I have zero patience for stealth tactics in supposedly freeform action games, so I decided to take Deathloop at its word that "a variety of gameplay styles are viable"--INCLUDING gunning everyone down in a berzerker rage and running around hacking people up with my machete. And you know what? It's not viable.

It's not that you can't succeed doing it, because... I guess maybe you could? It'd be a pain, but maybe you could. It's not viable because it's not fun. The gunplay in this game feels so leaden it's almost comical, and the AI just simply doesn't seem built to do anything other than run at you, creating endless situations where you're just crouched down picking off idiots who wander around a corner one by one.

Now, you might say that it's MY fault that I'm playing like that, but that's what I despise about this particular type of AAA game. If I'm not having fun it's my fault. These kinds of games want to have their cake and eat it too--to be highly scripted story experiences but also provide "open-ended gameplay" so they won't be accused of, dreadedly, being too linear. Oh, go loud or go quiet, go this way or go that way, use this gun or that knife, just don't blame us if it sucks! (Hilariously, every level in Deathloop begins with two branching paths leading to doors that open out to what is essentially the same part of the same environment -- a perfect metaphor for the "choice" these games are actually giving the player.)

Well, fuuuuck all that. I WANT linearity in my AAA games! I want scripted spectacle! I want level design so tight that going through the exact motions the developer expects me to feels organic, like I made the choice to do it when really they did. There are certain blockbuster games that achieve this, and it can be magical -- and it's almost always when they don't overextend themselves and just pick a few fun mechanics and stick with them through varying environments and with increasing levels of difficulty. You know, how video games used to be?

Deathloop embraces the opposite of this in every regard. It is so overeager to explain all of its little complications to you in tutorial form that it both bores and intimidates you. It presents these little open world-levels that should feel like playgrounds, claims you can do anything, and then lets you do essentially nothing cool in them beyond a) sneak around and kill guys, or b) shoot guys -- and in each case the presence of the other option dulls the enjoyment of the former.

Granted, I did not get very far into the game (3 hours or so) but what was supposed to be the big hook -- the reveal of Deathloop's grand conceit, that you would be playing the same day over and over, with different times revealing different objectives or different enemies in certain places -- did nothing but assure me that I was better off just cutting my losses and calling this one quits. It has all the style in the world, but it lacks so thoroughly in substance that the prospect of doing these same areas over and over with little changes here and there just seemed laughable.

Let's talk briefly about that style, though. I was intrigued by the story in this game, it does look good, and I liked Colt as a character. I think AAA games in general could take themselves less seriously, and need more original worlds exactly like the one on offer here (even if it does dip, at times, into slightly shallow Bioshock-worship territory). Its story and characters are things that Deathloop was, and should have been, genuinely commended for, and I would hope that its seeming failure to sell well doesn't discourage this developer, or others, from pursuing similarly interesting anti-conventions down the road.

The last thing I'll say is, it's possible that my deep foray into arcade games and 90's console games these past couple of years has just straight-up ruined me for something like Deathloop. I have re-learned something I knew so purely in my youth: that I like to simply turn on a game and start playing it and have fun. Everything that the industry, during the past two decades of increasingly competitive commercialization, has draped over that simple core -- complex stories and open world elements and rpg elements and rogulike elements and adaptive ai and endless lore bits you have to read and hand-holdy tutorials and the like -- is all just kinda, bullshit. How am I supposed to care about anything else -- any of all of the nonsense the game throws at you in the first three hours, and it is a lot -- when the core game, the shooting and stabbing of the guys, is not fun?

not really a tactical stealth game, or an immersive sim, but some unknown third thing. sadly did not click with me as much as I'd hoped, trying to give it some more of my time with the hard difficulty and end game stuff but unfortunately the squishiness of your character makes it really hard to mess around with this game. I hate that the main way of getting upgrades is a completely random stock mechanic, I get how it links to the games themes, and it links to them very well, but god I just don't have the time or wherewithal for it! There's a lot I like in this game writing and presentation, it's a very smart very sharp game, but god I can barely engage with 90% of the gameplay. having to walk on eggshells cuz of the speed at which your character can be turned into paste just does not make for a fun gameplay experience. Bleh, wish I liked it more.

Calling Balatro a gambling game has become one of my pet peeves, because in essentiallity it's a series of math challenges. You try building poker hands, and the game does card counting for you so puzzle-to-puzzle probabilities are all laid bare. You get to influence statistics of the game in-between rounds, which is where the most random element of the equation comes from. I quite enjoy playing the long game, thinning out and refiguring the deck for my playstyle. Where the game loses me is in HOW you are supposed to win the run. Rather than interesting cardomancy, the way to progress through is to stack payouts, mutipliers and multipliers on top of multipliers until the actual card game requires nothing but non-commital hands. The middle is the most interesting of any run where you form a game plan and look to implement it with tools thrown in your way. But the end result you seek? To make the line go up until your input doesn't matter. And that's just hella dull.

in contrast to it's reputation in some circles as a sophisticated and unapproachable masterwork that only the most capable in the medium can dare claim to have really conquered, revisiting dark souls in 2022 has the same essential feel as revisiting elric of melnibone in the same year. dark souls is pure pulp fantasy, absolutely lascivious in it's enthusiasm to play the hits and delight in the playing of them. there's no attempt to hide the basic moods and beats the game is playing, instead it simply enjoys the classics with an infectious delight. about the only thing that isn't pulp about dark souls' fantasy is the sexism, which is mostly just deeply boring and conservative instead of being as weird and outrageous as a lot of those old paperbacks could be.

undead burg. darkroot basin. lord of light. the abyss. the dark. fire. the sun. demon ruins. Big Hat Logan. fuckin blighttown. it's deeply mundane in a way that really works. there's no Tarnished-esqe straining towards the illusion of novelty when there is none, none of the worldbuilding has any facade or pretense to it, it is what it is on the tin, which is exactly the spirit of a pulp novel that promises swords and legends and tits and proceeds to deliver exactly that, but with a visual artistry and methodically slow pace that all but forces the player to take the time to appreciate why we like these base concepts in the first place. getting Cursed in The Depths and having to spend not-inconsiderable time on a grueling backtrack up to The Undead Parish to talk to Oswald to get it cured is not a traditionally "fun" or "novel" journey but it is one that invites consideration of every step of that journey. it is sophisticated appreciation of "junk food" art, and that is just quintessential Video Games to me.

the game's writing is (mostly) wonderfully unpretentious, in stark contrast to it's most ardent fans, fans who have done a tremendous disservice to the game's narrative by archiving it in the form of videos and wikis that tear it from the aforementioned pacing and stunning visual direction that brings it life and meaning. a lore wiki about the primorial serpent kaathe and his darkstalkers in the abyss would read like the rote fantasy claptrap that it ultimately fundamentally is, but the way the game deploys it, the way it hides Kaathe and what he has to say from the standard progression of the journey of the Chosen, the way the Abyss and the Dark is depicted as a literally blank void, a Nothingness that exists totally apart from our conception of the world as we can possibly conceive of it, that is what makes these concepts compelling.

though admittedly, the game hardly does itself any favors in the honestly quite weak DLC, which recasts the Dark from a compelling evocation of the unknown, and literalizes it as a Spooky Cave with a Fucked Up Guy inside that spreads Corruption Juice that turns people into Monsters. dark souls works because it puts in the work to make concepts like this visually and poetically compelling, but the dlc is much more traditionally interested in the exposition of Lore as a beginning and end, and demonstrates the very thin line between Compelling Pulp Fantasy and Drearily Rote Pulp Fantasy. artorias of the abyss, for better or worse, for good or ill, feels completely haunted by the future of Fromsoft, and feels at odds with what I found so loveable about dark souls upon this revisit.

the story and world of dark souls is nothing you haven't seen before if you're even lightly read in fantasy and mythical literature. but because it deeply invests in the presentation of and love of these things without pretension or subversion, through the delightfully shonky and functional UI and the warm PS3 sheen, it works. dark souls knows that sometimes, we just want to read about elric of melnibone, the eternal champion, brooding on his ruby throne while the Lord of Dragon Cave scowls from across the court. i don't think i'll ever love it like i love it's younger, weirder, rougher, moodier sibling, but it'll always make me smile.

     'Those great, beautiful ships, rocking silently on the calm waters, with their idle and wistful sails, are they not telling us in a silent language — when will we depart for happiness?'
     – Charles Baudelaire, Fusées, VIII, 1887 (personal translation).

One of the most difficult issues in fantasy studies is to define its contours and, by extension, its relationship to reality. In her seminal study, Fantasy: The literature of subversion (1981), Rosemary Jackson points out that fantasy violates the conventions and rules of our reality and: 'threatens to subvert rules and conventions taken to be normative [and] disturb "rules" of artistic representation and literature’s reproduction of the "real"' [1]. The capacity for deviation that speculative fiction offers is both an opportunity and a danger. Jackson points out that this subversive potential does not mean that fantasy or the fantastic are genres that always aim for social progressivism. In fact, the overwhelming majority of the pulp tradition was steeped in racist, homophobic and misogynist tropes that exerted a lasting influence on fiction throughout the late twentieth century and to this day.

     The misogynist issue in Western-style fantasy

Many authors hide behind these historical precedents to conceal a conservative discourse. The existence of multiple races allows for the perpetuation of social oppression, and while female characters have generally become more active in recent decades, they continue to fit into old-fashioned stereotypes [2]. The Final Fantasy series is part of this dynamic and has always oscillated between these major themes of fantasy fiction, notably by offering a regular comparison between magic and technological modernity, nature and industry, good and evil, humanity and divinity. These dichotomies are relatively common and allow the story to touch on issues such as capitalist exploitation and the use of natural resources. However, the representation of other topics remains disastrous: Final Fantasy XIV (2010) is especially characterised by deep-seated racism and sexism, the latter partially masked by the presence of strong female characters in positions of power.

It is hard to say whether these precautions were taken to appeal to a particular audience, but it is clear that Final Fantasy XVI ignores all these concerns and plunges into the most outrageous archaism, piling on misogynistic scenes wherever possible, supposedly justified by the harshness of European medieval society. Excuses of this kind obscure the real issues. The player follows the story of Clive Rosfield, drawn into a quest for revenge after the Phoenix Gate incident, which spells the end of the Duchy of Rosaria. Miraculously reunited with his childhood friend Jill Warrick, he joins Cid's group, determined to change the situation of the Bearers – magic-capable individuals enslaved across the continent. Final Fantasy XVI is therefore a tale of free will and independence, pitting the dark nature of the world against the purity of Cid and Clive's ideals.

To create this atmosphere, as well as the division between good and evil, the title makes extensive use of violence, sex and sexual violence as narrative drivers. Lenise Prater explains that Fiona McIntosh's Percheron trilogy (2005) constructs: 'a series of juxtapositions between good and evil [...] through the representation of sexual violence' [3]. The same processes are at work in Final Fantasy XVI, from the very first narrative arc of the adventure, where Benedikta is cast as the archetypal femme fatale, ready to use her body to manipulate her rivals: the character is constantly brought back to her status as a woman, and it is the threat of sexual violence that cements her development – Annabella is constructed in a similar way. Final Fantasy XVI revels in the dichotomy between whores and innocent virgins. Despite the Western aesthetic of the title, Jill is no more than a yamato nadeshiko who is constantly sidelined by the game. She mostly serves as a narrative device to advance the plot, through her multiple visits to the infirmary or because she is kidnapped by Clive's enemies. The title denies her any agency, and her nuanced fragility is only hinted at in a few sentences before being brushed aside: it takes almost thirty hours of gameplay before Clive explicitly asks her how she is, despite her constant concern for the protagonist's anxieties.

     A case for centrism and laissez-faire

This conservative portrayal is echoed in the discourse on the Bearers. The game is moderately critical of slavery on the continent and fails to make it a structural issue for Clive, who always remains somewhat detached from the problem. This issue is structurally embedded in the way the player interacts with the world, as they are extremely passive in relation to the events portrayed in the story. While the player is aware of the political manipulations taking place in Storm, they cannot act on them directly; Clive is blindly thrown into the fray and the situation is simply resolved in a battle that depoliticises the social stakes. Similarly, the Seals donated by certain NPCs guarantee Clive's reputation in the community in a highly artificial way, removing any roughness from the interactions. Clive fights to free the Bearers because he inherits this mission from his father and Cid, but this task seems disembodied throughout the game.

Beyond the main quest, the side quests are particularly lacklustre and do little to deepen the world-building. Because they can be accessed at any point in the game, Final Fantasy XVI chooses to exclude companions from them. They simply disappear from the cutscenes and thus have no chance to react to the world around them. Since the intention is to establish Clive as an ideologically good, open and self-governing character, all side quests are resolved by Clive's ideological concessions or miraculous unifications in the face of artificially created danger, without the slightest contradiction from any of the other main characters. Only in the final stretch does someone point out Clive's hypocrisy and domineering power over Jill, but the scene is quickly swept away by the return of Gav, the comic relief of the group.

Final Fantasy XVI is more concerned with shocking, melodramatic or cathartic platitudes than with radical denunciations of inequality and oppression. Worse, these shocking scenes do not even make the world dynamic, so poor is the structure of the narrative. Two problems stand out. Firstly, the interweaving of high-intensity sequences with slower passages: instead of building up the world through genuine slice-of-life sequences, the game multiplies banalities that the player has already understood for several dozen hours. The temporality of the story is also incoherent. Clive seems to cross the continent in a matter of hours, while his rivals remain completely passive. The confrontation between the Sanbreque Empire and the Dhalmekian Republic is characterised by irrational stagnation and passivity, allowing Clive to strike unhindered. The Twins always remain static, despite long ellipses in time.

     A hollow and meaningless experience

Perhaps Final Fantasy XVI should not be taken so literally, but rather accepted as the nekketsu it becomes in the second half of the game. Such an interpretation would be acceptable if the game did not take itself so seriously. However, as in Final Fantasy XIV, the writing wallows in a very uncomfortable theatrical heaviness – which the actors generally manage to save from disaster – as if clumsily mimicking the drama of Shakespeare's historical plays. However, Clive's disillusioned, self-deprecating, borderline comic character breaks up this fiction. Some characters work well, playing up their theatrical nature, such as Cid or Lord Byron, but they are quickly relegated to the background or an essentially comic role.

The shifts in tone and pacing detract from the development of the narrative, which cannot be saved by a few flashes of brilliance. The aetheric floods seem to have been imagined as a reflection of nuclear risks, highlighting the danger of Japan's post-Fukushima energy crutch, but in the end they are only used as a narrative expedient to create danger where the plot needs it. The pinnacle of dishonesty and disrespect for a title that centres its discourse on human free will lies in the choice of names for the NPC fillers. In the pure tradition of Final Fantasy XIV, they include puns and comical alliterations ('Broom-Bearer') that strip them of all substance and reduce them to ridicule. In the second half of the game, a little girl is introduced as a character of some narrative importance, but the title does not even bother to give her a name or address her living conditions.

Meanwhile, the action sequences prove to be particularly hollow. The choreography in the first few hours is quite ingenious, highlighting Clive's agility with complex movements and rather creative camera angles. As the title progresses, this aspect is abandoned in favour of fights that drag on and resort to nekketsu clichés. The duel against Titan lasts forty minutes and is a miserable succession of attacks around the stone tentacles. Final Fantasy XVI even has the audacity to end the battle not with the obvious cinematic climax, but with a dull and particularly unpleasant aerial sequence. Subsequent encounters also drag on for no apparent reason other than to demonstrate a genuine – if futile – mastery of the lightning engine.

     Ergonomics, gameplay and fluidity

While Final Fantasy XVI boasts detailed environments at first glance, the facade quickly cracks. The early areas are indeed highly detailed, to the point of drowning the player in detail – navigating through the thick vegetation is quite difficult, forcing the player to use Torgal to progress – but the quality deteriorates as the game progresses. The dense environments disappear in favour of vast open areas that struggle to convey the majesty of the world. Although the cities visible on the horizon are beautiful backdrops, they fail to radiate materially onto their surroundings, which then become mere abstractions. Moreover, Clive's movement is extremely sluggish: even getting on his chocobo is an unpleasant task that constantly interrupts the fluidity of the action, while the player is condemned to an extraordinary passivity in order to get from one place to another.

In the Hideaway, this impression is reinforced by Clive's inability to sprint: in the second half of the game, getting to the backyard is a gruelling chore. The magic of this cocoon quickly vanishes, as the various characters keep repeating themselves and are only mediocrely animated. Despite the detailed scenery, the game borrows all its animations from Final Fantasy XIV, giving a very artificial tone to the discussions. The Hideaway is less a place where the player can comfortably catch up with their favourite NPCs, and more a burdensome obligation to access NPCs, side quests and the hunt board – requiring the player to physically go there to see the location of elite monsters, a design mistake that even Final Fantasy XIV avoided.

The enjoyment of the combat system is left to the player and their experience of other character-action games, but it is absurd that the player has to wait at least twenty hours to finally be given a modicum of flexibility in their attack options: Final Fantasy XVI justifies its unique protagonist with a deep combat system that encourages the creation of diverse builds, but this philosophy is only appropriate in a New Game+ where all powers are unlocked from the start. In a first playthrough, the player must suffer from an impressive slowness, to the point where the Story Mode becomes an obvious option. The title here echoes the recent problem of Shadowbringers (2019) and especially Endwalker (2021), which first designs its battles with the Extreme and Savage versions, before cutting out the most difficult sections for the Normal versions – the result is a sense of incompleteness that is particularly damaging when combined with the very slowly evolving combat system.

It is difficult to place Final Fantasy XVI in the landscape of modern Japanese video games, so awkward is it in every way. With the title still in its cycle of artificial marketing in preparation for the DLCs, one can only speculate as to the reasons for these failings. Perhaps the lack of coherence can be explained by the fractured development team working on two major games, and the highly eclectic nature of the directors brought together by Naoki Yoshida. His design philosophy is particularly well suited to an MMO, but Final Fantasy XVI suffers greatly from it: the endless succession of side quests involving the Hideaway characters just before the final battle is incomprehensible, as if the game had remembered that it needed to conclude. Hiroshi Takai and Kazutoyo Maehiro's narrative vision is a series of shocking, empty, meaningless scenes: players of Heavensward (2015) had the opportunity to suffer from Ysayle's portrayal, and it is surprising that Final Fantasy XVI does even worse, a standard-bearer for passive misogyny in modern fantasy. That Jill's theme becomes 'My Star' and denies her any agency in the game's final moments is particularly painful and aptly sums up the title.

__________
[1] Rosemary Jackson, Fantasy: The literature of subversion, Routledge, London, 2005 [1981], p. 14.
[2] On the topic, see for example Peter Bebergal (ed.), Appendix N: The Eldritch Roots Of Dungeons & Dragons, Strange Attractor Press, London, 2021. In the afterword, Ann VanderMeer discusses the conservative roots of pulp fantasy and of the historical TTRPG.
[3] Lenise Prater, 'Monstrous Fantasies: Reinforcing Rape Culture in Fiona McIntosh's Fantasy Novels', in Hecate, vol. 39, no. 1-2, 2014.

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.

I bought a Switch back in 2017 to play this game and ended up just emulating it instead. I am God’s most faithful warrior.

Ultimately disappointed with this. The game shines brightest when you’re battling or even just thinking about battling - stitching together the most insane plans and just barely clutching engagements out, trying to stay afloat in the seemingly endless torrent of class composition options. It’s riveting, goes from strength to strength, hands down the most electrifying I’ve ever found a turn-based game.
Ryota Kozuka and his wind chimes are the mvps currently at Atlus right now because his soundtracks are unbelievable, so brimming with life and variety, even incidental music is many and memorable. I particularly ADORED how the soundtrack would react according to your current position in a district; sometimes reacting by changing channels in accordance to your footing or altitude or something. When you reach the train yard in the first zone and the wailing guitars kick in oooo mama…

The things that drag the game down for me is frankly just about everything else, Atlus games are so good at just being fucking min-maxed now to the point where I love only a handful of things about them and the rest is wretched. The more I think about the story, the more confused and annoyed I get lol. The game just has nothing to say, it just prattles on in broad, poorly defined strokes, rife with flowery terminology carefully chosen to throw you off the scent that the story isn’t able to give an extra dimension to the typical monotheism vs. polytheism conflict. What the fuck even is “knowledge” what the fuck is the “mandella system” among other concepts introduced at the eleventh hour. The Nahobino thing is a misfire for me too, largely because I see their bizarre fabric as a misstep uncharacteristic of what I know of SMT (only played 3 and DDS). I like to think that the games are able to demonstrate a fair amount of reverence to the mythologies they take copious amounts of inspiration from, and I can take inaccuracies a lot more happily than I can the whole idea of these demons of yore needing Doi-ified sentai OCs to become their “true form” lol it’s just so skeevy. I suppose, more to the point, is that this is the first time I’ve seen SMT feel the need to bend under the “burden” of mythology, and I hate to see it. This would all go down a lot better if it was contextualised any more than the absolute bare minimum - just about the only time you see the themes of the game recapitulated in the contemporary world is in the thin cutscene depicting school bullying. The absence of humanity here made it just so hard for me to care, I lost so much steam come the midpoint of the game. These people aren’t my friends, they’re acquaintances, and having to kill them feels like I’m doing the rote motions because I’m in an SMT game.

Without much of a drive to really pull through the game besides its generally stellar presentation and combat, my face would plummet each and every time I had to traverse the world map. I get it, I see the appeal, it just does my head in. Spending so much of the game running across tediously littered sandy terrain, decorated almost solely with the same handfuls of blown-out ruined buildings. I had my dopamine receptors removed in a tragic taffy pulling accident, I get nothing from collecting korok seeds and opening chests.
Pure projection here but there was a confidence and handcrafted sense of purpose to when the PS2 SMTs would have relatively tight and windy corridors or limited vignettes with stunning baked-in texturing. All you get is a vast and desolate Unreal Engine-scape with (admittedly stunning looking) SMT models dotted around with no attempt for them to inhabit the world in any holistic sense. I’d even rather have random battles back than have the stupid looking pockets of enemies clumsily circling their patrol zones.

I mean, it’s not all bad. The things that “matter” are good, namely the core gameplay loop being a very clean modernised open-world affair with best-in-class tb combat. Cutscene Skippers are probably buzzing abt this game in particular. I just had hoped this would be a leaner, meaner project.