Final Fantasy XVI review — a silly, self-aware and strikingly intimate sequel

Final Fantasy XVI opens in nearly unintelligible fashion. A lavish cutscene oscillates between a bloody battlefield and scheming politicians discussing the realm’s key power brokers: the Iron Kingdom, Waloed, Dhalmekian Republic, the Holy Empire of Sanbreque. If this sounds like a shameless riff on the gritty realpolitik fantasy of Game of Thrones, then that’s for good reason: the game’s producer, Naoki Yoshida, obliged his staff to watch the HBO’s series at the outset of production in 2016. Their task? To modernise the revered Japanese role-playing series for the era of hard-bitten, commercial fantasy. 

In Final Fantasy XVI you play as the emo-fringed Clive Rosfield, a resentful soldier intent on avenging his deceased young brother using the tool he knows best: a comically large sword. Despite the befuddling narrative of the first few hours, the game speaks clearly through its design. Gone is the turn-based combat the franchise is traditionally known for; in its place is action-oriented hacking and slashing, perfect for a tale that revels in the anger of its protagonist, and even finds a usefulness for it. This is not an open-world adventure like its 2016 road-tripping predecessor, Final Fantasy XV, but one which takes place in discrete, mostly linear levels. 

These environments are so sumptuously detailed that it can sometimes feel as if you’re wandering through a Pre-Raphaelite painting. From the Greatwood’s vast carpet of trees (also reminiscent of Tolkien) to the cataclysmic crater found at Phoenix Gate (intended to evoke the aftermath of a nuclear attack), Final Fantasy XVI delivers spectacle at both infinitesimal and operatic scales. Elsewhere, such as in a standout section set in the Iron Kingdom, the game delivers a potent mix of gnarled medievalism and eerie futurism, barren wildernesses punctuated by strange, monolithic structures, all set to an ominous drone soundtrack. This might be the 16th entry in the series, but its sense of aesthetic adventure remains undiminished.

As the story builds and symphonic music swells, the game hits fever pitch during its boss battles. Various characters including Clive and his mentor Cid (played with rugged charm by Ralph Ineson) transform into so-called Eikons, towering manifestations of their own inner demons. More than just a sweeping RPG, Final Fantasy XVI is also an action romp of uncompromising bombast and rare emotional intelligence, a delightful cross between a kaiju monster movie and the kinetic combat of PlayStation 2 classics such as Devil May Cry.

Crucially, the psychological journey of its characters always simmers beneath the bone-crunching duels. After each battle, Clive returns to The Hideaway, a clandestine sanctuary for those persecuted by the world’s various fascist factions. In these quiet moments, the game’s thematic heart is revealed, the community growing over the course of many years, carving out their own slice of utopia amid the realm’s ruins. At one point, Cid tells Clive that he wants to build a place where “people can die on their own terms.” Clive’s retort: “Why not a place where people can live on their own terms?”

It’s this sentimentality, at times goofy, at others moving, that helps ensure Final Fantasy XVI is no mere digital cosplay version of Game of Thrones. Rather, the game lands on a singular tone that is unflinching and gruesome (the putrefied fate of an enslaved group called the Bearers is wince-inducing), but also silly, self-aware and strikingly intimate. For all the over-the-top action — clashing blades accompanied by a firework display of particle effects — the game aspires to more than whizz-bang thrills. In this regard, it delivers and then some, embracing absurdity in its quest for genuine emotional resonance.

★★★★☆

On PlayStation 5 from June 22