fullmetalsteve
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Elden Ring
2022
Elden Ring is staggering in breadth and detail, and like anything so big, gradually numbing. You want to slow it down, to see these new areas with the same sense of awe that accompanied every turn at the beginning, to press forward in fear of what may lie ahead. But a sense of forward momentum overtakes until it's irrepressible, and then the game is over. Increasingly difficult demigods appear in sequence to halt the flow, as a substitute for the rich environmental mysteries that had us forgetting there was an overall story in the first place. I'm thinking of how I never wanted to get through Stormveil, because that would mean I was done with Limgrave, and there was still so much to be learned in its fields and ravines and dead beaches. And then it was the same with Liurna. Altus Plateau was the last place I couldn't bear to leave, but even then Leyndell sits on the perimeter as a nagging reminder that things must end, and others must keep moving.
There are internal and external contributors to the persistent lapping of the call of progress here. As the player becomes more familiar with the game, they move more quickly through conflicts, and with the greater investment of player time comes the expectation of proportional narrative payoff. The detail of the here and now becomes a blur on the way to motivators on the horizon, and so Elden Ring like other games of its scale eventually becomes a virtual checklist. These factors are reflected internally, in the production of architecturally streamlined and graphically featureless maps that encourage forward momentum rather than the opportunity for getting lost. The player at a certain point either submits to the flow of the game and finishes it, or turns back and looks to rekindle their sense of wonder in the world behind them. The former is rewarded with quick and empty victory. The latter is also doomed, because by this point everything and everyone you ever cared about is devastated in progress' wake. If the player follows this path they turn to complete the game with a heavy heart, having found the world robbed of meaning before it even closes.
Elden Ring knows that it is doing this, because the interplay of internal (terrestrial, world) and external (noumenal, Outer Gods) forces is the defining fixation of FromSoftware titles. Here it gives the progress narrative the form of the 'Greater Will', and stages a conflict between its adherents, and factions that wish to end the world as we know it. The Greater Will is that the player finishes Elden Ring, their character ascending to the Elden Throne, so that Elden Ring can begin again, forever. New Forsaken will continue to be summoned to the Lands Between to keep the cycle turning. That is why the delivery of the Greater Will is so empty. The paradox of narrative progress for the ending-oriented player is that any ending involving a throne is not an ending but a moment lost to the vastness of procedural eternal recurrence. Encountering the devoted Brother Corhyn and Goldmask across the Lands Between transforms the two into a chorus, commenting on the progression of the Greater Will. Corhyn initially holds Goldmask to be a prophet, but soon thinks him mad, complaining that his rituals "betray a suspicion of the holism of the Golden Order." In truth, Goldmask realises the way of the Greater Will is to mend the ring and initiate its eternal cycle. This suspicion of Order is baked into its very belief system, leading adherents to hope the next cycle is exactly the same as this one.
Goldmask's order is bound to the notion of apocalypse as revelation. (Apokalypsis means 'unveiling' or 'revelation', hence the Book of Revelation is the book of apocalypse). For the apocalypse to operate as revelation, it is not to arrive from forces elsewhere, but to have been set in place by entities that are already here. The revelation is both future-oriented and ancestral, and its event means the elimination of future and ancestry alike. There is perhaps no system more apocalyptic than the game system — every ending is already present in the game text but hidden within the code, and all that needs to happen is for the apocalyptic event to be revealed in play. In Elden Ring's late-game revelation, Goldmask discovers what was already there, Goldmask recognises the corruption of the Order, Goldmask waits for the flames, Goldmask mends the ring so it can happen all over again. The apocalypticism of the Golden Order is, paradoxically, eternal stasis. Everything returns to the beginning so that the Forsaken can arise once more and fulfil the Greater Will. For all the flames and tears and wreckage it is an Order without change or difference.
On the other hand, many in the Lands Between hold a contempt for predestination and dedicate their lives to overthrowing the eternal recurrence of dysfunctional Order. There is a lateral (rather than linear) progression to many of the minor quests, in particular those given by Ranni. The theme and shape of these quests is the fate of stars and gravity, as opposed to the main narrative's rigid iconography of thrones, crowns, and bloodlines. Ranni actively sends you against the current, mapping out a constellation atop familiar places that now appear strange, and exposing undead cities beneath your feet. This is not done in the service of 'uncovering' a living, breathing world, but its opposite: the true undeath of the Lands Between. There's a madness to Ranni's story, and that's because it wants to tell you that you have already been here, many times before, under different names and at different times. Everybody has already died and come back. The fates of everyone you care about have accompanied and in fact defined them since before you even knew them, and so all of your action in the Lands Between has been for the deliverance of their microscopic tragedy. Thops will always arrive too late, Irina will always have to wait too long, Millicent will always live diseased, Latenna will always curl up beside her sister in the snow.
The revelation of Ranni's story is not the arrival of all of the pieces that were already there from the last reset, but that the world was already lost and empty. Travelling across the Lands Between on her apocalyptic mission severs rather than traces the golden contours of the world shaped like a furled finger. She wants to find the man who stole the stars so the moon comes back and the tides with it. Rejecting the dysfunctional order of the past, we now seek things born of nothingness, to realise the possibility of eliminating the eternal 'now' that was never present any way. And so we turn our backs to the stars and march ahead, to end things once again. There is an ending with believing in, and it's the one that never eventuates. It's the one born in the coldest night imaginable. Are you ready to commit a cardinal sin?
There are internal and external contributors to the persistent lapping of the call of progress here. As the player becomes more familiar with the game, they move more quickly through conflicts, and with the greater investment of player time comes the expectation of proportional narrative payoff. The detail of the here and now becomes a blur on the way to motivators on the horizon, and so Elden Ring like other games of its scale eventually becomes a virtual checklist. These factors are reflected internally, in the production of architecturally streamlined and graphically featureless maps that encourage forward momentum rather than the opportunity for getting lost. The player at a certain point either submits to the flow of the game and finishes it, or turns back and looks to rekindle their sense of wonder in the world behind them. The former is rewarded with quick and empty victory. The latter is also doomed, because by this point everything and everyone you ever cared about is devastated in progress' wake. If the player follows this path they turn to complete the game with a heavy heart, having found the world robbed of meaning before it even closes.
Elden Ring knows that it is doing this, because the interplay of internal (terrestrial, world) and external (noumenal, Outer Gods) forces is the defining fixation of FromSoftware titles. Here it gives the progress narrative the form of the 'Greater Will', and stages a conflict between its adherents, and factions that wish to end the world as we know it. The Greater Will is that the player finishes Elden Ring, their character ascending to the Elden Throne, so that Elden Ring can begin again, forever. New Forsaken will continue to be summoned to the Lands Between to keep the cycle turning. That is why the delivery of the Greater Will is so empty. The paradox of narrative progress for the ending-oriented player is that any ending involving a throne is not an ending but a moment lost to the vastness of procedural eternal recurrence. Encountering the devoted Brother Corhyn and Goldmask across the Lands Between transforms the two into a chorus, commenting on the progression of the Greater Will. Corhyn initially holds Goldmask to be a prophet, but soon thinks him mad, complaining that his rituals "betray a suspicion of the holism of the Golden Order." In truth, Goldmask realises the way of the Greater Will is to mend the ring and initiate its eternal cycle. This suspicion of Order is baked into its very belief system, leading adherents to hope the next cycle is exactly the same as this one.
Goldmask's order is bound to the notion of apocalypse as revelation. (Apokalypsis means 'unveiling' or 'revelation', hence the Book of Revelation is the book of apocalypse). For the apocalypse to operate as revelation, it is not to arrive from forces elsewhere, but to have been set in place by entities that are already here. The revelation is both future-oriented and ancestral, and its event means the elimination of future and ancestry alike. There is perhaps no system more apocalyptic than the game system — every ending is already present in the game text but hidden within the code, and all that needs to happen is for the apocalyptic event to be revealed in play. In Elden Ring's late-game revelation, Goldmask discovers what was already there, Goldmask recognises the corruption of the Order, Goldmask waits for the flames, Goldmask mends the ring so it can happen all over again. The apocalypticism of the Golden Order is, paradoxically, eternal stasis. Everything returns to the beginning so that the Forsaken can arise once more and fulfil the Greater Will. For all the flames and tears and wreckage it is an Order without change or difference.
On the other hand, many in the Lands Between hold a contempt for predestination and dedicate their lives to overthrowing the eternal recurrence of dysfunctional Order. There is a lateral (rather than linear) progression to many of the minor quests, in particular those given by Ranni. The theme and shape of these quests is the fate of stars and gravity, as opposed to the main narrative's rigid iconography of thrones, crowns, and bloodlines. Ranni actively sends you against the current, mapping out a constellation atop familiar places that now appear strange, and exposing undead cities beneath your feet. This is not done in the service of 'uncovering' a living, breathing world, but its opposite: the true undeath of the Lands Between. There's a madness to Ranni's story, and that's because it wants to tell you that you have already been here, many times before, under different names and at different times. Everybody has already died and come back. The fates of everyone you care about have accompanied and in fact defined them since before you even knew them, and so all of your action in the Lands Between has been for the deliverance of their microscopic tragedy. Thops will always arrive too late, Irina will always have to wait too long, Millicent will always live diseased, Latenna will always curl up beside her sister in the snow.
The revelation of Ranni's story is not the arrival of all of the pieces that were already there from the last reset, but that the world was already lost and empty. Travelling across the Lands Between on her apocalyptic mission severs rather than traces the golden contours of the world shaped like a furled finger. She wants to find the man who stole the stars so the moon comes back and the tides with it. Rejecting the dysfunctional order of the past, we now seek things born of nothingness, to realise the possibility of eliminating the eternal 'now' that was never present any way. And so we turn our backs to the stars and march ahead, to end things once again. There is an ending with believing in, and it's the one that never eventuates. It's the one born in the coldest night imaginable. Are you ready to commit a cardinal sin?
Final Fantasy X
2001
Final Fantasy X is an epic road trip romance fantasy, sci-fi mystery conspiracy thriller, part-time sports drama, full-time daddy issues simulator, spiralling rumination on the nature of death, grief, hope, and forgiveness, Japanese role-playing mind-bending politico-navigational adventure. It is a masterclass in world-building and plotting. It is the heart on the sleeve of the video game industry.
To play this game is to refuse despair. To play this game is to engage with, and battle against, notions of racial supremacy. To play this game is to target systems of higher power and tear them down, one suit and tie at a time, until all of the historical abuses, lies, and hypocrisies are laid bare on the dirt for everyone to see.
Final Fantasy X unironically frames friendship—friendship tested by ingrained prejudices that have been expertly woven by the powerful, so finely that you can’t see the stitches, so long ago that you can’t begin to know where their commands begin and your opinions end—as the solution to depression, oppression, and cyclical violence maintained by the wealthy and the powerful. It frames friendship as radical. It frames friendship not only as a political choice, but as the political choice. Embrace the alien or kill them. Love the foreigner or hate them. What do you choose? And how do you turn that choice into action, rather than empty words? Friendship is a political pressure that, when applied radically, can and must snap the status quo in two.
That is what Final Fantasy X is. A manifesto of hope. An agenda of friendship. A fearless reaching out of hands across the border.
It presents this thematically through its magnificent plot and character interactions, while also presenting it mechanically through its rapid-fire rotational party member system. We can overcome even the insurmountable monsters of this world by working together, it is saying, by covering each other’s weaknesses and by building upon each other’s strengths. We can bring about real change with our revolving cast of radical friendship warriors. No matter the first impression, no matter the lies that we have let ourselves believe about one another in the past, we choose to work together, now, and to love each other, forever.
In a similar vein, Final Fantasy X is also about taking charge of your own life, being the change that you want to see in the world, and standing firm in the face of despair. Again, it is about choice. “Now is the time to choose,” the elder of the group, Auron, tells his comrades at one of the most heart-stopping, pivotal points in the story, when the lies, hubris, and the violent depths of those in power are undressed fully before you. “Die and be free of pain. Or live and fight your sorrows. Now is the time to shape your stories. Your fate is in your hands.”
Our lives often appear prescribed by those in power over us, by parents, bosses, and politicians, by the wealthy, by the trappings of poverty, by manipulative and violent headlines in the press, by the black and white messages we consume in television and film, by the hopeless voices in the back of our minds whispering, it’s no good, there’s no point, nothing will ever change. Yet, armed with the radical belief that anybody can be our friend, and backed up by the foreigner, the queer, the outsider, and the beast man with the broken horn, we can overcome anything, everything, no matter how high the climb or big the monster. We can bring about change. We can demand better than the endless spiral of abuse, lies, and death that is inflicted upon us by those in control.
This is Final Fantasy X. This is your story.
To play this game is to refuse despair. To play this game is to engage with, and battle against, notions of racial supremacy. To play this game is to target systems of higher power and tear them down, one suit and tie at a time, until all of the historical abuses, lies, and hypocrisies are laid bare on the dirt for everyone to see.
Final Fantasy X unironically frames friendship—friendship tested by ingrained prejudices that have been expertly woven by the powerful, so finely that you can’t see the stitches, so long ago that you can’t begin to know where their commands begin and your opinions end—as the solution to depression, oppression, and cyclical violence maintained by the wealthy and the powerful. It frames friendship as radical. It frames friendship not only as a political choice, but as the political choice. Embrace the alien or kill them. Love the foreigner or hate them. What do you choose? And how do you turn that choice into action, rather than empty words? Friendship is a political pressure that, when applied radically, can and must snap the status quo in two.
That is what Final Fantasy X is. A manifesto of hope. An agenda of friendship. A fearless reaching out of hands across the border.
It presents this thematically through its magnificent plot and character interactions, while also presenting it mechanically through its rapid-fire rotational party member system. We can overcome even the insurmountable monsters of this world by working together, it is saying, by covering each other’s weaknesses and by building upon each other’s strengths. We can bring about real change with our revolving cast of radical friendship warriors. No matter the first impression, no matter the lies that we have let ourselves believe about one another in the past, we choose to work together, now, and to love each other, forever.
In a similar vein, Final Fantasy X is also about taking charge of your own life, being the change that you want to see in the world, and standing firm in the face of despair. Again, it is about choice. “Now is the time to choose,” the elder of the group, Auron, tells his comrades at one of the most heart-stopping, pivotal points in the story, when the lies, hubris, and the violent depths of those in power are undressed fully before you. “Die and be free of pain. Or live and fight your sorrows. Now is the time to shape your stories. Your fate is in your hands.”
Our lives often appear prescribed by those in power over us, by parents, bosses, and politicians, by the wealthy, by the trappings of poverty, by manipulative and violent headlines in the press, by the black and white messages we consume in television and film, by the hopeless voices in the back of our minds whispering, it’s no good, there’s no point, nothing will ever change. Yet, armed with the radical belief that anybody can be our friend, and backed up by the foreigner, the queer, the outsider, and the beast man with the broken horn, we can overcome anything, everything, no matter how high the climb or big the monster. We can bring about change. We can demand better than the endless spiral of abuse, lies, and death that is inflicted upon us by those in control.
This is Final Fantasy X. This is your story.
Like the Bluepoint remake of Shadow of the Colossus, Ocarina of Time 3D is the type of remake that is mostly interested in preserving the original work. There is an extremely delicate balance between upgrading the visuals and preserving the charm of the N64 classic, and this game strikes that middle ground perfectly. As someone who plays Ocarina of Time annually, I feel pretty strongly this 3DS remake is the best way to play the game-- especially if it's your first time.
2018 was a strange year for mobile gaming in that the Venn diagram of “games designed for mobile” and “games designed for everything else” were starting to overlap in a real industry-shaking way. Pocketable hardware was powerful enough to run modified ports of console-level experiences, but in my opinion the peak of mobile at the time came in the form of games designed around our devices’ specific characteristics and the ways in which we interact with them. That year, two mobile games had made it to my top ten list: The first was Florence, a visual novel that employed the various input methods we use daily like tapping, swiping, and more to tell an emotionally wrought story about love and heartbreak. The other was Twinfold, a brilliantly designed mash-up of roguelike and puzzle elements by developer Kenny Sun that I still believe to be one of the best games on my iPhone.
In 2021 while the aforementioned Venn diagram continues to shift closer to perfect fusion between the two circles, I found a different kind of fusion in the form of Tender: Creature Comforts. Miraculously, Tender is a visual novel that employs the various input methods we use daily like tapping, swiping, and more to tell an emotionally wrought story about love and heartbreak — this time by Twinfold’s Kenny Sun, along with collaborators Gideon Lazarus and Jie En Lee.
Tender takes the form of a fake dating service, and upon downloading the game you’ll be asked various questions about yourself to best inform perspective dates about your whole deal while also making the app feel more natural to use. What’s your name? How about your birthday? Do you usually capitalize sentences when messaging someone else, or do you write in all lowercase? Are you a “haha” person or a “lmao” person or even a “hjskdfhialf” person? Once this information is entered, the game begins, and it sure looks exactly like dating apps you might have used before. You’re presented with various creatures who have profile photos and short bios that are punchy or too revealing or say nothing at all, and it’s your job to swipe left or right if you think they might be interesting. And then you wait. And you wait for a while sometimes! Tender takes place in real time, which means it might take multiple days to match with someone, and even if you do it might take another few days for them to respond to your opening message. If you play your cards right and choose all the correct dialogue options in conversation, you might even be able to schedule a date which must also happen in real time. Tender will send you a notification when it comes time to “attend” the date, and what follows is a beautifully written choose-your-own adventure story about how you did or absolutely did not connect with this creature.
The genius of Tender is that everything I’ve described involves procedures and concepts and input methods you’re already intimately familiar with. We don’t need to be told how a dating app works in 2021. When “playing” comes so naturally that input doesn’t need to be taught, what’s left is artwork, storytelling, and emotion. More than anything else, Tender is a platform for character studies and the ways in which we can inform them through interaction. A couple you match with on Tender looking for a third might break up based on your innocuous questions to make sure everyone is on the same page. You might then see both individually in the dating pool the next week when they’ve each decided to get back on the horse. A seemingly innocuous invitation to visit the Museum of Humanity for a date might pave the way for some speculative science fiction twists that are both too horrifying and too hilarious to spoil — by the time you’ve finished reading the information around the exhibits you realize you’ve ignored the date entirely.
By taking place in real time, Tender asks a lot of its players. For the 10–14 days spent playing, you’ll also be signing up for near-constant notifications and emotional gut-punches at inopportune moments in your real life. The frightening heart of Tender is that it’s almost too good at being a facsimile of online dating. This can be a lot to handle, especially for those who are already using dating apps in real life. But at the end of the day the secret to Tender and the secret to Tinder are one in the same: Be honest with yourself, be open to new experiences, and at the very least you’ll have a story to tell.
In 2021 while the aforementioned Venn diagram continues to shift closer to perfect fusion between the two circles, I found a different kind of fusion in the form of Tender: Creature Comforts. Miraculously, Tender is a visual novel that employs the various input methods we use daily like tapping, swiping, and more to tell an emotionally wrought story about love and heartbreak — this time by Twinfold’s Kenny Sun, along with collaborators Gideon Lazarus and Jie En Lee.
Tender takes the form of a fake dating service, and upon downloading the game you’ll be asked various questions about yourself to best inform perspective dates about your whole deal while also making the app feel more natural to use. What’s your name? How about your birthday? Do you usually capitalize sentences when messaging someone else, or do you write in all lowercase? Are you a “haha” person or a “lmao” person or even a “hjskdfhialf” person? Once this information is entered, the game begins, and it sure looks exactly like dating apps you might have used before. You’re presented with various creatures who have profile photos and short bios that are punchy or too revealing or say nothing at all, and it’s your job to swipe left or right if you think they might be interesting. And then you wait. And you wait for a while sometimes! Tender takes place in real time, which means it might take multiple days to match with someone, and even if you do it might take another few days for them to respond to your opening message. If you play your cards right and choose all the correct dialogue options in conversation, you might even be able to schedule a date which must also happen in real time. Tender will send you a notification when it comes time to “attend” the date, and what follows is a beautifully written choose-your-own adventure story about how you did or absolutely did not connect with this creature.
The genius of Tender is that everything I’ve described involves procedures and concepts and input methods you’re already intimately familiar with. We don’t need to be told how a dating app works in 2021. When “playing” comes so naturally that input doesn’t need to be taught, what’s left is artwork, storytelling, and emotion. More than anything else, Tender is a platform for character studies and the ways in which we can inform them through interaction. A couple you match with on Tender looking for a third might break up based on your innocuous questions to make sure everyone is on the same page. You might then see both individually in the dating pool the next week when they’ve each decided to get back on the horse. A seemingly innocuous invitation to visit the Museum of Humanity for a date might pave the way for some speculative science fiction twists that are both too horrifying and too hilarious to spoil — by the time you’ve finished reading the information around the exhibits you realize you’ve ignored the date entirely.
By taking place in real time, Tender asks a lot of its players. For the 10–14 days spent playing, you’ll also be signing up for near-constant notifications and emotional gut-punches at inopportune moments in your real life. The frightening heart of Tender is that it’s almost too good at being a facsimile of online dating. This can be a lot to handle, especially for those who are already using dating apps in real life. But at the end of the day the secret to Tender and the secret to Tinder are one in the same: Be honest with yourself, be open to new experiences, and at the very least you’ll have a story to tell.