Disc 2's done. All the screens I've shared so far aren't actually from this playthrough (which is on a Vita) but one I quit on about four years ago, and it ended in the middle of this disc. Just a disclaimer that if I include any visual material from here on it won't be my own captures.
- some kind of comedown is apt and necessary after the high drama and adrenaline of the prior disc's climax, and VIII is eager to provide with the adorable Winhill segment establishing the increasingly focal relationship and circumstances around Laguna, Ellone and Raine. That preamble's passing has the game enter into a relative slump, with a succession of industrial complexes to navigate and character development taking a backseat to just moving the players where they need to be for plot to happen--at its best VIII can interweave these things together compellingly but in the prison, missile base and to a lesser extent the return to Balamb Garden the balance between monotonous environmental traversal and actually compelling interactions and intermissions during said exploration wears thin and highlights the game's weaknesses more than it's comfortable bearing. It strikes me as another byproduct of the game's shifted design priorities: the game remains captivating so long as the focus is on interpersonal interactions, and in a vacuum the environments are often beautiful to behold, but "dungeon design" as it's been traditionally understood by the genre and prior series is already in the process of breaking down here. If there are enough adventure game-adjacent oddities and curious interactions within those spaces, or if they're mixed with talking to people as you go along, then the game has a chance to make the most of its strong suits, but you cannot make VIII into something it's not and treating it by the previous standards of straightforward dungeon-crawling only dilutes its unique strengths, as the layouts's simplicity and total abolishment of traditional treasure point to a game that expects a completely different means of interacting with it with the tools it provides.
- it's good then that the rest of the disc makes up for the beginning hours with it, and how. Beyond the factual event log of what happens and where, the star of the show continues to be Squall and his evolving psychology and our window into his thoughts. Everything that occurs is worthy of analyzing, second-guessing, doubting, and mulling over to him and the story that's told is as much about the short of it as it's about the interiority that governs Squall's actions throughout. Unlike a Cloud, whose psychology was artifice and withheld as subterfuge to base those later revelations on, Squall is a character who's intensely aware of his own shortcomings, complexes and anxieties, and is out of his depth at every turn in living with them with acceptance. The trauma he has to navigate isn't an externally imposed blockage as far as his arc is concerned but something he has to work at for a long time, many small steps at a time, with his support system watching over him as he does. The gradual process is reflected in his attitude toward his teammates and friends where he starts making a visible effort to relate to them openly so he can be understood instead of presumed and pigeonholed as a social caricature. They're actions that leave him vulnerable in a way he doesn't like but still he goes on with it, all the while we as the audience are privy to his private panic attacks and borderline breakdowns that inform his need for change, as he can't go living like he has been. It's a wonderfully complex character that can inhabit something this emotionally true whilst also satisfying all the requirements of the genre as protagonist, and it's in that friction that Squall's worth is most keenly felt as despite appearances there really aren't very many leading figures like him around.
- the concert held by Squall's friends is on its own a funny and sweet palate-cleanser after a long stretch of crisis management and separation. Its unexpected greatest contribution to the game comes in the form of Irvine's misadventures in the middle of the rehearsal, where the seeming premise is just walking up to the character playing the instrument and giving them the go-ahead when finding the right tune for the occasion; little more than an integrated and contextualized menu selection process. The reality of the situation is that in that blink between the pages or mere paragraphs and sentences, the player as Irvine can just leave the stage, and explore the entirety of Fishermans Horizon and Balamb Garden from his perspective, for the one and only time in the game this is possible. Nothing points to the possibility of it, but the work's been put in, with unique interactions, dialogue and exclusive scenes of already-hidden sidequests available at this juncture only; some of these interactions have follow-up later on if undertaken in this moment. It's completely ludicrous and so special for how much the game is willing to do in service of something that only a fraction of players will ever discover and then not even hint that the material exists, with this not being the only scenario that approach applies to. It's the most direct waypoint to the heart of what makes a game like VIII tick as an experiential process, with it being absolutely lousy with these kinds of obscurities pretty much all of the time, but always requiring the player's own curiosity to take the lead in encountering any of them. It's a sensibility that will leave people accusing the game of being guidebait from the outset, but it also has an effect of having these interactions read as more naturalistic than others in the medium, as nothing is tracked, delineated or logged into journals or to-do lists as explicit "quests"--you simply explore the world and discover what it may hold, the vagueness of the possibilities in it simultaneously befuddling and exhilarating the mind. The context of what VIII considers a worthwhile diversion to include also rarely involve significant material rewards, and instead emphasize narrative and dialogue as the ends rather than the means, further honing the game's practice at communicating its own priorities.
- as a more or less lifelong (if regularly lapsed) X-Men reader, my filter on a lot of media involves almost instinctual comparative perspectives with it just because of where personal preferences and reference pools fall. In that milieu, my affinity for that material interacts and intermingles with what I think of VIII, the lens for both sharing much in closer scrutiny. These parallels are in ways generalized and specific at the same time, but they have informed my understanding and valuing of both works in what they share between one another and what they're particularly good at thematically, so let's go over some relevant key points:
- both feature a paramilitary boarding school which is in the business of taking in and taking advantage of vulnerable children and teenagers and indoctrinating them into a violent and conflict-driven lifestyle in pursuit of a vague goal or ideal as defined by a secretive and dishonest patriarchal figure at its head whose nominal idealism shields them from any real accountability in sacrificing their charges to fulfilling those goals at the cost of their physical and mental wellbeing.
- both star an orphanage-raised, emotionally repressed and withdrawn protagonist at the center of a peer group who look up to them for guidance and leadership and depict the pressure and codependence that forms in that dynamic of having no handle on one's personal life and being organizationally needed and valued. Said lead forms a romantic connection in a meet-cute with another character and the development of the pair's romance is habitually described by the audience as less interesting, nuanced and fraught than it actually is in the telling.
- both involve time travel and mental possession as central narrative concepts, in ways that have people shake their heads in disbelief at the seeming convolution of it all, and for those invested in the machinations these aspects are not only welcome but integral to the emotional core of much of the storytelling explored throughout.
- both increasingly focally turn toward an exploration of women wielding power, the social and systemic demonization of said power, and the abuse of said power by others--including other women perpetuating the same offenses they're subject to.
- both are themed around found family and finding your peer group among the freaks and outcasts that get you on a level those not cannot.
And so on. It's ultimately just a way for me to say that both media works contain thematic material that's of interest to me and do well by it in their different but compatible treatments of it, and that this overlap may help to explicate what kind of preferences would draw one to either one of them and make appreciate each even more for the wavelength they share.
- something VII only got halfway across was its interest in shifting the perspective away from Cloud, as that's about the ratio of how many party members were controllable during the course of the game. VIII is highly invested and devoted to Squall's point of view, but narratively it's also flexible and dedicated to broadening that scope via his five compatriots with all of them having the spotlight at one time or another, often recurringly as needed. It's part of the game's design language as the directed setpieces shift between locales and participants, and so encourage full use of the junction swap feature to maintain momentum, leaving it an accessible and frequent occurrence of involving the full roster in the game's doings. The compactness of just six characters in the main cast allows for all to be developed to satisfaction in the time afforded to them, whilst also emphasizing their mutual bonds and intimacy as a group--ragtag groups of willful individuals are the genre norm or stereotype, but the six in VIII are friends and family first, with or without their mostly mutual backgrounds. It's the dynamic of their interactions with one another, the friction that arises when one of them sees herself as an outsider to that paradigm, and the unity that congeals and reaffirms when she's invited in and included regardless. I like a lot of Final Fantasy casts, but the shared circumstances and commiserating camaraderie that VIII's cast embody as a unit push them as among the very best examples of what that expression can mean.
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