Temple Run 2 is a horror game.
Recently, that’s been sort of obvious. For October, developer Imangi’s endless runner was decked out in Halloween accouterments. Jack-o-lantern’s shine with glowing, yellow smiles as you sprint past. A kryptonitic green liquid has replaced the blue H20 that usually flows down waterfalls. Dead ends are marked with tombstones, ghosts lurk just off the track and bone-white candles and cobwebs spookify the fallen logs that obstruct your path.
But, strip away the haunted house decorations, and horror is still at the heart of the Temple Run 2 experience. More specifically, Temple Run 2 can be read as an allegory for depression that gives physical shape to mental illness in much the same way that The Babadook did in 2014.
But, before we dive into that, a few words on what— allegory aside— Temple Run 2 is. In the 2013 sequel to the hit 2011 mobile game, players assume the role of an Indiana Jones-style adventurer navigating an endless, procedurally generated obstacle course. The adventurer must move quickly because a hulking monster pursues him.
The creature, which is covered in black fur and looks like a mixture of bear, gorilla and dog, is relentless. One misstep and the monster is at your heels. Two missteps and the monster has captured you, scooping you up in a massive paw and using your puny body to pound its barrel chest.
None of this is especially scary (though, as you get further along and the track becomes increasingly serpentine, the tension gets ratcheted up significantly). But, intentionally or not, Imangi makes interactive a famous metaphor for depression, popularized by Winston Churchill. The former British Prime Minister referred to his depression as a “black dog,” a phrase which he borrowed from Samuel Johnson.
“I think this man might be useful to me,” Churchill said, of a doctor who had treated the wife of a friend of his, “if my black dog returns. He seems quite away from me now – it is such a relief. All the colours come back into the picture.”
This metaphor has always, in my mind, conjured the image of an animal stalking its prey, hiding in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. This may be because I associate the metaphor with the Grim, the literal black dog that Harry sees on a London street before boarding the Knight Bus in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Professor Trelawney tells him that this animal is an omen of death for whoever encounters it. (Things end up working out okay between Harry and the dog, but it’s still spooky).
The beast in Temple Run 2 also means death for whoever encounters it. Imangi’s game is an endless runner, meaning the aim is to achieve a high score, not to beat the game. You can’t beat the game; for as long as you can run, procedurally-generated track will stretch out in front of you. That means that, if you decide to play Temple Run 2, to encounter the beast, it will certainly mean death for you eventually.
To my depressed brain, this is what makes the concept of the black dog existentially terrifying. When I see older celebrities, like Robin Williams and Anthony Bourdain, become victims of suicide—both while in their sixties—it can be triggering. It reminds me of the dogged persistence of the pursuer. These men dealt with issues of mental health until late middle age, and they still weren’t able to escape.
Temple Run 2’s beast embodies this version of the black dog. Fast, strong, and tireless. No matter how many stages you unlock, how many crystals and coins you collect on the track, how many dodges and leaps you execute flawlessly, the beast follows.
But, fortunately, there’s a more hopeful facet of the metaphor. Humans have been taming dogs for centuries. Canines can be unruly. Sometimes they bite. Sometimes people are even killed by dogs or infected by rabid bites. But, dogs can be leashed, they can be walked, they can be lived with.
The same is true of the black dog. If you or someone you know needs help in that endeavor, this is a great place to start: https://www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/
