Knit’s Island takes place entirely in the online video game DayZ, a “survival simulator” taking place in a postapocalyptic world populated by zombies. Three documentarians survey its desolate territories, follow its deserted roads and slip between the tall grass to contemplate its wild expanses. As DayZ is played in subjective view, the “digital eyes” of the avatars act as a virtual camera – for example, to “film” the branches of trees waving in the wind, all they have to do is raise their heads. The film, however, is less dedicated to the discovery of this open world than it aims to immerse itself within the myriad of small groups made up by the players. Presenting themselves as a team of filmmakers, with the letters PRESS written in large letters on their outfits, the trio of directors set out to meet them and discuss their practices.
The approach is not easy in a universe where you have to deal with voracious infected people and inhabitants ready to open fire on anyone who approaches them. If a happy encounter allows them to learn how to find their way using the constellations, the risk of being shot down without warning generally pushes them to proceed with caution. Because in DayZdeath is a threat to be taken seriously: the team must also think about feeding, hydrating themselves, taking care of themselves… The deadly atmosphere that reigns on the island is reflected in an astonishing scene observed by the documentarians: pushing the roleplay quite far away, players organize a ceremony in memory of a former clan leader who died. This event reveals in particular the way in which certain communities unite around a common fiction, in addition to sharing the same philosophy in their approach to the game. Whether they embody violent looters or pacifists swearing never to take life ( however digital it may be), survivors share via their avatars memories which they sometimes admit seem more vivid than those of their “IRL” existence (in real life). However, the filmmakers’ aim is not to paint an exhaustive picture of the different ways of playing. As they take the time to listen to “Reverend Stone” describe the religion he invented on one of the islands in the game’s fictional territory (and which gives the film its title), it becomes apparent that the forms taken by these virtual communities are more specifically their object of study.
The lost World
The beauty of Knit’s Island lies precisely in its ability to restore the hybrid experience that constitutes immersion in a video game, and in particular online games. There we first practice what Roger Caillois calls mimicryor the fact of “ become an illusory character yourself and behave accordingly “. In a game like DayZTHE roleplay is not only limited to interpreting a character with one’s voice, but also involves moving the digital body as one would direct a puppet. This aspect of the game is particularly evident in a scene of rave party where players exploit their avatars’ stiff animations to dance erratically. This mimetic dimension of the game implies the idea of offering a spectacle: one incarnates one’s character perhaps above all to offer it to others – something that “Reverend Stone” summarizes during a reflection on his attire ( “ for some protection is the priority, for others it’s style “).
This horizon places DayZ (and other titles that are similar) as a distant heir of Second Life, a 3D virtual world in which Chris Marker created an island on which he walked via his avatar, named Sergeï Murasaki. Marker had already understood that the nature of these digital worlds was closer to an “in-between” than to somewhere else. We find in places this structuring idea in Knit’s island, for example when the player playing “Reverend Stone” starts humming a tune that his daughter keeps singing in the real world, or when the barking of a dog enters the game world via a microphone. At the turn of an even more disturbing scene, a character suddenly freezes because the player controlling him has to go take care of a child who has just entered the room where she is. In the absence of its puppeteer, the digital body transforms into a statue, while we hear, through the microphones, mother and daughter discussing. We then realize that the avatars, in addition to constituting “vehicles” allowing players to move around in this digital world, open a window into their daily lives: provided with the voices of the players who embody them, they also occasionally let filter in. residues from their environments (noises, conversations with loved ones, etc.).
This question of the hybridity of the digital world takes on yet another new dimension as the Covid-19 pandemic gradually bursts into exchanges between players, especially as the world of DayZ is also the prey of a mysterious epidemic. While the physical world “pauses” due to confinements, an expedition is organized within the game, with the objective of venturing beyond its known limits. Once the border is crossed, the elements of the scenery (trees, tall grass, rocks) give way to a virgin and infinite surface. This terra incognita then reveals all its strangeness, especially since the glitches multiply as the avatars advance: a square moon rises on the horizon, a character becomes invisible… Along this march towards infinity, the places become the mirror of what is happening outside the cocoon playful: a disturbing environment, stripped of its ordinary appearances, which nevertheless proves conducive to regrouping and meditation. During the expedition, players share the trouble of feeling ” alone in the world “. What to do once all the rules are gone? The answers given to this question differ: the “Reverend Stone”, this “old” character, will immediately put an end to his story (without us knowing exactly what his decision implies: does he stop playing this game? Or does he start the game from scratch in the guise of another avatar?). For others, on the contrary, new perspectives open up by inventing other forms of exploration. For example, why not fly over the island while swimming in the sky? If this territory has no end, as the title specifies, it is essentially because we (re)discover it depending on the way we travel through it. Time passes, whether we like it or not: this is certainly the simple observation that the filmmakers arrive at at the end of the few hundred hours spent in DayZ. And to confirm that digital spaces are definitely conducive to melancholy wanderings.
