I played through a majority of Final Fantasy VII close to its release, but I only recently did a full playthrough–from the opening cinematic to the post-credits scene. Some aspects of the game have aged piss-poorly in the last fifteen years. For some other aspects, perhaps some of my desires and habits as a game player have changed enough that I can no longer hold the same appreciation for them. But brushing away all of that, is there still a good game to be had in Final Fantasy VII?

Yes. Underneath the then-new full-motion video presentation and pre-rendered backgrounds, Square’s first Final Fantasy entry on a Sony console continues the traditions of the franchise. In some respects, it is most certainly an evolution mechanics presented in its predecessor, Final Fantasy VI–for better and for worse.

Final Fantasy VI slowly mixed in the idea that “anyone can do anything”–that is, while all of the characters technically had jobs, many of the characters: were adept at physical combat; could equip almost any weapon; were effective spellcasters; and could learn any magic spell. In Final Fantasy VII, this is even more full-blown. With the exception of one character, anyone you can recruit to your party packs a pretty heavy punch, and everyone seems to be an effective magic user.

This notion is bolstered by the Materia system. Previous entries in the series required that you either purchased magic from shops, or learned it by some means of leveling up–straight up levels in Final Fantasy IV, or by equipping “Espers” and learning via prolonged exposure to them in Final Fantasy VI. Again, the roots of Final Fantasy VI spread out in VII where characters equip stones called “materia”–each stone granting its bearer with magic spells and special abilities. Only this time, once the materia is equipped, that ability, spell, or set becomes instantly available.

Materia grows in strength as you win battles, just like you do. Materia growth is represented most obviously when a new spell becomes available–for instance, the “Recover” materia starts you off with Cure, then eventually it grants you Cure 2, Regen, and Cure 3 in (very) gradual succession. Other more subtle growth traits include increased effectiveness of the Steal command, or increasing the number of times you can cast a Summon spell in battle. If you equip that same grown materia on some other party member, the new bearer instantly has access to those benefits, whether they be a mature spell set or increased abilities.

On the one hand, I like this mechanic as it encourages the player to try different party combinations without fear of having to level-grind just to have newer party members reach parity with incumbents. It also encourages you to experiment with materia linking. There are certain materia which exist solely to provide some added benefits to your equipment and other materia, such as adding a fire damage to a sword or fire resistance to armor. It’s in this way that the game becomes more instantaneously customizable over past iterations of the series. With no fear of destroying a player’s progress, you’re free to play around with different linked materia combinations.

But one thing I’ve always been fond of in Final Fantasy is the idea of a job. Each character plays a special role, and your challenge is to build their abilities and then play them off of each other in the most effective way possible during the more taxing battles and boss encounters. In Final Fantasy VII, characters almost become nothing more than “shells” for materia. Having almost every single ability in the game–abilities that, in the past, were linked to specific jobs–accessible just by equipping some rock is what drives that sensation home. While you can choose to customize your characters in such a way that each one takes a specific role, in my experience I never felt encouraged to do that by the game. Especially because the number of characters in your party has been reduced to three, as opposed to four in previous games (or a whopping five in Final Fantasy IV), it felt more effective to just have “everyone do everything” instead. By some weird mojo, because I didn’t really care about what my characters had to offer individually in battle, I ended up not caring as much about them in the story, either. They were just “there.”

It’s a matter of preference, of course, and at least the characters aren’t complete ciphers. The most distinguishing trait that your protagonists have, mechanically speaking, are Limit Breaks. Think of them as you would in Super Combos in a fighting game: powerful, unique skills that become available when you’ve taken enough damage in battle. Cloud, the game’s central character, generally learns powerful physical attacks, as does his cohort Barret. Another character presents you with a slot machine to determine the strengh of her attacks, and her growth in power rewards you with extra slots for a maximum of eight. Still another character’s Limit Breaks are almost exclusively of the curative variety.

So, there’s just enough differentiation in Final Fantasy VII’s character abilities to make them worth experimenting with. I just wish that either there was more differentiation, or that the customization of your characters was even more granular (two things that were handled in different ways by each of the two immediate follow-ups on Playstation).

Final Fantasy VII does balance out the fact that you can equip a super-powerful Materia on a never-before-used character by requiring you to put quite a bit of time into growing every stone. Materia’s growth is handled by a rudimentary points-and-level system, just like for character growth, except it’s represented in “AP” (not EXP) and Stars (not levels). Without grinding too much, of the multiple tens of Materia I purchased or found, I only brought maybe one or two Materia to full maturity (maximum amount of stars). Granted, RPGs can be grindy affairs by nature. But with 45 hours of game time, not counting most of the optional quests and boss encounters, and with minimal grinding, I felt that the rewards were a touch too meager.

Perhaps it’s because more time than I would have liked were spent on the odd mini-games that broke up the pacing and focus of the main game, some handled in-engine and some with their own, shoddy engines. The former are silly affairs in which you press a face button when prompted so as to stride along in time with a marching band, or to engage in–wait for it–a bitch-slap contest. Some of those which require their own engine include a deep-sea torpedo battle in a submarine, snowboarding, or racing Chocobos. All of these experiences felt rushed and kludgy, and none of these felt fun at all. Final Fantasy VII’s experience as a whole would have been more focused, and as a result, better without them. But in truth, had they been developed more tightly, perhaps I wouldn’t mind them so much.

My qualms, mechanically, are largely preference-based, and aside from the minigames the actual gameplay holds up. Take away the presentation and it’s Square doing what Square does. Add in the presentation, though, and you have a big reason for why the game reached the critical mass of popularity that it does. But you also have a big reason for why the game appears to age incredibly poorly today.

The visual style is inconsistent. Your characters on the map screens, where you traverse the world and smaller environments, are rendered closer to the “super deformed” aesthetic popular in a lot of Japanese media. In battle, their proportions are decidedly human. In most cinematic cut-scenes, they also look more proportionally human–but in a few of them, particularly the ones that blend from gameplay into full-motion video, they are rendered super-deformed again. The quality and detail that goes into certain characters is also inconsistent between some cut-scenes, even if the same body proportions were used. It’s completely all over the place, and you can really tell that this was the first time Square had ever tackled something like this.

Driving that point home is the localization and characterization of the main players: It smacks of, “We’re on a new platform with a more mature audience–let’s make this a ‘mature’ game!” While the core elements of the backstory and plot are actually quite interesting and enjoyable much of the time, the way it all plays out tends to be marred by the dialogue. Square handled the localization in-house, and boy, does it show. There’s some swearing in there, but one man’s “shit” is another man’s “#(@&$”. There’s some individualization in there, but it boils down to the stereotypical, one-dimensional “angry black dude” and the “foul-mouthed (airship) sailor”. In particular, Square’s representation of the “angry black dude” just smacks of ignorance, with the oddest word choice imaginable–for instance, “Shut up!” becomes “Shu’up!” which is a characterization that even carries over to the cleaned-up translation on PC. Most characters stay one-note, and when sensitivity is introduced, it almost feels too forced. (If I’m being dismissive, I’d say that the character that feels most genuinely developed in his short amount of sidestory is a dog, but I have to admit that he’s a pretty damn cool dog.)

Still, the overarching story manages to shine through, and while it can get a little convoluted, it’s a good unique experience on its own. Yes, the world is in danger, and that’s still a cliche in games at large. But the arc that the main character goes through and the fragmented, confused memories he starts piecing together–starting with events that happened before the game–certainly had me wanting to learn more and more with each new bit of information that came out. You learn everything about him with a decent chunk of game left over, though, and the main antagonist then ceases to be interesting, but intrigue at least carries most of the way through. It’s bolstered all the way through by a classic videogame score–much more so than by visuals–that, while at times also sounds inconsistent from an instrumentation standpoint, sports memorable and well-composed melodies that manage to translate well into a less fantastic, more sci-fi setting. (Note: For all of its warts, Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core really does enrich the story experience in this game. If backstory is a priority, and you think you can stand to play through it, I recommend you do so before playing through Final Fantasy VII.)

It’s common to cite Final Fantasy VII as a favorite Final Fantasy game, favorite game overall, “best” game, or what have you. I don’t feel that way–not by a long shot. I’ve also found a surprising amount of poo-poo’ing of Final Fantasy VII, and–while I loudly pick on nits that I acknowledge are mostly the result of personal preference–I don’t actually think it deserves that treatment either. Taken into the context of its release and what I imagine to be the frame of mind of many gamers at the time, I think it’s easy to see why people appreciate it. Coming from the other end, once you let go of the cynicism–a skill I’m still trying to level-up–there’s a very solid, intriguing role-playing experience there. And for the record, if someone were to homebrew a version of it with 16-bit visuals, throw me a bone with materia growth, and fix the minigames, I might have to consider retracting my GINPA.

Verdict:

Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII does a fantastic job in bringing this back story to life in vibrant detail. The experience centers on Cloud’s best friend, Zack Fair, whose very limited involvement in Final Fantasy VII proper is shown to belie his importance to Cloud’s existence. Following Zack through his time as part of the Shinra Corporation’s military force, SOLDIER, Crisis Core gives you some insight into the past of Final Fantasy VII veterans such as Tifa, Aerith, Sephiroth, and of course, Cloud, through their interactions with Zack. A new character, Genesis, whom you may have caught a glimpse of if you played Dirge of Cerberus, serves as the primary antagonist of the game–and the main plot thread is actually about pursuing him.

Zack is an actually very likeable guy, his upbeat demeanor reminiscent of Final Fantasy male leads such as Zidane and Tidus. Certainly he’s a polar opposite to what we see in Cloud in Final Fantasy VII. Up front he may seem one-dimensional but you can definitely see how he matures from eager and almost impetuous to nurturing as the game progresses.

Now, I didn’t find the main storyline–pursuing Genesis and uncovering his motivations–all that intriguing. Genesis himself is pretentious to the point of annoying, frequently quoting verses from an epic poem while trotting about. Certainly, the more interesting plot points are those which tie directly into Final Fantasy VII’s back story, capturing some of that game’s most iconic flashback moments re-rendered and produced with much better visuals than we were afforded in 1997. Even cut scenes using the in-game polygonal engine look quite nice, with emotive, convincing motion capture. Luckily, Squaresoft seems to pay as much attention (if not more) to tying these threads with Final Fantasy VII as they do with unveiling the main storyline of the Genesis pursuit. And without spoiling anything, the way in which the writers do so is incredibly effective, creating an almost seamless transition point between the game’s conclusion and Final Fantasy VII’s beginning.

All told, the events that occur, and the aesthetics that accompany them, comprise some truly great fan service, even for me, being someone who doesn’t remember Final Fantasy VII quite as fondly as many others do.

But looking at the big picture, fan service and plot are pretty much the only things Crisis Core is good for. The act of playing the game is, well, almost no fun at all. Whether it’s mindless button mashing, a combat subsystem that you have almost zero control over, or monotonous mission “design”, Crisis Core continually challenged my will power to NOT be a jerk and just look up the main story points on YouTube and Final Fantasy wikis.

Crisis Core bills itself as an action-RPG, with its combat largely eschewing nested menu commands in favor of allowing you direct control over Zack’s movements and sword strikes. I say largely because there’s still a simple row of commands at the bottom of the screen corresponding to the materia that Zack has equipped. Materia, in Final Fantasy lore, are in the simplest terms stones that carry innate powers. Most of your equipped materia translate directly to magic spells and special physical attacks that Zack can carry out in combat, while others give passive benefits such as status boosts. The former are right there for you to select whenever you choose, requiring only a few shoulder-button taps to select the right materia and X to execute the command.

The framework is actually sound. The idea of merging the materia system with its various complexities–materia growth, in particular–with sword-happy combat seems like a great idea. But “character action” this is not, as the mechanics prevent combat from feeling like a smooth experience over which you have total control. The game treats “Attack” just like any other command, requiring you to have selected it with your cursor and hitting X to pull off a slash (complete with Square’s classic “poink” sound effect). Maybe it’s the fact that the game auto-targets and auto-directs you to a target even if you aren’t pointing at anyone, or perhaps it’s the way they animate your attacks, but it really does feel as if you’re selecting a menu command repeatedly as opposed to actually balancing sword swings, dodges and parries in real-time… even though combat takes place in real-time.

And most of the enemies, frankly, are brain-dead. One erstwhile games journalist blogged that Crisis core was, “attack attack attack attack cure attack attack attack”–and I’d be lying if I said that I felt differently. Once in awhile you’ll be challenged to the point where you have to do quick rolls to dodge enemy attacks, and taking the typical precautions by casting Barrier before engaging enemies hearkens back to the RPG battles we know and love, but I was able to emerge victorious quite often by mashing on the X button with one hand. Not a good sign. Or, at least, not what I want out of something with any sort of “action” billing.

Then there’s the Digital Mind Wave (DMW) system, which is nothing more than a slot machine–yes, you read that right–that they stick in the upper left hand corner of the combat screen. As you fight, the slot machine whirrs and stops on various portraits of Crisis Core characters. Meanwhile, numbers accompany the faces, so you’re trying to hit any combination of matching numbers and faces. Match faces in the outer slots, and combat stops, dramatically zooming in on the machine as the middle slot lands on the final character. Will you match three? Will you not? What numbers will you get? Supposedly implemented to introduce luck, drama and “fun” to the combat the DMW system can result in status buffs; restored hit points, magic points or ability points; or limit breaks (super special attacks or other status buffs, for those uneducated in Final Fantasy lore).

But guess what? Apparently, you have almost ZERO control over this, not with any button presses, not with the actions you take in combat, nada. The only influence I could tangibly detect that I had over the DMW was with special materia that, when equipped, would increase the chances of landing a specific limit break. So, the system as a whole just seems kind of silly. Then you get to the part where combat comes to a screeching halt for the sake of keeping you in dramatic suspense as the game zooms in to show you whether or not you match that third slot.

Furthermore, the game randomly shows “images from Zack’s heart” (as the tutorial puts it)–really just artwork that represents key moments in Zack’s life and Crisis Core’s plot–which indicate that you somehow have increased luck for that particular go-round. Who knows how they determine that. And, of course, waiting for those images to appear on the screen takes up even more time. Now, if you thought it was tedious to wait for an unnecessarily long magic spell or creature summon animation to run its course in a full-blown RPG, imagine having combat flow (or Crisis Core’s version of it, at least) interrupted every so often by this obnoxious slot machine and its fly-by images. It really just takes away from the time you could be using to slice up fools. It’s enough that, among the randomness that accompanies any game at least partially rooted in role-playing (damage, chance to suffer status effects, etc), they’re asking us to put up with even more randomness. But now they’re wrestling actual interaction time away from us during combat sequences that are supposed to be all about action. It renders combat monotonous at best, and a real annoyance at worst–and not at all fun.

These mechanics are all tied up in optional mission design that is, to be polite about it, tedious. At any save point, you can initiate a mission, the reward for which can be materia, money, or special weapons and armor. Accompanying each mission is some nice descriptive text, but actually completing the mission is almost always just a matter of killing the required number of enemies. Exciting? Hardly.

Perhaps the only thing that comes close to a saving grace from a systems standpoint is materia fusion, where you combine two materia to generate a new one. Though most combinations yield nothing special, every once in awhile you come across a new attack or a more powerful spell variant, and the experimental aspect of the fusion at least manages to inject some amount of amusement, regardless of how minute. But I missed the materia slots and linking aspects that were present in Final Fantasy VII. These could have added an extra layer of planning and strategy to a combat system that is, as a whole, a boring affair.

That the combat ends up boring is a bigger shame in a game like this than a traditional RPG, simply because Crisis Core emphasizes directly-controlled action. No, it doesn’t have to be Devil May Cry or God Of War. But shouldn’t we expect–and receive–more than a game that could easily devolve into one-handed button mashing? I think so, and perhaps the lesson that videogames at large need to take to heart is that magnificent presentation and interesting story beats don’t make up for kludgy mechanics and lackluster gameplay design.

Now, watching YouTube clips and reading a wiki might get you the information just fine, but you lose that emotional connection with the characters that you might otherwise get by suffering–sorry–spending 20-plus hours with them. And it’s in that regard that Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII entertains in spades, doing enough with Zack and Cloud’s relationship and story line that it’s worth slogging through the tedium for the emotional payoff. That it leverages Final Fantasy VII’s iconic universe only helps it. Given what I just said about story not making up for tedious gameplay, that’s as close to an endorsement as I can give. But I freely admit succumbing to nostalgia, having somewhat of a vested interest in the Final Fantasy VII’s world and flawed but intriguing legacy. What if you don’t give a rat’s ass about any of that, and are just looking for a solid action-RPG to play for the mechanics and design? If that’s the case, then there’s very little reason you should even sniff in this game’s direction.

Verdict:

Square almost always enraptures with its introductions, and Final Fantasy III’s opening sequence is no exception. This time, it’s an opening bell toll and a solemn three-note string phrase set to a grim narrative explaining the world’s near collapse a millennia ago, laid over an accompanying montage of scenes–including one eerily reminiscent of the Third Reich. We learn that the Emperor of a military nation seeks to find the secret to reviving and using magic, an ability lost as a result of the chaos so long ago. Following a short cutscene and dialogue, we’re treated to a bleak scene of the Emperor’s soldiers trudging through the snow in lumbering mechanized units, set to an almost depressing rendition of one of the principal cast’s theme music… complete with a credit roll.

Not only does the introduction set up the plot, it also sets high expectations for the aesthetics and production value. The game world is visually arresting down to its tiny details. The tile-based artwork gives color and depth to something as seemingly insignificant as grass, and a craggy disposition to mountain sides. Meanwhile, the sprites–even in super-deformed status–emote with vibrant charm. Seeing Prince Edgar’s grinning, sideways glance and finger wag for the first time is a moment to remember, especially upon the realization that it’s coming out of a 24×16 sprite.

Even still, the music arguably steals the show. Legendary Square composer Nobuo Uematsu plucks elements–instrumentation, phrasing, rhythms–from a wide swatch of musical archetypes including jazz, cowboy Westerns, Vaudeville, baroque, and romantic. Every composition fits the character, scene or environment it accompanies, and oftentimes the melodies are powerful enough to coax a strong emotional response. There’s even a mini-opera in multiple movements thrown in for good measure. The soundtrack is so masterfully varied, in fact, that it takes a minute to realize that it almost never blatantly relies on ethnic or world music styles–a somewhat cliché (though harmless) tactic used for many soundtracks.

Perhaps it’s because the story is never truly set up to take you on a journey between different faux-ethnicities. With the exception of the noble swordsman Cyan, and his Queen’s English, you won’t come across obvious replicas of classic stereotypes that reach the level of Fabul’s Asian kung fu practitioners from Final Fantasy IV or Red XIII’s tribe in Final Fantasy VII’s Cosmo Canyon. At first glance, the worldwide Pan-European motif may seem a bit mundane (if not offensive to some). The result is on the contrary: Even where some characters aren’t entirely fleshed out, they’re not without their idiosyncrasies. Joining Edgar and his finger wag is his twin brother Sabin’s predilection for flexing his muscles; Locke’s resentment of being called a thief (it’s actually “treasure hunter” if you ask him); and Cyan’s aforementioned British tongue.

On the side of treachery, there’s plenty of room for comedy, with wise-cracking octopus villain Ultros providing much of the legwork. Then there’s principal villain Kefka’s insatiable lust for power. Kefka, actually, is a brilliant creation and perhaps one of the most memorable villains in franchise history because you can never just call him deliberately evil. At least, not without addressing the fact that he’s very likely clinically insane and a sociopath. He wants power and will poison innocents to get it, but he’s not the prototypical badass with a sword; just take a glance at the nutcase, and you’ll find he looks more like a clown than anything, an image he solidifies with an iconic whooping laugh.

Taking things further, much care is taken into crafting meaningful back stories for the majority of the game’s principal cast to the point where this is reflected in the gameplay structure–a successful blend of exposition and gameplay, indeed. No single character steals the stage for the entire story. The emphasis will shift between several characters’ back stories and current plights, brought to light in flashbacks, present cutscenes, and playable sections during which you’re limited to only one or two of the cast–allowing you not only to witness, but also experience events as seen from the perspective of many characters. Final Fantasy III spices some of these character-driven scenarios up, asking you to sneak around (alone as a single party member) an occupied town undetected and donning a disguise; catching fish–while avoiding sick ones–to feed a dying friend; and even give line prompts during the aria of the aforementioned opera. Being made to play through these vignettes (as opposed to simply watching them) establishes a much stronger connection with the characters involved.

Though much of the focus is on connecting you with the world and its characters, Final Fantasy III doesn’t leave a gaping hole where its gameplay systems are concerned. Active-time battles return here, forcing you to make quicker decisions and spend less time wading through your menus. (Naturally, this is an option you can turn off.) You don’t get quite the level of customization of the Job systems found in its predecessors (and successors), and there’s not a whole lot to consider when developing your characters’ abilities, but it’s not for a lack of options. Restrictive “job types” are somewhat de-emphasized this time around, so some weapons and armor can be equipped across characters, giving you a bit of freedom in choosing how to prepare for battle. Each character can also equip two “relics”–special items that give the bearer special buffs such as increased speed, constant regeneration, dual-wielding and the ability to strike four times in a single turn (combine the last two on someone adept at melee, and you’ve got an eight-hit killing machine).

A potential point of concern is that Final Fantasy III arguably started the “everyone can cast everything without restriction” motif found in the Materia and Drawing systems of its two most immediate Playstation sequels. Magicite, the crystallized remnants of powerful magic-using creatures called Espers, are the key for learning spells. Each piece of magicite allows its bearer to learn a certain set of spells, as well as enjoy certain stat bonuses upon leveling up. Any character can equip any magicite, and with enough work, every single character in your roster will have learned every single spell–or at least, the game’s most powerful spell, Ultima. Armed with particular relics that reduce magic point usage (or even reduce each spell’s cost to a single magic point) and allow you to cast two spells in a turn, you can easily upset the balance of the game by spamming with your most powerful spells. In all fairness, if you’ve worked hard to the point where you’ve found all the appropriate relics and learned the right spells, this can just as easily be considered a reward for your efforts.

That said, Final Fantasy III is a bit easier than its predecessors. Thankfully, this means that it’s not entirely demanding with regards to level grinding, and while some of the major enemies are far from pushovers, the game as a whole is more accessible to a wider audience. It stays appealing to genre and series newcomers and veterans alike by providing the typical battle speed adjustment options, saving some of the more challenging battles for optional side quests and handsomely rewarding those who choose to challenge themselves. Still, there are plenty of monumental battles to be found throughout the main game, with Square using its trademark fantastic artwork and brutal attack patterns to get the message across. Getting to the finish line will take anywhere from 20 to 30 hours (with a handful of additional hours netting you hidden characters, the most premium of items, and coveted Level 99 status).

It’s truly not enough to say that Final Fantasy III’s greatness is due to Kefka as a villain, or its epic boss battles, or its aesthetic presentation. It’s not just due to its main character’s touching story arc, seeing as there is no true single protagonist. Indeed, it’s the combination of things that it does so well–the multiple stories that it tells and experiences that it offers–that makes it not only a defining moment in the series, but an important piece of role-playing history. By now, Final Fantasy III is well over a decade old and has been re-released on multiple platforms (under its proper name of Final Fantasy VI), but in that time it hasn’t lost the character, charm or memories that–to this day–inspire people to debate fiercely on its behalf during the heated “Best JRPG” discussions we’re all so fond of. Truth be told, it can count on at least one vote right here.

From the Trigames.NET Archive

Originally posted September 2nd, 2009

Verdict: