Final Fantasy 7 Rebirth review: imperfect, uneven, unfocused, unmissable
I argued with myself for several weeks in university about whether to go to a seminar discussing T.S. Eliot's The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock. The poem meant enough to me that I didn't want to dissect it with a class. I wanted to keep for myself. I went in the end, and though I hesitated, I talked because I had things to say. It didn't kill the poem for me, but it does have a slightly awkward gait now, having never quite recovered from the incisions.
I now have to etherise Final Fantasy 7 Rebirth. Cait Sith is splayed upon a table. It's all scalpels, forceps, and oversized novelty dice. It's a strange way to treat art you love. The feeling I remember most from Rebirth on release is how grateful I felt to be alive to play it. Acute, active awareness of my own mortality with thoughts like "it would be properly shit if I died right now because I'd really like to see how this pans out". A personal 'never kill yourself' moment months before the meme gave voice, as the best often do, to an obscure and precious feeling.
An RPG where your character sometimes knocks on doors before opening them? What a time to be alive.