Final Fantasy XV, the anti-road trip?
Axioms
I won’t beat around the bush, Final Fantasy XV is a game I’ve had a lot to do with. When the game was announced in 2006, I remember the excitement of a 14-year-old teenager discovering this promising project: Fabula Nova Crystallis. Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy Agito XIII, and finally Final Fantasy Versus XIII. I waited… quite some time! A time that seemed endless. In the meantime, the game had changed name and director, and it was finally in 2016 that I was able to get my hands on what was now called Final Fantasy XV. I was 24 years old. Seduced at first, the game finally slipped out of my hands at the beginning of Chapter 14, in other words, at the moment of the final stretch. It took me eight years to revisit the game, start from scratch, and finally finish it.
Has it changed the way I feel about the game? Not really, but I look at it with different eyes today. What interested me in remaking the game was understanding what was fundamentally wrong with it. Final Fantasy XV is a machine that goes off the rails in the sense that its various elements don’t fit together well, don’t work well together, or even neutralize each other. In this sense, Final Fantasy XV is a game with a rather weak structural integration of its parts. It struggles to be a coherent whole. It is not my intention here to catalog everything that is wrong with the game, nor to go back over its chaotic development (although that would help us understand the genesis of these dysfunctions), nor to list the game’s good and bad points. For these things, I refer you to Jérémy Kermarrec’s book, La Légende de Final Fantasy XV, which does all this very well. By tracing the development of the game and going back to the problems specific to Square Enix at the time (and to Japanese video games in general), the book weaves a fairly exhaustive web of what explains the state of the game. In addition, he looks at the game from the inside to understand how these dysfunctions, whose genesis he had previously traced, manifest themselves. While I’ll pick up on some of these elements of analysis, the question I want to ask suggests a slight shift.
Problemata
There’s a consensus that Final Fantasy XV is a game with the narrative structure of a road trip. In fact, this idea came up quite early in the development process: Nomura said that he wanted to tell the story of a group of friends, with a focus on friendly relationships. The idea of the road trip is rooted in this initial desire, which was refined throughout development and confirmed when Tabata took charge of the game.
I’ll say it again: let’s not listen too much to what creators have to say about their own work. A work of art is not entirely contained within the intentions of its creators, especially when it is a collective work. So let’s ask ourselves: is Final Fantasy XV the road trip it claims to be?
A fantasy based on reality
I think it’s a good idea to start with this: before it’s a road trip, Final Fantasy XV is a game at a crossroads.
As Nomura and his successors have repeatedly reminded us, Final Fantasy XV is a “fantasy based on reality. Jérémy Kermarrec reminds us in his book that the english term “fantasy” doesn’t refer exactly to the same thing as “fantastique” in french. “Fantasy” would be more like a translation of “merveilleux” in french. In fantasy (merveilleux), the supernatural is considered normal, whereas in the “fantastique” it bursts into a world that is turned upside down by its appearance (or the book leaves open the possibility of choosing between natural and scientific explanations). Fairy tales belong to the realm of the fantasy, and Maupassant’s Horla to the realm of the “fantastique”. Traditionally, the Final Fantasy saga is rooted in the realm of the fantasy: monsters, demons, and magic are all accepted in the game universe. In Final Fantasy XV, the case is more complicated. The starting point is a world that resembles our own today as much as possible. The city of Insomnia, the capital of Lucis, is largely inspired by Tōkyō, Lestallum by Havana, and Altissia is unmistakably the Venice of the world of Eos. The game wants to set its epic in a contemporary world that is as close to our reality as possible. I’ve mentioned cities, but this is obviously reflected in the presence of cars, radios, televisions, smartphones, machine guns, and so on. At the same time, the game allows itself a few soft science fiction hooks: the presence of Empire ships, for example.
To this first building block is added a second: the geopolitical narrative. The game begins – I’m going to skip the question of whether this or that element is present in the game or in its companion pieces, such as the Kingsglaive movie, so as not to confuse my point, even though it’s obvious that this is a weakness of the soft that sometimes brings it to the verge of dishonesty – in a situation of conflict between two political powers, two sovereign nations: the Empire of Niflheim, whose empire covers almost the entire world, and the Kingdom of Lucis, whose territory has already been largely conquered. When the adventure begins, the two powers are in the process of signing a peace treaty that ratifies the Imperial annexations in exchange for a guarantee of Lucis’ sovereignty over its capital and immediate surroundings. The treaty has also caused internal tensions within Lucis, leading to the betrayal of the Royal Guard and King Regis being seen as a traitor by an entire section of the population, who have taken refuge in Insomnia and for many are living a life of second-class citizenship. In short, while the Empire is obviously portrayed as more evil and the Lucis as the vessel of good, the lines are still somewhat blurred, in line with Nomura’s original intentions. If we wish to emphasize this point, we might add that the Empire as such is driven not so much by a desire to do evil, but by a hubris that is truly imperial and technological. The Lucis, on the other hand, with its magical crystal, is the only nation truly endowed with supernatural power, and therefore likely to upset the balance of a purely political world.
Obviously, this peace treaty was only a bait, and the Niflheim took advantage of the situation to organize an attack inside of Insomnia, killing King Regis and establishing their dominion over the last bastion of Lucis. If we look at this starting point, we see a rather interesting desire not only to propose political relations, but to anchor them precisely in this world described above as taking root in our reality. A political world of shadow zones, where classical wars, diplomacy, attacks, conspiracies, displacement of populations, discrimination, etc. are intertwined. A bold attempt, on paper!
Fantasy, “fantastique” and adventure
I’ve kept these first two building blocks separate, but it’s clear that they are built on top of each other. Namely, that the attempt to depict relatively contemporary geopolitical relations is based on the depiction of a world inspired by our own, and in turn helps to reinforce it.
Then there’s a second big block that I’m going to talk about in two parts. First of all, the world of Final Fantasy XV is a world that follows the codes of the fantasy genre: it’s a world where magic exists, where we find magical beings (mainly demons), gods who interact directly with humans, and finally individuals who have a privileged relationship with the divine: the line of the Oracles and the line of the Kings of Lucis. The originality of Final Fantasy XV lies in the fact that it straddles a surprising boundary between the “fantastique” and fantasy. On the one hand, we have this classic fantasy universe where the existence of these supernatural characters is not shocking. On the other hand, the Oracle and the King of Lucis are the only lasting presence of magic in this universe. Magic spells are rationalized, Niflheim’s experiments are more in the realm of science than magic, humans seem to regard the gods as myths rather than realities (until they wake up and manifest themselves to humans), and even the “evil of the planet” is described as originating from a mutant strain of a protozoan called plasmodium malariae (a very real pathogen!). Once again, a rather surprising mix that leans more towards the “fantastique” than the fantasy, but not entirely!
This fantasy lore provides the anchor for a relatively classic adventure story in which a hero chosen by the gods is destined to cleanse the world of evil. The whole thing follows the structure of many J-RPGs, where the protagonist is accompanied by various companions who help him accomplish his task. In the course of their adventure, they meet other characters who are sometimes supporters, sometimes enemies, sometimes both (the oracle Luna, her brother Ravus, the mechanics Cid and Cindy, the mercenary Aranea…). What’s more, Noctis knows from the beginning that he is the chosen king and that he must restore the balance of power, even if he only learns about the necessary sacrifice towards the end of the game. What’s special about Final Fantasy XV is that Noctis doesn’t have to defeat the forces of evil, or the incarnation of those forces: what he has to put an end to is the “evil of the planet,” the disease that has resurfaced, transforming beings into demons and gradually plunging the world into eternal night. The evil that threatens and confronts the hero is independent of human activity, even of any conscious agent. It’s only the hubris of those who would use the disease to their advantage that gives Noctis’ quest its own moral dimension. First the rivalry between Ardyn and his brother (2000 years ago), then the expansionist ambitions of the Niflheim Empire. Once again, Final Fantasy XV stands out from the crowd, while still coming close to the seventh episode of the saga.
What makes it special is that it’s set in a (at least partially) gray geopolitical context, where the conflict between nations is based on a more or less natural disaster. Noctis is not so much the herald of good as the doctor of a world that some want to prevent him from healing in the interest of their own personal ambitions. However, and this is where the problem lies, the game fails to hold these two ends together until the very end. The disintegration of the Niflheim Empire, overwhelmed by the forces it had hoped to control, signals the end of all geopolitical considerations in the game. The entire ending makes no mention of this. So much so that what seemed to be a bold decision ultimately turns out to be little more than a backdrop, a pretext that’s underdeveloped and quickly defeated in terms of what the game is trying to tell. Indeed, many of these considerations were simply rejected in the Kingsglaive movie and are absent from the game itself. We’ll also be surprised at how little the inhabitants of the Duscae region and the world of Eos in general seem to be affected by the political and even supernatural events unfolding before their eyes. Their kingdom is collapsing, but there are no revolts, no guerrilla warfare, no looting. There’s no particular desperation, no factions showing any particular enthusiasm seeing Niflheim’s invasions. Basically, the game claims to be rooted in a contemporary reality, but has erased all its rough edges, everything that makes it… real.
Road trip baby !
Finally, the last big block that makes up Final Fantasy XV and gives it its overall structure is this road trip form. As a reminder, the game begins with Noctis, Prince of Lucis, and his four friends and bodyguards setting out on his father’s orders to marry Lunafreya, the Oracle. This is one of the terms of the treaty to be signed with Niflheim. After we’ve left, we find our boy band broken down on the side of the road, pushing their car into the garage of Cid and his granddaughter Cindy.
The entire first part of the game takes place in a large open area, the Duscae region, which our young heroes, fresh out of adolescence, can explore at will. The Regalia, the car entrusted by King Regis to his son and his friends, will be the main means of transportation in this vast, largely natural area, with towns here and there and, above all, gas stations, diners, and micro-villages. The structure is that of any open-world game of the era: a map, a wealth of clues revealed by certain actions (such as asking diners for information), side quests, monster hunts, a few ancillary activities like fishing, and, of course, the main quests. In this respect, Final Fantasy XV shows wisdom without folly. The developers took a look at what was being done in the West regarding the relationship with space and stuck to the now classic J-RPG structure.
We’re left with a myriad of side quests that have no flavor whatsoever: get this, take pictures of that, kill this monster or talk to that NPC. The whole thing is completely, or almost completely, disconnected from the rest of the game. In other words, you could have taken these quests and moved them to another J-RPG and no one would have been shocked, such is the impersonality that reigns here.
The world-building revolves around the roads you travel with the Regalia, the parking spots (although you can stop the car and get out at any time), the trails that lead off these same roads, and finally the campfire sites where you can rest. In fact, the game more or less forces the player to use these places for camping. The night is dangerous, and the “animals” give way to the much more powerful demons. It’s also an opportunity to gather experience gained during the day.
Open world problem I
Let me remind you of two things: when Final Fantasy XV was released, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt had been out for over a year and a half. The latter offered side quests whose organic integration into the universe varied: some could have decisive consequences for the main story, others not at all. However, all of these quests contributed to the coherence of the whole. Even the search for an old woman’s frying pan reflected a world ravaged by war and rampant monsters, with all the attendant fear, anxiety, lack, and general misery. It’s worth noting that this also anchored Geralt de Riv himself in that world through his role as a sorcerer. In Final Fantasy XV, there’s nothing like that: no one seems particularly affected by events, life goes on quietly, and the first idiot who comes along asks the new king to do the most menial tasks for a few gils. In a world of smartphones, it’s ridiculous that Noctis remains so unnoticed. Imagine a world where Prince William would bend over backwards to run your errands on a Saturday morning… “Based on reality,” they’d say. Credibility and the desire to stick to reality take a big hit here. The classic role-playing structure, applied without thought, shatters the ground on which the game is supposed to be built.
And that’s without considering the fact that this structure does not lend itself well to the sense of urgency that characterizes our heroes’ situation! This is a criticism that has been leveled at many RPGs, most recently Final Fantasy VII: Rebirth. But I think Pier-re is quite right when he defends, on this point, the specific ability of video games to break the temporality of the main story in favor of another adventure within the same game (see Le FF le plus touristique). On the other hand, and despite some superficial similarities between the two games, Final Fantasy XV does not qualify for this grace! First, because of the immense weakness of the secondary quests and activities – but that’s not the most important thing. Second, because the resolutely “realistic” anchoring of the game would force a greater direct coherence between its story and its gameplay. Third, because…
Open world problem II
This is compounded by another massive problem. Final Fantasy XV‘s open world is poorly constructed. As a reminder, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of Wild was released just four months after Final Fantasy XV. The game is a testimony to intense research and reflection on level design, bordering on a veritable video game biopolitics: designing the environment to influence the player’s choices, telling them as little as possible what to do (see Brian’s excellent article on this). Yes, in Final Fantasy XV, the world shows a few places that serve as landmarks for the player, but without any gameplay value! For the most part, the player simply follows roads and paths and otherwise moves straight ahead to their destination. Breath of the Wild offers a veritable art of deviation, one might even say deviance, and this is even more true of Tears of the Kingdom. The road trip is just such an art of deviation! And that’s what’s missing in this world of Final Fantasy XV: any reflection on the possibilities of making the player deviate, through the game, in the game.
In Breath of the Wild, deviance is the game! You don’t deviate so much for the sake of this or that reward, you deviate for the pleasure of it. Of course, the freedom behind it is a lure, a cleverly calculated staging, but unless we admit a perfect metaphysical freedom, which the subject would make full use of at every moment – which no serious philosopher would dare to advance – unless we admit that, it seems that this problem is not a problem at all. In fact, the most exciting slips of the road are those that are proposed in a scripted way. Prompto comes to mind, with a photo opportunity here and there. But perhaps the most memorable moment of all comes in chapter 6, on the trip from Lestallum to Cape Caem. Gladio’s sister Iris suggests that we explore a forest at the bottom of which lies a royal tomb. Was it because I already had a quest in my journal that she just happened to suggest, or was it a script from the story? Anyway, the player is under no obligation to go at this point. And immediately after that, a short pause to observe the ocean. It was in those moments when the game took us by the hand that it most embraced the road trip dimension. And it did so in a believable way: sometimes in a harmless way (stretching your legs by the sea – even if you’re in a hurry, it’s necessary), sometimes by making this escape part of the game’s larger story (the search for the tomb).
Open world problem III
In fact, Final Fantasy XV illustrates that video games are not well suited for road trips. There aren’t that many games that take that as a theme. It’s hard to see nowadays because it’s become a rather fashionable theme in video games, especially independent games, especially if they revolve around van life. But these are usually not open worlds. Whether purely linear adventures (like Last of Us) or procedural ones (like Road 96), the biggest successes in this field tend to opt for other playful structures. This is because they are more likely to suggest the forces necessary to a “road trip becoming”. A road trip implies one or more necessities, such as running away from something. So freedom isn’t the driving force behind a road trip; it’s always uncontrollable situations that require reactions that gradually transform the characters in the story.
There is also a major structural contradiction: the road trip implies passage, the successive passing of locations. The open world, on the other hand, implies the persistence of a world that is constantly open to interaction through gameplay. In other words, the world must remain the same (except for very singular events), allowing you to perform certain tasks at different times without it mattering (or else it must be reflected in the narrative, as The Witcher 3 does). The open world is a place of coming and going. The journey implies a certain linearity: you don’t retrace your steps, or only in exceptional cases. The need to go back and forth sinks what was a road trip into a world where vehicular travel becomes purely utilitarian.
Finally, this structural contradiction is compounded by a technical difficulty: because of its linearity, an open-world road trip would require an absolutely insane amount of development resources. To create a credible world, including cities and all that implies in terms of NPC behavior, under such conditions would be a monumental waste. Maybe it would be fun, but what developer would be crazy enough to do that? It’s no coincidence that the city of Insomnia, which has played a central role in the game’s promotion since the first trailer in 2006, is not included in the final product.
When it does work…
So far, I’ve pointed out a lot of things that don’t work in Final Fantasy XV. On the other hand, there are a number of elements in the game that work surprisingly well and show the ingenuity of the development teams. I’ve already touched on the camp points, which allow you to rest your team, regain all your hit points, gain experience, eat (for bonuses), and sleep until daylight to avoid the daemons. Admittedly, the game could be criticized for forcing players to go to certain places. But this helps create a sense of danger when night falls, and marks those specific places as safe zones. Sometimes you don’t expect it, you’re just doing something, and then it gets dark. From that point on, the primary goal becomes finding a safe haven, no matter in what direction. But maybe that’s not the most important thing. These moments of rest are important above all because they give rise to slice of life scenes between the boys in the group: chatting, cooking, playing video games, they help, like certain car rides – but at a different pace – to flesh out Noctis, his comrades and, above all, their friendship.
Because the game takes another interesting direction: Final Fantasy XV doesn’t so much give us the chance to experience the adventures of a group that grows together through adventure. Instead, we’re immersed in a group that’s already well established, with a friendship that goes back many years. In this respect, the choice to make it an all-male group is not uninteresting, especially since it presents relationships between its members that are far removed from any kind of frumpy teenage virility contest. It’s refreshing, as they say. But it also requires the player to feel the deep chemistry between the group members very quickly and vividly. The game therefore multiplies such moments: first the scene with the broken-down car, the relationships with the other NPCs, which are often the occasion for exchanges between the four boys or a unanimous group reaction, the discussions in the car, those around the campfire, etc. And it doesn’t work too badly, even if there are a few inconsistencies with the events of the story at times (such as Prompto and Noctis playing video games on the day the latter learns of his father’s death and the fall of his kingdom’s capital…), or the loops inherent to this kind of initiative in an open-world game (you’ll hear certain remarks or dialogues several times during the adventure).
Last but not least, the campfire system adds a sense of temporality to the game. It makes you feel the passage of time. Granted, this has absolutely no impact on the main adventure, but it’s rare for a video game to offer such a sense of time passing, especially in an open world. Night leaves work behind; it marks a different time. And I think it’s a particularly invigorating dimension of a road trip, if not a necessary one. Take, for example, Manu Larcenet’s comic strip The Road (adapted from the novel of the same name), where night is an intimate moment, but also a vital one. The fact that night really exists gives life to the characters.
These moments are especially moving and touching at the end of the game. After the final boss is defeated, the game flashes back to the four adventurers’ last night evening together. This is the opportunity for Noctis to talk about his fear of failure, of not being able to go all the way and sacrifice his life. By thanking his friends for always being by his side, he also indirectly decides to ask for their support in this final stage, something he has never done before. It’s in these moments that the game rings true, and personally touched me. Asking for help, even from those closest to us can be difficult. Sometimes it’s even a greater proof of friendship than offering some. Due to its set, this scene recalls the whole adventure – and it’s quite brilliant to place it after the final victory and Noctis’ sacrifice – and the moments the four of them spent together. Especially since this cinematic comes after another highlight that takes place right before the final boss. Before entering, Noctis asks Prompto to take a picture with him for the ultimate moment. Of all the photos, most of them taken by Prompto, that the player has been looking at throughout the game to decide which ones to keep, he finally has to choose just one. If you’re serious about the game, you’ll take a picture of all four together. Of course, it’s also possible to take a close-up of Cindy’s breasts or butt, and that’s the photo you’ll see in one of the final scenes, but hey… What’s great is that these photos are not taken by the player, they are taken independently of his or her will (sometimes in a predetermined way during the adventure, sometimes randomly). They are taken by Noctis’ friend, and we leave with what a friend has left us.
Characters problem
Unfortunately, these moments of grace and the intelligence with which they are created are not the norm in Final Fantasy XV. In fact, the game struggles to create and maintain a sustainable, relevant, and constantly evolving group dynamic throughout the adventure. In fact, the relationships between the four young men evolve very little, with only one “important” but quickly resolved argument punctuating the second half of the game. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the writing of the characters remains rather weak. The four heroes are clichés on legs – which isn’t necessarily a bad thing at first – and let’s say they all grow up, accept their responsibilities and so on. I’m not convinced that this is exactly character development. The group is never in a truly critical state, no character ever leaves the group (except Gladio, but only to prove to himself that he’s worthy of being the king’s shield – which you wouldn’t know without playing the DLC, by the way…), no character ever shares any truly heterodox thoughts with the rest of the gang. For example, Noctis never maliciously asserts his title as king to his friends, who are his subordinates.
All of them are pretty smooth. Yes, Noctis accepts his destiny and his duty as the Chosen King (I’ll get back to that), but other than that? He has little interest in the task throughout the game, and doesn’t even know that he has to sacrifice his life for it! It’s only when he finds out that he actually agrees to the task. Noctis may drag his feet, but he never rebels. The journey may seem like a detour that allows him to distance himself from his tragic fate, but he never seriously considers the possibility of giving up, or even defying Bahamut and trying something else. Noctis is a lukewarm character at heart. And while his fate is tragic, he is not a tragic character. He doesn’t have the stature or the passions for that. The hallmark of a tragic character is that he is driven by his passions, perhaps redoubled by his attempt to escape his fate. None of this is the case here, as Noctis wallows in his duty. Noctis is a classic pop-culture hero: destined for great things, he successfully achieves them thanks to his moral and individual virtues that were previously buried and just waiting to be awakened.
As for the other four, yes, they can be likable and touching at times, but they don’t seem to be much of a driving force in the group and its dynamics.
I would add that the insistence on the Luna story is a terrible thorn in the game’s side. It’s all wrong. From their exchange via carrier pigeon (sorry, dog) in a world where smartphones exist, to their love for each other despite having seen each other once… fifteen years ago…! Luna’s absolute, unquestioning loyalty to her duty to help Noctis, combined with her love for him and her desire to be a good wife, is in bad taste. Worse, it takes away from what should be the heart of the game. After all, it’s Luna’s determination and sacrifice that act as a catalyst for Noctis! The game ends with Noctis dreaming of being crowned king, with Luna on the throne. Great for friends! In short, Final Fantasy XV‘s journey is all for nothing!
Anti-road trip ?
This brings me to the last point, the one that will lead me to my conclusion. I said earlier that Noctis is not a tragic hero. I would like to add that there is an anti-road trip dimension to the story of Final Fantasy XV and its main character. Road trip has to do with the limitations of society (especially modern society). There’s something a little romantic about it, but with an important difference: the romantic is trying to find himself, the road trip character is trying to invent himself. He is a direction, a vector, an opening to something, without knowing what. He wants to escape or leave something behind, even if it means dying. There’s a protest dimension to road trips, or at least a critical dimension, and it’s expressed through the main characters. I’have to think about Thelma & Louise (Ridley Scott) – what a sublime movie – and the formidable selfishness in its story. But a delicious, sincere selfishness, with no ulterior motives. Choosing death at the end means: anything but this life that was ours. And it’s through the prism of this close intimacy that we see the full weight of society, in this case patriarchy and its various avatars, spilling out of the characters. Out of intimacy comes politics. First, Final Fantasy XV presents itself as immediately political, which it never is, but second, it never takes the political out of the intimate and the individual, because Noctis is never, ever in conflict with the world he inhabits. Basically, everyone expects the king to do what he has to do, and he does. And the whole story of the game is ultimately aimed at destroying, crushing the road trip it was suppose to be, silencing the road trip becoming that might have existed in the heart of ou dear “Noctis Ōji”. The second part of the game bears witness to this in two ways: Noctis resigns and the car gives way to the train.
While in Road Trips the character usually starts from a position of moral respect, respect for the laws of society, and moves towards transgression and revolt, Final Fantasy XV takes the exact opposite path. Noctis starts from a position of rejection (I will deliberately not say revolt here) to the point where he sides with the role everyone expects him to play. As we’ve seen, the structure of the road trip in Final Fantasy XV has problematic relationships with its other elements. As a result, it’s hard to answer the question of whether this work fits into the road trip genre as its creators claim. At best, we could say that Final Fantasy XV is an anti-road trip.