This is not a remake, it’s a sequel

Please note that this text assumes that you have completed Final Fantasy VII and Final Fantasy VII Remake. It’s also worth remembering that it was published on Substack before the release of Final Fantasy VII Rebirth, and that the theory raised here has been reinforced by the story of Square Enix’s latest title.

Point’n Think

We love remakes as much as we hate them. We’re always keen to try out more new experiences, and we’re never shy about our inflammatory criticisms when a rumour about the return of a glorious title from the past starts to spread on the Internet. The paradox is that when the game is revealed, and then marketed, we take the money out of our wallets with a certain glee. We’re happy to be able to play something that brings back sweet memories of a bygone era. The nostalgia of the gamer is an inexhaustible source, as it allows us to strike intimate chords within ourselves. Memories and recollections are stimulated and, with these games, a whole part of our lives is brought back to life. The pleasure of hearing re-orchestrations of certain melodies from our childhood, which remind us of moments shared with a loved one, is worth all the novelties.

However, reliving adventures that have shaped our way of seeing things also has its limits. Revisiting an existing game is a perilous exercise. Some do it brilliantly, like Capcom with the Resident Evil licence. The Japanese publisher has found the perfect recipe for updating the titles that have made it famous, while showing genuine respect for the identity behind each of its productions. Others are content to remain in a comfortable position, offering the chance to experience the same adventure down to the last comma. It’s a wonderful opportunity to train junior developers on the studio’s internal tools, before plunging them into the production of a title from scratch. Despite this, it’s sometimes hard not to see it as anything other than a fear on the part of a studio’s directors to get out of their cosy little slippers. In this case, The Last of Us Part I embodies this idea of the shot-by-shot remake, which many people associate with a simple remastering. In the midst of all these discussions about what a remake should be, an anomaly occasionally occurs. A ray of light in this foggy horizon that is not always easy to grasp. Final Fantasy VII Remake is an audacious game, one that leads us to reflect on the notion of remake, to the point where we might wonder if that’s what we’re really holding in our hands.

Theories have been rife on the Internet since April 2020 as to the nature of the project being developed by Tetsuya Nomura, Motomu Toriyama and Naoki Hamaguchi. If the return of Cloud does indeed look like a remake of the monument of the first PlayStation, isn’t it more than that? The sequence of events in Midgar is more or less identical to that of the original adventure, but a number of details raise questions about the intentions behind this revisit. Well before the final arc, which acts as a kick in the anthill to free itself from the trappings of fidelity, the game surprises by proudly displaying its awareness that it is part of the continuity, or rather the parallelism, of a story that already exists and continues to make the hearts of so many players beat faster. Armed with the knowledge of everything that the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII was able to bring to the mid-2000s, all you have to do is slip into the interstices to catch a glimpse of the hidden truth. While it may elude those who discover this universe with the help of the 2020 version, the seasoned adventurer who has surveyed the territories of the planet Gaia many times cannot ignore the signs. A double reading is possible. By going back over certain passages, both iconic and deceptively anecdotal, we’ll try to convince you that Final Fantasy VII Remake is a remake in name only, and that it’s a strict and meta sequel to the feature-length Advent Children, as well as the very forgettable Dirge of Cerberus. So don your overcoat and Borsalino, and let’s get investigating.

A threat lurking in the shadows

The introduction to the decadent industrial gigantism of Midgar, followed by the arrival of the terrorist group Avalanche at the station, is one of the most cult introductions in the history of video games. Squaresoft’s masterpiece plunged us straight into the heart of the action, sparing us long introductory sequences overloaded with unfamiliar terms. We knew nothing of the world before us, except that we were to blow up one of the city’s energy reactors under the yoke of a corporation that had no interest in the well-being of the planet. It’s rare to have a game that captures the player’s attention so effectively, so it’s no surprise that the developers in charge of the Remake have decided to keep it almost exactly the same. It’s the subtle differences at the heart of this similarity that are worth examining. As Pierre Lovati points out in his book for Third Editions, Sephiroth’s ominous presence weighs heavily on the first few minutes of the adventure. Initially symbolised by the flight of the black eagle, slowly approaching Midgar like a predator preparing to swoop down on its prey, it becomes palpable when the words ‘Estuans interius, ira vehementi’ ring out.

These words, meaning ‘burning within, with violent hatred’, come from the One Winged Angel theme that punctuated the final battle of Final Fantasy VII. It’s a subtle way of announcing the return of the man with the long silver hair, and it changes the initial atmosphere considerably. Where the original smacked of an enchanting, epic adventure that left no hint of the latent tragedy, the seriousness of this new journey takes centre stage here. Interestingly, it’s not just the player who is aware of this change in atmosphere, as Aerith’s behaviour attests. In 1997, we looked at this woman with a reassuring face. She was prostrate in this alleyway, communing with the river of life via a Mako leak in one of the sinister megalopolis’s drains. The moment she turned her head towards the camera, as the music swelled to let us discover the pizza-shaped city with the help of a most elegant aerial tracking shot, sounded like an invitation.

As we meet up with the young flower seller in this alleyway, the game briefly gives the illusion that everything to come will be similar to what we remember. Aerith is there, contemplating the same eruption of the planet’s vital flow. The camera focuses on her soothing, piercing gaze. As for the theme music, it’s identical to the one that lulled our imagination in 1997. The same notes, the same melody. All that is quickly swept away by the return of a darker sound. An eerie, haunting violin replaces the warm piano. Our heroine’s behaviour changes completely. As the Latin choruses associated with Sephiroth accompany the string instrument, Aerith turns her head towards the depths of the dark alleyway. She is frightened and turns back towards the light of the city centre as if trying to escape from something. It’s possible to completely miss these few seconds, or to think for the first time that it’s just an anecdotal change to fit in better with the stunning graphics on our screen, but this is the first essential element that sets Final Fantasy VII Remake apart.

It is no coincidence that the camera fixes on a precise point in the darkness of the depths of the city. This staging effect is there to make us understand that a parasitic presence is in the process of undermining the expected unfolding of the work. This approaching Sephiroth is not the one from the original film that Cloud and his gang are going to track down as far as the planet’s northern crater. It’s an ethereal materialisation of what he is in a time after the film Advent Children. The theory raised here is that there are two Sephiroth, the one of the present and the one of the future. The man whose consciousness merged with the river of life, and who vowed never to be a memory in the 2005 feature film, is back to fulfil his purpose. He is the starting point of this Remake, which ceases to be a Remake from its very first seconds and becomes a fluctuation.

Two Sephiroth?

On reading this title, some of you will be tempted to wonder what the author of this article might have consumed while putting his few words down on this intangible piece of paper. And yet, the two incarnations of this same character are easily identifiable. There’s the silent one, who barely says a word to Cloud or the player. His appearances coincide with the presence of the enigmatic hooded men, victims of the Shin-Ra’s desire to alter bodies with Mako and Jenova cells. The proximity of this calamity, which has fallen from the sky in the last few hours, coincides with the increasing number of appearances of this elusive puppet. As in the original, he is merely the mental projection of the parasitic influence of this alien element on our hero’s body. His function is to lead Cloud on the trail of this nefarious ‘mother’, ready to irradiate the entire globe. This is the principle of the Reunion, a theory put forward by Hojo, who is convinced that all carriers of Jenova’s cells are inexorably drawn together. For a long time, it seemed impossible to know whether the will of Sephiroth or this entity from the heavens prevailed. The man with the masamune was himself the victim of a lie whose madness led him to take refuge in the belief in a false heritage. The film Advent Children, as well as this Remake, show that the hero of the war against the Wutai has taken power over this parasite that caused the near-extinction of the Cetras. The short story Lifestream Black, from Kazushige Nojima’s collection On The Way To The Smile, provides an insight into the mechanisms of this double Sephiroth.

On the verge of death, following his last stand-off with Cloud, feeling that his being is gradually dissolving into the planet’s vital flow, the madman who summoned the Meteor with a view to becoming a god refuses his destiny. He has clung to his hatred of Cloud in order to maintain his individuality in the midst of the collective consciousness that pervades Gaia. The only condition for his survival was to ensure that his adversary never forgot him, and that he continued to haunt the memories of the man who once considered him a hero. You know the rest: the geostigma crisis and the events of the feature film directed by Tetsuya Nomura and Takeshi Nozue. Once again, he suffers a crushing defeat, but warns the man responsible for all his defeats that he cannot be reduced to a mere memory. It sounds like a gentle threat. As long as Cloud exists, Sephiroth will endure in one way or another. His deep-seated resentment against the world, his immeasurable will, the cells of Jenova within him, and his time spent in the River of Life have made him an omniscient and potentially omnipresent being. He is everything and nothing at the same time. He is everywhere and nowhere.

At this point, you may be tempted to ask how this supposed second Sephiroth can be identified. The answer is simple. He’s the one who talks, who appears when he shouldn’t, each time creating strong discrepancies with the original. Provocative, he takes great pleasure in psychologically torturing Cloud, like a cat playing with a bird with broken wings. On his first appearance, he lures him into the depths of an alleyway when Sector 8 is in the throes of panic following the explosion of Mako reactor number 8. He begins to talk about the memories that link them, the incident at Nibelheim and the moment when his blade took the last breath of his interlocutor’s mother. The structure of his words may vary according to location, but he insists on the notion of a shared past and the events to come in the here and now. Coupled with his request for help to save the dying planet, the first questions begin to emerge. What is he doing here? What does he want? Like Cloud, who had previously been convinced of the latter’s death, the connoisseur of the original is unsettled, for this antagonist was no more than a nagging whisper throughout the chapters devoted to Midgar in 1997. Doubts about his nature vanish with his second appearance. The bearer of the buster sword and the flower girl are about to meet, but Sephiroth emerges from the shadows once more, freezing time around himself and his prey. Flashing a sadistic smile as he places his hand on Aerith’s shoulder, he reminds Cloud that he is incapable of saving anyone. There is no longer any doubt about his nature. Some may see this as over-interpretation, but everything in this dialogue hints at this character’s knowledge of the future.

Other elements surrounding Sephiroth alone serve to reinforce the power of this theory. Most of these are concentrated in the long final confrontation after he invites the player to join him at the heart of the singularity of destiny. The setting is identical to that at the end of Advent Children. Midgar is in chaos. Buildings are blown away by the power of the fighting, and are sliced up with disconcerting ease as the two long-standing enemies strike violent blows with their swords. The whole sequence can be seen as a huge attempt to provoke anyone who knows the ins and outs of the Final Fantasy VII compilation. Seeing Sephiroth sporting his iconic black wing, which remains very different from his divine one-winged form at the end of the original, is yet another way for the Remake teams to subtly point out the provenance of this version of the character. This design element has certainly become inseparable from his iconography over the years, but, in the diegesis of this universe, it only becomes the bearer of it at the very end of the 2005 animated film.

As he amusingly throws the summoning of a meteor at his opponents, implying once again that the elements of the original adventure are conscious of the artwork, it’s hard not to feel that the whole game is trying to scream in our faces that our doubts are well founded. As he welcomes Cloud to the place he calls The Edge of the World, Sephiroth finally displays his ambitions, although he doesn’t reveal all his cards. He is trying to outwit fate and seems concerned about the future of the planet. The use of pronouns in Japanese casts doubt on the nature of the character at this moment in this place, which seems to be in another space-time. Sephiroth uses the pronoun ‘Ore’, which indicates the first person in a very friendly tone and marks his masculinity. It’s the pronoun he used before the Nibelheim incident, as if he wanted to put Cloud at ease. It may seem insignificant, but reusing this pronoun when the mad Sephiroth uses the pronoun ‘Watashi’, which is much more formal and indicates that he sees himself as something other than a man, can’t be a simple linguistic coincidence. Does this mean that redemption is at hand for this iconic antagonist? Nothing is less certain. The man with the masamune may want to save the planet on which he was born, but he will always remain incompatible with the motley crew of heroes hunting him down, because he is incapable of understanding what makes life precious. In all likelihood, he’s just trying to prevent the events leading up to his defeat from happening. In the midst of all this outburst of references and clues to what’s to come, another character seems to be as aware of what’s at stake as the man with the merciless blade.

The case of Aerith

The title of this chapter leaves little room for suspicion about the identity of this character. She is indeed the gentle, protective flower seller. As mentioned above, the addition of Sephiroth’s theme in the intro, and Aerith’s perceptible fear, emphasise from the outset that the young girl has more keys to understanding than the other characters. It’s worth remembering that a short story is also dedicated to her in Nojima’s collection. As if to underline her struggle with Jenova’s heir, it is soberly called Lifestream White. When Final Fantasy VII is mentioned, it’s mainly the opposition between Cloud and Sephiroth that gets people talking. And yet, if there is one absolute antagonism in the game, it’s the one between the fallen hero of the Shinra and the last representative of the Cetras. On the one hand, we have the destroyer of human life, the one who summons the meteor to wipe the slate clean; on the other, we have the one who sacrifices her life to enter into communion with the planet and counter the deadly star. It’s the age-old story of day versus night, of the martyr versus the sinner. The nature of their relationship has always been central to the story of Final Fantasy VII, even when the project was in its infancy. First brother and sister, then star-crossed lovers, they became the embodiment of good and evil in the 1997 final script. So it’s hardly surprising that the bond between them is central to this Remake trilogy.

The woman eventually discovered that the man who was spreading hatred throughout the world was trying to manifest himself on the surface. She wondered how he intended to do this. Gathering all her courage, she approached the man’s spirit. He saw her and chased after her, but soon gave up the chase. She knew the man was laughing at her. There’s nothing you can do. However, she understood what he was up to. He was apparently going to use separate entities as his agents. The woman wondered if she could do the same. But she quickly changed her mind. Even if it were possible, I want to meet Cloud as he knows me.

Lifestream White, chapter 3.

While this extract from the last chapter of the short story obviously refers to the future adventures of the Advent Children film, it also provides an insight into the post-mortem cat-and-mouse game that has been on the minds of the creators of this universe for almost two decades. Remake begins with Aerith feeling the disturbance of this unnatural return. By going back in time or creating an alternative timeline in which he hopes to triumph, Sephiroth creates a loop that brings him face to face with the last living Cetra. The inattentive mind might be tempted to think that his first appearance in front of Cloud is there simply to provide fan service or accentuate his opposition, but when we cross-check this with what happens immediately afterwards, Sephiroth’s initial objective becomes clear: he wanted to prevent Aerith from meeting the one who always delivers the final blow. The first appearance of the Spinners, the guardians of destiny whose mission is to preserve the integrity of the Final Fantasy VII storyline, allows us to see them holding Aerith back. She must not leave the theatre district until she has met the one who will take her from Midgar to the world of Gaia. Without this meeting, nothing can thwart Sephiroth’s plans. Unfortunately for Sephiroth, it’s not easy to break the wheel of fate.

At the end of the 90s, even if the scriptwriters sometimes left it unclear whether Cloud and Aerith were in love, she was always a mother figure. Firstly for Cloud, whom she helped to make more sociable and warm-hearted, and then for the group as a whole. She was a beacon in the night for our adventurers, who fought with all their might to stop the march of a monster of almost godlike power. Her positivity and love of life enabled these people of goodwill to overcome all difficulties, even after her death. Her total altruism, which led her to give her life to stop Sephiroth, established her as a mother figure for the whole world. Her aura, her generosity and her love encompassed the whole earth at a time when Armageddon seemed inescapable. Her benevolent face appeared one last time in the final seconds of the adventure, symbolising the victory of the river of life over this death from above. In a way, she embodies purity. She represents life in its most absolute form. Like a protective goddess, she once again stands in the way of the man we might think of as Satan, the fallen angel who is misguided in his cause.

In a more pronounced way than in the original, she subtly guides those who will have to cross swords with Sephiroth. Her knowledge of events is just as clear as Sephiroth’s. There are many clues to this. When she meets Cloud and gives him the famous flower as in the original, she dwells on the fact that this variety symbolises reunion. But to be reunited, you have to have found each other and lost sight of each other. And yet, at this point in the story, the two characters are complete strangers to each other. The young woman evokes nothing in the mercenary, whose piercing eyes are imbued with Mako. She, for her part, is happy to be reunited with the man who has meant so much to her in another time and place. Although full of uncertainties, she always seems to be one step ahead of her companions.

The implicit is an integral part of the character’s mise-en-scene. She wears a worried pout when Cloud confides in her that he feels Sephiroth is still alive. When Tifa needs reassurance that the Shinra would never dare bring down the slab on the slums of Sector 7, Aerith can’t hide her concern about what’s to come. At the heart of the fight to protect the pillar, she knows, even before Tifa asks her to, that she must go and rescue a young girl named Marlene in the Seventh Heaven bar. Shortly before she begins the ascent to the Shinra tower to free her, an optional dialogue between her and Cloud can be triggered. She materializes in the form of an illusion, aware that death awaits her at the end of the road, and warns Cloud not to be fooled by a false sense of love for her, confirming in the process that she already knows that her savior has appropriated part of Zack’s psyche, the first love whose return she waited so long to accept before resigning herself to her fate.

Everyone has to die one day. That’s why, while we can, we must make the most of every moment. Every minute, every little moment of our lives. I was so happy to be with you, but Cloud, please don’t fall in love with me. Even if you believe it, it’s just an illusion.

Aerith to Cloud, Final Fantasy VII Remake

Quand tout le groupe est de nouveau réuni dans la pièce qui a vu Aerith grandir, elle nous fournit un début d’explication sur le rôle des fileurs, assisté par Red XIII qui confie avoir compris leur nature au moment où la jeune femme a posé ses mains sur lui. Ce détail sur l’illumination atteinte par notre compagnon à quatre pattes grâce au toucher conforte un peu plus l’omniscience de la Cétra. Un début d’explication sur l’insistance des fileurs à poursuivre Aerith est même fourni. C’est très subtil, mais elle confie avoir l’impression de perdre une partie d’elle-même à chaque fois qu’ils la touchent, comme si elle oubliait peu à peu la marche à suivre. Quoi de plus logique ? La connaissance du futur est le meilleur moyen pour essayer de le changer, même de façon inconsciente. C’est au bout de l’autoroute de Midgar, qui symbolise la fin d’un chemin et le début d’un autre, qu’elle endosse pleinement son rôle de guide. Elle sait tout de Sephiroth et de ses errements, soulignant que si sa cause peut être juste, il se trompe dans les moyens mis en place. Ce dernier la fixe du regard, lui rappelant que son émotivité est un frein pour comprendre la marche à suivre. Alors que nous sommes à la croisée des destins, elle explique qu’il n’y aura pas de retour en arrière possible. En suivant l’homme en noir par-delà le voile de la fatalité, ils plongeront dans l’inconnu. The thought terrifies her, as it represents a great leap into the unknown. Freed from the rails of destiny, anything can happen to them. This rebellion against the inexorable takes her beyond any zone of control, because nothing guarantees that what must happen will happen.

The Compilation of FF VII ending

In the mid-2000s, the treatment of videogame news was very chaotic. It was not uncommon for rumors to be relayed as fact, or for entire narratives to be the result of poor translation. The most famous of these was the arrival of reworked versions of the three Final Fantasy games from the first PlayStation on the Japanese manufacturer’s second machine. These were, in fact, only rumours of a compilation release exclusive to Japan. In the midst of all this, there was another, more obscure rumour, the authenticity of which can never be proven. At one time, certain sources were talking about the arrival on PS3 of an Action-RPG whose mission would be to bring the Compilation’s narrative arc to a definitive close. The PS3’s technical demo at E3 2005, featuring Cloud’s arrival at the station, and the cliffhanger at the end of Dirge of Cerberus, which left us wondering whether Genesis, a character closely linked to Sephiroth and star of Crisis Core, would return, contributed greatly to this excitement.

This conclusion, which was to be called Ever Crisis according to some echoes I seem to remember (Was it Everless Crisis?), never saw the light of day. Perhaps it never existed. Despite some interesting additions to the lore of the Final Fantasy VII universe, the compilation failed to win over the public. Worse still, it was mocked for some of its zaniness. If we add to this the chaotic construction work around Fabula Nova Crystallis, it’s hardly surprising that the desire to add the final stone to the edifice was put on hold for several years. We had to wait until 2015 to realize that the seventh opus had not left the minds of Square Enix’s masterminds. Those in charge of the project didn’t bend the knee in the face of criticism of Final Fantasy VII’s extended universe. They could have wiped the slate clean by sweeping Genesis and the Deepground under the carpet, but this is not the case. Throughout the adventure, we are reminded of all the cross-media productions that enriched the 1997 adventure. The emphasis on the orphanage and the bond between Cloud and the children sets the stage for his future vocation as protector of orphans in Advent Children.

Other, more anecdotal elements, such as the presence of the characters Leslie and Kyrie, help anchor Nojima’s short story in the complete diegesis of this retelling of the myth. However, where the work comes as a surprise is when it doesn’t shy away from bringing the most criticized elements back to light, notably the story additions made after the 1997 title’s release. When we hear Hojo talk about the S and G type SOLDIERS, we know that the stories of Angeal and his comrades have been taken into account and will undoubtedly be exploited in the trilogy. The last skeptics at the back of the room were certainly swept away by the appearance of Nero and Weiss at the end of the Yuffie-centric single-player expansion. The presence of the two leaders of the Deepground thus restores a form of legitimacy to Dirge of Cerberus. The destruction of destiny certainly cancels out the exactions they should have carried out following the meteor crisis, but we still remain in a temporality where they saved Genesis by bringing him back to the depths of Midgar, for God knows what reason.

The most significant element is the final stretch of the adventure. As the player faces a final challenge from the guardians of fate, the confrontation with the Ruby, Emerald and Amber spinners resonates intensely with Advent Children. In the 2005 feature film, our heroes had to face Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo, three young brothers who were in reality emanations of Sephiroth, whose raison d’être was to enable his return to life. Indeed, the three spinners charged with protecting the Herald of Destiny bear a curious resemblance to the film’s antagonists. The resemblance can be felt in the silhouettes and the way they move, but above all in their weapons. Ruby uses a sword like Kadaj, Emerald wields a handgun like Loz, and Amber attacks with two firearms, just like Yazoo. If we activate the Analyse skill on one of these opponents, the game confirms that we are facing three entities fighting to protect the future that gave them form. When we recall that Hamaguchi stated that Final Fantasy VII Rebirth would build a bridge with Advent Children, which was re-released theatrically in some countries, the scriptwriters’ intention seems clearer than ever. This trilogy is a remake, a best of and a sequel. The blend of these three natures results in an unusual and fascinating work to behold.

Final Fantasy VII was a cloudy game, which you had to delve into to understand in its entirety. It was deliberately cryptic in places, and generated a great deal of discussion. These discussions allowed us to get closer to the truth of Gaia’s world, to truly understand the ins and outs of the dozens of hours we had spent wandering its green lands. This enigmatic aspect made a certain amount of sense, given that the initial project was to follow the tribulations of an investigator in a fantasy New York. Remake carries with it the essence of a game that pushes players to investigate in order to truly understand what they’ve just experienced. It has fun drawing us in one direction, only to catch us off-guard, hoping that we won’t pick up on all the clues it has left us in this meta treasure hunt. Rebirth comes out in a few days’ time, and it may well sweep away almost all the lines you’ve just read. One thing remains: Remake has taken great pleasure in playing with its mythology to fuel our discussions and reflections. It’s a pleasure we’ve all shared, and which has enabled us to carry out this “investigation” with you.