Neverland Sky

Neverland Sky

Kingdom Hearts All Grown Up

Written by Samuel Gronseth

When I was a young kid, I inexplicably loved Fantasia.

My mother was confused about it, and in hindsight I can see why. You expect young children to enjoy cartoons with Goofy failing to ski, or Donald Duck getting into an increasingly ludicrous snowball fight with his three nephews, not artsy animations set to classical music. But nonetheless, it enraptured me as a child.

So you might imagine the feeling that swelled in my chest when, after 30+ hours of battling through the jungles of Tarzan and flying around Captain Hook’s pirate ship, the first notes of Night on Bald Mountain marched through my speakers and jolted directly into my heart. I had a second of disbelief, uncertain that the game would actually do what it seemed to be doing, when the view shifted from Sora and the gang floating in empty space to Chernobog, emerging from the top of a volcano.

I lost it. My wife can attest to the gleeful giggles and excited rambling as this terrifying artifact from my childhood (and let’s not get lost in nostalgia here, also a legitimately beautiful and dramatic animated short) roared before my eyes, immediately interweaving itself with the emotions and mythos of these characters I loved, and I was given control to directly face this immortal figure of animated art.

Then I actually had to fight him, and all that joy quickly dissolved into frustration and anger. And after multiple hours, countless failed attempts, and a number of screamed words that wouldn’t be appropriate for Sora to hear, I am ashamed to say this was the point where I gave up on Kingdom Hearts 1 and just watched the final cutscenes.

That sequence of events was a perfect microcosm of my feelings toward Kingdom Hearts 1. It gives me joy, it ignites my imagination, it makes me see old characters and stories in a whole new light, and I absolutely love it. But then I have to play it, and all those warm, fuzzy, electric feelings evaporate into a haze of maze-like level design and punishing, nonsensical difficulty spikes.

See, the scene I just described didn’t happen when Kingdom Hearts 1 released in 2002. I was 13 at the time. Had I played it back then, perhaps my relatively carefree childhood and bountiful free time would have led me to forgive the game’s wonky combat, punishing difficulty spikes, and seemingly endless parade of bosses before the finale. But when I actually played this game for the first time, I was not 13. I was almost 30.

For this reason, Kingdom Hearts 1 has a different place in my heart than it seems to for most people. I have minimal nostalgia, dating back only to my college years when I started the game a couple times but never got more than halfway through. I have only a love of Disney, a love of Final Fantasy, and a desperate desire to like this weird, charming, hot mess of a game. But frankly, the game isn’t always easy to love.

It would be cruel and unnecessary to recount the game’s faults in detail, both because we would be here all day, and because those faults do not define this game. I’m not here to convince you all that this game you love isn’t good. Partially because that would just be unkind, and partially because I don’t actually dislike Kingdom Hearts 1. For all its frustrations and missed opportunities and horrendous levels, I still cared about these characters. I still got lost in its world. I still shed a tear or two at the end.

I love Kingdom Hearts 1. I also kind of hate Kingdom Hearts 1. And at the root of all this is another emotion it took me a long time to pin down: jealousy.

Kingdom Hearts 1 is, more than anything in my estimation, a perfect embodiment of the innocence, naivete, and wonder of childhood. The protagonist is a kid who wants to see what’s beyond his little world, but doesn’t understand how this will change his carefree life and innocent, uncomplicated friendships. The game gives us peeks at worlds and characters from other realities entirely, hinting that the world is far bigger than we can see from here. Sora is surrounded by people who know more than him, who direct him in his quest, but he is ultimately the one in control of his own destiny. And everything, even the darkness and danger, is seen as wondrous, exciting, sometimes even playful.

As an adult, this invoked feelings in me. Strong feelings. It made me feel unrestrained, uncomplicated joy and connection and longing. It stimulated my imagination and took me back to places I already knew and loved,

In short, it made me feel like a kid again. In a way few things ever have. And I appreciate it for that.

But I also can’t help but feel that I would have appreciated the experience more if it spoke to me when I was still in that part of my life, instead of needing to take me back to it.

SAMUEL GRONSETH is the creator, writer, and host of the popular YouTube channel, “Games as Lit. 101.” https://www.youtube.com/user/gamesasliterature

Photo credit: Megan Kallas

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