Atelier Iris is one of those games which, without a franchise name to piggyback on, no-one really noticed coming over the horizon. Then, even more unfairly, reviewers (certainly US ones – it’s not out in Europe until early 2006) generally dismissed it with slightly above average scores for it’s basic graphics and ostensibly derivative gameplay. But it’s one of my favourite RPGs of the PS2 generation, and it sparkles throughout with creativity and delight. As with all Nippon Ichi games I love the flair of it’s localisation and the bold, brass characterisation. Buy it when it comes out next year.

Edge magazine. E152. PS2

It’s fair to say that the cooking and alchemy RPG subgenre has never enjoyed much platform in the west. Gust’s long established Atelier series of RPGs takes these two peculiarly Japanese gameplay curios, and sews them together with more traditional role-play paraphernalia into a glorious patchwork of play. That Nippon Ichi, with their line-up of Strategy RPG nouveau-classics, should choose the sixth Atelier game as its first out-of-house US release speaks volumes about the depth of the title. Atelier Iris, it seems, aims to do for the Action RPG what Disgaea did for the Strategy RPG.

Despite his alchemist job title, protagonist Klein Kiesling isn’t pursuing the secret of gold. Rather he specialises in the extraction of objects’ ‘elements’, which, with the help of befriended tamagotchi-style elemental ‘mana’, can be used to create new spells and attacks. The game’s huge inventory of items can be also used to create food recipes and new items for the game’s various shops.

Recipes are reviewed and rated, based on the quality and suitability of the ingredients you use, and in turn attract customers to the host shop while becoming available to buy and use in battle as items in their own right. The game’s economics turn traditional videogame consumerist mechanics on their head, encouraging player contribution to the overall benefit of the society surrounding the narrative. You often more likely to spend your cash on a pot of castor oil and a rare fish to try out in a new recipe than on buying incrementally superior armour– although that option is always there.

Whereas most RPGs reveal all their tricks in the first couple of hours, Atelier Iris keeps revealing its gameplay avenues to explore throughout. Eventually this results in an elaborate gameplay map that grants freedom from the largely on-rails storyline to explore whichever part of the game suits your mood. Indeed, the bumbling overarching story is persistent but never overbearing, often slipping down the list of immediate priorities.

The narrative is bejewelled by a genuinely humourous translation that has been sculpted by a localiser with a twinkle in their eye. It strays creatively from the literal Japanese providing immensely enjoyable dialogue that sparkles next to its bland contemporaries.

Indeed, the game’s inimitable character bursts at the seams of what was clearly a limited budget. There is none of Squaresoft’s dull-eyed cinematic waste here, which will no doubt alienate swathes of both genre fans and critics. But the charm of the title coupled with its breathtaking breadth and depth, will win over more discerning gamers. Race your way from introduction to denouement and you’ll be disappointed. But relish the game’s systems and character and you’ll uncover one of the most unique, enduring and memorable RPGs this generation.

Obsessive compulsive

Atelier Iris sits comfortably within Nippon Ichi’s carefully carved niche for fanatical detail. At any point you can visit a cheerful traveller girl who, at her caravan base, keeps a log of all the items you find and create in the game. Finding new items and item sets unlocks various bonuses. While essentially this boils down to a Pokemon style ‘gotta catch ‘em all’, filling in the gaps becomes irresistible- especially when you factor in that many new recipes are stumbled upon by chance. Much time can be spent tweaking existing recipes in the hope you’ll happen upon something new that will both improve your favourite shop’s standing with the public and fill in one of the baiting blanks in the item log.

“Nice sledgehammer though,” is the parting comment in a video posted at the weekend by smashmyxbox.com.

I’ll let them quickly explain their idea:

“After we collect $430 in donations, we will take that money to a local unspecified retailer, which opens at 12am on the launch date [of Microsoft’s new Xbox 360 videogame console]. We will purchase the Xbox 360, and destroy it in front of the other Xbox fanboys who are already waiting in line. We will try to be at the very front of the line.”

So, a couple of months after the site opened, they predictably succeeded in collecting the full $430 with four days to go. They queued through two nights (55 hours according to the site) outside US retailer Bestbuy.

They were, as they had hardly dared to wish, at the front of the queue.

The Xbox360 was duly purchased along with a sledgehammer. They took the machine out of the box, walked outside into the parking lot and then destroyed it in front of, in their words, “a few Xbox Fanboys”.

For “a few” read “three”.

Obviously it’s not funny. In essence you have someone destroying something brand new and desirable in front of someone else while filming it for the internet. I mean, it might be funny to someone with an extreme hatred of Microsoft, or a person who can’t afford to buy an Xbox 360 so just hates the machine through thinly-masked jealously, but this is internet humour for bitter, spoilt children and, chewing pixel-wise, these forward-the-link! jokes leave the very worst taste in the mouth.

But let’s give them the benefit of the doubt for one second and allow that successful comedy is often in the delivery; even the slightest seed of internet humour might blossom funny if the execution is big, bold and has enough flair, right? Perhaps, but on this score the recording is an avalanche of disappointment.

Yes, the footage builds well showing the team at the front of the all-nighter queue, being interviewed for local television, being first to buy the machine before holding it aloft at the checkout. But, rather than smashing the box to pieces there and then in the store, in front of checkout assistants, floor staff and a line of agog customers, they move outside into the parking lot, minimising the impact. The result: pleading with three largely disinterested and confused people to watch and provide the essential incredulity for the whole thing to ‘work’.

So, judging the film on its entertainment, comedy value alone, it falls limp, short and impotent. But, let’s weigh the morality of the act for a moment, that is, look at whether it was wrong or right, if you’ll allow us to talk in such outdated absolutes for a moment.

Here is their justification: “This is only a social experiment, for the entertainment of the donors, and visitors of this site.”

And, of course, as mentioned in their FAQ, to sell advertising space on the video.

So, despite what you might expect this isn’t some kind of bold and brash statement from anti-establishment, break-the-system types: it’s principally for capitalist gain. He has sold adverts at the front end of the movie to other sites, which presumably all hope that the footage will alight videogame forums of the world like wildfire.

Viewed as a capitalist venture then it’s hard to knock. People donate money to be ‘entertained’; he then makes the film and collects the advertising revenue. He has spent no money and earned some; other people have spent little money in a kind of Internet based bet dare and, presumably, reaped their entertainment.

It’s a way of turning an idea that has niche appeal into capital gain.

Just like child pornography sites then.

OK, that was hyperbole: but there is a moral dimension to this that capitalism could never account for. Morally, this sits somewhere between MTV’s Jackass/ Dirty Sanchez, the frightful happy slapping mobile phone clips, and the photographs of abuse at Abu Ghraib.

It’s not that ridiculous a statement: think about it. All have the same spirit of delight in the destructive married with the participant’s own exhibitionism. At the MTV-tame end of the spectrum, the key difference is that, crucially, most of the time they are just destroying themselves.

Happy slapping, by contrast and community service sentance, instead uses the weak and unsuspecting as it’s subject matter, capturing attacks on strangers ranging from a rude, lip-trembling slap right through to setting a street sleeper on fire and nearly killing him.

But what all these pixels have in common is that they entertain people by glorifying the destructive and violent. Whether the law judges the violence and destruction to be illegal rests on the subject of the attack. If it’s yourself (Dirty Sanchez) or your own property (SmashmyXbox) then it’s permissible. If it’s anything or anyone else then GBH, abuse or criminal damage will be the headline reward.

What’s interesting about all these scenarios, particularly this piece of footage, is that if you take the cameras away and get rid of the crowd you’re left with a plain, one-dimensional idiot doing something idiotic. It’s the audience, in their search of entertainment that provide the justification and who, ostensibly at least, make it ‘funny’.

Take away the audience in the smashmyxbox video and you’re left with just a weird looking short man walking into a shop, paying a load of money for a luxury consumer item before breaking that thing in the car park: at best it could be judged some kind of twisted performance art; at worst, he’s just a certifiable, lonely loon.

Audiences have been taught for many years now that they have no part to play in deciding what is right or wrong to watch: that is the job of the watchdog, the ELSPA, the BBFC or the Mary Whithouse.

But this is a gross oversimplification and, anyway, those boundaries don’t apply to the Internet. Here, you only have yourself to regulate yourself: the anti-censorship dream.

But with freedom comes responsibility.

On the Internet, the audience enters a marriage of blame when they watch someone’s idiotic, rude or illegal material. Arguably, if they weren’t downloading or clicking on it, it would never have been made.

With no audience there is no show and with no show there is no wider meaning to stunts like this.

I won’t link to the site. You get the idea here. If you do choose to go and watch, know that you are giving the site and the download one more hit, increasing their revenue and advertising clout, further securing their future ‘hilarious’ projects.

At best, you are supporting crap jokes.

At worst, you’re supporting a watch culture that gives justification to hostage-beheading extremists who present the footage on the Internet for download.

Either way, I think we all lose.

Hope you find something you like. And apologies for yesterday’s piece. Today things are far sunnier in chewing pixels. Boom!

01 – We Like the Cars that go Boom – L’Trimm
02 – Konichiwa Bitches – Robyn
03 – Wonderword – Supercar
04 – Couches in Alleys – Styrofoam
05– Here She Comes – B. Fleischmann & Ms. John Soda
06 – The Seer’s Tower – Sufjan Stevens

You can download the full .mp3 mixfile here or or subscribe in iTunes (’Advanced’ > ‘Subscribe to podcast’, then paste this link).

The Daily Telegraph published a story last week noting how all five of the top-selling British daily newspapers are enjoying their lowest sales figures for 50 years.

Likewise, the Press Gazette, British Journalism’s weekly in-house publication, published a front page story last month with an accompanying photograph of two dusty bottles of formaldehyde containing a ring note-pad and pencil: a future museum exhibit preserving of the tools of the news trade circa 1995.

Oh how they’ll laugh as they peer through the glass. ‘How quaint’ they’ll snigger to each other from behind their 2020 iTablets.

Yes, I know this could and probably will be the least interesting piece I’ve put up on Chewing Pixels if I’m not careful: slating the internet for changing the face and method of journalism is something that should be the sole preserve of fat, terrified Telegraph freelancers who write pieces about how newspapers are selling less copies than 50 years ago. But still, I can’t help feeling a little threatened: one of my colleagues on a paper I write for was made redundant this week for no reason other than they don’t have enough subscribers anymore. We all know the Internet is taking ground against print fast but she was the first casualty in my immediate proximity.

Local daily newspaper The Argus (which covers the South East of England around Brighton and has been where many future broadsheet writers have cut, spilt and split their infinitives) came knocking last week. They need new subscriptions. In the eighties they sold 250, 000 copies of the paper a day. That’s quarter of a million copies daily: for a local paper. Sheesh. Today the Argus struggles to sell 30,000 papers a day.

Eight weeks for a pound, sir? Free newspaper with that DVD, ma’am?

So we get our news from RSS feeds and websites and television these days. So what? Big deal? The Times they are a-changing. But let’s look at blogs for a moment: now everyone’s a writer, a critic, a journalist, a commentator.

Ok. Stop.

Let’s rush through the carriages of the above thought train; try to get off before it’s inevitable, messy crash:

“Blogs are cheapening the art of criticism” *BLAH* “Not all words are equal: some are better than others” *BLAH* “The problem with ubiquitous blog comment is that it makes the whole world a critic” *BLAH* Most blogs devalue ‘real’ writers’ skills, creating a sea of impenetrable observation that says nothing, goes no-where and helps no-one” *BLAH* “I miss the good old days where people had websites” *BLAH* “I’m scared” *BLAH* “Am I redundant?”

So trots the current argument of so many print journalists (except usually without the explicit honesty of the last two statements) as they – we – hurtle towards a paper-less oblivion.

Let’s change tack a moment.

I think I’m frustrated because I want to create beautiful things but most of my job is just playing judge at a beauty pageant of other people’s children: most of the time you cause more damage than good. I operate in a strange occupational limbo where I’m not really a journalist at all; just some kind of insignificant arbiter of subjective taste. *sniff* A critic */sniff*

One editor I work with was telling me the other week how on her first day working on a newspaper she was sent out by her editor and told: ‘Don’t come back until you have a story.” Frankly, this terrifies me. Going out, rummaging through a family’s chest of drawers looking for a picture of a murdered daughter while the mother’s not looking (as one reporter/ photographer tag team from The Sun allegedly did round these parts recently: ‘you keep them talking – I’ll find a picture’) couldn’t be further from what I want to do with my life. So in one sense I’m glad I’m not that kind of journalist.

However, sometimes being a critical journalist feels equally useless. I was chatting to one third of the Triforce, Ste Curran (Last-gen Edge writer/ editor and Redeye) on MSN last week. He now works for Sony as a producer making videogames and something he said kind of haunted me: “I now feel like I’m contributing rather than just criticising- which was kind of always the point for me.”

That resounds.

I’ll level with you: I like critique, and criticism- it’s what I’m probably best at writing, but at the same time it can be such a negative discipline. It can stifle fun, bring other people down and be counter-productive.

I was at the press preview of The Lion, the Witch and Wardrobe a couple of weeks ago (my thoughts on it are apparently embargoed *sign here please * until the 4th December, so don’t ask). It was like the red-carpet Premiere for the geeks: all tight jeans, puffer jackets, horn-rimmed spectacles and practised sneers. In this place, I hate critics.

But then, at it’s best, most inventive, most creative and most honest, critical writing can inspire, throw a sheet of perspicacious light onto something otherwise confusing and difficult to understand. It can point people towards wonderful art and life-enriching things, while pulling others up where they have been lazy and substandard and, in a tiny way, it contributes. In this place, I love critics.

My favourite critics I read simply because I love the way they write, even if I have no interest in the subject. I think this is where Kieron Gillen’s New Games Journalism phenomething works: It’s a way for critical writing to be creative rather than just distant, cold and removed. It’s exciting because the writers have to make themselves vulnerable rather than just superior: using their creative skills to critically examine someone else’s creative output and in doing so making, sometimes delightful, cross-media mash-ups.

So these thoughts, in a way, ease my frustrations. NGJ, however small the influences in more traditional videogame reviews, is helping critics be creative and entertaining, contribute in more interesting ways and hopefully become better writers.

So how does this relate to declining newspaper/ magazine sales? Well, I guess that the move to self-published websites is allowing writers to more freely go where traditional non-fanzine published media doesn’t. This in turn is changing the way people write about things (at least in the area of videogames): It’s transforming the language and face of critique, which, as someone trying to straddle the growing divide and not fall down the middle into oblivion, is at once frightening and exhilarating.

Symphony of the Night is one of those games that stays with you. Partly it was because I have such happy memories of playing it through to 200% completion with my brother over a couple of weeks. But mainly it’s because it’s an amazing videogame. I know this review has been put together using SotN as a lens but I think that is wholly justified as it seems to me that director Koji Igarashi has been grasping to match it’s wonder ever since his 1997 debut. I loved this game and, after sending the Japanese code back to Edge for screenshots, I went out and bought the pal version on release day to play through again. But it’s not as good as Symphony of the Night, memories or no memories.

Edge magazine. E155. Nintendo DS

Despite the lavishly layered gameplay and perfect parallax visual craftwork, Koji Igarashi’s 1997 2D Playstation masterpiece, Symphony of the night, was mostly considered anachronistic. But after so many ensuing, largely disastrous attempts to translate Castlevania’s hallmark gameplay to the third dimension, there is no small delight in this latest polygon-free release. Dawn of Sorrows is a direct sequel to the GBA games, through which Igarashi has quietly continued the series’ 2D bloodline, always attempting to match the magic of his first luminous attempt. Indeed, with the DS’s power and hardware features, it’s perfectly placed to recreate Symphony’s wonder while further redefining its dark corridors and dank, lonely castle walls.

For the newcomer, despite the retro looks, traditional genre pigeonholing is difficult. The modern Castlevania is instead a fashionable mix of platforming, side-scrolling combat and RPG management, all poured into a vast but finite castle. Here, the core action system revolves around the capturing of enemies’ souls, a development from forbear, Aria of Sorrow. Defeat enough of an enemy type and you’ll collect their soul, which can then be equipped as an offensive weapon, guardian or stat modifier depending on it’s colour. These bestow protagonist Soma with a similar attack to the defeated enemy and collecting each of the 116 souls in the game quickly becomes an obsessive pursuit, positively encouraged by virtue of a wireless soul trade-swapping feature.

Other than this, the game mostly sidesteps meaningful use of the DS’s unique capabilities. The top screen is set to either map or enemy profiler: timesaving but unnecessary. Similarly, touchscreen features are rudimentary, awkwardly bolted on to Castlevania mechanics despite attempts to paper over the joins. Most overtly, you must use the stylus to finish boss encounters. Once the antagonist’s health has been suitably depleted, a symbol appears on the touchscreen that must be traced within a strict time limit to trigger the coupe de grace. Fail to accurately draw the seal, or do so outside the time limit and the boss regains some health and the battle irritatingly continues.

Collected soul abilities vary wildly in usefulness and the emphasis to collect the most powerful and pertinent ones is heightened by the sky-high difficulty level. The weighty challenge treads a dangerous line, inspiring infuriation and infatuation in almost equal measure but always managing to feed the keen player just enough reward.

Core gameplay remains largely undeveloped from Symphony of the Night, and, despite the additions, is aspirational rather than inspirational. It’s certainly the best handheld Castlevania game but Igarashi’s team is too dedicated to the framework he masterminded for this to be anything innovatory. That said, Dawn of Sorrows never feels outdated; It’s mature and refined but neither close enough in imitation nor bold enough in revelation to reach the greatness it clearly grasps at.

Seven out of ten

Soul food

The acquisition of souls frequently seems, in practise, random¬. The problem with such unsystematic development is the game’s difficulty level; you can often find yourself working through a section of the castle, collecting souls with very little effort, then integrating the new skills into you gameplay style, only to die before the next save room. On replay, you may find it far harder to collect the same souls you did before you expired, having to enter and reenter rooms in order to respawn certain types of enemies until they eventually give up the ghost.

I’ve really been enjoying non-stuff‘s weekly mix tape/podcasts of late, discovering both loveable and indifferent – but always interesting – music.

I thought I might start uploading my favourite songs of the moment in a similar way and hopefully you might discover something you enjoy that you didn’t know about before; which is what the internet’s all about after all.

01 – Fantastic Cat – Takako Minekawa
02 – Our Angel’s Ululu – Deerhoof
03 – Hiding/ fading – Ms. Jon Soda
04 – Misery is a butterfly – Blonde Redhead
05– Ongyilkos Vasarnap – Venetian snares
06 – The longer I lay here – Pedro the lion

You can download the full .mp3 mixfile here and I’ll work out how to stream it in the meantime…

I’ve just been working on a review of the PS2′s Xenosaga 2 which is getting a long overdue European release this Christmas and it reminded me of reviewing the first game for Edge a couple of years ago. I learned a lot from this review about how to squeeze (hopefully) insicive, informative critique of a 60-odd hour videogame into just 400 words. It’s something that web reviewers with their almost limitless word counts never have to contend with but I’m glad for print restrictions as it hopefully made and makes me a better writer.

Edge magazine, May 2003. PS2

Twenty-odd hours of cumulative passive inactivity. Twice as long as it will take the average player to complete MGS 2. Xenosaga takes it’s cut scenes very seriously. Anyone who baulked at Kojima-san’s cinematic opulence is advised to turn away now. In a sense, it is any particular players ability to accept the art of the RPG cutscene that Xenosaga’s critical success hangs upon. We’re a long way from Night Trap here, but the question remains the same: can the interactive movie actually be any fun?

Players who enjoyed Xenogears on Psone will recognise the hallmarks of excellent set pieces, deep characterisation and involved storyline. This pseudo-follow up forms episode 1 in a new six-part saga that will allegedly be released over three platforms during the next decade. Xenosaga’s subtitle alludes to its grandiose pretence and Monolith is clearly looking to redefine the worn videogame classification ‘epic’. But this is more anime sci-fi than Nietzschen discourse: you are part watching, part participating in a sprawling story of Japan’s anime heritage despite the fact there are more biblical and high-brow references than perhaps any videogame before it.

The action takes the traditional RPG flowchart of play: cutscene, exploration then battle. The first two hours feel characteristically slow of the genre and are spent getting to grips with the deep and excellent fighting system. The developer steers the player through these obligatory sequences with some flair but it’s only when plot camera pans out that one realises how director Tetsuya Takahashi’s obsession with the material has created a world of Lucas-esque proportions, depth, dynamics and, importantly, consistence.

Cut scenes are well directed and helped by an intelligent, sometimes witty dialogue. The plot burns slowly but gathers speed and intensity proportionate to the 40-odd hours it takes to complete, and, unlike so many Japanese attempts at science fiction ethics, Xenosaga often hits interesting questions.

However, the storyline and gameplay sections have not been integrated as well as they might and the two sections frequently feel like disparate halves failing to complete a whole. Enemies are visible on the field a la Chrono Trigger, eliminating randomness, and this fact alone will be enough to turn RPG deserters’ heads. In addition the battles are startlingly demanding for those weaned on recent Squaresoft games.

At every boss battle, failure is a keen reality. Currency is not handed out freely and so you have to carefully plan spending and character development: all simple changes that help keep the formula fresh. Xenosaga is the antithesis of the arcade fix and, despite the fact this stance is unfashionable at the moment, comes highly recommended, not least because it offers a different view of videogaming’s future.

Seven out of Ten

Top scoring

Xenosaga chooses to keep its music for cut scenes and battles alone. All sections where player has control on the field are punctuated only by sound effects, which help add a lot to the atmosphere. Yasunori Mitsuda, fast becoming Japanese videogaming’s John Williams has created a beautiful score full of thematic echoes from the first game. The London Philharmoic provided the playing and the OST is recommended to all.

This is a photo of a coloured ball on the photo sharing website Flickr.

ldhaMedia says: That is so incredible! What was it for? I wonder why they didn’t do it with CGI?…

Underneath the photograph on the site, someone added this comment.

I wonder why they didn’t do it with CGI?

The photograph in question was taken, along with a couple of other, less macro, more descriptive efforts, in San Francisco last July after 250, 000-odd coloured bouncy balls were poured onto the street by a film crew.

The FlickR photographer picked up one of the balls after the filming had finished and took it home; a memento of an extraordinary brush with an unspecified and beyond-guessing creative process.

No-one on FlickR, nor indeed those others who witnessed the event, knew why these balls were fired from two cannons or tipped from a bathtub bucket until a couple of weeks ago, when Sony started promoting its range of Bravia Televisions with an advert from agency Fallon.

The advert shows the balls bouncing and highlighting down a street, unmistakably San Fransisco, in perfect, crisp, slow motion, dancing to the pretty aural backdrop of Jose Gonzalez’s Heartbeats.

The advert was put together by movie CGI specialist and impossible-to-google, The Mill: the production company responsible for Chris Cunningham’s current PSP advert.

It’s a wonderful, innocent, pure advert, which is of course what they want me to think and feel when I watch it. But, if I could just shake my cynical clothing for a moment, maybe it makes me feel that way because that’s just what it is.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to get ten supercomputers gobbing out Maya-born bouncing balls for three weeks while a bleary-eyed, ghost-faced editor wrote ten-thousand complex choreography scripts to woo us with. Perhaps we would never even have told the difference?

Perhaps, but then there’s something about the advert that’s almost preternatural within the natural; something real, and honest and genuine born from the fact it is actually real. It may be premeditated and processed, sure, but fundamentally, it’s genuine.

They actually did that.

This, I am sure, is the first example of what will soon become a roar of counter CGI-cultural filmmaking. Maybe, it won’t be long before films start to promote the fact they have avoided using CGI as a USP- maybe not on their billboards but certainly in their whispering campaigns.

I would say I hope so but, then thinking about it that’s not really the point. Used subtly I guess CGI can enhance. The whole point behind it is that it can allow filmmakers to do things that would otherwise be impossible, illegal or impractically expensive to create in real life, with real people and objects. But somewhere along the line it has gone too far and undermined what film-making is all about so that Flickr commentators like Idhamedia can’t even see the point behind why they would actually throw coloured balls down a street rather than fake it all.

CGI has changed the visual currency of films and, in doing so, with it sold out our sense of wonder.

I’m tired of illusions. I want some magic back.

You can watch the Bravia advert here

There is a ‘making of’ documentary here.

Update: As I’m getting so many google hits from people looking for the lyrics to heartbeats: here you go.

3.28 Million sales in Japan, 2.92 Million in North America and 1.77 Million in Europe. Three CDs. 330 CG maps. Over two years development. 100+ team members. 40 minutes of full motion video. Nine out of Ten. Adults in tears. But Final Fantasy 7 represents much more than cold record-breaking statistics. Here was the sole catalyst for the worldwide RPG revolution.

“This was undoubtedly the game that changed everything”. Yoshinori Kitase, director of the most important RPG ever, has cause for hyperbole. “We felt a wind of change inside the company during the development process. There was this incredible feeling I’ll never forget: we were making a new thing…making history. Imagine”. He pauses. Imagine.

In E51 Edge prophetically pondered whether Final Fantasy 7 would trigger a worldwide console-RPG avalanche. The history that Kitase was making soon demonstrated that this was, indeed, to be the game to propel the Japanese high-production RPG into one of the most popular videogame genres today worldwide. The first demo of the title, creatively bundled on an extra disc with Square’s first 32-bit offering, Tobal No. 1, stunned the world with its steam punk setting, achingly melancholic score and arresting visuals and bore evidence of a huge team working on a title with aspirations not yet thought possible in the medium of videogames.

Having negotiated Squaresoft Japan’s notoriously closed walls and had questions vetted and removed, Edge, at last, managed to talk to the man who steered the project. “There were a huge number of people we had never worked with before. Up until that point Squaresoft’s teams had only ever dealt with the traditional 2D medium. All of a sudden we had new people coming in working with software like Power Animator and SoftImage that we had never heard of before. From an industry point of view, it was unbelievable what we were trying to achieve. That is why we all had this strong feeling; this great enthusiasm”.

As the software houses were jumping from the 16-bit systems to 32-bit hardware Squaresoft made the headlines for choosing Sony over previous soul mate Nintendo. The story behind the split is yet to be explained and as the two companies only recently kissed and made up (with the departure of warring Hirosohi Yamauchi from Nintendo and Hironobu Sakaguchi from Squaresoft) we’re unlikely to anytime soon. Kitase is predictably diplomatic, “We had a big decision to make in terms of which hardware to use. Nintendo was not one step behind in terms of hardware. In fact, the N64 was quite attractive actually. But as our goal was to develop the next generation RPG we came to the conclusion that only a high capacity mass storage media would facilitate what we wanted to achieve. This meant CD was the only option and so from that perspective, PlayStation was the only choice.”

In a series where flow of plot is so important and instant loading times were expected Square had to be tread carefully with the new media, “At that time Sakaguchi-san (Square’s founder) was the series’ producer. Right from the time the decision to go with CD was made he set down a ground rule for the game’s development teams saying, “If the player becomes aware of the access times we have failed”. So we tried many tricks to circumvent the issue such as offering animation whilst the game was loading data etc. The constant fear for us having worked with cartridges for so many years was that the player would feel bored whilst waiting for loads. However, only CD media was able to facilitate more than 40 minutes of FMV movies so we virtually had the decision made for us”.

Graphically Square were trying things only hinted at in the first generation of 32-bit titles. Using polygonal characters on CG backgrounds and interspersing the action with streaming FMV was a bold aesthetic series of decisions. “We were keen that the distinction between the in-game graphics and the CG movies sequences was not overly pronounced: something we could not have done on N64. The change of dimension into 3D was a massive one for the Square team. You could see the game with maps and angles that only 3D could offer and in terms of game characters, we were able to offer far greater, detailed animations, so they would look more real, more alive on screen. But it was a daunting task”.

The change from FF6 is as graphic a demonstration of the transitional videogame scene from 2d to 3d as one will ever see. Edge wonders how apprehensive the teams were treading this virgin snow, “It was during development that I realised the impact that 3D realistic CG visuals had on overseas players. In Japan, you have the “manga” culture with the traditional deformed style world design and characters that live through a story with very serious themes. In overseas, you don’t have this. To be honest we were pretty confident that FFVII’s characters and graphics would be accepted overseas and ironically I was much more anxious to see how Japanese users would respond”.

Undoubtedly at the heart of any RPG’s success is the plot. No matter how good your battle system or locations, without quality scripting there will be no incentive for the player to play. It is testament to FF7’s story that the game is widely regarded as the acme of the series and still frequently referenced today. Whilst Final Fantasy games have traditionally always drawn upon a myriad selection of myths and legends the seventh game used them as a framework for loftier ethical aspirations and ecologically conscious evangelism. “Sakaguchi had a great vision of the force behind the universe. He wanted to explore the idea that planets and people share the same basic energy and so are, in some way, intrinsically linked. He developed this philosophy from drawing upon other cultures that stated when a planet disappears an invisible energy is released into space. This energy goes to some place and concentrates to give life again when certain conditions are met. The same energy drives people. So no matter who or what this energy comes from, it will concentrate all together to give life to something or someone again”.

These were ideas that the Squaresoft founder had long been toying with and its unclear as to how much of the philosophy was pure fantastical fabrication and how much was his own dogma. One thing is certain: they posed difficulties for Kitase, “Sakaguchi’s ideas were incredibly difficult to represent in the game since they concerned an invisible abstract concept. It was something I’d never seen done in a game before. So, I came out with the idea of the Life Stream. This was an idea that planets have the same kinds of life systems as people’s blood or nerve network. It allowed us to more clearly examine the issues we wanted to. Sakaguchi-san’s main ideas for FFVII and the world he imagined for the game (all the creatures, etc) were very closely integrated into the Final Fantasy movie. FFVII and FF Movie started at the same time in their development process and they share nearly identical roots. I may have to play both again and compare all their common elements”.

Easily the most infamous and memorable character in FF7 was neither the main lead nor the central antagonist, although both Cloud and Sephiroth are premier examples of excellent design and characterisation, but rather a flower seller who appears for little more than a third of the game. Tetsuya Nomura (character designer) conceived both the characters of Sephiroth and Aerith. “The main issues of contention for fans worldwide are still Aerith’s death and the ending sequence with Sephiroth. With the plot I wanted people to feel something intense, to understand something. Back at the time we were designing the game I was frustrated with the perennial dramatic cliché where the protagonist loves someone very much and so has to sacrifice himself and die in a dramatic fashion in order to express that love. We found this was the case in both games and movies, both eastern and western. But I wanted to say something different, something realistic. I mean is it right to set such an example to people?”

Kitase is adamant that cultural art puts too high a value on the dramatically meaningful death, “In the real world things are very different. You just need to look around you. Nobody wants to die that way. People die of disease and accident. Death comes suddenly and there is no notion of good or bad attached to it. It leaves, not a dramatic feeling but a great emptiness. When you loose someone you loved very much you feel this big empty space and think, ‘If I knew his was coming I would have done things differently’. These are the feelings I wanted to arouse in the players with Aerith’s death relatively early in the game. Feelings of reality and not Hollywood”.

At the time of release the internet was awash with rumours that it was possible to resurrect Aerith. Edge asks if this was ever the developer’s intention? “The world was expecting us to bring her back to life, as this is the classic convention. But we did not. We had decided this from the beginning. There was a lot of reaction from Japanese users. Some of them were very sad about it whilst others were angry. We even received a lengthy petition addressed to our scenario writer asking for Aerith’s revival. But there are many meanings in Aerith’s death and that could never happen.”

Final Fantasy 7 is arguably one of the most significant games all time. Not simply because it was so well-conceived and executed, but mainly because of its wider significance to Sony. In Japan, history dictates that hardware cannot succeed without a best-selling RPG franchise. With FF7 Squaresoft secured their position as king’s of the adventure tale worldwide and won Sony an army of fans both in Japan and the west whose importance cannot be underestimated.

The continued pressure Square receives to do a remake of the title evidences the game’s continued popularity. Edge gently pursues the rumours, “If I were to redo the game on today’s hardware I would like to make the characters more realistic, I mean like FFX for instance. I think I would try to include full voice support but I would definitely keep the very same plot and scenario. I know that other members of the team are eager to do the update but, currently, I have no plans. Cloud and Aerith have appeared in other titles (Final Fantasy Tactics, Kingdom Hearts) so it is possible FFVII characters will appear in a future title but there’s many discussions to be had first”. Whether a new generation of videogamers get to experience this RPG zenith in next-gen clothing is almost irrelevant. It is a game whose emotional spell over legions of players hasn’t weakened with time and for that reason will always be the stuff of legend.

I’ve been debating whether to write about these pixels for a couple of weeks. On the one hand, it’s a piece of internet reality film that is symptomatic of the web’s growing cult of pain pornography: a kind of car-crash voyeurism that, depending on your viewpoint, is a cancer on the internet’s underbelly, or a way for people to horrifically engage with their mortality in a sanitised society continually duping people into believing they are immortal.

On the other hand it’s an extraordinary and horribly gripping piece of DV footage: an extreme sports snuff movie twisting the viewer’s arm into begging for the lead character’s life. Extreme You’ve Been Framed.

In my defence I didn’t go cruising for it. Film critic Ash Karreau linked to it in his blog and I stupidly followed. I won’t link to the movie file here but will instead pick up the pieces.

Anyone who played the N64’s Goldeneye, or indeed watched the film, will remember the opening scene where James Bond bungee-jumps off a towering dam to the ground below.

This horror vignette begins the same way. Boy stood atop a dam but with tightly packed parachute, instead of bungee rope, as his means of defying death by gravity.

He is base-jumping: an extreme sport whereby you climb tall things with a parachute rucksack, then jump off to the ground below. Although it’s not illegal in and of itself, you can be charged with reckless endangerment, and many, many people die. In order that less people die, base jumpers generally strap a small camera to their helmet to film their descent and, in turn, capture what they did or didn’t do right in their jump.

If they live, it’s a trophy to sit round the telly and watch with grandma at the next family gathering. If they die, it’s a memento of their last 30 seconds of life; simultaneously a warning to those who would think lightly of jumping into thin air, and a deadly training video on what not to do.

He jumps, wind screaming, tearing and taunting at the camera’s tiny microphone. You idiot. You idiot. You idiot.

I’m not sure what drives people to do this, but I’m sure it’s much easier than you might think. It doesn’t take much bravery to clench your eyes shut and think of heaven before stepping into it. I guess you just have to learn how to shut down the rational part of your brain. Maybe people do it for the same reason we watch it. Advertisers like to tell us we’re invincible: after all, if you’re told you’re mortal then you don’t really need to buy that 60-inch plasma TV, or the age-defying hand cream, or Nicorette.

There’s a gap between our news and our experience too. We keenly peek over a window sill at a school under siege in Beslan, gaze at bodies punctuating streets in Fallujah and watch young mothers weep into the bloated stomachs of their children half an hour after a tsunami tide retreated. But it’s all from the edge of a comfortable sofa. Pain, death and mortality rarely stare Surrey in the face. Maybe that’s why some jump. Only when you’re glaring into a 150 mph gravel grave can some people really find the line between human being and human not being.

The parachute inflates, body jolting to a floating safety. Thank God, Thank God. Thank God.

But then gust tangles the lines, slamming his body against the concrete of the dam, ¾ of the way down. Cry out in horror.

Now, had the parachute failed at the top, he would have known where this would end: a thousand pieces of torn flesh marking where consciousness fled. But now, 30 feet to go, fingers clawing at the accelerating wall, trying to slow the fall, there’s a huge, question mark on which life and death precariously seesaw, each one trying to outweigh the other.

If ever there was futhur proof needed that it’s the soundtrack that maketh the moment this is it. Watch the film with the sound off and the shaky, unclear shudder as his body hits the ground slamming his arms, then hands, then face and finally teeth is bearable. But with the sound on, sickening thud, followed by inhuman roar, it’s emotionally scarring.

At first you, like him, are unsure how this has all ended. The camera is strapped to his head so you see what he sees as he turns his hands to his face, digits covered in lifeblood. For a moment, like him, you think it’s all over as he tries to rise to his feet before falling over again to louder cries of terror. This is what it must be like to die you think, white-faced, monitor reflecting in your eyes. Why? Why? Why?

Looking at the surroundings he is alone. At the foot of a 200-metre dam, only the rocks and valley stand witness.

After a few moments, his breathing settles, the cries subside and he lays down. All quietens. He slowly and painfully removes the helmet, and with it, your view of the scene sweeps around to stare yourself in his battered face. You start to breathe easier: he’s still in one piece, bloody but functioning.

The film cuts to him pulling out a mobile phone, breaking the spell, a reminder you are watching a rudimentary edit of a bad fall and not sucked into the eyes of an unwitting suicide. The camera is set down on a rock, aimed towards the now silent jumper. He whispers into the phone in Norwegian for help. Then, for what seems like an eternity, lies on his back.

You hold your breath and pray: Don’t go into shock. Keep breathing. Stay warm. Where the hell is the help? Come-on-come-on-come-on. Another edit: a man tentatively walks onto the scene: probably scared of what he’s going to find. A resuce: colour floods back to the world.

As the quicktime movie ends there is the briefest of flashes into a hospital bed: the now unmistakeable young man in traction. Alive. As you like it.

I wouldn’t recommend watching it but it was the most gripping piece of film I’ve seen in a long while. The stakes so high, the perspective so right and yet so wrong. It’s not entertainment but, through it’s fuzzy, shaky pixels, you catch the sharpest perspective on the atoms of reality.

A brief google search for the history of base-jumping turn up this site: a record of all the people who have died during the ‘sport’. Even inconclusive it currently stands at 90.

So where’s the line with the pornography of pain? Is it really just Extreme You’ve Been Framed? Where does the documentary become the entertainment? Is it OK to watch if no-one dies? Are you sick if you peer into a car cash on the M25?

I don’t know but I guess the internet, devoid of regulation, will have to address these questions ten, twenty years from now. And I can safely say in that time, I won’t be jumping off anything, or, hopefully, watching anyone else splat on a pavement just so I can feel alive.