Final Fantasy's reception is often that of extremes. You have the people who love it over here, and the people who hate it over there. More vocal, perhaps, than both of those groups are the people who love to hate it and those that hate themselves for loving it. And they're everywhere.
Despite the importance of a sense of 'world' in all Final Fantasy games, the way they present themselves couldn't be more different. Here we are with Final Fantasy XIII and it, too, carries the weight of expectation which has surrounded the release of every Final Fantasy since VII; XIII's unique controversy is that the developers have taken a knife to almost everything recognisable of Final Fantasy in the classic sense, leaving a streamlined, minimalist adventure heavily indebted, so say the creators, to western games. Modern Warfare inparticular. This new approach is particurlarly evident in the game-world itself. The events of XIII take place on the planet of Pulse and its satellite, Cocoon. The initial 25 hours of game-time take place in Cocoon, the entirety of which is spent running a linear path. Narratively, this makes sense, being that you are a band of escapees deemed necessary of exile by the government. Therefore, you are on the run. There are no towns, no world map, nowhere to hide. There is no-place to stop and drink in the atmosphere, you are constantly moving forward. As such, you never get to feel the sense of ownership of the world that comes, in the previous games in the series, from traversing the game-world, slowly becoming stronger, and taking the game (and often, the narrative) at your own pace. In XIII, you feel on the clock. No doubt about it, Final Fantasy XIII is a game about running.
By the time I reached Pulse, I felt exhausted. Luckily, Pulse is the polar-opposite to your previous experiences. Whereas Cocoon was as set of intricate pathways through a stunningly detailed science fiction world of hard-plastic and metal, Pulse is organic, green, beautiful. A literal breath of fresh air. Your first steps open into a vast plain, alive with skulking creatures the size of houses, the sun beating down through the bluest of skies. The contrast couldn't be more explicit. Pulse allows you to slow right down and re-evaluate the preceding events, it gives you the open-world to make your own, finally.
It would have been interesting to let visions of Pulse be informed entirely by the game itself. Unfortunately, pre-release information tended to focus on Pulse, almost as an apology, or at least an explanation, for the games' initial linearity (an advert for the game had Leona Lewis dabbling about in Pulse, an experience divorced entirely from the previous 30 hours of the game, even). This had the unfortunate effect of ruining part of the games message; that of exposing government propaganda and disinformation. Throughout the game our only impressions of Pulse are devastating, that it is "a hell on Earth" and that we are to fear our inevitable deportation. The government of Cocoon plants seeds of false-truths within the populace which infects the people with a violent mistrust of anything Pulse-related (as seen when Snow and Hope endeavour to escape PalumPolum and are angrily besieged) and, in-turn, keeps the people in check. Our knowledge of Pulse from outside the game's world skew the government's actions and actually undermine their propaganda; we know that Pulse is not a fiery hell on Earth because we've already seen it in the adverts on television and the internet. It leads to a strange disconnect which actually could have been a postmodern masterstroke if only it was in any way intended and capitalised upon.
The consensus as to why XIII is disliked is that it is linear. That it is empty. That there is nothing to do in the world. I understand this. I do. On the contrary, though, its minimalist philosophy appeals to me on a personal level; I don't like stuff, I dislike clutter. Final Fantasy XIII cleared the deck, wiped away everything superfluous. It is stark. It is minimalist. It is ambient gaming. Gaming for Airports. I used to put the game on and do other things, read books, tidy the house. It conforms to Brian Peter George St. John le Baptiste de la Salle Eno's (woah, Wikipedia) concept of ambient music. I wanted the games' atmosphere to fill the space I inhabited. But Masashi Hamauza's delicate score possessed incredible depths, depths I didn't fully appreciate until listening to the soundtrack through headphones. I do this a lot, these days. Now, the game is a memory. A journey I once took. I listen to a carefully considered selection of its soundtrack to remind myself while running on the treadmill. The view of the trees and the railway bridge out of the gym window gradually giving way as the light outside darkens and all I can see are the reflections of myself and others, all running. For some reason or other.
