Level 1

 First Impressions.

It's a commonly repeated refrain that you have to nail your first impression because it might just be your last impression. Wait- no, that's not how it goes. 'First Impressions last longest'? Less threatening, but that still doesn't sound right. How does it go... "You never get a second chance to make a first impression", that's it! (Hmm, that still sounds pretty threatening...) But the point stands strong. The very first time someone starts an experience, meets a new person, or does pretty much anything fresh to them, it will be that first moment which colours their proceeding experiences. Which is why when we bring that philosophy to gaming, a lot of games that are beloved to small subsets of people fail to land with larger audiences. You can tell me all day how amazingly interesting the Avenger's combat apparently becomes once you hit the level cap; but I don't have fifty hours to spend grinding and being bored so I can be mildly entertained by an anaemic game from that point onwards.

Which is why nailing that very first level which the player comes across is so important to establishing the interest in the audience that is going to make them stick around for the long haul. And sealing that interest can't be done in the same way that we do with movies or TV. That stinger scene hinting of the later events might work on some very fringe cases, but most of the time it just highlights how boring the proceeding beginning sections of the game are, or just reveals how unimpressive your most exciting section will be. Perhaps the worst example of this is the legendary 'Ride to Hell: Retribution' which begins with a playable smash cut to all the action set-pieces of the later game, neatly allowing the player to experience right early how unplayably bad all sectors of the gameplay were. Almost like a warning to stay away, which I guess makes Ride to Hell's intro the most conscientious of all other games.

I think this late realisation has been what has led to the slow decline of the 'tutorial', as most games operate with the 'standardised control scheme' anyway and thus most players don't want to sit around being told how to move and shoot for the fiftieth time. The trend has gone towards action-oriented and explosive intros that propel the story and let the player get into the action and narrative immediately, even when the game in question is not a full action title. Some people might have been very surprised when playing the Mass Effect Legendary edition to be reminded how that first game begins with a fairly tame introduction that has you walk around the Normandy talking to the people that will become your crew and learning about the world through simple conversation. Mass Effect 2 has a more traditionally orchestrated tutorial action scene which sets you in a workplace ambush that bears a striking resemblance to the opening of Deus Ex: Human Revolution. And Mass Effect 3 has an even more overblown set-piece that leans more towards interactive cinematic than an actual firefight with stakes and peril. And that is just 5 years of 'first level' development clichés being developed by one company.

First levels have become such an entity unto themselves that comedy themed games, such as Far Cry Blood Dragon, have precedent to make fun of them. Why they had to do so in a manner that is equally as tedious as the cliché they were mocking is beyond me, but the expectation of fourth-wall shattering meta comedy is established by the display. Which is, of course, another function of the 1st level. Setting expectation for the audience to come back seeking a pay-off for. It's especially important to do this in long-form media like games and books because neither are expected to be finished in a single sitting. As a designer or writer, you have to be making the case on why your audience needs to return from page 1. Which is why 'Ride to Hell's' cliché 'fast forward' intro was in the right head-space, if flawed in other departments.

Souls games are great examples of this for how they endeavour to always ensure their reputation as unforgiving and brutal experiences is reinforced from the word 'go'. Practically every Souls game has a moment where you end up face-to-face with either the first boss or a tough early-game foe, totally unprepared for that encounter. The original Dark Souls has the first fight against the Asylum Demon, which transpires before you even have your class weapons; Bloodborne has the close quarters brawl with the werewolf which is attached to an almost scripted death sequence. Sekiro pits you against the final boss, and scripts your defeat no matter how well you do. And Elden Ring has Margit; a wound still fresh enough in it's players hearts that I don't need to tell you how unprepared people were for it. The message is very simple; 'prepare to die' and the humbleness of being killed is the first lesson FromSoftware teaches every one of it's players

There are some game types, however, that have confidence enough in the genre within which they exist and the precedent of their peers that they don't need to slap you in the face for attention. Some take their sweet time to establish atmosphere, or world building, confident in the fact that you will stick around for the prolonged amount of time required for the real excitement to start. Hollow Knight is a masterpiece that begins with a particularly subdued thematically desolate introduction to the Hallownest. And Japanese RPGs like Final Fantasy and Xenoblade usually avoid the big exciting events so they can allow the player to acclimatise first. This is because above all else, these games aspire to establish immersion, not just stimulation; and only when the player has sold themselves fully into the world do they come and supply the action and danger to the world they've built. 

I think there's one game I know, and love, which balances all the points I've picked out beautifully; and you won't be surprised in the least to see how that game is Yakuza 0. The prequel Yakuza game that revived this franchise to the Western world, Yakuza 0 had very big shoes to fill when it proposed to tackle the very beginning of Kiryu Kazama's journey ten years after his original outing. And they began with a shock, but not an explosion. Kiryu beating a man, in a cutscene, to a bloody pulp for protection money. What follows is actually a very subdued sequence of discovering the 80's Kamurocho, meeting the characters and beginning to get hooked into a plot that prioritizes intrigue. But by that same merit; Yakuza doesn't leave action fans waiting. The finale of the first chapter is perhaps one of the finest action set-pieces that the franchise has ever had. Built like the finale of a whole story with the focus on making the ultimate sacrifice by taking responsibility, the player is then thrown into a relentless no-punches-pulled onslaught of enemies in a perfectly paced gauntlet headed off with a climatic boss fight against one of the key villains of the game. It's over-the-top, awesome and supremely satisfying; that is how you start your game.

The beginning can often be the most challenging part of any work of art, and the amount of forethought and intention it demands will never cease to amaze me in the special instances where all works out with flawless delight. A great introduction will play in your head forever and make you want to dive back in the second after you finish; a bad introduction will kill your momentum and maybe even make you uninstall the game before it gets good. (I literally cannot replay Blood Dragon because I always automatically uninstall the moment the intro wraps up.) So think about the next game you start and whether or not the game you're playing touches on all the notes an intro should, and whether level 1 alone is enough to keep you hooked until the last level.

I hate: Minions in Boss fights

 Not the yellow guys. They're aight.

Hate is borne from love they say, or something to that avail, because both demand the utmost extremes of emotion to be reached. Thus I suppose it only figures that I absolutely love boss fights in video games and am so glad that they're coming back into the mainstream lately. I live for those moments of mortal showdown between the protagonist and some powerful, towering foe which stretches every wit and sinew to trade blows with. I love the climatic nature of the events, the emotions, the thrills, the highpoints and the low. Standing across the deck of a burning ship and ripping off perfectly fine suits before Shibusawa, drawing guns inside of a snow-white field of stagnant water lilys against The Boss, and stepping into the Kiln, watching the Soul of Cinder slowly rise amidst a sea of discarded burnt-up swords from a thousand battles fought; these are the moments that steal my heart away time and time again. A perfect boss fight, in set-up alone, can be unforgettable tournaments of one on one. But we're not here to talk about things that I love, now are we, so let's discuss how games often manage to bottle it and burn my wings in anguish. Time after time.

Minions. Why? I've just fist fought my way through the streets of Kamarucho, snuck across a Russian forest crawling with soviet hit squads and bested Lords with the strength to relight the world; I expect on the other end for my foe to have the common courtesy of facing me like a man; instead of hiding beneath the coattails of swarms-worth of brainless anklebiters that I've already stepped on hoards of in order to get here in the first place. It's demeaning. What enjoyment do I get out of taking a break between each expertly dodged move to go "Oh whoops, the mobs are getting rowdy again, better take a quick time out"? Why should anyone have to deal with their clash of the titans moment being interrupted by an errant skeleton who's trying to remember how to cast a basic fireball? "Excuse me, Skeleton-mage-man, but I'm right in the middle of something right now. This huge climax of tension and narrative drive that the world designers and storytellers have been weaving throughout my last stretch of gameplay, could you sod off and let me enjoy that now?" Is that being too direct? Not enough?

A boss is a very special milestone to reach, and it should be an exciting affair as well. Oftentimes they precede important story revelations or an impressive tract of land that's about to open up to you. Rarely does a boss not come without a reward, even if it's just relief of having duelled and won the day. Thus there's almost a sacredbond between these moments and players; an unspoken rule that things are about to get tough but you can mange through the struggle by learning your enemy, maybe through several attempts, and exploiting those weakness. The game has saw fit to challenge our resolve, and thus we meet it with all our vigour and intrigue. Something new, exciting and unexpected lurks just beyond that foggate and I'm going to be the one to figure it out! Only for it to turn out to be a swarm of nobodies who sit on you whilst their boss does the dirty work. Does anyone else come away feeling cheap after such fights? Like they were used and tossed out the next morning without so much as a cup of coffee? 'Cause that, win or lose, is me. Utterly unamused. 

In my eyes this spawns the same sort of dissatisfaction that those feel who complain whenever a boss is simply just a scaled up version of an enemy you fought in the level beforehand. (I mean it's not that lazy, mind you, but it feels that way to me.) I expect new experiences, new movesets and new tension, such to the point where I'll even rate boss fights with unique boss minions in them over those that recycle the level's mob trash, because at least then I know that these are enemies geared to be in this fight. Otherwise it almost always turns into an inelegant mess of a battle where attention is drawn away by a back-up troop who all engage in their own tactics instead of supporting their boss, because that's just how they designed at a base level. So I switch target, loss focus, get bum rushed, die, rinse and repeat. And it's almost never with a smile on my face.

Dark Souls, bless that franchise, understands this fully, and even in the battles that are occupied by mobs the boss in them is designed in such a manner where they would be useless without the mobs. Imagine battling the Deacons of the Deep without the hoards: the fight would be even more trivial then it already kind of is. I just don't see why, when you already have a tough-as-nails headlining act, they need to have the audience rush the matt for backup. Okay, that's not true, I do kind of understand the logic. Some of the reasoning doesn't escape like I wish this practice would. I say that because, at a base level, good design does dictate that the challenges and tribulations of a level should reinforce the skills that you need to use as the game becomes more difficult. Thus I can kind of see the logic behind populating boss fights with identical enemies to the level you just bested as though to say "Look, you fought these guys before so you should be familiar with them!" But I'd call this a case where the forest is wholly missed for the tress.

Now there's obviously a angle to be addressed here of design and balancing that I am sort of knowingly bulldozing over to make a point. That's because I think the expectations of a boss battle are fundamentally different what what is sought out of level-filling mob trash. When trudging through levels, I expect a diverse smattering of enemies who feel intelligently placed enough to give the area life and stretch gameplay across the area I'm playing in. They don't necessarily have to feel like they were crafted for the halls I'm fighting down because I expect these guys and their AI to meet me in a variety of locations over my gaming adventure. Level trash needs to be adaptable, a little indistinct and be designed to be fought time and time again without being boring. And I'll imagine you're already starting to see the comparison I'm about to make. Boss enemies are, ideally, meant to be as synonymous with their arenas as they are with their gameplay. (Remember how I noted each boss' location when I gave examples earlier?) Their size, attacks, speed, design: everything should be crafted to compliment the location within which you fight them, whether that is to hinder your struggles or aid them. These aren't enemies you could just pick up and place across the game, they have their space and it's a space made for them. So isn't it galling, then, for the mob trash to invade that space? Doesn't it speak to an inherent disrespect of the sacred boss arena?

But of course, there has to be an example of a climatic boss fight which does exactly this but does so without such complaints from me, and the example which comes most readily to mind right now is that of the Dragon Age Origins finale. (Spoilers. Duh.) At the end of that game you're tasked with duelling a huge dragon atop a burning city whilst hoards of Darkspawn do their best to rearrange your face. Now this is by no means the first dragon you've met in your journeys (his breath does unique damage but that's about it) so you know these guys can hold a fight on their own. But you're being assaulted by other enemies as well in a manner that doesn't feel ridiculous, and here's why. Firstly, you're not alone during this fight and this is supposed to resemble a large scale conflict, so the trash makes sense. Secondly, they're intelligently spawned so that you're not drowned in them. Thirdly, only the simplest of enemy types spawn so that you don't have to deal with complex strategies that draw attention from the main fight. And lastly; because the game is a tactical RPG in which you can take the time to pause the action, take a step back and unravel each new complication as it heads your way. That's why this sort of mobbing can work in games like X-Com too; it's fits the genre.

Of course, at the end of the day if you'd ask me which I'd rather have, trash filled boss arenas or no boss fights at all, I'd have to err towards the former, but that doesn't mean I'll stop suing for fundamental improvement to how such encounters are designed. Great boss fights can make or break a game's legacy and I think that in today's age, with as many brilliant examples of tight boss design as we have, there's not really an excuse for such clear, at least to me, missteps. Maybe I'm the one being regressive and there's some brilliant execution of this very issue of mine that blows away every single bit of my criticism. But I haven't played it yet and, given the breadth of games I have played, I can rather confidentially say that it's probably the exception and not the rule.

I'm 100 percenting Yakuza 0

 We're breakin' the world. Kowase!

There's something special about a game which manages to make real estate into a high drama emotional rollercoaster, no? I mean don't get me wrong, I'm sure that there's a special sort of thrill attached to flipping properties for a profit, but somehow I can't see myself cheering, laughing and bawling over signing a deed to ownership. (Actually, I guess it depends on the property.) Yakuza 0, on the otherhand, manages to ride that premise into one of the most action packed exhilarating action adventure crime dramas that I've ever played, and I'm happy singing it's praises even though you've probably read me doing it before. But whereas then I was there talking about the special details which make that virginal playthrough unforgettable, now I'm talking about the systems which kept me hooked in to come back for a second playthrough and to shoot for completion; which I am close on.

Firstly I must say that after finishing Yakuza 0 it wasn't long before I was jumping into legendary difficulty, and as far as hardcore modes go this particular one wasn't too bad at all. Legendary Mode bills itself on the model of a hard difficulty spike alongside absolutely no retry points, meaning that the second you die you'll find yourself booted back to the startup screen. But that's fine by me, as I'd cut my teeth of Persona 4 and the punishment for death on that game's hard mode is twice as prominent and twice as punishing. Yakuza provides enough saving opportunities for me to never feel left in the lurch and instead made me excited for big upcoming showstopper moments because I knew I had to complete them all in one sitting or face a full restart. (Of the event that is, manual saves still function) In particular this ramped around the Chapter 1 finale, the Tojo Clan HQ sequence and the extended finale scene which I only managed to scrap by in succeeding. (I forgot it was three boss fights straight, I though it was only two!)

I loved the extra challenge because it forced me to take advantage of literally every single feature in order to get ahead, from the meta-games that grind money for skill upgrades to the Staminan Royales which can only be found in pharmacies, I was stocked and trained for every encounter and the game bought the peril to make each fight feel like an adequate test of all I'd acquired. Of course, nearer the end of the game, as I started to max out, I began to surpass even the game's lofty skill requirements to a frankly ridiculous degree. And then for the finale I pretty much took the cowards way out and armed up my protagonists to the gills in order to not have to worry about burning out before the credits. (That being said, I still nearly ran dry as Majima, even with experience I was still caught off guard by how overwhelming his scenario gets.) So as far as second playthroughs go, and I didn't think this would be one I'd enjoy given how for some reason Yakuza 0 wouldn't allow me to go New Game + for Legendary, I had a total blast. I will say, however, that I'm not really sold on why Legendary difficulty had to be unlocked, it's honestly my preferred way to play the game and I understand that it helps to know the ins and outs of the game before putting yourself on the line like that, but I prefer for those sorts of decisions to be my choice. (Let me be the author of my own destruction, that you very much Sega!)

And it's here where I circle into the desire to 100% the title, because it's a testament to how well the design is woven for me to be able to tie them so closely. The various shops, activities and restaurants all weave into the overall completion percentage of the game in manners ranging from small to essential. Restaurants merely want you to taste at least everything on the menu once in order to reward you with those neat completion points, shops can have tools and items which assist with activities or just plain staying alive and the activities themselves often tie into side stories and or the metagame. Of course then there are the metagame's themselves; either managing a Cabaret club as Majima or a Real Estate firm as Kiryu, which are practically the only way to make the ludicrous amount of revenue needed to max out each character. Everything I mentioned is ostensibly 'side content' but none of them is so far removed from the core experience that you feel like you're wasting your time for pursing them. It's not like the various collectables in Ubisoft games that don't mean anything and burn a hole in your time for no reason whatsoever. (Why am I chasing after pages across rooftops? No good reason? Okay then.)

Whatsmore, some of the completion tasks themselves are actually pretty challenging propositions, as opposed to just quests of attrition. The Sega arcade quests in particular ask you to be semi decent at old School Sega games and honestly that just isn't really in my personal wheelhouse. My personal bane of existence was the 'get 5000000 points in Outrun', something which would feasibly require me to reach about level 5 of an Outrun playthrough. Level 5? Are you insane? I can barely make it to level 3 on a good run, let alone persevere through it! Super Hang On is strangely much easier with that same challenge. But who'd have thought that mastering a Yakuza game meant grabbling with Sega's classic back catalogue? I certainly didn't.

The actual playing through of all the side quests was some of my favourite moments, as Yakuza 0 has a tendency for offering surprisingly meaty and well developed side quests with memorable plots to them, so I remember practically every single one. I remember the truly standout quests such as the one where you infiltrate a wacky cult owned by a Japanese hippy in order to rescue some girl, (Shooreh Pipi) to the much more contained quests like the one in which you have to sneak around a surprise gaggle of women in order to buy a shrink-wrapped magazine for a small boy. ("Don't hide it under you bed, it's not as safe as you think") That doesn't even cover how just about every single questline ends with some sort of heartfelt message which, whilst undeniably sappy, is always genuine and sometimes quite sweet. Or maybe the entire quests ends up being a hilariously off-the-rails dive into insanity. (The latter of which is becoming increasingly more embraced by subsequent Yakuza entries.) 

Of course there are the hangups, that which made my completion objective teeth-grindingly tedious at times, and I'm not talking about the frankly scandalous price of the top tier abilities. (1 billion yen each? Are you high?) One line of substories that have to be completed in order to hit that 100% is a series of dates, 3 good 6 bad, that Kiryu can earn from the Teltel telephone club. This basically requires the player to go through a small fun, if highly provocative, minigame in the promises of a date on the otherside, with one small problem; the results are entirely RNG based. There are small tells to predict which date you're heading towards (the most prominent being the colour of the imaginary girl's underwear that Kiryu is imaging.) but for the most part unless you're good with memorising voices you'll just be doing these quests over and over until a new one pops up. (I got the 'Sakura' misdirection quest 5 times straight) Then there is the slot car racing which becomes increasingly RNG based the further you head down the storyline. Not that the opponents abilities are RNG, but rather the insane physics that rule your car. The final race took me 15 attempts and I changed literally no components on the car itself, it was just all down to whatever the physics engine decided it wanted to do that run. (I hope that's somewhat rectified when I start Kiwami)

But despite my hangups there's so many fun activities in Yakuza 0 that I could keep coming back to this world for ages. The coliseum, in particular, was ludicrously fun for what pretty much works out as a gauntlet of unique bosses and mismatched rulesets. All I would have to critique is the reward for the 100% journey, or at least the substory portion of it, which is two battles against the super bosses So Amon and Jo Amon. Now I know that super bosses are meant to be ridiculously tough, but they're at least usually fun and rewarding to fight. Both those fights were slogs, with So Amon's being nigh on unbearable for the first half. But even then I cannot complain as fully as I want to because Majima made a JJBA reference and that forgives all sins. It's just fact.

I'm not usually the type to 100% a game out of the blue, unless I literally have nothing better to do. (That's my excuse for doing it in 'Assassin's Creed Rogue', and I still hate myself for committing to that) When I do it's because I've found a game which I cannot get enough of and who's mere presence makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. (I'm know I'm weird/creepy, no need to point it out.) But what else would I be doing with my Holiday month considering that Yakuza 0 is, by logic of Diehard, a Christmas game? Thus consider this blog an official request by myself to induct Yakuza 0 into the seasons traditionally enjoyed media alongside 'It's a Wonderful Life' and 'The Grinch'. Also, no, this Blog had no greater purpose than to talk about what I've spent December doing. That's about it, bye.

Character themes; Storytelling done interesting!

Music is my weapon

I am not a music blog, that much should be pretty much apparent by now, and that likely comes a distinct lack of a music background. I mean sure, I've played a few instruments throughout the years (about 3) but never found one that I was truly serious about and likely never will. In fact, the most music exposure I've had lately has been me teaching myself how to play the keyboard during all this extra in-doors time we've been having this year. (It's fun, I can play most of 'Dearly Beloved' now, the ending always slips always from me.) But none of that makes me ineligible from enjoying and appreciating great music whenever I experience it, and how could I not? Music is everywhere! We hear it blasting out of radios in our cars or out of other peoples', blaring down on us during grocery shopping, assaulting us on every advert everywhere; and sure, most of it is so generic that we forget it within the hour, but sometimes you get a great song that can really make your day and/or elevate your current experience. Music can do that, thus as you can imagine when it comes to the way that music is used in gaming I'm always hyperaware whenever I hear something great which really hits me in a way I wasn't expecting or am inspired by.

Quite a while back you might remember me writing a piece about the forbidden love I shared with 'Dragon's Dogma' which ended with an incredibly rudimentary analysis of it's theme, which just goes to show you how much I pay attention to this stuff despite having literally no idea what in the heck I'm talking about. And gaming is such a ripe ground for music and it's potential applications that there are innumerable opportunities for me to totally embarrass myself, so that's exactly what I'm going to do today. You see, I've understood for a while now that some of the most prevalent uses for Orchestras in the modern age has been in the gaming world outside of concerts, thus gaming has been awash with increasingly more epic soundtracks throughout the years. But rather than undertaking the herculean task of reviewing OSTs, I want to take a more nuanced approach at a single aspect of video game soundtracks; the humble Character theme.

'Theme', obviously, is a term used to describe a common idea permeating through a piece of work or several, and in terms of music it's usually used to describe a piece of music which is associated with a specific event, location or character. In art they exist as an extension of the storytelling in portraying the sorts of ideas that are difficult or impossible to express through dialogue or even visual stimuli. I'm talking emotions like Joy, Sorrow, Guilt and Anger; but it can even extend further to express traits such as Innocence, Duplicity or Insanity. Music can be such a powerful tool when used effectively, as it speaks this sort of universal language that our minds just respond to without even really understanding what's going on. A skilled storyteller can use this to make the audience feel a certain way without their knowledge, setting them up for a powerful story beat or emotional send-off. In fact, I think that character themes are the most rewarding of all types of musical themes.

That's because a Character Theme needs to achieve a number of things; it needs to be elucidating, reflective and versatile, (Not all the times, admittedly) it needs to be the sort of thing that can play over several different points in the story and fit the situation, as well as be distinct enough to wrestle the attention of the audience and let them know that it's this character's turn to take the centre stage. And a powerful enough theme can exist beyond the character itself and echo as a mere memory which evokes all the emotions you once associated with them. This is the sort of thing that I live for as a lover of entertainment, and anyone who's ever picked at my Youtube music recommendations or even my plain playlist can attest to that. (I've listened to 'Stardust Crusaders' so many times it's the theme tune to my dreams now.) But as fun as it would be to break down 'Il Vento D'oro' and all the ways it's one of the greatest themes of all time, I should probably keep on brand with gaming for the time being. (We can explore The Golden Wind at a later date)

If I think back to one of the most evocative and memorable characters in gaming they are almost always synonymous with a sound, and that can either be just the sound of their voice or the theme that accompanies them. I think that one of the best examples of this could be one character who recently had her theme officially remastered, Aerith Gainsborough from Final Fantasy VII. A track that's almost as memorable as the game which spawned it, Aerith's Theme never fails to kindle fond sorrow in it's romantic yet lonesome tunes. I've always found that the disparity between the sweeping orchestra and the single instruments were really powerful in conveying the true isolation that Aerith, being one of the literal last of her kind, endures. It's a side of her that you rarely see through the course of the narrative, masked by her inherently cheery attitudes, but one which you hear nonetheless through this tune. It's also a truly fantastic piece of music that deserves all the recognition and appreciation that it enjoys.

In stark contrast, yet somehow along the same emotional frequency, and that is the sombre track known as Gwyn's Theme. Situated in the notoriously esoteric Dark Souls franchise, 'Gywn, Lord of Cinder' has a slightly more important role in the Dark Souls franchise as in itself it should elucidate the listener to another layer of the story, however sleight. The Dark Souls franchise is full of call backs and rhythming phrases in their music alone, but I think most can agree none do so more memorably than this one Piano theme. A masterpiece of simple complexity, Gwyn's theme forsakes the large orchestras and the bellowing choirs in favour of two simple pianos immediately bringing the player in for an intimate moment to this intimate duel. One piano plays this relentless and desperate rythym whilst the other cuts in with this beautiful but shrill melody. Of course, anyone familiar with the Story of Gywn will know how this reflects the god-king's determination to preserve the First Flame from which birthed his entire legacy. Everything he has ever worked towards is dependant on keeping this flame alive, which is challenged by nature itself as the flame is doomed to die. By the time you reach him you've stripped his lords of their souls and am merely facing off against an iron-willed yet hollowed man who's last prevailing desire is to protect the flame until he breathes his last.

But that's not all, because I want to look at Dark Souls once again in order to pick out a mostly different (with emphasis on 'mostly') character theme in 'The Soul of Cinder', the final boss of Dark Souls 3. Here is a theme that lays on the scale and drama, even kicking off will a church bell and deep choirs to make you instantly aware of the gravity of this foe you're facing. But beneath all of that there's this vicious and unpredictable string section that's fast and sharp in a way that captures this sense of serious danger. Once more you are facing off against a single huge enemy, hardly a sight for sore eyes in the Dark Souls world, but with the horns and Church-esque thematic touches there's this sense that this Soul of Cinder is of more consequence than perhaps anyone you've ever faced. And that's because the Soul is a deific representation of every single previous Lord of Cinder who has ever linked the flames. (I.E. every single past player of Dark Souls 1 and 2) Funnily enough the gameplay also tells a bit of the story here, as The Soul's entire moveset is based upon player abilities and animations in order to make the comparison more apparent. But all that merely covers the first half of the theme, because there is a distinct difference for the rest of it. For the second phase of the fight there is a moment wherein the theme grows higher than it has ever done before (coinciding with the Soul of Cinder calling upon his second half bar) and at the pinnacle the track morphs into a shade of that same shrill Piano melody from Dark Souls 1. (the one representing Gwyn) This also marks a trend toward the track becoming a lot quieter and more solemn, mirroring the way in which this fight is no longer against all the Lords of Cinder, they've been beaten, but now it's a fight against the one Soul more stubborn than all of them, that of Gwyns. Again, the gameplay reflects this as the Soul's moveset literally becomes Gwyns, providing an incredibly powerful call back through merely the musical theme and the gameplay; for reference: this is one of the reasons why I consider Dark Souls the pinnacle of video game storytelling potential.

And finally I want to mention a very different character theme in just about every fashion, although that doesn't mean it isn't an epic, just in an entirely different manner. I'm talking about 'Pledge of Demon' from Yakuza 0. There's less of a narrative within the music with this one, but the theme still exists to colour in the image of one of the game's more enduring characters, the Dojima Family Lieutenant, Kuze. Rather contrary to the classical influences that make up Dark Souls, 'Pledge of Dragon' features harsh and relentless electric guitars, drums and just some brilliant production tricks thrown in there to spice things up. Quite simply, it a theme that conveys this power and anger to it, perfect to accompany the man who will "tough it out to the end", as Kuze himself preaches. Rather then a elucidation upon a side of this character we may not see too often, 'Pledge of Demon' is a reinforcement of everything that Kuze claims to be, fitting as he is one of the most upfront and straight villains in the game, but in way that absolutely plays to his strength. A strong theme for a strong character.

Those are just a few of the character themes that have been playing over and over in my head for the past couple of weeks, but of course there are so many more like them. If I didn't find the lyrics so ear scrappingly cringey, I might have even mentioned 'Bury the Light' or any of the newer Sonic themes. (I could have written an entire blog on the way that 'Big Arms' portrays both the hero and villain in the story. Okay, maybe just a couple of paragraphs, but they would be passionate paragraphs!) I think character work is so of the most interesting and most diverse tasks that a storyteller can embark on, and when that collides with music I just find it utterly fascinating. I'll be sure to keep my ear out for any more instant classics and maybe even create a sequel blog, who knows.

Like a Yakuza

 Say that again!

Ryū ga Gotoku, (or Yakuza) it's become a little bit of an obsession for me in the past year as you may have noticed, to the point where I'm finding myself thinking back on it almost weekly. It's already entered that state of fond recollection in my mind, with the rosy-haze of a nostalgic dream, and I've only just finished it a few months back. I even started picking over my thoughts on it during my Dark Souls time, and you have to have something darn interesting on your mind if it can cut into Dark Souls time. (Either that or you're procrastinating because you've just realised how stupid it was to mount a low-armour run now that you've made it to 'Ornstein and Smough'. I did beat them, but it took a long while.) I think it's safe to say that I'm absolutely enamoured with Yakuza 0 and consider it to be one of the most understated masterpieces of the last generation. Although it's surprising to me to say that, as understated as I consider it to currently be, that's nothing compared to the levels of obscurity the series apparently suffered under before 0. In fact, in many ways Yakuza 0 was the game which saved the entire franchise for the West, and it all comes down to the localisation.

I've spoken a bit about localisation before in my blog about 'Subs vs Dubs', but essentially it's the work that goes into making the content of the game understandable to overseas audiences who perhaps don't speak the native language of the game. Cyberpunk 2077's official Youtube has uploaded an extensive video going into their localisation efforts for Russian, (No, I don't know why they did that, they just did) so if you want a glimpse at the nitty gritty of these sorts of works then I recommend you watch that. But to summarise, localisation is about more than just translating the subtitles and calling it a day. Just as with translation there's a decent amount of interpretation and even remodelling of the text in order to strike a cord that matches the original with an entirely different audience. Essentially, I'm saying that there are times when a direct translation would elicit a different reaction over a complete restructuring or remodelling, and it's up to the localisation team to figure out where that sweet spot sits.

Inverse recently published an exhaustive article going into the way in which Yakuza 0 saved the series and even touching base with the localisation team to talk. (Which is a great read, by the way.) And I wanted to touch on my personal experience with some of the topics that they mention. For one, I absolutely understand the problem which the author highlights with the Yakuza franchise, "the lack of an easy elevator pitch". If I were to have anyone to recommend games to, I think the best I could do would be to say it's like Saints Row 2 but crazier and better. But even then the comparison is muddy and weak at best. How do you really get to selling a franchise that is as defined by it's wacky antics as by it's melodrama and even the odd bout of genuine emotion? It's like a great anime perfectly captured in game-form, only with somehow less gloating and more fighting. And as I struggle with these comparisons I start to see the issues that a marketing team would have marketing this game across the world where people haven't even heard of it.

According to the article, Sega themselves had reached a point where it was looking grim for the Western future of this franchise, people just weren't buying these localisations enough to justify their existence. And for my part I suspect there may be a few reasons behind this, but I feel they all link back to a central idea: a distinct lack of exposure. Take me, for instance, someone who's heavily invested in the gaming landscape, back when I was into gaming magazines I never read a single article pertaining to Yakuza excluding a single article which referenced it as an example of a fighting game. (Which, again, is a bad categorisation. Just because it's a game with fighting that does not make it a fighting game.) I genuinely had no clue what these games were about and my older brother had actually played some, he couldn't even really explain what they were to me. (But then again I was pretty young at the time, he probably just didn't want to.)

Nowadays the world has changed and Yakuza isn't just recognised in the West, but praised heavily; and rightly so. One man who apparently doesn't feel comfortable taking credit for that is Scott Strichart, who is the localisation producer as Sega, as he remarked "A good localization is not gonna win you points, but a bad localisation loses points." To which I have a direct response, at it would just so happen. You see Scott is right, and wrong. A decent localisation isn't going to stand out to anyone except those with interest in such things like me, but I am being absolutely honest with you that there were times during Yakuza 0 when I literally threw myself back in my chair and said "This localisation kicks ass!" No joke and I'm not pandering, that is the absolute truth. (I think I even mentioned it in my review, you can look it up for proof!)

Now I've endured all kinds of localisations and truly bad ones are usually a relic of the past. Past Yakuza games, for example, where context got kind of muddled and a bit of a reputation was developed for the translations being unfaithful. The team back then experimented with getting some big names for the english VO, including Mark Hamill, but its hard to really get into this inherently Japanese games when simple custom is ignored such as the way Kiryu seems introduce himself by his first name, Kazuma, wherever he goes. (That's not right.) In fact, that particular pet peeve still haunts me to this day, because the recently released Steam version of Persona 4 Golden does the exact same thing, even when I have the Japanese voice track on and can literally hear the voices saying the second name. (It's nitpicky but infuriating! "He did not say 'Yukiko', he said 'Amagi-chan'")

Yakuza 0 has no English VO, which means all the weight of the translation effort has to go into the phrasing of the English text and that is where this localisation team blew me away time and time again. What they managed to capture, more than anything else, was character; and when you're dealing with a cast as crazy as this one, character is everything! Let me feel that bitter pride pouring out of Kuze with every exchange, the sleaze oozing off of Awano's cocky drawl, the nigh-on-perverted mania seeping out of Nishitani's every delighted exhale. The pitch-perfect performances and diamond-strong writing prepares the dish, but it's the localisation team who delivered it without fail and completely intact, fresh off the stove. Thiers is work that can be easy to overlook, but if you've never noticed a localisation effort for it's quality before then I implore you: let Yakuza 0 be the first to show you a bona fide masterclass in the art.

Yakuza 0 was a great game, and it's success has pretty much single handily revived the Yakuza franchise over here. In it's wake 2 Yakuza games have been treated to full remakes in order to bring us Western fans up to speed, and we've even been treated to the release of 'Yakuza: like a Dragon' over hear with a full English voice track. (I mean, I'll ignore it for the Japanese track, but it's an option!) The next step is, of course, a simultaneous world wide release, but that's a big step to take that (given how 'Like a Dragon' just came out) Sega won't have to deal with for a while yet. But until then I can smile to myself in the knowledge that a spectacular game franchise that deserves it is steadily gaining the recognition that has been absent for oh so long. Maybe there is a little justice in this world.

What does perfect Character Growth look like in gaming?

When I grow up...

Storytelling is a big part of my life and who I decided I would be, thus whenever it comes to telling stories and the mechanics and techniques that go into it, those are pretty much the topics that I go to sleep dreaming about. (I'm not exaggerating, I literally dream about this stuff.) Thus I love considering how to handle character introductions, struggles and ultimately growth, for all that makes for, in my opinion, the best experience for the viewer. Any story wherein the audience feels personally invested in the lives of the fictional characters is heighted by that bond, and it's in such a state where the storyteller has the very heart of the public in their hands to do so as they please. And for me, I particularly love that moment of comparing who the character currently is to where they started, the greater the disparity the better. (With some very pointed and clever exceptions at times.) As far as I'm concerned I think character growth is the bedrock of any great story and I think gaming serves as the perfect medium to serve up such stories, thus that's what I'll be touching on today.

In my experience I think that accurately portraying something as complex as emotional growth is one of the most complicated yet rewarding tasks that a storyteller can embark on. On one hand it can take a huge chunk of your storytelling time away from you, whilst on the otherhand it can make a scant 2 hour movie feel like an entire lifetime when laid out correctly. Oftentimes when it comes to movies or TV the biggest issue that plagues the storytelling is a lack of time to cover all the bases of telling in-depth stories with deep characters, which is why I feel we see a better balance of this in books where they are typically allowed to spend as much time as they need wherever they want to. (Of course, such room also provides a lot more space for the narrative to hang itself, but that's an argument for another day.) Games sit in that space between whereas they follow a lot of the conventions of visual media (mostly, I think those that break such conventions usually are my favourite, however) whereas they can have the breadth to breathe that you'd find in written media.

So what, then, does Character Growth in the world of gaming actually entail? Well I think that's somewhat of a difficult question to breakdown, because when you take into account the huge genre of RPGs and their mechanics it could mean a great many things. I mean if we're being as literal as possible, one might say there's a great chasm of growth in a story about a brash silver-haired 'demon hunter' who wonders about an old castle and gets impaled on a sentient sword, only to then go onto become the savour of the world several times over. Yet even then I wouldn't personally consider Devil May Cry's Dante to really be the poster child of great character growth. (Not knocking Dante or his games, they just have their own, somewhat immutable, style to them.) I'm more interested in the sorts of stories wherein characters will be an emotionally changed person from the moment that they walked onto screen to the moment they bowed off it.

And thus I think one of my main reasons for having this particular topic bouncing around my head is none other than the musical crime drama extravaganza; Yakuza. (or Ryū ga Gotoku, as I found out it is called in Japan, rather confusingly.) This game, or more specifically Yakuza 0, follows the journey of two men as they navigate their lives through this criminal organization and what it ends up making of them. Now where I think character growth really stands out in this game is the way in which the experiences and tribulations that the protagonists endure have such a marked effect on these people that you can literally replay the game and point out the different people and the way their mannerism ended up bleeding into the heroes. Now admittedly, Yakuza 0 had the benefit of being a prequel wherein the writers already had a clear idea on who these characters will end up being, but what appears to be a huge boon can actually be a rather constricting complication if you don't know what you're doing. (Just look at 'Solo'.)

To touch lightly upon spoilers; Yakuza 0 follows Kiryu Kazuma and Majima Goro on their early lives in the Yakuza as fresh-faced early-twenty year olds, before they first get entangled together into an endless web of conflicts and disputes. We meet a brash and somewhat unscrupulous Kiryu alongside a servantly and respectful Majima that are both thrown together in a journey full of lies, set-ups and, most importantly, manipulation from all sides. Yakuza 0 unfolds in a somewhat straightforward manner when it comes to character growth, by having these two literally run into people who they end up basing their future selves around within the story. Simple, but effective. By the other end of the story Kiryu comes out wanting to be rolemodel of an honourable Yakuza (as much of an oxymoron as that sounds) whilst Majime comes out putting on the persona of a unhinged lunatic in order to never make himself seem vulnerable enough to be manipulated ever again. As far as I'm concerned, these here are textbook examples of comprehensive and effective character progressions wherein the audience feels closer to both of these folk by the end.

Although to shift our gaze to another game which is renowned for it's character portrayals and yet handles it somewhat differently, let us look at Red Dead Redemption 2's Arthur Morgan. Here is a character that is cast in a tale that is already destined for tragedy, this story being a prequel to the first Red Dead Redemption. As for Arthur himself, he's hardly a fresh faced character waiting for the world to make an impression on him, he's a bandit that has lived a hard life and is already in a position that would be the end point for most characters. He's violent and cruel whilst also principled to an oxymoronic degree. And what makes his journey different is that he has become who he is by learning from the people around him, but where he goes throughout the course of this game is driven less by meeting new people and more by revaluating the one's that he's already known.

Once more I'll be fliting with spoilers but it goes rather like this; Arthur looks up to those that raised him to the point where he, despite his own common sense, believes and trusts his mentor when everything starts to fall apart. At the start of the story, events have just occurred to shake that belief, although it's only as things become more desperate that Arthur begins to react to it all and grow in kind. His journey isn't to become someone better but to merely learn about who he has been for a while now, what he then chooses to do about that is left up to the discretion of the player but either way his growth has been handled deftly. It's storytelling and character mastery like that which makes the Red Dead games so iconic and memorable.

Not all games handled character growth completely within their narrative, however, and that's where I think gaming has the potential to really surpass other Storytelling mediums. Take Persona 4 for example. That is a game which takes the concept of personal development and draws it out from the narrative and into the base gameplay. For the story you play a city boy who's found himself relegated to the country side town of Inaba with a whole cast of people he doesn't know and has never met before, rectifying that actually doubles as the way you become more powerful throughout the game. I mean that literally to, simply going around, talking to people and becoming closer to them powers up your Persona's whenever they need to be summoned giving the player a boost. This is, admittedly, a much more literal definition of character growth but I'd say it all fits.

RPGs in general provide great room for the player to feel that they're growing in ability as the character grows in personality, which helps in really selling the journey. Sometimes games can even work in little extra tricks that you might not even notice to get the message across, like in 'Spec Ops: The Line' where the performance of the actor intentionally became more ragged as you went on and the weight of the game's events began to weigh fully on him. Then there's what Cyberpunk is purposing to do, by having the player's animation become more defined as their stats improve in certain skills. That may sound mechanical, but any animator will tell you that the personality behind every animation informs the person it's equipped to, so this is actually a big deal in the narrative too. (If Cyberpunk ever actually comes out, that is.)

So what does Perfect Character Growth look like in the world of gaming, well a lot of different things. It's about nailing the character driven moments and taking their personality from A to B throughout the length of the story, but it's also about making the player feel more capable in the shoes of the person they're playing as. (Or less capable, depending on the direction you plan for the story to go.) It can be as subtle as changing the tonality of read lines to as complex as polishing several versions of dozens of animations, with the freedom of making a game there really is no limit. And all of that is just taking into account the very traditional games, whereas there are many games that defy even those definers. But ultimately creating ideal character growth is achieved by making the fictional real, and connecting hearts beyond the TV screen.

Yakuza 0 Review

Kiryu-Chan!

The Yakuza games were the kind of titles that I just really didn't have time for back in their day. That isn't because they looked bad, or weird in any fashion, (I mean, they did look weird but that's beside the point) but simply because they just didn't really exist in my world. I would read a mention of them here and there or see a screenshot in the incredibly overpriced gaming magazines that I used to buy, but I never saw these games in the shelves at stores or on digital storefronts once those started to become a thing, and so I never really had the opportunity to pick one up and look at the back, let alone consider playing the thing. As such they faded from my conscious as probably just another niche title that I'd never get around to playing- hey, I probably wasn't missing out on anything anyway. That changed around about in 2015 with the lead up to Yakuza 0, the prequel to the popular franchise which was doing the rounds. I'm not sure what it was that particularly changed about this entry, but this was the kind of game that I was actually seeing previews at during E3 and getting snippets of in interviews. In hindsight I guess this was a renewed effort by the publisher to push this localisation effort out to the wider world, but at the time it felt like I'd been missing out for years on weird and wacky game.

In fact, 'weird and wacky' seem like heavy understatements when it comes to assessing how those first trailers made Yakuza 0 look, because they seemed all shades of off-the-wall bonkers. You had characters on motorbikes wielding pipes next to Yakuza men in little booths watching soft-core videos- melodrama mixed with absurdity, it all just looked wild! Unfortunately for me, this was a title that ended up being an exclusive on a console I didn't have at the time so I wouldn't have the opportunity to play Yakuza 0 for myself. That was until 2018 where, for the first time ever, the action-adventure brawler franchise would make it's way onto the PC, with really bad controls. (In fact, the game even tries to coerce you into plugging in a controller every time you boot the Steam version.) Following a couple glowing reviews and an abundance of curiosity, I decided to pick up the title for myself one day. Such dumb luck had landed me with one unexpected masterpiece in 'Nier Automata' (A game I knew practically nothing about when I played it) perhaps I could get lucky again. And now that I've finished the game in it's entirety (2 years later; I had a prolonged break) I have to wonder if my gut instinct with games could be transferred over to racehorse betting; I could make a fortune!

Yakuza 0 is quite simply one of the most unique, fun and charming action adventure games I have ever played, and I loathe the fact that I've never given this franchise the time of day before. It's honestly a crime for me to have laboured so long under the impression that this was an unimpressive series that I wouldn't like, in fact there's only one expression appropriate for such a weak mindset; Baka Mitai. I am so enamoured by this game, in fact, that I'm going to consciously make an effort, throughout this review, not to spoil the major plotpoints of the story, despite this title being relatively old, because simply no one should be deprived of the opportunity to explore this game fresh. And yes, it may be a bit pre-emptive for me to say, in the intro paragraphs, but I absolutely recommend this game to anyone who has a stomach for the dramatic and the weird all tied together in one package.

Additionally, I think it's fair to point out that unlike some previous localisation efforts for Yakuza games, Yakuza 0 does not, as far as I am aware, have an English dubbing pack. Now if you know my opinion on subs vs dubs, you'll know I'm a proponent for case-by-case judgements, but considering how this is a game set in Japan, with Japanese characters who work for of a Japanese crime syndicate, I favour subs anyway. Also, the English localisations that I have heard from previous entries seem to make really rookie cultural mistakes, such as having Kiryu refer and introduce himself as 'Kazuma' (his first name) wherever he goes, which simply isn't how things are done. Now perhaps I find myself leaning more towards the Japanese voices also because of my interest towards Anime, but my official excuse is a leaning towards authenticity. (And I'd like that one in the books, your honour) And just to note; the localisation efforts for Yakuza 0, in subbing instead of dubbing, is truly sublime for reasons I'll get into later, so you're missing out on nothing by not having English voice actors.

Intro

As a prequel, Yakuza 0 takes place 17 years before the events of Yakuza 1, following the fresh-faced antics of one Kazuma Kiryu on the streets of Kamurocho, Tokyo and his unlikely foil in Goro Majima, from Sotenbori, Osaka. Throughout the game it's fairly clear that Yakuza 0 intends to tell the story of the way in which these rookie Yakuza members evolved into the distinct and (in Majima's case) garish folk that they are in later entries, but whilst such origin stories are almost always home to contrived convenience and eye-rolling nods to the audience (Watch 'Solo: A StarWars story' to see this at it's worst) Yakuza 0 interests itself in telling a rounded narrative with genuine character development in order to take it's cast from A to B. Aside from a little fan service nearer to the end, you come out of this title feeling truly closer to who these characters are as people and invested in their lives. And note this is coming from someone who has mere ancillary knowledge of the later games anyway, and I still ended up loving these relative strangers by the end. (And to think they managed that in a plot about real estate. Damn.)

In this story, Kiryu and his sworn brother Akira Nishkiyama, are both relative newcomers to the Yakuza way of life, having followed the example of their mentor, the illustrious Shintaro Kazama. Kiryu in particular seems to base as much of himself as possible after Kazama, seeing him as the ideal man and idolising him as this sort of father figure that he never had. (Being raised as an Oprhan) This is all despite the fact that Kazama wants a better life for Kiryu and tries his best to distance himself from the kid, even going so far as to reject his application to the Kazama family forcing Kiryu to join the powerful Dojima family instead. Kiryu's story really kicks off in a strange reflection of his introduction to the original franchise, as he is framed for the murder of a man he never met in the middle of an empty alley right in the heart of Kamarocho. Who'd have imagined that the legacy of the Dragon of Dojima would start in such a fashion?

Majima, on the otherhand, starts off his adventure in stark contrast to his later person, as opposed to being early on in that journey as Kiryu was. For a man who would later become known as 'The Mad Dog of Shimano' it's almost unbelievable to see him in his forced servitude position as the beginning of the game. After defying his superiors and royally screwing up in the eyes of the family, Majima is punished harshly and all but excommunicated from the Yakuza, his only lifeline being kept as a working horse for Shimano within the district of Sotenbori. As we meet him, Majima is a consummate professional renowned as the genius manager behind the popular Hostess Cabaret, The Grand. He toes the line, respects his elders, and basically kisses every boot he can in order to earn the opportunity to rejoin the Yakuza, and it's that desperation which leads him to accepting an order to cross one of biggest lines of all; he's told to perform a hit. What happens next will proceed to define the rest of his life.

These two are backed up by a truly magnificent cast of side characters, all of whom pop and come to life through the spirited acting and generous script, which seems to carve out enough room for practically all of them. For Kiryu's story you have the lieutenants of the Dojima family who all show vastly different sides of the Yakuza lifestyle, Kuze, Awano and Shibusawa as well as Nishkiyama; whilst on Majima's end of the spectrum you interact with a variety of other personalities, a few outside of Yakuza life altogether, with my personal favourites being Sagawa, the man in charge of keeping Majima in check, and Nishitani, who is... wow, he's just so much to process... All of these characters are fully realised and have their own development paths whilst shining on the main characters and influencing the people they are to become along the way. (I think Nishitani in particular has a significant effect on Majima.) This is the way that characters should be written, I applaud the team who worked on this!

Gameplay

As a brawler, the gameplay of Yakuza mostly revolves around beating up folk on the street, but there's a lot of nuisance involved in that. Rather than just being your typical Arkham clone, (and because this franchise existed before Arkham) there's an impressive number of combos, dodges, limited-use weapons and special 'Heat' attacks in order to keep the combat feeling fresh and interesting from the beginning through to the end. Fighting is fun to pick up but, in higher difficulties, challenging to master, with a solid mix between extrinsic rewards (becoming stronger to take more hits or do more damage) and intrinsic rewards. (learning new combos and the correct times to utilise them.) Things especially shine in the many boss fights of the game, wherein it becomes imperative to switch up styles as they switch theirs, but even then mastering timing and dodging is the utmost key to success.

Yakuza 0 in particular introduced 3 different fighting styles which could be switched to at will and all benefitted different roles in combat. For Kiryu there is Brawler, the typical punching style; Beast, a style characterised by seamlessly using improvised environmental weapons that handily deals with groups; and Rush, a boxing-esque style with a focus on landing a flurry of blows and dodging attacks. Majima, on the otherhand, has Thug, a similar basic style like Kiryu's; Slugger, a style characterised by the Baseball bat he lugs everywhere and focused on delivering huge amounts of damage; and Breaker, a style literally based on breakdancing wherein Majima just Breaks about the battlefield delivering crowd control. Everyone of those styles features it's own growth system which grants new abilities to them, making them more useful as you go. Progressing down these trees, however, requires ample amounts of money, which is where the wider world of Yakuza comes into the equation.

You see, one of the defining characteristics of the Yakuza franchise isn't just the combat but the world itself. Both Kamarocho and Sotenbori are absolutely dripping with side activities for the player to partake in, as well as restaurants, pharmacies and general stores all begging for your money. If ever you grow tired of pursing the main events, you can break to go disco dancing, or do some karaoke. If you think you'll need a pick-me-up for the next fight you can buy some restoratives in the local store. And if you need some extra capital you can sell some knick knacks at the pawn shop. The game does a great job at making the city around you feel like a whole breathing ecosystem of activities that you'd genuinely have trouble getting bored in. The only thing holding it back is the age of the engine and the design practises involved. Having to load when entering each tiny store is tedious, no matter how quick the load actually is, and the camera sometimes gets stuck when exploring some of the more narrow streets. Additionally, once you hit the late game you'll start bumping into dynamic crowds that want to fight you all the time, to the point where it becomes honestly annoying to fight them all. The game tries to alleviate this by introducing a distraction tactic to get around these crowds, but 9 times out of 10 you'll accidentally run into these groups anyway and it'll be too late to pull of the animation.

Another key pillar of the Yakuza games are the side stories, because it's inside of these non-plot-driving pursuits that the majority of these game's weirdness stands out. Every single side story in this game is unique and interesting, with a few introducing some really unique characters and scenarios. We're talking everything from challenging some dance enthusiasts to a disco-off to teaching a dominatrix how to be demanding. There's a mission where you infiltrate a cult, one where you help a man propose through a crossword and one in which you have to pretend to be the boyfriend of a random person on the street. Every single one of these missions run the gambit for being memorable stories you'll reflect on here and there. What's more, at some point in the story these side quests become a lot more relevant when you activate the metagames.

That's right, Yakuza 0 even features two metagames which become the player's main source of income about midway through the story. For Kiryu this is the Real Estate business which tasks players with buying and managing various business over Kamarocho in order to foil the plans of 5 billionaire tycoons and for Majima it's the Cabaret Club business in which he has to turn his managerial talents towards making a small time Cabaret Club into a contender against 5 big competitors who have swallowed the local market. Each one of these metagames has their own narrative and characters to get invested in, with boss fights and an endgoal. (Although they are considerably more formulaic than the main game in storytelling) The side stories get involved here because certain missions will end with characters deciding it would be in their best interests to join up with your business and become important assets. This means that the road for completion actually rewards you with tangible benefits to your businesses as you go along; which is great because both of these business minigames are surprisingly well fleshed out and even sometimes challenging to get the best out of.

The only notable gameplay gripe I have regarding Yakuza is more a reflection of the way in which a lot of Japanese games are in general, and that's the presentation of a lot of the side content. Basically, whenever there's a cutscene we are treated to these lovingly rendered scenes that are beautifully animated and acted, but all non-vital exchanges are achieved through text boxes and the odd grunt from the characters. I know this is the style of these sorts of games and some could even find it charming, but to me it just brings back memories of those really tired MMO's with their endless paragraphs of uninteresting gibberish. Now admittedly, Yakuza 0's NPCs all have much more interesting things to say than your typical MMO NPC; but it would still be a lot more immersive and engaging if these characters actually had a voice to listen to.

Now before I wrap things up, because again I'm skipping over the story analysis, I must take a moment to commend the absolute god-tier localisation effort that went into this game. Making things understandable for foreign audiences is the basic part of their job, which they pull of perfectly, but where they go above and beyond is in the flawless translation of personality behind the characters. Great translation isn't perfectly literal but manages to convey intent and emotion, and having seen a lot of translation jobs I can confirm that this isn't always achieved, making some characters in stories come across as a lot more dry than they actually are. This isn't even remotely a problem in Yakuza 0, as the team do a wonderful job in nailing personally, attitude and context in every single exchange; it's a truly commendable effort that's absolutely worth pointing out. I don't know if I would have loved these characters nearly as much as I did without their hard work.

In conclusion

When I approach a video game I do so with varying expectations in order to treat all titles fairly, yet everytime I come with the hope of engaging gameplay, interesting characters and a story I want to live through again and again. Not every title lives up to that, yet Yakuza 0 easily did in every single category. When a narrative manages to hit such emotional highs that it manages to choke me up in a few places, even make me feel genuinely sad for characters in others, I know I have something special on my hands. Whatsmore, the gameplay and animations felt absolutely great to play around with, and everytime you nail a brutal combo there's a level of satisfaction that easily eclipses some other games that tried similar fighting systems like (sorry to throw you under the bus) Sleeping Dogs and Saints Row 2. Even having just beat this game a few days ago I'm so excited to start it up again with 'Legend' difficulty literally the second after I'm done with this review, that's how good it feels to play.

As far as B-tier games go, Yakuza 0 is easily in a class of it's own and honestly I think it's a crime these games don't get more funding. If you took the resources that went into putting out Ubisoft's yearly Far Cry or Assassin's Creed games and put it into making a Yakuza game, you'd easily get a AAA title worthy of contending with some of the greats in history. I truly believe that the only thing holding this team back is the tools at their disposal. These guys actually managed to make the art of seeking 100% competition fun to me again, and I thought I'd lost that feeling after years of games numbing me down with endless aimless collectathons. With all that in mind, and judging Yakuza 0 as a B-tier title, I have to give this game an easy A Grade with an implicit recommendation from me that you need to play this game if you haven't already. Even if you ignore all of the side content and just hit the main story, you'll be blown away by a genuinely stellar product that excels in almost every department. I can happily say that after this title I am absolutely sold on the Yakuza games and am ready to charge through the franchise now that they are being remade under the subtitle 'Kiwami'. (Which apparently means 'Extreme') My closing remarks; Buy this game, honestly. The industry needs more titles of this calibre, with this amount of passion and love behind it, and I cannot recommend this game enough.