PS Collection Review

-- T.S. Elliot, "The Hollow Men" (excerpt)

THE MIDDLE

By the time that Phantasy Star was published in North America, the Master System was already on its way out. In Japan, the Mark III couldn't even begin to chip into the popular (and monopolarial) might of Nintendo's Famicom. Meanwhile, it became obvious that Tonka was anything but a reliable partner for Sega's American affairs.

Sega was ready to start over. Again.

Kodama and her original team, meanwhile, never really stopped. Witness Newton's first law of motion. Rather than putting in the effort to grind down their operation, the Phantasy Star Team instead chose to switch into a higher gear.

In creating one of the console's final games, Rieko Kodama and Yuji Naka had pretty much wrestled everything out of the Master System that there was to find. Now they had a new (in-development) console to work with -- one with apparently infinite potential, in comparison to what they were used to. It was probably only logical for them to have adjusted their aspirations accordingly.

Most of the core staff remained the same. Kodama and Naka kept their positions, as did Bo on the musical front. A crucial new member named Tohru Yoshida joined the project, however, taking up a large part of the character design and story duties.

After toying with a few ideas for a direct sequel (wherein Alis' Esper companion, Lutz -- or, in Sega of America/Tonka's translation, "Noah" -- becomes an action hero), the team went for a different approach. Phantasy Star II takes place in the same general game world as before; the three major planets of the Algol system. A thousand years have passed, however, since we last were here; the events and characters of the original Phantasy Star have long since passed into history and legend.

With this simple decision, Kodama and Yoshida completely reframe the focus of Phantasy Star as a game and as a series. The original game was a personal story, to be sure -- but it was also a vastly important event, which changed the course of the future. Whereas at the time the problems of Alis and her friends were the entire scope of the given universe, now we have been given some perspective.

Algol persists as a static entity, outlasting any of our own short lives and the troubles which fill them. Algol is a real place, with a history and a future, and a grander story to tell than any individual who might thrive or struggle on its surface. If nothing else, we can take comfort in this stability. We know Algol, and we can observe its changes over time. We can fast-forward through time, to observe the results of our actions. There is a future to look forward to, just as there is a past.

What brings further comfort is that although civilization has changed dramatically over the intervening millennium, it persists. More than that, it flourishes. We did find peace through the actions of Alis and her party, and now we can enjoy the fruits of our success. Civilization is at its peak.

What had been a convoluted mix of fantasy and science fiction, has almost wholly become a gleaming, futuristic world. It is still more or less the culture that we know, but now it is fresh and vibrant and new. We can directly trace the origin of any number of contemporary elements, from what we know of the Algol of the past.

In short, we feel a sense of ownership over, or identification with the world. From the outset we have a personal investment in this universe, and all of the events which transpire within it. As we are introduced to the new starring cast in Phantasy Star II, we feel from the start that these are our characters. We have been given their care and upkeep, as their guardians. Even without a great deal of character development (this game was made in 1989, after all), we implicitly know and care for our new wards.

What makes this identification all the easier is simply the world which Algol has become since last we were here; a bubbly, idyllic hi-tech Utopia (in the late 1980s-era anime style). No one is poor. Everyone has poofy, primary-coloured hair and snazzy futuristic duds.

Magic, as such, has been replaced with cryptically-named "techniques", bourne of science. Weapons and armour are all made of titanium, ceramics, carbon, and frozen light. Weather, the ecosystems, plant and animal life are all under a technological harness. And Bo's chirpy, superficially optimistic music sets the tone as one becomes acquainted with this new, exciting, perfect Algol.

Even moreso than the storybook world of the original Phantasy Star, this Algol is a sincerely innocent, peaceful place -- and a place Algol certainly feels to be, as much as any fully-realized world. There is no real hint of obvious darkness within the world we are given -- which makes it all the more startling and confusing when problems begin to arise.

And this only makes true disaster all the more shocking. By the time the game is over, Algol will have changed forever -- and not for the better. Early subplots, such as one involving a father accidentally killing his daughter due to a simple case of mistaken identity, only begin to hint at the agony and death, and the heartbreaking whole-scale destruction which will soon follow.

At the outset there is no tangible sense for how deeply troubled this world really is. Whatever is going on in the background, it is always just a little larger than anyone can comprehend. There must be a simple solution to any problem. A dead person can simply be cloned, along with all of his or her memories and experiences. A desert planet can be made lush and green. With all of our needs taken care of by a powerful central computer system, no one needs to work. There is always someone else to take care of things -- and if there isn't, then whatever problems there may be, must not be all that important.

Even when the full scope of danger is apparent, and is upon everyone, there is a certain shock -- an incredulity -- to the way the game treats catastrophe. How could such a thing possibly happen? This is, of course, a question which answers itself -- and in that fact, we begin to see a glimmer of the true greatness of Phantasy Star II.

Phantasy Star II is one of the first great pieces of videogame literature. This is a game with enough messages in it to defy easy count; some perhaps overt, many more subtle; most perhaps unintentional. Phantasy Star II is not a mere game; it has something legitimate to say -- and it says it in the most powerful and heartfelt way it can manage, using all of the tools available within the videogame medium as it stood in 1989, to get its ideas across. How the player might or might not interpret the game's messages is where the art comes in.

Among other landmarks, Phantasy Star II is, to my knowledge, the first classical tragedy attempted within the medium. A tragic outcome is classically defined by some fatal flaw that unavoidably determines the end. Achilles has his heel. Oedipus' father tries to outwit the Oracle. Hamlet's insecurity and burning, suppressed emotion causes him to foil his own plans. The greatest flaw in Phantasy Star II is the very innocence which defines the world. Simply by being what it is, the world is doomed.

You want to know why tragedies make you feel miserable? This is why. No matter what you do in a tragic work, you're going to lose. Even if you win, you lose. The best you can do is to stand up and meet your fate head-on, to maybe make some good out of your situation. This true, touching heroism is also where we find hope in the human spirit through tragedy -- and this is a theme where Phantasy Star II excels.

To a certain extent, the inherent innocence of Algol -- while being the key to its downfall -- also lends it, and its characters, a certain measure of optimism in the face of wholly overwhelming odds. No matter how bleak things appear -- or indeed are -- the party stumbles on, making the best of the time they have been given. Not entirely so much out of naivete, but rather of a sudden waking; an understanding of life. An acceptance that there are no -- there can be no -- easy answers.

Phantasy Star II is about overcoming one's misery and pain, and bravely facing certain personal doom -- simply because it must be done. In the particular unsure, but brave, way that the game copes with its situation, Phantasy Star II strikes me personally as being in possession of an emotional maturity that to this day I have never seen entirely replicated in another videogame.

On another level -- with its obvious, yet restrained, social commentary (which can be interpreted any number of ways) -- Phantasy Star II very much follows the classic model of the science fiction story -- the likes of Welles, Verne, Orwell, or Asimov. Beyond this, the game is also an epic coming-of-age tale, both for Algol and its characters and in a sense for videogames, as a medium.

There are so many themes to touch upon, and a dissertation could be easily drawn on any one of them. For the sake of clarity and brevity, perhaps it is easiest for me to make a blanket statement.

Phantasy Star II is, flat-out, one of the best games I have ever played. Further, from how far ahead of its time (and even our own) the game is, in terms of literary elegance and emotional sophistication, it will likely remain one of the best games in existence for many years to come.

To boil down the major themes and styles which I feel define the game:

• Classical tragedy
• A classical, allegorical style of science fiction
• Loss of innocence
• Coming-of-age
• Courage against overwhelming, certainly impossible odds

All right; so the game is literate, important, moving. But perhaps so far I have been dodging the obvious question:

So. As far as videogames go, how is it?

The answer: hard as HELL.

Phantasy Star II can be a perfectly reasonable game if you play it cautiously and intelligently. But -- well, again. It was made in 1989. It's not going to hold your hand, but at the same time it's actually pretty well-balanced.

It's unlikely you're going to accidentally wander into areas that you just can't deal with. The characters gain new abilities at a decent rate. Monsters give out just enough experience and money, and equipment tends to be set at exactly the right prices. By the time you're physically ready to explore the first dungeon, for instance, you should have about enough money saved up to equip your party with the best weapons and armour you can buy at the start of the game.

The trick is to know your character's abilities, to know when to retreat, and -- most importantly -- to know when (and when not) to advance. Rushing ahead will put the party in almost certain jeopardy, but cautiously exploring the world bit-by-bit -- expanding one's boundaries, while keeping an escape route and emergency supplies always on-hand -- will lead to success.

Thematically, this construction fits the game like a glove. It pays to be apprehensive and careful, yet brave and curious. Because of this setup, the game retains a certain excitement and wonder almost the entire way through. It's about pushing one's boundaries, and slowly making strides out of the safety that one knows so well. If things get to be too much, if you get hurt or scared, you can always retreat and then try again tomorrow.

This mix of coddling and increasing self-reliance is another manner, in place of complex narrative development, in which the player becomes fond of the characters in Phantasy Star II. They all require a lot of care, and yet they are constantly improving. Victory over a monster often feels like a real triumph, especially since the very real danger of defeat is always lingering just around the corner.

When Nei is able to defeat a particular enemy with a single blow, you know that's due both to your assistance and to Nei's own willingness to grow. It's a team effort, and the bond steadily grows with every challenge met. You come to know your characters through an organic sort of familiarity and understanding, rather than through the typically-rushed exposition of many other games. More so than in any other RPG I've played, the concept of level advancement feels like real growth here.

And then there is the music. Whereas the soundtrack in Phantasy Star the music was simply very good, in this game it is without equal. There simply isn't any other game music quite like it, in terms of its style, its simplicity, and the understated weight that it carries throughout the entire game. The further the plot advances, the more layers of depth that can be heard.

There are also few games in which the music so effectively personifies the essence of the game as Bo's score does here. The most obvious parallel might perhaps be Koji Kondo's soundtrack to the original Legend of Zelda -- although in place of the heroism, mystery, and wonder of Zelda, in Bo's music we hear innocence with an underlying decay; anguish and desperation, with an underlying optimism; childlike terror, with a hint of bravery and even curiosity -- all within a burbling, almost liquid futurism.

Graphically, Phantasy Star II makes good early use of the Genesis hardware. Especially for a first-generation game, some of the technical feats -- the well-animated, complex monsters; the occasional cutscenes; the unconventional use of parallax scrolling in dungeons -- are pretty darned impressive.

Yes, parallax scrolling; the 3-D mazes from the original game have now been abandoned, in favour of what have come to be renowned as some of the most well-designed (and at times merciless) dungeons in any traditional console RPG. For those with a weak memory or mapmaking skills, the dungeons in Phantasy Star II can be a confusing and perilous hell -- hardly aided by the layers of pipes and rafters which often obscure the player's vision. Those with the patience, however, are in for a memorable experience.

It's not the technical achievements, however, which make the game look so well, even thirteen years later. Rather, it's the clean, elegant, and consistent design sensibility which pervades the game. There is virtually nothing in Phantasy Star II which does not in some way enhance or at least reflect the principles behind the game to begin with.

Everything from character design to architecture to menu layout is bright, crisp, futuristic, simple, and somewhat naive. Battles are fought against a snazzy blue grid in what appears to be a Tron-like cyberspace. Monsters generally make sense within the world given, and nearly all possess some interesting personality. Yuji Naka was obviously inspired directly by his work on Phantasy Star II when he settled on the look for his later Phantasy Star Online subseries.

About the menus, though. One of only two problems I have with Phantasy Star II, going back to it now, is how awkward the menu system can be. At times it feels like I'm fighting with my pop-up windows in order to just equip an item, or heal a few characters, or to look at my statistics. This is hardly a major flaw, and one does adjust after a while -- but it's surprising just how much a small user interface issue like this can drive a person up the wall.

The other issue is a carry-over from the original Phantasy Star. The battle engine in this game has been improved greatly over its predecessor, but there is still an unfortunate element of randomness to which monsters any given party member will attack.

By default, battle is semi-automated and can be interrupted with a button press. The player may, however, assign one of several actions (attack, technique, item, guard) to a character -- and then, under some circumstances, choose an enemy group to attack. The problem is, there may be any number of enemies within a given group.

You can tell Nei, for instance, to attack the Slugmess instead of the Head Rot (I do so love the monster names), but you can't tell her which of the three Slugmesses to attack. This can be problematic at times, but it isn't as big of an issue as in the original Phantasy Star -- and the attacks do indeed seem to be random now, rather than without fail the most infuriatingly stupid decision possible in any given situation.

What might come as a surprise is that even with this questionable design issue, battles in Phantasy Star II are among the most enjoyable and tense encounters in any RPG that I've played. What could have been a sizable problem comes off more as an annoying oversight than a truly important fault.

After all of this, I feel an obvious inquiry lingering before me: If the game is as wonderful as I say, then why hasn't it been more widely appreciated?

Well, that's a good question.

For one thing, Phantasy Star II was nearly a launch game for the Genesis; it was released two years before the console finally became widely popular. By the time everyone and his cousin had been sucked in by Yuji Naka's next big project, Sonic the Hedgehog, Phantasy Star II was old news. There was a new Phantasy Star game on the shelves, and it was... well, it was Phantasy Star III. We'll get to that in a moment.

For Sega, name recognition typically only seems to carry weight with long-term fans. Ask around; despite their long and productive history, see how many Sega games the average person can list, outside the Sonic series. I can see how the prospect of another game like Phantasy Star III -- only older -- might not have seemed terribly inspiring to Sega's new audience.

This is beside the fact that the game was always amazingly expensive. At the time of its release, Phantasy Star II was the largest console game ever published, and -- as any N64 owner can testify -- cartridges can quickly be a huge blow to the wallet. Keep in mind also that this was only the second major traditional console RPG ever released in the West, so it's unlikely that a lot of people really knew what to make of the game when it was new.

RPGs were never very popular in the US anyway, up until the release of Final Fantasy VII -- and Phantasy Star II is far from the most accessible game on the planet. Sega of America tried their best to make the game palatable by including a huge, 1/2-inch-thick hintbook with every copy of the game, but it had to have been an uphill struggle to get people interested.

And yet regardless of its audience, Phantasy Star II is one of the most important games which has ever been written. There have been few games as significant to videogaming as an art form. There is hardly a limit to the praise I can bestow upon this game.

Without hesitation, I name Phantasy Star II and The Legend of Zelda as the two games which have made the biggest impression on me, during my lifetime thus far. It has changed the course of my life more than once. It is, for me, a constant source of inspiration for what is possible within the videogame medium, artistically, expressively, and just in terms of coherent, good design.

Phantasy Star II is in many ways the game which changed the face of gaming forever.

What an enormous torch to bear. So how did Kodama, Naka, and Yoshida follow up on a project such as this?

Answer: they didn't.

At least, not directly. Not immediately.