The Kingdom Hearts Paradox
A reflection on one the most popular, passionate, and confounding monocultures that exists in gaming today
Everyone has that one game they haphazardly stumbled upon — most likely in one’s adolescent, back-when-Blockbuster-still-existed periods — and were completely enthralled with, for better or worse. That experience of discovering video games as a child was largely perpetuated by childhood ignorance and the lack of the same resources the information-age of today gives us — and there’s a beauty in that, I think. It is during this time that I came across the Playstation 2 classic Kingdom Hearts, a title that has remained a fixture in my gaming circle for years; not just because of my affection for it, but for the sheer amount of ravenous fanaticism and franchise-building that has transpired following its original 2002 release.
Sixteen years later, and we’re just now receiving actual reactions and impressions for the highly anticipated Kingdom Hearts III — and the intrigue surrounding the title remains as fervent as ever. Kingdom Hearts, even after so many years have passed, clearly still matters. However, the ethos of what the Kingdom Hearts franchise is, and what it wants to be, is not so easily definable.
You see, Kingdom Hearts is far more than just a popular series of action-RPG’s; it’s an amalgamation of release date drama, unnecessary entries for filler’s sake, convoluted storytelling, and marketing — which are all things more complicated than simply determining its qualitative value as a video game franchise.
While it has become more accepted and understood today, the premise of the first Kingdom Hearts game is still hard to comprehend. At first glance, a game that follows a young boy named Sora, who is chosen to wield a “keyblade” —one of the universe’s most powerful weapons — and his adventures to battle against evil that intertwine with the likes of not only Final Fantasy characters, but those of the Disney empire is an objectively absurd proposition. It’s a story that attempts to push players into worlds filled with iconic properties — ranging from Hercules to The Nightmare Before Christmas—as well as telling a central story about good versus evil, the power of friendship, and the darkness that exists in everyone’s hearts.
That may seem like a shallow explanation, and that’s because it is. Explaining the plot of the game, and series, is a profoundly irritating endeavor that I won’t be partaking in today. Nor is it the point, exactly. Rather, it is what kind of story that is being attempted that sparks the real conversation.
The issue with Kingdom Hearts’ story is a byproduct of its attempt to do something grander than the properties it aligns itself with may realistically allow. It asks quite a lot of us to take the story seriously given the conflicting nature of the cartoonish franchises it chooses as catalysts for the thematical elements they’re trying to get across. There is something fundamentally bizarre about a dialogue between characters detailing the power of the heart, or soul, and how there’s an essence of light and darkness in all of us that precedes our actions and fate — all accompanied by Donald Duck and Goofy meandering in the background.
That isn’t to say that friendly, cartoonish characters are incapable of carrying more intricate, “mature” messages; there is a surplus of evidence to suggest otherwise. The blame might be better suited to the main character, Sora, whose traits best exemplify the narrative quandary at hand. He acts like a boy — a very young, often annoyingly idealistic one—that has hardly grown up, which is problematic considering how long this franchise has been in the public conscious.
Sora’s naiveté works initially and is an excellent avatar for conveying the same emotions that each of us had as a child when first experiencing these Disney stories. The first Kingdom Hearts holds up better when you view the story through the lens of a scared, confused young boy that is vaulted into a leadership role he never asked for. In the second Kingdom Hearts, this same attribute of Sora’s feels more melodramatic than endearing.
There seems to be no growth for the character — unlike his best friend Riku, who initially utilizes the darkness for evil purposes, and later as a burden he must carry to save his friends. The other secondary titles in the series — aside from Birth By Sleep, which gives you the choice between three characters to somewhat mitigate the issue—also share this same sentiment, making it harder and harder to gripe with.
Is Sora an awful character? No, but his progression seems to be something the series doesn’t particularly care about. Based on the little we’ve seen from Kingdom Hearts III, I doubt the dialogue will become any less redundant or cringeworthy of an affair. I’m sure that Disney’s properties like Toy Story and Big Hero 6 will have their cute moments that best reflect the worlds they came from, but relying on fan-service ploys isn’t enough to carry the dull moments.
Maybe this is all me being way too cynical. Maybe it’s a bit of a stretch to over-analyze a series that simply wants to create an eclectic universe for you to rummage through as you combat demon creatures with the aid of iconic, albeit out-of-place, Disney characters. But maybe accepting that would be easier if the franchise wasn’t treated like a holy grail of originality and creativity by its fanbase and, ostensibly, its creators.
Many moons ago, I spent some time pontificating about the behavior that Square Enix, the game’s developer, has displayed over the last decade. I mentioned how the company has embraced a philosophy of antagonizing its fanbase with near-endless amounts of teasing and development fiascos. In a way, the hype surrounding Kingdom Hearts III seems like a manufactured product of release date woes. It is similar, in that vein, to The Last Guardian; there is excitement that the product will be an enjoyable experience, sure, but also a specific level of curiosity aiding in propelling it into the mainstream conversation.
In that way, the attention the title is receiving feels somewhat undeserved. Why does Kingdom Hearts II, a game released in 2005, have the right to tease its climactic finale for so many years without giving a firm release date? There have been all the aforementioned Kingdom Hearts games released over the last decade since the last true sequel, yet each of them operates as a side-story exacerbates the series’ compulsive desire to be as complicated as possible.
The franchise has a Marvel-esque quality to it; the developers constantly churn out teases for another title being worked on to create suspense and excitement about what it all could be leading. The difference here is that Marvel is far more transparent, while Square Enix tends to leave ambiguous nods that only make the entire experience all the more confusing. The ending of Kingdom Hearts II seemed to confirm a Kingdom Hearts III, yet it wasn’t until 2013 that it was officially revealed. It’s as shameless a milking-of-a-franchise tactic as you’ll see.
Does the game deserve the decades-long hype it has procured? Well, it depends. The issue is that defining what has allowed it to garner such traction is the challenge. It’s not a terrible story, but it isn’t epic enough to deserve the amount of time it asks us to devote to it. The gameplay isn’t particularly deep, but it can be an aesthetically pleasing sight to behold. The characters can be cheesy and lacking real development, but it’s admittedly cool just to see beloved characters (I nearly had a stroke when Stitch cameoed in Kingdom Hearts II; Ohana, motherfuckers) appear in this thing, even if only for brief moments. It’s as impressive of a concept as it is a disorganized malpractice of franchise-crossovers.
In a way, Kingdom Hearts is like the Ready Player One of gaming. It would be nice if we could view it as a fun excuse to see Mickey Mouse battle slithering ghost creatures, but the tenacious love that the fanbase and its developers — extended over many years of teases, references, and speculations — have for it, makes for something that is infinitely more ambitious than it might deserve.
