We don't hear her speak.

Nobody tells us her biography.

There isn't a narrator explaining what she's thinking.

Instead, we learn about her by looking at her stuff.

And that is where Unpacking becomes something much more clever than we expected.

The first room is a child's bedroom.

You pull things out of boxes.

Books.

Toys.

School supplies.

Stuffed animals.

Clothes.

Little pieces of a childhood.

You arrange them in the room.

Then you move again.

And she's older.

The things have changed.

Then she moves again.

And again.

And eventually, you're no longer unpacking a little girl's bedroom.

You're unpacking the life of a woman.

And the objects tell you what happened in between.

The Boyfriend

This is where the game got us.

At one point, the protagonist moves in with her boyfriend.

And suddenly, the way you unpack a room tells you something about their relationship.

There isn't a cutscene where someone explains that this relationship isn't working.

There isn't a dramatic argument.

Nobody tells you that he doesn't have much space for her in his life.

You can see it.

Because there isn't much room for her stuff.

His things dominate the space.

Her possessions are squeezed into whatever space is left.

You start noticing what belongs to whom.

You notice how much space each person occupies.

And then you understand.

Oh.

Oh no.

The game has just told you about this woman's relationship without having either person say a word.

That's storytelling.

And it's remarkably effective.

Then She Moves Back Home

And this one hurts.

After living with her boyfriend, she moves back in with her parents.

And suddenly, you're unpacking her things into the bedroom she had as a child.

Except she's not a child anymore.

The room is familiar.

But she's changed.

Her possessions have changed.

Her life has changed.

And the space has to accommodate the person she has become.

You can feel the awkwardness of it without the game ever spelling it out.

There are no dramatic monologues.

No swelling orchestral score telling you that this is an emotional moment.

Just a box.

And what's inside it.

And where you decide to put it.

Then Something Wonderful Happens

Eventually, she moves again.

And this time, the things you're unpacking tell a different story.

The spaces change.

The objects change.

The relationships change.

And you begin seeing the protagonist become more comfortable with who she is and what she wants from life.

You start recognizing objects from earlier chapters.

You see how things have been kept.

What has been discarded.

What has been added.

What has become important.

And suddenly, the game you've been playing by sorting socks and putting books on shelves has become a story about identity.

About relationships.

About disappointment.

About starting over.

About finding someone who makes room for you.

Literally.

We Never See Her

This is perhaps the game's greatest trick.

Most games introduce you to their protagonist immediately.

You see their face.

You hear their voice.

You learn their personality.

Unpacking gives you none of that.

And yet, somehow, we felt like we knew her.

We knew what she liked.

We knew what mattered to her.

We knew when she was happy.

We knew when something had gone wrong.

We knew when her life was changing.

And we knew when things finally started going right.

All because of stuff.

That's an extraordinary accomplishment.

Yes, Bradley Cried

Let's get this out of the way.

Bradley is a guy.

Bradley occasionally cries during emotionally charged movies or television shows.

A particularly good scene?

Sure.

A devastating finale?

Absolutely.

A beloved character dies?

Yeah, probably.

But a game about unpacking boxes?

Apparently that's where we draw the line.

Except we didn't.

There were moments when we realized what an object meant.

Why it was there.

Where it came from.

Why it had been kept.

Why it was suddenly important.

And there were moments when those little details hit harder than some games' entire dramatic storylines.

Because we had been watching this person grow up.

We'd been there.

We'd been putting her stuff away.

And even though we'd never seen her face, we cared about her.

So yes.

I cried.

More than once.

A game about unpacking boxes made me cry.

I'm standing by it.

And Then There's the Box

We need to talk about the most satisfying part of Unpacking.

You empty a box.

You take the last item out.

And then...

THE BOX DISAPPEARS.

Oh my God.

It's fantastic.

There is something deeply, primitively satisfying about it.

One box.

Gone.

Another box.

Gone.

Another.

Gone.

You look around the room.

Everything has a place.

Everything is organized.

The floor is clear.

The box has vanished.

This is better than therapy.

Okay, maybe don't tell your therapist that.

But it feels so good.

The game understands that humans apparently have an innate desire to see clutter disappear.

And it exploits that desire magnificently.

Amanda's Sister Gets It

Here's another reason we loved Unpacking.

While we were visiting Amanda's sister, she saw the game.

And immediately understood that it was different.

Now, Amanda's sister is not a gamer.

She isn't someone who spends her evenings playing Switch games.

But she looked at Unpacking and immediately wanted to try it.

And she enjoyed it.

That says something.

Because Unpacking doesn't require you to know how to play video games.

You don't need to understand a complicated control scheme.

You don't need gaming reflexes.

You don't need to know what an RPG is.

You don't even really need to think of yourself as a gamer.

You just need to know:

This thing belongs somewhere.

Find the somewhere.

Put it there.

Done.

It's Relaxing

Calling Unpacking a palette cleanser almost undersells how relaxing it is.

There are no timers.

No penalties for taking your time.

No enemies.

No pressure.

That makes Unpacking almost meditative.

You open a box.

You find a place for something.

You look at the room.

You decide something should move three inches to the left.

You move it.

Perfect.

Next box.

It is remarkably easy to lose yourself in it.

But It's Still a Puzzle Game

Don't mistake "relaxing" for "mindless."

Some objects clearly have particular places where they belong.

You have to think about how a room would actually be used.

Where do the plates go?

Where should the towels go?

Which things belong on a desk?

What fits in the cabinet?

What's supposed to be displayed?

What's supposed to be hidden?

And occasionally, the game will reject your choice.

Which can lead to the most important question in Unpacking:

"Why the hell won't you let me put this here?"

Then you figure it out.

And it makes sense.

Usually.

The Story Is in the Details

This is what we want people to understand before playing it.

Pay attention.

Not because there are hidden clues you need to solve.

Not because you'll fail if you miss something.

But because the game is telling you a story.

Look at the objects.

Look at what stays with her.

Look at what disappears.

Look at what changes.

Look at what suddenly appears.

Look at where things end up.

The story isn't in dialogue.

The story is in the details.

And once you realize that, you'll start looking at every object differently.

🚨 MANNEQUIN WARNING 🚨

There is one mannequin.

One.

It's a mannequin used for sewing clothes together.

In this game, it looks like someone is making a Sailor Venus outfit.

Mannequin count: 1.

Amanda approved. It wasn't a complete mannequin (no head) and obviously had a use that wasn't "Frighten the player."

Final Verdict

We bought Unpacking because we wanted a break.

We wanted something easy.

Something relaxing.

Something that would cleanse the palate between murder mysteries.

Instead, we got one of the most unexpectedly emotional games we've played.

It's a game about possessions.

But it's really about people.

It's about growing up.

It's about leaving home.

It's about relationships.

It's about heartbreak.

It's about starting over.

It's about finding your place.

And, eventually, it's about finding someone who makes room for you.

The remarkable thing is that Unpacking does all of this without ever showing us the person whose life we're following.

We never see her.

But we feel her.

We feel her excitement.

We feel her disappointment.

We feel her heartbreak.

And we feel her happiness.

By the end, those little objects aren't just objects anymore.

We know what they mean.

And when we realized what some of them meant, yes...

Bradley cried.

Over unpacking boxes.

What the hell, Witch Beam?

You made us care about a fictional woman because we put her socks in a drawer.

That's ridiculous.

And wonderful.

And then there is that final box.

You take out the last thing.

The box disappears.

And for a brief moment, everything is exactly where it belongs.

Click.

Empty box.

Gone.

Perfect.

We cannot recommend Unpacking enough as a palette cleanser. In fact, we're going to go one step further:

You don't have to be a gamer to enjoy this.

Amanda's sister proved that.

If you've ever moved.

If you've ever unpacked a box.

If you've ever looked at something you kept for years and suddenly realized why you kept it...

Unpacking has something for you.

Open the case.

Put your things away.

And maybe keep a tissue nearby.

🔎 THE MYSTERY CARTRIDGE VERDICT

OPEN THE CASE — RECOMMENDED

Story: ★★★★★
Gameplay: ★★★★☆
Emotional Impact: ★★★★★★★
Relaxation: ★★★★★
Accessibility: ★★★★★
Puzzle Design: ★★★★☆
Palette Cleansing: ★★★★★
Box-Vanishing Satisfaction: ★★★★★★★★★★
Mannequins: 1/10

The Case: Open.

The Boxes: Empty.

The Life: Unpacked.

Bradley's Dignity: Somewhere in that last box.

I'm not crying, you're crying.