Final Blasphemy

Final Fantasy is, like a lot of long-winded and pompous stories, rather fond of mythology. It invents it by the bucketload, if that’s the standard unit of myth (and I suspect that it might be – either that, or a ‘slop’). Every entry in the series conjures an unspeakable and intractable struggle between good and evil, coming to an unlikely and often poorly translated crisis point whereby a spiky-haired emo saves the world through the power of repeating tiresome clichés about togetherness.

The Nazis could have argued their point in exactly the same style had they just got their hair done, I suspect, but equally I don’t think that justifying the holocaust through companionship is the point of Final Fantasy. In fact, plausibility isn’t really the point of it either: for example, if you were Mister Good and I were Mister Evil, it would be far more likely that we’d go out for a quiet pint and a chat rather than destroying the world in a quest for some kind of obscure rebirth, or any of that pseudo-portentous and mystifying guff. We could talk about the footie, like. Maybe get some chips.

Well, I think so, anyway.

It’s now more clichéd to comment on spiky-haired protagonists than it is to be one. Squall is, however, brilliant

The series as a whole is equally fond of mythologizing the would-be epic worlds that your characters inevitably save. Their recurring characters and themes are so enshrined in tradition and expectation that recognising and responding to them is almost like a rather shallow prayer of gratitude: Square, we give thanks for the chocobos, and phoenix down; for Mog and the moogles, Cid and the airship; bless us with your gil and experience; for thine is the ether, the elixir and the glory, forever and ever, amen.

Final Fantasy all started off fairly simply with crystals and kings, a bit like those lacklustre Icelandic epics where Thorgudjohnsson The Hairy spends seventeen hours of verbiage failing to deliver a fish to an equally hairy maiden on the other side of Geoffssonsdottirs’s Island… with hilarious consequences. They were modest plots, but they went on a bit. Not a great deal happened, but – and this is important - it went on not happening for a very long time. A lot like final Fantasy IX, in fact. Even more like X2, if you were unlucky enough to participate in that epic exercise in protracted and constant disappointment.

As the series continued, crystals and kings were not enough to propel it onwards into the ever-elongating anus of its self-referentiality. It’s not an original point, but the inclusion of the word ‘Final’ in the title suggests a finality that the series as a whole is in no danger of achieving. To get round the endlessness of it all, what happened instead is that each instalment became progressively shinier and more obscure. This is in much the same way that the Christmas Special of atrocious ‘national treasure’ Doctor Who did. And that was so up to its neck in delusions of its importance that I prayed it would have the decency to drown in the pitiful self-serving myth-puddle it created. Reasonable prayers like mine went unheeded, though, which just goes to show that God is probably a bit of a bastard.

Caution: this character causes women to ejaculate pretentiously. Fact.

Which brings us to Final Fantasy XIII, a game so wilfully obscure with its various types of angels and demons and crystalisation and ‘focus’ that it actually took a reviewer’s confession of incomprehension to explain the basic premise to me, even though I was already twenty hours in. That’s not so promising for the hours of cut scenes that both he and I blithely couldn’t understand, although admittedly they were very pretty. So that’s alright, then.

I’ve decided, therefore, to interpret the plot in my own way, partly because I’m facetious, but mostly because it’s a lot easier than interminably plodding through endless dialogue between idiots as they fail to justify things I don’t understand in ever-increasingly grandiose terms. It’s also easier than actually paying attention, or some other laughable and unrealistic scheme.

At first it occurred to me that myths in the ‘real’ world (as opposed to game worlds) are no more sensible or logical than those we now participate in through the medium of pressing x. And this presented me with a problem. What story do I know that could possibly be substituted into the world of Cocoon or Gran Pulse that would appear to have the scope and resonance of a Final Fantasy game? This is going to involve more imagination than the one about going to buy a pot noodle and stubbing my toe. Or even that funny story about Chlamydia.

But I was fortunate enough to talk to a lapsed Catholic this morning, whose son had just appeared in a (rather inaccurate, by the sounds of it) school production of the story of Easter. Apart from my sadness at discovering that no real nails were used, that the spears were blunt, and that he had a crucifix footrest (an invention you would have thought would’ve been covered on What The Romans Did For Us) it was perfect. And, to be fair, it was no less realistic a performance than what this Bible which so many idiots seem quite impressed with tells us anyway. In fact, at least failing to nail a small child to a pretend cross actually happened.

Look! Look! It’s a nun cat! Also: this kind of idiocy makes me want to vomit my face out.

Yet there’s two things that religion or Bible-myths share with Final Fantasy. The first is that, frankly, if you want to find meaning, logic, and any kind of sense, you might as well just give up on either of them and buy a copy of a Dan Brown ‘novel’ – his sentences may be appalling, but at least you’re never in any danger of being confounded or outwitted by him.

And the second thing is the way they both share an utterly mystifying rule of threes. You know all that the Father, the Son and The Holy Ghost stuff? How God is one thing made of three things, but the three things are one, and one in three is still all three and only one, too? Yes, I know that sentence makes no sense, but don’t blame me - blame God. He apparently wrote it. Well not only does it not make sense, but it’s virtually identical to the final battle in any recent Final Fantasy.

Just like Our Lord apparently does, the ultimate boss always comes in three forms.  As soon as you chin the first one (who I shall liken to the Holy Ghost, because he’s clearly the shonkiest of the three), the next one comes along with some more laughable pseudo-mythological gubbins that makes your ears ache. So then you chin the second one, which would be Jesus for the purpose of this analogy, and while it’s reassuringly easy to destroy the obtuse hippie, lo and behold he comes back from the dead as his own Father.  

So along comes the Father, who seems to ignore his illogicality and the fact you’ve already defeated 66 per cent of him with an over-confidence based on ignoring my excellent stat buffs. Eventually, as with all things, you get to kill God. It serves him right for not answering my perfectly reasonable Doctor Who-related prayers. Cue Leona Lewis to warble in the arsepocalypse.

So that’s it. Final Fantasy is now so pompous that it’s taken over the church. All Final Fantasy games are actually about killing God. And I suspect we’re all going to hell.

Never mind. Liverpool kick off at four this afternoon. And Mister Evil might even get some cheesy chips.

Comments

[matt h]

you know what? they ought to make the plot of the next FF based entirely on the book "Anathem" by Neal Stephenson. Now that is epic and enduring, but in a good way. Not read it yet? I will get my copy back off of Staves and bludgeon you with it, for not having basked in it's brilliance yet.

I am back on BFBC2, having plunged into the full game. It's pretty. And there are tanks. Lots of tanks. And houses that fall down when you drive tanks into them.

I haven't played the solo game, having been too busy shooting people in the states in the face with shotguns, sniper rifles and hilariously, repair tools.