Part of Psychonauts 2‘s charm is how it tackles serious mental health topics without getting too depressing or losing its meaning in comedy. It’s a mark of thoughtful storytelling, the kind that keeps stories with something to say from venturing into preachy territory. And one of the best examples of this is near the end, during the PSI-King Sensorium level. On the surface, it’s a silly, hippy-inspired tale of an old man with regrets. But one line near the end — “Memories, my boy. Just a show we put on inside our heads.” — captures the spirit of the game and turns the whole thing into something much deeper.
[Ed. note: This piece contains some spoilers for the end of Psychonauts 2.]
For most of Psychonauts 2, you’re dealing with bad thoughts and unpleasant memories. These may be things people are afraid of, like teeth or competitive cooking. It could also take the form of really bad stuff from the past that motivates someone to do even worse things now. Maligula, the game’s villain, wants to flood the earth in response to a family tragedy from long ago. No matter how ludicrous the memories, Psychonauts 2 always treats them with respect. The stress of boiling an egg on time might not mean anything to you, but it does to Compton, and that matters. Maligula isn’t wrong for being caught up in the shame of her past actions, though that doesn’t justify how she behaves in the present.
Which makes the PSI-King’s Sensorium level initially seem so different. There’s nothing obviously bad or scary about this place at all when Raz shows up. It’s essentially a psychedelic Woodstock — well, an even more psychedelic Woodstock than Woodstock already was — complete with friends-in-a-band, adoring crowds, and a safe space where anyone can retreat for some reflection when things get a bit too much. You quickly realize things are always a bit too much for the entity who lives here. He suffers from panic attacks. A lot.
For a pretty good reason, too. It turns out this memory belongs to Helmut Fullbear, a hero in Psychonauts lore who died young and was, he assumes, forgotten by his friends. That was after he failed to bring one of their comrades out of a mental funk that consumed her soul. Not a nice last memory to have. That resentment and regret have kept his consciousness trapped in turmoil, so he can’t move on. This concert is his happy place, where he can feel like he wasn’t forgotten, like life was better than it turned out to be. Like it all mattered.
Eventually, Raz helps Helmut realize that being stuck in that version of events helps nobody, least of all Helmut. He agrees. Like with Psychonauts 2‘s other stages, this realization has immediate implications for the star of the level. Helmut spent the last 20 years ignoring reality in favor of this fiction he kept rerunning in his mind, and eventually he sees how it was all just wasted time and emotional energy. Sure, he didn’t have all the facts, which skewed his memory. But he also just couldn’t let it go. That last part is what ties up the game’s central message so neatly and brings all the other seemingly disparate stories together.
“Memories, my boy,” he says. “Just a show we put on inside our heads. Sometimes the first draft stinks.”
It’s valid to fear judgment, or get lost in melancholy remembrance. But you can remember the good ol’ days without giving up on a better tomorrow. Maybe they can even help you make that future a reality. Whether it’s a safe space or a well-nurtured grudge, a memory is only as real as what you do with it. Living in memories — whether it’s stewing in hatred or taking refuge in a more comforting past — isn’t living at all. It’s just a first draft of something that can, and should, be better.
