Blue Dragon is a well-made and surprisingly scatological
Japanese role-playing game designed by alumni of the Final
Fantasy series, as well as Akira Toriyama, the comic artist behind
Dragon Ball Z and Dragon Quest. The story follows a team
of spiked-hair, big-eyed anime teens who have been infused with
powerful magical spirit animals. The teens trek across a magical sci-fi
wasteland on a quest to defeat a mad scientist being an almighty dick
to their beloved peasant village.
With its sharp, colorful graphics, the game looks better than an
animated movie. Unlike the dark realism of most Xbox 360 games, the
towns, wastelands, and ruins are vibrant and whimsical. The story is
slow to start, with countrysides to wander and the odd dungeon to
explore. But things really pick up toward the end, as the game employs
a liberal dosing of cinematics, all crammed onto three DVDs.
Even with these pluses, however, Blue Dragon can’t really be
counted as revolutionary. It’s just exceptionally solid. Fairly
traditional, it sticks to many of the conventions of previous games:
linear story (move from point A to B), learning spells, searching for
hidden treasure, monster fights. The combat system is turn based, and
while it looks great, it feels like every JRPG game made in the last 20
years; big boss fights are even set to butt-rock heavy-metal songs.
Thankfully, monsters are visible on the screen, allowing you to choose
to avoid them or go after them—which means no more random monster
fights.
For all its adherence to tradition, however, there is a strange,
cheeky, and immature scatological fixation running through the game.
You can search for hidden treasure in golden feces piles. There is a
disturbing Freudian monster called a Poo Snake—a pink spiral pile
of poo with arms, legs, and the head of a snake. These are likely
in-jokes referring to Toriyama’s past work on Dragon Quest with
its Blue Slime monsters, but they seem out of place. Still, scat and
heavy tradition aside, the game is a decent attempt to capture former
JRPG glory. Much like the pulp paper comics of Japan, it’s a disposable
and enjoyable experience. 