Back in 1995 I owned Chrono Trigger for the Super NES and played the bejeezus out of it. Unfortunately, I never could get over the hump of beating the final boss, and after I foolishly sold it off along with the rest of my SNES-related items, I figured that hump would stay never surmounted.

Thank goodness for the Nintendo DS port, then.

Not including New Game+, I played through 100% of that port, which is something I rarely do nowadays. I did every sidequest. I got every special item. Unlocked every tech, double tech and triple tech. I even took down all of the bonus content available for the DS and iOS ports. I took down Lavos with vicious aplomb.

Instead of taking a breather, and then evaluating how I wanted to tackle New Game+, I erased my save, put the DS card back in the box, and went to eBay to post a sale auction. Title? “Chrono Trigger Complete, Like New”.

I liked Chrono Trigger when I first owned it, and I liked it just as much the second time around. Perhaps I don’t hold it in as high regard as most fans of videogaming do, but I truly, honestly really liked it.

I have absolutely zero desire to ever play it again.

Chrono Trigger is a game that I’d typically keep in my library. It’s a role-playing game, and even though I got every single piece of one-playthrough content I could have gotten, there’s still the challenge of beating the game under-leveled, or power-leveling to see how much patience you have. There are multiple party configurations with which you can march through and beat the game. Like exploring Marvel vs. Capcom teams, you can find out which “main” is your favorite. And specific to certain games, like Chrono Trigger, New Game+ exists solely for you to explore the game once again but in a different situation (in this case, marching through the game like a god just to see every one of its myriad endings).

I’ve been trying to figure out why I convulse at the thought of ever playing the game again. The one thing that I keep coming to again and again is the fatigue I developed with the game’s bonus content. Not present in the original, the additional quests you can go through comprise a sloppy patchwork of boring, zig-zag level design and irritating thrown-together tilesets of other existing dungeons. There’s no inventiveness to the dungeon layouts, and there’s only one truly interesting fan service reveal in the perhaps five to ten hours I spent doing extracurriculars. There are bonus weapons galore, and boy, are they worth it. But a weapon as a reward for a slog doesn’t make the slog itself any more interesting. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that, by the time I exhausted the extra content, Chrono Trigger had simply worn out its welcome. I just wanted to take the Epoch to Lavos and end it.

There’s a bit of irony to this, no? Extra content, which is supposed to get you to play the game more, has–in this case–made me not ever want to play the game again. Granted, the context is different; I did, in fact, play the game “more” than I would have if I just played through the main story one time. However, I might actually have the desire to play through the main story and even New Game+ more had the grueling experience going through the extra content not made me sick of the game. For the sake of a few extra hours of new stuff, I’ve given up a lifetime of extra hours replaying and enjoying the classic stuff.

Ultimately, this inaugural installment of GINPA is obviously less an indictment on the core game and moreso on the new content that Square Enix saw fit to slap onto the end of the game. It’s also indirectly an indictment of my decision to tenaciously pursue the completion of this content to the bitter end. Perhaps I should have tried some New Game+ gameplay before deciding to dip into the bonus content, so that I could see what I was missing back when I sold the original SNES cart, and experience it how I would have back in the old days before seeing what newfangled dungeons were lying in wait.

But perhaps Square Enix should have made extra content that, you know, wasn’t boring in the first place.

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:

Cast in the shoes of the aptly named Crono, you begin your day – as many other similar young RPG protagonists do – unaware of the epic adventure that lies in wait. Encouraged by your mother to get your lazy rump out of bed and have fun at this day’s Millenial Fair, you end up running into a chipper young lass who takes a keen, flirty liking to you. Marle, as she calls herself, follows you to your friend Lucca’s science exhibit – a teleportation machine. Volunteering to be a guinea pig, the strange pendant around her neck reacts to the machine and rips open a hole that teleports not to another place – but to another time.

You’ve likely heard this before, but it’s encouraged that you keep your hands down and your rear ends in your seats. The somewhat cliched beginning only serves to set up a tale whose tapestry is weaved across multiple epochs, leading you to people and places whose very existence hangs almost at your mercy. Participating in wars from the past somehow leads you to the desolation of the future. It’s then where you find out about the cruel fate that will plunge the world into destruction, and make up your mind to disprove the inevitability of this catastrophe. As Marty McFly and Kyle Reese have taught us, there’s no better way to change the future than to abuse time travel.

Because time travel is such an integral part of both the storyline and the gameplay, it would be easy to tip the balance too far to one extreme. Squaresoft triumphantly creates an experience where time travel feels neither like a storyline gimmick that simply follows along a linear path, nor a gameplay gimmick that renders the story overly convoluted or unnecessary. You are mostly in command of when you must travel to which era, and specific actions that you complete triggers changes in the game’s world and story in other eras which reveal more clues and threads. Affecting the past changes the present, obviously, and you end up using what you know from the “new” present to further affect the past – well, you get the idea.

Of course, as a game from the Super NES era, there’s not much room in its game world for a truly dynamic world affected by every action you take. Even with the splendid job done by the developers to script as many time travel puzzles as they did, this is not The Elder Scrolls: Temporal or Grand Theft Stopwatch. This is perhaps a blessing in disguise, for it lends to the game’s accessibility regarding adventure and storytelling. You can’t get yourself into game-breaking trouble by getting stuck as a result of missteps you make. You’re also made to focus on the memorable cast – arguably what keeps many fans reminiscing about this classic. You encounter a valiant young knight-in-training cursed to be in the form of a frog, a rotund robot whose brute strength is an invaluable asset, and a prehistoric woman who straddles the back of a pterodactyl (whose strength might be almost as brute as the robot’s). You might even make a friend out of an enemy after you peel away his sinister outer layer and discover the wounded, traumatized child within.

Though not all of the characters are entirely deep or multi-dimensional, one can’t help but feel attached to them because of the staunch loyalty and respect they have for their friends, family, each other and the entire world. You’ll genuinely want to help them succeed in their quest, and in doing so – of course, in traditional RPG level-building fashion – you’ll uncover some of the more fun aspects of the game in addition to some of the more disappointing ones.

For better or for worse, character management is kept relatively simple. The weapons and armor you find strewn about the gameworld are all tailored to each individual. The character Frog, for example, must use a broadsword – he cannot swap weapons with Crono, who bears a more samurai-influenced blade. Lucca is restricted to guns, Marle to crossbows, and so forth. The same applies for armor and even magical spells. Leveling up your abilities also exudes simplicity – experience points level your character’s stats up, and accumulated tech points unlock new special techniques and spells for your character in a linear fashion. It makes the game instantly more accessible and simple, but also kills much of the tinkering and micromanaging that many role-playing fans look forward to.

With a cloud hopefully comes a silver lining. In this case, the ease of accessibility removes much of the potential complications that might arise when trying to learn “Combo” techniques. At first, without the Combos, the basic battle structure seems familiar and – because of the shoehorned abilities – almost crudely primitive. You have Fight, Tech and Item, with the battle flow being in quasi-realtime similar to the Final Fantasy games on the Super NES. The “Techs” that your characters perform, however, spice things up by adding an area-of-effect aspect. Some Techs will damage all enemies within a certain proximity of the target, where others will target all enemies that happen to be arranged in single file of each other. Since enemies actually move about the battle field, you can wait patiently until the enemies have meandered over into the ideal formation that you can take advantage of.

The Combos take things a step further by allowing any characters in a ready state to combine certain attacks to deal more damage, widen their area of effect, cause additional status defects, among other things. Unleashing Antipode – a Double Tech which is a simultaneous attack of fire and ice – for the first time, though, is nothing compared to the first time you unleash a monstrous Triple Tech, where your entire team of three gang up on the unwitting target. Double and Triple Techs require each character to have learned certain individual techs. The simplicity of the leveling system, then, gives players quick and painless access to these exciting abilities. Again, those that yearn for deep character micromanagement will feel this is watered down – but admittedly, considering how fun the Combos are to use, this can be easily forgiven.

The aesthetics in this game also ease the potential pain of its somewhat simplistic trappings. Famed Dragon Ball Z and Dragon Quest artist Akira Toriyama lends his hand in designing the entire cast and the world in which Chrono Trigger is based. His vibrant coloring and bold line strokes are brought to life with the Super NES’ color palette and is rivaled only by the very best – the 3D illusion of Donkey Kong Country and the elegance of Final Fantasy VI – that the console has to offer. Character sprites are decently large and the environments sport details such as roaring waterfalls, beams of light shining through trees, and far-off mountain mist noticeable only from high peaks. The lesser enemy art design uses smallish sprites and could have used a bit more artistic detail, but perhaps this can be attributed to the fact that combat takes place on the map without a transition to a special “combat mode” screen.

The sound quite possibly trumps the visuals in most cases, at least where the best it has to offer is concerned. Final Fantasy veteran Nobuo Uematsu teamed up with then-newcomer Yasunori Mitsuda, of the Xeno-series fame. The result is an epic score that mixes Uematsu’s noble, heroic and grandiose melodies with Mitsuda’s emotional, elegant and more subtle style to great effect. For instance, the Chrono theme song – which opens with blaring trumpets and brisk, almost staccato strings -contrasts nicely with the soothing, Zen-like and almost Buddhist sitar theme that plays when you reach a city in the clouds deep into the game. There are times when certain pieces start to feel simplistic and almost childish, but for the most part they either evolve into something deeper or are easily overshadowed by the soundtrack’s best.

We have come to expect well-executed story, combat intricacies, and aesthetics from Square’s best. So, too, should we expect the familiar and value-adding game design that opens the world for you to explore after hours of closely following a set path. There are additional characters to meet, items to find and favors to partake in. Even as you build up to the story’s conclusion, there’s that one area you haven’t figured out to unlock. What lies in wait – a secret weapon, or a potent technique perhaps? On a completely different level is the fact that exactly when you choose to rid the world of this evil is what determines which of the ten-plus endings you’ll see. Unfortunately, the value added here falls slightly on its face only because some of the endings are silly or just plain sloppily thrown together.

Thrown-in endings aside, the overall classic feel of the package can’t be denied. For every time you wish there were more weapons, spells and dimensions to your character, there is a moment – be it a battle, character interaction or startling revelation – that tugs at you. Whenever you start to wonder if the adventure could have used more intricate time-traveling butterfly effects, the cleverness of the puzzles that are there will convince you that it matters not. And each time you wish Crono spoke his mind, you find that the rest of the charming cast makes up for it. A flawed diamond is still a diamond, and despite some bumps along the way, Chrono Trigger remains a classic.

From the Trigames.NET Archive

Originally posted April 25, 2006

Verdict: