What does it mean to explore a world?
In a prior review, I discussed and explored my feelings on a world segmented into individual explorable levels, each so tightly-paced and dense in content that the joy of exploration never let up. A lot of collectathons strive to reach this kind of collectible-hunting nirvana, and its part of the DNA that they share with Metroidvanias. Indeed, there exist entire video games genres effectively based around the pure gameplay enjoyment of exploring virtual worlds.
Yet there’s always been a second side to that coin. A world as described above can’t often be described as a breathing one, can it? When every collectible is laid out just to tickle the player’s neurons right, all level design invites you to stay for just as long as is needed, every character created to fill a need, and so on. As pleasant as these worlds may be, its hard to shake the feeling of simply being a vacationer on a tourguide, a hero with a trail of breadcrumbs always guiding them toward the sword in the stone. And for all the faults the game may otherwise have, this is the area in which the original Shenmue truly shines: making you feel part of its distinctly living, breathing world.
After having the scene set by an opening cutscene, new players may realize just how little is given to them in the way of guidance. Navigating Ryo’s house alone can feel daunting, trapped by narrow passages with an extremely unorthodox, slow control scheme. Indeed, Despite an action-packed opening, what you’ll spend the next segment of the game doing can best be described as meandering. And you’re sure to have heard it all before in gaming discourse: Every passerby you see in Shenmue has a name, a personality, a schedule they adhere to, and hobbies and jobs that influence what they tell you. What’s effectively a point-and-click adventure game mixed with occasional fighting game segments turns into something entirely new once you realize just how little the game actually tries to help you in both areas. As Ryo Hazuki, the only things you can truly rely on are a notebook, a pair of shoes, and the roads they tread.
Though not a game with any sort of branching story, it is still one that understands and reacts to every little piece of the narrative, and one that truly wants you to pay attention to those small changes overtime. Just as every NPC has their own life, their dialogue evolves with each little progression made in the story, gradually giving Ryo the chance to hear the thoughts on every character as you approach the story’s dark truths. Yet for as much there is to find in Shenmue’s world, there’s no fast travel, no indication of what doing certain tasks will really achieve, no HUD beyond the clock on your arm and the road that lies ahead. Brimming with secrets, yet not privy to guide you to them: Its a game that, in the most pure form possible, strives to hide its gaminess, and wants you to simply engage with its world without thought to its objective.
That isn’t to say that a greater objective isn’t present, of course. The game tells an engaging mystery as you navigate Ryo from person to person, place to place, learning more about the circumstances of both his fathers death and their family’s place in the world. A lot has been said about Ryo’s stoicness and generally wooden expressiveness, but I don’t believe with any part of me that this was a writing error: The game is as much a story about Ryo solving a mystery as it is him slowly figuring out his place in the world. Ryo is a guy with a mission, yet time and time again during the adventure you’re reminded that he IS just a normal teenager - his classmates worry about him, the locals greet him with a smile and tells him to take care, and always warn him to be careful getting further into the dark world that took his father’s life. Through the slow mundanity of everyday gameplay, you get a lot of time to reflect on these things alongside Ryo as you walk the streets of Dobuita. Ryo really wants to avenge his father, but…everyone is so happy to just have him alive here, why can’t that be enough?
And I think that dilemma, that aspect of Ryo’s character, makes the kind of slow and meandering gameplay fit him so well. There’s such a brilliant clash from day and night in the game, going from visiting all the local residents and asking them about what’s been happening recently, to getting into fights in bars or sneaking into secret warehouses whilst avoiding cops. Much like Ryo’s own life, there’s two sides of the game playing out, one filled with excitement and danger and the other filled with love and tranquility. For as nice as all those action scenes are, and as well directed as the QTE sequences can be…many times I’d wish for them to end, just to be able to step foot in that beautiful little town again.
24 years on from its original release, it really can’t be overstated just how beautiful the original Shenmue still is. The character models sit in that perfect sweet spot between reality and abstraction, appearing as sculptured dolls with enchanting expressionwork, and the world they inhabit is filled with life around every corner. Its hard to not get goosebumps as night falls at 7PM, and get shown some absolutely beautiful shots of the area you’re currently in. The different parts of the world are so lovingly crafted, dense with life, that it becomes second nature to navigate this little world without the need for a map. Shenmue is, in fact, so confident in this that it flat out doesn’t give the player a map, outside of signs placed about scattershot around the world. All of this is topped off with beautifully expressive fighting animations as you engage in combat, with some of the most satisfying hit sounds you’ll ever hear in a game.
There’s something so fascinating about playing a game clearly filled with money and polish around every corner, yet still so confident in its own vision that its willing to completely shrug its shoulders upon being asked where to go next. Beyond the lack of a map, the game obfuscates how to really unlock its new fighting techniques, hiding some away until you’re able to fully utilize its button input. The game lets you, and encourages you to, pick up every single little trinket, open every single drawer, inspect almost every thing you can buy at stores, as Ryo physically picks it up - and never informs you on if this is something worth doing for progression or not. The game lets you buy drinks from vending machines and pick freely between several different flavors, again without ever hinting at its purpose in gameplay. The game features a full gallery of collectible figures, which you obtain simply by playing a gachapon machine with no clear end goal in sight. As said before, engaging with Shenmue is akin to engaging with a game that doesn’t want to be perceived as a game, or rather, like you’re literally stepping into the shoes of a teenager in a world just as confusingly unclear as ours. And sure, much like Ryo, you’ll get newfound determination when an objective is in sight: the Forklift racing segments pit you against 7 other forklift drivers in a makeshift race course and provide tons of adrenaline and excitement, yet… still leaves you unsure of what you’ve truly achieved at the end of each race.
Win or lose, it’s still just…another day at the job. Another safe, regular, uneventful day.
The days go by, and Ryo feels as if he’s slowly inching closer to his goal, but…is that progression really worth it? Like a Ying and Yang, both Shenmue and Ryo simultaneously want to remain leisurely confused in the place they call home, whilst also longing to boldly move forward in the world. In all the game’s calm moments, Ryo remains as focused as ever on hunting down the man who killed his father, consumed by a wish for revenge, and those close to him repeatedly try to tell him just how dark of a path he’s heading down. Yet Ryo stays so laser-focused on this one incident, because the Hazuki clan is the only thing in his life that ever processed to him as giving him purpose. Even with several good friends, a caring adoptive family, a community he cherishes, and eventually a stable job with coworkers he gets along with well, Ryo is just unable to disconnect himself from the clan, even if doing so would lead to a safer, happier life.
And I do genuinely believe there is a metanarrative of sorts here: We as players crave the excitement of fights and action scenes, and may end up more frustrated than at peace with the many times you’re encouraged to simply spend time in Shenmue’s world. Its almost unfathomable to suggest to players today that Shenmue’s lack of excitement is part of its appeal, because so much of what the industry wants is action, drama, excitement, tension, progression, and so on. Shenmue finds so much worth in the mundane, yet Ryo seems to reject it at every chance to pursue a dark truth, one that will undoubtedly make his life worse to bear, just for that sense of closure. And really, everyone wishes for some sort of closure: For instance, during the 24 years since the original game released, Shenmue fans too have waited for for an ending to Ryo’s story, with none in sight even after a kickstarted third game. But beyond that, we wish for closure in our day-to-day lives: To find a job that satisfies our every wish, to find something in life that never stops making us happy, to not keep getting fucked over by the shitty hands life deals us…
When you’re racing, your mind thinks solely of the finish line.
When you’re playing a game, you think solely of the progress made.
When you’re working, you think solely of the deadline.
And when you give yourself a goal, it’s easy to ignore all the beauty life has to offer, just for the sake of achieving it.
It can be hard, damn near impossible at times, to tell yourself to enjoy life for its pointlessness - to smell the roses not for an achievement, but for yourself. Shenmue tells you to relish those moments for as long as you can: To inspect every item, talk to every person, observe every building, listen to every cassette tape, and take as many breaths in its unforgiving, perfectly constructed world as you please. Because the boat to Hong Kong is a one-way ticket - once Ryo leaves, it’s too late for regrets.
[Playtime: ???]
[Key Word: Purpose]
In a prior review, I discussed and explored my feelings on a world segmented into individual explorable levels, each so tightly-paced and dense in content that the joy of exploration never let up. A lot of collectathons strive to reach this kind of collectible-hunting nirvana, and its part of the DNA that they share with Metroidvanias. Indeed, there exist entire video games genres effectively based around the pure gameplay enjoyment of exploring virtual worlds.
Yet there’s always been a second side to that coin. A world as described above can’t often be described as a breathing one, can it? When every collectible is laid out just to tickle the player’s neurons right, all level design invites you to stay for just as long as is needed, every character created to fill a need, and so on. As pleasant as these worlds may be, its hard to shake the feeling of simply being a vacationer on a tourguide, a hero with a trail of breadcrumbs always guiding them toward the sword in the stone. And for all the faults the game may otherwise have, this is the area in which the original Shenmue truly shines: making you feel part of its distinctly living, breathing world.
After having the scene set by an opening cutscene, new players may realize just how little is given to them in the way of guidance. Navigating Ryo’s house alone can feel daunting, trapped by narrow passages with an extremely unorthodox, slow control scheme. Indeed, Despite an action-packed opening, what you’ll spend the next segment of the game doing can best be described as meandering. And you’re sure to have heard it all before in gaming discourse: Every passerby you see in Shenmue has a name, a personality, a schedule they adhere to, and hobbies and jobs that influence what they tell you. What’s effectively a point-and-click adventure game mixed with occasional fighting game segments turns into something entirely new once you realize just how little the game actually tries to help you in both areas. As Ryo Hazuki, the only things you can truly rely on are a notebook, a pair of shoes, and the roads they tread.
Though not a game with any sort of branching story, it is still one that understands and reacts to every little piece of the narrative, and one that truly wants you to pay attention to those small changes overtime. Just as every NPC has their own life, their dialogue evolves with each little progression made in the story, gradually giving Ryo the chance to hear the thoughts on every character as you approach the story’s dark truths. Yet for as much there is to find in Shenmue’s world, there’s no fast travel, no indication of what doing certain tasks will really achieve, no HUD beyond the clock on your arm and the road that lies ahead. Brimming with secrets, yet not privy to guide you to them: Its a game that, in the most pure form possible, strives to hide its gaminess, and wants you to simply engage with its world without thought to its objective.
That isn’t to say that a greater objective isn’t present, of course. The game tells an engaging mystery as you navigate Ryo from person to person, place to place, learning more about the circumstances of both his fathers death and their family’s place in the world. A lot has been said about Ryo’s stoicness and generally wooden expressiveness, but I don’t believe with any part of me that this was a writing error: The game is as much a story about Ryo solving a mystery as it is him slowly figuring out his place in the world. Ryo is a guy with a mission, yet time and time again during the adventure you’re reminded that he IS just a normal teenager - his classmates worry about him, the locals greet him with a smile and tells him to take care, and always warn him to be careful getting further into the dark world that took his father’s life. Through the slow mundanity of everyday gameplay, you get a lot of time to reflect on these things alongside Ryo as you walk the streets of Dobuita. Ryo really wants to avenge his father, but…everyone is so happy to just have him alive here, why can’t that be enough?
And I think that dilemma, that aspect of Ryo’s character, makes the kind of slow and meandering gameplay fit him so well. There’s such a brilliant clash from day and night in the game, going from visiting all the local residents and asking them about what’s been happening recently, to getting into fights in bars or sneaking into secret warehouses whilst avoiding cops. Much like Ryo’s own life, there’s two sides of the game playing out, one filled with excitement and danger and the other filled with love and tranquility. For as nice as all those action scenes are, and as well directed as the QTE sequences can be…many times I’d wish for them to end, just to be able to step foot in that beautiful little town again.
24 years on from its original release, it really can’t be overstated just how beautiful the original Shenmue still is. The character models sit in that perfect sweet spot between reality and abstraction, appearing as sculptured dolls with enchanting expressionwork, and the world they inhabit is filled with life around every corner. Its hard to not get goosebumps as night falls at 7PM, and get shown some absolutely beautiful shots of the area you’re currently in. The different parts of the world are so lovingly crafted, dense with life, that it becomes second nature to navigate this little world without the need for a map. Shenmue is, in fact, so confident in this that it flat out doesn’t give the player a map, outside of signs placed about scattershot around the world. All of this is topped off with beautifully expressive fighting animations as you engage in combat, with some of the most satisfying hit sounds you’ll ever hear in a game.
There’s something so fascinating about playing a game clearly filled with money and polish around every corner, yet still so confident in its own vision that its willing to completely shrug its shoulders upon being asked where to go next. Beyond the lack of a map, the game obfuscates how to really unlock its new fighting techniques, hiding some away until you’re able to fully utilize its button input. The game lets you, and encourages you to, pick up every single little trinket, open every single drawer, inspect almost every thing you can buy at stores, as Ryo physically picks it up - and never informs you on if this is something worth doing for progression or not. The game lets you buy drinks from vending machines and pick freely between several different flavors, again without ever hinting at its purpose in gameplay. The game features a full gallery of collectible figures, which you obtain simply by playing a gachapon machine with no clear end goal in sight. As said before, engaging with Shenmue is akin to engaging with a game that doesn’t want to be perceived as a game, or rather, like you’re literally stepping into the shoes of a teenager in a world just as confusingly unclear as ours. And sure, much like Ryo, you’ll get newfound determination when an objective is in sight: the Forklift racing segments pit you against 7 other forklift drivers in a makeshift race course and provide tons of adrenaline and excitement, yet… still leaves you unsure of what you’ve truly achieved at the end of each race.
Win or lose, it’s still just…another day at the job. Another safe, regular, uneventful day.
The days go by, and Ryo feels as if he’s slowly inching closer to his goal, but…is that progression really worth it? Like a Ying and Yang, both Shenmue and Ryo simultaneously want to remain leisurely confused in the place they call home, whilst also longing to boldly move forward in the world. In all the game’s calm moments, Ryo remains as focused as ever on hunting down the man who killed his father, consumed by a wish for revenge, and those close to him repeatedly try to tell him just how dark of a path he’s heading down. Yet Ryo stays so laser-focused on this one incident, because the Hazuki clan is the only thing in his life that ever processed to him as giving him purpose. Even with several good friends, a caring adoptive family, a community he cherishes, and eventually a stable job with coworkers he gets along with well, Ryo is just unable to disconnect himself from the clan, even if doing so would lead to a safer, happier life.
And I do genuinely believe there is a metanarrative of sorts here: We as players crave the excitement of fights and action scenes, and may end up more frustrated than at peace with the many times you’re encouraged to simply spend time in Shenmue’s world. Its almost unfathomable to suggest to players today that Shenmue’s lack of excitement is part of its appeal, because so much of what the industry wants is action, drama, excitement, tension, progression, and so on. Shenmue finds so much worth in the mundane, yet Ryo seems to reject it at every chance to pursue a dark truth, one that will undoubtedly make his life worse to bear, just for that sense of closure. And really, everyone wishes for some sort of closure: For instance, during the 24 years since the original game released, Shenmue fans too have waited for for an ending to Ryo’s story, with none in sight even after a kickstarted third game. But beyond that, we wish for closure in our day-to-day lives: To find a job that satisfies our every wish, to find something in life that never stops making us happy, to not keep getting fucked over by the shitty hands life deals us…
When you’re racing, your mind thinks solely of the finish line.
When you’re playing a game, you think solely of the progress made.
When you’re working, you think solely of the deadline.
And when you give yourself a goal, it’s easy to ignore all the beauty life has to offer, just for the sake of achieving it.
It can be hard, damn near impossible at times, to tell yourself to enjoy life for its pointlessness - to smell the roses not for an achievement, but for yourself. Shenmue tells you to relish those moments for as long as you can: To inspect every item, talk to every person, observe every building, listen to every cassette tape, and take as many breaths in its unforgiving, perfectly constructed world as you please. Because the boat to Hong Kong is a one-way ticket - once Ryo leaves, it’s too late for regrets.
[Playtime: ???]
[Key Word: Purpose]
2 Comments
Yo this is pretty dope, idk how y’all do the inserting link into words text stuff but I’m impressed. Like your way with words too!
FrostyTSS
9 months ago
also shenmue 3 when