「それはひとつの終末 そして始まり...」
Played during the Backloggd’s Game of the Week (Dec. 27, 2022 – Jan. 2, 2023).
A glance at Beyond Interactive's website turns out to be a rather disappointing visit. Although the company was founded in August 1989 by Hitoshi Akashi, no trace of their early work remains. Nowadays, the company operates mainly as a development auxiliary for various projects, without producing any original titles. This philosophy is surprising in the light of the fertile experimentalism that Bunmei Korokoro Game: Egg illustrates with considerable poetry. Perhaps this transformation could be explained by the departure of talented and creative employees, who had made their mark on PC-98 titles, such as Kiyoto Yoshimura, currently working for Chime Corporation. As a result, it is not so easy to find any information about Egg, either in English or in Japanese.
A CGI scene immediately sets the tone of the game: over layers of ambient music and a few broken piano chords, an egg is revealed, enclosing a foetus and a whole galaxy of civilisations. This cosmogenetic setting places Egg within the mystical movement of science fiction, more interested in the great trends that drive the rise and fall of civilisations than in the individuals within them. The egg turns out to be an object of adoration for the different societies, alternately protector of life and herald of destruction. The player acts as an egg on an idealised battlefield, pitted against another civilisation. Players play one after the other and, when they can control their egg, must hit it, similar to a golf or pool ball. The standard move allows the player to cover the tiles with their civilisation. Surrounding a large area also captures everything inside it. As soon as the civilisation becomes substantial, a tower emerges and grows as the surrounding civilisation develops. This tower is the command centre and must be protected at all costs, as allowing it to be destroyed by the opponent leads to an immediate defeat.
Victory can be achieved in three different ways. The player can break the opponent's egg by smashing it repeatedly or they can destroy the opposing tower, following the same method. It is also possible to achieve a cultural victory, as in civilisation simulators, by upgrading the tower to level 9. Depending on the chosen solution, the strategies implemented will be different and the player will have to use their arsenal creatively. Indeed, in addition to normal shots, it is possible to spend energy – accumulated by expanding one's civilisation – to perform defensive shots that create walls or offensive shots, which destroy buildings, whether they are allied or enemy. An aggressive approach requires a high degree of precision when shooting, and this is rendered tricky by the shape of the egg, whose propensity for unexpected turns should not be underestimated. Meanwhile, an overly defensive approach prevents the accumulation of sufficient energy and is punished in the mid-game, as soon as earthquakes are available.
This results in a constant strategic asymmetry, reminiscent of the dynamics in chess. Progress is only made at the cost of imbalances, which may or may not be punished, thus making it necessary to anticipate the amount of risk that can be accepted. The weakness of the tower may push one to build the base far from the centre of the arena and refuse a direct attack too quickly, out of fear of being too far away from the base to defend it effectively. Furthermore, overextending risks running out of energy if the opponent engages the egg directly, nearly always resulting in a loss. Ultimately, it is necessary to find a rhythm in the progression, so as to execute shots that always have dual objectives. In the early stages of the game, the creation of territories often requires three moves to be optimal; a good play can break out of this ternary pattern to surprise the opponent and create positional traps. Cutting off the enemy territory to prevent them from expending, whilst leaving an exit route to reach one's own base and increase its civilisation strength, is therefore a formidable strategy. Building walls very closely to the enemy base limits movement and slows down their civilisation's development. Every move can be used defensively and offensively, and Egg reveals a genuine strategic and tactical depth in its gameplay.
Perhaps most importantly, the title is driven by an atmosphere of rare poetry. The electronic noises hark back to the aesthetics of 1980s sci-fi and complement the instrumentation of every mission. In Stage 4, the alien civilisation has organic-looking buildings and is accompanied by muffled bass lines and primordial noises. Stage 5 stands out for its carnivalesque aesthetics, while the sixth mission has metal accents, immersed in wicked coughing sounds. The last mission opens with traditional Japanese instruments, reinforcing the contemplation of the final stretch of the journey. These atmospheric shifts give the title an esoteric quality, and when the player is focused on the move they are about to make, a real sense of poetry is created, perfectly in line with the game's discourse. It is as if, in a way, the creation and destruction of civilisations, which result from the various shots, do not matter. They are merely a product of the conflict between the galactic eggs, whose potential, in a philosophical sense, is indescribable. Admittedly, the egg must stay close to its civilisation to survive, a symbiosis that is very well implemented in the gameplay, but the beauty of life and the tragedy of war are not relevant to these shells of boundless substance. The glory of progress shines on no one.
After the World War II, Japanese fiction is riddled with visions of the apocalypse. The Lost Decades underlined the individual's lack of control over the world ending, in a society where young people find it difficult to belong and to understand why they have to suffer injustices that are not of their making. Unlike the teenage revolt of the sekaikei, which invaded the 1990s manga and anime [1], Egg provides a half-toned response, one that does not resolve the complexity of the issue, but seeks to assuage the fears. Societies come and go, they have their idols, but these cannot guarantee absolute security. Fortune and fate remain a sword hanging over everyone's head. These themes have been tackled in a much more frontal way by other Japanese works and Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995) is perhaps a shining example, wherein the Black Moon carries Lilith, avatar of life and destruction. The angle of the anime is very different, as the camera focuses mostly on the characters, but I would argue that the roots of the discourse are the same. Just as Shinji struggles to evolve in a world where moral values are blurred, so the apocalypse in Egg is never one-dimensional. There is, through the ambivalence of the gameplay, creation in destruction and vice versa.
It is unfortunate that Bunmei Korokoro Game: Egg is so poorly known. It is however a classic example of the experimental capacity of Japanese studios in the PS1 era. A unique poetic breath runs through it, halfway between the absurd and the contemplative, and is supported by an always apt gameplay. There is something eerily cathartic when playing the game. The cosmic scale of the playground both underlines and dampens conflict. It's an end and a beginning, the game repeatedly intones. Yes, it's definitely an end and a beginning.
_________
[1] Motoka Tanaka, Apocalypticism in Postwar Japanese Fiction, PhD thesis, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, 2011, pp. 164-174.
Played during the Backloggd’s Game of the Week (Dec. 27, 2022 – Jan. 2, 2023).
A glance at Beyond Interactive's website turns out to be a rather disappointing visit. Although the company was founded in August 1989 by Hitoshi Akashi, no trace of their early work remains. Nowadays, the company operates mainly as a development auxiliary for various projects, without producing any original titles. This philosophy is surprising in the light of the fertile experimentalism that Bunmei Korokoro Game: Egg illustrates with considerable poetry. Perhaps this transformation could be explained by the departure of talented and creative employees, who had made their mark on PC-98 titles, such as Kiyoto Yoshimura, currently working for Chime Corporation. As a result, it is not so easy to find any information about Egg, either in English or in Japanese.
A CGI scene immediately sets the tone of the game: over layers of ambient music and a few broken piano chords, an egg is revealed, enclosing a foetus and a whole galaxy of civilisations. This cosmogenetic setting places Egg within the mystical movement of science fiction, more interested in the great trends that drive the rise and fall of civilisations than in the individuals within them. The egg turns out to be an object of adoration for the different societies, alternately protector of life and herald of destruction. The player acts as an egg on an idealised battlefield, pitted against another civilisation. Players play one after the other and, when they can control their egg, must hit it, similar to a golf or pool ball. The standard move allows the player to cover the tiles with their civilisation. Surrounding a large area also captures everything inside it. As soon as the civilisation becomes substantial, a tower emerges and grows as the surrounding civilisation develops. This tower is the command centre and must be protected at all costs, as allowing it to be destroyed by the opponent leads to an immediate defeat.
Victory can be achieved in three different ways. The player can break the opponent's egg by smashing it repeatedly or they can destroy the opposing tower, following the same method. It is also possible to achieve a cultural victory, as in civilisation simulators, by upgrading the tower to level 9. Depending on the chosen solution, the strategies implemented will be different and the player will have to use their arsenal creatively. Indeed, in addition to normal shots, it is possible to spend energy – accumulated by expanding one's civilisation – to perform defensive shots that create walls or offensive shots, which destroy buildings, whether they are allied or enemy. An aggressive approach requires a high degree of precision when shooting, and this is rendered tricky by the shape of the egg, whose propensity for unexpected turns should not be underestimated. Meanwhile, an overly defensive approach prevents the accumulation of sufficient energy and is punished in the mid-game, as soon as earthquakes are available.
This results in a constant strategic asymmetry, reminiscent of the dynamics in chess. Progress is only made at the cost of imbalances, which may or may not be punished, thus making it necessary to anticipate the amount of risk that can be accepted. The weakness of the tower may push one to build the base far from the centre of the arena and refuse a direct attack too quickly, out of fear of being too far away from the base to defend it effectively. Furthermore, overextending risks running out of energy if the opponent engages the egg directly, nearly always resulting in a loss. Ultimately, it is necessary to find a rhythm in the progression, so as to execute shots that always have dual objectives. In the early stages of the game, the creation of territories often requires three moves to be optimal; a good play can break out of this ternary pattern to surprise the opponent and create positional traps. Cutting off the enemy territory to prevent them from expending, whilst leaving an exit route to reach one's own base and increase its civilisation strength, is therefore a formidable strategy. Building walls very closely to the enemy base limits movement and slows down their civilisation's development. Every move can be used defensively and offensively, and Egg reveals a genuine strategic and tactical depth in its gameplay.
Perhaps most importantly, the title is driven by an atmosphere of rare poetry. The electronic noises hark back to the aesthetics of 1980s sci-fi and complement the instrumentation of every mission. In Stage 4, the alien civilisation has organic-looking buildings and is accompanied by muffled bass lines and primordial noises. Stage 5 stands out for its carnivalesque aesthetics, while the sixth mission has metal accents, immersed in wicked coughing sounds. The last mission opens with traditional Japanese instruments, reinforcing the contemplation of the final stretch of the journey. These atmospheric shifts give the title an esoteric quality, and when the player is focused on the move they are about to make, a real sense of poetry is created, perfectly in line with the game's discourse. It is as if, in a way, the creation and destruction of civilisations, which result from the various shots, do not matter. They are merely a product of the conflict between the galactic eggs, whose potential, in a philosophical sense, is indescribable. Admittedly, the egg must stay close to its civilisation to survive, a symbiosis that is very well implemented in the gameplay, but the beauty of life and the tragedy of war are not relevant to these shells of boundless substance. The glory of progress shines on no one.
After the World War II, Japanese fiction is riddled with visions of the apocalypse. The Lost Decades underlined the individual's lack of control over the world ending, in a society where young people find it difficult to belong and to understand why they have to suffer injustices that are not of their making. Unlike the teenage revolt of the sekaikei, which invaded the 1990s manga and anime [1], Egg provides a half-toned response, one that does not resolve the complexity of the issue, but seeks to assuage the fears. Societies come and go, they have their idols, but these cannot guarantee absolute security. Fortune and fate remain a sword hanging over everyone's head. These themes have been tackled in a much more frontal way by other Japanese works and Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995) is perhaps a shining example, wherein the Black Moon carries Lilith, avatar of life and destruction. The angle of the anime is very different, as the camera focuses mostly on the characters, but I would argue that the roots of the discourse are the same. Just as Shinji struggles to evolve in a world where moral values are blurred, so the apocalypse in Egg is never one-dimensional. There is, through the ambivalence of the gameplay, creation in destruction and vice versa.
It is unfortunate that Bunmei Korokoro Game: Egg is so poorly known. It is however a classic example of the experimental capacity of Japanese studios in the PS1 era. A unique poetic breath runs through it, halfway between the absurd and the contemplative, and is supported by an always apt gameplay. There is something eerily cathartic when playing the game. The cosmic scale of the playground both underlines and dampens conflict. It's an end and a beginning, the game repeatedly intones. Yes, it's definitely an end and a beginning.
_________
[1] Motoka Tanaka, Apocalypticism in Postwar Japanese Fiction, PhD thesis, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, 2011, pp. 164-174.