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| Pikachu Records | bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net |
The fifth generation was a time for breaking patterns. You want another remake? Too bad! A third version that basically rehashes the plot? Have a pair of sequels! You want the villains' schemes to be thwarted well in advance of your final gauntlet of battles? You're in for a shock.
Of course the most exciting moment of Black and White came at the most unexpected time, after a prolonged smoulder. You've defeated the Elite Four and are climbing gilded steps to the magnificent temple where the Champion of the Unova League awaits you. Suddenly, an enormous castle bursts from the ground, utterly dwarfing the Pokémon League and decimating the temple. From the rubble appears N, the enigmatic king of Team Plasma, who invites you inside for tea and destiny.
Elitus interruptus of the most melodramatic kind.
Throughout your journey, you have encountered Team Plasma grunts littering the Unova region. You have continually foiled their attempts to forcefully separate Pokémon from their trainers, continuing a tradition dating back to Kanto — but this time it is not for their own selfish gain. Plasma genuinely believe that Pokémon are suffering under the cruelty of their lords and masters, and that liberation is the only option. Of course, all the games have always been quite keen on emphasising how happy Pokémon are to help out, and that the trainer-partner relationship is consensual and mutually beneficial rather than abusive. But the mere suggestion that a core principle taken for granted may not be as airtight as you believed is enough to give you pause.
A strange young man, known simply as N, finds his eye drawn to you. Each time you meet he waxes philosophic on the duality of truth and ideals, as personified by the great dragon of Unova's legends wrenching itself in half in order to ally with two equally worthy but ideologically opposed princes. He discusses the morality of pursuing one over the other, declaring that there can be no grey area in a perfect world — he earnestly and unironically drops the title: black and white must be clearly distinct, and it is he who will make it so. In a showdown at Dragonspiral Tower, a ruined castle sealed off since time immemorial, he reveals that he wishes to cast himself as a protagonist of this legend. Alongside his terrifying new companion he will persuade the masses to give up their Pokémon, and peace shall reign forevermore. With that, one of the dragons appears to him, recognising his steadfast conviction. N challenges the player to seek out the other. The only way to stop him is to step into the shoes of the other prince and prove yourself to the second dragon. He promises an historic clash, winner-takes-all, then absconds to the skies.
It seems that taking more risks (and reaping quite the payoff) needed to be somehow counterbalanced. The rest of the games seems sensible and appropriate and safe — from the nice neat hexagon formed by Unova's major cities to the measured and anodyne tone of the soundtrack. Any novelty in designing new locales (notably Chargestone Cave, crackling blue with electricity, where the player must carefully push floating magnetic stones out of their path) is undercut by the perfunctory and careless layout of the map. Games as heavily scripted as these are by necessity fairly linear, but past and future regions do a far superior job of disguising it with realistic biomes and copious backtracking.
Black and White began the inclination to shift focus away from the music, allowing it to discreetly engender mood from the background instead of leading the charge as it had in the past, at least in theory — most tracks the player hears in Unova are simpler, compositionally and instrumentally, but have not been softened as befits subtler background music. As a result, Black and White tend to blare unpleasantly. Visit any city — the loopy brass figure from the tiny airport of Mistralton, the heaviness of the potentially nimble Lacunosa ditty, the insipid xylophone dance around the Icirrus maypole — and you will find music that is coarser and somehow feebler than any from past regions.
The directors experimented with bolder camera angles, framing dynamic shots that really bring Unova to life. When climbing up through the wreck of Dragonspiral Tower, shifts of directional axis disorient and confuse the player, as if the very stone wants to deter you from whatever you will encounter at its peak. The player's first impression of Castelia City is one of the game's most striking moments — freed from the claustrophobic darkness of Pinwheel Forest, the bustling metropolis suddenly looms like a mirage in the distance. It only grows larger as the player strolls across Skyarrow Bridge to the peninsula. The anemic music here is real frustration, the grating faux-saxophone (saxofauxne?) distracting from the sprawling city's arresting design. Fortuitously and wholly by accident, this allows rare moments of musical inspiration to resonate far more strongly.
The final scenery-chomping confrontation with N in his elegant throne room is accorded the gravitas it deserves. The second dragon finally appears to you, artfully wrecking the décor, and fights on your behalf — N's theme is all regal church organ and depraved fanfare set to a raving techno beat. When inevitably defeated, his final speech is accompanied by an earnest piano solo, a bittersweet moment of emotional clarity that marks the only occasion on which the Black and White soundtrack's penchant for simplicity works in its favour. Humbled and chastened, N and his dragon fly away to pastures new and greener. As the credits roll, an upbeat anthem marks the end of the sincerest and most candid Pokémon game yet. The credits of previous games were accompanied by gentle piano ballads that all seemed to agree that your journey was over. Here, you have just begun.
Unova's flabby mismatching of style and substance extends to the characterision of the player's two friends and rivals, who never grow beyond the two dimensions of their sprites — Nerdy Guy and Adorkable Girl are nowhere near as compelling as the elusive N, and at times are outright annoying. Unfortunately the characterisation of the player's companions would have to get worse before it got better. X and Y's upgrade to full 3D is ironically accompanied by the flattest squad yet. It wasn't until Sun and Moon introduced Lillie that Pokémon games could lay claim to a single fully rounded friend, let alone a compelling character arc (and what a compelling arc it is — tune in on Saturday for more).
Despite neglecting the soundtrack, Black and White utterly stick the landing with a compelling and exciting denouement. Forgettable though much of the music may be, Unova presents GameFreak's richest story yet.