The Majesty of Final Fantasy IX's Opening

I'm a come-and-go fan of the FINAL FANTASY series. Generally, any discourse I have about the franchise ends up with a rant. I'll avoid ranting today. Instead, I'm going to talk about one of my favorite installments and roar about some of its brilliance.

I really like FINAL FANTASY IX. Frankly, I think it's easily the best entry on the PlayStation. (You heard me, Cloud. I don't love you.) And one of the things I really, really like about it is the opening scene. Why? It does everything right. It appeals to your imagination, introduces you to the world, and teaches you everything you need to know to enjoy the game in five minutes. (Suck it, Kingdom Hearts.*)

First, let's make sure we're on the same page. If you're unfamiliar with the opening scene -- or would just like a refresher -- take a moment to watch it here before reading further. Got it in mind? Then let's continue with the crunching.

Let's assume we've never played a FINAL FANTASY game before. We know it's a game about a fantasy world, but nothing beyond that. Actually, let's say we've never even played an RPG. This is even our first time to hold a PlayStation controller.

We put the game in and turn on the system. Tranquil, but somewhat mysterious and alluring music begins. We make it to the title screen and are presented with two options. A hand is pointing to "NEW GAME." At this point, the only buttons on the controller that respond are the up and down arrows as well as the X button. We press X, the screen fades to black, and the game begins.

Lessons learned:
1. Use the directional pad to move the cursor between selections
2. Press X to choose an option

First up when starting a new game is a cinematic to set the mood. We see a nightmarish storm, a beautiful princess, and a magnificent kingdom. There are also credits presented like you'd see at the opening of a movie. This gets our minds working and starts the spark for adventure. Finally, we see an airship -- more adventure! -- and a strange man with a tail moving around inside. It's this man that we follow into a dark room.

Lessons learned:
3. This game is about a princess who appears to have a troubled past. She's dressed for a very important event.
4. This princess lives in a sizable kingdom. It appears the world may be quite large as well.
5. Airships appear to be a common means of transportation. This again suggests the world is quite large.
6. Not all characters in this world are human.

The cinematic is over. At this point we're looking at in-engine graphics. We see the monkey-man standing in a dark room. In fact, he's all we see, so he must be important. "Sure is dark..." he says. We press the X button -- because we know that's how you select things to advance (Lesson #2 above) -- and the dialogue continues. Once the dialogue is done, we're left staring at this monkey-man standing in the dark. Shortly, a hand shows up, pointing at the character. Since we know we can use the directional pad to move the cursor on the title screen (Lesson #1), we see if it works here -- and it does! The monkey-man is our avatar and we can move him around. We're playing a video game!

So now what? Where do we move to? Well, there's not much to look at right now, so we're forced to explore our surroundings. As we do, we notice "!" and "?" speech bubbles. We press X to confirm them and either receive items or trigger a scripted event.

Lessons learned:
7. The main character -- our character -- is the monkey-man, not the princess.
8. The game is played from a fixed-camera, mostly top-down perspective.
9. We move our character with the directional pad.
10. We can interact with the environment when speech bubbles appear by pressing the X button.
11. We can sometimes find hidden items in rooms.

Once the room is lit, we get to give the monkey-man a name (Zidane by default), and three men come rushing in. Through some dialogue, we find that these are acquaintances or friends of Zidane's. Suddenly, a dragon-headed man bursts in from the opposite side of the cabin. The environment swirls and we go into a battle scene -- Zidane and his three friends against the dragon-man!

A menu pops up with the hand cursor pointing at the "Attack" option. We press X and the active character lunges forward. Gradually, these options are shown again and again for each character. Sometimes the dragon-man attacks Zidane's group. Numbers appear anytime a character is attacked. Actually, there's quite a bit going on right now between the attacking, the numbers, green bars filling up and emptying, and options popping up. Fortunately, the dragon-man mostly just bumbles around and hardly hurts any of our characters when he does manage a hit, so we're feeling okay. No pressure. We take our time fumbling around in the options, watching the cause and effect of what we choose, and eventually win the battle. Hooray! Oh, and the dragon-man was actually our clumsy captain.

Lessons learned:
12. This game has battles!
13. Battles can be triggered during dialogue sequences.
14. We can fight with up to four characters in our party at once.
15. Actions take turns and the turn order is determined by the "ATB" bar on the right. This means actions tend to happen pretty fast, so it's best to stay alert.
16. Each character has his own set of available actions, including attacking, stealing items, using items, and more we don't know about yet. (The gap between "Steal" and "Items" indicates more actions may be available in the future.)
17. Characters lose HP when they are attacked. Characters die when their HP is depleted.

This concludes the opening sequence. Game play continues from here and quickly ramps up. We find out the Zidane and crew are headed to the kingdom seen in the opening to kidnap the princess during a big royal performance. Excitement and drama await!

Five minutes in and you know how to navigate menus, explore, and battle. Best of all, no explanatory dialogues were used. Instead, we were given the freedom to play in a safe environment. When learning how to move and explore, there was nothing in the room to distract or threaten us. The darkness inspires curiosity and provides a motive for searching around. The battle is scripted in such a way that losing isn't an option, giving plenty of time to take in everything that's going on. Starting with a full party gives a glimpse of what's to come; keeping the characters low level as well means there's not an awkward handicap to adjust to not having later on.

The opening cinematic is even nice, establishes the setting, but doesn't overstay its welcome. Long introductions can deflate the desire to actually play the game.

I love this opening. I miss this attention to detail in introductions for games. (Again, I'm looking at you Kingdom Hearts.) Tutorials are boring and I despise controller schematics. Learning from playing is always the best option.

Good job, Squaresoft.

*I love Kingdom Hearts, I really do, but its tutorial segments are ridiculous.

FINAL FANTASY IX was developed and published by Squaresoft.

5 Things I Learned From EarthBound

To say Nintendo and HAL Laboratory's EarthBound is an odd game would probably be an understatement. Seldom do you find games that choose to so boldly march to their own rhythm. EarthBound doesn't so much throw RPG trends out the window as much as it lampoons them. I'm twenty years late to the party, but here are lessons I learned from this cult hit. If you've been following me on Twitter, you've likely got an idea of what's below.

[Caution: Spoilers for the game are included below.]


1. Why Give A Tutorial When You Can Give a Player's Guide?
I'm not sure if this is a great idea, but it certainly feels like a novel one, particularly with the digital re-release of EarthBound on the Wii U Virtual Console. Common to games nowadays are two things: (1) overly simplified tutorials ("Mega Man! Mega Man! Watch out for those moving platforms!") and (2) internet walkthroughs. One's annoying and the other's always going to be there for the people who want it.

Historically, when EarthBound was released on the SNES back in 1994 it was bundle with the Nintendo's official Player's Guide. Pretty cool, huh? Better yet, the guide was designed to fit the style of the game (cooky writing included) and laid out like a travel guide, as though you were going on vacation to the various locales.

When released digitally, Nintendo posted this entire guide online. Brilliant!

I would much rather publishers provide their audience with reference material for understanding the mechanics of their games than bloating the first hour with tutorials and UI explanations which destroy the sense of immersion. If the guide is put together internally, it can even add to the immersion, like the EarthBound travel guide does. (I remember the first Pokémon instruction manual was titled a "Trainer's Guide" and look like an adventurer's notebook.) With the advent of "second screens (i.e., Smart Glass for Xbox One), this could work great. It doesn't belong everywhere but is better than boring your players who are going to go look up information online anyway.

2. Embracing the Fact Video Games Are a Collection of Arbitrary Tasks
EarthBound has a strange plot that doesn't try to make a lot of sense. You take control of Ness and set off on a quest to "fulfill your destiny" -- which involves recruiting three party members and defeating the evil Giygas. This is accomplished through odd and roundabout quests, sending you to many different locations and even back in time. Most frequently, what directs you from one location to the next is rather incoherent. At one point, a series of NPCs approach your character, one after another to report the following (paraphrased):

1. Person 1: "I just invented a new machine that'll create any flavor of yogurt. Unfortunately it's broken and only creates trout-flavored yogurt right now. I mailed it to you with a cheap mailing service that will probably lose it."
2. Person 2: "The boss of this town you've been looking for just sent me out to find a machine that creates trout-flavored yogurt for an upcoming party. Can you find one for me?"
3. Person 3: "I was supposed to deliver a yogurt machine to you, but I lost it in the desert. Sorry!"
4. Person 4: "Our master in the desert would like to see you. He has something you may need."

All of this happens without you being able to walk anywhere or ignore the conversations. Why? Because the game designers wanted to send you into a dungeon in the desert.

Loads of games (most games) do this frequently. Every MMO sends you on dozens of quests to "collect the things" just so you can be introduced to a new area, encounter a new plot point, or progress your character further. Everyone's least favorite part of The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker is being sent across the ocean searching for Triforce shards. In the case of Wind Waker, and with many other RPGs, these tasks are decorated with some sort of "plot" details -- the Triforce was broken into shards and scattered across Hyrule with the passing of the Hero of Time and now you must claim them from the bottom of the sea in order to defeat Ganondorf -- but really they're just time syncs and excuses the designers use to send you places. (I'd argue at least 70% of every Assassin's Creed game is this.)

Some games, such as The Last of Us or Heavy Rain, do a much better job of directing the player with story. Other games, like Journey or even the original Resident Evil, don't so much as direct you as let you explore. Both of these types feel less like To Do lists. I'm not saying the To Do lists are bad, but I am tipping my hat to EarthBound for ditching the façade and calling it like it is -- then letting you, the player move on with having fun.

3. Status Conditions Can Make or Break Your Combat
"Mushroomized" is the second-most obnoxious status condition I've encountered in a game, just behind being turned into an eggplant. Status conditions are tough. They can quickly destroy combat balance and devour a player's fun. They can also add a lot of urgency and keep combatants on their toes. What makes Mushroomized so devastating -- much like the eggplants -- is that there's nothing you can do once you have it except leave the dungeon your in and go back to the nearest hospital. Effectively, the condition says you need to stop progressing -- stop having fun for a moment -- and go back to Point A.

A handful of times while playing EarthBound I would find my team completely wiped by an unfortunate collection of status conditions. Ness is diamondized; Paula is confused and keeps healing the enemy; Jeff can't stop crying; Poo is confused and appears bent on killing Paula now. Normally, I could defeat these enemies with a set of standard attacks, but under these conditions I must sit and watch my party crumble to pieces. Again, the pain here comes from having any sense of control taken away -- I can't do anything but watch. Older Final Fantasy titles are egregiously guilty of this with their notorious "back attacks."

Status conditions are great for giving the player a new, sudden challenge to overcome. They are bad when they prevent the player from, well, playing.

4. Justifying the "Chosen One" Trope
EarthBound, like so many other RPGs, centers its story around the primary party member, Ness, the "Chosen One." Generally, this means your primary party member is obviously stronger than the rest of your party, or has some special property that marks him apart from the crowd, and that's about as far as the "Chosen One" label interacts with game mechanics -- the rest is fluffy story stuff. Here again, I found EarthBound acted differently: Ness kind of sucks.

Well, maybe he doesn't suck, but he's not that great. Paula has much better PSI powers and speed; Jeff has handy-dandy gizmos; and Poo learns the more powerful spells. Ness's defining traits are high HP, good healing, and a baseball bat. (In fact, PK Flash is the only move Ness uses in Super Smash Bros. that he actually learns in EarthBound.) For the majority of the game, I found myself pretty underwhelmed by our hero.

Near the climax, the designers redeemed him and made the "Chosen One" title feel more special. Through some plot, Ness faces some inner turmoil and "awakens" as the Chosen One, getting a significant burst in all of his stats, as well as learning a few more powerful PSI powers. This reveal gave weight to the name and made it feel more special. After this event, I found myself brimming with new confidence, ready to take on the final challenges ahead. If Ness had been powerful and felt like the hero through the whole game, I wouldn't have gotten that sudden feeling of arriving at my destiny.

"Becoming" is much more captivating than just "being."

5. The Benefit of Including the Player
The last little cherry on top of playing EarthBound was being personally thanked in the credits and called out in the final battle. It was a small touch, but it felt great to have Paula ask specifically for my faith to get them through the conflict with Giygas for the fate of the world. I would like to see this style of 4th-wall breaking reused.

EarthBound was not a perfect game and will not live on as my new favorite RPG. However, I will remember it fondly for the tropes it lampooned and the rhythm it marched to.

Team Flare & What's the Point of Plot

Pokémon X and Pokémon Y are the arguably the best Pokémon games to date (though I'm sure the upcoming AlphaSapphire and OmegaRuby will happily claim that title soon enough). Why wouldn't they be, right? They're the most recent editions in the long-running franchise, so they obviously include the latest and greatest in all aspects. Well, almost all aspects.

The mechanics are delicately refined and revamped, particularly with the new Fairy-type inclusion. Oh, and Mega Evolutions. The presentation is actually gorgeous -- which I still surprise myself by saying, since I'm referring to a Pokémon game. There are new levels of character customization, new ways for obtaining and training Pokémon -- everything feels better for a good while in the game. That is, until the villains show up and bring their plot with them.

I hate Team Flare. Team Flare is stupid.

A lot of you are probably nodding your heads right now. Some of you are wondering why I'm even bringing this up. "It's a Pokémon game. They all have to have their useless villain team for you to defeat in order to advance the plot and learn the mechanics." I would mostly agree with that statement. However, Team Flare wins the "Most Useless Villain Team" award too easily. Team Flare nearly pushed me to quit playing Pokémon X.

Let's go back to some fundamentals about game design. Why do games have stories? To introduce the player to the world, add to immersion, guide the player, give context for events, create memories, facilitate emotional responses, and, sometimes, tell us something really excellent or profound -- to name a few reasons. Most of those are pretty basic, some of them are unnecessary, and a few aren't the goal of every game. I don't expect Pac-Man, Super Smash Bros., or Pokémon to try and tell me something emotional and profound. I'll leave that to The Last of Us or Journey. However, some of the points in that list, while not necessary, go incredibly far if delivered well.

Remember when you ran from a helicopter while charging down a wave of enemies on a train navigating the Himalayan mountain range in Uncharted 2? That chapter stands as one of my favorite moments in a video game.

Remember the opening scene in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time? The sky was dark; rain fell all around; a draw bridge lowered slowly. Suddenly, a horse bearing two riders dashed by. The mystery, the drama, the suspense! It was captivating.

Let's try one a little less cinematic: remember the first time you entered King Koopa's castle in Super Mario Bros., jumped over lava, evaded fire balls, and finally cut the bridge out from under the foe? That was thrilling.

One more: remember when Lance showed up while Team Rocket was harassing the Red Gyarados in Pokémon Gold/Silver? He summoned his Dragonite to use Hyper Beam on one of the grunts -- on the trainer, not the Pokémon! Or how about this scene...

I get chills looking at that image. That was 15 years ago. I sort of remember Team Magma from Pokémon Ruby. I think the plot of Diamond/Pearl had something to do with creating a new world. Pokémon Black and White had a guy named N in them. That's all I could tell you.

Then there's Team Flare, and their ingenuous plan to wipe out all of humanity. Why? Because there are too many people in the world and making them all happy is too hard! So we'll just kill 'em. That'll solve it.

Oh, and if you're playing Pokémon X, they decide to do this by revive an eternal life-granting legendary Pokémon. (A legendary Pokémon I caught with one Ultra Ball.)

*deep breath*

Here's my point: if you're going to make me run through plot for hours, give me a reason to care. Sure, it's written for younger kids -- give them a reason to care. Make them feel like heroes. After beating any member of Team Flare, I felt I had only wasted time; after foiling their plans and decimating their leader, I felt like I'd accomplished no worthwhile feat. I got more excitement and emotion out of my first (and eighth) encounter with King Koopa in Super Mario Bros. because I felt like something was on the line -- the battle looked perilous and there was a princess to save.

Team Flare even tried to up the ante by announcing their plot to the entire populace -- and none of them really seemed to care. Where are the gym leaders? Where's the Elite Four? Professor Sycamore takes pride in your accomplishment for "saving us all" but no one really seemed to be worried about it if they just assumed some 14-year old kid would handle it eventually.

Team Rocket was causing a mess and Lance, the Champion of the Indigo League, got involved. Even Stephen showed up from time-to-time to lend a hand and react to the goings-on of Ruby/Sapphire. That made those events feel important; it made me, the player-character, feel important. I was accomplishing something meaningful.

Team Flare bumbled around in dumb outfits with no real cause. If you're going to give plot, make it worthwhile for the audience.

Kyerannosaur Roars: Starting and Quitting Zone of the Enders

Let's roar about Zone of the Enders, a pair of games I've heard praised many times. I once saw a fellow dino playing The Second Runner and thought the action looked incredible and fun. I was excited to rent a copy of the HD Collection to finally indulge in the giant, super saiyan robot action myself.

Not much later, I spit them out angrily.

I bit into the first Zone of the Enders because I like continuity. As the first in a series, I fully expected it to be the weaker of the two -- this is typical for franchises (though not always the rule). The cut-scenes came hard and fast, featuring polygonal characters and pixelated explosions that I remember so fondly from the PlayStation 2-era of games. I was first quickly reminded that I was playing a Japanese-produced title, complete with poor voice acting, strange character names, and a plot filled to the brim with tropes. None of this hits above or below my expectations. What does hit above my expectation is how quickly I'm dropped into game play, being able to pilot my Frame (read: giant robot) and battle enemies. Then control is taken away so characters can dialogue and I remember that this game was designed by Hideo Kojima. (Don't get me wrong, I love Kojima-san, but he also loves his plot.)

So I sit in a cockpit, staring around at my environment while a monotone computer tells me how to play. Then the computer tells me what's happening. I go back to the action and fight another battle. Computer-talking-time again. Now we're watching a cut-scene. More dialogue from the computer and our underage hero. Action. Talking. Action. Talking and more talking. At this point, I'm disinterested and bored.

This is not a bash against cut-scenes or detailed stories in games. This is about keeping the player interested. During a cut-scene in Metal Gear Solid, I'm watching characters act and interact. During these listen-to-ADA-speak moments of Zone of the Enders, I'm looking at nothing, controlling a first-person cockpit view, for sometimes more than five minutes. Add to that my knowledge of anime tropes and I'm really not intrigued by what is happening or what the computer is talking about. These interruptions are quickly killing the pacing. I came looking for cool robot battles; I was shown cool robot battles; now I'm being denied cool robot battles in lieu of dull commentary about a heartless computer AI.

Not to mention moving from one sector of plot or combat to the next is slow-going as well. After a few hours, I'm hunting obscure passcodes from various towns literally labeled "Town-1," "Town-2," etc. I get confused about my goals and destinations and I quit crunching.

Let's try The Second Runner! As the sequel, it's bound to be better.

Zone of the Enders: The Second Runner is an improvement over the first game. It looks better, the dialogue is better, I get to watch people talk while I'm stuck in the cockpit view... Tastier, better prepared experience. Sadly, I lasted less time with it than the first.

The Second Runner quickly got me into combat and feeling cool. It gave me a few waves of enemies to fight, teaching me the controls and mechanics, giving me a chance to show off. All good.

The first boss fight took twice as long as it should have. Most of my attacks against her did chip damage, and even once I figured out the proper pattern and combo it was still a six minute ordeal -- six minutes of not making mistakes or I would die. I'm all for difficulty in games. More importantly, however, I want a game to feel consistent. TSR just spent the past 15 minutes showing me that I was going to be awesome. Then it set me into a fight very different, and while I was still learning game mechanics. Great games like Dark Souls and Mega Man are tough, but they're consistently tough; this is not.

I win the fight but I'm feeling a bit riled, as though the game had been attempting to insult me for not just "being good" right off the bat. A few combat scenarios later and I'm in a tight corridor surrounded by enemies, most of them gnat-like and relatively unintimidating. Then the plague of the last era of games reared its ugly head: camera control. Despite all of my attempts, I could not manage to get my avatar to lock onto the powerful opposition; no, instead I could only target the many gnats buzzing around me. So I was unable to fight back: if you can't target the adversary, you can't fight the adversary: if you can't fight, you lose. Repeatedly. I quit crunching.

I wanted to enjoy Zone of the Enders and I still want to see a successor, but somewhere between the pacing, the controls, and the difficulty spikes, I unfortunately got lost. Both games left a bitter taste in my mouth. Adjust some ingredients though, make the design feel more consistent and tightly woven together, and this can be something really great. I hope to crunch that something great one day.

Zone of the Enders was developed and published by Konami; High Voltage collaborated for the development of the HD Collection. For this post, I played Zone of the Enders for about two hours and The Second Runner for about one and a half hours on the PlayStation 3. I rented a copy of the game.