Limbo released over a decade ago, and developers still break it down to talk about how the game inspired them- all because it built powerful emotions and guided you on a journey without a single word or any real indication of a story. Everything is left up for interpretation, and everyone has a different experience- from overcoming a fear or grief to a loving reunion. As a result, there are quite a few theories and debates about what this game means.
When I first played Limbo, it was all about dread. It wasn’t traditional horror- I didn’t feel fear. But I did feel like I was taking a master class in overcoming fear. 13 years and a replay later, I have my own theory of what happens to the protagonist: The boy is working through his fears.
What is Limbo? The common theory
The description of this game at release was:
‘Uncertain of his sister’s fate, a boy enters LIMBO.’
Without that context, there is no way to even know what the game is about. The first time I came across a girl was a quick glimpse halfway through the game, after which I only saw her again at the end. Within the narrative, there is no way to tell that finding her is my goal. All I know is that I wake up in a dark forest and try to survive in a world that is keen on killing me.
The name ‘Limbo’ is a colloquial term for Purgatory, a Christian concept: It’s a space in between heaven and hell where you have to make amends for your sins till you can earn your way into heaven. It’s also the place for the lost, like unbaptized children. You end up on this edge if you aren’t evil or bad enough to be sent to hell, or good enough to be sent to heaven.
Based on the clues within the name, the description of the game, and the gameplay, most story theories revolve around the child looking for his sister and that their reunion is a step into heaven. Several theories talk about how they died and why they are separated. The Boy has to go through a horrifying journey to find his sister, hence the common belief that his journey is shaped from his fears.
Overcoming his fears is the cost of absolution, to find his sister and reach heaven. These fears come out of the darkness, putting us in increasing amounts of danger. They require the player to find ways to persevere and defeat that fear. But when I reached the end, there was no resolution, no feeling of victory. I still had my feeling of dread. This was even more apparent to me when I recently replayed this game. It led me to develop a new theory that the boy only thinks he is in Limbo. I believe he is in hell.
My experience, interpretation, and theories
The world of Limbo is grey with more shadows than light. At every juncture, there is a trial you must pass. Then there’s the distinct lack of sound. For the most part, it is just the occasional wind, forest creatures, and the characters’ footsteps. Every now and then, there are these haunting tones that ring out and stay, grinding and resonating. It’s the sound of the unrelenting rain or a machine that feels like it will eat you up. It feeds into the feeling of Limbo.
But my ears felt over-sensitized. The sound was either too much or too startling. I was worried about every step I took and suspicious of every shadow. As I walked this child through his quest, the world got darker and more torn down. Solving the puzzles to overcome the fear was never simple. I had to try things and explore to find a solution, making missteps inevitable. With each misstep was a horrible death. The entire world was off-putting, and they were all the ingredients that fed into my dread.
It left me wondering why we were even facing our fears. If Limbo is about atoning for sins, why would the game put the character through torture? After all, isn’t facing fear torturous? The developers did an amazing job designing fearscapes that were complex, threatening, and much bigger than my character. I couldn’t help but feel each.
The proof in the pudding
Right at the start of the game, I faced a giant spider. It loomed over the character and seemed more than willing to kill me. It trapped me in a cocoon. It had legs that would stab me as it relentlessly chased me through the level. The level was incredibly evocative of arachnophobia, and I felt threatened. The only way to survive was to face off against the spider till it was no longer a threat.
So, I trapped its legs in bear traps and ripped them off. I triggered a boulder so that it would bowl into the beast. These were necessary steps to survive. At the end, it lay there harmless, unable to move with only one leg. Ahead of me was an unjumpable spike-filled pit. The only way to move forward was to rip off that last leg and roll the body of the still-alive spider into the pit so that I could use it as a platform.
Where overcoming a fear should be freeing, I found myself doing things I was not comfortable with. I was only ever able to move forward by doing something horrible or by actively changing the world. As I went further, I realized that the spider was just living its life. I wasn’t its specific prey. It didn’t hunt me after I first hurt it, and neither did it really chase me after I freed myself from the web. I was just in its way when it was moving across the world.
The pattern repeats
When I came across the boys in the second section, it was incredibly easy to dislike them. They seemed to be out to hurt me, laying out all these traps in my path. Their treehouses were littered with trapped, dead bodies that were obviously their prior victims. It is assumed that they represented my character’s bullies.
When I played the game the first time, I was convinced they were trying to harm me for no reason. This time, however, I was wondering if they weren’t just trying to protect themselves. If the dead were other boys I lured into traps so that I could complete my quest.
To face my fear of drowning, I come across a rising tide of water. But, it’s a flood I create. Through the game, we encounter mind-control bugs that try to walk us to our deaths. We face darkness and machines that will grind us to paste. They all come off as torture. The little horrifying acts we complete seem to be a fundamental part of it for us to leave a path of destruction in our wake.
In the end, we bust through a barrier and find ourselves back in the forest. On this second playthrough, this was the moment where I began to question the theory of reaching heaven. I moved the character forward, saw this girl, and the screen faded to black. I found myself back in the menu screen, with no characters, just flies. It felt like the end of Inception. There was no clear resolution, no reunion, it was just hope.
What greater torture is there but a glimpse of a reward? Of hope.
The value of replaying Limbo
Replaying this game is what has given me a different perspective. Of children trying to scare me away. Of a world I was steadily destroying in order to reach my goal. It feels to me like my journey wasn’t just about torturing me but also about transforming my character into a torturer.
The experience left me disquieted and questioning everything I thought I had experienced with this game. As I worked my way through the grey world, the dread in my stomach churned and remained a constant. In the end, I was left feeling bereft. That right there is why Limbo is a beautiful game, and why it can be held up as a reason for why games are an art form. It’s a well-designed game where everything from the art to the sound design to the difficulty builds an impression. You are meant to struggle, die, and persevere.
It is likely that my new theory is a reflection of where my mind is currently. It’s why I am writing this, to convince you to play it if you haven’t, or play it again. All because I walked away with a darker perspective than most who have played this game. I saw dread instead of hope. Isn’t that art worth experiencing?
