From game to the big screen: the minimalist horror of Iron Lung

Last year, I had the privilege of presenting my research on the indie Iron Lung at the Video Game Cultures conference in Prague. It was an incredible opportunity to discuss how creative constraints can redefine digital dread with scholars from around the world. I am now thrilled to share that this research has been expanded and transformed into a full book chapter, set to be published very soon, providing a deeper academic dive into how minimalism can maximize psychological horror.

While adapting the original conference paper into this upcoming book chapter, I saw a unique opportunity to expand the analysis by including the recently announced Iron Lung film adaptation. Observing how this indie narrative is transitioning to the cinema not only enriched the academic text but also served as the primary inspiration for this blog post. It is awesome to see how a project rooted in extreme digital minimalism is now evolving to challenge audiences in a completely different medium.

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Minimalism, dread, and the leap to cinema

The timing of this publication couldn't be more appropriate. This month, David Szymanski’s oppressive masterpiece makes its debut in theaters, marking a significant milestone where indie game narratives occupy diverse media spaces. Iron Lung (2022) is a masterclass in what I term "horror ludens"—a playful yet terrifying engagement with fear that thrives not on high-fidelity graphics, but on the power of restraint.



The game’s transition to film underscores a core argument of my study: that the most unsettling stories are those that leave the most to the imagination. In the game, players are confined to a rusted submarine in an ocean of blood, forced to navigate using only a grainy, low-fidelity camera and rudimentary sonar. This "meta-diegetic" interface—where in-world tools are the only source of information—forces the player to become a co-author of their own terror. As Iacovides et al. (2015) suggest, removing traditional non-diegetic overlays (like HUDs) prevents immersion breaks, making the character's struggle identical to the player's cognitive labor.



Whether in the cockpit of a virtual sub or a seat in a dark theater, Iron Lung leverages "cosmic dread" by restricting sensory input. This forces our minds to fill the vast visual gaps with personalized forms of terror. As the film brings this desolate, blood-submerged moon to a wider audience, it continues to prove that in horror design, "less is more". By subjecting ourselves to these "unnecessary obstacles," we find a unique ludic pleasure in navigating existential despair.

 

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References:

Iacovides, Ioanna, Jon Cox, Richard Kennedy, Paul Cairns, and Charlene Jennett. 2015. “Removing the HUD: The Impact of Non-diegetic Game Elements and Expertise on Player Involvement.” In Proceedings of the 2015 Annual Symposium on Computer-Human Interaction in Play, 13–22. London: ACM.

Mastrocola, Vicente Martin. 2014. Horror Ludens: Medo entretenimento e consumo em narrativas de videogames. São Paulo: Livrus.

Suits, Bernard. 2005. The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia. Toronto: Broadview Encore Editions.

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The strategic pivot: integrating uncertainty into the game design process

In the realm of functional design, predictability is often viewed as the ultimate benchmark of quality. As Costikyan (2013, p. 16) argues, in real-life situations—such as shopping online, electing a congressman, or utilizing software for work—we demand a lack of ambiguity, noting that "we prefer simplicity, surety, and consistency." In these contexts, uncertainty is a defect to be mitigated, as users prioritize efficiency and the seamless achievement of specific goals. However, the architecture of game design operates on a fundamentally different logic, where the elimination of the unknown would result in a sterile and unengaging experience.

While we strive to minimize unpredictability in quotidian services, within the ludic context, "a degree of uncertainty is essential" (COSTIKYAN, 2013, p. 16). This element serves as the primary catalyst for player immersion and entertainment, transforming a static system into a dynamic challenge. By strategically withholding information or complicating the path to victory, designers create a "possibility space" that compels players to remain cognitively engaged. Without this tension between the player's intent and the outcome's volatility, the experience loses its competitive and emotional resonance.



The implementation of this uncertainty is not monolithic but is derived from various structural layers. Costikyan (2013) analyzes different kinds of games and explains that sometimes uncertainty comes from programmed random results, such as dice rolls or procedural generation; other times, uncertainty lies within opponents and how they perform, particularly in multiplayer environments. Ultimately, uncertainty may result from the player's own abilities in the game, where the execution of a maneuver or the solution to a puzzle remains in doubt until the moment of fruition.

Therefore, the game design process must be viewed as the calibrated management of these various "sources of doubt". A successful designer does not merely create a set of rules, but rather orchestrates a sophisticated balance between agency and chance. By understanding that uncertainty is not a flaw to be corrected, but a strategic tool to be leveraged, developers can craft experiences that transcend simple utility, providing the meaningful struggle that defines the very essence of play.

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Reference:
COSTIKYAN, Greg. Uncertainty in games. Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2013.

My most played mechanics of 2025: why trick-taking and climbing stole the show

In 2025, my journey through the world of tabletop gaming was defined by a deep dive into two specific mechanics: trick-taking and climbing. Looking back at the hundreds of hands played, these genres provided the most tension, strategy, and pure excitement at my table. There is an undeniable elegance in how these games use a simple deck of cards to create complex social dynamics and tactical puzzles, making them my most-played styles of the year.



My fascination with trick-taking reached new heights through titles that pushed the boundaries of the traditional formula. Sáng Dèn stood out for its incredible atmosphere and the way it forced me to rethink how I managed my hand, while Salty provided a sharper, more competitive edge that kept my gaming group coming back for "just one more round." Perhaps the most experimental highlight was Match-fixer’s High, a game that brilliantly subverted the goal of winning tricks, turning every lead into a psychological battle of manipulation and calculated risks. These games proved that even within a centuries-old mechanic, there is still so much room for innovation.

On the other side of the coin, climbing and shedding games offered a completely different kind of rush. The feeling of jumping over an opponent's play with a stronger combination is unmatched, and Odin was undoubtedly the king of this experience for me in 2025. Its clever system of incorporating played cards back into your hand transformed the math of the game into a fluid, evolving strategy. I also found myself captivated by the high-stakes combinations in Haggis (excellent for two players, by the way), which remains a masterclass in card play, and the chaotic, inventive energy of Inchiki Daifugo. Whether I was trying to master a lead in a trick-taking game or aiming to be the first to empty my hand in a climbing match, these titles defined my year in gaming and solidified these mechanics as my absolute favorites.

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