Far and away the most egregiously misguided attempt at myth-making in games history. This isn't the worst game ever. It's not the weirdest game ever. It is not the 'first American produced visual novel.' Limited Run Games seems content to simply upend truth and provenance to push a valueless narrative. The 'so bad it's good' shtick serves only to lessen the importance of early multimedia CD-ROM software, and drenching it in WordArt and clip art imparts the notion that this digital heritage was low class, low brow, low effort, and altogether primitive.

This repackaging of an overlong workplace sexual harassment/rape joke is altogether uncomfortable at best. Further problematising this, accompanying merch is resplendent with Edward J. Fasulo's bare chest despite him seemingly wanting nothing to do with the project. We've got industry veterans and games historians talking up the importance of digital detritus alongside YouTubers and LRG employees, the latter making the former less credible. We've got a novelisation by Twitter 'comedian' Mike Drucker. We've got skate decks and body pillows and more heaps of plastic garbage for video game 'collectors' to shove on a dusty shelf next to their four colour variants of Jay and Silent Bob Mall Brawl on NES, cum-encrusted Shantae statue, and countless other bits of mass-produced waste that belongs in a landfill. Utterly shameful how we engage with the past.

When I tell people I'm a Sonic fan, the first question is, unsurprisingly, "Why?" That's not an easy question to answer, but a big reason I've always loved Sonic is the characters. I've loved this cast, for better or worse, before I even had a way to play the games; I voraciously read the Archie Sonic comics as a SNES/N64 kid.

I can't say that I've always agreed with Sega's depiction of Sonic's cast, though. For a long time, it felt like Sonic Team was at odds with the fandom's interpretation of their characters. For example: fans love the dynamic of Shadow, Rouge and Omega, aka Team Dark, depicting them as a dysfunctional odd trio. Despite this, Sonic Team claimed Team Dark were never friends and would never hang out. Fans loved Tails' plucky resourcefulness, yet he spends like an hour in Sonic Forces crying in a corner wondering where Sonic is. For years, it felt like Sega couldn't figure out what to do with Amy Rose except make her a creepy stalker obsessed with marriage and having kids.

All of this is to say that The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, a mystery visual novel released on April Fools by the Sonic social media team, is full of the kind of character moments and interactions I've wanted Sonic games to have for years. It's very clear this game was written by fans for fans, and all of the characterizations are on-point. Amy is emotional and passionate, so of course she'd get a bit too invested in a murder mystery game; Tails is a little naive but kind and strong willed, immediately befriending the protagonist; And Shadow, despite constantly keeping up appearances as a gruff loner, still cares about his friends when no one is looking. A+, no notes.

As for the game itself, it's a very charming little adventure clearly inspired by the Phoenix Wright series. The gameplay is mostly just a vehicle to get to the dialogue, but it never feels obtrusive. Even the little endless runner minigame that happens during climactic moments is surprisingly competent and helped with the pacing even if there isn't much to it. And it's cool that the player character (canonically nonbinary!) has their own personality and eccentricities, including their steadfast belief that there's always a secret in the garbage can. They're the perfect little weirdo to fit right into a cast of lovable weirdos.

While Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog is explicitly not a Sonic Team game, the fact that Sega greenlit it as an official Sonic product is a genuinely heartening development. Between this and the character writing in Sonic Frontiers, it feels like Sega finally understands why people love these characters so much, and it's made me considerably more optimistic about whatever happens next. We're one step closer to that comic about Rouge being angry at Shadow for making Kraft Dinner wrong becoming canon.

This was super cute!

It's slightly embarrassing to admit, but I'm always interested in Sonic characters just being Sonic characters around each other and this was like a sniper aiming straight for my heart. I hate to beat on the drum that's already been beaten to death, but it says something when a game as simple as this accomplishes the role of a self-insert better than Forces. I don't need to save the world with Sonic, I just wanna hang out with them for a bit!

Any game that lets me compliment Knuckles on his hat is one worth enjoying, and yet again I'm reminded that Blaze is still my role model. God, she's so fucking cool!

I never liked dungeon type rpgs very much growing up. I was a really story-focused gamer even in my youth and I didn’t love super fiddly systems stuff so anything more complicated than like a Bioware system was a pretty hard pass from me, and a lot of those games didn’t even have the types of really overt narratives that I preferred anyway. My love for Stories In Games hasn’t gone away but a perusal through my backloggd account will tell anyone that I’ve broadened the scope of where I look for them. I’ve also really blown out my tastes for what kinds of games I’ll play, and my experience with Dungeon Encounters in 2022, which I would describe as nothing less than euphoric from start to finish, activated a thirst for this specific type of tile-based rpg in me. I played Phantasy Star (or, most of it) around that time too and found myself completely enchanted by the first-person dungeons in that game, even as bare as they were there.

So I’ve found myself, as I often do, back towards the beginning of things. I’m not going to talk directly about the mechanics, about the act of playing Wizardry on your keyboard or controller, because Cadensia has already done that here so much better than I would have and I think anybody interested in what it feels like to Play Wizardry who doesn’t somehow already know should read her piece on it, it’s really good.

I found myself thinking about The Story in Wizardry a lot while I was playing it. The narrative is, I think, the most interesting thing about the game by far. But I was also thinking a lot about how all I had ever heard about this game and indeed this whole genre that it spawned was that they eschew narrative in favor of taking inspiration from the more mechanically minded, number crunching side of the earliest editions of Dungeons and Dragons. And that’s true, right, there aren’t narrative scenes in Wizardry, people aren’t talking to you, there aren’t really NPCs the way we think about them today. And this remains true today today – I’m a solid few hours into Etrian Odyssey right now, a game that so famously Doesn’t Have A Story that its remake would add a game mode that gave your party bespoke character art and personalities and dialogue and insert a much stronger narrative structure into the game as it existed. One of the major selling points of the even more recent and very popular Labyrinth series by Nippon Ichi Software is that they have their developer’s signature long, elaborate, dialogue-heavy stories. All kinds of scenes where one guy stands on one side of the screen and another guy stands on the other side of the screen and they go back and forth in the text box in those games.

But in playing these games I’m finding this to be a really weird understanding of what’s happening here. Etrian Odyssey is a game drenched in story. DRIPPING with incidental dialogue from the MANY characters who live in the base town at the top of the labyrinth, which changes constantly as you continue to descend, and all of whom are extensively characterized across various missions and side quests in which you interact with them. You’re constantly encountering other people within the labyrinth itself, and often get a choice of how to express yourself to them. There are little encounters sprinkled throughout the dungeon, where often you’re making a choice as small as whether you want to take a short break or pluck a piece of fruit you’ve found or investigate a rustling in the brush; rarely do these moments have huge effects but every time they are lending your characters, your environment, and your situations deeper context and personality. The game is full of narration, gorgeous prose that so expertly communicates wonder and danger, which both loom constantly in equal measure. There are immediate hints of a greater mystery at play regarding the circumstances of the dungeon’s existence and hints that other people already know what’s going on and purposely withhold information from you, to mysterious ends. This isn’t “no story.” This is “the girl on the boxart doesn’t talk about her backstory if I choose to play as her.” This is players not doing their half of the work. Which is fine! We don’t have to want to be active participants in every part of what a game’s doing. But we shouldn’t accuse games of having failures when what we’re actually doing is disagreeing with a style.

Anyway so like, Wizardry. The thing about it is. It’s fucking sick. THE PROVING GROUNDS OF THE MAD OVERLORD holy shit dude. Something I didn’t know before I played this game is that the mad overlord isn’t the guy you decapitate at the end but in fact a fucking loser ass king who has shoved you into the dungeon forever until you get his necklace back for him from a tricky little guy or die trying. IT BEGINS right like yeah you gotta read the manual to get the Good Good flavor but oh baby the flavor is hits. Fuckin Trebor what an asshole. His magic amulet is stolen by the evil wizard Werdna and a gigantic evil dungeon appears beneath his castle and he’s like hmm yes I will pretend this evil dungeon is here on purpose. Now everybody has to go die in the dungeon. If you get out of the dungeon with my amulet you get to be my bodyguards for life also you can’t turn that job down.

This immediately paints everything about the game in A Light. Given the time this came out, and its audience, and the guys who made it, most of this is cast in a fun light, like oh the place you buy your equipment is run by a funny fantasy dwarf who would sell you your own arms if he thought he could get away with it hoo hoo hoo (the manual goes out of its way to clarify that it means your body arms and not your weapons in fact). The castle is always bustling with activity, and there are always new adventurers at the pub to refresh your party with or uh, make a new one if you fucking wipe in the dungeon. At the same time though, the act of play itself creates a dour scenario for us. It’s brutal down there, no doubt about it. A punishing grind, one that kills and demeans the poor losers who find themselves trapped here at every turn. Adventurers have free reign to come and go from the labyrinth as they please because, after all, they don’t seem to have the freedom to leave the castle town itself. Every step could bring you into conflict with some monster or shade or even other guys, and who knows what their deals are? Other adventurers, given up on their hope of conventional success? You run into a lot of wizards but their relationship to Werdna is unclear, especially on these upper floors.

This is how you live now, though, and it’s here that the mechanics of the game that I see almost universally complained about create richness for this emergent narrative of tedious despair that felt most appropriate for my parties. It’s so, so, so easy to die, in the dungeon. If your friends can lug you back out then great news, you live in dungeons and dragons and the priests over at the Temple of Cant can revive you but like, only maybe, and fuck dude it costs a LOT of money to try. They mention these prices have been going up. They used to be tithes. Makes you wonder if these economies, not just the exploitative services run by the church but the pub, the armorer, if this little bubble is a result of the Mad Overlord’s perpetually trapping of adventurers into his death maze or if it was only made worse by it. If they fuck it up and you’re lost in death forever you uh, don’t get your money back.

Money essentially loses all meaning so quickly, which is bad news because it’s like the single extrinsic motivator your characters have for exploring; there’s a huge cash payout when you find your triumph, and your dubious final reward is a supposedly lucrative position of honor and prestige. But you’ll find yourself drowning in gold with nothing to spend it on before long. The shit at the weapons shop can barely handle a couple floors worth of enemy scaling, and all else there really is to buy are resurrections and other permanent status cures. By now though you’re empowered enough that you’ll need them less and less often.

That means there’s less and less incentive to spend time in town, and more and more to spend time in the dungeon. Deeper, darker, more twisted up. More disoriented. Meeting more guys who start to look more like you. Ghosts. And monsters are friendly as often as not! They’ll leave you alone if you leave them alone. That’s up to you, though. Something that’s undeniable is that you’re getting old down here. Every time you stay at the inn in town the game suggests that this isn’t a night of rest but an extended period of time out of the dungeon. These aren’t brief trips in and out. You make camp every time before you go down, you’re in there for a Long Time and when you come out you need to recover. Your characters age, and if you let them they’ll age substantially over time. When you change their classes it takes them three or four years to learn their new trade. Sometimes stats get lower when they level up. They’re getting old. They can die of old age! You might have to make a bunch of new guys because your old guys were Literal old guys who fucking died from being in the dungeon too long, at the behest of a cruel king but without the magics that grant him and his adversary power and longevity.

When you do this, if you do this, making new parties for any reason, such as stepping on a trap that teleports you into a location that makes your body impossible to recover such as into the castle moat or the inside of a rock wall, there is created a sense of generational knowledge, that old guard adventurers pass homemade maps and wisdom on how traps work and how to fight certain enemies to the new suckers who find themselves trapped here. After all, you’re making those maps in your notebook, and you’re keeping tabs on which enemies have fucking permanent level drain skills. Your new guys don’t learn that from nowhere. And you’re making Guys, definitively, like you name them and shit, they’re people. At least, they’re what you bring to them.

I bring a lot to this game. We can’t forget either that this is still this game where the two big evil guys are named Trebor and Werdna, the names of the game’s two developers, Robert and Andrew, spelled backwards. This is funny, this is a funny thing to do. There’s nothing intrinsically dark about the game beyond perhaps the oppressive feeling of claustrophobia that its main setting naturally implies, and indeed you’re always running into funny little tablets that read more like bits of graffiti or troll posts than they do ominous inscriptions. I can’t stop thinking about how when you fight Werdna he’s joined by a Vampire Lord and some normal vampires like what was going on were you guys just hanging out were you playing halo 3 did I crash the party. But it’s easy for me to pull all these elements into what felt like the story that was coming together for me, too.

I do think it’s worth mentioning also that while I did actually finish the NES version of this game I spent a significant amount of time poking around with the DOS, Gameboy Color, and PS1 editions of Wizardy as well, and all of these have very different renditions of this world and its environments and creatures and sounds. The PS1 version is by far the most self-serious, the one that at first glance lends itself the most the story that Wizardry and I told together, but something about the near-monochrome of the NES, the encompassing blackness of the screen at almost all times, and the way that it’s so much easier to completely lose your sense of place in the dungeon that made me feel so much more afraid than I ever did in the comparatively earthy and well-lit early floors of the Playstation version.

My point, at the end of all this, is that all that stuff is there for the reading at all. It’s been there the whole time, waiting to be engaged with. Wizardy isn’t a deep game really at all. Especially given how influential it is on all modern video games but especially turn based RPGs, it’s THE template for over 40 years now, and beyond the act of physically mapping your own shit while adapting to some often comically mean-spirited traps, the part where you get into fights never ever amounts to more than grinding until your number is bigger and you know more spells. But that didn’t matter to me. I had a great time with Wizardry, entirely down to the atmosphere that was in no small part created by how brutally terse that mechanical crunch felt. I don’t know if when I play Wizardry II it will be this version or if I’ll fully jump ship to the Playstation and its automap features, but for the experience I got these last few months with this game I wouldn’t trade any of that friction for anything, and I wouldn’t put any cutscenes in a remake either.

If you look up discussion of these games in forums or reddit, you’ll often find people asking if they’re worth going back to or if they’re a good place to start with the series, and obviously, gamers being gamers, the answer is always a huge “no.” I never see anyone ever recommending these games, even these SNES remakes. Always described as too clunky, too difficult, simultaneously too simple and too opaque, just all around too old. And it’s true on some level that if you’re used to most post-nocturne SMT games then I don’t think that what you get in especially Megami Tensei I is going to particularly resemble the series you love. If, however, you’re a fan of WIZARDRY, well then do I have a very cool little evolution of that strand of late-80s famicom RPG design for YOU.

The Megami Tensei duology exists in such a weird little liminal period in time for Megami Tensei The Franchise, and it shows in the game itself. It’s popularly known that this franchise in general pulls its aesthetic and setting inspirations from Nishitani Aya’s Digital Devil Story: Megami Tensei novels, some of which have complete fan translations and are totally readable if you want to seek them out! They’re kind of sick! People don’t really like them these days and I do understand why; they’re unabashedly trashy in all respects, and the main character is pretty genuinely repulsive and not in a sort of “ah this boy will learn to be better” sort of way. It’s also easy to see why they were such a big hit in Japan, though. Certainly they were part of a larger boom of overtly horrific occult-based media at the time, and they were part of a larger planned multimedia push that included a now-famous OVA adaptation and finally, of course, these games. But they are themselves brimming with a weird energy, mixing the vibes of a transgressing western-style anti-christian occult sensibility with classical mythology with modern technology in a schlocky soup that any teenager would be happy to slurp down. The OVA captures this vibe and translates it perfectly into the kind of bristling erotic violence that OVAs of that era are now infamous for.

So it’s interesting that Digital Devil Story Megami Tensei The Video Game kind of doesn’t even try? What we get is something I might call “loosely inspired by” its namesake rather than an adaptation of it. You have the same main characters in roughly the same roles – the same people act as reincarnations of goddesses, Cerberus and Loki and Set are here being Important Guys, but beyond these superficial trappings there’s nothing else really anchoring us to the original premise of “kid with school shooter energy summons demons and ruins everything instead of doing a school shooting, slow-motion tragedy unfolds.” It’s not quite doing its own thing either, though; only two of the original three novels were out at the time this game was released, and dialogue here suggests this is kind of an original sequel capstone to those books? Maybe even just the first book. Characters at the very least seem to be familiar with each other, and based on how heroically you behave in the game I guess we’re kind of massaging Nakajima’s image too. It’s all very strange, taking a story that’s about a gross, pulpy horror scenario playing out mostly inside of a school building and instead making it an epic quest to destroy Lucifer inside of his massive labyrinth in the demon world.

That’s not to say I don’t LIKE it though. As we have established, I looooove Wizardry, and this game makes explicit a lot of the shit that early Wizardry asks you to kind of do the mental legwork on yourself. The entire game takes place inside this evil labyrinth and it’s stacked with weird fuckers to hang out with. There’s whole towns inside the labyrinth, and all these cool little details about the kinds of people and demons you’ll meet in there, not all of whom will be hostile regardless of your recruitment game mechanic. Deeper down these towns stop being safe zones from random encounters, but they’re still often populated by guys who might have crucial advice or shop stock or hints for you.

Otherwise it’s a pretty smooth ride. Gameplay is simply for anyone with a passing familiarity with RPGs, with ultimately every single fight in the game ending up as a sheer contest of who can make the biggest number the fastest, but there is satisfaction in being the guy who can make the biggest number the fastest. I love Wizardry but I also love Dragon Quest 1. Eventually you have to be able to cover yourself from things like level drain and instant death spells but that’s about as complex as magic gets here beyond healing and occasional status afflictions that rarely have huge impact on a fight.

The Kyuuyaku versions at least (idk about the famicom original) do have the magnetite system, where you gain a second currency by winning encounters that drains with every step you take based on the number of demons in your party and how high their levels are. Once it runs out your demons will start taking damage every step instead, and MP is a precious resource so you really can’t have that. I find this system frustrating because the balance never feels quite right – ideally for something like this you would be feeling some pressure about it, like you need to weigh your options and figure out whether pushing it too hard will tip the scales away from you. Here though I feel like I’m always either completely in danger of tapping out or I’m so abundant on the stuff that I’m not even checking it. Ultimately it’s not a huge deterrent and there are plenty of ways to get powerful demons when you need them but I do think ditching this system later on and letting player level be the determining factor in how fucked up of a guy you can make was a wise move.

I imagine that the biggest barrier to these games for many people will be the dungeons themselves, but I think a lot has been done in these SNES versions of the games to make them pretty smooth. The auto-map feature is a game-changing addition, and when the late game dungeons start adding things like teleporters, one-way doors, and illusory walls it goes from necessary convenience to essential feature. When you can be punted as many floors as this game is willing to fuck you with I can’t imagine having to chart your own shit. There’s also a series of backtracking-based quests to find hidden items associated with every boss that will make them significantly easier to fight, and it’s actually required to do this in by far the most difficult area of the game to be able to kill the final boss at all, which is, I’m not too proud to admit, very tedious when you feel the end coming up in your bones.

I did like Megami Tensei I and I’ll admit that I’m really easy to please when it comes to the kind of very straightforward blobber that it succeeds at being, but the real star of this package is the sequel, which starts directly after the ending of the first game, no credits, no booting you back to the menu, just the ending screens for the first game, following by one of the most startling nuclear apocalypses in games. A flickering, screaming facsimile of a human face flashing in monochrome under an image of the missiles striking. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Now everything you were doing only moments ago seems smaller. Oops! You got some Shin in my Megami Tensei! Fully leaving any pretense of the novels or their original premise behind, the team behind the original game leap the story ahead 30 years to post-apocalyptic Tokyo, where humans live in underground bunkers, fearful of the demons that rule the wastes, or aboveground in cities where they live in communities that serve and worship cults and armies of demon warlords.

Your characters here are Gamers, who accidentally unleash the demon Pazuzu from the video game he was trapped in by the demon Bael (lmao). He says hello everyone I am PAZUZU and I work for GOD from THE BIBLE don’t worry about it I’m super chill and since you freed me you must be THE MESSIAHS please go kill Bael and don’t think about how he’s the most powerful demon in Tokyo and if he was dead I would be the most powerful demon in Tokyo okay see ya later. And your characters are like yeah that checks out I guess we are the saviors of the world! They’re so fucking stupid it rocks. It’s not until the third main character shows up and is like “have you guys considered that Pazuzu is obviously turbo evil” that you are even given the option to be like oh yeah shit that’s so true but even then your buddy will do the classic megaten move of breaking up with you and threatening to kill you next time you meet. Pazuzu even gives you Orthrus to hang out with! That’s Cerberus’ evil pallet swap! MR POLICE I GAVE YOU ALL THE CLUES, and other things of that nature. This isn’t the only time your protagonist demonstrates the brain power of my recently deceased pet cats either, like another time in the middle of the game you have to go get a thing and the thing is inside of the mouth of a big evil statue with blood all over it and you stick your WHOLE ARM IN THERE, and not only that but the arm that has your demon summoning computer and everything!!! And the statue of course fucking bites it off!!!! OBVIOUSLY. But you do get the status effect LOSARM out of this whole situation, as you have to scrabble your way back to the local mad scientist so he’ll make a robot arm for you, taking damage every step and unable to fight or summon new demons until you do. This whole sequence takes maybe fifteen minutes but it’s all time good SMT shit for me. This is also the diagetic way that the game comes up with for upgrading your demon capacity. You got more ram in your robot arm I guess.

Considering that Megami Tensei I is such a clear first run at an idea that feels very within the scope of what one might imagine both a first run at this franchise to look like and also what that would look like on the famicom, it’s kind of wild that Megami Tensei II just IS essentially a modern Shin Megami Tensei game almost fully formed from the ether. The setting is here, you’ve got your shitty friends who stick with you or ditch you based on your alignment choices (although the alignment system for the player character isn’t actually here yet – you’re essentially playing out a scripted version of what would today be considered a sort of combination neutral-law story), the ending is affected by key decisions that would be a little esoteric if they weren’t so obvious, Lucifer is here and behaving much more in tune with how he’s gonna act in almost all of his future appearances – a frustrated guy who sees humans as similarly beleaguered to his own people, if not still generally at the bottom of the worth-pyramid according to his own personal philosophies (in early games, at least). The kitsch comedy is dialed up, the mad science and esoteric fantasy are more heavily emphasized, and the horror is less overt and more ambient, based more in the smog of having the curtain peeling back on the knowledge that your existence isn’t your own and that resistance to the power that governs life is nearly unthinkable. But also like 70% of sapient life would be down to eat you. Both things.

There’s a degree to which SMT as a series but especially the core entries are just telling the same stories over and over again, filtering characters and details but with core identifying elements and story beats and character archetypes, to in my opinion a much greater degree than a lot of series that do a similar sort of thing. I might have expected a kind of bare take on that framework from a Famicom originator of many of those ideas but even today Megami Tensei II feels pretty fresh! In particular I like what the first half of the game is cooking, the post-apocalyptic Tokyo here being the domain of demon lords all jockeying for power against each other in a perpetual status quo rather than there being a real sense of alignment-based organization between the forces of law and chaos. There’s no big war happening right now, the war’s over, this is just the way things are at the moment, especially with no leaders present for most of the game, so it makes sense that it’s only when Pazuzu arrives on the scene to scam a bunch of idiots into starting shit with the biggest guy in town that things really start to spiral out of control. Pazuzu himself is the most interesting character in the game, because I leave it all genuinely uncertain about whether he actually is a representative of God or not? It initially all seems like a scam, one that he has other demons in on like Orthrus, but he DOES give you that special ring to signify your party’s places as messiahs, and later on an angel does speak fondly of him. He does seem to be mostly interested in seizing power for himself though, and for a demon to switch sides with an ulterior motive is equally interesting. The game leaves it ambiguous, or at least I didn’t talk to the right people to know for sure, and I think it’s really cool! There are a lot of NPCs with a ton of personality in this game, enough for the world to feel rich, to have me doing things like speculating on motivations and making observations about cultures and laughing at individual quirks of specific guys. Really impressive stuff.

This kind of early, wizardry-like first-person dungeon crawler exists in a tough spot, where for people who really like the genre and play a lot of these games I think these remakes that simultaneously preserve the really old, simple mechanics but also provide a lot of quality of life improvements, might be a little too simple to hold interest from a play perspective, even with the demon summoning and negotiation element grafted to the top. For players familiar with modern SMT or who are more general RPG fans though, I think even these simpler, easier dungeon crawlers might be a little bit more opaque and unforgiving than they’re used to and comfortable with and I understand that being a turnoff, even if I do think it’s a hump worth getting over (I did and I’m having a wonderful time exploring this genre). Megami Tensei’s personality is truly the thing that sets it apart; visually, sonically, personality-wise, there wasn’t much else even trying to do this kind of shit at the time and it still has a strongly individual vibe, strong enough that I think this collection is totally worth looking into, even if you skip to the second game. But if you’re already a fan of the series, I can’t emphasize enough that it’s really a nonstop parade of treats. I’m begging everyone to play old games. They’re so cool. Everybody wins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Fantasy XVI convinced me that it isn't.

Bought this on a whim after seeing it on Twitter. Overall it's played pretty straight - you get like 4 or 5 of these 'mobile game ad' minigames and you can unlock harder versions of each. There's something to it that reminds me of Make 10 for the DS, almost? Very simple premises that become more complex, but never really approach 'puzzle' so much as a slightly longer and straightforward exercise.

I was sort of hoping for some kind of weird twist or extreme version of these sorts of games, but ah well.

Played during the Backloggd’s Game of the Week (18th Jul. – 24th Jul., 2023).

Attempts to find the first 'representation' of a given group in fiction amount at best to historical anecdote [1] – and at worst to ideological invention – insofar as the contours of any social group are fluid. Tracking down the first representation of kathoey in Thai cinema, for example, would be a complex task because the term encompasses so many different realities – so far removed from Western categorisation. Effeminate men, trans women and intersex people can all be found in this group, which has been a classic archetype of the buffoon in films and series since the post-war years [2]. The consensus is that the turning point in representation came with Phisan Akraseranee's Phleng sut-thai (1985), which followed the social turn in Thai cinema and offered a tragic vision of kathoey – mistreated by society and forced to commit suicide – instead of simple comic relief.

     Contours of LGBT studies on cultural production

Does this make Phleng sut-thai the first sensitive representation of kathoey on screen? Some argue that Satri lek (2000), with its positive portrayal, should be given this status [3]. In a sense, the matter is secondary: it is more useful to understand the socio-cultural transformations that help to explain shifts in cultural production, both in isolated instances and in more widespread trends. The same principles can be applied to the first wave of American LGBT games. These were motivated by socio-political and cultural transformations in the United States, and offered a range of responses to the difficulties faced by LGBT communities during the extended Reagan era [4]. Just as Caper in the Castro was a tribute to the homonymous neighbourhood and a response to institutional inaction regarding AIDS, GayBlade is intended to be a cathartic response to the consolidation of the culture war promoted by Patrick J. Buchanan.

On the 17th of August 1992, Buchanan's speech to the Republican National Convention marked an ideological turning point in conservative circles, although he adopted a more 'democratic' tone than usual, by highlighting the ideological divide in the country without directly attacking minorities [5]. This speech cemented the ideological conflict that had gripped the United States since the 1960s. Buchanan had been working on this project for a long time; in his political prescriptions Right from the Beginning (1988), he is particularly violent towards the LGBT community, as they represent a transgression of what he considers to be the sacred order of the United States [6]. In many ways, Buchanan epitomised Republican political extremism – so much so that he was largely rejected by the moderate faction in the 1996 primaries. The violence that Buchanan instigated can be seen in everyday life and in the new American mentalities – it lies at the heart of the genesis of GayBlade. Ryan Best explains that the production of the game was a response to the harassment he suffered during his high school years in suburban Illinois, and that it was a way of exorcising his experiences: the purpose of the title was simply to put on an image and destroy what had caused his distress [7].

     Cathartic and personal screams

In this respect, GayBlade is a far cry from the haloed image portrayed by High Score. The title is a very unimpressive variation on the formula of Wizardry (1981); its design suffers from the inexperience of its creator, who fails to communicate all the essential information needed to progress. Character creation is particularly cryptic and painful: rolling statistics follows incomprehensible probabilities and favours small outcomes, while the choice of classes is opaque because Best has replaced their usual names with 'Queer', 'Gypsy', 'Lesbian' and the like, without giving the slightest explanation. The same lack of clarity is evident when it comes to purchasing equipment, with the player having no idea what the various weapons are or what they do.

Exploring the dungeon is hardly more enjoyable as the subjective perspective is so clumsily implemented: the player constantly feels as if they are visually moving across two tiles, ruining any hope of drawing a proper map. Battles are miserable, boiling down to pressing the same attack button and hoping to emerge victorious. Therein lies the problem: traps abound, as do opportunities to take damage for no apparent reason – even walking into a wall will take one HP from a random character. Ultimately, GayBlade is unbearable in every way, reducing the LGBT player to merely reliving the frustration and oppression experienced in real life. Unlike Caper in the Castro, the title does not feature any strong LGBT characters with aspirations of their own, instead sprinkling its defective dungeon-crawling experience with a handful of camp archetypes. The numerous slurs hurled by enemies each time they attack only serve to alienate the player, unwittingly replicating the same experience in the flesh, to the point where GayBlade almost comes across as an offensive parody of the LGBT struggle.

This was certainly not Best's intention, whose efforts are evident, but his expression of anger at the symbols of institutional oppression – from the media to politicians – is ultimately clumsy. But there is something almost endearing about this personal performance, which ironically underlines – in its harshness – Buchanan's sickening legacy, still widely felt today [8]. A product of despair, GayBlade stands in stark contrast to later, more positive games such as Foobar Versus the DEA (1996) and especially Furcadia (1996), which provided a real creative outlet for the LGBT and furry communities by encouraging the use of mods, with all the positive and negative consequences it entails. GayBlade is perhaps less relevant on its own, and should instead be placed in a galaxy of games published between the late 1980s and the 1990s, as part of an overall trend that underlines the socio-cultural changes in the United States, the affirmation of a counter-culture and the critique of institutions.

__________
[1] I will not discuss the floating and undoubtedly misleading chronology of Ryan Best's account, which undermines the importance of GayBlade as a precursor to LGBT games, doubtless acquired after the rediscovery of the game and France Costrel's documentary High Score (2020). On the topic, see CRPG Addict, 'What I Can Tell You About DragonBlade, GayBlade, and Citadel of the Dead', 3rd April 2020, consulted on 20th July 2023.
[2] The term kathoey is still widely misunderstood by Westerners, who clumsily translate it as 'ladyboy'. The term goes beyond this simple definition and refers to a range of legal, cultural and economic realities. It should be emphasised that Western LGBT categories are usually incapable of translating foreign experiences. In Asia, Filipino kabaklaan and Indonesian béncong/waria also construct unique relationships to masculinity and gender.
[3] Oradaol Kaewprasert insists that there was a first wave of queer Thai cinema in the 1980s, but that: 'even though these films allowed audiences to empathize with their characters, some characterization of queers in the films still replicated stereotypes of queer people as [...] screaming, miserable, suicidal and so on' (Oradaol Kaewprasert, 'The very first series of Thai queer cinemas: what was happening in the 1980s?', presented at the 1st International Conference of Asian Queer Studies, Bangkok, 2005, p. 1).
[4] I mention various contextual elements in my reviews of A Mind Forever Voyaging (1985), Caper in the Castro (1989) and Foobar Versus the DEA (1996).
[5] Of particular note is the passage: 'My friends, this election is about more than who gets what. It is about who we are. It is about what we believe, and what we stand for as Americans. There is a religious war going on in this country. It is a cultural war. [...] And in that struggle for the soul of America, Clinton & Clinton are on the other side, and George Bush is on our side' (Patrick J. Buchanan, 'Culture War Speech: Address to the Republican National Convention', 1992).
[6] On the topic, see Mark P. Worrell, 'The Veil of Piacular Subjectivity: Buchananism and the New World Order', in Electronic Journal of Sociology, vol. 4, no. 3, 1999.
[7] LGBTQ Video Game Archive, 'GayBlade', 18th June 2018, consulted on 20th July 2023.
[8] Mark Davis, '"Culture Is Inseparable from Race": Culture Wars from Pat Buchanan to Milo Yiannopoulos', in M/C Journal, vol. 21, no. 5, 2018.

game SUCKS i go to BED

In typical Game Freak fashion, this is technology from a decade ago being paraded around like it's cool when it's Pokemon. Accelerometers tracking your movement in the night certainly works as a means of tracking sleep, but integration with wrist trackers, smartwatches, and smart rings (and AI beds? Whatever that even means?) have allowed a greater degree of fidelity for users. Sleep as Android has been doing a damn good job of telling me I have horrible sleep hygiene for a decade, only improving with time. It has recommended ways of improving my sleep, alarms that go off only when I'm in a light sleep cycle so I'm less groggy, 'captchas' were I can only turn off my increasingly loud alarm with math, or tapping an NFC point, or shaking my phone like it owes me money. Not only am I firmly entrenched in my current sleep tracker, it has always been frictionless. I tap a widget, I put my phone beside me, I sleep.

Pokemon Sleep shows a fundamental misunderstanding of why sleep trackers are used, how they are presently used, where the market lies, and how the gamification of life actually works. This isn't Habitica or Fabulous trying to improve your life through things you don't already do. I have no choice in whether or not I sleep. The appeal of a sleep tracker is that it is set and forget, a companion for something I have to and will do anyways, so it better not be an annoying partner. If Pokemon Sleep wants the user to be concerned about the quality of their sleep, shouldn't it be able to sync up with existing hardware that can supplement its readings? If sleep is meant to be restorative, why is that rejuvenation immediately undone by tutorialisation and currencies and systems and a goddamn battle pass when I wake up? Why am I chastised when I wake that I only got 54/100 sleep points because I woke in the night and can only get 5-6 hours of sleep a night if I'm lucky? Why is the assumption that 8.5 hours of sleep is a perfect ideal for everyone to aim for? Why is there no accommodation for the peculiarities of the human sleep experience, for the insomniac, the narcoleptic, the medicated? The very least it could do is offer a sleep quiz, or a calibration period. The very least it could do is not inundate me with things I have to learn and keep in mind. The very least it could do is not make my phone radiate enough heat that my wrist tracker thinks something is wrong. The very least it could do is not eat 80%(!!!) of my battery at night so I panic when I wake up. And for the chronically eepy like me, the bare minimum amount of effort could be put towards not having a minutes-long load-screen before I can track my sleep. Last night I passed out waiting for it to complete. Y'know what it took for my wrist tracker to document my sleep last night? Nothing.

Felt too short and too long at the same time. Thought I was really liking the game at first but I got to about mission 16 and realized that I had stopped playing the game for the enjoyment of it but was instead just playing it so I could beat it and move on. Felt repetitive and uninteresting and compared to DMC3, this game lacked a lot of personality. It still had a bit of that devil may cry edgelord vibe that I've come to appreciate but it also felt blank and I don't know why. The locations of the levels all blended together, the bosses were meaningless and the enemies were bland. The story (while story is never a staple of DMC) was basic and uninteresting.
But the gameplay? People say the gameplay is amazing and like... sometimes? The game forces you to play as three different characters are all varying degrees of fun. Nero is fine, he can be cool at times but he feels more like a diet Dante in pretty much every way. V is terrible to play. He's clunky, unfun and also extremely easy. And then Dante is about as fun as he was in dmc3, but you don't unlock him until halfway through the game and by the time I got him I was already starting to lose interest.

6/10

The Friends of Ringo Ishikawa was and is a polarizing game. By virtue of its design decisions and lack of QOL its going to alienate a lot of people, fitting for a game in part about alienation.

If there is one word to describe the game it is ballsy. Only a ballsy game that 25% of its buyers will refund as per the devs own account would let you loose in this 80s Japanese town with basically no guidance. And whilst some parts of this feel intentional and help the mood of the game as you slowly learn how to get ahead in several ways, some just feel petty and/or dumb. Yeo himself could tell me that not telling me how to read books by sitting in any seat and pressing R or having to press B + A to jump to be able to do pull ups(which you have to do to join at least one club) is an intentional part of his design and I wouldnt believe him, and also I would flick his ear for being annoying.

The hunger mechanic is also not explained at all and I was pretty stressed at first losing fights and days trying to scrape enough cash from fights to buy food, but then I got 10k yen from good grades and basically had no money problems from then on, aided by the fact I somehow read a book which apparently doubles the knowledge you get from going to class.

Ringo is a game about roleplaying, not because of its stat elements that very assuredly non RPGs have these days, but because so much of the game revolves around ultimately mechanically inconsequential but nonetheless engrossing stuff. The quality of its writing really shines when you spend an entire sunday reading the Brothers Karamazov so Ringo can give it a good rating on Goodreads and have a 3 or 4 text box discussion about it with a classmate. Its a game where you smoke a limited amount of smokes for 440 yen a pack, which AFAIK has no effect on anything at a mechanical level whatsoever. But its about what Ringo wants to become, maybe you want him to quit smoking. Get straight As and go to the gym every day. Or you can have him play pool and beating up other thugs 24/7.

Ringo is a game that almost alienated me, and honestly I think reading up how to read books at home and do pushups, as inconsequential as they ended up being, increased my enjoyment of the game rather than spoil it. I didnt do many of the "quests" cause in a move that is definitely intentional there is no transcript or anything, if a friend says "Yuko is near the station tomorrow you should go" or something youre just meant to remember where that is in a game without a map and also to remember what day youre on and other such things. I suppose I could replay it but this game is definitely one that loses its luster by the end, maybe intentionally but it didnt seem that way to me and honestly Im tired of speculating on authorial intent, my experience dragged on a bit towards the conclusion even if that ending was...well it gave me something to think about certainly.

EDIT : Always the mark of good art, I have kept thinking about this game after I have finished it, it occupies my mind in a way I hadnt anticipated. Im bumping it up half a star cause I think for what flaws it might have its captured my imagination.