'NORCO' – A Surrealist Vision of Labor Exploitation in the South

A technological diary of life in the Delta.

9 minutes, 34 seconds

'NORCO' – A Surrealist Vision of Labor Exploitation in the South

Slug emerges from the swampy depths of southern Louisiana with an off-kilter, mudsoaked game review of Geography of Robots' "Norco."

bayou

Recommended Audio Pairing

“There is a secret geometry to this swamp, a pattern written in the mud and the oil spills.” — Catherine Madère

Norco is a point-and-click game set in a near-future version of the real-life town of Norco, Louisiana. On its surface, the game is a vaguely cyberpunk whodunnit unfolding across a dystopian Southern Gothic landscape. The story is rife with grief and loss, personal growth and social complexities, expressed in tandem with somber pixel art and a harrowing soundtrack. It's also a short game (4-6 hours) containing multiple endings, all of which are worth discovering.

You play as Kay, a nomadic young woman who has returned home to manage the affairs of her late mother, from whom she was estranged. Upon your arrival, you find your brother is missing, so you set out to find him. It's quickly apparent that the town is not as it seems. Across three distinct acts, you will discover that Norco's swamplands obscure many goings-on: secret society meetings in an old plantation mansion, a doomsday influencer cult run out of a shopping mall, rogue artificial intelligence and eldritch horrors lurking in the shadows of the cypress trees.. and it falls to you to piece together meaning from many such winding narratives.

backyard

A Narrative Masterclass

Norco is both love letter and scathing exposé, dunked in the stagnant waters of a forgotten bayou and left on our collective front porch as an offering. Norco's writing is ambitious and, to me, is one of the greatest video game narrative experiences released this side of the 21st century. It's easy to tell that the game is a piecemeal of true stories and real people. Yuts, the game's creator, hails from the real-life town of Norco and has spent years documenting the experiences of the people who live there. The narrative carries the weight of communal experiences, as well as more metaphysical aspects: tinges of Gnosticism, the occult, and the philosophies of petrochemically-influenced religion.

It's a formula that works. The story doesn't feel fabricated. While you're there, it's real. Each of Kay's memories feel as though they might have happened. Every NPC you speak with feels as though they might have a real-life counterpart. Every location you visit feels as though it's seen a lifetime's worth of activity. The whole thing feels like an exercise in Schrödinger's cat surrealism: a series of events which have already happened, but also feel destined to unfold again in the near future.

Pulling at the Themes

Norco's themes are woven, layer-by-layer, into every facet of the game. I am pulling at a few threads which are broad enough to not spoil the story. First, we'll have to detour for a slight history lesson.

norco

A Storied History of Exploitation

“The machine doesn't hate you. It just doesn't see you at all.” — Million

Norco owes its existence to oil refineries. The name itself is derived from a Shell Oil subsidiary, "New Orleans Refining Company." It is one of many such company towns dotted along the southernmost portions of the Mississippi River, in an area of Louisiana known as St. Charles Parish. The region has existed as a bastion of American crude oil refinement for over a hundred years. It's also one of the most polluted regions in the United States, colloquially referred to as "Cancer Alley." There are over 300 documented plants in the area which emit toxic waste into the immediate environment. The refineries operate 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

house

This place is a theater of tragic irony, a sacrifice zone. It's a textbook example of resource and labor exploitation, upheld by an imbalance of power. Through capital and political lobbying, these companies wield the power to manipulate the fabric of the community and distort its values to avoid scrutiny. This history is one of the most overt themes in Norco. It's inescapable. Every new place you visit in the game is bathed in the orange glow of the refineries' flare stacks. Every new character you meet is surrounded by sickness and loss. It's a quiet, slow, and unassuming type of violence.

pi

Yuts examines the consequences of such conditions, examining the ways in which this particular flavor of environmental trauma can mutate a human being's moral fiber and way of life. He paints each face of hardship with nuance and empathy. Some characters vie to uphold the law or investigate corporate wrongdoings, some fall in line with the corporations hoping to "get theirs," while others drink themselves to death at the bar.

One of my favorite interactions is at the local tavern where, in the midst of casual conversation, one of the regulars mentions that he's blown up an oil pipeline. It's so absurd you'd think he's joking—just some sad drunk telling tall tales— but it lead me to a profound thought process. Who was I to determine what type of individual might enact such change? Are the most disadvantaged not also the most likely to push back against a malicious environment? Norco is like this – it portrays individuals who comprise a nuanced set of morals and behaviors. You must get to know them. They're not tropes. They are not one-dimensional. Rather, they're shaped by their interactions, cultural ways, religion, and regional geography.

sarpy

I think this is something that Norco does best. Each piece of the game thoughtfully prods at the experiences of working class individuals who participate in a cycle of exploitation. Some of them do what we may perceive is the "right thing" while others shirk their morals to survive. Norco doesn't try to provide an answer or solution to anything; it just lets things sit as they are, so that we may understand the relationships and attitudes forged in the shadow of industry.

The Duality of Self-Awareness

“The stars are blocked out by the flare stacks. We traded the heavens for plastic and fuel.” — Levee Worker on the Bonnet Carré Spillway

refineries_day

There is an all-too-common misconception I've heard perpetuated by folks in other regions of America that rural Southerners are uneducated and, therefore, unaware of their own plights – as if the average Norco resident would be shocked to receive a cancer diagnosis. In my experience living near (and in) the South, I've never witnessed victims of corporate exploitation who are oblivious to their condition. In Norco, we see this awareness as a double-edged sword.

It's hard to describe what it's like living in town like this if you have not been exposed to one. The industry affects everything: your physical environment, your health, the way that you live, the activities in which you participate. There are days when the air is so acrid that you cannot go outside without feeling sick. You bear the burden of telling newcomers that it isn't safe to drink from the tap. You warn them not to let their kids play in the yard on rainy days.

dimes

Even so, community exists and life goes on. Most folks bear some sort of complicated relationship with the industry; it's unavoidable. Outside the fences, the plants are embedded into every facet of life – they fund community infrastructure and provide financial security to the town. Although it might look dystopian, it's not a warzone: there are still neighborhood barbeques, high school baseball games, and church potlucks. It's a place you call home, even if it's killing you a whole lot faster than most other places would.

dimes_reality

Everyone in Norco (both in real life and in the game) is, to some degree, aware of the horrors of the industry and its negative effects on the environment. The characters you encounter are all nursing their health to some degree, plagued by cancers and sickness. They show acute awareness to the cause of their illnesses. They know that the bayou is especially susceptible to pollution. The land subsides, the coast erodes, and the slow-moving waters hold fast to pollutants. Hurricanes and floods further exacerbate these problems.

“The swamp is moving. It’s not just the water. The land itself is tired of holding us up.” — Audio Log from Kay's Mother

It's easy to see this destruction happen in real time. It's also easy to ignore these things, pushing them to the back of your mind because you're just trying to make a paycheck. At the end of the day, most folks are most concerned with keeping a roof over their heads and being able to go on living. This is a reality we know all too well in our present day. Norco presents all of these realities to us at once.

refineries_night

Norco is one of the most emotionally challenging, aesthetically beautiful, and immersive virtual experiences I've ever had. I do not think I have ever been so deeply affected by a piece of media. What I like best about Norco is that there isn't really a specific point to the game – it's not trying to sell you an idea or change your mind. There's no heavy-handed "feel good" message of hope at the end, nor any doomer "it's all over" monologue. It just is.

This does not mean it is a meaningless game. Like many important things in life, Norco is something which simply exists, and it invites you to exist within it – and what an experience it is. I feel as though I've really been to this place. I've met these people, discovered their secrets. I've felt the dread, the mundanity, the loneliness, and a surreal sense of hope.

Afterword

Norco often on sale for a few dollars. I think it's a wonderful magnifying glass to hold to the complex realities of a modern world, to examine the sacrifices made in the name of progress. I dream of it. I think you might, too. I leave you with an instance of this world taken from my dream journal:

I DREAMT OF 'NORCO'

I stood barefoot on the splintered, creaking floorboards of a house stood—give or take—a hundred yards away from the refinery's fence line.

The interior is bathed in a glow of TV static and the dancing flames of the flare stacks.

I remember that the room felt shrouded by a single sound: the dull roar of machinery, never ceasing. I could feel it vibrate every inch of flesh, pressing like a weight on my chest.

The smell of a shrimp boil from the night before, and fresh mud. The taste of burnt chemicals etched into my tongue.

Support the Developers

Recommended Reading

Sources

Previous Next