shenmue may require no introduction, but it's amusing for me to have played so many of suzuki's games beforehand...they're all these exceptionally spirited games preoccupied with total acceleration, scenic vistas, the simple pleasures of competition (whether inward or external). their pace and their fixations are romantic and idealized, representing a striking antithesis to shenmue's monotony. just about the only thing that matches shenmue's dreamy sense of melancholy is outrun's results screen.
while suzuki's prior obsessions & formal language might ironically seem entirely absent from shenmue, im not sure this is a completely accurate assessment. ryo might be a slave to time, but just as in outrun, super hang-on, space harrier, etc, his path is pre-determined, foretold by prophecy. he has no choice but to staunchly and pragmatically follow his compulsions. a discordant sense of urgency underscores and animates his every action, and you can see his internal frustrations with the mundane & lackadaisical rhythms of his neighbours. ryo's a shark, all he knows how to do is move forward. reality might suffocate him otherwise.
iwao hazuki's last words to his son are pleading with him to keep his friends and family close to him; the rest of shenmue is a quietly straining, slow-brewing tragedy as ryo does the exact opposite. he's alienated and alone; his family never quite knows how to effectively respond to and treat his grief; he distances himself from peers, structure, romantic interests. he is made painfully aware of every passing minute of every day, but he fails to truly understand or comprehend the weight of time and of his life in yokosuka as a whole. people care about him, but he's distant & removed, and eventually they figure it may be for the best to let such a headstrong young man go his own way. ryo's defining contradiction is a naïveté characteristic of his youth at odds with his relentless drive to make forward progress. he has this unspoken expectation that yokosuka is comprised of unchanging and permanent fixtures, that things will be the same as he left them upon his return, but everything around him explicitly and implicitly signals the obvious: people, locales, and contexts change. over the course of the game ryo runs into a hot dog vendor named tom constantly, someone whose vibrance and zest for life marks him as distinct and dissimilar from ryo. he's content and lively in a way that is alien to ryo. near the end of the game, he learns that tom a.) has surprising martial arts prowess and b.) has been planning to leave yokosuka for quite some time. ryo is taken aback by this information, but it was no secret - ryo simply never asked. by the time ryo makes his way to hong kong, so much has been left unsaid. even he, for a brief moment, just beginning to grasp the gravity of his decisions, wishes he had more time.
it's an excellent game, filled to the brim with quietly devastating scenes and working with subtlety that seems unmatched compared to contemporary AAA experiences... while many cite shenmue as a game that has aged, or only has value from an innovative perspective, its deliberate and measured inclinations reveal just the opposite: that games today have regressed, and have only taken the wrong lessons from shenmue.
while suzuki's prior obsessions & formal language might ironically seem entirely absent from shenmue, im not sure this is a completely accurate assessment. ryo might be a slave to time, but just as in outrun, super hang-on, space harrier, etc, his path is pre-determined, foretold by prophecy. he has no choice but to staunchly and pragmatically follow his compulsions. a discordant sense of urgency underscores and animates his every action, and you can see his internal frustrations with the mundane & lackadaisical rhythms of his neighbours. ryo's a shark, all he knows how to do is move forward. reality might suffocate him otherwise.
iwao hazuki's last words to his son are pleading with him to keep his friends and family close to him; the rest of shenmue is a quietly straining, slow-brewing tragedy as ryo does the exact opposite. he's alienated and alone; his family never quite knows how to effectively respond to and treat his grief; he distances himself from peers, structure, romantic interests. he is made painfully aware of every passing minute of every day, but he fails to truly understand or comprehend the weight of time and of his life in yokosuka as a whole. people care about him, but he's distant & removed, and eventually they figure it may be for the best to let such a headstrong young man go his own way. ryo's defining contradiction is a naïveté characteristic of his youth at odds with his relentless drive to make forward progress. he has this unspoken expectation that yokosuka is comprised of unchanging and permanent fixtures, that things will be the same as he left them upon his return, but everything around him explicitly and implicitly signals the obvious: people, locales, and contexts change. over the course of the game ryo runs into a hot dog vendor named tom constantly, someone whose vibrance and zest for life marks him as distinct and dissimilar from ryo. he's content and lively in a way that is alien to ryo. near the end of the game, he learns that tom a.) has surprising martial arts prowess and b.) has been planning to leave yokosuka for quite some time. ryo is taken aback by this information, but it was no secret - ryo simply never asked. by the time ryo makes his way to hong kong, so much has been left unsaid. even he, for a brief moment, just beginning to grasp the gravity of his decisions, wishes he had more time.
it's an excellent game, filled to the brim with quietly devastating scenes and working with subtlety that seems unmatched compared to contemporary AAA experiences... while many cite shenmue as a game that has aged, or only has value from an innovative perspective, its deliberate and measured inclinations reveal just the opposite: that games today have regressed, and have only taken the wrong lessons from shenmue.
When I finished the first half of Shenmue 1 & 2, I felt no desire to move on to the next installment. The idea that there are 5 or 6 or however many more planned entries in this saga seemed ludicrous to me. Not because the game was bad, the opposite in fact: Shenmue 1, on it's own, already told a genuinely powerful, succinct, and standalone story of a boy who gives up his girlfriend, hometown, and life to pursue a meaningless quest for revenge that will destroy him.
It's been two years since I played this, and I still don't really want to play the sequels. Everything I've heard about them tells me that they are just elaborations on what was already here. Shenmue makes you fall in love with it's town, a space better realised than any game up to this point, so it can make you understand what Ryo is throwing away when he finds those sailors and gets on that boat, but also why he does it. The game is both celebratory and revealing in it's mundanity. When you're spending an hour on a forklift, knowing that this was your life if you were to stay here, wouldn't you go on a quest to escape it?
It's just really good. A classic, but not really in the ways anyone told me it would be. Know when to leave well enough alone, Suzuki.
It's been two years since I played this, and I still don't really want to play the sequels. Everything I've heard about them tells me that they are just elaborations on what was already here. Shenmue makes you fall in love with it's town, a space better realised than any game up to this point, so it can make you understand what Ryo is throwing away when he finds those sailors and gets on that boat, but also why he does it. The game is both celebratory and revealing in it's mundanity. When you're spending an hour on a forklift, knowing that this was your life if you were to stay here, wouldn't you go on a quest to escape it?
It's just really good. A classic, but not really in the ways anyone told me it would be. Know when to leave well enough alone, Suzuki.
A kitten lives in a cardboard box next to the shrine in Yamanose. One night, a speeding car takes the life of its mother. As quiet snow comes gingerly down from the sky to hug the fading warmth of the mother’s body, the kitten cries. These cries score the night’s wallowing blackness to an audience of one; a young schoolgirl. That schoolgirl brings the kitten to the shrine in Yamanose and houses it in a cardboard box. It stays in this box every hour of every day, calling out to any footsteps that happen to pass by. Whose footsteps they are does not matter; the kitten is cold, it’s hungry, and most importantly it’s lonely in a way it has never known before. To the kitten, any company is better than no company.
A young man lives in a house next to the shrine in Yamanose. One night, a cartel assassin takes the life of his father. As quiet snow comes gingerly down from the sky, pressing gently against the windows of the dojo where the young man holds his father’s body, the young man makes a wordless promise to himself. He spends every hour of every day chasing that promise through the streets and buildings of many places. The young man consults strangers and acquaintances alike for countless favors; who the favors come from does not matter, just that it brings him closer to his goal. Though just as quick as the young man approaches others for favors, he’s similarly quick to leave them, if not quicker. To the young man, company would only get in the way.
The schoolgirl’s classmates and friends all come every day to the cardboard box next to the shrine in Yamanose. They take turns caring for the kitten and making sure she is warm, fed, and loved. Before too long, the kitten recovers enough both physically and emotionally to start walking around outside of the box. The children provide for the kitten all the love and the care a mother would have given multiple times over. That’s what the kitten needs, so that’s what they do.
The young man’s caretakers, his best friends, and the girl who loves him constantly attempt to be a part of his life. They ask how he’s doing, where he’s been, what he’s been up to - the young man insists on being left alone. Before too long, they grow concerned and start wondering why he’s been staying out so late, if he’s doing anything dangerous, offering help if he needs it - again, the young man insists on being left alone. After enough insisting, the young man’s caretakers, his best friends, and the girl who loves him decide to start keeping their distance. That’s what the young man needs, so that’s what they do.
One day, the cardboard box vanishes from the shrine in Yamanose, and the kitten is nowhere to be found. Thanks to the kindness and the love of the schoolgirl and her friends, the kitten is fully recovered and ready to take on the world by herself. There is no doubt in my mind that the kitten will live a full and happy life. I have no worries about the kitten at all. The young man, however… I worry deeply about that young man.
A young man lives in a house next to the shrine in Yamanose. One night, a cartel assassin takes the life of his father. As quiet snow comes gingerly down from the sky, pressing gently against the windows of the dojo where the young man holds his father’s body, the young man makes a wordless promise to himself. He spends every hour of every day chasing that promise through the streets and buildings of many places. The young man consults strangers and acquaintances alike for countless favors; who the favors come from does not matter, just that it brings him closer to his goal. Though just as quick as the young man approaches others for favors, he’s similarly quick to leave them, if not quicker. To the young man, company would only get in the way.
The schoolgirl’s classmates and friends all come every day to the cardboard box next to the shrine in Yamanose. They take turns caring for the kitten and making sure she is warm, fed, and loved. Before too long, the kitten recovers enough both physically and emotionally to start walking around outside of the box. The children provide for the kitten all the love and the care a mother would have given multiple times over. That’s what the kitten needs, so that’s what they do.
The young man’s caretakers, his best friends, and the girl who loves him constantly attempt to be a part of his life. They ask how he’s doing, where he’s been, what he’s been up to - the young man insists on being left alone. Before too long, they grow concerned and start wondering why he’s been staying out so late, if he’s doing anything dangerous, offering help if he needs it - again, the young man insists on being left alone. After enough insisting, the young man’s caretakers, his best friends, and the girl who loves him decide to start keeping their distance. That’s what the young man needs, so that’s what they do.
One day, the cardboard box vanishes from the shrine in Yamanose, and the kitten is nowhere to be found. Thanks to the kindness and the love of the schoolgirl and her friends, the kitten is fully recovered and ready to take on the world by herself. There is no doubt in my mind that the kitten will live a full and happy life. I have no worries about the kitten at all. The young man, however… I worry deeply about that young man.
when the black hot dog guy called me his best friend i cried
i think this game is literally impossible to dislike. you could spend hours nitpicking various things that don't work about it, but at the end of the day the pure charm overrides all of it.
shenmue demands your patience, and if you're willing to respond in turn, you might get a lot out of the game.
yakuza fans that smugly say that series is "shenmue but good" don't understand what works about these two games.
shenmue demands your patience, and if you're willing to respond in turn, you might get a lot out of the game.
yakuza fans that smugly say that series is "shenmue but good" don't understand what works about these two games.
“Years ago, I was Chinese”
It’s universally true that every American has dreamt of being an autistic Japanese dock worker. Now, you can make that dream come true!
On a serious note, Majora’s Mask was the perfect primer for me to get into Shenmue. This famously immersive Dreamcast epic/Virtua Fighter RPG is beyond ambitious, and it’s proof that game design going deep can be way better than going wide.
It’s the wonderfully aimless predecessor to games like LA Noire and Yakuza. It’s part mystery, part fighting game, part life-sim, but honestly with none of the headache that comes with any of them. You don’t have to bathe or comb your hair like in Red Dead Redemption 2, and there’s no real hurry to finish the campaign, so you can play darts and Space Harrier to your heart’s content.
Some call it boring, but I found Shenmue to be a soothing, fulfilling experience. It makes me sad that we don’t see tons of games like it nowadays. Companies have gone for these expansive/empty open worlds for so long that aside from a few (including aforementioned games) we’ve missed out on a level of granular detail that they were able to achieve on the Sega Dreamcast. Plus you can carry over your save file Mass Effect-style to the next game! Insane!
We need more games like Shenmue.
It’s universally true that every American has dreamt of being an autistic Japanese dock worker. Now, you can make that dream come true!
On a serious note, Majora’s Mask was the perfect primer for me to get into Shenmue. This famously immersive Dreamcast epic/Virtua Fighter RPG is beyond ambitious, and it’s proof that game design going deep can be way better than going wide.
It’s the wonderfully aimless predecessor to games like LA Noire and Yakuza. It’s part mystery, part fighting game, part life-sim, but honestly with none of the headache that comes with any of them. You don’t have to bathe or comb your hair like in Red Dead Redemption 2, and there’s no real hurry to finish the campaign, so you can play darts and Space Harrier to your heart’s content.
Some call it boring, but I found Shenmue to be a soothing, fulfilling experience. It makes me sad that we don’t see tons of games like it nowadays. Companies have gone for these expansive/empty open worlds for so long that aside from a few (including aforementioned games) we’ve missed out on a level of granular detail that they were able to achieve on the Sega Dreamcast. Plus you can carry over your save file Mass Effect-style to the next game! Insane!
We need more games like Shenmue.
(Minor Spoilers)
Ryo gets ¥300 per crate he moves with the forklift. That might not sound great but let's really do the math:
The first few warehouses are very close to the crates. In real time, it would probably take me three minutes at most to move one. That's twenty an hour, which is ¥6000. In an eight hour work day, that would be ¥48000 per day. Adjusted for inflation (the game takes place in 1986) and factoring out the two hour lunch break, that's about ¥44,534 per day. That's about $319, or £253. Per day. For driving a forklift.
Ryo gets ¥300 per crate he moves with the forklift. That might not sound great but let's really do the math:
The first few warehouses are very close to the crates. In real time, it would probably take me three minutes at most to move one. That's twenty an hour, which is ¥6000. In an eight hour work day, that would be ¥48000 per day. Adjusted for inflation (the game takes place in 1986) and factoring out the two hour lunch break, that's about ¥44,534 per day. That's about $319, or £253. Per day. For driving a forklift.
I admittedly bought this on sale on Steam thinking I would laugh through a classically-dated ‘90s video game on stream, stunted voice acting and all. However, the more I sunk into this game, the more I started to realize this had a following for a reason. While it definitely requires the player to be on its wavelength, what’s waiting for open-minded players is maybe the most lived-in game that I’ve ever experienced, personally. After playing it through, I genuinely think this is one of the most important video games of all time.
I think it’s a crazy accomplishment to create an atmosphere like this, that places you in such a mundane world that promises big things, but it’s just so regular and run-down. A great dissection of the mundanity of capitalism and urbanism, even in the face of destined greatness. A father-avenging, martial-arts-action video game stuck in the gears of the laborer’s routine. All the while, it’s still telling an amazing story, one of feeling stuck on rage and grief, and even when you’re stuck and can’t move on from mountains of unprocessed feelings, the world keeps turning, and days go by, and lives go on being lived.
Maybe the most important thing about this game, though, is that it is not embaressed to be a video game. A lot of narrative-focused video games try so hard to be elevated because they’re insecure to be a part of this medium, but Shenmue isn’t. There are fun, colorful collectibles, there are so many mini-games that you could waste a whole day on, and so many references to Sega! When I found the Sega Saturn in Ryo’s house, my jaw dropped.
So many wonderful moments, a wonderful supporting cast, I just got so sucked into this world, and after thinking I’d just play this one and move on, I’m so on board to play through II & III. I’ll never forget about Nozomi for the rest of my life!
I think it’s a crazy accomplishment to create an atmosphere like this, that places you in such a mundane world that promises big things, but it’s just so regular and run-down. A great dissection of the mundanity of capitalism and urbanism, even in the face of destined greatness. A father-avenging, martial-arts-action video game stuck in the gears of the laborer’s routine. All the while, it’s still telling an amazing story, one of feeling stuck on rage and grief, and even when you’re stuck and can’t move on from mountains of unprocessed feelings, the world keeps turning, and days go by, and lives go on being lived.
Maybe the most important thing about this game, though, is that it is not embaressed to be a video game. A lot of narrative-focused video games try so hard to be elevated because they’re insecure to be a part of this medium, but Shenmue isn’t. There are fun, colorful collectibles, there are so many mini-games that you could waste a whole day on, and so many references to Sega! When I found the Sega Saturn in Ryo’s house, my jaw dropped.
So many wonderful moments, a wonderful supporting cast, I just got so sucked into this world, and after thinking I’d just play this one and move on, I’m so on board to play through II & III. I’ll never forget about Nozomi for the rest of my life!
Shenmue has, unsurprisingly, aged a bit in the years since its release. Like most cutting edge games, the edge has shifted considerably and thing that were revolutionary and mind-blowing are now awkward and even a bit backward but despite all of this it still has a certain something. A charm that means that it all - somehow - works as a whole. The deliberately slow pace and the small scale of the game area means you get to know it all intimately by the time you’re done with it, and the atmosphere of the backstreets and the shopping area still makes it feel like a real, if slightly weird, place to explore.
That's the main thing about Shenmue that is timeless. Dobuita Street and the surrounding areas are a real place, captured on a disc. It's a memorable, endearing slice of virtual life that occasionally asks you to kick the fuck out of some goons, play a bit of Space Harrier or ask around about sailors. Also, the forklift stuff is actually fine and good.
One day, Ryo Hazuki is going to walk back through the gates of the Hazuki Estate and Fuku-San's face when he sees him return home is going to be what kills me.
That's the main thing about Shenmue that is timeless. Dobuita Street and the surrounding areas are a real place, captured on a disc. It's a memorable, endearing slice of virtual life that occasionally asks you to kick the fuck out of some goons, play a bit of Space Harrier or ask around about sailors. Also, the forklift stuff is actually fine and good.
One day, Ryo Hazuki is going to walk back through the gates of the Hazuki Estate and Fuku-San's face when he sees him return home is going to be what kills me.
timeless adventure game. walking around, looking in every nook and cranny for something to fiddle with as time passes by is really soothing. lots of memorable characters, places and moments that you could entirely miss on your first playthrough. comparisons to yakuza should be ignored, they're not the same game at all nor are they trying to reach the same goal. it's only for superficial observations that these games get brought up in comparison to each other.
Just to clarify, Shenmue is not a 5 star game in 2022, but it is in 1999. Shenmue was innovative and set the foundation for many of the great narrative games we see today. Things like opening a drawer and buying gacha toys were just unimaginable at this time. There's a reason this game cost so much to make. It's definitely outdated at this point but I still recommend giving it a shot.
i met a guy who sounded like he was in shenmue once. good guy but really transphobic.
i wanted to exact revenge on my father's murderer, not be part of slave labor and get a job (but became forklift verified)
Oh, Shenmue. What a game you are.
This is a bit of a different beast for me, so I'm trying something a bit different here.
This was honestly a surprise hit for me. Ever since I knew my family had a Dreamcast, Shenmue was one of the games we had. I would keep starting it up, and stupid dumb 9-year-old me would get bored. I would then move on to play Toy Story 2. This was a blessing, however, because I only had disc 1 for a long time. This was also a blessing because Toy Story 2 was a good game. I started the game up again, now older (though not any more mature), and actually got a bit invested.
Shenmue's about Ryo Hazuki and his quest to kill a man named Lan Di as vengeance for his father's death. Moreso, however, it's about Ryo and his interactions with his world to get there. You can talk to everyone in the town, and they all have unique voice lines for many parts of the game. This was quite novel for 1999. Ryo's world looks really great for a Dreamcast game, with moderately detailed textures, and a mostly consistent framerate. Where the game both falters and absolutely ironically succeeds is the voice acting. This game's cast is not great, but it kinda adds to the charm.
My biggest gripe with the game is that it overemphasizes relationships between Ryo and certain characters that aren't really shown in-gameplay or story. This is mainly an issue near the end of the game, but it tries to make you care about the characters when they barely do anything. It's not like Shenmue doesn't have characters this would work with. The game does a decent job developing Ryo's relationship with Ine, Fuku, and some others to a lesser extent, but others that I won't get into because spoilers definitely do not deserve the "dramatic" moments.
The game plays like an adventure game, who woulda thunk it? On Dreamcast, for some reason you control Ryo with the D-pad, not the analog stick. You get used to it, but the Dreamcast D-pad isn't great. There's a solid amount of just looking for stuff, but considering I don't remember getting too frustrated over it, it's not that bad. There's also the combat, and it feels kinda slow and clunky, but pretty satisfying once you do manage to get the hang of it. It's a tad unresponsive though. Later in the game, you're introduced to EXTREME FORKLIFT ACTION, and it's surprisingly fun. The game's pretty clever with how it gets you used to the forklift. It starts you out doing a race each day on it, and you get used to the harbor that way. It also makes you learn the best and fastest ways to drive around and make tight corners, making the actual forklifting much faster and more fun. Yeah, despite being a tedious job in real life, in Shenmue I somehow had fun???? I dunno, maybe I'm just a masochist, but it didn't feel like it overstayed its welcome.
Overall, this was a fun time. Not as long as I thought, though I may have also beaten the game faster than most. The story is entertaining and has good moments, I like most of the characters, though some appear to much or too little, and I really did get invested into the game's world. However, like I said before, some character moments don't land, and unlike what i just said, it can be tedious or vague at times. I never needed to resort to a guide, though. I'd give this game an 8.1/10. It's nothing groundbreaking nowadays, but if you give it a shot you may enjoy it.
As for what version, HD is probably the way to go. The game looks stunning in 480p on an actual Dreamcast, but HD controls better, looks better, and is just waaaayyy more accessible. If you happen to have a DreamPi Dreamcast, I'd actually say go for the DC version due to the exclusive online features, but if you are dedicated enough into the Dreamcast for that, you probably already have Shenmue there, so just play it there. There isn't a bad way to play this game.
This is a bit of a different beast for me, so I'm trying something a bit different here.
This was honestly a surprise hit for me. Ever since I knew my family had a Dreamcast, Shenmue was one of the games we had. I would keep starting it up, and stupid dumb 9-year-old me would get bored. I would then move on to play Toy Story 2. This was a blessing, however, because I only had disc 1 for a long time. This was also a blessing because Toy Story 2 was a good game. I started the game up again, now older (though not any more mature), and actually got a bit invested.
Shenmue's about Ryo Hazuki and his quest to kill a man named Lan Di as vengeance for his father's death. Moreso, however, it's about Ryo and his interactions with his world to get there. You can talk to everyone in the town, and they all have unique voice lines for many parts of the game. This was quite novel for 1999. Ryo's world looks really great for a Dreamcast game, with moderately detailed textures, and a mostly consistent framerate. Where the game both falters and absolutely ironically succeeds is the voice acting. This game's cast is not great, but it kinda adds to the charm.
My biggest gripe with the game is that it overemphasizes relationships between Ryo and certain characters that aren't really shown in-gameplay or story. This is mainly an issue near the end of the game, but it tries to make you care about the characters when they barely do anything. It's not like Shenmue doesn't have characters this would work with. The game does a decent job developing Ryo's relationship with Ine, Fuku, and some others to a lesser extent, but others that I won't get into because spoilers definitely do not deserve the "dramatic" moments.
The game plays like an adventure game, who woulda thunk it? On Dreamcast, for some reason you control Ryo with the D-pad, not the analog stick. You get used to it, but the Dreamcast D-pad isn't great. There's a solid amount of just looking for stuff, but considering I don't remember getting too frustrated over it, it's not that bad. There's also the combat, and it feels kinda slow and clunky, but pretty satisfying once you do manage to get the hang of it. It's a tad unresponsive though. Later in the game, you're introduced to EXTREME FORKLIFT ACTION, and it's surprisingly fun. The game's pretty clever with how it gets you used to the forklift. It starts you out doing a race each day on it, and you get used to the harbor that way. It also makes you learn the best and fastest ways to drive around and make tight corners, making the actual forklifting much faster and more fun. Yeah, despite being a tedious job in real life, in Shenmue I somehow had fun???? I dunno, maybe I'm just a masochist, but it didn't feel like it overstayed its welcome.
Overall, this was a fun time. Not as long as I thought, though I may have also beaten the game faster than most. The story is entertaining and has good moments, I like most of the characters, though some appear to much or too little, and I really did get invested into the game's world. However, like I said before, some character moments don't land, and unlike what i just said, it can be tedious or vague at times. I never needed to resort to a guide, though. I'd give this game an 8.1/10. It's nothing groundbreaking nowadays, but if you give it a shot you may enjoy it.
As for what version, HD is probably the way to go. The game looks stunning in 480p on an actual Dreamcast, but HD controls better, looks better, and is just waaaayyy more accessible. If you happen to have a DreamPi Dreamcast, I'd actually say go for the DC version due to the exclusive online features, but if you are dedicated enough into the Dreamcast for that, you probably already have Shenmue there, so just play it there. There isn't a bad way to play this game.
Şemmamme şemmamme
rather than place movement on the analog stick, am2 took an unorthodox approach and mapped it to ryo's gaze. through this, the player interacts with shenmue's painstaking representation of urban japan primarily through the act of sight. ryo is a natural observer, of signs, of people, of animals, of forklifts moving to and fro and waves undulating below. when ryo focuses on an object in the world, the player gently melts into his head to embody him. you take his perspective to roll a gacha toy between your fingers, or check your watch, or browse the shelves of a convenience store. this is certainly an ADV of sorts with sprinkles of what would become "open world" gameplay, but first and foremost it is a game of sight and perception. succinctly, it is eyes entertainment.
the meticulous attention to detail and passive nature of play fosters an undeniable sense of atomization. the game does not explicitly critique capitalism, but by creating this diorama-like visage of it, the game uncovers the listlessness at the heart of this era in history. ryo's hero's journey is constantly undermined by his delinquent status, loose social bonds, and overall impotence against forces with greater means than him. outside of the sanctuary of the hazuki dojo, ryo plunges into a world where he can do little but observe those around him. crowds of people, each with unique ways to spurn ryo's questions. when ryo isn't dutifully gathering scraps of information in his notebook, he can do little else other than window shop in a market district enclosed in the influence of former US navy occupation. what can he do other than pour money into pointless tasks and have stilted conversations with his acquaintances? at best he can convert a parking lot into a makeshift practice space for martial arts. in other instances I found myself staring at my phone waiting for buses to arrive or shops to open; would ryo not have done the same to suck up his time had the option existed? there are sparks of life to find, but virtually every point of contact is transactional, every activity is gated by money, every part of ryo's life wilting from his isolation after his father's death.
it makes sense then that disc 3 represents a significant change for ryo as he shifts into employment at the harbor. his absence of purpose morphs into routine living, and he begins to form bonds with his coworkers. ryo's lack of community ties pushes him into the workforce as a sole reluctant method of social engagement, his ulterior motive to investigate the mad angels aside. at the same time, his time in dobuita becomes severely limited, and the fragments of relationships he formed previously become even more distant. one gets the sense that his lunch break camaraderie and daily forklift races fill part of this void. his primary action becomes moving the forklift and fighting gang members after prior weeks spent primarily with the action of sight, signaling the shift from eyes to hands. the inability of ryo to settle in outside of labor is telling, and the eventual termination of his employment closes this chapter before he quietly sets off on his nomadic quest to find lan di. these were the only solid bonds he had, after all.
where the game inevitably stumbles is in where it artificially blocks these bonds. limited conversations are expected (although frankly these are astonishing for the era), but to lock characterization for a person like nozomi behind phone conversations when she's so easily accessible in the world feels awkward. the game occasionally expects this kind of unusual logic in order to get the most out of its world, with missable, timed events slipping through new players' fingers. however, it's unquestionable that the novelty present at the game's release has persisted thanks to the dearth of those willing to be as daring in its recreation of life. just wish there was one more motorcycle section...
the meticulous attention to detail and passive nature of play fosters an undeniable sense of atomization. the game does not explicitly critique capitalism, but by creating this diorama-like visage of it, the game uncovers the listlessness at the heart of this era in history. ryo's hero's journey is constantly undermined by his delinquent status, loose social bonds, and overall impotence against forces with greater means than him. outside of the sanctuary of the hazuki dojo, ryo plunges into a world where he can do little but observe those around him. crowds of people, each with unique ways to spurn ryo's questions. when ryo isn't dutifully gathering scraps of information in his notebook, he can do little else other than window shop in a market district enclosed in the influence of former US navy occupation. what can he do other than pour money into pointless tasks and have stilted conversations with his acquaintances? at best he can convert a parking lot into a makeshift practice space for martial arts. in other instances I found myself staring at my phone waiting for buses to arrive or shops to open; would ryo not have done the same to suck up his time had the option existed? there are sparks of life to find, but virtually every point of contact is transactional, every activity is gated by money, every part of ryo's life wilting from his isolation after his father's death.
it makes sense then that disc 3 represents a significant change for ryo as he shifts into employment at the harbor. his absence of purpose morphs into routine living, and he begins to form bonds with his coworkers. ryo's lack of community ties pushes him into the workforce as a sole reluctant method of social engagement, his ulterior motive to investigate the mad angels aside. at the same time, his time in dobuita becomes severely limited, and the fragments of relationships he formed previously become even more distant. one gets the sense that his lunch break camaraderie and daily forklift races fill part of this void. his primary action becomes moving the forklift and fighting gang members after prior weeks spent primarily with the action of sight, signaling the shift from eyes to hands. the inability of ryo to settle in outside of labor is telling, and the eventual termination of his employment closes this chapter before he quietly sets off on his nomadic quest to find lan di. these were the only solid bonds he had, after all.
where the game inevitably stumbles is in where it artificially blocks these bonds. limited conversations are expected (although frankly these are astonishing for the era), but to lock characterization for a person like nozomi behind phone conversations when she's so easily accessible in the world feels awkward. the game occasionally expects this kind of unusual logic in order to get the most out of its world, with missable, timed events slipping through new players' fingers. however, it's unquestionable that the novelty present at the game's release has persisted thanks to the dearth of those willing to be as daring in its recreation of life. just wish there was one more motorcycle section...
Shenmue represents most of the problems I have with cinematic games, trying its hardest to emulate other works of art without understanding how or why stories succeeded in the first place. Normally, I’m unreasonably charitable to these sorts of games, even when they’re putting on airs of ‘prestigious’ art, but Shenmue’s affectation is so uniquely hollow that I struggled to see the good in it. As a pastiche of arthouse film, Shenmue manages to capture the surface level qualities (de-emphasis on plot, deliberate tempo, a focus on the realistic and mundane) but has none of the underlying substance that makes this (vaguely defined) genre work. The expressive visuals, nuanced characterization, thematic depth, and strong emotional core that makes these movies meaningful? They’re nowhere to be found in Shenmue.
Shenmue wants to immerse you in the town of Dobuita, but it gives you no reason to care about the town in the first place - the presentation is too flat and matter of fact to be visually engaging, with an atmosphere as dry and unimpressive as a local news program. It’s all a misguided attempt at ‘realism,’ further hampered by the limitations of real time rendering, providing a world that’s too blocky and undetailed to pass as any form of ‘reality.’ Even modern titles on cutting-edge hardware are nowhere close to emulating reality, so to see this attempted on something as old as the dreamcast feels totally wasteful. To be fair, Shenmue tries to liven up its presentation through fancy cinematography during cutscenes, but the restless camerawork comes off as gimmicky, haphazardly zooming and cutting and swiveling around characters for seemingly no reason. Copying cinematic techniques with little purpose in mind, never punctuating the script or enhancing the emotional impact of the scenes.
While the presentation was uninteresting, the script is somehow even worse. A bloated cast of stock characters are never defined beyond their singular character traits (and blood type?), with the protagonist somehow being the most boring of all. Ryo is a hollow shell of a human, incapable of any semblance of emotional intelligence or self reflection, never revealing any clear or defined character beyond the monotony of his brooding appearance. This is supposed to be a character study of a young man going through the grief of his father’s death, but the script does nothing to convey this, creating a character so vague and unrealized that he might as well be silent. In an actual movie, Ryo could provide subtle characterization through his actor’s performance and body language with minimal reliance on the script, but a dreamcast game could never hope to accomplish that! Games can’t handle this level of subtlety through animation alone and need to find emotional nuance elsewhere!
The whole plot just goes through the motions of a bottom of the barrel revenge story and somehow expects you to get emotionally invested in a non-character giving up on his non-friends and his non-neighbors so he can fight some non-villains and avenge his non-dad who was only on screen for 5 minutes. Most stories would try to explore the dad’s character and really sell you on how much he meant to others, but Shenmue really scrapes by on the bare minimum. There’s also some sort of romantic drama buried deep in there (included purely out of obligation), but it doesn’t accomplish anything because the 2 leads have absolutely zero chemistry and, once again, you run into the limitations of the hardware, characters’ faces too blocky and rigid to sell any sort of emotion.
To give the game some credit, it has some interesting themes in the 3rd disc, with the game turning towards a neorealist story of life in the working class - a shipping dock where people are too busy trying to survive to care about the blatant crime or injustice they see on a daily basis. But this final act doesn’t do much of anything with the premise. Ryo enters the workforce on the precipice of Japan’s economic bubble and the story does nothing to explore these socio-economic conditions, mostly using this setting as window dressing to propel B-Movie action sequences (most of which, once again, don’t stand up to actual Hong Kong cinema). Rather, Shenmue’s greatest quality is that its writing is so vaporous that you can project whatever meaning you want onto the experience - like a mirage, you can find something of value from the narrative, but only when viewed from a safe distance where you never have to engage with the text.
It might seem strange to avoid talking about Shenmue’s gameplay or unique approach to openworld design in this review, but that’s only because the format doesn’t matter. Of course, delivery and form are extremely important when it comes to storytelling, but Shenmue’s grounded slice of life realism means nothing when it’s in service of such vapid narrative and presentation. I love the idea of a world that doesn’t revolve around the player, that forces you to slow down and engage in the mundanity of day to day life, stopping to take in small details that would be overlooked in most titles - I’m just waiting for someone else to do the format justice. Someone else that can flesh out a world beyond technical details and understands that being slow doesn’t equate to being meaningful.
Shenmovies:
Have you seen any of these popular movies? Most of them are only superficially similar to Shenmue, but fans of the series might enjoy them! Yu Suzuki even took inspiration from a few of them when designing the series!
Casablanca
My Neighbor Totoro
Tokyo Story
Police Story
Chungking Express
Fist of Legend
Roman Holiday
The Hustler
Your Name
The Grandmaster
Reign of Assassins
Come Drink With Me
Ashes of Time
A Touch of Zen
Late Spring
In The Mood For Love
La Strada
Shenmue wants to immerse you in the town of Dobuita, but it gives you no reason to care about the town in the first place - the presentation is too flat and matter of fact to be visually engaging, with an atmosphere as dry and unimpressive as a local news program. It’s all a misguided attempt at ‘realism,’ further hampered by the limitations of real time rendering, providing a world that’s too blocky and undetailed to pass as any form of ‘reality.’ Even modern titles on cutting-edge hardware are nowhere close to emulating reality, so to see this attempted on something as old as the dreamcast feels totally wasteful. To be fair, Shenmue tries to liven up its presentation through fancy cinematography during cutscenes, but the restless camerawork comes off as gimmicky, haphazardly zooming and cutting and swiveling around characters for seemingly no reason. Copying cinematic techniques with little purpose in mind, never punctuating the script or enhancing the emotional impact of the scenes.
While the presentation was uninteresting, the script is somehow even worse. A bloated cast of stock characters are never defined beyond their singular character traits (and blood type?), with the protagonist somehow being the most boring of all. Ryo is a hollow shell of a human, incapable of any semblance of emotional intelligence or self reflection, never revealing any clear or defined character beyond the monotony of his brooding appearance. This is supposed to be a character study of a young man going through the grief of his father’s death, but the script does nothing to convey this, creating a character so vague and unrealized that he might as well be silent. In an actual movie, Ryo could provide subtle characterization through his actor’s performance and body language with minimal reliance on the script, but a dreamcast game could never hope to accomplish that! Games can’t handle this level of subtlety through animation alone and need to find emotional nuance elsewhere!
The whole plot just goes through the motions of a bottom of the barrel revenge story and somehow expects you to get emotionally invested in a non-character giving up on his non-friends and his non-neighbors so he can fight some non-villains and avenge his non-dad who was only on screen for 5 minutes. Most stories would try to explore the dad’s character and really sell you on how much he meant to others, but Shenmue really scrapes by on the bare minimum. There’s also some sort of romantic drama buried deep in there (included purely out of obligation), but it doesn’t accomplish anything because the 2 leads have absolutely zero chemistry and, once again, you run into the limitations of the hardware, characters’ faces too blocky and rigid to sell any sort of emotion.
To give the game some credit, it has some interesting themes in the 3rd disc, with the game turning towards a neorealist story of life in the working class - a shipping dock where people are too busy trying to survive to care about the blatant crime or injustice they see on a daily basis. But this final act doesn’t do much of anything with the premise. Ryo enters the workforce on the precipice of Japan’s economic bubble and the story does nothing to explore these socio-economic conditions, mostly using this setting as window dressing to propel B-Movie action sequences (most of which, once again, don’t stand up to actual Hong Kong cinema). Rather, Shenmue’s greatest quality is that its writing is so vaporous that you can project whatever meaning you want onto the experience - like a mirage, you can find something of value from the narrative, but only when viewed from a safe distance where you never have to engage with the text.
It might seem strange to avoid talking about Shenmue’s gameplay or unique approach to openworld design in this review, but that’s only because the format doesn’t matter. Of course, delivery and form are extremely important when it comes to storytelling, but Shenmue’s grounded slice of life realism means nothing when it’s in service of such vapid narrative and presentation. I love the idea of a world that doesn’t revolve around the player, that forces you to slow down and engage in the mundanity of day to day life, stopping to take in small details that would be overlooked in most titles - I’m just waiting for someone else to do the format justice. Someone else that can flesh out a world beyond technical details and understands that being slow doesn’t equate to being meaningful.
Shenmovies:
Have you seen any of these popular movies? Most of them are only superficially similar to Shenmue, but fans of the series might enjoy them! Yu Suzuki even took inspiration from a few of them when designing the series!
Casablanca
My Neighbor Totoro
Tokyo Story
Police Story
Chungking Express
Fist of Legend
Roman Holiday
The Hustler
Your Name
The Grandmaster
Reign of Assassins
Come Drink With Me
Ashes of Time
A Touch of Zen
Late Spring
In The Mood For Love
La Strada
"Don't you know that Blackmail is way uncool?" - Ryo Hazuki
I played Shenmue through the Shenmue 1 and 2 compilation on Steam, I think its pretty much the same version as the original minus disc swapping but if there are any major differences I wouldnt know. I was mainly interested in Playing Shenmue after really enjoying The Friends of Ringo Ishikawa a couple of months ago, which is a game that takes some inspiration from Shenmue in some aspects. And, since I think Shenmue has already been talked about from a myriad different angles on this site I think a nice compare and contrast will be good to do, especially to explain my personal experience with Shenmue and Ringo.
I was genuinely surprised when I started Shenmue and found myself enjoying the game, which underscores the benefits of playing things you might not think you'll like on the off chance you will. Its reputation for being slow and obtuse had my "filter-dar" screaming at me. Fortunately this reputation turned out to be mostly undeserved, especially the first 2/3rds of the game. It was honestly smooth sailing for most of the game, following a routine of exploring the various areas of the town interacting with locals and practicing combos at the local park. Shenmue is basically a point and click adventure game, you talk to people, follow leads, write down what you know in your notepad etc. At first the rather odd control scheme (not just the tank controls in a non horror game but the RT + joystick to shift Ryo's gaze until the camera locks on into something interactable was certainly not what Im used to) threw me off but its not too hard to get used to it.
At first there is a nice balance of progressing the main story and also doing side activities like the arcade, a couple of sidequests that flesh out the lives of the inhabitants of the town. The pacing is slow but its nice how much of it is dictated by the player, letting you take it all in, hell even the decision to not have fast travel (well, kinda) at first seemingly encourages going back and forth and running into scripted events. The problem however, and here's where the comparison to Ringo becomes more relevant, is that as you progress the pacing becomes a lot worse, the activities you have to do to kill time are really not all that compelling after a while, you get told to come back tomorrow or in a few hours and time just moves way too slowly. See, in Ringo the activities arent great either but times moves a lot quicker and the decisions you make are so much more rooted in roleplaying and just being able to squeeze as much as you can onto a day that until the very end of the game you are basically never bored. In Shenmue however by the time Dobuita started putting up christmas decorations I was just spending most of my time pressing forward + x to strengthen my pit blow combo.
Its funny, Ringo is a game about an aimless youth with no future where you're constantly trying to do it all but Shenmue is a game about a singleminded youth driven by revenge constantly fucking around doing nothing of note. If the mechanic is the message, Shenmue's time system could honestly work well for a reverse of Outer Wilds message. I find Ryo Hazuki to be not particularly compelling, mainly cause he's constantly alienating everyone who's ever loved him and who's telling him that his quest for revenge is stupid and dangerous, which they are right to do so. Now, I know that that is the point, its the whole martial arts drama schtick where a tragic quest for revenge means the MC must give it all up to pursue it, and Im sure if we ever get Shenmue 30 or whatever there will be some ironic twist to make Ryo doubt his own resolve and all that stuff. But I just dont find him or that arc compelling. Ringo is also a tragic figure who pushes away his friends and is seemingly doomed to waste his life away or even have it cut short, but he's much more human and relatable to me. Ringo is a game to me, about having too little time, but Shenmue is a game about having too much.
Its hard to sympathise much with Ryo when his Dad had no appearance beyond his inmediate murder when the game starts and incidentally, whilst the lack of certain modern conveniences enhance this game, if it were made today there would definitely be a playable prologue before the events of the game with Ryo doing some errands or something for his dad, tutorialising the various mechanics and such. A lot of this might also be the legendarily wooden acting of the english dub which I admit I picked due to its infamy but honestly there is just too little of Ryo himself being anything other than stoic angry man for me to really care. This isnt even a matter of Ryo being pretty distinct from the player because again in Ringo you are even more disconnected, not even privy to most of the conversations Ringo has with his gang members.
The kind of character and structure of the game with its slow humanism, feeding cats, helping the bullied etc makes the main quest jarring to me, Ringo should be collecting signatures to save the local school or something, not plotting murder. Perhaps this is just a personal thing, but then again if you were expecting anything else from this review then you were mistaken.
The game definitely takes a dip when the harbour is introduced, which is even more barren and boring than the main town, though thankfully most of your time is spent with forklift races and box moving, which are unironic highlights of the game. By this point though, Shenmue was really starting to wear thin, even the fights started to become more of an annoyance than a nice change of pace. There are a couple of scenes where Ringo shows some interesting side to him with Mark and Gui Zhang and Tom, but after a slightly annoying battle (I am also fairly shit at fighting games, so whilst I did well for 90% of the game I struggled with the final bout) the game just sort of ends. Its kind of ballsy just how much of a sequel hook the game ends on, seemingly treating Shenmue 1 as the first season of a drama series, fitting, I suppose but from what I have gathered the story of the series is far from over 20+ years later.
So why did I love Ringo but not so much Shenmue? Other than the points mentioned above, Ringo's character moments are so much more memorable to me, I will remember some lines in Shenmue for their delivery and silliness, but moments like Ringo not sharing his literature essay in class or his exchange with his teacher about wasted talent stick to me a lot more. I still enjoyed Shenmue and I'm glad I played it, but whatever it is that the people who love this game (and a lot of them being people who's writing I admire and respect on this very site) saw in it I just didnt quite find. Perhaps the nature of the "right place, right time" events meant I missed a bunch of things, and apparently Ryo's love interest Nozomi has most of her lines relegated to phone conversations? Of which I saw none and was wondering why she's such a flat line for most of the game despite her importance to Ryo and parts of the plot.
I'm not rushing to Play Shenmue 2 any time soon but who knows, maybe Ill play it at some point and come back to revise my thoughts on the first entry.
I played Shenmue through the Shenmue 1 and 2 compilation on Steam, I think its pretty much the same version as the original minus disc swapping but if there are any major differences I wouldnt know. I was mainly interested in Playing Shenmue after really enjoying The Friends of Ringo Ishikawa a couple of months ago, which is a game that takes some inspiration from Shenmue in some aspects. And, since I think Shenmue has already been talked about from a myriad different angles on this site I think a nice compare and contrast will be good to do, especially to explain my personal experience with Shenmue and Ringo.
I was genuinely surprised when I started Shenmue and found myself enjoying the game, which underscores the benefits of playing things you might not think you'll like on the off chance you will. Its reputation for being slow and obtuse had my "filter-dar" screaming at me. Fortunately this reputation turned out to be mostly undeserved, especially the first 2/3rds of the game. It was honestly smooth sailing for most of the game, following a routine of exploring the various areas of the town interacting with locals and practicing combos at the local park. Shenmue is basically a point and click adventure game, you talk to people, follow leads, write down what you know in your notepad etc. At first the rather odd control scheme (not just the tank controls in a non horror game but the RT + joystick to shift Ryo's gaze until the camera locks on into something interactable was certainly not what Im used to) threw me off but its not too hard to get used to it.
At first there is a nice balance of progressing the main story and also doing side activities like the arcade, a couple of sidequests that flesh out the lives of the inhabitants of the town. The pacing is slow but its nice how much of it is dictated by the player, letting you take it all in, hell even the decision to not have fast travel (well, kinda) at first seemingly encourages going back and forth and running into scripted events. The problem however, and here's where the comparison to Ringo becomes more relevant, is that as you progress the pacing becomes a lot worse, the activities you have to do to kill time are really not all that compelling after a while, you get told to come back tomorrow or in a few hours and time just moves way too slowly. See, in Ringo the activities arent great either but times moves a lot quicker and the decisions you make are so much more rooted in roleplaying and just being able to squeeze as much as you can onto a day that until the very end of the game you are basically never bored. In Shenmue however by the time Dobuita started putting up christmas decorations I was just spending most of my time pressing forward + x to strengthen my pit blow combo.
Its funny, Ringo is a game about an aimless youth with no future where you're constantly trying to do it all but Shenmue is a game about a singleminded youth driven by revenge constantly fucking around doing nothing of note. If the mechanic is the message, Shenmue's time system could honestly work well for a reverse of Outer Wilds message. I find Ryo Hazuki to be not particularly compelling, mainly cause he's constantly alienating everyone who's ever loved him and who's telling him that his quest for revenge is stupid and dangerous, which they are right to do so. Now, I know that that is the point, its the whole martial arts drama schtick where a tragic quest for revenge means the MC must give it all up to pursue it, and Im sure if we ever get Shenmue 30 or whatever there will be some ironic twist to make Ryo doubt his own resolve and all that stuff. But I just dont find him or that arc compelling. Ringo is also a tragic figure who pushes away his friends and is seemingly doomed to waste his life away or even have it cut short, but he's much more human and relatable to me. Ringo is a game to me, about having too little time, but Shenmue is a game about having too much.
Its hard to sympathise much with Ryo when his Dad had no appearance beyond his inmediate murder when the game starts and incidentally, whilst the lack of certain modern conveniences enhance this game, if it were made today there would definitely be a playable prologue before the events of the game with Ryo doing some errands or something for his dad, tutorialising the various mechanics and such. A lot of this might also be the legendarily wooden acting of the english dub which I admit I picked due to its infamy but honestly there is just too little of Ryo himself being anything other than stoic angry man for me to really care. This isnt even a matter of Ryo being pretty distinct from the player because again in Ringo you are even more disconnected, not even privy to most of the conversations Ringo has with his gang members.
The kind of character and structure of the game with its slow humanism, feeding cats, helping the bullied etc makes the main quest jarring to me, Ringo should be collecting signatures to save the local school or something, not plotting murder. Perhaps this is just a personal thing, but then again if you were expecting anything else from this review then you were mistaken.
The game definitely takes a dip when the harbour is introduced, which is even more barren and boring than the main town, though thankfully most of your time is spent with forklift races and box moving, which are unironic highlights of the game. By this point though, Shenmue was really starting to wear thin, even the fights started to become more of an annoyance than a nice change of pace. There are a couple of scenes where Ringo shows some interesting side to him with Mark and Gui Zhang and Tom, but after a slightly annoying battle (I am also fairly shit at fighting games, so whilst I did well for 90% of the game I struggled with the final bout) the game just sort of ends. Its kind of ballsy just how much of a sequel hook the game ends on, seemingly treating Shenmue 1 as the first season of a drama series, fitting, I suppose but from what I have gathered the story of the series is far from over 20+ years later.
So why did I love Ringo but not so much Shenmue? Other than the points mentioned above, Ringo's character moments are so much more memorable to me, I will remember some lines in Shenmue for their delivery and silliness, but moments like Ringo not sharing his literature essay in class or his exchange with his teacher about wasted talent stick to me a lot more. I still enjoyed Shenmue and I'm glad I played it, but whatever it is that the people who love this game (and a lot of them being people who's writing I admire and respect on this very site) saw in it I just didnt quite find. Perhaps the nature of the "right place, right time" events meant I missed a bunch of things, and apparently Ryo's love interest Nozomi has most of her lines relegated to phone conversations? Of which I saw none and was wondering why she's such a flat line for most of the game despite her importance to Ryo and parts of the plot.
I'm not rushing to Play Shenmue 2 any time soon but who knows, maybe Ill play it at some point and come back to revise my thoughts on the first entry.
Intermittently torturous, always detached, and Shenmue only improves in this regard two decades on. It is often cited as the open world urtext, but where Shenmue works in alienation the games it influenced put the player-character at the centre of the universe. In the Grand Theft Auto series the player moves in a reckless, fluid way, in stark contrast to the rigid and wandering NPCs — every frame explodes into being through our freedom, of movement, of decision, of infinite variety and eternal recurrence, and yet we are never allowed access to the patterns or behaviours of those around us. The very absence of an 'talk' button along with the sheer number of people spawned across the game environment has us intuitively accept that the world is that which we do — we are its God, its conductor. With Shenmue however, Ryo's body moves in this blocky, unwieldy way, and must fit into the whims and schedules of those around him. The game's day-night cycle seems to actively close rather than open opportunities, such as in cases where we are tasked with waiting tens of hours to meet certain people at certain times of day, and all Ryo's options for time-killing actively feel like time-killing (in the sense of time we know we will never get back) — throwing darts, visiting noodle houses, patting cats, watching the trees. There is no way to accelerate time's passing, and the only way to endure it is to actively make the time to enjoy the small things, which is to say reframing the story as the distraction and not the other way around. Still, as Zen as this all sounds, however beautiful the sunsets and poignant the broken swing by the stairs, Shenmue makes it so the player never feels as though they belong in it.
Every day begins and ends at the Hazuki Residence, in a curious disciplinary move that has us clumsily navigate a house that never becomes a home, waiting as Ryo puts on or takes off his shoes, before venturing into a world that similarly never opens up to him. The anonymous faces in Grand Theft Auto are props until they're activated by player action, reflecting the scale of cause and effect, but in Shenmue we are always trying to act according to the dominating logic of the world, making the people in it both obstacles that are necessary to progress the game, and ever-present reminders of our not belonging. If we see an 'interact' prompt appear near a stranger, Ryo is just as likely to receive some valuable information as he is to be, in the most polite way possible, called a creep and asked to leave. He can't jump or skip or even run through a door. He checks over his shoulder to make sure he's alone before exercising in the park. When Ryo sees someone else is using the stairs, he will wait until they get to the top before he even begins is ascent, one gets the sense out of discomfort rather than politeness. They have their routines and we don't have ours. This doesn't make us free, it makes us perpetually alone. An old woman asks Ryo for directions and says she'll wait at the park to hear from him. If the player forgets, the old woman can never be found again. How long did she wait? Did she find the place on her own? Is she okay? It's always like this, he's impossible, nobody knows who he is and neither does he. Even those who know Ryo's name expect something of him that he's failing to embody, and this sense of quiet failure permeates Shenmue in both the way the world is painted and the way it plays.
Interactions with friends and family remain at the level of surface courtesies, veiling a great sadness and isolation that hints at impossible rifts between each and every person. Nobody knows Ryo — he's always falling just short of being what others think they know of him, and on an entirely different course from what's expected in the long run. And looking to him for answers leads to an even more penetrating sense of absence, a passive neglect of others and a dead eyed embrace of tangible actions and information pathways where the insignificant is given significance, and significant actions are always underpinned by the mundane. He confronts gang members like a kid buying a toy, and he buys toys like he's finally found meaning in this world. The central ambiguity in Shenmue, and what makes it so affecting, is whether this suffocating sense of loneliness is inherent to the world or just Ryo, who as the game's protagonist paints the way it appears to us. Is there a difference? When he is showed great generosity by Fuku-San, Ryo's unreadable face casts a cold negation of the gesture, making the other person seem comically, embarrassingly over-expressive. But it's Ryo who is embarrassing — his straightforward detective questioning, gullibility, and tonedeaf approach to human interaction make his journey less a myopic descent into obsession than a sort of hobby or project, a convenient opportunity for something to do. At one stage Nozomi asks Ryu about school, and we realise all this free time he has is the result of shirking a role that could give him some structure; some direction. In every sense he is out of sync: like Kyle MacLachlan's character in Blue Velvet no matter how successfully he works through the underbelly of his town he's only ever met with bemusement and confusion by the people he finds there. He can't be here, but he can't go back either. Once again the mechanic of Ryo's return to the Hazuki Residence reinforces every morning and every evening that there is no home for him. Shenmue is affecting because it forces us to play through, to physically enact this discomfort, while reading around Ryo that it is he who is the stranger.
The strangest and most subtly moving decision made is that the game's final act begins with Ryo taking on a job at the dock, driving forklifts. Where Ryo's physically cumbersome body spent weeks running around Dobuita, mangling interactions and finding ways to kill time, Ryo's dock work finally gives him purpose, a routine, and targets to meet. Throughout the rest of the game it is impossible to know whether one is making progress or floundering, but the dock work gives instant feedback in the form of quotas and bonus cheques reflecting efforts made. The forklifts also control with a fluidity uncommon in the rest of the game and reach speeds he can't on foot. Lunch breaks begin at the same time every day with a shot of Ryo sitting with his colleagues and eating; he could almost belong here. And because we're not waiting for time to pass but rather trying to do things in time, the way the skies change during the afternoon shift can at the docks be appreciated for how beautiful they are. Time becomes valuable, and as it passes it fills the scene with warmth before it leaves. Despite the routinised action or perhaps because of it, it is clear there will never be another day exactly like this one. One afternoon Ryo sees Nozomi at the docks taking photos and there is this confronting atmosphere because Ryo for the first time sees himself in the face of someone who recognises what he's doing — not for what his family represents or what anyone thinks he should be doing, but for what he is doing as he works at the dock. This is followed by a strange and beautiful sequence where Ryo's and Nozomi's photograph is taken twice, and Ryo must pick one to take away. One makes it appear as though they are lovers, the other, total strangers, and clearly the truth is somewhere in between. This moment of self-presentation to someone who matters is immediately turned into a fiction, or perhaps memorialised as a future that can never be between two people, one who doesn't know who she is but knows what she wants, the other a blank surface reflecting back everything indeterminate, everything unsure, everything anxious about the one unfortunate enough to look. He is in short a negation.
As the year wraps up, the uncaring faces increase in volume, and many of the familiar ones say they're going away. Ryo's neighbourhood, already a quietly lonely place, comes to feel like a ghost town of dead end interactions and suspended time — a place simultaneously too big and too small to sustain life. Ryo's dispassionate movement through Yokosuka is curious, because he is not the one feeling these things. Everything to him is information, and if that information leads abroad, so be it. He doesn't care one way or another, but we do. That Yokosuka is framed as a place that is already dead and in the process of being remembered must then belong to somebody else, someone who is remembering the story as Ryo tells it. Indeed as others try to reach out for him it becomes clear that it is not the town that is the ghost, but Ryo, that figure once present and well liked but who died one day and now glides through with blank eyes, forever out of time and place.
Without the language of Chinese cinema the story is simplistic and weird, but its grandiose animated dreams and talks of fate cut an effective threshold between the exhaustingly quotidian world of Shenmue and its mythic aspirations. Its textures are uniformly dingy and wet looking but this adds to Ryo's sense of claustrophobia, and the alienating temporality of the game that insists we shouldn't be here. Indeed the construction of the New Yokosuka Movie Theatre that will never be finished, and dig site and Sakuragaoka suggest the world will keep moving once we leave but can't start until that happens. The ability to talk to people who will only offer 'Sorry I don't feel like talking' leads to disappointment before its themes of isolation become clear. The animations haven't aged well but the offbeat rhythms of the game work its visuals into an uncanny space both otherworldly and uncomfortably familiar. It's also occasionally gorgeous by any standards: in one scene on a motorbike Yu Suzuki manages an extended reference to Wong Kar-wai's Fallen Angels and, short a bloom effect to mimic that director's blurry expressionism, simply layers brake light colours across the screen. I'll admit I lost my breath for a full minute: the absence of a bleeding light for a strange, rigid, suspended rendering of abstract human emotion might be the game in a single wonderful image.
Every day begins and ends at the Hazuki Residence, in a curious disciplinary move that has us clumsily navigate a house that never becomes a home, waiting as Ryo puts on or takes off his shoes, before venturing into a world that similarly never opens up to him. The anonymous faces in Grand Theft Auto are props until they're activated by player action, reflecting the scale of cause and effect, but in Shenmue we are always trying to act according to the dominating logic of the world, making the people in it both obstacles that are necessary to progress the game, and ever-present reminders of our not belonging. If we see an 'interact' prompt appear near a stranger, Ryo is just as likely to receive some valuable information as he is to be, in the most polite way possible, called a creep and asked to leave. He can't jump or skip or even run through a door. He checks over his shoulder to make sure he's alone before exercising in the park. When Ryo sees someone else is using the stairs, he will wait until they get to the top before he even begins is ascent, one gets the sense out of discomfort rather than politeness. They have their routines and we don't have ours. This doesn't make us free, it makes us perpetually alone. An old woman asks Ryo for directions and says she'll wait at the park to hear from him. If the player forgets, the old woman can never be found again. How long did she wait? Did she find the place on her own? Is she okay? It's always like this, he's impossible, nobody knows who he is and neither does he. Even those who know Ryo's name expect something of him that he's failing to embody, and this sense of quiet failure permeates Shenmue in both the way the world is painted and the way it plays.
Interactions with friends and family remain at the level of surface courtesies, veiling a great sadness and isolation that hints at impossible rifts between each and every person. Nobody knows Ryo — he's always falling just short of being what others think they know of him, and on an entirely different course from what's expected in the long run. And looking to him for answers leads to an even more penetrating sense of absence, a passive neglect of others and a dead eyed embrace of tangible actions and information pathways where the insignificant is given significance, and significant actions are always underpinned by the mundane. He confronts gang members like a kid buying a toy, and he buys toys like he's finally found meaning in this world. The central ambiguity in Shenmue, and what makes it so affecting, is whether this suffocating sense of loneliness is inherent to the world or just Ryo, who as the game's protagonist paints the way it appears to us. Is there a difference? When he is showed great generosity by Fuku-San, Ryo's unreadable face casts a cold negation of the gesture, making the other person seem comically, embarrassingly over-expressive. But it's Ryo who is embarrassing — his straightforward detective questioning, gullibility, and tonedeaf approach to human interaction make his journey less a myopic descent into obsession than a sort of hobby or project, a convenient opportunity for something to do. At one stage Nozomi asks Ryu about school, and we realise all this free time he has is the result of shirking a role that could give him some structure; some direction. In every sense he is out of sync: like Kyle MacLachlan's character in Blue Velvet no matter how successfully he works through the underbelly of his town he's only ever met with bemusement and confusion by the people he finds there. He can't be here, but he can't go back either. Once again the mechanic of Ryo's return to the Hazuki Residence reinforces every morning and every evening that there is no home for him. Shenmue is affecting because it forces us to play through, to physically enact this discomfort, while reading around Ryo that it is he who is the stranger.
The strangest and most subtly moving decision made is that the game's final act begins with Ryo taking on a job at the dock, driving forklifts. Where Ryo's physically cumbersome body spent weeks running around Dobuita, mangling interactions and finding ways to kill time, Ryo's dock work finally gives him purpose, a routine, and targets to meet. Throughout the rest of the game it is impossible to know whether one is making progress or floundering, but the dock work gives instant feedback in the form of quotas and bonus cheques reflecting efforts made. The forklifts also control with a fluidity uncommon in the rest of the game and reach speeds he can't on foot. Lunch breaks begin at the same time every day with a shot of Ryo sitting with his colleagues and eating; he could almost belong here. And because we're not waiting for time to pass but rather trying to do things in time, the way the skies change during the afternoon shift can at the docks be appreciated for how beautiful they are. Time becomes valuable, and as it passes it fills the scene with warmth before it leaves. Despite the routinised action or perhaps because of it, it is clear there will never be another day exactly like this one. One afternoon Ryo sees Nozomi at the docks taking photos and there is this confronting atmosphere because Ryo for the first time sees himself in the face of someone who recognises what he's doing — not for what his family represents or what anyone thinks he should be doing, but for what he is doing as he works at the dock. This is followed by a strange and beautiful sequence where Ryo's and Nozomi's photograph is taken twice, and Ryo must pick one to take away. One makes it appear as though they are lovers, the other, total strangers, and clearly the truth is somewhere in between. This moment of self-presentation to someone who matters is immediately turned into a fiction, or perhaps memorialised as a future that can never be between two people, one who doesn't know who she is but knows what she wants, the other a blank surface reflecting back everything indeterminate, everything unsure, everything anxious about the one unfortunate enough to look. He is in short a negation.
As the year wraps up, the uncaring faces increase in volume, and many of the familiar ones say they're going away. Ryo's neighbourhood, already a quietly lonely place, comes to feel like a ghost town of dead end interactions and suspended time — a place simultaneously too big and too small to sustain life. Ryo's dispassionate movement through Yokosuka is curious, because he is not the one feeling these things. Everything to him is information, and if that information leads abroad, so be it. He doesn't care one way or another, but we do. That Yokosuka is framed as a place that is already dead and in the process of being remembered must then belong to somebody else, someone who is remembering the story as Ryo tells it. Indeed as others try to reach out for him it becomes clear that it is not the town that is the ghost, but Ryo, that figure once present and well liked but who died one day and now glides through with blank eyes, forever out of time and place.
Without the language of Chinese cinema the story is simplistic and weird, but its grandiose animated dreams and talks of fate cut an effective threshold between the exhaustingly quotidian world of Shenmue and its mythic aspirations. Its textures are uniformly dingy and wet looking but this adds to Ryo's sense of claustrophobia, and the alienating temporality of the game that insists we shouldn't be here. Indeed the construction of the New Yokosuka Movie Theatre that will never be finished, and dig site and Sakuragaoka suggest the world will keep moving once we leave but can't start until that happens. The ability to talk to people who will only offer 'Sorry I don't feel like talking' leads to disappointment before its themes of isolation become clear. The animations haven't aged well but the offbeat rhythms of the game work its visuals into an uncanny space both otherworldly and uncomfortably familiar. It's also occasionally gorgeous by any standards: in one scene on a motorbike Yu Suzuki manages an extended reference to Wong Kar-wai's Fallen Angels and, short a bloom effect to mimic that director's blurry expressionism, simply layers brake light colours across the screen. I'll admit I lost my breath for a full minute: the absence of a bleeding light for a strange, rigid, suspended rendering of abstract human emotion might be the game in a single wonderful image.
"Let's get sweaty."
Shenmue is a game about revenge, about losing yourself to grief and shutting out those around you who care about you most. It's also a game about Fantasy Zone and Hang On and feeding cats. A bizarre mix of heavy themes counterbalanced by pissing your time playing darts. I think the perfect example of this dichotomy during my playthrough was towards the end of Ryo's adventure. I finished up one of my last shifts as a forklift operator and had a few hours to kill, so I took my earnings and spent hours collecting Sonic the Hedgehog gacha toys. By the time I got home my girlfriend was kidnapped by a biker gang. Sorry, Nozomi. I guess I was just a little too busy...
Shenmue's gameplay loop revolves around a calendar system, where each hour in the day takes about four real-time minutes to elapse. You'll spend much of your time asking questions around town, gathering clues about your father's murder, and tracking the whereabouts of his killer, Lan Di. When not actively working the investigation, Ryo has to pass time by engaging in small side activities or staring at his watch in the middle of the rain for several hours until it's finally time to go to bed.
The first half of the game balances story beats and free time pretty well, allowing you to move through the game at your own pace. However, by about the point you need to get a ticket to Hong Kong, story progression slows to a crawl. You'll start hitting events where you get only a small amount of story content, often being told to come back the next day for more. Guess you have 12 hours to kill (48 real world minutes for those that don't want to do the math), so you're gonna have to fill some time. Unfortunately, a lot of Shenmue's side activities just don't hold up, and there's not enough of it to make what is otherwise a 20 hour long game feel any less interminable than simply waiting out the clock. I could go play a very bad video game approximation of darts or, like, I can go into the other room and watch videos of cats eating corn. Which do you think I'm going to do? If anything, Shenmue is a great game to play if you need to catch up on some reading.
Occasionally you'll be thrown into an action sequence, which usually plays out through a quick time event (which was novel for 1999) or free combat, which feels like it was designed by someone who played about an hour of Virtua Fighter once while drunk and had to code it from memory. Most fights involve multiple opponents, and the way Ryo prioritizes who to swing at feels at odds with your inputs. Enemies also love to position themselves in front of the camera, which makes it difficult to keep track of Ryo, and I found some of the combo inputs to be very finicky to pull off when you're actually in a fight.
By the time you hit the third act, the game seems almost self-aware about how monotonous it is and tells you to get a damn job. Ryo is a forklift operator now, and when you're not moving boxes around between warehouses in a minigame that seems designed to test basic neurological function, you get to RACE FORKLIFTS! Forklift races, guys! Hey girls and gamers, do you like racing forklifts? I don't!! The only reason people remember this as fondly as they do is because it's the one shining ray of absurdity cutting through this boringass game. The whole rest of this third act not spent on doing menial work and racing forklifts keeps you trapped on the docks, limiting the amount of activities you can engage in to pass time. Shenmue depressingly transitions from a game that lets you freely explore the story and Ryo's personal life at your own pace to one that rigidly locks you in to set activities at set times.
And then it just... kinda ends. See, Shenmue is just a prologue. An extremely long prologue, but a prologue nonetheless. You don't fight Lan Di at the end, there's no real resolution, just a lot of setup for what's to come. Shenmue closes with Ryo saying goodbye to his family and friends, setting out to China determined to see revenge through to its ugly conclusion. Despite a few moments of regret and introspection, he doesn't really grow because his adventure is just beginning. The game explicitly tells you as much right before the credits role, making it all the more apparent that - at least in theory - you just played the first part of a very long story that will probably get exciting later. Maybe. If you all buy Shemue II it might happen! Oh... oh wait, no... oh crap. Those are the sales figures, huh? Well shiiiiit.
Despite all my criticisms, I feel that every part of this review ought to come with the biggest, fattest asterisk: this was all impressive as hell in 1999. There was nothing else out there like Shenmue, and you could tell Yu Suzuki and his team at AM2 had total confidence in the Dreamcast hardware and their engine. Being able to open every single dresser drawer in your house or hold up a (at that time) highly detailed render of an orange and just look at it was unprecedented. In a lot of ways Shenmue was a proof of concept for extremely minor gameplay elements that we take for granted today. What's even more wild is that Shenmue was originally envisioned as a Sega Saturn game, and there's even footage of an early Saturn build. This game is nothing if not ambitious, and though Yu Suzuki was ultimately unable to fully realize his vision for Shenmue, its legacy is carried on today by the extremely successful Yakuza series, though I'd personally argue its most accurate imitator is Deadly Premonition given how well (intentionally or otherwise) that game manages to capture some of Shenmue's more archaic elements.
However, all that ambition and influence doesn't change the fact that Shenmue does not hold up. It is perhaps the most "of its time" game, whose most brilliant qualities can only be appreciated by considering the time and place that it came out. I expect I'll get raked over the coals for this one given how passionate Shenmue fans are, but I want to stress that I understand how important this game is and what it means to people, and finding it wholly unenjoyable in 2022 shouldn't take away from that. Clearly. If you still want to come after me then I will be forced to botch a Swallow Flip, allowing you to mercilessly beat me until I cry.
I don't want to end this review without mentioning Giant Bomb's Endurance Run for Shenmue, which is an excellent alternative to actually playing this game. In all honesty, watching three grown men become absolutely broken by the experience is way more enjoyable than picking up a controller and trying to play it for yourself.
Shenmue is a game about revenge, about losing yourself to grief and shutting out those around you who care about you most. It's also a game about Fantasy Zone and Hang On and feeding cats. A bizarre mix of heavy themes counterbalanced by pissing your time playing darts. I think the perfect example of this dichotomy during my playthrough was towards the end of Ryo's adventure. I finished up one of my last shifts as a forklift operator and had a few hours to kill, so I took my earnings and spent hours collecting Sonic the Hedgehog gacha toys. By the time I got home my girlfriend was kidnapped by a biker gang. Sorry, Nozomi. I guess I was just a little too busy...
Shenmue's gameplay loop revolves around a calendar system, where each hour in the day takes about four real-time minutes to elapse. You'll spend much of your time asking questions around town, gathering clues about your father's murder, and tracking the whereabouts of his killer, Lan Di. When not actively working the investigation, Ryo has to pass time by engaging in small side activities or staring at his watch in the middle of the rain for several hours until it's finally time to go to bed.
The first half of the game balances story beats and free time pretty well, allowing you to move through the game at your own pace. However, by about the point you need to get a ticket to Hong Kong, story progression slows to a crawl. You'll start hitting events where you get only a small amount of story content, often being told to come back the next day for more. Guess you have 12 hours to kill (48 real world minutes for those that don't want to do the math), so you're gonna have to fill some time. Unfortunately, a lot of Shenmue's side activities just don't hold up, and there's not enough of it to make what is otherwise a 20 hour long game feel any less interminable than simply waiting out the clock. I could go play a very bad video game approximation of darts or, like, I can go into the other room and watch videos of cats eating corn. Which do you think I'm going to do? If anything, Shenmue is a great game to play if you need to catch up on some reading.
Occasionally you'll be thrown into an action sequence, which usually plays out through a quick time event (which was novel for 1999) or free combat, which feels like it was designed by someone who played about an hour of Virtua Fighter once while drunk and had to code it from memory. Most fights involve multiple opponents, and the way Ryo prioritizes who to swing at feels at odds with your inputs. Enemies also love to position themselves in front of the camera, which makes it difficult to keep track of Ryo, and I found some of the combo inputs to be very finicky to pull off when you're actually in a fight.
By the time you hit the third act, the game seems almost self-aware about how monotonous it is and tells you to get a damn job. Ryo is a forklift operator now, and when you're not moving boxes around between warehouses in a minigame that seems designed to test basic neurological function, you get to RACE FORKLIFTS! Forklift races, guys! Hey girls and gamers, do you like racing forklifts? I don't!! The only reason people remember this as fondly as they do is because it's the one shining ray of absurdity cutting through this boringass game. The whole rest of this third act not spent on doing menial work and racing forklifts keeps you trapped on the docks, limiting the amount of activities you can engage in to pass time. Shenmue depressingly transitions from a game that lets you freely explore the story and Ryo's personal life at your own pace to one that rigidly locks you in to set activities at set times.
And then it just... kinda ends. See, Shenmue is just a prologue. An extremely long prologue, but a prologue nonetheless. You don't fight Lan Di at the end, there's no real resolution, just a lot of setup for what's to come. Shenmue closes with Ryo saying goodbye to his family and friends, setting out to China determined to see revenge through to its ugly conclusion. Despite a few moments of regret and introspection, he doesn't really grow because his adventure is just beginning. The game explicitly tells you as much right before the credits role, making it all the more apparent that - at least in theory - you just played the first part of a very long story that will probably get exciting later. Maybe. If you all buy Shemue II it might happen! Oh... oh wait, no... oh crap. Those are the sales figures, huh? Well shiiiiit.
Despite all my criticisms, I feel that every part of this review ought to come with the biggest, fattest asterisk: this was all impressive as hell in 1999. There was nothing else out there like Shenmue, and you could tell Yu Suzuki and his team at AM2 had total confidence in the Dreamcast hardware and their engine. Being able to open every single dresser drawer in your house or hold up a (at that time) highly detailed render of an orange and just look at it was unprecedented. In a lot of ways Shenmue was a proof of concept for extremely minor gameplay elements that we take for granted today. What's even more wild is that Shenmue was originally envisioned as a Sega Saturn game, and there's even footage of an early Saturn build. This game is nothing if not ambitious, and though Yu Suzuki was ultimately unable to fully realize his vision for Shenmue, its legacy is carried on today by the extremely successful Yakuza series, though I'd personally argue its most accurate imitator is Deadly Premonition given how well (intentionally or otherwise) that game manages to capture some of Shenmue's more archaic elements.
However, all that ambition and influence doesn't change the fact that Shenmue does not hold up. It is perhaps the most "of its time" game, whose most brilliant qualities can only be appreciated by considering the time and place that it came out. I expect I'll get raked over the coals for this one given how passionate Shenmue fans are, but I want to stress that I understand how important this game is and what it means to people, and finding it wholly unenjoyable in 2022 shouldn't take away from that. Clearly. If you still want to come after me then I will be forced to botch a Swallow Flip, allowing you to mercilessly beat me until I cry.
I don't want to end this review without mentioning Giant Bomb's Endurance Run for Shenmue, which is an excellent alternative to actually playing this game. In all honesty, watching three grown men become absolutely broken by the experience is way more enjoyable than picking up a controller and trying to play it for yourself.
There's just something about it. Walking around a warm village in Japan, talking to wise-elderly people, helping little kids look after kittens and hanging out at the arcade... and looking for sailors, because something to do with avenging your father or whatever.
The plot is a standard revenge story, the opening is admittedly incredibly cinematic and emotional. So much so that the game that follows is a comedown in tension. Whilst the game does have action setpieces, I think of the majority of tranquil gameplay soothes in the way a Studio Ghibli or Yasujirō Ozu film does, especially when firing it up on the gorgeous Sega Dreamcast.
It's not a perfect game, its ambition is both its strength and weakness. The open world is truly awe-inspiring and irresistible, whilst the expansive narrative designed for 5 or so games probably didn't help the game sell as well as it should have done.
It seems to divide gamers, but I'm sure lovers of immersive open worlds, gentle, slow storytelling and all things Japan will have something to take from this unique experience.
The plot is a standard revenge story, the opening is admittedly incredibly cinematic and emotional. So much so that the game that follows is a comedown in tension. Whilst the game does have action setpieces, I think of the majority of tranquil gameplay soothes in the way a Studio Ghibli or Yasujirō Ozu film does, especially when firing it up on the gorgeous Sega Dreamcast.
It's not a perfect game, its ambition is both its strength and weakness. The open world is truly awe-inspiring and irresistible, whilst the expansive narrative designed for 5 or so games probably didn't help the game sell as well as it should have done.
It seems to divide gamers, but I'm sure lovers of immersive open worlds, gentle, slow storytelling and all things Japan will have something to take from this unique experience.
I love this game so much. I think the best way I can summarize my feelings about this game is to describe how magical it feels when I'm doing the most mundane things. Zooming in a random cupboard, seeing Ryo's early 3D robot-hands entering the view and awkwardly open it, and seeing whatever is in store inside; it feels me with child-like wonder, like seeing somebody pull off a successful magic trick for the first time. It's an absolute joy to simply exist in the game's world, and the game excels at making it so easy to immerse yourself in it. No other game feels quite like this. Not even Shenmue II, which has an entirely different kind of magic, at least to me. But we'll get to that game some other time.
Anyways, my only gripe from before is the controls. I didn't quite feel in tune with Ryo as a character in that sense. But replaying this now for the platinum trophy, I don't feel that way anymore. Maybe it's because I'm not playing it under duress of completing it ASAP, but all his moves and mannerisms just clicks to me. I knew exactly when he can move freely, and when he would need a bit more patience and deliberate inputs. It's great. I'm having the time of my life, being completely connected with this game I adore. I didn't feel comfortable giving this game a 10/10 before, but now it's the easiest thing in the world.
Also, I took some street photography style in-game screenshots. I don't normally plug my virtual photography stuff here but I think it would help to visualize how I personally see the world of Shenmue. A view with my rose-tinted lenses, if you will. You can check them out here.
Anyways, my only gripe from before is the controls. I didn't quite feel in tune with Ryo as a character in that sense. But replaying this now for the platinum trophy, I don't feel that way anymore. Maybe it's because I'm not playing it under duress of completing it ASAP, but all his moves and mannerisms just clicks to me. I knew exactly when he can move freely, and when he would need a bit more patience and deliberate inputs. It's great. I'm having the time of my life, being completely connected with this game I adore. I didn't feel comfortable giving this game a 10/10 before, but now it's the easiest thing in the world.
Also, I took some street photography style in-game screenshots. I don't normally plug my virtual photography stuff here but I think it would help to visualize how I personally see the world of Shenmue. A view with my rose-tinted lenses, if you will. You can check them out here.
I feel for the tragic loss of Ryo in this game. His father is killed right in front of him by a Chinese man, but he doesn't let prejudice consume him. I think that's really admirable. My friend Tony's dad died of Corona virus and now I can't hang out with him without hearing something racist about Chinese people. Anyway, I told him to play Shenmue so he could learn from Ryo, but now he just talks about how poorly the game has aged. I preferred when he was racist, tbh.
genuinely near unplayable garbage, i love it
It's strange that the game that popularised the idea of the open city is so opposed to privileging the player as a free agent. Instead of wandering, we must obsessively micromanage time to fit in with the schedules of Yokosuka's inhabitants. To miss a meeting is to wait for the next day, and to feel every minute of the full duration. Ryo is too young to drink, and even if he wasn't he probably wouldn't drink any way. The setting sun does not herald adventure for us because Ryo has to be home for his mum so he can collect his allowance in the morning. He is strange, and his body moves in a blocky, strange way, which eventually comes to make its themes of alienation and obsession manifest in the way we play Shenmue. To adopt Ryo's body is to absorb his hangups, his estrangement into the process of what is already uncanny: reentering the relic world of Shenmue, and learning to read all of its ghosts.
What does it mean to explore a world?
In a prior review, I discussed and explored my feelings on a world segmented into individual explorable levels, each so tightly-paced and dense in content that the joy of exploration never let up. A lot of collectathons strive to reach this kind of collectible-hunting nirvana, and its part of the DNA that they share with Metroidvanias. Indeed, there exist entire video games genres effectively based around the pure gameplay enjoyment of exploring virtual worlds.
Yet there’s always been a second side to that coin. A world as described above can’t often be described as a breathing one, can it? When every collectible is laid out just to tickle the player’s neurons right, all level design invites you to stay for just as long as is needed, every character created to fill a need, and so on. As pleasant as these worlds may be, its hard to shake the feeling of simply being a vacationer on a tourguide, a hero with a trail of breadcrumbs always guiding them toward the sword in the stone. And for all the faults the game may otherwise have, this is the area in which the original Shenmue truly shines: making you feel part of its distinctly living, breathing world.
After having the scene set by an opening cutscene, new players may realize just how little is given to them in the way of guidance. Navigating Ryo’s house alone can feel daunting, trapped by narrow passages with an extremely unorthodox, slow control scheme. Indeed, Despite an action-packed opening, what you’ll spend the next segment of the game doing can best be described as meandering. And you’re sure to have heard it all before in gaming discourse: Every passerby you see in Shenmue has a name, a personality, a schedule they adhere to, and hobbies and jobs that influence what they tell you. What’s effectively a point-and-click adventure game mixed with occasional fighting game segments turns into something entirely new once you realize just how little the game actually tries to help you in both areas. As Ryo Hazuki, the only things you can truly rely on are a notebook, a pair of shoes, and the roads they tread.
Though not a game with any sort of branching story, it is still one that understands and reacts to every little piece of the narrative, and one that truly wants you to pay attention to those small changes overtime. Just as every NPC has their own life, their dialogue evolves with each little progression made in the story, gradually giving Ryo the chance to hear the thoughts on every character as you approach the story’s dark truths. Yet for as much there is to find in Shenmue’s world, there’s no fast travel, no indication of what doing certain tasks will really achieve, no HUD beyond the clock on your arm and the road that lies ahead. Brimming with secrets, yet not privy to guide you to them: Its a game that, in the most pure form possible, strives to hide its gaminess, and wants you to simply engage with its world without thought to its objective.
That isn’t to say that a greater objective isn’t present, of course. The game tells an engaging mystery as you navigate Ryo from person to person, place to place, learning more about the circumstances of both his fathers death and their family’s place in the world. A lot has been said about Ryo’s stoicness and generally wooden expressiveness, but I don’t believe with any part of me that this was a writing error: The game is as much a story about Ryo solving a mystery as it is him slowly figuring out his place in the world. Ryo is a guy with a mission, yet time and time again during the adventure you’re reminded that he IS just a normal teenager - his classmates worry about him, the locals greet him with a smile and tells him to take care, and always warn him to be careful getting further into the dark world that took his father’s life. Through the slow mundanity of everyday gameplay, you get a lot of time to reflect on these things alongside Ryo as you walk the streets of Dobuita. Ryo really wants to avenge his father, but…everyone is so happy to just have him alive here, why can’t that be enough?
And I think that dilemma, that aspect of Ryo’s character, makes the kind of slow and meandering gameplay fit him so well. There’s such a brilliant clash from day and night in the game, going from visiting all the local residents and asking them about what’s been happening recently, to getting into fights in bars or sneaking into secret warehouses whilst avoiding cops. Much like Ryo’s own life, there’s two sides of the game playing out, one filled with excitement and danger and the other filled with love and tranquility. For as nice as all those action scenes are, and as well directed as the QTE sequences can be…many times I’d wish for them to end, just to be able to step foot in that beautiful little town again.
24 years on from its original release, it really can’t be overstated just how beautiful the original Shenmue still is. The character models sit in that perfect sweet spot between reality and abstraction, appearing as sculptured dolls with enchanting expressionwork, and the world they inhabit is filled with life around every corner. Its hard to not get goosebumps as night falls at 7PM, and get shown some absolutely beautiful shots of the area you’re currently in. The different parts of the world are so lovingly crafted, dense with life, that it becomes second nature to navigate this little world without the need for a map. Shenmue is, in fact, so confident in this that it flat out doesn’t give the player a map, outside of signs placed about scattershot around the world. All of this is topped off with beautifully expressive fighting animations as you engage in combat, with some of the most satisfying hit sounds you’ll ever hear in a game.
There’s something so fascinating about playing a game clearly filled with money and polish around every corner, yet still so confident in its own vision that its willing to completely shrug its shoulders upon being asked where to go next. Beyond the lack of a map, the game obfuscates how to really unlock its new fighting techniques, hiding some away until you’re able to fully utilize its button input. The game lets you, and encourages you to, pick up every single little trinket, open every single drawer, inspect almost every thing you can buy at stores, as Ryo physically picks it up - and never informs you on if this is something worth doing for progression or not. The game lets you buy drinks from vending machines and pick freely between several different flavors, again without ever hinting at its purpose in gameplay. The game features a full gallery of collectible figures, which you obtain simply by playing a gachapon machine with no clear end goal in sight. As said before, engaging with Shenmue is akin to engaging with a game that doesn’t want to be perceived as a game, or rather, like you’re literally stepping into the shoes of a teenager in a world just as confusingly unclear as ours. And sure, much like Ryo, you’ll get newfound determination when an objective is in sight: the Forklift racing segments pit you against 7 other forklift drivers in a makeshift race course and provide tons of adrenaline and excitement, yet… still leaves you unsure of what you’ve truly achieved at the end of each race.
Win or lose, it’s still just…another day at the job. Another safe, regular, uneventful day.
The days go by, and Ryo feels as if he’s slowly inching closer to his goal, but…is that progression really worth it? Like a Ying and Yang, both Shenmue and Ryo simultaneously want to remain leisurely confused in the place they call home, whilst also longing to boldly move forward in the world. In all the game’s calm moments, Ryo remains as focused as ever on hunting down the man who killed his father, consumed by a wish for revenge, and those close to him repeatedly try to tell him just how dark of a path he’s heading down. Yet Ryo stays so laser-focused on this one incident, because the Hazuki clan is the only thing in his life that ever processed to him as giving him purpose. Even with several good friends, a caring adoptive family, a community he cherishes, and eventually a stable job with coworkers he gets along with well, Ryo is just unable to disconnect himself from the clan, even if doing so would lead to a safer, happier life.
And I do genuinely believe there is a metanarrative of sorts here: We as players crave the excitement of fights and action scenes, and may end up more frustrated than at peace with the many times you’re encouraged to simply spend time in Shenmue’s world. Its almost unfathomable to suggest to players today that Shenmue’s lack of excitement is part of its appeal, because so much of what the industry wants is action, drama, excitement, tension, progression, and so on. Shenmue finds so much worth in the mundane, yet Ryo seems to reject it at every chance to pursue a dark truth, one that will undoubtedly make his life worse to bear, just for that sense of closure. And really, everyone wishes for some sort of closure: For instance, during the 24 years since the original game released, Shenmue fans too have waited for for an ending to Ryo’s story, with none in sight even after a kickstarted third game. But beyond that, we wish for closure in our day-to-day lives: To find a job that satisfies our every wish, to find something in life that never stops making us happy, to not keep getting fucked over by the shitty hands life deals us…
When you’re racing, your mind thinks solely of the finish line.
When you’re playing a game, you think solely of the progress made.
When you’re working, you think solely of the deadline.
And when you give yourself a goal, it’s easy to ignore all the beauty life has to offer, just for the sake of achieving it.
It can be hard, damn near impossible at times, to tell yourself to enjoy life for its pointlessness - to smell the roses not for an achievement, but for yourself. Shenmue tells you to relish those moments for as long as you can: To inspect every item, talk to every person, observe every building, listen to every cassette tape, and take as many breaths in its unforgiving, perfectly constructed world as you please. Because the boat to Hong Kong is a one-way ticket - once Ryo leaves, it’s too late for regrets.
[Playtime: ???]
[Key Word: Purpose]
In a prior review, I discussed and explored my feelings on a world segmented into individual explorable levels, each so tightly-paced and dense in content that the joy of exploration never let up. A lot of collectathons strive to reach this kind of collectible-hunting nirvana, and its part of the DNA that they share with Metroidvanias. Indeed, there exist entire video games genres effectively based around the pure gameplay enjoyment of exploring virtual worlds.
Yet there’s always been a second side to that coin. A world as described above can’t often be described as a breathing one, can it? When every collectible is laid out just to tickle the player’s neurons right, all level design invites you to stay for just as long as is needed, every character created to fill a need, and so on. As pleasant as these worlds may be, its hard to shake the feeling of simply being a vacationer on a tourguide, a hero with a trail of breadcrumbs always guiding them toward the sword in the stone. And for all the faults the game may otherwise have, this is the area in which the original Shenmue truly shines: making you feel part of its distinctly living, breathing world.
After having the scene set by an opening cutscene, new players may realize just how little is given to them in the way of guidance. Navigating Ryo’s house alone can feel daunting, trapped by narrow passages with an extremely unorthodox, slow control scheme. Indeed, Despite an action-packed opening, what you’ll spend the next segment of the game doing can best be described as meandering. And you’re sure to have heard it all before in gaming discourse: Every passerby you see in Shenmue has a name, a personality, a schedule they adhere to, and hobbies and jobs that influence what they tell you. What’s effectively a point-and-click adventure game mixed with occasional fighting game segments turns into something entirely new once you realize just how little the game actually tries to help you in both areas. As Ryo Hazuki, the only things you can truly rely on are a notebook, a pair of shoes, and the roads they tread.
Though not a game with any sort of branching story, it is still one that understands and reacts to every little piece of the narrative, and one that truly wants you to pay attention to those small changes overtime. Just as every NPC has their own life, their dialogue evolves with each little progression made in the story, gradually giving Ryo the chance to hear the thoughts on every character as you approach the story’s dark truths. Yet for as much there is to find in Shenmue’s world, there’s no fast travel, no indication of what doing certain tasks will really achieve, no HUD beyond the clock on your arm and the road that lies ahead. Brimming with secrets, yet not privy to guide you to them: Its a game that, in the most pure form possible, strives to hide its gaminess, and wants you to simply engage with its world without thought to its objective.
That isn’t to say that a greater objective isn’t present, of course. The game tells an engaging mystery as you navigate Ryo from person to person, place to place, learning more about the circumstances of both his fathers death and their family’s place in the world. A lot has been said about Ryo’s stoicness and generally wooden expressiveness, but I don’t believe with any part of me that this was a writing error: The game is as much a story about Ryo solving a mystery as it is him slowly figuring out his place in the world. Ryo is a guy with a mission, yet time and time again during the adventure you’re reminded that he IS just a normal teenager - his classmates worry about him, the locals greet him with a smile and tells him to take care, and always warn him to be careful getting further into the dark world that took his father’s life. Through the slow mundanity of everyday gameplay, you get a lot of time to reflect on these things alongside Ryo as you walk the streets of Dobuita. Ryo really wants to avenge his father, but…everyone is so happy to just have him alive here, why can’t that be enough?
And I think that dilemma, that aspect of Ryo’s character, makes the kind of slow and meandering gameplay fit him so well. There’s such a brilliant clash from day and night in the game, going from visiting all the local residents and asking them about what’s been happening recently, to getting into fights in bars or sneaking into secret warehouses whilst avoiding cops. Much like Ryo’s own life, there’s two sides of the game playing out, one filled with excitement and danger and the other filled with love and tranquility. For as nice as all those action scenes are, and as well directed as the QTE sequences can be…many times I’d wish for them to end, just to be able to step foot in that beautiful little town again.
24 years on from its original release, it really can’t be overstated just how beautiful the original Shenmue still is. The character models sit in that perfect sweet spot between reality and abstraction, appearing as sculptured dolls with enchanting expressionwork, and the world they inhabit is filled with life around every corner. Its hard to not get goosebumps as night falls at 7PM, and get shown some absolutely beautiful shots of the area you’re currently in. The different parts of the world are so lovingly crafted, dense with life, that it becomes second nature to navigate this little world without the need for a map. Shenmue is, in fact, so confident in this that it flat out doesn’t give the player a map, outside of signs placed about scattershot around the world. All of this is topped off with beautifully expressive fighting animations as you engage in combat, with some of the most satisfying hit sounds you’ll ever hear in a game.
There’s something so fascinating about playing a game clearly filled with money and polish around every corner, yet still so confident in its own vision that its willing to completely shrug its shoulders upon being asked where to go next. Beyond the lack of a map, the game obfuscates how to really unlock its new fighting techniques, hiding some away until you’re able to fully utilize its button input. The game lets you, and encourages you to, pick up every single little trinket, open every single drawer, inspect almost every thing you can buy at stores, as Ryo physically picks it up - and never informs you on if this is something worth doing for progression or not. The game lets you buy drinks from vending machines and pick freely between several different flavors, again without ever hinting at its purpose in gameplay. The game features a full gallery of collectible figures, which you obtain simply by playing a gachapon machine with no clear end goal in sight. As said before, engaging with Shenmue is akin to engaging with a game that doesn’t want to be perceived as a game, or rather, like you’re literally stepping into the shoes of a teenager in a world just as confusingly unclear as ours. And sure, much like Ryo, you’ll get newfound determination when an objective is in sight: the Forklift racing segments pit you against 7 other forklift drivers in a makeshift race course and provide tons of adrenaline and excitement, yet… still leaves you unsure of what you’ve truly achieved at the end of each race.
Win or lose, it’s still just…another day at the job. Another safe, regular, uneventful day.
The days go by, and Ryo feels as if he’s slowly inching closer to his goal, but…is that progression really worth it? Like a Ying and Yang, both Shenmue and Ryo simultaneously want to remain leisurely confused in the place they call home, whilst also longing to boldly move forward in the world. In all the game’s calm moments, Ryo remains as focused as ever on hunting down the man who killed his father, consumed by a wish for revenge, and those close to him repeatedly try to tell him just how dark of a path he’s heading down. Yet Ryo stays so laser-focused on this one incident, because the Hazuki clan is the only thing in his life that ever processed to him as giving him purpose. Even with several good friends, a caring adoptive family, a community he cherishes, and eventually a stable job with coworkers he gets along with well, Ryo is just unable to disconnect himself from the clan, even if doing so would lead to a safer, happier life.
And I do genuinely believe there is a metanarrative of sorts here: We as players crave the excitement of fights and action scenes, and may end up more frustrated than at peace with the many times you’re encouraged to simply spend time in Shenmue’s world. Its almost unfathomable to suggest to players today that Shenmue’s lack of excitement is part of its appeal, because so much of what the industry wants is action, drama, excitement, tension, progression, and so on. Shenmue finds so much worth in the mundane, yet Ryo seems to reject it at every chance to pursue a dark truth, one that will undoubtedly make his life worse to bear, just for that sense of closure. And really, everyone wishes for some sort of closure: For instance, during the 24 years since the original game released, Shenmue fans too have waited for for an ending to Ryo’s story, with none in sight even after a kickstarted third game. But beyond that, we wish for closure in our day-to-day lives: To find a job that satisfies our every wish, to find something in life that never stops making us happy, to not keep getting fucked over by the shitty hands life deals us…
When you’re racing, your mind thinks solely of the finish line.
When you’re playing a game, you think solely of the progress made.
When you’re working, you think solely of the deadline.
And when you give yourself a goal, it’s easy to ignore all the beauty life has to offer, just for the sake of achieving it.
It can be hard, damn near impossible at times, to tell yourself to enjoy life for its pointlessness - to smell the roses not for an achievement, but for yourself. Shenmue tells you to relish those moments for as long as you can: To inspect every item, talk to every person, observe every building, listen to every cassette tape, and take as many breaths in its unforgiving, perfectly constructed world as you please. Because the boat to Hong Kong is a one-way ticket - once Ryo leaves, it’s too late for regrets.
[Playtime: ???]
[Key Word: Purpose]
as a long time salaried office worker, it's almost perverse how much catharsis i gained from lifting and moving crates. i imagine this is the same appeal as a dude ranch had to people 30 years my senior.
the scope of shenmue is unreasonable - it knows it, and i love it for it.
the scope of shenmue is unreasonable - it knows it, and i love it for it.
The beginning of an oddball of a series. Training martial arts, playing arcade games, collecting gatchas, forklifting, abusing fortune prophecies to win slot reels, encountering new scenes and events you haven't encountered before, while traversing a very cool detective story of finding out the mysteries of the world of Shenmue. An incredible experience if you have the patience to learn how it all works and can appreciate the rich atmosphere of the game
I’m looking for a man named Long D
I think this game is great! Not as obtuse as people make it out to be. It’s simple in a charming way. Just follow the directions people give you and you’ll be fine. The only real issue is having to wait around, but even that isn’t that big of a deal since you can always find something cool to do.