spudd 64 writes a rebuttal to my “Debunking Sadness in Final Fantsy VII” post

Good friend, spudd 64 has written a rebuttal to my emotion in video games post.

His argument is very strong and he calls me out on some very particular things that I said. While I still stand by my original feelings towards Aerith, spudd 64’s rebuttal definitely helps me take a less pointed stance in the argument. While I would say that most lean towards spudd 64’s way of thinking, I know no one else that could articulate it as well as he can in the following words:

if you have played “final fantasy vii” then you are intimately familiar with that scene where sephiroth, the villain of the tale, suddenly and brutally impales aerith on his sword, murdering her. many gamers cite that as the saddest, most emotionally affecting moment they have ever experienced in a videogame, and often they mention that they wept. i did. i’m not afraid to admit it. i wept like a baby when aerith was killed.

kyle, on the other hand, writes that he did not, and he goes on at length to question why those who cried actually felt that way. it’s an interesting take on the game, but one that i think ultimately misses the point. to his credit, kyle is quick to accurately point out the factors which might be influencing his opinion, such as the fact that he was only 15 years old when he finished the game. one could argue that at that point in life, few of us have the emotional experience to truly understand loss. but right away he backs up and indicates that “after five years of being away from it [final fantasy vii], i can say in retrospect that i was right to not feel much of a connection to aerith.”

i’m not sure i agree with his reasoning. for one thing, the issue at hand is one of emotions, which are wholly subjective and individual experiences. if kyle didn’t feel something in a videogame and i did, neither of us is right or wrong, we simply reacted to the experience in differing ways. however, he criticizes the character of aerith as being “extremely flat” experiencing “little growth.”

while character growth can have a tremendous affect on how a gamer feels about the characters they are playing or encountering, it is in no way the only factor. aerith was a rather one-dimensional character whose early demise robbed her of any subsequent growth. but consider the way that aerith was portrayed in the game, and the intended emotional affect of this kind of character. i would wager that the majority of people who played “final fantasy vii,” a role-playing videogame similar in some ways to dungeons and dragons, were male. additionally, the main character that the player controls is also a male, a hotheaded fighter with a gigantic sword named cloud strife.

perhaps this is obvious, but the player spends the better portion of “final fantasy vii” fighting. fighting to save the world. fighting to save his friends. fighting to defeat terrifying monsters. fighting to understand his own identity and history. as kyle mentions, cloud is a dynamic character and undergoes a great deal of growth and change throughout the story of the game. but that is to be expected. after all, cloud is the main character.

aerith, on the other hand, is first shown as a strikingly beautiful young woman living in a wretched, filthy, crime-ridden slum, but still finding the grace and the kindness to grow flowers that she sells in the street. right away, aerith is presented to the player as an individual of tremendous, almost unearthly grace and beauty, something pure in a fallen and decaying world. the programmer’s intent is clear.

almost immediately after encountering aerith in the game, the player finds himself in a fight to the finish to defend her against a gang of street toughs out to kidnap her. so in short-order, the programmers have established the dynamics of the in-game relationship. cloud is a hotheaded hero with a knack for fighting, aerith is a stunningly beautiful but ultimately frail young woman who needs cloud to defend her. from that moment on, the player sees aerith not only as a character in the game, but also as someone who needs protection. that cements the bond and heightens the wound of losing that character to a cruel death, making it seem extremely traumatic.

kyle is right to point out that over time, the legend of aerith’s death has outgrown the reality of it. the years have cast the event in a nostalgic haze, heightening the emotional impact well beyond the initial shock. but does that lessen it? after all, don’t many of us play videogames because they allow us to understand and navigate the rules of a simpler world, a world we feel we can eventually master and earn the emotional rewards that come with that kind of achievement? it’s not in the attachment, or lack of, that the player feels to the character aerith, it is in the dynamics of the relationship between the player and aerith that the emotional impact lies.

kyle goes on to discuss other videogames which have had an emotional impact on him, and it’s true that many of the best videogames do affect the player long after the final credits have rolled. my list of videogames that made me cry would probably seem ludicrous to many, but the emotions were there. i wept in “final fantasy vii,” teared up in “final fantasy ix,” cried like a baby in “final fantasy x,” and shed tears after finishing the dreamcast classic “seaman.” even “super mario bros. 2,” a game that takes place in mario’s dream world subcon, had a profound emotional impact on me. and in some cases, these tears weren’t because of my emotional attachment to the characters, they were because of the emotional investment i had in the world of the videogame. ultimately, the experiences that the player brings to the videogame are often far more resonant than the experiences that the player has within the videogame. with all respect, i feel that in discounting this aspect of gaming, kyle misses a crucial aspect of the way that players interact with these artificial world