Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out
Dyad provides a distinctly dualistic experience. The core mechanic of "hooking" matching pairs of "enemies" aside, Dyad periodically crosses the boundary between simple and incomprehensible. Crystalline and distorted. Beautiful and unsettling. Calming and nerve racking.
When one explains the actual demands placed upon the player it could sound disappointingly simple to an interested party, especially after having seen the mind melting promotional videos for the game. The core ideas of; you control a electric blotch which you move either left or right, you "hook" other blotches in the tube track you're racing down by shooting them via a single button, you want to avoid running into stuff, all seem painfully obvious to anyone who's held a controller. The simplicity of the mechanics is illustrated by the instruction screens before each level, where typically the new mechanic being introduced is repeated in varying terms as if to say "That's all you have to do. It's just that easy". Even as the more elaborate mechanics; moving enemies, the ability to "lance" through enemies, targeting lasers and enemies that track you, are introduced, one at a time, the more analytically minded player might be willing to write off the game's mechanics as things they've seen before. However, the simplicity, at least at a cognitive level, seems to evaporate quickly as you get a handle on maximizing the utilization of these basic mechanics.
Once an initiated player starts using the skills they learned to maximize their acceleration and momentum, the aesthetically pleasing colors and ambient soundscapes will instantly and violently explode into a blurred frenzy of bleeding colors and frantic electronic beeps, ticks and booms. It is still possible to identify and target the intended objects on the track but the cacophony of images and sound that corresponds to effectively playing Dyad causes a level of stimuli limited only by the entertainment system emitting it. A capable setup resulting in the minds of those witnessing the display of comprehension shattering magnificence to recoil in horror. Claims of, "What the hell is this?" and "My mind..." droning from their agape jaws as they stare, unable to pull themselves away from the sensory overload that now ravishes their neural pathways. Even more jarring than the the result of a quality performance in Dyad, is when that performance is suddenly cut short by the player making a misstep. The entire production immediately halting and then reversing, the incredible visual and audio performance rewinding in such a way that it's almost as if they are collapsing in on themselves. Simultaneously to this reality defying show of that which is nearly incomprehensible being forced to undo itself, the player is shown precisely what it was that they did to cause it and then pushed onward to carry out the process once again.
If my elaborate explanation has at all illustrated what it is to observe Dyad in person, then take under consideration that I'm still not completely capable of explaining what it is to play Dyad. To be able to even come close to completing some of the games more elaborate challenges requires the player to ignore an extreme amount of constant stimulation overload, to the point of nearly complete dissociation from the existence the individual finds them self a part of. A trance like state can be obtained while observing and processing the entirety of what the senses can tolerate, while filtering out and presenting vital information to the conscious mind to act upon is carried out through some process of the mind a team of neurologists could spend lifetimes analyzing.
Should the player choose to take the step into attempting the trophy mode of each level, which is only unlocked after achieving a specific and clearly defined level of performance on the normal mode of that same level, the depths of the true Dyad experience are made apparent.
Thanks to Dr. Timothy Leary, Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and Shawn McGrath.
