Last updated on February 13, 2013
I actually like Persona 3, contrary to what I thought would happen. In the same vein as a good anime, the new dating sim/dungeon crawling Persona games, of the Shin Megami Tensei label, force the player to encounter characters in the game. That nearly every relationship invariably contains well-written dialogue and characterization helps much in that department.
However, and perhaps I reveal a secret shame here, I cannot finish Persona 3.
I cannot identify a particular reason for this problem; I remember playing the game nearly three or four years ago, enjoying it immensely. Even if the “dungeon crawling” amounts to a complicated game of Simon Says and level grinding, it exists in service of the story and its impinging time frames. Sometimes, the game throws a cheap and unfair obstacle (read: requires a higher level, DUR), but it rarely frustrated me. Rather, the choice in what relationships to develop, and which I did not, brought the real fun.
Surprising from me? You bet! My love of game mechanics does not care for story unless said story augments the game, and the tangible benefits of these “social links” perfectly exemplifies what I mean (in both written and podcast form). Making certain Persona types attached to each relationship creates a cost/benefit analysis. Do I develop this one, or that one? What if I just happen to like this person, even if they give no particular help to my set-up? You need to contrast which part you actually think is more important: the ability to fight, or learning about the characters in the game.
Contrary to my usual inclinations, I happened to pick whoever I thought looked or appeared the most interesting, regardless of whether or not my Personas became stronger. Yes, I let aesthetics and fluff guide my decision making. Well, in my defense, Persona 3 still tries to function like a game, and games should try being fun every once and a while. In fact, taking risks in this sense made me choose combinations and styles of combat I wouldn’t have tried otherwise. The limited time forces you to make commitments and stick with them to the end. This sounds suspiciously like a metaphor for school. I imagine that I would NOT try Chariot at all (and get Thor, God of Thunder – who I think becomes much more awesome here than in any other appearance) if one of the social links didn’t involve that tarot – the guy in the sports getup, I think. Apologies to SMT fans, but my memory doesn’t extend to Japanese names nor honorifics in this case. Heck, by the end Thor pelted enemies with area of effect physical attacks, literally mopping the floor with every enemy onscreen regardless of their type and weakness.
Enough about the ease of the game, though. Why can’t I finish it?
I’m guessing it might be similar to the case of hundreds of other games I’ve played extensively and never finished. Is it worth it, at a point, to finish a game, or do you need to just get your money’s worth? That’s the dilemma gamers face more and more each day. How many new releases could you possibly play unless you devote all of your free time to the venture? How can new systems suddenly come into existence when I’ve not even scratched the surface of these libraries?
Still, Persona does not fit into this category. Given the story events, I’d rather the game stay in stasis. Really? Maybe I’m assuming something, but seventy hours of investment and I leave the story hanging for dear life on the edge of the precipice. And seriously, who in their right mind would leave such an apocalyptic tale open ended? Well, me.
The interesting thing about video games, contrary to what you might imagine, remains in the realm of authorial control. Simply put, the developer can’t force you to play the game in a particular way. Most intense Japanese action games suffer from this malady; how many people do you know that liked Vanquish, or Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance? Those games possess a deep mechanical structure, yet how many people want to discover such hidden depths? Some of us just aren’t spelunkers; some just like to take a few steps and run out of the cave when they hear a pebble drop near the entrance. But look at all the fun you miss in the end, assuming said cave has an amusement park in it that was only a few hundred feet away from the entrance.
Crazy four hours sleep-deprived metaphor aside, developers can’t prevent someone from putting down the controller forever. Each person’s going to arrive at the product (yes, games are products meant to sell and make money for the most part) from a different angle. They cannot predict what will happen, but they can surely try their best to engage every audience and enrapture even the most hardened of curmudgeons. And, surprisingly, they pleased my gaming taste-buds.
Although still, why not finish? Attachment. I like the characters; I like the story. Honestly? I don’t want to see the end because I have a feeling that the situation turns for the worse. Frankly, I do not want that to happen after a seventy hour commitment to this crazy crew. And this storytelling trope comes entirely under my control. I get to decide how long I want to play, and for what reasons. I certainly got my money’s worth, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
You might call me a Fool for not finishing the game, but surely you’ve never attached yourself to a game and enjoyed it so thoroughly that you wished said experience/game would never end? That you’d be able to tuck that game away until some time when you could restart it and savor it from the beginning, after the ravages of time removed its myriad wonders from your consciousness? That’s how I feel about Persona. Even if the game’s really easy, all the various elements combine into something that you can just sit back, relax, and enjoy.
But there’s a pitfall in such a thought process. Attachment becomes a blessing and a curse. Perhaps I am missing out on something amazing; perhaps not. In either case, it reflects that perennial human desire for permanence. We want things to last forever; we, ourselves, want to live forever. It’s part of the way we’re wired. Whether in the annals of history or just in our daily life, we want to matter in some small sense in the grand cosmos. I suppose putting a game in suspended animation does the same thing: we want that game to last forever, when it just can’t be that way. We need to move on. And, apparently, I need to go beat Persona 3 at some point (though not now!). It’s interesting that, as far as I can tell, that’s what the plot conveys: accepting your own death.
We can’t avoid the end of things. We can’t avoid death. We need to accept it, but also rejoice in new life. 2 Corinthians 5 says thus:
14 For the love of Christ controls us, having concluded this, that one died for all, therefore all died; 15 and He died for all, so that they who live might no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died and rose again on their behalf.
16 Therefore from now on we recognize no one according to the flesh; even though we have known Christ according to the flesh, yet now we know Him in this way no longer. 17 Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come.
To “avoid” death, one must die and be born again. One must begin again. We cannot live forever in the past, clinging to former glories. We must recognize our successes and failure, and move forward. Otherwise, we’re simple wasting light.
