A fascinating, compelling, thrilling dive into a niche subject I'm entirely too white for.

This is a story about Hong Kong and its revolutions, a story about diasporas and perpetuated cycles of violence arising from not being able to fit in. A story creating your personal hell, a story about being unable to forget and forgive. A story about a wound that hasn't been even allowed to scab. A story about having to learn to live with the mistakes you've made.

The game is built out of micro- and macrocosmic representations of the relationship between HK and China and the consequences of them. Iris and Jiao, Orchard and Old Town, a certain couple of characters in the last chapters, the way this little broken society functions and perpetuates -- everything that the game has to show and say cannot reasonably be discussed without also discussing that.
It's really not subtle about it either, at some point the imagery of 2019 protests is entirely in your face; which also makes the game fascinating, since rarely you see a videogame that processes and reflects on events so recent.

However that might make the game somewhat tough to truly resonate with. My general knowledge of Hong Kong protests is limited; before playing this game I didn't even know about the Umbrella Revolution of 2014, and I have only cursory knowledge of major events surrounding it, so actually piecing certain events together required talking to more knowledgeable people and those who actually lived in Hong Kong.

I think the game doesn't do that good of a job of actually connecting its past with its present for audience that is not already intimately familiar with the matter; the imagery is in your face but often enough contextless, leaving the outsiders either to do the research on the matter on their own, try to ground themselves in some other recent conflict (as some do with certain events in the middle east) or, as many do, disregard the imagery outright as something that doesn't interest them. Ultimately, though, I've heard people who are connected to the matter at hand praise the angle this game takes on HK diaspora and how it's weaved into the narrative, so maybe it does do a good job for those it's aimed for.

And yet even if you're Unaware, an attempt should be made.
Dismissing this aspect of the game outright, as some are wont to do, is simply reductive and deeply disrespectful.
While interacting with the game without interacting with its cultural message is entirely possible -- it's a striking, vibrant, compelling narrative in its own right which gives a lot to think about and which can easily be talked about in the lens of its many obvious influences -- one must not dismiss the game's roots.

As a Game™ that is interactable piece of media it's nothing much; there aren't many verbs to it other than Walking and Reading, with a tinge of Flying since the game has bizarre segments which feel like the last chapter of Neon White on sedatives. The meaning of those still eludes me lol they're just not very good.
Yet it's insanely striking visually. Sure, the character models don't really have Fidelity™, but the very distinct atmosphere, choices of colors, choices of camera angles are an unforgettable, deeply enthralling complement to the game's narrative.
The soundtrack also deserves a mention; while it doesn't have many outliers, it fits the mood nicely and has a good leitmotif going throughout the game.

this game requires no introduction anymore so i'm not beating around the bush. drakengard has been on my mind a fair bit recently - on the off chance you'll forgive a second log i think it's worth examining some of what the title accomplishes uniquely well, or what it's able to achieve with respect to the various titles that it's in conversation with. first of all: there's nothing quite as flatline-inducing or revealing of the author's own tendencies as reading that drakengard was intentionally poorly designed, a commonly held idea in various hobbyist communities frustratingly stemming just as often from its supporters as from its detractors. not only is this a frightfully pedantic and dull reduction of the text - it's also just an elaborately constructed fiction masking deeper truths. for instance, i think it's plain as day our burgeoning critical language still struggles with titles seemingly antithetical to traditional enjoyment, and are only able to escape from suffocating evaluative lexicon through irony or genre labels. survival horror isn't normally 'fun' & people appear willing to understand this so the genre gets a normative pass en masse, although it seems worth mentioning that the longer they exist in the public eye the more their mechanical frameworks get totally demystified by the public, arguably reducing them to vehicles for pleasure and gratification anyways, resident evil being the prime example.

drakengard, of course, isn't survival horror. it's largely a musou with some horror trappings, but it's rather plain about its affectation. however, because the traditional 'game' part of it is in such conflict with its aesthetic, we end up with the idea that this dissonance is a result of intentionally languid, engineered dissatisfaction. oh wow that wacky yoko taro wanted you to feel bad so he made his debut game bad. bzzzzt. wrong. square enix wanted a commercial success with drakengard. if they didn't, they wouldn't have requested that a project starting out as a simple remix of ace combat (owing massive inspiration to electrosphere in particular, another game that combines peerless arcade bluster with bleak narrative proceedings) would incorporate elements of its contemporary blockbuster peer, dynasty warriors. none of this is to say that drakengard can't be an awkward game, but it's in large part due to a friction with cavia's inexperience/lack of technical expertise, their attempts at holding true to their initial vision for the project, and square enix being desperate for a worthy competitor to koei tecmo's success.

here's where i'll stake a claim on something potentially contentious and risible. on the basis of the title's struggles in production & development, it is somewhat shocking that drakengard is not just 'not bad', but is a totally competent musou game. given the milieu in which it released, you might even dare to call it 'good', or 'well-made'. i'll double down with something absolutely no one wants to hear: most people have no point of reference because musou is rarely put in its historic context, appreciated for its strengths, or even, broadly speaking, played. disregarding popular experimental offshoot licensed games which carry their own unique magnetism, dynasty warriors has an especially prevalent stigma in contemporary action game circles, and few seem willing to return to reevaluate the franchise. if we accept this as the case, we can begin to understand why nostalgia is the primary driver of fondness for early musou, and why you always hear dynasty warriors 3 is the best one. 'load of bull', you say, 'drakengard is not good', you say, 'dynasty warriors sold millions and is beloved for inventing the drama; surely it's better', you say, but take a look at these admittedly small sample sizes (evidence A and evidence B) and you tell me which is actually the niche ip at present. one of these broader game worlds got a FFXIV collaboration. it was not dynasty warriors.

anyways the idea that drakengard could be a respected peer to dynasty warriors - or even, perhaps, better - is not ahistorical. drakengard came out in 2003, only a few months after the release of dynasty warriors 4. by this point in the dynasty warriors timeline, your only sources of inspiration for the musou canon are dynasty warrior 2 and dynasty warriors 3. they're fine games for what they are - content-rich, pop recontextualizations of romance of the three kingdoms that fold the intense political drama, grandiose character dynamics, and poeticizing of feudal history intrinsic to the novel and morphs them into larger-than-life battles of one against one hundred. it works for that series, but having played dynasty warriors 3, it's also very simply orchestrated. DW3 is kinetic and energetic, sure, but form is not function. as a still nascent series, DW3 has yet to experiment with elements that would come to define later entries, such as a strong emphasis on field management - its presence in 3 is largely muted and, dependent upon your stats, can often be negated. it is mostly a game of fulfilling your objectives, grinding up your stats, and engaging in undemanding combat pulling the same strong combo strings against some unique generals and a multitude of carbon copy generic ones. and i happen to appreciate it for what it is, but there is no question in my mind if you slotted that exact same mechanical framework into drakengard's tone and setting, it would be similarly deemed bad on purpose.

other than its tone what does drakengard do differently from this purely mechanical perspective? honestly, not too much from DW3! archers are still often priority targets, because if you don't prioritize them you will get knocked off your horse dragon. mission structure is usually quite similar, arguably with a bit less back and forth. combos require virtually the exact same input. the camera in both games is kind of fucked up. aside from abstruse unlock requirements and a...unique, system of progression, the biggest differences are mostly relegated to additions rather than subtractions. there are more enemy designs than just grunt soldiers. you can dodge now. the game is weapon-driven rather than character-driven ala DW3, which allows for its own form of unique experimentation. the soundtrack is excellent, i'm not accepting complaints. to aid in breaking up the pace, there are aerial missions that play somewhat comparably to panzer dragoon on-rail segments which are actually quite fun; likewise, the hybrid missions allow for angelus to be used as a means of offence in ground warfare and rain hellfire from above. it keeps things relatively varied. there's no troops to manage because caim is fighting a losing war and willingly formed a pact with the only being capable of potentially turning the tides, and the game is content to use the musou form to communicate ideas about caim and angelus to great effect.

of course, it's the narrative which gives drakengard a lot of its greatest texture (and is also demonstrative of its greatest strengths and appeals as a DW clone), but we can save discussion of that for some other time; for now it's more important for me to say that it's not quite the outright condemnation of violence through ludology that so many claim it is (it's far more interested in more subtle forms of violence than the explicit and ceaseless murder it depicts anyways). really, this was just a self-indulgent exercise in placing drakengard in its historic context once and for all, away from all the retrospectives it's been getting as a result of nier's runaway success. drakengard is a game that won't be for most, but it's a game that's lingered in my memory long since i first played it. it takes an, at the time, relatively new genre, and through sheer passion and dedication spins it into a uniquely transgressive idea while still remaining an enjoyable title to let unfold. if it feels numbing or meditative, that's more or less the exact emotional resonance that something like DW3 is targeting - drakengard just uses it to achieve more things than a sense of gratifying white noise. it remains peerless because of all of its contradictions, because of how messy and thorny it is as a game, and because we'll never see anything approaching this utterly unique interplay of emotional rhythms and macabre, uncanny storytelling wearing the skin of its crowdpleasing predecessors ever again.

when you first encounter dr. naomi in NMH3, she's eking out a kind of solitary existence in travis's basement, resigned to her fate being entwined with a 'creepy-ass otaku' and promptly aiding him through all his savagery and debauchery. there's obviously still a lingering a mild undercurrent of disdain in their interactions, but dr. naomi is otherwise shown to be genial enough to continue to upgrade travis's gear. although it's not like she had much of a choice in the matter - her unexpected transformation into a cherry blossom firmly anchors her in the game's primary base of commerce, allowing her to fulfill her pre-established role as a fixed vendor from the convenience of travis's motel.

the question of how exactly dr. naomi became a disfigured and hardy tree given artificial life isn't necessarily central to NMH3's narrative, but i find it worth thinking about because it continues NMH3's perpetual tendency to allude to works of all kinds unceremoniously. in this case, the easiest analogue would be twin peaks: the return; in the 25 years between season 2 and the return, a character slowly and inexplicably evolves into a fleshy and gnarled tree pulsating with electric currents. this is nothing more than an incidental tribute - and not unexpected after something like 2018's the 25th ward references to twin peak's third outing - but an homage to the return will always make me reflect a bit because it is such an extraordinarily well-structured, thematically cogent, and thoroughly excising metatextual work that it still is every bit as arresting and affecting as the moments i first watched it some four years ago.

NMH3 poses as a ‘return’ of sorts as well; in reality, however, TSA, with its title literally referring to travis’s absence from the throne, is more likely to fit that bill. TSA was also a metatextual work – about travis and GHMs absence from the limelight, about what had changed over the course of close to a decade, about GHMs works, fears, and their future. in several respects, TSA may as well be NMH3, bringing a close to travis’s character arc and positioning itself as a vector for GHM’s next project.

these elements effectively make NMH3 a lot more like a big-budget reunion than a fully-formed closer to a trilogy, something comparable to a no more heroes: gaiden or no more heroes: the after years. i say this in large part because, in contrast to TSA and especially NMH1, NMH3 is markedly straightforward and almost juvenile in its affectations. i don’t envy anyone attempting to continue a series which defied continuity and explanation the way NMH1 so deftly did, but this is our third time returning to this nexus, so the hope would be that there’s an actual reason to be with these characters again, to inhabit this world. so to briefly sum up: to an extent, i think even NMH2 toyed around with the idea of franchise iconography and the role travis had foisted upon him in that world. TSA was, as was previously said, a game about absence, reflection on and mild interrogation of the indie space, about games themselves and the feuding ideals animating their development, about artistic love and loss.

what’s NMH3 about? we’ll get to it, kind of, but for our purposes it’s worth establishing a few things first, namely that this is a pretty significant departure from NMH1’s jodorowsky and seijun suzuki-influenced blend of inviting contradictions and abrasive lampooning (although it’s worth noting suda apparently has never seen branded to kill lol). if anything it’s kind of the opposite which makes it kind of wild that it released after TSA, NMH1 is very pointed about the intersection between stifling economics, dead end americana, and fan obsession with foreign work, whereas 3 is kind of like, ‘im travis and im 40 and kamen rider is still so fucking cool’ (not that hes wrong, just that that kind of adoration and those adolescent proclivities go totally unchecked here). still, it shares less in common with the kind of vulgarity-without-sincerity romp that NMH2 produced and honestly a lot more in common with suda’s short fiction, especially post 2010? im thinking very specifically about ranko tsukigime and kurayami dance, both works that are ‘closed-off’ or ‘shuttered-off’; they have a very definite beginning and end but everything that happens in between is a dense mix of dream logic, parodic undertones, perverse ironies, ‘i say it like it is’ genre statements – very much storytelling as irresolvable and inconclusive. shared between all three, there’s a strong narrative centering on non-sequiturs, an emphasis on artistic collaboration, and torrential floods of absurdity and surrealism fueling the game. hell, so many artists, such as animation teams like AC+bu, are common to both ranko and NMH3, even.

and i think for sure a lot of these constituent elements are present in other GHM/suda titles (that inability of narrative to resolve itself is a staple of NMH1), it’s just the explosiveness and the frequency with which you get barraged by these specific traits are at a fever pitch in those works. kamui shows up here in NMH3 and he basically does as kamui is wont to do, offering a bit of a skeleton key for understanding some of these works:
“[Things] had become quite the confusing mess. But somewhere inside that confusing mess hid the truth. What is real, what is not? … There is only one thing that is real. I am here in front of your very eyes.”

i think this is where my problems with NMH3 come into focus. i think NMH3’s invocation of that dizzying mess kamui alludes to is half-baked and barebones. unlike ranko tsukigime, NMH3 isn’t an absurd sidescroller that can be finished in 40 minutes. unlike kurayami dance, NMH3 isn’t a sub 30 chapter manga. NMH3 is a 12-20 hour adventure game. so while it shares much in common with these narratives, just the protracted nature of it results in maybe the last thing i expected a NMH title to be – just kind of boring? it’s a profound skeleton of a game in so many different ways, there’s not really a full-bodied texture so you’re left with a lot of entirely separate and only somewhat interrelated elements. how you feel about the game is left up to how you feel about any one of those constituent elements. for my purposes, i think a lot of this game has the seeds of something really special, but comes up pretty short.

when we catch up with travis touchdown again, he’s in the middle of doing something i think a fair amount of us do and are unwilling to admit – he’s looking up footage of a game he’s already finished, looking to vicariously (and perhaps voyeuristically) re-experience some of those same emotions, to temporally connect himself with a younger, more idealistic version of himself. i recommend watching it here, if only because in the same way NMH1’s intro frames the game, i think this is meant to be NMH3’s primary invocation of all its themes, running parallel to the game, and i like the remake angle the opener plays with because it feels like an implicit acknowledgement that so many sequels are really just remakes if you unpack them a bit.

in the proceeding cutscene we learn quickly about antagonists FU and damon’s origins, lovingly animating an ET-esque tale of nostalgic childhood tenderness gone somehow wrong. FU promising to return no matter what is a bit of cheeky writing, and the transition seamlessly shifting between aspect ratios as the scene shifts to the modern day is a great touch as well. damon (based on known shit-for-brains john riccitiello, a can of worms im not really interested in opening in this review), has apparently used FU’s powers to position himself in a place of executive power since the days of his mirthful childhood, and signals FU back to earth, where he pretty much immediately sets out on planetary conquest. in the original reveal trailer this is revealed as its own fakeout IP in the form of goddamn superhero, right before travis crashes the party. the kind of IP conflict this opener promises – between a resuscitated old franchise built on subjugation of nostalgia and clearly alluding to the MCU, in conflict with the brazen punk nature of NMH – is the kind of fertile ground NMH3 is built on, but fails to really capitalize on.

after that, the two plotlines intersect. travis is interrupted and called to action before he can figure out who deathman is, sylvia immediately begins fulfilling her designated intermediary NMH role, some dire shit happens, and the game kicks off proper with revenge serving as the impetus for taking down FU. it’s here where we’re introduced to the systems of the game, harkening back to NMH1. we can explore an overworld on foot or on bike again, participate in side activities like gig work, and hunt for small collectables and trinkets. structurally, however, it’s difficult for me to say this was worth it. performance is taxed to a degree in the open world and it’s barren in a way that feels unacceptable, fragmented across different islands, some of which are inaccessible from beginning to end. but even on spicy difficulty where i played, you only need to check out some of the barebones gig work a couple of times just to see what’s there, and you’re more than comfortable to just engage with the designated matches to advance in the narrative. they’re there because they worked in NMH1 and people like it, but they don’t recognize how interwoven those elements are into NMH1’s thesis. perhaps there’s a read in which you can argue it’s fun work for work’s sake – it’s nice to see travis turn the act of lawnmowing into stylistic expression – but it just feels noncommittal and compartmentalized.

which is another problem imo…NMH3 doesn’t have levels, you travel to points in the map to engage in little designated battles that take 2-5 minutes to complete on average to deflect from the fact that there’s no substantive content and to give the combat system some meat and heft. and i do think the combat is kinaesthetically really appealing, in a way kind of the artistic statement of the year, it’s so garish, the way the voxel art and weird low fidelity environments and excessive blood and splatter effects all coalesce into conveying an off-kilter unreality, but it sucks that the combat is what’s on center stage and nothing more. even if the enemy designs are generally serviceable and the gamefeel is solid, i found myself wanting more than contextless skirmishes. midoris one of the better fights in the game purely because there’s actually a level here with good ideas and imagery relating to her character and background fueling the stage before travis’s competing subconscious infects the scene and they fight in a tokusatsu rock quarry.

NMH3 in that respect represents NMH at its most gratifying. it just feels good, despite it all. part of this is that your slot machine upgrades don’t grind gameplay to a halt to do some other weird mode of gameplay for a bit but they all naturally come together to form random bursts of unrelenting power expression. gold joe is probably my favourite fight in the game – soundtracks fuego, mechanics are simple, gimmicks unique, and the fight is very readable without compromising too much on difficulty, it fits the style of game NMH3 is trying to be the most. and that’s where that slot machine integration comes in because it’s entirely possible to stunlock these guys into oblivion when all is said and done, combining a smidge of luck with some of the very minor okizeme nuance present in the game – i basically one hit killed FUs first phase because i got luckily enough to trigger mustang twice through errant slashes and he got stuck in my cage of fishermans suplex torment. i still don’t really know what his moveset looks like in the later stages of the fight. that’s a gratifying thing in my books, perfectly in line with NMH’s ideals.

still, it’s a bit uninspired and tame otherwise in how it achieves that expression, and i wish there was a bit more meat on its bones. it’s technically the best NMH combat system, but it achieves this through:
- configuring dark step as witch time
- having enemy types
- boring death glove DPS mechanics
which is really kind of a shame because it’d be nice to have more in the way of formal experimentation, particularly after some of the crazier death glove abilities in TSA. this is basically killer is dead 2 for all that that’s worth, and it’s not particularly interested in tying any of these combat mechanics into a greater core. it’s just a Component in an, again, extremely compartmentalized game, unlike NMH1’s brand of, to this day, really unique bushido/lucha combat. it feels homogenous with action titles i’ve already played, yknow?

that retreading, homogenous feeling, is what’s most disappointing about NMH3s conveyance of narrative. everything in the opening establishes some ideas and themes that lose a lot of their momentum as you engage with the game, throwing in NMH1’s subversions of boss battle identity and coyly alluding to it at times as an unsatisfactory way to shake things up. i think where NMH1 and TSA are pretty unpredictable, NMH3 is firmly predictable and monotonous - there aren’t as many hooks to engage with, not as many quiet moments to reflect on…i imagine there will be some sects of the internet who think NMH2 deserves a reassessment after this and my answer to that is a hearty no, that game’s just absolutely miserable to play, but even that title has something like the captain vlad fight which i really liked! and a fair amount of my positive feelings on NMH3s battles mostly stem from whether or not they were fun to engage with on a more tactile level rather than leaving me with some narrative or aesthetic thread to deliberate on. the multimedia, ‘binge streaming’ format the narrative is conveyed by feels holistically appropriate in this sense, because it really is No More Heroes as unchallenging content, No More Heroes as brand ip, No More Heroes as obligation…in a world where games more than ever unironically resemble NMH1’s implicit criticism of the open world city format, what could or should NMH3 be bringing to the table? because it’s just more of the same here.

if travis feels at odds with it, subsumed by it – i think that’s the fairest way i can read this game, even if it doesn’t feel like something the game is perhaps entirely committed to. sylvia is travis’s partner but you wouldn’t guess it in this game, she’s resigned to her designated role as matchmaker and manager, pitting travis against battle after battle to keep his bloodlust sharp and flowing (which maybe in some perverse sense means someone like her is inadvertently the ideal partner for travis), but that elides that she absconds every time travis attempts to talk to her more meaningfully. and i think maybe what the game attempts to stab at is that complete and total death of meaning in the macro sense as we prefer to engage with things in the micro sense. im pretty sure this is why it ends in the dizzying manner that it does, even if its post-credits scene is something a great many of sudas works already do (ranko, SOTD, etc). travis’s life is now battle for battle’s sake; the game doesn’t think to ask how he feels about that because it’s clearly still duty to him at this point in time, but one of the only other meaningful connections he’s fostered is someone like bishop who he can just sit back and crack open a cold one with, sitting through miike film after miike film having these podcast-esque discussions as this weird place of respite. sylvia even thanks bishop for taking care of travis, so it's clear she's aware to some extent of what he's being put through. still, his inability to connect with sylvia does frustrate him but there’s not a lot he can do about that given she’s been shuttered off into the role his life demands of her. hell, so cyclical is the absurdity in travs's life that characters from separate narrative continuities like kamui and midori (with kamuis malleable and impermanent physical appearance fittingly shaped to appear as a younger otaku in this title) explicitly allude to glamour camping in this universe, because, well, it seems like there’s a vaguely interesting show going on here – why not change the channel for a bit? in that sense i do think some of the spirit of KTP is in this title, but not in a particularly substantive way. i should also probably point out that i didn’t expect any of those narrative threads to be in this game, because that’s insane, and i specifically wanted for NMH3 to be another expression of NMH, however that might manifest. but if these are ideas NMH3 wanted to chase, i don’t think it needed to explicate them necessarily so much as it needed clarity and focus; after all, much of NMH1’s thematic strength is expressed in the margins. i kind of liked ranko, and i greatly enjoyed kurayami, both of which are similarly works defiant of continuity that still feel complete and total, whereas this is just distended for much of its runtime.

maybe the other fair thing to point out is that my favourite narrative content in the game is usually in the smaller moments, particularly the optional bad girl arc players can choose to engage with wherein travis attempts to console her by making anime recommendations. classic stuff there. but otherwise things just kind of happen with hardly any sense of importance or dramatic rhythm, and while it’s unrelated, you can sense that the most in the game’s pared back soundtrack – a surprising wealth of these tracks are lacking in pulse or energy, particularly the battle tracks which are composed by nobuaki kaneko. he later went on to form the band red orca – their debut album features so many of the tracks listed in this game that have all been given extensive and lavish production, whereas in NMH3 they’re all significantly pared back cascades of white noise. not as relevant to the discussion here, but feels like an apt metaphor.

i really think it’s admirable that a game like this can swing for the stars, but not every chance at bat will be a home run. i expect that this will become something of an MGSV-type debacle in a few months time, since it’s clear that covid production, budget issues, and technical problems took a butcher’s knife to this game, with it being confirmed that there’s over an hour of cutscenes missing from the game and probably even more content missing as well judging from suda’s own description of what’s absent, such as boss fights and fully developed areas. but, all the same, im really not sure it’s a game that can find life in its wounds like MGSV can be said to accomplish…but it’s all the more frustrating that it’s impossible to say, as well. maybe there’ll be a director’s cut, but it seems highly unlikely given that this is travis’s last hurrah and marvelous has the rights to the IP. it ends up offering an interest contrast to killer7, a game salvaged in a similar edit that brought everything into comparable focus. with NMH3, the dominant sense is that everything is disparate and disconnected. i can say that trying to make any semblance of cohesive statement on this game is hell, which explains my overwrought nature this time i suppose, but then, NMH3 is like that too. meditation on weaponized nostalgia? ouroboric game about audience’s inability to let the past die? a work about the futility of mechanics-oriented design? impossible to say, but i could have appreciated its resistance to any easily read interpretation (in part because i think treating works purely in terms of the message they purport can be a reductive lens) if its parcels of content were more meaningfully engaging, but they unfortunately arent. by the end of all these competing conceptions of media, it's only fitting that they all meet at their 'final destination'. it is what it is. see ya in the next one

don't care that the frame rate is awful; don't care that the combat is asinine; don't care that the game is unpolished, janky, ugly, and poorly considered in every respect; don't care that it was subject to predatory dlc; don't care that accord's requests are emblematic of some of the worst there is in side quest design; don't care don't care don't care

what i do care about is that this is the ultimate manifestation of YT's disinclination to work in games juxtaposed with his earnest belief in the medium as a vessel for greater things. in his grimmest failure, he finds light at the end of the tunnel. an astonishing exercise in empathy generation, one of the best finales in a game, and the only one of yoko taro's works that makes great use of backwards scripting + sequential playthroughs

completely unjustifiable and anarchic. what we have in FSR is a surrealist pseudosequel to a 1999 visual novel that was not localized at the time that FSR was, making the game upon original release borderline incomprehensible. compelling analysis can still be written without knowledge of the silver case, but the vast majority have settled into a comfortable deconstructionist lens - austin walkers interpretation is one such prominent take, evincing the game's dissatisfactory DS implementations (useless bonus puzzles, step counter) as part and parcel of the game's antagonistic design, antithetical to its own industry ('It's mean. It's cruel. I kind of love it.')

despite this, one of the most beautiful games ever and the work of someone i am increasingly convinced by the day is one of the most valuable devs in the industry. masterful in tone and delivery, FSR sharply threads together various disparate narrative and thematic strands to excellent effect, resulting in an anti-game package that stands head and shoulders above the crowd by closely resembling something akin to video game poetry. what does FSR pontificate on, if not to act the provocateur or to senselessly challenge convention? in no short order: truth, mystery, identity, purity, artifice, colonialism, primitivism, paradise, death, rebirth, spirituality. the influence of kafka, jodorowsky, and lynch, for example, is felt strongly, but never so strong that it is cynical or unoriginal - to be ensnared in suda's mosaic of cultural references is only to gain appreciation for the ingenuity of his work.

i think FSR and NMH's reputations precede them such that suda is seen as a figure whose sole developmental shtick lies in deconstruction and satire, but FSR is so much more than that - it only requires the player to ascend to match its level, to bask in the sunlight and take solace in ocean waves, to intuit what can't be sensed through mere deduction and speculation. truth is, after all, as natural, forthcoming, and innate as the bright blue skies around us, sometimes.

thesis: yoko taro is often listed among the foremost auteurs of the medium but the reality is his strengths lie in a kind of prototypical 'video game' method of work, borne out of necessity, that prioritizes collaboration between a consistent set of screenwriters, an unorthodox style of design targeting emotional resonance, and a plethora of unique flourishes specifically aimed at facilitating the empathy, immersion, and connection of its players (researching drakengard 1s development makes this especially apparent - it's arguably not even a yoko taro game in the usually defined sense of the term). his works, when in production, are thwarted frequently by compromise, limitation, and sacrifice - stumbling blocks, all in service of eventually reflecting a well-trodden title which charms on the virtues of its rustic artistry. wear and tear and a heart of gold. this style of development, marked by haste and experimentation and fueled by pure zeal and love for the craft, perhaps reveals why the pillars of video games, the codified monomythic genres and the primordial archetypes and the frequent allusions to popular work, so often impress themselves upon yoko taro games, and why so often his work succeeds in connecting to people where other talent may struggle. the video game of it all, if you will. incidentally, this collaborative style allows for a large breadth of potential interpretation and analysis afforded towards his work, and ive long maintained that a YT game is at its most interesting when it's not about what he intended for it to be about. did the tragedies in nier gestalt sometimes fall flat for you? me too! thankfully that's not what the game is about, at least not to me. in sum: the work of many, each willing and able to leave a fingerprint on the mosaic of development, enriches the product in the long-run, creating a full-bodied textured work of art and contributing immensely to the humanity at the core of these games. if any given chord strikes you as dull, a separate melody will enchant you - that's the nature of YT's games. they're artisan because of what they value and because of how they achieve their mission statement, and especially because of their passion, always demonstrated by the little details in these games. passion will always reveal itself, but so too will a dearth of passion reveal itself.

proof: nier re[in]carnation
if these games worked because of a certain je ne sais quois shared by the collaborative nature of a team in a trying work environment, i don't think my prospective next project would be a game in an exploitative genre where a new team of writers handled an endless barrage of one-note vignettes while YT sat back, nodded halfheartedly at his desk, and tried to string every vignette together using an overarching plot catering to obsessive drakennier fans. just my two cents