This video hit the internets yesterday igniting the fiery discontent of fanboys and fangirls across the country regarding the selection of Leona Lewis’ “My Hands” to replace the Japanese “Kimi Ga Iru Kara” by Sayuri Sugawara as the theme song of Final Fantasy XIII in the US/EU release.

But beneath the accusations of “weeaboo rage” and inquiries as to the identity of Leona Lewis by the accused basement-dwellers lies a real concern…

Who the hell does Square Enix think is buying their games?

I’ll return to the inclusion of Leona Lewis in a moment, but for now let’s focus on the “trailer” that SquareEnix allowed to see the light of day. Aside from the fact that it wouldn’t be out of place in the previews of a Disney DVD, it has a strange, unnecessarily promotional tone as if they assumed anyone besides Final Fantasy fans would be watching it.

Our narrator is an all-too-polished gentleman against a green screened background, informing us of the history of the series and speaking with a charisma that invokes a kind of distrust I’ve only felt towards car salesman and conmen. The whole thing feels like SquareEnix is a secret subsidiary of Skynet and trying to sell me a Terminator. We’re treated to a few brief clips of the development team discussing how great the game will be and we finish with the reveal of the US/EU release date; a pleasant surprise nearly soured by the preceding presentation.

And somewhere in this mess, a very proud Square Enix CEO John Yamamoto informs us–in ambitious, albeit broken English– that they will be continuing the tradition of Final Fantasy’s music with…a song from pop vocalist Leona Lewis. Actually, Yamamoto tells us he’s pleased to announce they’re “partnering” with her label.

Aside from the selection of a painfully mediocre pop vocalist and an underwhelming song, though, this announcement showcases just how extreme the disconnect between Square Enix and its fans has become.

Previous Final Fantasy pop ballads “Eyes on Me”, “Melodies of Life”, “Suteki Da Ne” and “Kiss Me Goodbye” succeeded in selling a considerable amount of singles across the globe and realistically, it was only a matter of time until a western record label recognized this and capitalized on it. But whereas previous tracks were written specifically for the games with vocalists hand selected by the composers; the inclusion of “My Hands” seems likely to have been the result of a bidding war or an attempt by SquareEnix to appeal to Western gamers when Japanese games have lost footing.

Like others, I’m not sure how this song will fit the mood or tone of the game we’ve been shown so far and without having played it, I’m still inclined to say it won’t. Sadly, though, this move should be no surprise to a fan base that have watched the series exploit itself and gradually lose touch with the elements that put it on a pedestal to begin with.

Metal Gear Solid 4 has been discussed to death. No doubt about it. However, even if you dig elbow deep into the recesses of the internet, you’d be hard pressed to find reviews that weren’t clouded in the excessive  hype, inflated scores and deep seated nostalgia that the finale of a series spanning two decades would naturally bring with it. Couple that with a fandom that goes to extreme lengths to defend even the most embarrassing aspects of their beloved franchise and you’ve got yourself a game that carries itself on name alone.

These articles weren’t without criticism, however. Many focus on the complaint that MGS4 often feels like watching a movie that intermittently asks you to play a video game to progress the plot. Others slam series creator Hideo Kojima’s penchant for the self referential and his less than subtle attempts to weave callbacks into the plot itself.  Attention is frequently drawn to the convoluted narrative, uneven game play, lazy explanations and frequent load screens.

So how did something that could be collectively summed up by critics as “a game that’s more of a poorly written, confusing, cliche-ridden movie than a game” receive nearly perfect scores?

MGS4 effectively streamlined some of the shortcomings of its predecessors, it took the trademark stealth approach of the series to some new locations, introduced some novel game play concepts and even managed to be visually stunning while doing so. But are these merits deserving of such acclaim when we take into account the aforementioned criticisms leveled against it? In retrospect, I believe the answer is no.

This is mostly because Metal Gear Solid 4 did not and could not work as a standalone game in the series.

For such a highly anticipated game that was being hailed as a “platform savior”–even getting its own PS3 bundle– it’s hardly accessible. I cringe to think of the level of WTF experienced by the unsuspecting gamer who picks this title up without any previous MGS experience. The plot tries to be a little more user friendly by having frequent “flashback” scenes that can be triggered by hitting the X button during cut scenes.

But who are these really for? They’re not expository enough to help the uninformed and as a lifelong Metal Gear fan, I didn’t need to see 15 pieces of dated character art and screen shots to remind me who Naomi Hunter is whenever her name is mentioned. If I choose not to watch these flashbacks, I have to endure an awkward, unnatural moment of silence during a cutscene brandished with a neon orange “X” symbol.  Things like this make me think that Kojima was so busy beating me over the head with nostalgia that he forgot to include the aspects of his works that make me nostalgic for them.

The codec is a perfect example of this.  In previous installments, the codec served as Snake’s connection to the world outside his mission. A team of analysts, weapons experts, medics and the like provided him with back up, humorous banter and optional expanded plot exposition every step of the way. In MGS4 , Snake is a more experienced soldier and the narrative seems to suggest that he doesn’t need back up anymore. But Otacon–one of the only two contacts in the entire game–still feels the need to tell Snake that he’s on a mission, how to fire a gun and that he needs to get from Point A to Point B. Unfortunately, with a few exceptions, that’s all Snake’s best friend really has to say. Whether you hated the codec conversations in the past or not, they were largely responsible for creating the feeling that Snake was on a solo mission and breathed life into the world around him. Having the option of hearing unnecessary amounts of detail about seemingly insignificant in-game objects was part of the magic of MGS.

And while the game still gives you the option to avoid fighting all together in favor of sneaking past guards, the level design and game mechanics in many ways make full force combat the more attractive option. Why would I care about hiding the body of a guard when so many areas of the game are full blown war zones? Why would I care about avoiding an alert status when I have close to thirty militiamen to assist me in combat? Kojima advertised the game with the slogan “No Place To Hide” at TGS 05, but it becomes clear that with nowhere to hide and no real places to infiltrate, the titular Tactical Espionage Action aspect is no where to be found.

At first glance, these sound like mild complaints that one could counter with the argument that Kojima could not have possibly addressed every fan desire. But when one recognizes that he went to painstaking lengths to do just that, it’s hard to understand how he managed to overlook so many elements of what separates Metal Gear from other action games.

So, again, if MGS4 doesn’t entirely work as an MGS title and it’s not accessible enough to stand on its own two feet; why was it lavished with praise by pretty much every gaming publication on earth?

Probably for the same reasons that I initially thought of it as a good game.
It wrapped up the story that many dedicated gamers had been following for a decade or two, even if the explanations weren’t as cool as we expected them to be. We got to be Solid Snake again–for the first time since 1998–for the entire game, even if the game itself wasn’t that long. And even though there were instances that made us cringe, the fan service was effective enough to make us smile at least once. In a sense, Kojima could do no wrong. He delivered on his promise,  even if it wasn’t in the way we wanted. He let us bid farewell to a character and a game that at some point in our lives, we really cared about and even managed to give us a few more very memorable sequences along the way.

And for those reasons, game journalism took a break from objectivity.
Even if it doesn’t make much sense in retrospect.

The process seemed to consist of a literal, by the book translation of raw Japanese text and focused more on the subtraction of foreign elements, rather than converting them to domestic equivalents. This, of course, often resulted in confusing plots and diminished most story to an afterthought. But it was hardly an issue at the time, because as with most early games, seeing a story through to completion was not the primary objective. That’s why gems like “Congraturation! The story is happy end. Thank you.” went completely under the radar for so many years. Or at least, I hope so.

[The transition to River City Ransom's tattoo-worthy US box art.]

An interesting byproduct of a poor localization is the “mysterious” atmosphere that results from the ambiguities of a direct translation. I remember debating the intricacies of Final Fantasy VII with friends for years after it’s release, only to go back and discover that the “mysteries” were only due to a shoddy localization of an already convoluted storyline. It didn’t help that the game had a seemingly endless amount of secrets, leading almost everyone to believe that anything that didn’t make sense could be understood with enough effort or exploration. Various Aeris revival theories sprung solely from the useless nature of the “Tissue” items received as a prize in the Gold Saucer; an item that might make more sense to a Japanese gamer.

Yet die-hard JRPG fans still seem to demand the most direct translation possible, either unaware or ignorant to the fact that the dialogue itself is not the issue, it’s the cultural references that drive the dialogue. On my first play through, the exchange featured above was so bewildering that I assumed I either missed something or that it was left intentionally ambiguous, only to be explained later. Final Fantasy VII is infamous for these exchanges–often featuring them at key moments of exposition–to the point that even fans who have spent a considerable amount of time attempting to excavate the truths buried under layers of fragmented sentences are still unsure what the hell happened. In a sense, the lackluster localization that drove players to discuss these “mysteries” ad nauseam was one of the factors that drove an already revolutionary game to legendary status.

Recently, I played through the stunning localization of Persona 3: FES.
Atlus–recognizing their niche market of weeaboos that will pick up any J-RPG with character design informed by anime–decided to appease the otaku masses and provide a fairly direct translation while surgically localizing the pop culture references. It worked. The characters were rich and familiar; without detracting much from the modern Japanese setting.

But “niche market” is the key word.
I’d have a hard time trying to sell some of my friends on a game where characters constantly refer to each other with Japanese honorifics in the middle of English sentences. (“Akihiko-sempai!”) Especially when it contains a dating simulator that practically requires a knowledge of Japanese pop culture stereotypes in order to select the right responses. Only those who have seen their fair share of manga and anime would know what kind of gift to give a character like Mitsuru or that festivals with fireworks are a romantic opportunity.

I still can’t believe I played a game in English that expected US gamers to know what “nattou” is.

However, developers like Square-Enix–who eventually learned how to do a proper localization–can’t afford to alienate a market. Neither can the majority of foreign developers producing games for a global economy. So, a good localization isn’t going to include words like “Itadakimasu!”, but it will make you forget that you’re playing a game that wasn’t written in your native tongue. And that’s all that matters.

But, will we still see games with the literary value of a fortune cookie?
Off course!

And I know what you’re thinking…

“Great. Another contribution to a blogosphere already over saturated with poorly written Seanbaby knock-offs and kids who are better suited to debating the location of Pokemon sex organs on Gamefaqs than writing game reviews.”

Right?

Well, fear not.
You’re already experiencing a break from the mold.
Because even if I do have a pretty good idea of where a Charizard’s ninja boot might be found, I can write a damn entertaining piece about it. And it’ll be more recent than 2006. (The hypothetical article. Not the Pokevag.)

I’m an old school critic.
I can’t promise angry YouTube reviews, I can’t promise a great podcast, I can’t even guarantee you’ll still think I’m attractive after I sexually objectify myself. But, I can promise that if you grew up around record shops run by elitist assholes who spend the afternoon debating the finer points of obscure jazz records behind the counter, you’ll feel right at home.

Let’s get started.