In the summer of 2049, a gaunt man leans against a shelf in a dilapidated building, gripping a long, rusted pipe. An eerie voice offers him a pact: power in exchange for his soul. “Take it,” the voice urges, “and save your daughter…”
Later, we witness the man speaking to his constantly coughing daughter, and the anguish of a parent watching their child suffer is palpable. As he vows that the surrounding monsters won`t harm her, we see a father desperately trying to reassure his frightened daughter amidst genuine peril. His growl at enemies to keep away from her reveals an intense, perilous quality in his voice. Clutching her and pleading for help, he emanates a unique parental blend of fear and heartbreak.
Summer 2053. In the same derelict building, a small, youthful boy huddles against a shelf, grasping a long, rusted pipe. An eerie voice offers him a bargain: power in exchange for… something unstated, to protect… someone unstated. When the boy rises to confront the towering monsters, you don`t sense the same perilous resolve as with the father. Instead, you feel the vulnerability of a young person overwhelmed. When he tells the monsters to stay away from his sister, his voice is low, almost pleading. His scream for help is desperate, yet also carries the fear of someone far too young to handle the situation.
The first of these scenarios comes from the 2010 English release of Nier, while the second is from its 2021 English counterpart. Yoko Taro, Nier`s writer-director, initially developed two versions in 2010: one featuring a boy protagonist saving his sister, and another with a father saving his daughter. The latter (known as Nier Gestalt in Japan) was reportedly created solely because Square Enix`s American marketing team believed Western audiences would not respond as favorably to a young boy as the main character. When Nier was re-released in a revamped form in 2021 (under the playful title Nier Replicant ver.1.22474487139…), Taro opted for the boy protagonist for the English-speaking market this time. Consequently, the modern English version exclusively presents the younger protagonist.
When players discuss the game today, little consideration is typically given to these version differences. “Yes, the main character is different,” they might concede, “but most of the game remains the same. It doesn`t really matter much.”
But does it not?
How can these two gaming experiences truly be identical? The emotional resonance and perspective diverge significantly, eliciting distinct reactions. Critic Dia Lacina perceptively addressed this topic for Vice, and inspired by that piece, I decided to re-watch and compare the opening sequences of both game versions. To me, they undeniably feel profoundly different.
In recent years, numerous other classic games have undergone remakes or remasters. We can point to titles like Shadow of the Colossus, Silent Hill 2, Resident Evil, Metal Gear Solid 3, Suikoden I and II, and Final Fantasy Tactics, to name just a few. I occasionally ponder whether players adequately appreciate just how divergent the new experiences can be from the originals, especially considering that the renown and historical importance of these games typically stem from their initial releases.
Film enthusiasts will discuss the distinctions between Peter Jackson`s theatrical and extended cuts of The Lord of the Rings, or the intriguing variations in Wong Kar-wai`s edits of The Grandmaster (critic David Ehrlich even asserted that merely seeing the American version of that film means you haven`t truly seen it). Readers engage in debates over the finest translations of Dostoevsky or Hugo. Yet, gamers, by contrast, appear more inclined to overlook alterations in elements like narrative and art direction, even within story-driven games.
Let`s turn our attention to Final Fantasy VII. As one of the most iconic video games in history, it wouldn`t surprise me if a significant number of players have experienced it. But what, precisely, was their experience?
Perhaps you played FFVII upon its 1997 release, in its original Japanese form, on the first PlayStation. Or maybe your experience came when it arrived in America and Europe for the same console, encountering the localized version with its new gameplay features. It`s also possible you played the 1998 Eidos PC version, which added mouths to characters. Did you utilize mods, or modern features like the Character Booster? You might even have played FFVII through the condensed Ever Crisis on your phone.
What`s truly fascinating is the sheer divergence these different versions of a classic can exhibit. For instance, the initial Japanese release of FFVII reportedly omits a specific flashback scene that triggers upon entering the Nibelheim Mansion basement near the game`s conclusion. This scene is among the story`s most memorable, offering players a unique and poignant glimpse of Zack Fair, a crucial character in the narrative who would later gain even greater significance within the series.
And what about the English localization? As translator and critic Tim Rogers thoroughly explained in his video series, the English version introduced several particularly intriguing alterations, such as dialogue that arguably modifies the emotional dynamic of Aerith and Zack`s relationship. Or perhaps I should say Aeris, the name many of us recall from the original Western release, yet one that has now become almost obsolete? Concurrently, the PC version of the game added mouths to character models, impacting the feel of certain scenes; Aerith`s death with Sephiroth standing over her, for instance, loses some impact for me when Sephiroth is bizarrely gaping as if performing at an opera house. Perhaps you simply bypassed the original FFVII and played the remake, reasoning that it`s still Final Fantasy VII, right?
Those who have played the FFVII remake games have experienced a narrative distinct from the original. This sparks considerable debate within the fandom—whether the remake`s story aligns with the original`s—and there`s no straightforward answer. While it does cover the primary events, it simultaneously introduces new elements, removes others, and alters the presentation of older scenes. Suddenly, the antagonist Sephiroth emerges in parts of the story where he was entirely absent in the original. Yoshinori Kitase initially aimed for Sephiroth to be mysterious, akin to Spielberg`s Jaws, but this emphasis is less pronounced in FFVII Remake.
In Rebirth, you can even briefly play as Sephiroth, whereas in the original, he was maintained at a critical distance: an untouchable, terrifyingly powerful entity. To control him would have been inconceivable. Zack, a character barely present in the original, now enjoys far greater prominence; we even see him temporarily aligning with Cloud to combat Sephiroth in Rebirth. Even setting aside the narrative changes, the distinctions in visuals, music, direction, gameplay, and the inclusion of voice acting all contribute to a vastly different experience.
It`s remarkable, however, how swiftly players tend to brush these sorts of changes aside. “It`s still essentially the same story,” they often shrug. Some even go so far as to treat a remake as a direct replacement for the original, yet as Carolyn Petit highlighted for Polygon, such a perspective simply doesn`t hold up.
Varying translations similarly reshape a work`s essence; this is a frequent topic in literature and cinema, but considerably less so concerning video games, beyond a handful of specialized websites or social media accounts. For instance, in one of Final Fantasy VI`s most pivotal (though optional) scenes, Celes casts herself from a cliff. In the original English Super Nintendo release (where it was titled Final Fantasy III), she does so after hearing tales of others taking “a leap of faith” to rekindle their spirits. Yet, in more recent, faithful English translations, this act is framed as distinctly dark. Both versions inevitably evoke different feelings, even if—as translator Clyde Mandelin observed in his comparison—some players back in 1996 already perceived the older version as grim.
The visual direction of scenes alone can profoundly alter a work`s reception. The disparities between the original Silent Hill 2 and its remake are immediately striking and have been a subject of discussion by others. As many have noted, the original`s fog is so pervasive that character faces are barely discernible, imbuing the scenes with a distinct sense of unease. Atmospheric differences are also evident in the Shadow of the Colossus remake. The mansion setting in the original PlayStation Resident Evil, when contrasted with the GameCube remake, appears dramatically different; the former possesses a stark simplicity reminiscent of an old, vacant hotel, while the latter is far darker and more Gothic, evoking a dwelling for Dracula. To me, the original feels scarier because it seems more familiar, like a place I might have encountered before.
While these are all official modifications, the gaming landscape grows even more complex when one considers the medium`s deep intertwining with modding. Modding is so widespread, and such an intrinsic part of PC gaming specifically, that many players download and implement mods to “enhance” a game in countless ways, often with little regard for how this fundamentally alters their experience in terms of visuals, audio, and interactivity. People apply mods as casually as they might grab ketchup to improve their meal. These mods might make the game appear “sharper,” “correct” translations for accuracy, or reintroduce cut content. They promise, you are told, to significantly improve your gaming experience. But which game, then, are you truly playing?
Perhaps no definitive version of a game truly exists. It might be that the medium is subject to too many variables, as even the input device you use—be it a keyboard and mouse or a console controller—can dramatically reshape your experience. Consider, too, how playing a text-heavy game like Disco Elysium on a handheld system can feel more akin to reading a book.
I don`t advocate for dictating a “right” way to play a game, but I do believe in approaching gaming experiences with mindfulness and deliberation. This might be more demanding than the casual attitude many of us adopt, yet it`s also thrilling because it prompts us to reflect on one of this medium`s most potent attributes: its fluidity. Make your choices wisely as you confront the multitude of different game versions. Your preferred version might not be the one recommended by the general public, nor even the one the creator favors. It will be the one that resonates most deeply with you, for whatever reason.
Remakes, remasters, mods, and similar efforts are all conceptually sound, even wonderful, particularly given the challenge of playing older classics today. It`s valuable to appreciate all the iterations of classics available to us, but it`s equally important to consider each version as an independent work. The focus isn`t so much on determining which version is superior or inferior. Rather, it`s about contemplating the compelling differences found within the classic works of the video game medium.