Expressiveness is the quality that defines roleplaying games: they’re judged by how freely players can assert themselves in a reactive space. Players want to convey their personality and make choices, but while these are the obvious core concepts of the genre, Baldur’s Gate 3 has proven to me that they’re not what makes an RPG great. Having the capacity to make decisions is certainly a necessity, but decisions only matter when players care about the outcomes. Choices surround us in every moment of our lives, but most vanish from our minds within seconds for that very reason; they’re so emotionally inconsequential as to be hardly worthy of notice. So, more fundamental than allowing for choice is providing a real adventure in which to make those choices, and defining a journey which has players encountering challenges, learning, changing, and overcoming. This is the critical component which Baldur’s Gate fails to establish, most glaringly from its narrative structure.

(Minor spoilers through act 2)
In the opening cutscene, your character has a mindflayer tadpole inserted into their head, so your call to adventure is getting it out. This is fine in itself, but the game is quick to tell you that there’s no urgency to this task, relieving you of the burden of care. Every quest you receive to accomplish this goal, across the first ~22 hours of gameplay, results in failure where your party just sorta gives up. It takes another ten hours before the main villains are established, a stale group of evil zealots of evil gods who just love being evil, pursuing an agenda which players can't feel meaningfully aligned against. The simplicity of the central narrative gives the impression it’s just supposed to be a foundation for a character-driven story, but the interpersonal aspect is similarly lacking. In what feels like a symptom of the game's long stay in early-access, your companions put their love and trust in you in act 1, before anyone’s had the chance to organically develop relationships or encounter life-changing struggles. Characters don’t have the time and space to have an arc, and you don’t get the chance to express yourself alongside them, you simply skip to the end for an immediate and vacuous payoff. There’s no journey here, you’re simply being presented with scenes from an adventure without actually going on one.

The same can be said for the mechanics, even when they’re lifted from the tabletop game, thanks to a design philosophy where every playstyle is thoroughly accommodated. This seems like a good strategy in a genre where players want to assert themselves, but the refusal to challenge players leaves unique approaches feeling irrelevant. Even with a party led by a Githyanki barbarian, with very little in the way of charisma, intelligence, or skill, there was never a time I couldn’t overcome a situation in an optimal way. I could pick whatever locks I wanted, disarm whatever traps I wanted, circumvent any barrier I wanted; the game never asked me to think ahead or prepare. I didn’t have to be ready with certain spells or proficiencies, it never demanded more than following a clear path. Even if it did, the cheap respecs mean that you’re a maximum of 400 gold away from having a team perfectly suited to the task at hand, and even if you don’t end up using that option, knowing that your choices are so impermanent is a detriment to any feeling of growth.

That’s the key here: growth. My characters leveled up, but I don't feel like they grew. I traveled, but I don’t feel like I went on a journey. I made choices, but I don’t feel like I went in new directions. After a fifty-hour playthrough, all I remember was that I chilled out, ran around some nice maps, and managed my inventory. I spent all that time relaxing well enough, but I didn’t overcome challenge, feel much, or learn anything. All I could confidently state that the game did for me is live up to its basic selling point, of being an adventure I could take at home, a journey where I go nowhere.

     'Don't worry, Princess. A little adventure will do you good! See the world! Make friends!'

By 1996, the SNES was in its most mature era for JRPGs. Final Fantasy VI (1994) and Chrono Trigger (1995) had already left their mark on the industry, synthesising a classic tradition, while titles such as Terranigma (1995), Seiken Densetsu 3 (1995) and Secret of Evermore (1995) seemed to close the cycle for the console. After the release of Final Fantasy VI, Square's veterans were mobilised on Final Fantasy VII (1997), leaving a smaller staff to develop a strategy game for the SNES. This project never came to fruition and the original team was split in two: some of the developers devoted themselves to the creation of Rudora no Hihou (1996) and another team, led by Chihiro Fujioka, began the development of Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars, with the singular idea of transcribing the Mario universe into an RPG. The idea was already in Miyamoto's mind, but it was Square's initiative that finally decided him.

     Rhythm and interactivity

The player takes on the role of Mario, whose quest seems to be saving Peach from Bowser, once again. Events take an unexpected turn when Exor, a large sword, pierces Bowser's Keep. This unfamiliar enemy foreshadows the invasion of the world by creatures from elsewhere. It's up to the iconic plumber to fend off this threat, accompanied in his adventure by unexpected companions. As Mario's first foray into RPGs, the game is particularly suitable for beginners. The title is never particularly difficult, but it encourages interactivity by rewarding the player for learning the timing of different attacks – to increase their power or parry enemy moves. Many commentators have discussed the dynamic nature of the combat system: it has a very natural sense of rhythm, combining visual and auditory approaches. The music, sound effects and careful animations all help to engage with these reaction mechanics, ensuring that the player is always engaged during combat.

This interactivity is consistent with Mario's DNA, whose controls have always been very tactile and intuitive. Even outside of combat, the title multiplies the rhythm sequences and mini-games. In Nimbus Land's Palace, the dodo mini-game is particularly well executed, as Mario's jumps are perfectly coordinated with the music; its dramatic overtones bring a real adrenaline rush to this segment. The same can be said of Booster's Tower, when Mario has to hide behind the curtains: the music helps build the mood of the scene, but subtly helps the player determine the rhythm at which the curtains are opened. This attention to rhythm is found throughout the game, guiding the player with an invisible hand, so that they are never confused by the challenges offered. The only sour note is perhaps the Mushroom Derby on Yo'sher Island, where the rhythm of the music is misleading – one has to tap on the downbeat and not the upbeat, which can be very counter-intuitive for non-musicians.

     Dolls and toys, theatricality and performance

This focus on music and performance is reflected in the world Mario and his companions explore. The pre-generated environments have a clay-like quality. It emphasises the fictional nature of the adventure and, by extension, its children's tale form. The presence of dolls and toys help to build a sense of fantasy storytelling: Geno himself is the physical embodiment of this theatricality, as he accompanies the player, by virtue of the wish made by the young child. The player is almost placed in the position of a narrator or puppeteer, with the purpose of saving the world from Smithy's threat as much as fulfilling the various desires of the characters, placed on Star Hill. Perhaps most explicitly, this theatricality is put in abyme by Mario, who often narrates the events of the story through mimes and slapstick transformations. These sequences are particularly effective, as they manage to summarise the story without any words, so that young players who might not be able to read can still have a visual aid to understand what is going on.

It is noteworthy that the construction of Super Mario RPG is very much akin to the conventions of kabuki theatre, whether in the emphasis on character performance or the pacing of a play. Indeed, Zeami Motokiyo, a medieval playwright, codified the genre, arguing that a play should start slowly, then accelerate in its development, before ending quickly. Similarly, the game introduces its setting by taking the initial situation of a traditional Mario game, before slowly subverting the codes to create a sense of circumspection. Once Mallow is recruited into the team, the title assumes a much more ecstatic course, with chapters following each other without a moment's pause. Each story arc unfolds in the span of half an hour and the setting is ever-changing. The fast-paced twists and turns keep the adventure fresh: the dialogues themselves often rely on a comedic tradition, which could be traced back to kyōgen. The characters speak fairly little for RPGs standards, but make extensive use of slapstick style. Repetitions of dialogue follow awkward silences, Bowser's asides or Mario's comical falls. What emerges is a brilliant and natural quality; Super Mario RPG can arguably claim to be one of the best RPGs in terms of dialogue writing. They are always engaging and authentic for the player, whilst maintaining a theatrical tone. It should also be noted that the English translator was not familiar with the Mario franchise, resulting in some names not using official canon terms: this discrepancy creates an intriguing poetry and reinforces the uniqueness of the game.

     A world brimming with kindness and melancholy

The title's extravagance is also reflected in its generosity. Cameos are constantly featured: it is possible to meet Link and Samus, as well as glimpsing the vessels of Star Fox (1993). But the game does not limit its borrowings to mere passing appearances. On the contrary, it synthesises an entire video game tradition, extending beyond role-playing games. In Moleville, the exchange quest is similar to the trading sequence in The Legend of Zelda: Link's Awakening (1993), while the secret Culex fight borrows from the style of Final Fantasy IV (1991). The construction of the dungeons seeks to defy the limitations of traditional level design, opting for organic exploration and non-linear progression. In the Coal Mine, the pursuit of Croco is entirely dynamic and free-form, while the Sunken Ship offers a certain plasticity in the resolution of the puzzle, as not all clues are required to figure out the password to the captain's cabin. To a lesser extent, the second exploration of Bowser's Keep perpetuates this sense of agentivity, although the non-linearity is quite artificial: the choice of doors is enough to create a sense of diversity.

The exploration in Super Mario RPG is always natural, making the world and its inhabitants seem real. The characterisation of NPCs is very gentle and human. Each character has their own story and desires, no matter how trivial they may seem. This sense of detail, reflected in their dialogue, encourages re-exploration of previous areas to find the many secrets the game holds, as well as creating an empathetic attachment with all the characters. Grandma, in Peach's room, radiates a pleasant maternal kindness, enveloping the adventure in an ever-pleasing softness. As a counterpoint to this sweetness, the game is also draped in a certain melancholy that is reminiscent of childhood times. When visiting Star Hill, reading the wishes of all the characters carries a rather remarkable charm, underlining their fragility. Mallow obviously has his touching moments, but Bowser is also driven by a singular empathy: his desire to preserve his face is not a simple egotistical and narcissistic trait, but a way to ensure his credibility and the protection of those who have decided to trust him.

     On the classical inspirations for the soundtrack

A contemplative depth permeates the game, backed up by Yoko Shimomura's soundtrack, which blithely pulls from the classical music tradition. 'Sad Song' has slightly discordant Beethovenian overtones and infuses Mallow's lack of confidence with a gentle sense of tragedy. Valentina's theme follows the Baroque convention of counterpoint and brings a sense of resolution to the cloudy companion's story. The melody is sometimes severe, sometimes mildly ponderous: the seriousness of the situation is emphasised through this contrast and the compact melodicism, but the ornaments and bird noises in the background help to break down the tension and remind the listener of the humorous nature of this improvised takeover. Although the theatricality of the characters evokes Japanese kabuki, the soundtrack, always shifting, despite its formalism, tends to identify Super Mario RPG with a Western opera or ballet, whose acts follow one another rapidly. This love for classical music is also evident through the character of Toadofsky, who measures the player's musical acuity. Elements of music theory are required to transcribe the third melody heard: the reward is free creativity, as the player can compose the final section of the piece. No matter what notes are recorded, Toadosfsky will place a tonic C at the end, to elegantly close the melody. This little sequence has little reward other than the pleasure of composing and illustrates the generosity of the title.

Super Mario RPG is, in many ways, a game that exudes candour and a willingness to share. While it is possible to complete the game in a straightforward way without any real issues, extensive exploration rewards the curious player with myriad items and surprises. From hidden chests to bonus items for remarkable achievements – one hundred Super Jumps for the Super Suit! – the game is brimming with prizes. Less materialistic, some of them only bring the pleasure of seeing characters satisfied. Granting children's wishes is always heartwarming; even a simple conversation with them brings happiness, as Mario's presence is always cheered by the world's various inhabitants. When he raises his arms, Mario has a rather astonishing sprite, as if he were taken by a sudden epiphany, an overflowing and indescribable joy. This is perhaps the most beautiful summary of the Super Mario RPG. The title elegantly takes the player on an adventure full of twists and turns; it excels in its sense of rhythm, both in combat and in its overall structure, but it is difficult to describe exactly why it evokes such magic. There is something fortuitous about it, something poetic. Just as the characters are blissfully happy with their journey, the same carefree lightheartedness overtakes the player.

A swansong for the SNES, Super Mario RPG charms with its many qualities. It lays the foundations for the rest of the Mario RPGs, but Square's adventure has a distinct allure that has never really been emulated by later titles. Paper Mario games are more often cited for favourite RPGs featuring the plumber, but Super Mario RPG retains a special aura of a bygone age. Just as Geno is, at heart, just a doll, the dreams of erstwhile glories are just dreams. It is impossible to perfectly simulate them in 2023. But therein lies their beauty, through the window of the stars.

I considered strongly putting together a long-form critique of this game, but the most damning statement I could possibly make about Final Fantasy XVI is that I truly don't think it's worth it. The ways in which I think this game is bad are not unique or interesting: it is bad in the same way the vast majority of these prestige Sony single-player exclusives are. Its failures are common, predictable, and depressingly endemic. It is bad because it hates women, it is bad because it treats it's subject matter with an aggressive lack of care or interest, it is bad because it's imagination is as narrow and constrained as it's level design. But more than anything else, it is bad because it only wants to be Good.

Oxymoronic a statement as it might appear, this is core to the game's failings to me. People who make games generally want to make good games, of course, but paired with that there is an intent, an interest, an idea that seeks to be communicated, that the eloquence with which it professes its aesthetic, thematic, or mechanical goals will produce the quality it seeks. Final Fantasy XVI may have such goals, but they are supplicant to its desire to be liked, and so, rather than plant a flag of its own, it stitches together one from fabric pillaged from the most immediate eikons of popularity and quality - A Song of Ice and Fire, God of War, Demon Slayer, Devil May Cry - desperately begging to be liked by cloaking itself in what many people already do, needing to be loved in the way those things are, without any of the work or vision of its influences, and without any charisma of its own. Much like the patch and DLC content for Final Fantasy XV, it's a reactionary and cloying work that contorts itself into a shape it thinks people will love, rather than finding a unique self to be.

From the aggressively self-serious tone that embraces wholeheartedly the aesthetics of Prestige Fantasy Television with all its fucks and shits and incest and Grim Darkness to let you know that This Isn't Your Daddy's Final Fantasy, without actually being anywhere near as genuinely Dark, sad, or depressing as something like XV, from combat that borrows the surface-level signifiers of Devil May Cry combat - stingers, devil bringers, enemy step - but without any actual opposition or reaction of that series' diverse and reactive enemy set and thoughtful level design, or the way there's a episode of television-worth of lectures from a character explaining troop movements and map markers that genuinely do not matter in any way in order to make you feel like you're experiencing a well thought-out and materially concerned political Serious Fantasy, Final Fantasy XVI is pure wafer-thin illusion; all the surface from it's myriad influences but none of the depth or nuance, a greatest hits album from a band with no voice to call their own, an algorithmically generated playlist of hits that tunelessly resound with nothing. It looks like Devil May Cry, but it isn't - Devil May Cry would ask more of you than dodging one attack at a time while you perform a particularly flashy MMO rotation. It looks like A Song of Ice and Fire, but it isn't - without Martin's careful historical eye and materialist concerns, the illusion that this comes even within striking distance of that flawed work shatters when you think about the setting for more than a moment.

In fairness, Final Fantasy XVI does bring more than just the surface level into its world: it also brings with it the nastiest and ugliest parts of those works into this one, replicated wholeheartedly as Aesthetic, bereft of whatever semblance of texture and critique may have once been there. Benedikta Harman might be the most disgustingly treated woman in a recent work of fiction, the seemingly uniform AAA Game misogyny of evil mothers and heroic, redeemable fathers is alive and well, 16's version of this now agonizingly tired cliche going farther even than games I've railed against for it in the past, which all culminates in a moment where three men tell the female lead to stay home while they go and fight (despite one of those men being a proven liability to himself and others when doing the same thing he is about to go and do again, while she is not), she immediately acquiesces, and dutifully remains in the proverbial kitchen. Something that thinks so little of women is self-evidently incapable of meaningfully tackling any real-world issue, something Final Fantasy XVI goes on to decisively prove, with its story of systemic evils defeated not with systemic criticism, but with Great, Powerful Men, a particularly tiresome kind of rugged bootstrap individualism that seeks to reduce real-world evils to shonen enemies for the Special Man with Special Powers to defeat on his lonesome. It's an attempt to discuss oppression and racism that would embarrass even the other shonen media it is clearly closer in spirit to than the dark fantasy political epic it wears the skin of. In a world where the power fantasy of the shonen superhero is sacrosanct over all other concerns, it leads to a conclusion as absurd and fundamentally unimaginative as shonen jump's weakest scripts: the only thing that can stop a Bad Guy with an Eikon is a Good Guy with an Eikon.

In borrowing the aesthetics of the dark fantasy - and Matsuno games - it seeks to emulate, but without the nuance, FF16 becomes a game where the perspective of the enslaved is almost completely absent (Clive's period as a slave might as well not have occurred for all it impacts his character), and the power of nobility is Good when it is wielded by Good Hands like Lord Rosfield, a slave owner who, despite owning the clearly abused character who serves as our introduction to the bearers, is eulogized completely uncritically by the script, until a final side quest has a character claim that he was planning to free the slaves all along...alongside a letter where Lord Rosfield discusses his desire to "put down the savages". I've never seen attempted slave owner apologia that didn't reveal its virulent underlying racism, and this is no exception. In fact, any time the game attempts to put on a facade of being about something other than The Shonen Hero battling other Kamen Riders for dominance, it crumbles nigh-immediately; when Final Fantasy 16 makes its overtures towards the Power of Friendship, it rings utterly false and hollow: Clive's friends are not his power. His power is his power.

The only part of the game that truly spoke to me was the widely-derided side-quests, which offer a peek into a more compelling story: the story of a man doing the work to build and maintain a community, contributing to both the material and emotional needs of a commune that attempts to exist outside the violence of society. As tedious as these sidequests are - and as agonizing as their pacing so often is - it's the only part of this game where it felt like I was engaging with an idea. But ultimately, even this is annihilated by the game's bootstrap nonsense - that being that the hideaway is funded and maintained by the wealthy and influential across the world, the direct beneficiaries and embodiments of the status quo funding what their involvement reveals to be an utterly illusionary attempt to escape it, rendering what could be an effective exploration of what building a new idea of a community practically looks like into something that could be good neighbors with Galt's Gulch.

In a series that is routinely deeply rewarding for me to consider, FF16 stands as perhaps its most shallow, underwritten, and vacuous entry in decades. All games are ultimately illusions, of course: we're all just moving data around spreadsheets, at the end of the day. But - as is the modern AAA mode de jour - 16 is the result of the careful subtraction of texture from the experience of a game, the removal of any potential frictions and frustrations, but further even than that, it is the removal of personality, of difference, it is the attempt to make make the smoothest, most likable affect possible to the widest number of people possible. And, just like with its AAA brethren, it has almost nothing to offer me. It is the affect of Devil May Cry without its texture, the affect of Game of Thrones without even its nuance, and the affect of Final Fantasy without its soul.

Final Fantasy XVI is ultimately a success. It sought out to be Good, in the way a PS5 game like this is Good, and succeeded. And in so doing, it closed off any possibility that it would ever reach me.

It doesn’t really surprise me that each positive sentiment I have seen on Final Fantasy XVI is followed by an exclamation of derision over the series’ recent past. Whether the point of betrayal and failure was in XV, or with XIII, or even as far back as VIII, the rhetorical move is well and truly that Final Fantasy has been Bad, and with XVI, it is good again. Unfortunately, as someone who thought Final Fantasy has Been Good, consistently, throughout essentially the entire span of it's existence, I find myself on the other side of this one.

Final Fantasy XV convinced me that I could still love video games when I thought, for a moment, that I might not. That it was still possible to make games on this scale that were idiosyncratic, personal, and deeply human, even in the awful place the video game industry is in.

Final Fantasy XVI convinced me that it isn't.

     'Those great, beautiful ships, rocking silently on the calm waters, with their idle and wistful sails, are they not telling us in a silent language — when will we depart for happiness?'
     – Charles Baudelaire, Fusées, VIII, 1887 (personal translation).

One of the most difficult issues in fantasy studies is to define its contours and, by extension, its relationship to reality. In her seminal study, Fantasy: The literature of subversion (1981), Rosemary Jackson points out that fantasy violates the conventions and rules of our reality and: 'threatens to subvert rules and conventions taken to be normative [and] disturb "rules" of artistic representation and literature’s reproduction of the "real"' [1]. The capacity for deviation that speculative fiction offers is both an opportunity and a danger. Jackson points out that this subversive potential does not mean that fantasy or the fantastic are genres that always aim for social progressivism. In fact, the overwhelming majority of the pulp tradition was steeped in racist, homophobic and misogynist tropes that exerted a lasting influence on fiction throughout the late twentieth century and to this day.

     The misogynist issue in Western-style fantasy

Many authors hide behind these historical precedents to conceal a conservative discourse. The existence of multiple races allows for the perpetuation of social oppression, and while female characters have generally become more active in recent decades, they continue to fit into old-fashioned stereotypes [2]. The Final Fantasy series is part of this dynamic and has always oscillated between these major themes of fantasy fiction, notably by offering a regular comparison between magic and technological modernity, nature and industry, good and evil, humanity and divinity. These dichotomies are relatively common and allow the story to touch on issues such as capitalist exploitation and the use of natural resources. However, the representation of other topics remains disastrous: Final Fantasy XIV (2010) is especially characterised by deep-seated racism and sexism, the latter partially masked by the presence of strong female characters in positions of power.

It is hard to say whether these precautions were taken to appeal to a particular audience, but it is clear that Final Fantasy XVI ignores all these concerns and plunges into the most outrageous archaism, piling on misogynistic scenes wherever possible, supposedly justified by the harshness of European medieval society. Excuses of this kind obscure the real issues. The player follows the story of Clive Rosfield, drawn into a quest for revenge after the Phoenix Gate incident, which spells the end of the Duchy of Rosaria. Miraculously reunited with his childhood friend Jill Warrick, he joins Cid's group, determined to change the situation of the Bearers – magic-capable individuals enslaved across the continent. Final Fantasy XVI is therefore a tale of free will and independence, pitting the dark nature of the world against the purity of Cid and Clive's ideals.

To create this atmosphere, as well as the division between good and evil, the title makes extensive use of violence, sex and sexual violence as narrative drivers. Lenise Prater explains that Fiona McIntosh's Percheron trilogy (2005) constructs: 'a series of juxtapositions between good and evil [...] through the representation of sexual violence' [3]. The same processes are at work in Final Fantasy XVI, from the very first narrative arc of the adventure, where Benedikta is cast as the archetypal femme fatale, ready to use her body to manipulate her rivals: the character is constantly brought back to her status as a woman, and it is the threat of sexual violence that cements her development – Annabella is constructed in a similar way. Final Fantasy XVI revels in the dichotomy between whores and innocent virgins. Despite the Western aesthetic of the title, Jill is no more than a yamato nadeshiko who is constantly sidelined by the game. She mostly serves as a narrative device to advance the plot, through her multiple visits to the infirmary or because she is kidnapped by Clive's enemies. The title denies her any agency, and her nuanced fragility is only hinted at in a few sentences before being brushed aside: it takes almost thirty hours of gameplay before Clive explicitly asks her how she is, despite her constant concern for the protagonist's anxieties.

     A case for centrism and laissez-faire

This conservative portrayal is echoed in the discourse on the Bearers. The game is moderately critical of slavery on the continent and fails to make it a structural issue for Clive, who always remains somewhat detached from the problem. This issue is structurally embedded in the way the player interacts with the world, as they are extremely passive in relation to the events portrayed in the story. While the player is aware of the political manipulations taking place in Storm, they cannot act on them directly; Clive is blindly thrown into the fray and the situation is simply resolved in a battle that depoliticises the social stakes. Similarly, the Seals donated by certain NPCs guarantee Clive's reputation in the community in a highly artificial way, removing any roughness from the interactions. Clive fights to free the Bearers because he inherits this mission from his father and Cid, but this task seems disembodied throughout the game.

Beyond the main quest, the side quests are particularly lacklustre and do little to deepen the world-building. Because they can be accessed at any point in the game, Final Fantasy XVI chooses to exclude companions from them. They simply disappear from the cutscenes and thus have no chance to react to the world around them. Since the intention is to establish Clive as an ideologically good, open and self-governing character, all side quests are resolved by Clive's ideological concessions or miraculous unifications in the face of artificially created danger, without the slightest contradiction from any of the other main characters. Only in the final stretch does someone point out Clive's hypocrisy and domineering power over Jill, but the scene is quickly swept away by the return of Gav, the comic relief of the group.

Final Fantasy XVI is more concerned with shocking, melodramatic or cathartic platitudes than with radical denunciations of inequality and oppression. Worse, these shocking scenes do not even make the world dynamic, so poor is the structure of the narrative. Two problems stand out. Firstly, the interweaving of high-intensity sequences with slower passages: instead of building up the world through genuine slice-of-life sequences, the game multiplies banalities that the player has already understood for several dozen hours. The temporality of the story is also incoherent. Clive seems to cross the continent in a matter of hours, while his rivals remain completely passive. The confrontation between the Sanbreque Empire and the Dhalmekian Republic is characterised by irrational stagnation and passivity, allowing Clive to strike unhindered. The Twins always remain static, despite long ellipses in time.

     A hollow and meaningless experience

Perhaps Final Fantasy XVI should not be taken so literally, but rather accepted as the nekketsu it becomes in the second half of the game. Such an interpretation would be acceptable if the game did not take itself so seriously. However, as in Final Fantasy XIV, the writing wallows in a very uncomfortable theatrical heaviness – which the actors generally manage to save from disaster – as if clumsily mimicking the drama of Shakespeare's historical plays. However, Clive's disillusioned, self-deprecating, borderline comic character breaks up this fiction. Some characters work well, playing up their theatrical nature, such as Cid or Lord Byron, but they are quickly relegated to the background or an essentially comic role.

The shifts in tone and pacing detract from the development of the narrative, which cannot be saved by a few flashes of brilliance. The aetheric floods seem to have been imagined as a reflection of nuclear risks, highlighting the danger of Japan's post-Fukushima energy crutch, but in the end they are only used as a narrative expedient to create danger where the plot needs it. The pinnacle of dishonesty and disrespect for a title that centres its discourse on human free will lies in the choice of names for the NPC fillers. In the pure tradition of Final Fantasy XIV, they include puns and comical alliterations ('Broom-Bearer') that strip them of all substance and reduce them to ridicule. In the second half of the game, a little girl is introduced as a character of some narrative importance, but the title does not even bother to give her a name or address her living conditions.

Meanwhile, the action sequences prove to be particularly hollow. The choreography in the first few hours is quite ingenious, highlighting Clive's agility with complex movements and rather creative camera angles. As the title progresses, this aspect is abandoned in favour of fights that drag on and resort to nekketsu clichés. The duel against Titan lasts forty minutes and is a miserable succession of attacks around the stone tentacles. Final Fantasy XVI even has the audacity to end the battle not with the obvious cinematic climax, but with a dull and particularly unpleasant aerial sequence. Subsequent encounters also drag on for no apparent reason other than to demonstrate a genuine – if futile – mastery of the lightning engine.

     Ergonomics, gameplay and fluidity

While Final Fantasy XVI boasts detailed environments at first glance, the facade quickly cracks. The early areas are indeed highly detailed, to the point of drowning the player in detail – navigating through the thick vegetation is quite difficult, forcing the player to use Torgal to progress – but the quality deteriorates as the game progresses. The dense environments disappear in favour of vast open areas that struggle to convey the majesty of the world. Although the cities visible on the horizon are beautiful backdrops, they fail to radiate materially onto their surroundings, which then become mere abstractions. Moreover, Clive's movement is extremely sluggish: even getting on his chocobo is an unpleasant task that constantly interrupts the fluidity of the action, while the player is condemned to an extraordinary passivity in order to get from one place to another.

In the Hideaway, this impression is reinforced by Clive's inability to sprint: in the second half of the game, getting to the backyard is a gruelling chore. The magic of this cocoon quickly vanishes, as the various characters keep repeating themselves and are only mediocrely animated. Despite the detailed scenery, the game borrows all its animations from Final Fantasy XIV, giving a very artificial tone to the discussions. The Hideaway is less a place where the player can comfortably catch up with their favourite NPCs, and more a burdensome obligation to access NPCs, side quests and the hunt board – requiring the player to physically go there to see the location of elite monsters, a design mistake that even Final Fantasy XIV avoided.

The enjoyment of the combat system is left to the player and their experience of other character-action games, but it is absurd that the player has to wait at least twenty hours to finally be given a modicum of flexibility in their attack options: Final Fantasy XVI justifies its unique protagonist with a deep combat system that encourages the creation of diverse builds, but this philosophy is only appropriate in a New Game+ where all powers are unlocked from the start. In a first playthrough, the player must suffer from an impressive slowness, to the point where the Story Mode becomes an obvious option. The title here echoes the recent problem of Shadowbringers (2019) and especially Endwalker (2021), which first designs its battles with the Extreme and Savage versions, before cutting out the most difficult sections for the Normal versions – the result is a sense of incompleteness that is particularly damaging when combined with the very slowly evolving combat system.

It is difficult to place Final Fantasy XVI in the landscape of modern Japanese video games, so awkward is it in every way. With the title still in its cycle of artificial marketing in preparation for the DLCs, one can only speculate as to the reasons for these failings. Perhaps the lack of coherence can be explained by the fractured development team working on two major games, and the highly eclectic nature of the directors brought together by Naoki Yoshida. His design philosophy is particularly well suited to an MMO, but Final Fantasy XVI suffers greatly from it: the endless succession of side quests involving the Hideaway characters just before the final battle is incomprehensible, as if the game had remembered that it needed to conclude. Hiroshi Takai and Kazutoyo Maehiro's narrative vision is a series of shocking, empty, meaningless scenes: players of Heavensward (2015) had the opportunity to suffer from Ysayle's portrayal, and it is surprising that Final Fantasy XVI does even worse, a standard-bearer for passive misogyny in modern fantasy. That Jill's theme becomes 'My Star' and denies her any agency in the game's final moments is particularly painful and aptly sums up the title.

__________
[1] Rosemary Jackson, Fantasy: The literature of subversion, Routledge, London, 2005 [1981], p. 14.
[2] On the topic, see for example Peter Bebergal (ed.), Appendix N: The Eldritch Roots Of Dungeons & Dragons, Strange Attractor Press, London, 2021. In the afterword, Ann VanderMeer discusses the conservative roots of pulp fantasy and of the historical TTRPG.
[3] Lenise Prater, 'Monstrous Fantasies: Reinforcing Rape Culture in Fiona McIntosh's Fantasy Novels', in Hecate, vol. 39, no. 1-2, 2014.

What a huge disappointment. Once again I tricked myself into getting excited for a new FF, and once again I am paying the price.
The story is a disaster - "tackling" heavy themes around slavery and abuse without any understanding, hammering a child's concept of "Slavery = bad" into you over and over again, only to then drop this plot completely 2/3rds in, having done nothing interesting with it. In very poor taste.

Talking about poor taste, the women of FFXVI are a mysogynistic disaster. Jill is about as important to the story and scenes as the dog, for the most part, and the female villains are either sexy evil temptresses influencing the great men in charge with their vaginas, or defined by sexual trauma. A low point in the franchise.

The gameplay looks sick, but runs its course shockingly quickly because it barely evolves - Use your abilities on cooldown, then hit square X square X square X square X. This works from hour 1 to hour 40.

Some of the side cast is really good (Dion and Cid), and the games does have some of the undeniably sickest boss fights I have ever played in my life, but it is smoothered by so much tedion (I didnt even get into the horrific main story pacing, or the filler ass side quests), and a story that is unfocused at best and offensive at worst..

“An American tragedy. An odyssey of debt, of grief, of broken promises, of hope. A painful, melancholic fable composed of fables and more fables, spreading out and weaving in and out of itself. A dream ebbing back and forth between memory and fantasy. A plea for you to care about something.”

...This was my original review for Kentucky Route Zero. I still think it’s a good description. But on consideration, I feel as though I need to be bold and say it: Kentucky Route Zero is not only one of my favorite games, but one of my favorite things ever made.

This is not an assessment of quality. I am not telling you what to feel. I am telling you how I feel. And Kentucky Route Zero makes me feel a way.

I specifically say “Favorite Thing”, because Kentucky Route Zero doesn’t affect me like a game. When I think about many of my favorite games, I often think of them as games. They are full of mechanics, of challenges, of systems. That’s certainly not all games are, and games can be many things, but in the capacity that they affect me, enchant me, or fascinate me, it is often within this vague category of “game”. But Kentucky Route Zero is different. To call it “my favorite game” and leave it at that misses something. It’s certainly a game, but it doesn’t make me feel the way games usually make me feel. First and foremost, Kentucky Route Zero is a story. It’s unlike most. The main body of this story is a game, but it’s also a multimedia saga. There’s something quintessential permeating my experience of Kentucky Route Zero that transcends that category.

It is a hauntological melancholy. It conjures a world more like a memory than a reality. Kentucky Route Zero tells the story of people who seem familiar but you’ve never met, with jobs that were never really secure, in situations that could never happen, in a version of Kentucky that has never existed. Magical realism constructs a vision not of reality, but of memory, of a sensate fabric that you swear could have been but never was. Americana is a mythic entity made visible, standing in front of me within Kentucky Route Zero, and it’s on its last breaths.

It’s a hopeful story. That doesn’t mean it’s happy. The world around you is a wasteland. Everyone is dying. Everyone is suffering. Everything is weighed down by debt, pulled deep down into pools of darkness. To live is to work, work, and die. But there are other ways to live. There always have been. Should we move on? I think the answer is clear. But that doesn’t make the pain go away. We have to be willing to feel both grief and hope in the same breath.

All of its blemishes are dismissable. Fleeting problems with UI, incidentally clunky writing, weird mechanical tangents, overwhelming scope, these melt away when I take a moment to remember what Kentucky Route Zero is and feel the frisson travel up and down my skin. I'm trying to not be too longwinded here, but it's hard. I can't get into specifics. So I wax poetic instead. I could write thousands of words on every minute I spent with Kentucky Route Zero and still feel like I was forgetting to say something. It is a multitudinous masterpiece, refracting and reflecting endlessly, timelessly, quietly.

Kentucky Route Zero is one of my favorite things.

“An American tragedy. An odyssey of debt, of grief, of broken promises, of hope. A painful, melancholic fable composed of fables and more fables, spreading out and weaving in and out of itself. A dream ebbing back and forth between memory and fantasy. A plea for you to care about something.”

...This was my original review for Kentucky Route Zero. I still think it’s a good description. But on consideration, I feel as though I need to be bold and say it: Kentucky Route Zero is not only one of my favorite games, but one of my favorite things ever made.

This is not an assessment of quality. I am not telling you what to feel. I am telling you how I feel. And Kentucky Route Zero makes me feel a way.

I specifically say “Favorite Thing”, because Kentucky Route Zero doesn’t affect me like a game. When I think about many of my favorite games, I often think of them as games. They are full of mechanics, of challenges, of systems. That’s certainly not all games are, and games can be many things, but in the capacity that they affect me, enchant me, or fascinate me, it is often within this vague category of “game”. But Kentucky Route Zero is different. To call it “my favorite game” and leave it at that misses something. It’s certainly a game, but it doesn’t make me feel the way games usually make me feel. First and foremost, Kentucky Route Zero is a story. It’s unlike most. The main body of this story is a game, but it’s also a multimedia saga. There’s something quintessential permeating my experience of Kentucky Route Zero that transcends that category.

It is a hauntological melancholy. It conjures a world more like a memory than a reality. Kentucky Route Zero tells the story of people who seem familiar but you’ve never met, with jobs that were never really secure, in situations that could never happen, in a version of Kentucky that has never existed. Magical realism constructs a vision not of reality, but of memory, of a sensate fabric that you swear could have been but never was. Americana is a mythic entity made visible, standing in front of me within Kentucky Route Zero, and it’s on its last breaths.

It’s a hopeful story. That doesn’t mean it’s happy. The world around you is a wasteland. Everyone is dying. Everyone is suffering. Everything is weighed down by debt, pulled deep down into pools of darkness. To live is to work, work, and die. Except… there are other ways to live. There always have been. Should we move on? I think the answer is clear. But that doesn’t make the pain go away. We have to be willing to feel both grief and hope in the same breath.

All of its blemishes are dismissable. Fleeting problems with UI, incidentally clunky writing, weird mechanical tangents, overwhelming scope, these melt away when I take a moment to remember what Kentucky Route Zero is and feel the frisson travel up and down my skin. I'm trying to not be too longwinded here, but it's hard. I can't get into specifics. So I wax poetic instead. I could write thousands of words on every minute I spent with Kentucky Route Zero and still feel like I was forgetting to say something. It is a multitudinous masterpiece, refracting and reflecting endlessly, timelessly, quietly.

Kentucky Route Zero is one of my favorite things.

One of the most disappointing games I've played in a while.

Every area is either a series of hallways or just plain tiny. Exploration is almost non-existent.

Quests make the game drag. You can tell the devs are too used to working on MMOs, cause this is fetch quest galore. They really made a character named Mid who sends you on a mandatory hour long fetch quest.

The game is only about 30 hours long yet 17 hours are cutscenes, and many of which add little to the story. The writing itself is nothing to write home about, either. The ending in particular is comedically bad.

The boss fights and combat are the one thing the game does right. It can be fun, but only when the game actually lets you play it.

30/100

Final Fantasy VI has always been one of my favorite games of all time. I hadn’t played FInal Fantasy VI in many years so when I bought the remastered collection I was curious if in 2023 it was still the masterpiece I remembered or did I have nostalgia goggles on. Let me tell you even though I had the game ranked 9th on my all time favorite games list, I was surprised of how I would feel in this playthrough.

The three things I remembered loving specifically was the characters, the story, and the music so I will start there.

Obviously in this story section there will be some 30 year old spoilers, but regardless huge SPOILER WARNING from here on out.

When I was younger I understood that the story was riddled with sadness and tragedy but I don’t think I fully grasped the true meaning and impact throughout the game. To me it was a game that while I understood some of the tragedies and sadness I just thought of it as heroes doing what they had to do to stop an evil in a war. But really it is much more of the characters inner battles with the tragedies in their own life. It’s after being completely broken to find the courage to put themselves back together, find hope, trust in friends, lean on and be there for those friend, and fight for themselves and others so that they could put the world itself back together and help people find hope. The game is simply about loss and pushing through life after loss.

I’m going to dive into the story much more than I normally would so I can explain the characters and what makes the story so special to me.

We spend the first half of the game as a groups of oppressed people from all over the world fighting against the evil Empire led by Emperor Ghastal and his two right hand men General Leo and Kefka. In a world where there is no magic the empire has learned not only to use it but can also infuse it through machines. Later on in the game we find out there is a mysterious race known as the Espers that sealed themselves off from the human world. Espers are where magic comes from in this universe. The Empire had been draining the life out of some Espers they managed to capture before the Espers sealed themselves away from humans and in turn used them to infuse their leaders and magitech armor with magic. Our group befriends some of the Espers and hope with their help they can stop the Empire. The empire sets up a way to trick the Espers, kill many of them, and steal their power. Kefka uses this power and the power of the gods to turn on Emperor Ghastal to take the world for himself. While Ghastal wanted to rule the world Kefka just wanted to destroy everything. Kefka did what no other villain I can think of does. He achieves every goal he sets out to do, including destroying the world as you know it while killing most of the population and leaving the survivors helpless. Now the heroes are scattered throughout this new wasteland of a world.

That is a very loose version of the first half of the story but it hits enough of the points I need to explain what makes this game special.

Every character goes through tremendous growth and the game uses this helplessness to achieve its goal of showing the power of hope, love, and picking yourself up and pushing on.

Terra is the only half esper half human in this world. When the Empire originally found the Espers before the seal was set Emperor Ghastal killed Terra’s human mother and captured her Esper father. He stole Terra at the age of two to train her to be a weapon for the empire. Being that she was half Esper, Terra was the only human that could use magic naturally and with this power Ghastal knew he had a weapon that no one could stand up against. Terra was being controlled by a device that made her basically dead to the world and to only take orders from the Empire until she was rescued in Narshe when the game begins when she is 18 years old. Throughout the game, before even knowing she is half Esper, Terra struggles to relate or fit in anywhere as she has basically been a mindless drone for 18 years. When she finds out about her being half Esper she feels even more alone. She stuggles to feel human or Esper and wonders if she is even capable of being or feeling loved. After Kefka ended the world she finds herself in a village where all the adults are dead. There are only a handful of young children and two teen lovers that are pregnant. She becomes their protector and eventually they even call her mama. She finds love for the first time in her life but loses the will to fight because she wants to be there for her newly found kids. She eventually realizes that she is capable of not only being loved but also loving. She realizes she had that with her friends she’s met along the way as well as with these kids and even though she lost the will to fight she must so they and her can all have a future in this world.

Locke is a man whose parents died when he was a young age and had to resort to becoming a thief. He later met Rachel and they began a relationship against Rachel’s father wishes due to Locke being a thief. Locke took Rachel to a cave and promised to protect her as they looked for a treasure. While on an old bridge that Locke was standing on gave out Rachel jumped onto it to push Locke off resulting in her falling and going into a coma. Locke brought her back to town where she awoke but had no memory and was uneasy of him. Rachel’s father told him to leave town. Not too long after she began to regain her memory but unfortunately the town she was in was attacked by the empire. Rachel died and her last word were Locke I love you. Locke couldn’t forgive himself for saying he promised to protect her only for her to go into a coma and then not being there to save her when the Empire attacked. Locke tells Terra and Celes (we will get to her soon) that he will protect them many times throughout the game in an attempt to right what he feels like was a wrong with Rachel. He finds away through the Esper Phoenix to bring Rachel back but only for a moment. She tells him to forgive himself and forge ahead.

Edgar and Sabin Figaro were the princes of Figaro. When they were young their father was poisoned by the empire leaving one of them to become king. Neither were ready and they were grieving their father. Sabin asked Edgar if he wanted to just run away from the kingdom together and be free. Edgar told him that someone needed to protect the people his father died to protect and told him they would flip a coin. If it landed on heads Edgar would stay and tails Sabin would stay and the other could have their freedom. Edgar wanted his younger brother to be free from the burden and used a double sided coin to ensure that Sabin would have that freedom. Edgar was forced into the roll of a king and had to forge and alliance with the same empire that killed his father to protect the people of Figaro. Sabin’s freedom came at the cost of feeling like he let his brother down and ran from his problems even though it’s later revealed he was training to become stronger so he could come back and protect his brother from any threats. Not only did they lose their father but in a way they lost each other.

Gau’s mother passed away while giving birth to him causing his father to go insane. He blamed Gau for his wife’s passing. He believe Gau was a demon that killed his wife and was no better than the monsters that have been plague on this world. He decided to not only abandoned Gau at an early age but he threw him into the Veldt. This is a place where only monsters roam. Gau found a way to survive but with no interaction from humans he became a “Tarzan” type of human.

Cyan was the strongest warrior in all of Doma but when the river around Doma Castle was poisoned by Kefka he was unable to use his power to save his people, his king, his wife, or his young son. He’s powerless as he watches their souls leave on a phantom train. He blames himself and doesn’t grieve properly leading to a demon that feed on sadness actually feeding on his soul.

Shadow has a criminal past of stealing and assassinations with his best friend Barim. He is willing to be an assassin under any assignment if the price is right. One time Barim was injured so badly he couldn’t move. Shadow tries to move him but with the Empire after them Barim tells Shadow to leave without him but to mercy kill him so that he isn’t tortured or enslaved. Shadow can’t bring himself to kill his own friend says sorry and runs off. Trying to start a new life he falls in love and settles down in Thamasa a small quiet town far away from every other city. In fear of his enemies catching up to him and harming his family he feels forced to leave his wife and baby daughter Relm behind. He believes the only way for him to live is by being alone. He even says at one point “There are people in this world that have have chosen to kill off their emotions.” Years later during the events of the game every time Shadow is around Relm they show Shadow physical uncomfortable or unable to look directly at her. He loves his daughter but won’t put her in harms way. He constantly has nightmares about Barim and leaving his family behind.

Celes was a general in the empire’s army that was infused with magic from an Esper. When Locke finds her she is being beaten by Imperial troops that says she was a traitor (we never find out what she did) and her execution date is set for the following day. Locke without hesitation saves her and tells her he will protect her. Celes is confused by this as she has always just been used by people for her magic and prowess on the battlefield. She has never been cared for or treated in this manner. She and Locke fall for each other throughout the game. But at first Celes has a hard time believing anyone could love her. Especially after being a general in the army and all of the bad things she had been a part of. The opera scene is one of the best moments in the game as her lines are for the opera but they are exactly how Celes feels about her new found feelings for Locke. “I'm the darkness, you're the stars. Our love is brighter than the sun.
For eternity, for me there can be, Only you, my chosen one.” She is the darkness and Locke is the light.

Now that we have some background on the main core of the cast, you can see they have clearly been through a lot. Now add on the fact that they went from being so close to winning a war against the empire only for Kefka to destroy the world. The villain has won and our heroes failed.

After Kefka destruction we come back to a completely ravanged planet with little population, little plant life, little hope, and a lot tougher monsters roaming. We take the role of Celes who wakes up out of a coma after one year due to her injuries. She wakes to the news that the world was in fact destroyed, she is on an island, and only her and Cid (a “granddad to Celes from her time with the Empire) are left on this island. She learns that CID is sick. There is a path you can take where Cid lives or a path where he dies based on your decision making. While the plot moves on if you save him and that is the happier route the death route really fits the tone of the game and gives you one of the best scenes in the game. If he dies Celes will give up and run to the highest cliff on the island and attempt to commit suicide. As tears fly from her face as she is falling off the cliff you can’t help but 1.) Obviously be depressed but more importantly 2.) will immediately make of you think of the opera scene. Here is the rest of the lyrics from the opera scene that Celes sings. Oh my hero, so far away now. “Will I ever see your smile? Love goes away, like night into day. It's just a fading dream. I'm the darkness, you're the stars. Our love is brighter than the sun. For eternity, for me there can be, Only you, my chosen one... Must I forget you? Our solemn promise? Will autumn take the place of spring? What shall I do? I'm lost without you. Speak to me once more! We must part now, my life goes on. But my heart won't give you up. Ere I walk away, let me hear you say, I meant as much to you... So gently, you touched my heart. I will be forever yours. Come what may, I won't age a day, I'll wait for you, always...” Again clearly this is about her and Locke. In the opera when she says the last line she throws flowers off the top of the castle. The castle at the stage at the opera is in the same focus as the cliff is during her suicide attempt and he body falls in the same way as the flowers that were thrown off the edge. Luckily Celes attempt fails and she is washed back up onto the beach. When she washes up there is a bird who had been injured. Its wing is tied up with Locke’s signature bandana. Celes immediately picks herself up, finds a way to carry on and find Locke and her friends. She boards a raft and sets out with hope that some of them are still out there.

Of course eventually the crew is back together.
Terra finds love and the courage to fight again with the hope that one day her adopted children will live in a safe world. Locke finally comes to grips with the loss of Rachel and forgives himself for his mistakes. He continues his promise to keep his promise to protect his friends and follow his heart and love again with Celes. Celes finds she isn’t just a war machine and lets herself fall in love with Locke. Edgar and Sabin reunite as brothers that would die for each other. Gau meets his father who still believe he is a demon. Gau has the most mature response saying he’s just glad his father is alive. Gau is ok because he now has a big family of friends. Cyan has the demon removed from him with the help of his friends and lets go of the grief and guiltiness of his families death. He decides to live life to his fullest while carrying his family inside of him. Shadow for the first time in his life is doing the right thing because it was the right thing without being paid.

But to counter all this hope and love there is arguably the best written character not just in the game but in all of Final Fantasy, Kefka. We don’t know much about Kefka before the events of the game. We aren’t sure if he’s always been a nihilistic psychopath or if he was normal at some point. What we do know is he was the first person to ever be endured with Esper Magic. It’s possible with him being the first test subject that could play a role in his behavior but that is speculation. What we do know is he is a maniac and a true problem that is clearly a big threat from the very beginning. Even though he was only Ghestals right hand man it always seemed like he was going to be the one to watch. The game does a great job of making you see his atrocities and making you fight him several times to keep him fresh in you mind. Thought the game we see Kefka burn a city to the ground, cowardly poisoning Doma, killing Espers just to gain power, manipulating everyone allies and enemies, killing his two biggest allies, and literally destroying the world. Like I said earlier he literally achieves everything he set out to do. By the time you fight him you want to help the heroes kill him.

When you fight him at the end he truly thinks he is right. He asks why the heroes continue to fight in a world with no hope. The heroes all give their own answers and say humans will always love, survive and rebuild. Kefka can’t understand this thinking. He knows every building eventually falls apart, every one eventually dies and wonders why humans hang on to stuff they know won’t last. Kefka being the nihilist he is has grown tired of the world he created as there is nothing left to destroy. Side note Kefka also has some of the best creepy quotes of all time.

Once the heroes inevitability beat Kefka they have to escape as Kefkas tower falls apart. This is where the credit begin and we see the gang working together to get out. Before we get to the happy stuff there is one realistic sad part to the ending. Shadow splits off from the group believing he has done to much bad in this world and feeling by stopping Kefka he may have atoned for his sins he decides the world doesn’t need someone like him in it and allows the tower to come down with him in it. As a kid I hated that he stayed behind. It’s an emotional depressing moment but as an adult it felt all too real. As for the rest of the group they get away on their air ship and see people rebuilding buildings, planting flowers and trees, and living their lives with a new found hope.

To me this is arguably the greatest story in all of video games. For a game from 1994 to have teen pregnancy, assassinations, a woman getting beat, the world ending, a nihilistic maniac, with a story of loss and hope was beyond ambitious. I loved it as a kid but appreciate it much more as an adult who has experienced much more sadness than younger me.

Every.track.is.AMAZING! Each character has their own track as well as a melancholy version of the same track. All locations have their own track. It has one of my top 5 OSTs of all time with my favorite song being Kefkas Final Boss track Dancing Mad. I also love that in the credits they did something subtle but awesome. They play a different arrangement of each characters songs. They do Relm and her song blends in almost as an opening for her father Shadows song. Celes and Locke’s songs harmonize with each other. It’s just another great touch to this game.

The pixel art is about as good as you are going to get for a SNES game. I love that they matched some relationships with color pallets like Edgar and Sabin matching as well as Relm and her adopted grandfather Strago both donning red.

The gamplay is, well, what you would expect from an old school Final Fantasy game. I do like the streamlined the battles. Cyans Bushido is no longer a waiting game to get the attack you want you just pick it and it goes. Sabins Blitz shows you the input so you didn’t have to memorize every blitz.

There are a few minor flaws in this game. One is that while each character has their own unique class that is valuable in the early game by end game everyone is pretty much just using the best magic spells making class irrelevant. My only other problem is while the core characters get fleshed out so well there are handful of optional characters that we know almost nothing about.

If you are a fan of JRPGs at all this is a must play although I’m sure most JRPGs fans already have. All in all with my new understanding of the story as well as the streamlined battles this game is an absolute master class of the medium and has moved from 9th on my all time list to somewhere near the very top. I’ll need a day or two to really think hard on where it need to be. I know I’m not the best writer in the world I’m just a person that loves video games and if you read this far thank you.