Masterpiece: Final Fantasy VII

After taking a look at Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare, we continue to explore games that deserve the title of Masterpiece. In the second entry of our series, Ars takes a look at one of the most enduring RPGs ever released: Final Fantasy VII. Do you remember those gorgeous full-page ads in the gaming magazines? The jokes about how many cartridges it would have filled without the PlayStation’s CD technology? For a generation, this is a game that evokes memories.

If you have not yet played through Final Fantasy VII, this story contains spoilers.

A new generation

Even among fans of the series, Final Fantasy VII stands as a divisive game. It was the first game in the series to feature 3D graphics, the first to appear on a console not made by Nintendo, and it ushered in a new era of CG cut-scenes. It’s equally loved and loathed. But it’s also one of the most important and influential Japanese RPGs (JRPG) ever released.

Prior to the release of FFVII in 1997, JRPGs were somewhat of a niche product in North America. Sure, Chrono Trigger and FFIII were critically acclaimed and sold well enough, but they weren’t blockbusters. FFVII changed that. Spanning three discs, it provided an experience that was almost unbelievably epic for the time. It may have played a lot like a traditional RPG, but it didn’t look like one; FFVII was flashy.

The many cut-scenes were stunning, giving the game an undeniably cinematic presentation. Its gritty world combined the traditional fantasy setting of past FF games with a steampunk aesthetic, and the sprawling, emotionally charged narrative further expanded the game’s epic scope. You were fighting to save the world, and the first time you stepped out of Midgar and out into the world map, you realized just how big that world really was.

These elements combined to make FFVII a breakthrough hit in the West—a market where previous JRPGs had struggled to garner the same amount of attention they received in Japan. The title went on to become the best selling game in the series, selling around 10 million copies. It also marked a major coup for Sony, which was able to lure Square Enix—known then as Squaresoft—away from Nintendo. FFVII was also a showcase for the CD-ROM-based technology offered by the original PlayStation. It was huge, beautiful, and, more importantly, it wouldn’t be possible on the Nintendo 64. Fans couldn’t get enough: it was as if people raised on the television went to the movie theater for the first time. Everything was bigger and more impressive-looking.

A powerful salvo in the console wars

For all of its importance in popularizing JRPGs in the West and helping usher in a new era of Sony dominance, the real magic of FFVII is in its staying power. Few games boast the kind of dedicated, rabid fanbase that has formed around the game. Its release on the Playstation Network last year led to sales of over 100,000 copies. It has spawned spin-offs on the PS2, PSP, and Japanese cell phones. In 2005 a sequel was released in the form of a full-length, CG feature film. To this day—over a decade after its release—fans still clamor for the high-definition remake hinted at in an early PS3 tech demo. And that’s not even including the numerous fan tributes, like OC Remix’s Voices of the Lifestream tribute album and even a bizarre Famicom port.

The reason that the game has been so enduring lies with its characters. Like the TV series Lost, FFVII‘s overarching narrative is convoluted and messy. At times it’s hard to follow, and if you find yourself having to explain it to someone, well… good luck. But just like Lost, when the game focuses on its characters, the results are incredible. And when it was released, most of the major players in FFVII‘s cast were unique and unlike the majority of game characters out there. Instead of a plucky young hero, the game starred Cloud: a bitter, aloof antihero with a dark and mysterious past. He wasn’t fighting to save the world, at least not at first, he was fighting for himself. Sephiroth, meanwhile, was a conflicted villain. He was terrifying—when you heard his haunting theme song you knew something bad had happened—but also sympathetic. He wasn’t a two-dimensional villain; terrible things had been done to him, and he was out to punish the world by controlling it.