At first blush, the story seems to be a brazen attempt to justify the rest of the game’s mechanics: Annie, a lazy girl whose only ambition is to marry into power (and avoid all responsibility while doing so), meets with the disapproval of her grandfather, the Royal Alchemist of Orde. Said grandfather, being a Royal Alchemist after all, conjures a couple homunculi to carry her away in her sleep and deposit her in a workshop on Sera Island, where the royalty of the region are about to kick off a three-year development project to improve tourism and make Sera Island a top-rate resort destination.

I’ll give you a moment to reread that. I’d certainly have to.

Back with us? Good. Assisting you in this massive story shock are Tutorial Fairy Pepe and Development Admin Hans, who quickly acquaint you with the Alchemist’s competition going on as part of the program and how you compete. You’re given a rundown on how to build resort facilities, how to manage those facilities, how to use your own workshop, and then…

You’re on your own. 1080 days. Go.

Aside from handing you an assignment every 6 months, the game then doesn’t care what you do or how you do them. You have a time limit, you have fetch-quests to fulfill for fame and profit, you have friends to recruit at your leisure, you have locations to scour for resources and random battles, and (most importantly) you have the freedom to do whichever of the above suits you at the time. Unlike the strict, schedule-based linearity of Annie’s cousin Mana Khemia, you control the direction at all times.

See? It’s kinda RPG-ish! It belongs on this website! Honest!

Whereas most JRPGs will start with the story and develop game mechanics to suit it, Annie takes the opposite route: It starts with a mechanical ideal, puts together a story to justify it, and then gradually develops atmosphere to flesh out what would otherwise seem contrived and painful to bear. Your three years on Sera Island are peppered with vignettes and sketches, there to highlight the supporting cast, the Island itself, and generally give credence to this far-fetched premise. As you progress, you come to realize the many facets of your companions, from the ridiculous to the respectable. In turn, they begin to depend on you, which begins to show Annie the importance of having responsibility.

Or not. You always have the option of neglecting your friends’ requests. When you don’t come through for them, they will call you on it. It may not be the robust morality system advertised by Fable or BioShock, but it’s present nonetheless. Rather than exist for its own sake, these choices exist as a result of much greater freedom than would be expected in a JRPG. How many games can you think of where you’d be called upon to find a MacGuffin for such-and-such, even if it means dropping your world-saving quest to take the time. Annie asks you for the MacGuffin, but time marches on; whether or not you’ll be able to process this request while adhering to your existing plan is a matter of your own skill in time management.

1080 days may seem like a lot, but they blow by faster than you’d think. Every time you synthesize an item, at least one day passes. (Depending on how many of that item you produce, several may pass.) Traveling between locations on the island takes between 1-3 days, depending on your starting point and destination. Gathering resources in the field takes up days, and may spawn random battles. (More on those later.) Pretty much the only things that don’t chew away at that 1080-day limit are accepting and receiving jobs, and traveling within the city limits. You soon find yourself lumping together tasks based on geography; “I’ll be gathering out there, which means I can stop by there and drop off these, then pick up more jobs and return home.” It’s a vicious cycle, and you’ve got three years of it.

While in the field, combat happens. It seems a little more glazed-over than combat in most RPGs; many battles can be fast-forwarded through (by holding the Y button) and hold little consequence (other than to drop items and award EXP). Though it seems simplistic enough, there’s actually more at work here than immediately appears. There’s an elemental strength/weakness system (where most weapons and armor can be modified to exploit certain Achilles’ heels), weapons which deal area damage (and key off of one of two attack stats), and differing special commands depending on whether that particular unit is in the front or back line. While it might not be particularly inspired, it must be remembered that the RPG aspects of this game are not – repeat: NOT – at the forefront. This beast is more SimCity than Star Ocean. Combat exists as a challenge to a means, more than a means to an end.

The resort facilities, however, get the spotlight. Throughout the game, certain funds (orders of magnitude greater than your pocket cash, mind) will be earmarked for development projects. By speaking to your Tutorial Fairy, you can choose which facilities to build (you choose one of two options for each of five sites on the island), remodel facilities once they’ve achieved a level of notoriety, and check detailed statistics on sales trends and clientele numbers. Once a resort attraction is up and running, you can begin to take jobs from there, with each completed task bringing fame to the facility (and rewards to Annie). However, neglect a building for too long and its numbers will begin to slip; a balance must be struck between the shiny newness and keeping people interested in the venerable oldness. Also available at resorts are minigames, which can provide fame or resources through intuitive, touchscreen-based bits of fun.

Graphically, this is one of the better examples of DS RPGs. Most cutscenes are rendered in the new-standard “Anime-style Portraits On Top of a Text Box” motif, though said portraits are a little more mobile and dynamic. Not animated, just… “animated.” Said portraits are colorful and detailed, with wide ranges of emotions. Certain elements, such as the synthesis animation and opening titles, are rendered in full-motion video… tragic, though, that you’ll watch each of them once and then skip through them every other time. The music is unoffensive but not terribly memorable, though it’s overshadowed by the vocal performance. Yes, a vocal performance on a DS cart. Entirely in Japanese. Figuring that a dub cast would be too expensive, an English dub would necessitate the removal of the Japanese voice work, and that the fans would be fine with or, indeed, prefer the Japanese track, NISA has retained the original dialogue. If that’s not your thing, an option-menu item offers to eliminate the voices altogether.

I suppose I should round out this review with a few gripes. The problem is, I don’t have that many. The vocals can get muddled with the BGM in a few places, but the options allow you to adjust that problem away. The game is short – 12 to 15 hours on the first playthrough, and scarcely 10 in subsequent runs – but that’s the price of a finite time limit. (Also, with 7 possible endings, it ultimately facilitates multiple playings and thus improves replay value.) The drop rate on some items is abysmal. (That, I can’t explain away.) If you’re looking for a crystal skull or ancient coin or something along those lines, be prepared to save and reset a couple times.

Was that it? I think so. Two justified gripes, and one really glaring one. Oh, and I found a typo once. That’s about it. In Annie’s defense, though, she does get a few of the small things down to perfection. The Y button functions as a fast-forward in almost all circumstances, and when I say “fast,” I mean fast. (Again, improving replay value.) As you progress through the game, every item, person, and foe you come across is automatically added to an in-game almanac which can be referenced from the main menu or title screen – a very handy way to recall where to find that one rare item you’ve been looking for. Finally, the minigames that are occasionally offered at resort areas for fun and profit (and, occasionally, fame) are, by and large, genuinely entertaining… perhaps not so much in the case of the “pull a rope and get hit on the head with something” game, or the “3×3 Memory” game. The “Happy Spiel” game, in which you have to tap on a megaphone when a gauge reaches its maximum, can get downright white-knuckle at higher difficulties, while the Whack-a-Puni challenge is always good for some stress relief.

Atelier Annie ~Alchemists of Sera Island~ is a strange bird. A JRPG-but-not-quite, it takes some familiar combat and item elements and uses them to season what is, at its core, a robust strategy game. It stands an example of a big idea that, despite its uniqueness and scope, doesn’t neglect the small things that make it really shine. I’ve been told that Atelier Annie is closer to the spirit of the (Japan-only) original Atelier titles; if such is the case, I can only hope that this is the first step in getting them to our shores.

This game was reviewed using a copy provided by the publisher. Played to completion, twice.

Once upon a time, there was a little DS RPG called A Witch’s Tale. Her parents, Nippon-Ichi and HitMaker, were very famous in their own rights; one was a premier name in RPGs and the other was once a member of the famous Sega family. Though her pedigree shone, she was scorned from birth, partially due to the failings of her elder brother, Dragoneer’s Aria. As the young girl of the family, no one wanted to mention her in the same breath as her half-siblings Disgaea and Crazy Taxi. Realizing that she would have to seek her own fortune, she set out to prove her detractors wrong.

A Witch’s Tale didn’t have any friends to keep her company, but she did have books. Lots and lots of books. From these books, she put together a robust cast, pulling from Alice in Wonderland, Hansel and Gretel, The Wizard of Oz, Arabian Nights, and more. For the heroine, though, she chose Liddell, a spunky witch-in-training whose muddled past and thirst for power made her the optimal selection for an RPG protagonist. She opens up the Sealed Evil In A Can (or book of runes, in this case), unleashing a horrible curse on the world and waking up Loue, the bishounen vampire sleeping nearby. Loue gives the standard exposition dialogue and decides to ride shotgun on Liddell’s quest to restore peace and order to the land, meet with Queen Alice, and seal the Eld Witch once again.

A Witch’s Tale was happy with how the plot was structured, but a couple things weren’t quite right. For example, the original Hansel was a boy, but that didn’t jive with the “Six Princesses” motif. (Actually, there are seven. Or eight. Depends on which playthrough you’re on.) Believing that historical accuracy means nothing in the face of setting a tone and keeping on it, blam, Hansel’s a princess now. She believed that one wouldn’t mind if she played a little fast and loose with the characters, so long as the end result is entertaining. (And I’d have to agree.)

However, being an RPG conveys certain responsibilities. A Witch’s Tale soon realized that she was running out of princesses and corresponding elemental kingdoms, which resulted in Dorothy Gale as a caustic, angsty steampunk wrecking machine. She realized that things were getting a little out of hand, but the princesses had already been placed, so she concerned herself with the battle mechanics and figured that the masses would appreciate a little juxtaposition in the characterization. (Again, I’d have to agree.)

Expa Abyss, Level 1 Gamebreaker. If you can draw while sleepwalking, you’re set.

The mechanics, though, would prove to be a stumbling block. To be different, she shunned the use of buttons. “I’m on the DS,” she thought, “I might as well make the most of it!” Thus, all control was directed through the touch screen, from overworld navigation to menus to minigames and everything in between. The biggest spells required tracing a shape, which would’ve been novel if not for sheer overuse. (But more on that later.) A Witch’s Tale didn’t want to fall into the same number-crunching madness that brought her siblings such fame, so she opted for a much simpler system, hearkening back to the days of yore when enemies lined up in an orderly fashion for your convenience.  Rather than give Liddell living, breathing companions, however, she opted for animate dolls, two at a time, that provide backup while maintaining the “girl-vs.-the-world” motif that she worked so hard to foster. Thus, dolls were scattered throughout the kingdoms, though they went largely ignored because the dolls you got at the end of each chapter (each an effigy of the latest princess you rescued) were statistically so much better that none of the “standard” dolls could ever hope to compete.

Unfortunately, this was a side effect of a rather alarming trend: A Witch’s Tale didn’t have much of a head for numbers. She knew that she was supposed to incorporate “MP” to limit how much magic the player could use; she didn’t realize, though, that the super-huge-99MP-spell that could take down most any standard encounter in one shot would hit a point, right around the third kingdom, where it became unbalanced. Since A Witch’s Tale was a generous girl at heart, she gave the player a full charge of MP with each increase in level… without realizing that, despite using Expa Abyss (said uber-spell) every fight, it was actually near-impossible to run out of MP. Thus, what would in most RPGs be a lesson in resource-rationing becomes a wholly  meaningless number as Liddell and her stuffed companions steamrolled their way through the game.

It’s worth mentioning that A Witch’s Tale was, to her credit, a very generous girl… though without boundaries, that generosity quickly became unbalanced. As if the massive MP glut wasn’t enough, scattered throughout the world were tomatoes – yes, tomatoes – which, should Liddell fall in battle, would pick her up, dust her off, mend her dolls, fully charge her MP, and smack the foe responsible for such an inconvenience for four digits of damage. It might all be a bit much, but A Witch’s Tale wanted to be loved by everyone, even if it did mean a good bit of hand-holding. However, in her quest to be comfortable and easy to enjoy, she fell into the habit of being samey and repetitive: Run all over Kingdom A, collect three items (Usually requiring two boss fights and solving a puzzle), fight big boss, save princess, unlock Kingdom B, repeat. The kingdoms look and feel interesting enough, but she spent too much time concerned with how things look and not nearly enough with how things play.

She chose her aesthetics, too, to be as accessible as possible; the time-honored anime style of her family coupled nicely with the not-quite-dark storybook fantasy, producing something that looks like Rozen Maiden meets Phantasy Star with a bit of The Nightmare Before Christmas thrown in for extra marketability. The soundtrack, fittingly, seemed very light and music-boxy, though in certain circumstances it wasn’t afraid to lay in with some heavy guitar solos.

A Witch’s Tale was happy with things so far, but she wasn’t quite done. She’d read somewhere that people who play RPGs like to collect things, so she scattered a deck of playing cards around, hoping that folks would take the time to find all 53 (she left the Joker in just for the heck of it.) Unfortunately, some of the stronger cards became sentient and ran away, hiding in dungeons and fleeing at the mere sight of intruders. To capture these cards, players hoped to encounter them during a “BURST” fight, which would yield double EXP and increase the rate of critical hits to nearly 100%; such fights were rare,  occuring every 8th encounter. Worse still, BURST or no, the cards would often get the jump on the team and run away before any action could be taken. The players were frustrated, and A Witch’s Tale didn’t know what to do.

Worse yet, the story was ending soon, and she hadn’t really thought of a conclusion to her story, so she decided to go for the “shocking” route. She asked the Mad Hatter and March Hare to stall for time by setting up a long “So Here’s What’s Actually Been Going On” expository dialogue just before the final battle, then went with a punch-out ending so abrupt it’d make Space Ghost throw his powerbands up in confusion. “Aaah, but there’s a second ending!” she said with a wink. “You can play through the whole thing again – I’ve added one of those New Game + thingamajigs – but with an extra scene! Or, heck, I’ve got a deck of cards here. Blackjack, anyone?”

Now, some people would call it quits there. Heck, some would call it quits by the second kingdom, when they realize they’ve been had and American McGee’s name isn’t anywhere on this thing. But one boy actually chose to tighten his hat, duck his head, and play through the whole thing again. “This can’t be the end,” he thought. “No one is that bold or that crazy. Besides, the blackjack minigame’s not that good.”

And so, this young man plowed through the game again, now making a fine paste out of every random encounter (though they never stopped getting in his way), walking through every boss fight without breaking a sweat (even though they weren’t really that hard in the first go-round), and seeing the bonus scene and completing its sidequest (for an even more egregiously broken doll).  Finally, he came to the “Good End,” only to find out that A Witch’s Tale had fallen asleep in the interim and was startled by the fact that anyone actually played the game a second time. So she rounded up the whole cast for a much happier, but still somewhat nonsensical and confusing punch-out ending. “So, erm… how about some blackjack?”

“No, thanks,” said the boy, “I’ve got other games to play. I really wish you’d have just followed through. You had an excellent premise;  I mean, Dorothy as an angsty Steampunk princess? That’s awesome. But the numbers just didn’t line up, and the endings didn’t really do anything to help your case. You put together a fantastic cast, and a decent aesthetic and soundscape, but it feels like you didn’t do your homework. Just because you dress up with pumpkins and black skirts and spiderwebs doesn’t mean you’ll be popular. Being good and under-appreciated is better than doing things sloppy and attracting attention. I really hope to see you again, perhaps once you’ve done your homework.”

And with that, the boy rode off into the sunset, though if you strained to hear, you could make out his discussion with a travel agent. “Hey, you know any island getaways? Preferably those with no pumpkins whatsoever… Sera Island, you say? Sounds promising.”

This game was played to completion and reviewed using a copy provided by NISA.

On the Wii, now, eh? A popular move. Glad to hear you’re not wasting your time with that “waggle” nonsense. A fidgety, every-decimeter-counts system like your own could never tolerate my caffeine-soaked nerves. When I’m trying to thread an area attack through a crowded space, I’m glad you’ve decided to stick to the more precise (if less novel) wiimote-vertical-with-nunchuk, wiimote-horizontal (NES-style), Wii Classic Controller, or GameCube controls. Though your manual may have had a sneezing fit while trying to explain itself – it states that the GameCube’s A button is for “CScornofflr mtex scommand,” whatever the hell that means – once you get rolling, onscreen prompts are always available and quite helpful.

Sure you will, Ash. Hey, how’s that lack-of-a-corporeal-body thing workin’ out for ya?

Aside from input methods, what has this move brought you? I see your menus and text look sharper than your previous outing… not true HD yet, though, but certainly cleaner than before. You’ve still got those big, beautiful sprites for cutscenes, and the range of animation… it’s not quite VanillaWare, to be sure, but it’s still welcome. And what’s this about a new scenario, playable right from the get-go? A kind of alternate-continuity retelling of the story? While being able to play as a number of particularly luminary figures from the get-go is a neat idea, this new sidequest does seem a bit… truncated, at least compared to the bulk of the original story. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice little diversion, but it seems  a bit too detached from the “true” story and doesn’t really serve much of a purpose except eventually giving you a bunch of new and interesting characters that can be migrated to the main game. (Take it from me, a Marona with angst just doesn’t seem like a Marona.)

I’m glad to hear, though, that the original story comes through unadulterated, heart-wrenching tale though it may be. Poor, pure little Marona, orphaned girl living alone with her phantasmal guardian Ash, having to labor as some kind of exorcist-for-hire (despite her reputation as “The Possessed One”), being spit on and ridiculed time and again… it breaks men’s hearts to see her struggle, and brings a tear to every dry eye to see her keep her chin up and persevere in the face of it all. Many “D’aaawwwww”s are had when she finally makes a friend, and a collective cheer rises when her new allies begin to combat the rampant poormouthing and gossipmongering among the people of Ivoire. Congratulations, Phantom Brave, you officially have a Moé Elemental as your main character.

Your battle system, too, seems to be just how I remembered it: a huge, convoluted miasma of numbers, proficiencies, bonuses, fish, movement radii, cacti, record players, corpses… a truly mind-expanding realm of possibility. If it’s not bolted down, it can be used to house an ally or beat down a hostile. Tufts of grass, flowerpots, bricks, trees, starfish, bones… your diversity is commendable. (And expanded, it should be mentioned, in the new scenario with the addition of such armaments as dumbbells and bread.) It’s all a bit much for the first-time player, though, and will likely lead to several epiphanies throughout the course of the game, mostly as new, strategy-altering classes such as the Blacksmith, Fusionist, and Titlist are made available. Yes, one of your strengths has always been your versatility; the way around a problem can usually be solved by grinding, but also can be solved potentially by a reassessment of strategy and optimization of resources on hand. That’s tactics. And that’s what I loved about you.

Now, if only you had corrected some of the fluffyness in your AI. For as much as I love my strategy and planning and preparedness, seeing the big nasty get caught up on a terrain foible and essentially skip their turn makes me feel a little empty inside. Here I am, guns at the ready, prepared for whatever you throw at me… and you proceed to fail to jump up a ledge after 6 or 7 tries, then concede the point and stand there in your shame. Frankly, sir, I find that a little annoying. I understand you’ve taken a big step forward in breaking free of the grid, but – and I have little compassion after these five years – you can do so much better than that.

Despite the occasional fits of epic fail on the part of the enemy units, you still show us some genuine difficulty. Your level curve ramps up considerably at the end-game, more-or-less coercing us to – as mentioned before – grind or find some more inventive solution (such as pounding all those items we’ve been collecting over the course of the game into one massive super-grass that gives even bigger stat bonuses and stronger attacks). Not to mention the extensive post-game content, bringing you in line with your cousins, and featuring a couple cameo appearances as well. Yes, you’re veritably loaded with interesting playable characters this time around; I have to feel bad for all those also-ran classes, though, that can’t compare with the likes of Raphael or Sprout or That Owl Guy From Chapter 9. Let’s have a moment of silence for them.

This is the Blacksmith. He will be your best friend. (So long as you don’t stare at his eyebrows.)

‘Kay, that’s over with. Speaking of breaking silence, how’s the sound these days? I’m impressed that you’re returned the majority of the original cast, save for one notable exception (though Vic Mignogna serves as an adequate replacement for the melancholy Walnut.) The sound, likewise, runs its familiar gamut from said melancholy – with plenty of violins – to more upbeat, energetic tunes during most battles, often punctuated with strains of vibrant Spanish guitar. That being said, it doesn’t really forge any new ground, does it? It still seems that if one hears your music, and Disgaea’s music, and Makai Kingdom’s music, they really won’t be able to make distinctions between them. Not to say that your music is bad, mind, it’s just a little… samey.

Despite all that, you’re still in pretty good shape, Phantom Brave. You’ve got enough going for you that you’re still distinct from your brethren, yet those who know them have a good idea what you’re all about. You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve, some surprises in store, and an uplifting (if tragic) story to tell. I wouldn’t trade our time together for the world. (Or $5 store-credit at Gamestop, for that matter.)

‘Till we meet again, Phantom Brave. ‘Till we meet again.

Mana Khemia 2 isn’t unique, either. And I’m fine with that, too.

Our story begins by choosing a protagonist, either the County Fair Sweetheart Ulrika or RPG Standards Board #485 “Boy with Tragic Past” Raze.  Our hero-of-choice enrolls at the formerly illustrious Al-Revis Acadamy, which has fallen on hard times as of late. (Not to mention literally falling out of the sky, when the Wind Mana what used to keep the campus aloft decided to go home, cut its hair, and get a real job.) In the interests of fiscal solubility, the Academy has opened its doors to students of standard combat, as the numbers of new alchemy students has declined, following a trend of magic seemingly leaving the world.  We also learn that a wager has been made between the Light Mana and Dark Mana, though they tend to bicker like an elemental Statler and Waldorf rather than give meaningful exposition.

You’ve slaughtered one too many innocent mobs, young man! Feel the wrath of the Puni King!

But that’s the high-level, overarching stuff. And, for as drastic as the mentioned changes to the setting have been, it really takes a back seat to the day-to-day, interpersonal exchanges between your chosen protagonist and your teammates. Every PC has their own series of storyline events, letting you really get to know your partners-in-arms…

… and here comes the sugar crash. Y’see, despite getting to view the central events of the game from one of two perspectives (or both,  thanks to our old friend New Game +), the plot is largely insubstantial. I found myself largely ignoring the Light & Dark Manas’ concerns in favor of following the much-more-entertaining rivalry between the two teams. When a mid-game skirmish with my cross-class counterparts gets me more keyed up than the final battle (which I’m amazed even was the final battle), the game has story issues. I wanted a full-course meal, and instead received a continental breakfast and a stack of Little Debbie products. One’s filling but unsatisfying, and the other is sweet and delicious but ultimately insubstantial and known to be bad for your health.

So what saves Mana Khemia 2? Mechanically speaking, it’s a fantastically sound RPG. It takes its battle, alchemic item-creation, and PC development  systems directly from its predecessor, adds a fresh coat of paint and features, and presents them again in all their time-absorbing glory. The “Support” system returns to spice up the combat, allowing characters to swap in and out during attacks and defense to bring upon special effects, more damage, or activate the new “Intimate Strike” and “Intimate Guard” crossover techniques. Characters in support also recover SP, allowing them to “recharge” during long and involved battles (and there are a good number of those, to be sure).  The turn order is depicted by a circle of spheres at the top of the screen, further enabling the micromanagement of strategy.

Speaking of micromanagement, the alchemy system reprises its role as the driving force behind character development, with new weapons and armor crafted rather than purchased and each new recipe enabling further parameter increases in each character’s “Grow Book” (think of Final Fantasy X’s Sphere Grid, but without arbitrary directional restrictions this time around). It’s a very fiddly but very engaging system, and can improve and refine the items you come upon in your travels for improved utility and/or straight-up profit. A new addition to this iteration is the school bazaar, wherein you can spend an off-week to display and peddle your alchemic concoctions, which will then rise in popularity to the point where other on-campus shops will want to get in on the action by selling the same products. This can be a fantastic way of reducing the time needed to farm for materials; just sell the item once and buy more of it the next week.

You can tell the plot-relevant monsters by their stylish headwear.

The sound is an area where the game really shines. Ken Nakagawa’s soundtrack (included in the Special Edition box) bounces from genre to genre with ease, reflecting and enhancing the game’s eclectic mix of characters and motives. The whirlwind tour kicks off with “My Silly Days,” a J-poppy tune with hints of Pachelbel’s Canon in the bassline which plays under the opening FMV and, in an instrumental version, during some boss fights. Other notables include “People Don’t Learn in the Workshop” and its upbeat oboe solo, the lumbering 5/4 “Giant Fairy” (Pepperoni’s theme), and “Sacred Saber,” a howling hard-rock monstrosity that will have certain gamers (myself included) wondering what a track that so obviously belongs in a Guilty Gear game is doing in a Gust RPG. Complimenting the music is a high-quality vocal performance from a cast studded with big names (Yuri Lowenthal, Johnny Yong Bosch, Vic Mignogna, Richard Epcar, et al.).  However, stealing the spotlight is Liam O’Brien as cute-mascot-slash-pimp-daddy Goto, spreading his dulcid tones all over everything until the entire game is covered in a thick, sensual layer of innuendo.

Graphically, the game tries to reach for the brass ring… and falls off the horse. The sprites are cute and emotive (despite their apparently sunken, black, 2-D-from-Gorillaz eyes) and function fine on maps, but in battle, things get to be a little choppy. Now, part of this may be a function of the huge, over-the-top attacks that puncuate the fighting, but it just goes to show that if you go large, you’d better be prepared to support it with smooth framerate.

Mana Khemia 2 isn’t unique, and I’m fine with that. Though the story feels flat and the graphics stutter a bit, as a mechanical construct and mental exercise, it’s quite enjoyable. 20-minute no-holds-barred manas-to-the-wall boss fights are well and good (especially in this combat system), but one wants a little more plot buildup to such scrums. Still, despite its apparent shallowness, Mana Khemia 2 does just about everything else right. And I’m fine with that.

(insert Huey Lewis interlude and “Great Scott!” exclamation here)

Welcome. You’re just in time (nudge nudge wink wink), the buzz on the street is about… well, let’s not delude ourselves. Everyone’s talking about the N64. The 16-bit era is at its end. However, dig a little deeper and you’ll catch a few rumblings about this new RPG for the ol’ Super Famicom, developed by a new studio – tri-Ace – what split from Wolf Team over creative differences regarding Tales of Phantasia. The graphics are stunning, the audio features vocals during battle and some cutscenes (though they’re compressed something hardcore), the plot is engaging and full of complex, interesting characters, and the Motoi Sakuraba score is mind-blowing. Variable endings depend on relationship values between characters built between battlefield performance and a wide range of plot events, utilizing this revolutionary “Private Action” system. Battle plays out in real-time random instance, while crafting is run though a rather intuitive (for the most part) skill system. 64 bits may be the future, but these sixteen are giving the next generation a healthy run for their money.

Back in the DeLorean, Spanky; we’re jumping three years and a continent. Anytown-with-a-WalMart, USA, May 31, 1999.

We can see from here the ramifications of the Nintendo 64, specifically the shift in the RPG market to the Playstation and its big, beautiful CD-ROM media. One such example is an unassuming two-disc title called Star Ocean: The Second Story. Why the second? Who knows. Word has it it’s the sequel to some game that came out in Japan a few years back but never saw a U.S. release for any of a number of reasons (niche market, huge cart with a proprietary decompressor chip, would require a complete re-dub, very late to the SNES party, closing of Enix America Corp., etc.). Heritage notwithstanding, SO:tSS seemed to be straddling a line between the old and new: detailed character sprites, rich with last-gen nostalgia, traverse pre-rendered backgrounds as shiny as any you’d find in Final Fantasy VII or VIII or whichever they’re up to. Real-time battles, crafting, skills, affection levels determining variable endings… It’s like they’ve tried all these things out before and just made some refinements. While the Western world isn’t completely dumbstruck, the Second Story is generally well-regarded among those who know games.

Fire up the Mr. Fusion again, ‘cuz we’re coming home. Present Day, Present Time.

Everything old is new again, and nothing beats a port for cost-effectiveness… especially when it’s a game that a certain region hasn’t been (legally) exposed to yet due to some combination of cross-Pacific complications. Final Fantasy III, Space Channel 5: Part 2… what harm is there in adding Star Ocean to the list? Originally announced at the Square Enix Party 2007, Star Ocean: First Departure is the first step in updating the initial two offerings of the series to the larger-capacity PSP.

Now, keep in mind the timeline that these games kept through the late 1990s. The original Star Ocean dropped in mid-1996, with the Japanese release of the Second Story a mere two years later. Star Ocean: Till the End of Time, however, didn’t see the light of day until 2003, a full five years (and third dimension) beyond its predecessors. So, since the first two games were so close together, and share so many mechanics, it only makes sense to port the GUI of the more recent version and simply retrofit the first game to the newer standard.

Clever, that.

Now that we’ve had our history lesson, let’s get to the meat and potatoes of First Departure. You assume the role of Roddick, a moderately angsty catboy charged with the defense of a sleepy little village, where nothing really happens… until some schmo starts playing the game, in which case all manner of catastrophe shall visit. Sure enough, a pox descends upon the land, turning all in its wake to stone… never mind that there are “Stone Cure” items available in most every town, thus predating the “Aeris/Phoenix Down” argument by a full six months.

Our intrepid band of hometown heroes searches for a cure, leading to a RPG Convention Board Standard #106 “Retrieve the Herbs from the Mountain” quest… only to be interrupted by Spock and Janeway… erm… I mean, Ronyx and Ilia, two spacefarers who happen to be breaking the Prime Direc… gaaaah… “Underdeveloped Planet Protection Pact” by being there, only they feel something’s amiss and needs fixing with SCIENCE. (And a healthy slice of time-travel handwaving just to be safe.) Roddenberry’s Renegades lay it on our home team that these herbs won’t do jack (save for making the statue-ified townspeople taste better), so we all jump back in time 300 years to find a cure.

As fun as the snark is, the plot is the true strong suit of this game and, in fact, this series. Any game can have strong, interesting characters; but the chance to set your PCs loose in a town and interact with them on their own terms is a rare find. You feel the drive to find out what’s next, regardless of who or what gets in your way. The one stumbling block was a slight bit of Final-Fantasy-VIII-itis near the very end, as the final section of the game feels a little bolted-on, as though it were some attempt to arbitrarily stretch the game out for another two hours or so.

Let’s talk about chopping down that “who or what.” Random encounters on the map or dungeons or whatnot drop your force of up to 4 against a handful of foes, and from there the melee proceeds in much the same fashion as the old Konami side-scrolling beat-’em-ups from that bygone Arcade era. Your position in front of or behind the foe will be of utmost importance – AKA “The Curse of the Isometric Viewpoint” – and you will get to know the sting of throwing your big-shiny-special-over-9000-attack a few pixels behind a razor-thin rabbit. Camera notwithstanding, the battles – augmented by a bevy of diverse techniques and spells – come into their own and become downright enjoyable later in the game, so long as your PSP’s set firmly to “MUTE.”

Any veteran of the Second Story can relate horror stories of the one time they recruited Precis and forgot to evacuate the room of glass objects. Unfortunately, and despite the passing of nearly a decade, the vocal work hasn’t done much better. Sure, it sounds good enough in plot sequences… I’d even call it “above average” in those situations… but having to listen to two interjections before and after every battle can drive even the most even-tempered gamer to the brink of madness. I honestly wanted to punch Ioshua right in the wings, batter-dip and deep-fry him, and serve him to Cyuss just to get the two of them to SHUT. UP.

I’ll go one step further, and cite the brand-spankin’-new anime cutscenes (courtesy of Production I.G.) as another groaner. Not due to any particular flaw in the animation, mind you, it’s smooth and well-done from a visual standpoint… but the vocal work seems so far off the mark, what with jarring starts and stops, rushed and/or mistimed dialogue, and – tragic flaw of variable-party RPGs – the “Kisaragi/Valentine Exclusion,” also known as “NO ANIMATION BUDGET FOR YOU.” If you recruit them along the way, you’d better like their piece in the opening cutscene, because that’s all you’ll see of them.

Honestly, the issues with the spoken words in these situations seem like things that could’ve been fixed with a little script-work, and it breaks my heart that it’s such a glaring flaw in an otherwise healthy game. Just a simple option to disable vocal clips during battle could save significant quantities of time and goodwill. In a game as detailed as this, where your characters’ most basic talents are laid bare and their skill at whistling is quantified from 0-10, you’d think you’d have that level of control. I could’ve spent the last two paragraphs discussing the intuitive crafting system, or how your skills can have ramifications on base statistics. Instead, I had to gripe about the vocal work. The English dialogue in the Super Famicom version sounded more natural and well-paced. I’ll leave that to sink in.

Easing the pain on the ears, though, is a Motoi Sakuraba soundtrack that can only be described as (no pun intended) stellar. One of the hallmarks of the Star Ocean series has been its superb arrangements, and this remake has the sense to avoid altering a good thing. The vastness of space and the twinkling glory of the heavens are represented time and again in swelling bass lines and delicate, ever-so-fragile harp musings that, perhaps moreso than the game itself, encapsulate the universe.

Done with that? Good. Time for me to lay this one out for you. Star Ocean: First Departure is a good idea with a couple hangups. Had it been a straight port of the SFC version, one might be a little more willing to forgive its missteps; as it stands, updating the most advanced RPG of its time to the mechanics and standards of today is a great way to see the holes that a good dose of nostalgia can fill. It’s not groundbreaking in this day and age, but it has some good ideas that were cultivated in its successors. (Well, at least until the crafting system was thrown out in Till the End of Time and replaced with its own abomination.) If you’ve never heard of the series before and are expecting something mindblowing on your PSP… well, good luck with that, because you won’t find it here. If you’re unfamiliar with Star Ocean, but know a mechanically sound game when shown it, you’ll enjoy First Departure. Finally, if you’re miffed because I left Blue Sphere out of my timeline, you probably own the game already.

Hit this link to get it started!

-Merriam-Webster.com

One of the toughest challenges for a game in this day and age is the concept of “unique.” It’s a very nebulous term; you can take it to mean “going where no man has gone before,” or perhaps “something kinda familiar, but twisted beyond recognition.” Perhaps Mana Khemia is not a truly “unique” game. Every element of its gameplay feels like it’s been done before… but can a patchwork not be beautiful of its own right? The contrast of many fabrics may come together to create a beautiful work, just as the union of many existing concepts in game mechanics can join to create an excellent experience.

CASE ONE: HARRY POTTER

Precocious child (Vayne) enrolls in secret school for magically gifted youth (Al-Revis Academy) and joins with contemporaries (Jess, Nikki, et al.) in extracurricular adventures to investigate an unusual but heavily foreshadowed phenomenon (Vayne’s origins). In those famous words of the Barenaked Ladies, “It’s all been done (woo-oo-oo!).” Gust treads on well-worn ground here, but succeeds in avoiding digging into a rut by making the school itself as interesting a character as any you take into battle.

The game takes place over Vayne’s three-year academic career at Al-Revis. Over these three years, the upperclassmen you knew from year one will graduate, a new crop of frosh will appear, and so forth. This isn’t just a clutch of RandomNPCs with one line of dialogue through the entire course of the game; you actually get to watch these students arrive, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, acclimate to life at the school, establish their own roles, and eventually wax nostalgic before graduation.

The school environment fits the game well, as tutorials are disguised as classes and tedious fetch-quests are cloaked in the guise of tedious assignments. Your access to the outside world is linked to your scholastic age, with the dangerous zones blocked off from underclassman access. Generally speaking, everything makes sense inside the aesthetic of the game itself, except when the game wills it otherwise.

Further, the “school” structure allows for event-time (structured plot-advancement events), class-time (sometimes plot, sometimes explanation of the mechanics of the game itself) and free-time (sidequests and plot events related to your own party members). The personal quests with your teammates add a layer of depth to the experience; the relationships you forge in your off-weeks can even influence the ending of the game.

CASE TWO: SUPER MARIO RPG

Random battles are tossed aside in favor of visible mobs in dungeons, which trigger battles that pit three of your team (plus three in “support”) against various and sundry foes. The action is kinda cartoony and over-the-top, fitting with the general anime theme, and your items run from rather unusual weapons (cat collars, teddy-bear claws, and trading cards) to downright unusual armor (made from crabs, cookies, and even chocolate).

… sounds like every JRPG, right? Perhaps. (Y’know, scrap that “perhaps.” Make this a straight up “yes.”) It’s very much a familiar beast. However, “familiar” doesn’t mean there can’t be innovation. The timing of battles, rather than going on a full-turn basis, operates in the form of a row of cards lining the top-left of the screen. The rightmost “card” (a character, foe, or other effect) takes action, and then is moved back in the deck according to the action taken. Using weapons with the “Daze” parameter or “Knockback” effects can actually knock enemy cards back in time, while some skills can remove hostile effect cards or move teammates’ cards to the front of the deck. The primary issue with these abilities is that they’re intrinsic to one character and one character only (and he’s kind of a jerk).

That leads to another issue: You get a total of eight characters in your stable throughout the game. You can take a total of 6 into battle. Once you’re in the battle, you’re really going to miss those other two. Each character has such unique strengths – whether it be time-deck manipulation, recursive healing, or defensive capabilities – that tailoring your team to the task at hand becomes a serious strategic decision.

Adding to the strategy is the Support system – those three characters who are “in battle” but not “on-screen.” While in Support, teammates regain HP and SP, and can jump into the fray in place of a front-line member immediately after an offensive action or immediately before taking a hit. Later in the game, characters gain added effects onto their offensive and defensive assists, which add an even deeper layer to the strategy. All in all, the mechanics of the game feel remarkably fine-tuned and balanced; the difficulty curve provides nontrivial battles and some truly epic boss fights while never giving a sense of unfairness.

Wait just a second… visible turn order… characters swapping in at will… this “Grow Book” thing kinda looks like a sphere grid…

CASE THREE: FINAL FANTASY X

I think we’re safe; I checked the length of everyone’s pants and they match. That being said, you have a nearly-uniform grid of nodes, each one the key to 1-3 sub-nodes, activated by the AP you gain in battles, that give stat increases, new abilities, and other attributes. Alarmingly sphere-grid-esque, it’s true, but it works well for the game. Rather than actually spending “spheres” that drop in battle, the paths of the Grow Book are traversed by synthesizing certain items. (You are, after all, at the Academy to learn alchemic synthesis; how fitting is it that such a mechanic is directly tied to character development?)

The Grow Book also serves as incentive to investigate the item-creation system in as much depth as possible. Who knows, perhaps switching X ingredient with Y ingredient will result in a new result – and, by association, stat bonuses for a member of your party? What could’ve been a thankless slog through synthesis is made more pleasurable by such stakes being placed upon it. Recipes are learned either by finding them in the field (Hey, what’s in this chest? Why, it’s plans for a sushi boat…), purchasing them in shops, altering existing recipes, or having suggestions made by the members of your squad as to how to alter an existing recipe. Now, I just need to find another game about alchemy to use as a segue…

CASE FOUR: ODIN SPHERE

Ok, this is primarily for matters of aesthetic. Colorful sprites (but not Vanillaware-class, mind), vivid backgrounds, shiny over-the-top visual effects… and very visible lag. Not so much just slowdown, but jarring, stop-and-hang breaks in what really wants to be a very smooth experience. Go back to Merriam-Webster and look up “pity,” and you will see a clip of this game at its choppiest. The hardcore, fly-across-the-room, Disgaea-esque “OMG TEN THOUSAND YEARS OF PWN” crazy crazy battles would be infinitely more impressive if they didn’t break like a 13-year-old boy doing musical theatre. Speaking of ineffective segues…

CASE FIVE: SUPER PAPER MARIO

The soundtrack (which comes with the game on its own disc, how sweet) is a good thing. I’m not going to go so far as to call it superlative, but at no time did I ever think of the sound as “bad” or “unfitting.” It’s good, enough so that a friend who watched me playing a later dungeon remarked, “I need this soundtrack,” having never played the game. Two tracks in particular hit me like a ton of bricks, though.

The first was the main school theme. You’re going to hear lots of this piece, since a good chunk of the action takes place at the Academy, but after hitting the NewGame+ option and starting from the beginning, you realize… this is the Academy’s alma mater that you’ve been hearing the whole time. This is the song that is being sung, with full lyrics, at Orientation. That the game would buy in so hard into the “school” motif says something about how much they wanted this setting to work and work well, and I can say without reservation that it does.

The second: Muppy’s theme. He’s the cute pink alien-looking-thing that springs up later in the game, and provides varying levels of comic relief and absolute terror. When he’s on center stage, though, you’re treated to a piece that can only be described at 2A03tastic. Retro NES-style synth grows to fuse with heavy bass and a faint strain of something that sounds almost like rap, resulting in a sound experience that defines the term “alien.” Belonging nowhere, it finds refuge here, and it is delightful.

CASE SIX: MANA KHEMIA

The patchwork, though taken from many sources, is itself beautiful. (In stills, at least.) I won’t say “unique,” though this particular union of these particular ideas hasn’t happened in this manner before… Think of Mana Khemia, rather, as the union of several good ideas other games had but never put together before. A fantastic atmosphere, well-structured character development, and battle mechanics so tight you could bounce a quarter off of them were put into a big cauldron, and this is what came out. (And then that opened another node in someone’s Grow Book. And then they got another +25 max HP and +10 attack. Then they replaced…)

Y’know what? Nuts to the preamble. I had a big piece to throw in here, but I’m not even going to bother. Michael “CactuarJoe” Beckett detonated a Forretress in my face, and I can’t be bothered. The whole week’s going to go downhill from here, and it’s because of that stupid metal walnut thing.

So, in a desperate attempt to drag myself out of the darkest pits of blackest despondency, here are the Quests.

Cortney “Alethea” Stone continues Final Fantasy Tactics. That’s really all she’s giving me, so I’m going to throw another wrench at CactuarJoe. Yeah, you -know- that Gyarados would’ve Dragon Danced on your corpse had your Heatran not melted down on it like that. Also, nice Crit-Explosion. I’ll remember that one.

Jordan “J_Sensei” “J.J. Walker” “Kid Dy-no-mite” Jackson has reached disc 4 of Lost Odyssey and eagerly awaits jumping feet-first into Dragon Quest: Swords. I maintain that would be detrimental to the structural integrity of the disc, but my words go unheeded. I blame CactuarJoe.

Derek “Roku” Cavin has his priorities all out of whack and has forgone gaming in favor of “schoolwork.” While this is the proper route for those desiring a more successful future and lucrative employment opportunities, it does tend to leave the sorry schmo writing Quests with a lot more work to do. I have a wounded Yanmega and a wounded ego to mend. Thanks.

Michael “lolGarchomp” Beckett looks for a copy of Dungeon Explorer. He had something to say about Pokémon, something about improving his record, but I’ll be having none of that. Serves him for trouncing the guy writing Quests this week. Maybe next time he’ll have something more constructive to say.

John “Karlinn” Boske may or may not tend to Baldur’s Gate en route to a thorough playing of Mass Effect. He cites a need for “that extra dose of BioWare.” I understand completely. Every time I play Ikaruga, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Y’know what’d make this experience complete? Mischief Makers.”

Michael “Slayer of God” Kozinko indicates recent playings of Devil May Cry 4, Resident Evil 2, and Resident Evil 3. These choices lead me to believe he’s been drinking Karlinn’s Kool-Aid. Which is mean. Does Mr. Kool-Aid have to break through a wall and regulate up in this piece? ‘Cuz he totally will.

Jerry “XeroZohar” Swain has one word for you: Psychonauts. (Actually, that’s the only word he had for me, as well. So there you are. That’s REPORTAGE, people.)

I’d tell you what I myself am up to, but that’s on the backburner. I have a Ninjask to raise. This Ninjask will be the key to the door that opens the cell which contains the tools necessary for CactuarJoe’s demise. I didn’t have time for other gaming. Fire Emblem is now on hold. Dragon Quest: Swords can wait. My entire attention is now turned to this Ninjask, and this Ninjask will be SALVATION.

Oh. Also, look forward to big updates and announcements in the weeks to come! We’ve got a lot of things we’re working on right now, all designed to make your website experience all the richer. (I was on a tear, here, and interrupted it for this, so you can be sure it’s important.)

Anyway, there are the Quests, that’s the game, we’ll be back again next week, ’till then, bye-bye!

(Honestly, this has relevance to RPGs. Just not yet. Hold on…)

It made me think upon the evening prior, when a couple friends and I broke in a new copy of Rock Band. There were nail-biting passes of songs, screams and cries of “HOW LONG IS THIS SOLO?!?”, and speculations as to what would be in the next set list. Now, I’ve felt these emotions before in the comfort of my own home and under my own power, but it was the cooperative effort that made this particular experience exceptional. Horns were thrown up and high-fives delivered upon sightreading “Run to the Hills” or “Tom Sawyer”. We were operating as a unit rather than three gamers. We were not T.J., Chris, and Trevor.

We were Opening Act.

It’s an interesting feeling, going toward a common goal, especially given the competition-based heritage of the video game as a medium. However, it’s especially compelling given the nature of the Role Playing Game, a form derived from – ironically – similar feelings of unity and cooperation forged around tables and over character sheets. A party of adventurers back in 1982 may have cheered a companion’s dice roll the same way I cheered Trevor’s drum solo. They were the brave, we were the rock.

However, the console RPG as we know it has veered away from this sense of togetherness. No longer does the player have to coordinate with their peers to complete an action. Parties are under one player’s control; actions are micro-managed by an omnipotent overseer. A lonely omnipotent overseer. If only there existed an easier way to connect to like-minded individuals…

Enter the MMORPG. Many consciousnesses, one game. Thousands of the aforementioned like-minded individuals, protected by anonymity. While it’s undenyable that there’s an allure to gaming in such a massive forum, I find that any experiences I’ve had online pale in comparison to those I’ve experienced with my flesh-and-blood cohorts. “/em high-fives <t>!” only goes so far, and doesn’t make your hand sting with that beautiful sting of victory.

I started MMORPGaming with a group of existing friends. How I long for those days of exploring a new world at night and debriefing the rest of the group over lunch! Even though the world has grown significantly since those days, with new experiences, enemies, jobs, zones, and quests added with each passing update and/or expansion, it still has never managed to recapture the magic of interacting with real human beings of your close acquaintance.

I knew that the whole of Steelers Nation, from Polish Hill to Pensicola, from Blawnox to Boston, and from Shadyside to Seattle, was feeling the same deflating defeat and frustration that I was feeling. However, despite this knowledge, I didn’t identify with them so much as I did with every Hines-Ward-jersey-clad patron, waitstaff, busboy and barback in my immediate proximity. I could see, hear, and feel their discomfort, and I was in tune with them.

RPGs are, by and large, single-player affairs. They are for in-depth, conscientious gamers who appreciate control and are focused on enjoying a storyline by way of number-heavy gameplay. Few and far between are the RPGs that encourage cooperation among a non-one quantity of players. Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles, hardware requirements aside, came the closest to this ideal. (That being said, I’m waiting with bated breath for the DS iteration of that series.) This generation of systems, with the Wii’s group-centric focus and ad-hoc wireless networking available on the DS and PSP, seems to be in a great position to really expand these concepts. Imagine, if you will, a portable pseudo-MMORPG wherein a character you develop can play either standalone on the title itself, or connect to the internet or an ad-hoc group for cooperative dungeon-crawling or PvP activity.

Yeah. It’d be that good.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go test my SNES multitap and arrange a Secret of Mana night.

I’m T.J. “Nerdboy Himself” Condon, and I’m insane. Or so I’m lead to believe.

But first, an introduction. I’ve been gaming for about 20 years now (Or roughly 83% of my time on this moist rock), and tend to do a bit of writing on the topic. I hold a degree in Film Studies, which I primarily use to dissect video games on an artistic level, just to action a personal vendetta against Roger Ebert. (Besides, anyone who gives Borat four stars can’t have his head on straight.) Also, upon receiving a copy of Star Ocean for the Super Famicom from a friend who had recently visited Japan, I proceeded to import-mod my Super NES with a $.25 paring knife and a pair of hedge clippers. I call it “devotion.”

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. Well, I’m a Pirates fan, so perhaps this applies more so than I expected it to. This is an RPG site, however, so I’ll limit my vitriol for now. Instead, I have a little tradition that I’d neglected recently, so I’m going to try to jam it in while I still have time.

I make it a point to play through Final Fantasy VII every year. Not because I’m some deranged fanboy, not because I think it’s teh gratezt gaem evar!!1!one, not because I’m lacking other games to play. (No, I still haven’t finished Yggdra Union yet, thank you for asking.) I play it every year because every year, the circumstances of my life and my own insights into the game – both mechanics and narrative – present me with a new experience.

Allow me to explain. Last year, my friend Chris and I actually played Final Fantasy VII as a competitive event. We rigged two Playstations and two televisions in the living room, stocked ourselves with rations (he chose chips and Cherry Coke; I was running on Dr. Pepper with Twizzler straws), and started at 7PM one fateful night. The winner would be the last one awake or the first one to knock Sephiroth off. (Ok, we were getting a bit ahead of ourselves.) My worthy opponent conceded defeat (and collapsed in a heap) after 14 hours, which saw me with a slim lead. (We’d both just finished Disc 1.)

The year before, I wanted to see if I could beat the game in one sitting. Answer: Yes, for very large values of “Sitting.” Aiding the cause were a couple boxes of egg rolls and a case of Dr. Pepper, and 35 hours later, I’d accomplished my task. Some may call it stupid, some may call it silly, but I call it a personal achievement. Year before that, I paid specific attention to the use of flashback, as I was writing a paper comparing and contrasting it to Tony Kaye’s American History X. It’s like an expensive paint job: it changes depending on the angle you view it from.

This playthrough, I’ll be paying closer attention to the “anti-”cinematic qualities of the game. (Finishing one’s degree will do such a thing.) The game is full of moments that feel a little jarring to the player, but which leave the cinephile absolutely befuddled, confused, scared, and nervous. Sure, there’s a climactic incident in the Forgotten Capital (is the statute of limitations lapsed on this spoiler yet?), and it hits people fairly hard; I’m interested in the hard, unnatural cuts and timings around that incident that increase the tension in ways that most people can’t put their fingers on.

This leads me to a question: Which of these elements are produced by flaws and inconsistencies in load times, and which are conscious decisions of style? One issue I’ve had with the academic study of literature and art has been overattribution of intent. That being said, there’s no denying what works and what doesn’t, regardless of whether it was supposed to be there…

My opinion is that events occur, and -then- we go back and try to make sense of them in the context of a narrative, or using further academic reasoning. There’s a famous tracking shot in Citizen Kane where you can see a top hat wiggling on a table. To audiences, it’s an almost unnoticeable detail about an otherwise powerful scene; to film students, it’s a telling effect of the shot itself. Back in those days, zoom lenses didn’t exist, so the only way to create such an effect was to physically move the camera, which required sliding the table into the shot after the camera had passed. Thus, a minor detail can become a significant matter to those who have the right kinds of background knowledge.

There are several things in Final Fantasy VII that just seem… odd, to say the least. Why is there a “ghost” image of Aeris in the church? Why is there a jumping Cait Sith in the Honeybee Inn? The entire flashback sequence in Kalm is filled with cinematic choices that would never occur to a film director, but which make sense (and dramatic effect) in the context of this game. There’s a lot to cover, and I’ve got… twelve days, I think.

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