When Bad Translations Go Good: An Earnest Defense of Symphony of the Night
Much has been made over Castlevania Requiem’s use of re-localized dialogue and voice acting from the 2007 PSP release of Symphony of the Night, instead of the infamous 1997 original. Most people seem to miss the hammy and ridiculous writing and delivery — even the game recognizes the popularity of the original translation. A counter-narrative has developed, however, that people who miss the original translation do so as a result of a mix of irony and nostalgia. The new translation, the argument goes, is more faithful to the original Japanese. It better matches the tone of the game, and does not undercut the intense Gothic drama of Symphony of the Night.
Of course, this argument belies a complete misunderstanding of everything Castlevania is and ever will be. I unironically, non-nostalgically believe that the original English translation better enhances the mood and actual gameplay of Symphony. I cannot be convinced that a game in which Dracula’s castle is literally named “Castlevania” is meant to be taken at face value as a serious horror-action game with tense philosophical drama.
Symphony of the Night repeatedly pokes fun at itself and its prop-based horror. Symphony borrows heavily from Gothic imagery and motifs, but is not attempting to present those elements completely straight-faced. The protagonist is named, after all Alucard. Dracula, in the Castlevania universe, literally named his son after his own name backwards. After the prologue, an unseen photographer snaps a photo of the moment Richter defeats Dracula, only for that photo to immediately light on fire and disintegrate. To safely enter water, Alucard must recover the Holy Symbol, which is a snorkel. The music vacillates between baroque harpsichord, screaming guitar, and thumping house. Alucard can fall asleep in a confessional booth, bored by a wayward ghost. You can put on “cool looking” sunglasses, a stone mask ripped straight from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, and platform boots that do nothing but increase Alucard’s height a single pixel. Alucard and Richter shout the names of their special moves like the protagonists of a shonen anime. The emotional crux of the game is Dracula realizing his dead wife didn’t actually hate all humans.
Despite all this silliness, Castlevania never bridges into full-on parody territory. The series is a loving pastiche of classic horror books and films. The series uses its monsters to evoke the mood of horror without actually attempting to frighten the player. The original Castlevania bosses (Medusa, Frankenstein’s Monster, Mummy, Vampire Bat, and Death itself) are all drawn from well-established pieces of pop culture, and many common enemies share the same origins (such as mermen and the Creature from the Black Lagoon). Like classic horror films, Castlevania is unaware of or uninterested in the most effective ways to scare the player. Roger Ebert highlights this phenomenon in his review of the classic silent horror film Nosferatu (which itself receives a shoutout in Symphony by way of Count Orlok takeoff Olrox). Ebert argues that Nosferatu “doesn’t scare us; it haunts us.” Individual scenes no longer carry the ability to inspire overriding fear, but they nevertheless carry the same themes and tensions. Castlevania adopts this approach, using recognizable images to draw on its audience’s inherent knowledge of horror tropes without actually performing them itself.
Nothing in Symphony of the night suggests the game is meant to be viewed as a wholly serious take on horror. A more fitting genre descriptor might be Gothic-Adventure, an argument supported well by the mechanics. There is no emphasis on any of the typical horror game mechanics, be it stealth, resource management, or even puzzles. The core gameplay loop, which helped solidify a genre, revolves around defeating enemies to become progressively stronger, while gaining abilities that unlock new areas for exploration. The player does not have to hide to avoid monsters, or escape powerful pursuers. Instead, the game expects you to hack and slash your way through most encounters, leveling up your stats and finding new gear.
The original English translation and voice acting support, not diminish, the ideas laid out by the gameplay, character design, and music. The original Castlevania used no in-game text (let alone voice acting) to convey its story. This means the game mirrors the silent movies it shamelessly borrows from (the title screen is framed by classic film print), and focuses the player in completely on gameplay and character design. Symphony relies too much on menus and item descriptions for this to be a convincing solution; despite the low number of cutscenes the core mechanics are riddled with text (you literally get an item that tells you the name of every enemy you encounter; there is a bestiary to read in the store; item, spell, and relic descriptions must be consulted to learn new abilities and synergies).
The last great argument against the original English translation is a familiar refrain. “What about authorial intent?” it goes. “The new translation is more faithful to what the original Japanese and what the creators intended!” I have grown tired of this argument, which at best belies a misunderstanding of the localisation at process, and at worse is used to harass the perceived “censors” of Japanese games. For one thing, there is no single author of Symphony of the Night who can determine the single acceptable vision for the game. Not Koji Igarashi, who wasn’t even the director of the project, nor anyone else. Iga himself describes the the creation process as collaborative and open (thanks to a lack of oversight from Konami), contradicting any sort of complete auteurship that others would assign him. To imply that the translation is not part of the “original vision” implies that localisers should have no input in (and therefore receive no credit for) the game. Sure, the dialogue and voicing is different in the Japanese release, but there is no reason to suggest that an English release ought to perfectly and literally replicate that version (in fact, it seems likely a literal translation would be vague, lifeless, and confusing). “The Annotated Symphony of the Night” notes that the infamous conversation between Richter and Dracula is, in the Japanese, a standard evil villain speech. The English translation presents a more compelling version of that interaction, drawing on one of English Symphony’s many literary sources to create an iconic line. The new translation is essentially a re-written version of the original translation, not a “faithful” recreation of the Japanese.
I care this deeply about Symphony of the Night’s goofy and overacted translation because the game is already so incredibly good. Even today the gameplay holds up as profoundly enjoyable, and graphically the sprite work still feels fresh. The music remains transcendent, and Dracula’s castle still inspires a sense of awe as you explore each new area. The reveal of the Inverted Castle, and the subsequent re-discovery of spaces you thought you mastered, retains its impact. For many, these exact reasons are why the old translation must go, as it is the only thing “holding back” a timeless classic. But the game cannot support a grim and serious reading, because so much of the game’s logic and order are upheld by its silly and referential roots. Should the holy symbol be changed from a snorkel in order to keep the game serious? Should the original Castlevania bosses be punched-up so they don’t look quite so goofy? A serious translation would swim upstream against the rest of Symphony, desperately trying to make the game into something it’s not.
Let Dracula call us a miserable pile of secrets, and enjoy the show.
