That said, Arc Rise Fantasia is a fairly standard JRPG. Brooding protagonist with oversized sword, quiet, sheltered healer girl, semi-fantasy setting, colorful character designs, it’s all there. And it’s better than the haters would lead you to believe.

Congratulations! You’ve chosen to actually read this review, which means at least you’re morbidly curious enough to find out why I spoke somewhat highly of this game. The truth is, that sense of inquiry alone qualifies you to potentially enjoy Arc Rise Fantasia. If you’re not constantly assessing the situation, trying to make sense of what’s going on, and occasionally finding your understanding to be invalid or subverted, then you’re just going to have a standard JRPG on your hands. And you’ll complain that it’s a standard JRPG, because you’re engaging it on much too passive a level.

I realize I’ve become known for describing things in terms of other things, so for those of you who can keep up, here goes: A plot that slams together the political intrigue of Final Fantasy Tactics and the “beloved enemy” complex of Radiata Stories, combined with the “parallel-party” concept from Mana Khemia 2, with a semi-tactical battle system that operates like Last Rebellion meets Star Ocean (but turn-based) and weapon customization that melds elements from Final Fantasy IX and Mega Man Battle Network 3. Also, Moonraker and Independence Day, for whatever reason. Don’t scoff, it works. Trust me.

Got all that? Good. It’s part of the curse of being media-savvy; you begin to realize there are really very few “original” ideas, just permutations of what’s been done before. Mana Khemia was one such permutation, and it was fantastic.

Don’t waste your money on the Blackjack or Slots, just go straight for Poker.

Let’s take it from the top. You’ve got a Protagonist, Quiet Healer, Suave Thief, Stoic Swordsman, Gun Bunny, and Precocious 12-year-old. You begin as a mercenary, but after being cornered in a strange dungeon/lighthouse/power station… thing… the dragon-thing what inhabits said facility grants you his power under terms and conditions that you’re unprepared to contest, or even parse at the time. After skipping past the EULA (and stomping the adversary), you learn that said mystical being was being kept there as an energy source for the Empire, so your epic-moment-of-power-up is now causing brownouts all over the place. The prince of the empire (not the one on your team) demands that you infiltrate a rival nation and knock out their equipment what’s been hampering the Empire’s use of some natural Lifestream-like fuel supply. And then your adoptive sister…

Y’know what? I’m gonna stop it there. Suffice it to say we were about to get into rather spoiler-ish territory, and the story is of sufficient quality that I’d feel very, very bad about it. Playing through Arc Rise Fantasia made me recall some of the better stories I’d played through… specifically those mentioned before, Final Fantasy Tactics and Radiata Stories. I reiterate my previous statement, though: this is the kind of game that welcomes your speculation.

And now for something completely different: Gameplay. In standard RPG form, you have armor, footwear, and accessories to upgrade, fiddle with, and obsess over throughout the course of the game. Weapons, though, work a little differently. Each weapon contains within it a 4×4 grid, several cells of which will be covered with gem-looking things. Some of these, in black, are intrinsic to that particular weapon and cannot be moved; the rest can be manipulated, slid, removed, or stored for later use. The catch is that said grid starts at 3×3, concealing and locking down certain elements and limiting the modifications that can be made… until a number of weapon points are obtained. As WPs are accrued, the weapon levels up, (usually) first expanding the grid to 3×4, then unlocking the onboard gem for removal/placement on another weapon, then finally expanding to the full 4×4 grid. (Further, if a fully unlocked weapon’s grid is completely filled with gems, the weapon will exhibit another “secret” trait/bonus/upgrade.)

And, yes, you can equip a can of insecticide.

That’s great and fun to fiddle with, but what do you do with those weapons? Why, you beat up local irrationally-hostile wildlife, of course! (And undead, and magical constructs, and elementals, and whatnot.) Arc Rise Fantasia continues the trend of using Action Points to limit your choices on a particular turn. Each “round” of combat restores your AP by a set amount, while some unused AP may roll over to the next round if unspent. Each character contributes to the starting and maximum AP of the party, but during combat no distinction is made as to whose AP is whose. That said, three people will each carry out one attack much faster than one person will carry out three attacks… at least until chain attacks become available. A timeline at the bottom of the screen informs you of the foes’ tactics, which foes are acting when, and when your actions will occur in relation to theirs.

It’s a lot of information. A heck of a lot of information. As such, particularly epic boss battles – and you’ll have a difficult time finding a boss fight here that isn’t a knock-down, drag-out affair – can quickly become a chess match, as you plan each move more carefully than the last, dissect the opponents’ strategy, and (quite often) have your butt handed to you and consider how best to alter your weapons to give yourself a better chance. Most folks don’t like JRPGs because of the demand for level grinding; Arc Rise Fantasia places less emphasis on said grinding and more on trial-and-error problem solving. (Until you face the last boss some 13 levels too early and just get pummeled. Oh well.)

Also of note is the magic system, a very open-ended model that takes the old Dungeons and Dragons/Final Fantasy design and runs with it. Each character has an “orb” into which gems are placed; the strength and position of the gems determines that character’s usable magic. In combat, said spells can be altered into stronger forms by synchronizing casts between party members, or by the presence of a crystal of the appropriate element on the field, or (if in a pinch) having the same character cast the same spell twice in succession. This latter tactic, while effective, can quickly create problems as each character is limited to 9 casts at any given spell level.

All right, enough pussyfooting around. Let’s get to the sound. Yes, the Yasunori Mitsuda music is great, if a little forgettable (except perhaps for the final dungeon, with that big abstract bassline), but the vocal work… dear Imaginal, Real, Easa, whichever god you wish, it’s just Capital-B-Like-It’s-Not-Thriller Bad. And it’s heartbreaking because the one voice that stuck out at me, Liam O’Brien as Prince Alf, could’ve been so much better. To go from great performances – Akihiko in Persona 3, Goto in Mana Khemia 2 – to this? It’s not that the localization is bad, per se; some of the mid-combat banter seems so well-written and timely… but the performances just seem… wooden, like the actors themselves are as jaded on JRPGs as the rest of the industry seems to be.

So, of course, there’s no Japanese language option. (Else I would’ve used it. Heck, I spent several hours with the vocal effects muted.) I don’t think I’m quite happy with this, one of the great advancements of the sixth console generation (read: the PS2), being thrown to the wayside.

It pains me. And I know that folks will take just that, just the gripe about the vocal work, to the bank and continue their “lolJapan” stance. And it pains me. The rest of the mechanics of the game, the rest of the storyline, the rest of the character interactions are so good, so much so that I expect some will write me off as some weeaboo shill, insisting that these tired JRPGs are still good. And it pains me. Because they still are.

Arc Rise Fantasia seems just cliche enough to scare off those who wouldn’t give it a fair shake anyway, while pleasantly surprising anyone with the resolve to get 10 hours in. It’s almost as if it’s saying, “Yeah, haters gonna hate, but wait and see what’s next.” I did, and I feel better for it. You can too.

Played to completion on a retail copy. This one’s for Niko.

Our session began with Mr. Tabata demonstrating a build of the game for us, using a PSP rigged up to a television at the end of the table. Parasite Eve itself is, at its core, a very unique experience amongst RPGs; rather than a post-apocalyptic wasteland or a fantasy kingdom, part of the magic of the franchise is its portrayal of New York City, Right About Today. That’s a very powerful tool in the “Horror-Game” genre, and part of what made the first iteration of the series a breakout hit back in ’98.

Admittedly, the first moments of the demonstration looked to be a more-or-less standard squadron-based battle in the streets of NYC, though some evil-looking towery things were in the background and the hostiles seemed not entirely human.  Aya swapped through guns (authentic in this case, though we were informed that more fantastic arms would be appearing as well),  moved about the battlefield, and received support from her comrades in arms. Not exactly what I was expecting from a Parasite Eve title…

… and then she jumped into another guy’s body.

The four dull thuds heard shortly thereafter were the jaws of Jordan, myself, and the gentlemen from IGN and Game Informer hitting the conference-room table. She just… jumped… into a guy. Target guy then took on the distinguishing characteristics of Aya Brea – short blonde hair, slender figure, breasts. We were informed that the change was more a representation of the “will” of Aya moving from one unit to the next in the combat.

She just… jumped into a guy.

This is the “Overdive” system. (No bonus points if you see what they did there.) There is an unsettling parallel between what we, as gamers, are familiar with doing – controlling largescale conflicts by possessing and micromanaging strategic units – and what the Aya character can now do. It’s a level of meta-consciousness that calls into question the very nature of the game-gamer paradigm.

Unsettling on a unique level. Our old friend Parasite Eve returns.

Some rationality remains – inventory remains static between soldiers, and when they die, they stay that way (though Aya can jump out of a fresh corpse if the player is quick enough). The enemies are designed to be tough, to make the player exercise full control of the Overdive system and the associated strategies. The scenery is meant to evoke familiarity with the environment, but at the same time horrify the player by defiling the great bastion of modern culture that is New York City. (See also: Men in Black, Ghostbusters, Sakura Wars: So Long My Love.)

The demonstration ended with the acknowledgment of Mr. Kamikokuryo’s art department, and their extensive experience with HD content (Final Fantasy XIII, in particular). The artistic direction and graphical quality are utmost priorities for The Third Birthday, and the evocative cityscapes and psychedelic Overdive effects attest to their skill.

Mr. Tabata then opened the floor to questions. When asked how newcomers to the Parasite Eve series would take to the title, he expressed the hope that they’d come to appreciate it on its own merits. The backstory, though helpful, won’t be necessary to appreciate The Third Birthday, though callbacks, references, and easter eggs may be apparent to those with an understanding of the games.

The topic of the game’s origins and original destination – cellphones – arose. Mr. Tabata gave a number of reasons for the move to the PSP, citing a desire for a higher-spec, higher-quality product; a more global appeal (as compatible cellphone networks aren’t yet available in many regions), and the platform’s compatability with the project’s intended budget and scope. The development team felt that the PSP would provide the best possible combination of these factors, and hope that this title will re-energize the Parasite Eve franchise. Certainly, the ability to portray Aya more realistically (both in terms of graphics and character) will work to these ends.

The next questions centered on the length of the game experience. While the overall length of the game was still in question, Mr. Tabata indicated that each combat engagement would be a significant tactical affair, likely in excess of 20-30 minutes. While no ad-hoc multiplayer is in store at this time, the developers hinted that a successful PSP release may, in turn, lead to future console iterations where such online elements may arise.

Jordan and I would like to thank Mr. Tabata and Mr. Kamikokuryo, as well as the whole Square Enix E3 staff, for this opportunity. Be sure to check RandomNPC for The Third Birthday news and updates! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to Overdive out of this computer chair and into bed.

Final Fantasy: 4 Warriors of Light for Nintendo DS, published by Square Enix this October 5th. The demo seemed to believe “4WoL” meant “the 4th wall,” which they disregarded in favor of getting the player familiar with the mechanics. The design is simple and cute, but the experience doesn’t skimp on depth; 24 hats for 24 jobs, each upgradable (up to three times) for new abilities and skills. Battle uses classic turn-based style with the en vogue AP mechanics.

Back later with more coverage, including details on the new Parasite Eve experience, The Third Birthday!

Arc Rise Fantasia, developed by Marvelous and published by Ignition for Wii, shipping 7/10. A deep RPG with buckets of plot, and turn-based combat with hints of newer-style tactical/positional and AP-based elements. Internal encyclopedia function looks like it’ll be a godsend, as the game world is steeped in weird fantasy terminology and political intrigue.

Magic: the Gathering Tactics, by Sony Online Entertainment Denver, Fall ’10 on PC and later coming to PSN. The card-game staple returns to the forefront, with tactical combat this time! Starting with their Planeswalker, players summon classic M:tG creatures and sling spells they collect and trade through microtransactions. The character models are very rich and detailed, in line with the series’ artistic roots.

No discipline is flawless. At one level or another, we are all human, defective, stained with the deepest seeds of doubt and regret, shame and anger. But we can try, dammit. We can try. And this game, despite some technical flaws, tries. Dammit.

Nippon-Ichi have gone out on a limb in their attempt to bring this, the fifth installment in the Sakura Taisen series, to American audiences. As Lt. Shinjiro Taiga, nephew of… some guy from the earlier games, you’re sent to a very Steampunky 1928 New York City to assist in the operations of the Star Division. Upon arrival…

Y’know, I could go into more of the plot here, but frankly the game does it better than I ever could. There’s a lot of plot. This is, after all, very solidly in the “visual novel” genre. Most of the time. Suffice it to say, this particular imagining of 1928 New York has no difficulty rationalizing giant robots, air travel, cellular telecommunications, or digital photography. Soon you’re shooting enemy mecha out of the sky and restoring peace to the city after a host of demonic attacks.

Part giant-robot tactical combat sim…

Supporting you in these missions are the members of the New York Combat Revue, a cleverly-concealed fighting force in the guise of a Broadway theater troupe. Your interactions with these members, all of them lovely young women (we think), are facilitated by a series of multiple-choice text responses… most of the time. In a unique twist, your responses are timed; woe betide the indecisive. Or not. Timing out is always an option, and can lead to its own sequences of events. While the new-standard Large Character Shots above said boxes are well-rendered in their own right, Sakura Wars isn’t afraid to mix it up every once in a while by including lip-flap animation on what would normally be an static insert image. It’s a refreshing change of pace, and certainly serves to develop what would be standard RPG fare into something much more… animated, for lack of a better word.

Interspersed with those standard text responses are innovations such as the Analog response box, where you’re given one sentiment to reply with, but can vary its emphasis from a glorious battle cry to a low whisper. Also featuring in more skill-intensive sections of the narrative are events which challenge the player to accomplish a series of button presses or rotations in a set time, the success of which determines Shin’s aptitude at the task. All these serve to branch the story out in true visual-novel fashion, and to influence the good graces of the ladies on your team.

Now, in a normal dating sim, that’d be the crux of the mechanics. You make choices, influence people, and hope to date one of them. However, introduce giant robots into the mix, and you get to have more fun. The relationships you build influence the course of battle, as friendlier pairs team up for more effective Joint Attacks, and can sometimes negate enemy offensives. As such, it’s not enough for you to manage Shin Protagonist’s image and standing in the group, you must also concern yourself with the intrapersonal dynamics of the team, as well. Likewise, performance in combat does influence opinion outside of combat; nothing says “Let’s be friends!” like a timely heal or cooperative assault.

Part dating-sim-style visual novel. All New York.

I originally found the combat to be rather hand-wavey and simple, having already familiarized myself with much more in-depth offerings like the Front Mission series. While the fight scenes can be a bit of a cakewalk in the early game, by the last couple chapters it becomes crucial to use every bit of firepower in your arsenal. Further, the flavor of the game changes significantly between the terrestrial and aerial combat encounters, while some fights even hybridize the two, offering multiple fronts for a single operation. This game changed my mind. I underestimated it, I paid for my hubris, and I was rewarded with an enjoyable tactical experience.

That said, the combat shows a number of the technical flaws which keep Sakura Wars from achieving greatness. In particularly explosive scenes – and, for that matter, in a couple parts of the game outside of combat – the stereo sound has holes you could drive a giant robot of death through. Occasionally, your attacks will land completely silently. (This tends to occur most commonly in aerial skirmishes.) Further, particularly in later boss attacks, the video can lag quite horribly, causing massive A/V sync issues and, in particularly egregious cases, can leave your Wiimote whirring provocatively for 10 seconds at a time, with absolutely nothing happening on the screen. Even in the “adventure” segments of the game, sometimes a vocal segment will be completely lost, drowned out by overzealous background music.

It’s not bad background music, mind. Lots of smooth, slow jazz, with Japanese influences in just the right places. (Though the gestalt may be a little MIDI-heavy for a period piece.) And the English dub, courtesy of our friends over at Bang-Zoom, is capable, if a bit overacted at times. (It was refreshing to hear a Texan accent that was not being used to approximate Kansai dialect.) The character who sounded like a Mexican 9-year-old straight off of Sesame Street… was meant to sound like a Mexican 9-year-old. Could this be an echo of the uncanny valley? One immediately notices how “off” the lip-flaps in the more cinematic shots… but, were this anime, would we really notice?

That brings us to the crux of it. The “game,” if one can call it that, is much better understood as a 7-episode anime series, with all the schmaltzy plot, cheesy musical numbers, and feel-good endings one would expect from an early-to-mid-90′s giant robot show. The difference is that you, Joe McPlayer, get to direct sections of the character development, and conduct the battle segments as you see fit.

… That’s the mechanical side of it, at least. However, there’s a large part of this game that isn’t mechanical at all. Perhaps because of the limited “gameplay,” a huge part of this game is about understanding the stories of these people, coming together in this city. I realize it’s rather divorced from what most people are looking for in something that purports to be a tactical RPG… but in this case, it’s the truth. This isn’t so much a game with a story, it’s a story with game-like mechanics. If you’re just looking for the challenge, you’re going to end up missing what is, in truth, a fantastic narrative, one which changes as you play it and makes you want to go back and try things again… and again. It’s been murder on me to actually try to get this review out in a timely fashion; I keep wanting to go back and play one more scenario.

There’s a lot of joy in this game. There has to be. It’s a game about saving New York, using giant robots and the power of musical theater. It’s told in the style of admittedly-retro anime. It’s about as campy as you can possibly get without attracting the ire of Fred Phelps. (Well, aside from the crossdressing scenes. Move over, Miss Cloud! Peppermint’s taking over New York!) This game manages to be greater than the sum of its parts by achieving a truly harmonic balance. Perhaps it’s because it’s designed, much like the theater troupe it portrays, to lift hearts and weary spirits.

To quote Winston Zeddemore in Ghostbusters, exclaiming from the top of Central Park West after banishing Zuul and defeating the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man…

“I love this town!”

Played to completion using a copy provided by the publisher.

Last Rebellion flew completely under my radar.

I’d expected my March gaming revelry to mostly consist of Pokemon NewHotness and Sakura Wars: We Finally Released One In English. Little did I expect to be issued a copy of Last Rebellion, a game for a platform I don’t actually own. So, three favors and a round of Chinese food later, I’d procured a PS3 on which to test-drive this latest NISA release. (And two smart-aleck copilots, playing Crow and Tom to my Joel.)

… I’ll level with you. I’ve written, deleted, rewritten, revised, and rerewritten the two paragraphs that should go here. I can’t find the right tone. This game has left me torn. So, in an attempt to balance the two sides of my head and the multitudes of opinions contained therein, I will write two reviews. One filled with vitriol, and one filled with happiness and ponies. That’s what this game left me with. Enjoy.

Last Rem… Erm. Rebellion. I forgot which one this was.

Last Rebellion feels like a brazen attempt to woo the western audiences with a turn-based JRPG, which seems as sensible as wooing the cute girl at the laundromat with a discussion about how many followers you have on your Youtube channel in which you crush cans against your head. There’s a disconnect here, and most people can find it in a heartbeat. But no matter, you’re gonna pay $50 for this disc, so you might as well dive into the pity headfirst.

In the kingdom of INTERCHANGEABLE, two gods, INTERCHANGEABLE and INTERCHANGEABLE, representing Death and Life (respectively), are out of balance. It falls upon you, INTERCHANGEABLE, to fix things, because your dad’s the king and there’s also this hot girl, or something. Frankly, my eyes glazed over at the third Generic Fantasy name and never really got better. The plot of this game is just one huge Cliche Katamari, so dense with tired story elements and typical RPG conventions that even the characters themselves redline the ERPM (eye-rolls per minute) gauge. In a better game, a little bit of Genre Savvy is welcome and can help to break the 4th wall. This game, instead, chooses to funnel any poignant sarcasm or intelligent postmodern analysis into yet-more Stereotypical-Protagonist-Angst fuel.

So you have to slay your Necromancer brother, discover the reason for the disappearance of these girls, find the eccentric inventor, there’s discussion about a civil war in a country you never actually get to visit… Honestly, if you’re going to design for a game that non-JRPG fans might be interested in, could you do any more wrong than this? You’re not going to get the hooks in ‘em far enough to justify the one or two plot twists that kinda subvert the player’s expectations. (Only to replace them with completely new, tired, overdone expectations that fit the new worldview.) I don’t think I wouldn’t have been able to make it through this yawn-fest without turning it into a Mystery Videogame Theater experience. The dialogue is painful, every emotion can be predicted scenes in advance, the soundtrack listing consists of “Ominous Drumbeat Over Creepy Sounds” repeated for every track (except the final, hidden entry: “I Thought You Said There Wasn’t Any Japanese In This”), and the monster designs can, in some cases, differ by what seems to be two points of light or shade. (Because in an ecosystem where members of a species are completely identical, of course the one that’s 37% grey is wildly different from its 39% grey cousins.)

And the animation? NONE. Outside of the main gameplay engine, absolutely every dialogue is done with still-frame paintings, panned around or spun or whatever to make folks think that there’s a little more effort here. And even the art style begins to grate after a while. Does Mr. Angsty even have lips? What obsession do these people have with hoodies? Humanity is never meant to know.

I’d say this was phoned-in, but that’d be a disservice to Japan’s telecommunications superiority. I can’t think of a more un-memorable plot, but that’s kind of the point. I just want it to go away.

Hopefully not the Last Rebellion

I’ll admit, the plot was trash. Though occasionally funny, the rampant cynicism makes Baby Conan O’Brien cry. But no matter. This game needs only one thing to justify its existence: the mechanics. In most JRPGs, multi-segmented enemies are the domain of final-bosses ONLY. What body parts does a slime have, anyway, to require such dissection?

Last Rebellion‘s response: “Body, left eye, right eye, grin, stalk.” Five points. Because it’s that detailed. Every mob, no matter how trivial, has between six and ten distinct body parts. Every mob, no matter how trivial, has an order to those parts, a prescribed battle-plan that the wary adventurer is wise to discover through trial, error, and deductive logic.

Man. I love games like that. I actually get to think! During battles! Not just mashing a button to attack, there’s a reason behind this! Landing blows in the correct order serves dual purposes: it increases a combo count, which in turn yields bonus EXP, and it increases the duration of the stamps placed upon that body part. Each appendage that can be targeted has its own defense value; any particularly weak spots are marked in red to indicate that they will trigger a powered-up counterattack if struck out-of-order. So do you include these danger zones in your first couple encounters with a new mob? Do you risk it, or do you attack everything else, doing less damage but sparing you the counterattacks? It’s exactly this strategy that makes Last Rebellion unique among most JRPGs. In other titles, you might encounter this scenario once per game, in one particular boss fight. Here, such deduction must be applied to every troll, skink, cyclops, and chicken.

It also helps that every round, you may attack as many body parts as you like for 1 Combo Point per hit. 10 parts on a mob? Pony up 10CP, and you’re hitting it 10 times that round. 10 parts on each of 5 mobs? 50CP, and that’s 50 melee attacks that turn. And that’s 50 stamps you’ve just laid down.

“Wait,” I hear you say. “Stamps? The hell does the Postal Service have to do with this game?” No, no, no. Stamps are what make magic work. Think of them as targeting points for every offensive spell you cast; any given cast of a spell will, for the same flat MP cost, target every “stamp” on a mob. So, if this troll has one stamp on its head, a 60MP cast of Thunderbolt (L5) will hit that stamp. If the same troll has a stamp on every one of its 10 appendages, that same 60MP hits the troll 10 times. 10 stamps on each of five trolls? That’s 50 Thunderbolts, all for 60MP. Stamps wear off after time, though, necessitating melee attacks to keep the magic working. Stamps placed out of order last for two turns, those in correct order last for four, and critical hits land a five-turn stamp. Stamps stack if repeatedly attacked, and the longer a stamp’s duration, the more effective the magic that hits it.

It’s a strange version of synergy, balancing physical beatings with CP use and using magic to fill in the rest. Each turn, you get two actions, one from each of Angst Man and Plot Girl. (They have real names, but one’s a number anyway and this is funnier.) In keeping with standard RPG expectations, he’s the physical power and she’s the magical maven, though either can use any magic so far learned. The only other difference between them is in their special abilities: Nine (I told you he had a real name!) can absorb MP from downed foes, while Aisha’s (She does, too!) ability removes downed foes from the battlefield by converting them into HP.

The two-action-per-round limit may seem stifling, but Last Rebellion‘s strength is in its scaling. The game feels well-balanced from start to finish, with no real pushover battles but nothing that’s by any means “cheap” either. The HP/MP regaining techniques intrinsic to the duo are a great way to keep the game rolling without being knee-deep in curative items or restoration points while at the same time keeping the player on a knife’s edge. Further, HP or MP (depending on which half of said duo is active) is slowly regained while maneuvering through the dungeons, dungeons, and dungeons which form the bulk of the game.

(Further, in one thing I rarely get to comment on… the trophies may be the greatest ever created. A silver trophy entitled “Congrats, You Beat Up a Little Girl?” Who wouldn’t be envious of that?)

These are… really awesome designs and features. I can only hope that these words what I’ve written convey some of the exhilaration I felt as I maneuvered my way through this combat system. It’s amazing. It’s thought-provoking. It synergizes logical experimentation and turn management with tried-and-true RPG elements and mainstays. It’s set the bar high for every other game I’m going to play this year.

The plot was just kinda… yeah.

All Together Now

Nothing’s right; I’m torn. This is a game I want to give a 5/10, if only because the plot merits a -2/10 and the mechanics a 12/10. I suppose I can give it a little boost, though, in that there’s a certain… shared sufffering, I wanna say? Shared suffering between the player and the characters living out this mess. You don’t really connect on a personal level to these creations, but you do feel sorry for them. On the other hand, they get to pull off really shiny things when they’re not delivering painful exposition or overdramatized line readings. On the other other hand… GYAARG. Never before have I dealt with a game that swings from abysmal to glorious so swiftly or so often. Some folks don’t really “get” the Orwellian notion of Doublethink. Let me lay it out for you:

PLOT DOUBLEPLUSUNGOOD. GAMEPLAY DOUBLEPLUSGOOD. WE ARE THE DEAD.

BUT WE’RE STILL ALIVE.

KINDA.

Played to completion using a copy provided by the publisher.

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.