I've spent months playing this game, and to try to encompass it all in this review would take nearly as long, so here are just three moments that made me glad this game exists.
All of these are from very late in the game, so spoiler warning for everything.
I. The Founding of Disco Elysium
The church was where everything turned.
Sure, having your entire psyche split up into discrete entities with whom you regularly converse (these conversations making up at least half the dialogue in the game) is a little odd. And there are obviously some differences—different names and geographies, different cultures, different history—that set this world apart. But it's not that crazy, right?
But the church that eats sound...is a little spooky. And then you learn about Dolores Dei, and it sure seems like she was not, in fact, human, and you don't know what to do with that.
This world is starting to feel a little darker, a little heavier than you initially thought. This is not just just a fun, weird little game is it?
Yeah, no, it turns out the world (which may or may not be a planet) is composed of islands of matter surrounded by vast swaths of what could best be described as entropic fog called the Pale. The Pale is difficult to navigate, and impossible to pass through unscathed.
The church that eats sound? It's got a tiny hole in it, a tiny gap in reality, which it seems is essentially a seed of Pale. And he effects of this seed are likely more wide-ranging than a spooky auditory phenomenon. The district of Martinaise is steeped in a sort of malaise of failure: failed relationships, failed businesses, failed revolutions, failed recoveries. This failure, it is posited, might actually stem from the Pale, its entropic effects tilting the scales ever so slightly toward ruin.
So what do you do with a hole in reality that's slowly destroying everything in the vicinity?
You build a goddamn dance club around it. A dance club called Disco Elysium.
II. Discovering What Was Always Here
What's the harm in indulging a nice old woman? Sure, phasmids, so good at hiding hardly anyone's ever seen one but they definitely exist. Why not?
Your partner might be a little annoyed that you're running around checking traps for a cryptid, but hey, you need the exercise.
And when all that turns up nothing, as you knew it would—even if a little part of you was starting to hope it wouldn't—and it seems this friendly old woman is about to have her heart broken, why not give her some encouragement? Why not believe in the extraordinary, the intangible, that which can never be found but can never be disproven? Why not, if it keeps you going?
And then, at the end, you see it. You speak to it. In that moment the little part of you that hoped is now the whole of you, and anything is possible.
III. Letting Go
So this is where your journey ends, even as he continues on. His old friends might forgive them, or maybe not. His new friend might be a light in the dark, or maybe not. He might, truly, change, or maybe not.
You hope you've done enough. You hope you've molded him into someone that won't just survive the world but fight for it. You hope, as you watch him drive away towards whatever destiny awaits, that something beautiful is going to happen.
You know, also, that it already has.