From the Aether #6
Hey everyone, hope you’ve had a great month! In an absolutely shocking turn of events, this entire edition of the newsletter is about Final Fantasy VII and Animal Crossing. Seems pretty probable every episode this month will follow suit, but it’s too early to tell.
As always, thanks to the many patrons who back the show and make things like this newsletter possible. You’re all superstars, which are like regular stars, but they can fly and pick up cars and stuff.
~Brendon + Stephen
Old Leaf
by Brendon Bigley
Do you know how many towns I’ve seen?
Sparsely decorated beachfront chalets,
nestled amidst dense suburban bustling communities.
Thatched roof construction
overlooking beds of marigold and rose thorns,
never seen so much as a pinprick in all my years somehow.
Do you ever wonder why that is?
It’s that calming kind of presence I know of Autumn,
witnessing the end of something lovely before it plunges into night.
I find myself visiting these places often,
and fondly reminiscing about the other places that I’ve been.
Villages I’ve left to fend against the whims of time,
like trying to remember the face of a friend from long ago.
It’s an approximation of what came before…
just more weeds now, I suppose.
So what does it mean when a time capsule ages?
As years pass, is there a serenity in knowing what’s possible?
I hope my friends forgive me when I visit somewhere new.
Just like my friends before,
and before,
and before.
There and Back Again, to Midgar
by Stephen Hilger
Right now feels like the best time for Final Fantasy VII to be remade. It’s a game about a lot of things, but amidst all the fantasy and swords is a story about retaining your hope and identity amidst a smog of corporate greed. The game famously begins in Midgar: a modern city that resembles a large factory lit with pockets of light. It is the setting where our heroes spend the first major act of their adventure.
The game opens in a microcosmic way. At first, we see stars. It might be the night sky — or maybe even outer space. The potential is boundless. Eventually, the shot fades to a closeup of a young woman — a major character who we will eventually come to know as Aerith. She catches herself and walks off to sell some flowers on the corner of a city street. She bumps into some ruffians outside a theater that’s featuring a large billboard for a show called Loveless Sons (a direct shout-out to the My Bloody Valentine album) and drops her flowers. As she goes to pick them up, an indifferent foot crushes one of her flowers in passing. She holds the crushed flower and looks at the sky — though to us, she’s looking directly at the viewer. The camera slowly pans out to match the direction of her gaze. It is no longer the night sky, now it’s the just the city — Midgar. The scene sounds bleak, but she isn’t sad. This is routine.
The music that plays in this moment is triumphant. Somber-but-hopeful. The logo of the game appears over this shot of Midgar. It could be beautiful. Maybe it is. Before we can decide, the camera once again zooms back in on the city, as if stuck in its orbit despite its own intentions to pan elsewhere. This time, the camera follows a train. This is where we meet the tenacious Barrett, the lovable members of AVALANCHE, and our de-facto protagonist, Cloud.
The recently revealed opening scene of the FF7 Remake contains the same beats but with some additions. We see even more of Midgar this time, a setting that feels incredibly lived in. We see busy streets, kids playing in a rusted playground. It is not dystopian to them. It’s home. The only time the camera coils at the sight of this setting is when a child gazes at the Shinra reactor — a type of power-plant that is visibly draining the planet of its life and the sky of its color. We see dying plants blow in the wind, and busy feet stomp Aerith’s flowers. People don’t realize the world is dying. Aerith looks directly at the camera, perhaps asking if the player has noticed. It’s no coincidence we then rush into action with Barrett and his group of eco-friendly vigilantes.
The rest of the game’s story is essentially a continuation of this tone set so successfully in place by the opening. It’s a story about people reminding themselves and others that there’s something inherently wrong with what’s happening in the world, and to not forget the power they have despite what their environment tells them. While we see plenty of cartoonishly evil corporate villains, the game’s portrayal of humanity is the core of its optimism. Midgar is covered in dust and garbage and the sky is eclipsed by a metallic plate, but we find ourselves endeared to it because of the characters and the moments we share with them. Tifa’s bar is in a slum named only with a number, but it has as much emotional merit to me as Aerith’s home, surrounded by one of the only gardens in Midgar. When the party eventually left the city, I caught myself missing the place.
Just like the citizens of Midgar, we too can get so used to the injustices and visible horrors around us. That adaptability is one of the best and worst things about being a human. We can survive so much, but we can also forget how we should be living. FF7 is a story about people reminding each other that even though things look beyond repair, there is still a world worth saving. That surprising ray of optimism coupled with tackling timely themes is why I think this story could be even more powerful today. As we return to Midgar, maybe it can remind us of the light we create in our own current period of darkness, and how that light alone is worth fighting for.
Tortimer
by Brendon Bigley
I can hear your roaring chortle,
clear as the sky above your epitaph.
I can’t make out what it says from here
but I hope it’s a riot,
raucous and poignant
and with the kind of sharpness
that comes from a life well-lived.
And I hope that it’s short
but the kind of short
that makes you catch your breath
before you turn the page;
something about responsibility,
or something about grace,
maybe both.
I took a train to see you once,
a slow night ride spent watching
blurry trees whip by
instead of my own reflection
peering from the windows
as they poured warm light
into the forest.
When I arrived,
with one-way unfamiliarity,
you kind thing,
you greeted me with warmth
as if you remembered every other town,
and told me your time
was coming to a close.
You told me I was ready,
and I think I was back then,
but I’m not sure I am now.
This newsletter was made possible by you, our incredible patrons.
We could never thank you enough. ❤
Stephen + Brendon