Metaphor: ReFantazio review - the quintessential Japanese RPG, with Atlus in epic, operatic form

What's the true meaning of fantasy? Often it's synonymous with magic, fairies, and dragons; tales of heroism and drama; vast, elaborate worlds that defy the impossible. Metaphor: ReFantazio gives us all of this, but Atlus goes deeper too. What is the real purpose of a fantasy story? Is it a metaphor for our own world? And what if a fantasy story centred on, of all things, a magical election?

In its 35-year history of developing games, Atlus has become renowned for its Persona and Shin Megami Tensei series. Now, it's moved away from teen drama in real-life Japan to offer a sprawling high fantasy adventure that evolves its formula, in what the studio calls a "culmination of our RPGs". Really, Metaphor: ReFantazio is the culmination of the genre as a whole. It's a quintessential Japanese RPG, inspired by the past but with Atlus' distinct style, cementing the developer as the pre-eminent producer of the genre alongside Square Enix and its celebrated Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest games. The result is an enchanting, thought-provoking fantasy that's epic in every conceivable way: grand in scope and operatic in drama; a poetic, heroic tale; and incredibly long.

Politics has often featured in Atlus games, but perhaps never quite so overtly. The narrative of Metaphor: ReFantazio centres on a magical election: following the death of the king, a tournament is held to decide the next ruler of the kingdom. Yet Euchronia is a world of disparate peoples - cat people, horned people, elvish people, and the like - with a mix of opposing ideologies. Can this kingdom truly be united? What responsibility does the king's power bring? And while anyone can compete in the tournament from a lowly common man to a formidable high priest, is the likelihood of winning really equitable?

Enter the game's bright-eyed, blue-haired protagonist, a young man striving for equality. He's an Elda, a race at the bottom of the ladder, perpetually hated and openly discriminated against by the rest of society. His mission, by becoming king, is to end prejudice. A tall order, perhaps, but in this game tolerance is - literally - one of five kingly virtues to develop alongside wisdom, courage, and more. Between the protagonist and his companions, diversity is celebrated despite the persistence of common cruelty, which results in some astute observations relevant to our own world: "Tribal perspective always divides us", and "You cannot pretend at diversity without acknowledging individual differences". It's a little on the nose, but it's poignant too. "Does a decision made by the people guarantee it's right?" asks one character. Perhaps Brexit voters can answer that one.

Importantly, the protagonist's inspiration is a fantasy novel he carries with him to read between key plot points. It tells the tale of a modern world without magic or discrimination, where all people live equally - a utopia in direct contrast to both Euchronia and our own world. Is it the world of the game, or the book within the game, that's the true metaphor? Is a fantasy world just an ideal to strive for, or is it truly attainable?

The shift to a fantasy setting means Atlus leans on stereotypes and conventions established way back in the '90s, be that character tropes, the setting, or systems. Of course it includes magical turn-based battles, cooking and fishing alongside a coliseum for monster fighting, hunt requests, mysterious outcasts, proud knights and tribal people, predictable story beats, and a Sephiroth-esque villain. There's even a Honeybee Inn. Thankfully, much of this is presented with a healthy dose of weirdness and eccentricity. Sure, it's typical to explore these sorts of worlds in an airship, but what about a Gauntlet Runner fuelled by steampunk mechanisms and giant legs to sprint across this colourful land?

What elevates Metaphor: ReFantazio beyond these stereotypes is the expertise of Atlus, both mechanically and creatively. Gameplay is a series of interlocking systems, with social elements and battles in symbiosis. Deepening relationships with certain characters leads to new Archetypes to be used in battle, which leads to new magic abilities and synched-up Synthesis moves to exploit weaknesses. Players earn currencies from battles, used to improve equipment or unlock more Archetypes to learn, and as the game opens up there are more methods to boost your kingly attributes and aid your companions to deepen relationships - and so the cycle continues. Every element of the game has a purpose, doled out slowly. You're always progressing, always achieving something.

Battles themselves are a sublime example of turn-based combat. As with Atlus' Persona and Shin Megami Tensei games, characters can exploit the elemental weaknesses of enemies to gain advantage in a swift and extravagant display, but here they're boosted by Archetypes - the personification of their inner heroism. In practice, Archetypes are a class or job system, allowing characters to switch between wizards, healers, warriors and the like, as well as more unique types. Any character can take any Archetype (though some are more suited than others) and through deepening relationships Archetypes can evolve into new forms. Over time, characters can be tweaked further by inheriting the skills of one Archetype into another, leading to a vast amount of customisation - perhaps a wizard gains healing power, or a warrior can cast spells. It's all expertly thought out and detailed.

A further wrinkle are Synthesis skills, where characters combine their Archetype powers into fierce new abilities - think Chrono Trigger's combined Techniques. Typically opposing types could combine for a magical strike, for instance, or multiple mage types could increase the potency of spells. It pays to experiment and diversify the party, while bosses and special hunts provide enough challenge to test your knowledge of combat's multiple layers. Additionally, there's action combat, where weaker enemies can be defeated in real time without the need for lengthier turn-based battles. The protagonist's Archetype determines his singular attack and he can dodge too - it's not exactly Devil May Cry but it maintains a consistently high tempo, and ensures grinding is a breeze without interrupting exploration.

All of these systems are presented with Atlus' typical stylish flair and effortless cool - characters saunter away nonchalantly after disposing of some giant creature like it's nothing. Fans have come to expect bold menu design and memorable music from the developer and they're here in abundance. Archetypes are chosen from a Virtruvian Man, for instance, while the varied classical score features playful orchestration ranging from operatic to gentle melancholy. In particular, its choral battle theme is exceptionally dramatic. Then Atlus brings trademark darkness to shock us and humanise its plot, with the twisted Dali-esque surreal designs of its big monsters - abominations ironically known as 'Humans' - as well as its narrative that draws on kidnapping, child abuse, and a corrupt church using faith as a political weapon to control the population and discriminate against those in need. Through this, it's the developer's view of religion that is perhaps the most damning of all.

Euchronia, then, is a world enveloped in anxiety and political unrest, yet there's still room for levity and humour. Its vibrant anime style features varied character designs, with long hair, bright colours, and psychedelic patterns forming a '70s vibe that only adds to the nostalgia. And it's frequently funny, whether through eccentric characters, inspired British regional accents (a pair of Liverpudlian cat-boys had me chuckling), the stern knight Hulkenberg's constant desire for food undermining the drama, or simply the childish disgust at being shat out the back end of a giant sand worm.

Beyond the politics and nightmarish creatures, there's an old fashioned, grand sense of adventure to Metaphor: ReFantazio. Not every area is explorable and its artful map is a menu that's, let's say, metaphorical for the world. Despite this, it feels far more expansive than the Persona games, each mostly locked to a single city, and allows Atlus to flex its creativity. One minute the party is interrupted by a rival candidate lusting for battle, the next they enjoy a moment of peace to ponder the beauty of a magnificent tree, wistful clarinet lingering in the background.

Like Persona, the game utilises a calendar structure where each quest takes a certain number of days to complete, so you'll need to manage your time between missions and social activities accordingly. However, this does mean the story can lack urgency as you cycle through days awaiting the next story beat. The same can be said for side quests, which can sometimes seem frivolous by comparison. There's always plenty to do to occupy time, though, and even if side activities undermine the core drama with tonal shifts, they enhance the characterisation of each charming companion.

That structure leads to long-windedness too, though that will hardly be a surprise to Persona fans. Dungeons can take hours to complete and while they're all hand-crafted rather than procedurally generated, and mostly feature unique environments and traps, their labyrinthine design can get repetitive. What's more, Atlus loves to over-explain. One moment, for instance, involved the game's fast travel system - while it was obvious to me what was happening, in-game the characters took far too long to understand this new ability. A little more editing wouldn't have gone amiss; at times this celebration of the genre can feel self-indulgent.

These are minor issues, though, that persist across Atlus' games. Perhaps Metaphor: ReFantazio's most unique flaw is under-utilising its election concept. The plot itself is ultimately linear so while I managed my own time with companions, I was rarely forced to make a major decision. Despite the game's diverse races and warring ideals, I was never given a choice of companion or faction to side with as part of a branching narrative. Instead, the protagonist's politics are pre-determined, all in service of a singular story without players needing to engage with the game on a political level themselves.

As such, the election at the core of the game is essentially a pretence to offer a compelling fantasy story and lacks a little political bite. It's hardly subtle, with its broad anti-religious sentiment and push for equality, while the idea of corrupt authority isn't new for Atlus. And on a smaller level, the shallow competing ideologies of cartoonish election candidates often boil down to: Eat the rich! Lower taxes! Everyone should be pretty! Then again, the likes of Count Binface would fit in well here. Despite the game's core conceit, Atlus isn't really making a political point beyond its big themes, and instead leans back on the sweeping ideals of hope in a world of cruelty.

Yet here even that feels sincere, rather than contrived. It's all part of that reframing of stereotypes - and its story, linear though it is, is gripping. Taken as a straightforward fantasy RPG Metaphor: ReFantazio is hard to beat, as Atlus expertly merges nostalgia and modernity. If its lofty thematic goals of ending prejudice and overcoming society's collective melancholia are too idealistic, perhaps that's actually the sort of positivity and hope we need right now. Maybe, above all, the true purpose of fantasy is to provide comfort as we reflect on our own world. If that's the case, Atlus' game is essential.