The following entry contains spoilers aplenty for Mother 3, so check yourself.
Months ago, I asserted my belief that the way forward for traditional RPGs (since word is they be broke) was away from the expensive lessons of blockbusters past which often obfuscate their strengths and toward design choices that would open up new frontiers of storytelling. As if that wasn't worded pretentiously enough, this had already happened, I just hadn't found it yet (as so often happens in the world of blogging). In Mother 3, series creator Shigesato Itoi has returned to the fundamental strength of the RPG, to impart a story, and attempts to bring that strength to a new level without putting up any obstacles in the name of progress. The game mechanics are as fundamentally sound as the best Dragon Quests, and the user experience is expertly refined to make sure the game never gets between the player and the creator. Battles are fast, involved, and often optional. In this respect, Mother 3's greatest innovation is that it doesn't innovate at all. The story is the star, and while it might have room for improvement, what makes the game remarkable is the virtuoso skill with which it's told.
Little details can make the biggest difference. The most poignant memory I have of my first trip to Disney World wasn't of something so extravagant as the thousands of sparkling lights coming down Main Street or meeting a mouse. Rather, what I remember most clearly was how the Belle character actress moved. This likely sounds a little weird, but it has stuck with me; it was an uncannily perfect recreation of the animation. Much has been written and recorded about the draconian training Disney characters and employees have to undergo, but seeing the seamless end product in person I truly understood the lengths these people went to fulfill the fantastic promise of its founder.
I thought back to this moment many times during my playthrough of Mother 3, as Itoi has demonstrated a mastery of detail like I've never seen. Given Itoi's authorial background it shouldn't be surprising, but the end product is just as striking as seeing the last seam ironed out at Disney. Itoi isn't content to populate the Nowhere Islands and Tazmily Village with garden variety NPCs. Distinctive character is infused into every nook and cranny, everyone's given a name, a face, and he doesn't stop until the crab on the beach becomes an imitation crab (all the other crabs are imitating him, you see). When we're given a save prompt at the black screen between chapters, our savior makes sure to let us know he's a frog, because after all, in this universe, all save points are frogs. The game wants to make sure we know that it wouldn't dream of forgetting its own rules.
The Mother series has always played squarely by rules; the rules set by its RPG forefathers were evident from the first moment your "father" tells you over the phone how much experience you have left before your next level. In superimposing a traditional RPG structure over a faux American setting, Itoi always traded on a satirical send-up of both without ever stepping too far outside of the umbrella. The overt satire is better than it's ever been here, and it does a fantastic job of keeping us entertained throughout the game, but Itoi has found a whole new frontier to explore within that same framework. Instead of using the lush, exquisitely detailed world as its own attraction, it is truly used as a setting. Itoi seems to realize the importance of setting the stage, of making sure that no matter how the player explores the environment, he never sees a seam. Belle always kneels correctly, whether or not we're paying attention. We're not bashed over the head continuously in a desperate attempt to show off every expensive created asset, nor are we forced to remain in each environment for as long as the devs could come up with additional challenges to add game hours. The detail is always there, but never at the expense of the playability of the game.
It's no surprise that Itoi clearly understands that games set themselves apart from other media through their playability, and that any story he's going to tell better be one that we can play. This was cemented for me during a short little interlude where our control shifts to Boney, Lucas' stalwart pet. The interlude is limited to a quick search for a dropped item, but the narrative changes to match this character and we're given fresh music as well. Boney's just a dog, so he can't carry more than one item in his mouth, can't perceive much about it, just what it feels like, whether it's hard or soft, shiny or dull, and only after he brings it back to a human do we even find out what it is. This interlude is over as soon as it began, but with just a minute or so of seemingly inconsequential play, we're given a lens into the game's world that we didn't have before and something more to connect with, even a theme to remind us of Boney. When we tell Boney to give Lucas some beef jerky during a battle to replenish his health and the little mutt scarfs it down himself, suddenly, it makes a whole lot more sense. He's just a dog and the beef jerky is delicious; he can't help himself! In this case, walking a couple inches in a few hairy paws makes all the difference, as it's a matter of perspective.
Itoi relies heavily on perspective as a storytelling device throughout the game. This is not a new device to the genre; Final Fantasy VI derived much of its strength from its lack of dependance on a constant and singular main character. Itoi doesn't do anything particularly radical with perspective, but his absurdly acute application enables a more nuanced and interesting tale than any other I can think of. As we take the reins and guide Salsa, we are complicit in Fassad's conniving machinations and his corruption of Tazmily. By forcing us to take an active role in these events we're given a stake in the events that follow and a slight feeling of responsibility, too. What's more, through nothing more than intelligent design and an empathic carrot, we're given this without ever having to "play the bad guy." Most games would start with Lucas beginning his quest to wipe out the Pigmasks, since that's an easily quantifiable game goal. Itoi realized the stage had to be set in this sense as well, and his tale doesn't reach that point until chapter 4. By the time Lucas set out to make things right, I was emotionally invested in his family, Tazmily village, and the entire world.
That investment paid off for me in spades during the heart-rending final battle, which Dan Bruno at Cruise Elroy has already written about fantastically, so I will refer to his keen insight rather than re-inventing the wheel:
In a genre known for stark disconnects between gameplay and plot, Mother 3 gives its ending staggering emotional impact by integrating everything into the gameplay... In a word, the final battle feels meaningful — it’s not a fight against an arbitrarily powerful enemy, but a logical consequence of the story that nonetheless feels faithful to the game mechanics.
Even when Itoi is taxed with bringing the story to a conclusion, he never forgets his rules. He manages to walk the tightrope and powerfully end his story without ever showing a seam in the intricate quilt of his world or his game. All of the work put into roping the player in emotionally paid off in spades during the final battle, and by the time it was finished, my personal countdown to tears had ended quite decisively.
Mother 3 does just about nothing new, but its genius is that in its tried and proven framework it finds more value than anyone else ever has while remaining as utterly playable as the best games of its genre. Like many others, I became a devotee of RPGs because at that time, they were the only place you could go in games to get something resembling a real story, no matter how haphazard or goofy. Now, countless games you can pick up off the shelf have an attempt that's no worse than most of the multi-disc RPGs next to them on the shelf. After Mother 3, which I will unequivocally call an essential masterpiece, I am more convinced than ever that the way forward is the same way it was back then, and the same way that led the genre to prominence in the first place. Tell me a story that the other guys can't and I'll be there every time.
