FRIENDSHIP OF LOVE (LOVE BETWEEN FRIENDS)
I’m continually baffled by the enthusiasm surrounding the Kingdom Hearts series. To me, these stories are banal and utterly incoherent, their faint traces of drama thoroughly smothered by torrents of hollow, self-serious dialogue. As the cinematics roll, my mind drifts—often to far more absorbing activities, like watching freshly painted walls dry. The prequel Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep is no exception, despite being hailed by fans as one of the franchise’s most “important” entries in terms of lore. Sure—just as Star Wars Episodes I–III were supposedly essential because the original trilogy was “too confusing.”
Burdened by constant references to earlier games—each already tangled in their own cross-references and narrative knots—the story collapses into a rambling mess. Birth by Sleep revolves around the eternal struggle between light and darkness. That should be simple enough, yet the addition of time travel, identity swaps, and interlinked character histories renders it nearly impossible to follow. It plays out like a child inventing a story on the fly, adding new rules whenever convenient.
The game follows a close-knit trio raised together in the Land of Departure, a secluded castle floating among distant worlds and shooting stars. Under the supervision of Keyblade Master Eraqus, they train in hopes of one day earning the same title themselves.
As the story begins, the brooding Terra and the relentlessly bland Aqua are deemed ready for their final exam. Ventus—the youngest—watches from the sidelines, eager for his chance. Aqua passes and is promoted to Keyblade Master. Terra, momentarily tainted by darkness, fails. Instead of celebrating Aqua’s achievement, everyone fixates on Terra’s inner turmoil. Consolations follow, but none seem to matter to Terra. Jealousy—fuelled by the ominous master Xehanort—shatters their friendship.
Their paths lead them through familiar Disney-themed worlds, where they rescue princesses, defeat darkness, and battle a new enemy faction called the Unversed—monsters with striking designs and, presumably, deep lore for those still invested. King Mickey plays a notable supporting role, while Donald and Goofy are reduced to cameos.
The setup could have been emotionally effective, but the game squanders its potential. With only a fleeting moment of shared happiness before everything unravels, there’s little time to grow attached to the trio or mourn their fractured bond. Dialogue leans heavily on clichés, and the flat voice acting does nothing to compensate. Terra is angst incarnate, Aqua is personality-free, and Ventus exists primarily to look concerned. Even accounting for a younger target audience, it’s hard to excuse cutscenes that exist largely to explain plot points or loudly announce feelings.
The music is solid, as expected, but not enough to redeem the writing. Visually, the game is colorful and imaginative—especially in its monster designs—but many environments feel geometrically dull and lifeless. Some boss fights do stand out, particularly a visually striking encounter with a magical mirror.
Gameplay, thankfully, fares better. The familiar third-person action-RPG foundation returns, bolstered by an excellent new system: the command deck. Abilities and spells are acquired through exploration, shops, or enemy drops, then equipped to level up automatically through use. Once mastered, commands can be fused to create stronger abilities, often with bonus effects like increased health or improved item drops.
This system is genuinely addictive. You’re encouraged to experiment with every ability, even those you initially dislike, since the results of fusion are unpredictable. New finishers, shotlock attacks, and temporary team-up abilities further expand your options. For a while, this constant sense of progression almost compensates for the narrative shortcomings.
Almost—but not quite.
The game ultimately undermines itself by insisting you play through the entire experience three times, once per character, to grasp the full story. Each playthrough is treated as a complete campaign, complete with credits. One run might have sufficed. Two would have been pushing it. Three feels excessive. The gameplay loop grows stale long before the narrative exhausts itself.
Played as intended, you revisit the same worlds three times in slightly altered orders, rebuild largely identical skill sets from scratch, and witness marginally different perspectives on the same events. This is no Rashomon. The story could easily have been told in a single, cohesive playthrough. While each character does face unique bosses and visit a handful of exclusive locations, the experience resembles hearing a band perform the same song three times in a row.
In the end, Birth by Sleep exemplifies what happens when a story aims too high and botches the landing. The resulting crash hurts more because of the ambition behind it. The enduring popularity of Kingdom Hearts suggests that early exposure—within a narrow formative age window—may be key to appreciating its excesses.
For everyone else, only the gameplay remains compelling. Action-RPG fans might enjoy a single-character run, which is genuinely solid. Should curiosity about the full story persist, a concise YouTube recap will suffice. As for me, my experience is forever tainted by playing it “properly,” losing dozens of hours I could have spent far more creatively.
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