"I believe that if you don't forget the sadness of this moment, we'll always be together"

The first Klonoa game was a cute fantasy adventure set in the realm of dreams with a plot which may at first seem standard but then evolves into suspicious plot twists with the fact the protagonist's grandfather claims he's known him for very little time; that the villain, an embodiment of nightmares, feels rejected while he says they allow something from another realm in the kingdom of Phantomile instead. And the big revelation of all, that the friend you have been tagging all along with just used you to battle the impending menace to his kingdom and made up your memories to go along in that lie.

The videogame players escape into a game and use it to mold it to their own fullfilling fantasy, right? Not in Klonoa. As if you were dreaming, you are just trapped in a narrative you can only have so much control of, and where the stuff in it makes of you not only THEIR escape, but also THEIR effective weapon against THEIR reality. And then they were planning to dispose of you afterwards just like you end up a game and then go on to play another one, the memories never as impactful as when you were experiencing your time with the work.

Klonoa 2 follows this theme of forgetting and disposing telling the infinitely more abstract story of a new kingdom, Lunatea, which is divided according to four states of mind: Tranquility, Joy, Dischord and Indecision. Those are the emotions its inhabitants had already got hold of. But they forgot one important emotion: the kingdom of Sorrow, a desolated place got collectively buried underground far away and its king, a characther who in design is reminiscent of the protagonist, felt betrayed for centuries, never got over it, and wants to fill the world he considers sinful with his only purpose of existence.

And a sinful world Lunatea definitely is. The fours kingdoms may represent their respective emotions, but don't balance them out with the internal sadness that is necessary to succesfully thrive. The kingdom of Tranquility needs to be so tranquil the people in it strive to be better but suffer psychological pressure in their attempt to be the next representative of their goddess. The kingdom of Joy is so joyful the inhabitants live in constant procrastination and never do anything more with their lives than spend it in amusement parks. The kingdom of Dischord is so dischordant they live in constant civil war which results in them destroying the physical place they live in. Finally, the kingdom of Indecision is so indecisive they only admire memories and don't want anyone else to make things move forward.

The game does feel more shounen anime like in its characthers and story progression, which is sad to see given how touching the original game was, but in its place, it holds an allegory of mental health that is really inventive.

In terms of presentation, the jump from the PS1 to PS2 allowed for more lavish and detailed backgrounds, even if that means the levels are often recycled to make the most out of the time spent on making them. Despite not contributing to the main theme of the game, the Ark looks freaking spectacular for a 2001 videogame; and the Kingdom of Sorrow reminds me of the final area of Dark Souls, a decrepit and enormous construction lost to time, where its unhabited buildings in a touch of surrealism still have couches in their balconies, to remind the player people once lived in there, admiring the constant sunsets and sorrowfully longing for the one that would happen the following day.

https://youtu.be/zzSnLR0KGH4

At the end of the story, though, being conquered by sorrow and left in total stagnation is also not right. Klonoa never metions his adventure with Huepow, he probably forgot him just like we forget the things we did when we dreamed. But now, after the time he spent with the new friends of this game, he seems to have matured. Understanding his path as a dream traveler, he accepts the sadness involved in parting ways with them, and asks them to do the same.

Because sadness is an essential part of the emotional experience, maybe not the one you look forward to the most, maybe not one that should encapsulate the rest. But something that, if we overcome it, makes us stronger.