Finally, as I plow through the history of the Kingdom Hearts series, I feel like I’m getting my money’s worth. In the months leading up to this entry, I’ve endured two games of mediocre to outright poor quality—the original PS2 classic Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts: Re:Chain of Memories—as well as a purely cinematic retelling of past events in the Kingdom Hearts: 358/2 Days “movie.”
In several crucial ways, Kingdom Hearts II: Final Mix succeeds where its predecessors failed. It paces its emotional highs and lows far more effectively, keeping my interest alive despite a confusing—and let’s be honest, often downright bad—story. More importantly, it addresses most of the flaws in controls and level design, resulting in a game that’s finally frictionless and enjoyable to play.
Like a traditional JRPG, the experience blends exploration, combat, and mini-games into a melodramatic overarching narrative. Once again, you control keyblade-wielding boy Sora on a journey through Disney-themed worlds, accompanied by royal knight Goofy and court wizard Donald Duck. Sora searches for his lost friends Riku and Kairi, as well as Mickey Mouse, the absent king of Disney Castle. Darkness threatens every world they visit, and Sora must seal it away using the power of the keyblade.
The charm of Kingdom Hearts II lies largely in nostalgia: reconnecting with childhood icons like Ariel and Simba alongside Final Fantasy characters such as Cloud, Aerith, Auron, and Vivi. Their roles are small, but their impact depends heavily on the player’s familiarity with them. One of the game’s great pleasures is entering a new world completely blind, wondering what kind of spectacle or challenge awaits. Each world retells the story of its source film, weaving Sora and his companions neatly into the narrative.
Since the end of the first mainline game, a new threat has emerged alongside the Heartless: the Nobodies, former humans stripped of emotion. To understand their role, you’re expected to have played Chain of Memories and watched (or played) 358/2 Days, two stories that unfold simultaneously and lead directly into the events of Kingdom Hearts II. Confusingly, 358/2 Days was released later, functioning as a retroactive prequel.
The Kingdom Hearts saga is, at this point, like a running gag—a Russian doll of stories within stories, realities within realities. It feels almost like the early stages of AI-generated storytelling. Nearly every line of dialogue exists to explain something, only to introduce several new questions. There are too many characters, their motivations are vague, the plot structure is incoherent, and the writers never establish clear rules for what is or isn’t possible in this universe.
Just watch YouTube comedian Dunkey attempt to summarize the series in four minutes. Most of it is accurate—apart from the jokes about Tigger, Pumbaa, and Eeyore.
Individual scenes can be genuinely affecting, but the overarching plot collapses under scrutiny. The avalanche of exposition discourages personal interpretation. All you can really do is surrender to the ride and hope the words align with the music to form something resembling a musical odyssey. Kingdom Hearts II speaks to emotion, not logic.
That it succeeds as often as it does is largely thanks to composer Yoko Shimomura. Her score elevates even the clumsiest dialogue, carrying the experience as an emotional rollercoaster. At times, it feels as though the music alone gives the story a depth it otherwise wouldn’t have.
This dreamlike, illogical approach is why the game opens with several hours as Roxas, an unknown boy living in the idyllic Twilight Town. As Roxas, you learn the mechanics while investigating a bizarre mystery involving stolen photographs—and even the word “photo” itself, making it impossible to pronounce. His journey eventually resolves, restoring the world to its “proper” order and returning control to Sora.
Ironically, this is where the game stumbles emotionally. Roxas’s arc is so effectively told that it becomes the true emotional core of the story. Once he’s gone, Sora and his companions feel comparatively hollow. Although Roxas remains important to the plot, he’s mostly reduced to an abstract concept buried in layers of exposition. He deserves more—and that neglect only deepens his tragedy.
Narrative shortcomings aside, Kingdom Hearts II is a genuinely enjoyable action RPG. I’m impressed by how character abilities tie directly into combat performance. Leveling up and defeating bosses grants new skills, but activating them requires spending limited ability points. You can never equip everything at once, forcing you to prioritize and adapt your build to the situation.
This system resembles tuning a car for a specific race in a racing game. With a few adjustments, Sora can function as a damage dealer, a mage, or a tank. Unfortunately, on the standard difficulty setting, most battles can be won by mindlessly mashing the attack button. This undermines the depth of the combat system and leaves you poorly prepared for the occasional difficulty spike.
On the other hand, this accessibility keeps the story moving at a brisk pace. You rarely hit a hard wall, and when you do, it feels deliberate and memorable. And while hammering the attack button may not feel stylish, the fluid animations certainly make it look stylish. Wisely, Square Enix also abandons the awkward, maze-like level designs of earlier entries. In their place are straightforward corridors, and platforming is minimized—jumping now serves primarily as a defensive maneuver rather than a test of precision.
Magic spells are somewhat underwhelming, but the game offers several ways to shift the tide of battle. You can summon allies like Peter Pan, Chicken Little, or Stitch, unleash devastating limit breaks, or activate drive forms—temporary states that unlock Sora’s full potential. Some allow dual-wielding keyblades; others amplify magic or enhance movement.
Despite an avalanche of tutorials, the game still fails to explain some crucial mechanics. Drive forms are supercharged states you can briefly turn into. They can be leveled up in different ways, and their bonuses eventually carry over into Sora’s base abilities—some of which are nearly essential for late-game encounters. I didn't understand thus until late. Even near the end, I mistakenly believed dodge roll was exclusive to drive forms, which is not the case.
Even so, it’s satisfying to see the series’ ambitions finally realized. Kingdom Hearts II: Final Mix wins by a thousand small cuts—numerous solid systems working together to carry the player forward. It’s a gift that keeps giving. Optional super bosses and hidden areas reward skilled players, while the lavish presentation encourages everyone else to forgive the narrative excesses. There’s something here for nearly everyone.
This was as far as I got back in the day, before the endless wait for Kingdom Hearts III caused the series to fade from memory. By the time it finally arrived, my interest was gone, and story recaps did nothing to revive it.
Only by replaying Kingdom Hearts II: Final Mix do I remember the appeal. It lives in the small moments: Donald and Goofy discovering their 1930s designs, Sora failing to understand why leaving Twilight Town breaks his heart, or finally optimizing my abilities to defeat that hooded boss in The World That Never Was.
And when the story loses its grip, I can always close my eyes and let the music carry me. At its best, Kingdom Hearts II feels like dreaming about youth itself—and unlike the earlier entries, it’s the best moments that linger once the dream fades.
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