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juushikaIn paging through my Tumblr archives, it occurs to me to crosspost my gigantic pile of Corpse Party blogging, because it would be a loss to the greater internet if 7000 words about Morishige Sakutaro disappeared forever. Blanket TW for gore and character death.
First Playthrough
I'm Playing Corpse Party. (Did you know I have a PSP? I'd almost forgotten. Feels good to use it again.)
There's a fine line between "this baddie is a real and present danger and I should run away right now" and "I have tried and failed to get past this baddie six times now and I am really sick of the incredibly well-acted but now memorized, prolonged death scene that follows" and the tail end of Chapter Two has crossed it. YES AVOID THE GLOWING BLUE CHILD. I got it. Now it would be nice if I could ... avoid the glowing blue child.
Pretty fantastic game so far, though. Aesthetically it just manages to leave me wanting: it needs either a heavier hand with the illustrated gore in order to contrast the sleek but pretty traditional anime/visual novel styling, or a stronger overall style. As it, it leans slightly towards Umineko no Naku Koro ni territory of sleek and almost traditional but spiked with whiplash grotesqueries, but Umineko is all about that heavy hand and so the contrast shines, whereas here it never quite manages the same. The detailed backgrounds are fantastic if slightly monotonous (the limitations of a single location), but the character models are fuzzy and imprecise by comparison—a pity.
But where it excels is a combination of character and voice acting. The script is a little more down and dirty than the art style suggests, and it's perfect—it makes for a cast which exceeds the limits of its cliché character typing. The voice acting is exceptional, and when there's this much screaming, hyperventilating, and dying that matters one hell of a lot. What could be comical is not: it's haunting, and actually more effective than the bloody illustrations at conveying the horror and violence of the game. So while the plot, like the setting, has yet to grab me, the impact that both have on the characters—their terror, their immediate danger, the background threat of isolation and starvation—is compelling.
Now if only I could get past this section. (FAQ I had to resort to for earlier section advises: "Run out and go east to new area." THANKS GUYS.)
Morishige: literally perfect.
I'm actually liking most of Corpse Party's cast, for a variety of reasons. I get the girls confused a tad, but I usually do; they're also more prone to potentially annoying crying fits, but it's such a realistic response to the game's trauma (and so well acted) that I embrace them. I even like Yuka, because the most stereotypical of her tropes—looks young, acts young, is therefore vulnerable—are played up intentionally and to great effect, making her brother Satoshi into a fantastic character on her behalf, making Yuuya ... well, Yuuya.
Yuuya is worthy competition for my favorite character, because spoiler spoiler spoiler but of course I love his deceptive character type. Satoshi is a dark horse favorite, because he really is awesome—of the whole cast, his response to the hell he's in is perhaps the most realistic and powerful. Yoshiki is a little too obvious a shoe in because, I mean, gruff delinquent with a heart of gold? it's fair to say I collect those—but again the characterization is so solid that it's not a collection of clichés, but instead a compelling person.
But Morishige. Morishige, Morishige. I'm think I'm coming up on the tail end of chapter four, and I still haven't seen much of his relationship with Mayu other than word of god that they're close, but leaving that aside: his response, his isolation and macabre fascination, how he teeters on the razor line between disinterest and awareness, keeping it together and breaking down, lack of affect and idly digging through piles of rotting entrails just ... is so twisted and compelling. It sets him apart and makes him stand out and I can't keep my eyes off of him. Most realistic responses? No. But the best? Yes my god this kid is perfect.
If you're me.
And I am.
Morishige's death transcribed
It's half identification and half fascination, which is an ideal combination for the birth of a favorite character. I get it, Morishige, I really do—and also I think you're a twisted little freak, and I love you for that, too.
Morishige uses it, primarily, not to unite but to distance. He looks at corpses, at his pictures of corpses, and sees them as Other: they are not whole, as he is; they are not people, as he is; they are rendered inhuman, therefore he is still human. But his complete lack of affect—that he doesn't see human remains as human, that he can't equate them to human suffering but if anything equates them to further dehumanizing humiliation, that, well, he can go digging in a pile of entrails without so much as a hiccup of revulsion—indicates that there's actually something wrong with, something inhuman in, him.
But it's not all distance. He gets off to them, his pictures, his corpses—and don't you dare tell me that his heaving breathing is anything but. He lingers by their bodies, wallows in their entrails. He bonds to them, flesh to flesh. He's standoffish with his classmates, can only admit to the truth of his relationship with his sole friend when she is far beyond his reach, but the corpses are his lovers in all their rotting glory.
Like Kizami Yuuya, he wasn't like this on the outside world—but the potential was always there. What Heavenly Host Elementary School brings out in its prisoners is more interesting to me than the story behind the building itself, which is brilliantly delivered but fairly predictable. It exposes fatal flaws and unexpected courage, but most of all it exposes. How we behave in extreme situations is indicative of nothing save potential, but honestly that's a hell of a lot: that we have it in us to be brave and to break down, that maybe we just need a little push to become serial murderers, that there may be something very strange, in some of us, in how we interact with our fellows—cringing from their wholes, wallowing in their unconnected parts.
Science Lab anatomical model
In the not-a-mental-illness sense (i.e. not my agoraphobia), my greatest fear is life where life should not be. It's almost but not quite autonomatonophobia, as it's both broader and more specific: Semi-humaoid animatronics can still freak me out (let me tell you about the terror that is cymbal-banging monkey toys). Many dolls are miraculously terror-free, and some I even want to collect. Things like mannequins and wax figures are weird, but not on their own scary. But a living doll or a wax figure that moves outranks everything in terms of things which scare the shit out of me. They make spiders seem quaint and forgettable.
I call it "life where life should not be" because it's more about that than the basic uncanny valley effect of the not-quite-human: it's the essential wrongness of something which mimics but fails to be life suddenly gaining it—and the threat that then anything, any doll or figure, could cross that boundary.
What I'm saying is that the Science Lab basically destroyed me.
I'm finding Corpse Party scarier than any game I've played or watched for a vast number of reasons, and I admire it—it's a testament to the game as a success. I've had a few creep out moments (playing on the train before dawn, headphones on, isolated and consumed) and startles (playing in bed, in the dark, with headphones on, and then the cat moved and I almost lost my shit), and I love them.
But the Science Lab was a full-body flush of fear, a red wave from the gut outwards that left my fingertips tingling. It was the knowledge that something was about to go very wrong, and then the game playing coy with me ... and now it's basically spoiler time: inviting me to begin the wrongness and to shoulder the blame, to doubt that things were beginning, to hope that they could ever possibly be over. There's some fantastic Wrong Ends on the basis of concept and voice acting alone, but the Science Lab has substance and character (although I can only ship Yoshiki/Ayumi on the basis of what their relationship says about each, and intense and unusual situations lead to intense and unusual bonding), and it preys on exactly what I fear most, and it plays so clever and cruel right to the end.
And then I had to turn off the game and turn on the lights and read something for a bit so that I was thinking of something other than a sheet over an anatomical model when I was trying to sleep.
Mayu's voice is Morishige's apocalypse
Replaying Corpse Party Chapter 5 with guide in hand so maybe I can not get stuck in an endless loop this time.
Apocalypse is one of my favorite words for reasons I've discussed before*. We use it with one meaning—the end of the world—but its etymology means something else: revelation. Take the two together, and an apocalypse is a cataclysmic revelation, the knowledge that destroys the world.
Mayu's voice is Morishige's apocalypse.
It's the uniting of his two halves, his best and worst: his unnatural disconnect from humanity, and his intense bond with the meat of men. His beloved pile of rotting entrails is no longer a dehumanized abstraction, but rather identified—in first person, by Mayu herself—as the closest thing he has to a lover by normal terms. The knowledge obliterates him, destroying his mind and then by implication his body.
But there's a joy in his self-destruction: his crazed laughter is gleeful. It is the best and worst thing that could happen to him, to discover that the jumble of flesh has an identity, the worst possible identity, and that he's been defacing his beloved this whole time—but also to know that the corpse he loved best was the person he loved best, and it's she that he's been viewing, fondling, loving this whole time.
It's horrible, it's beautiful, it's too much and the knowledge destroys him.
* In this discussion about The Path.
I beat Corpse Party on the train. Not the real, 100% completion, good ending—I'll get that someday which is not today—but also not the stuck in an infinite hell loop ending, so: success.
On the whole, Wrong Ends are handled well—it's fairly quick and easy to rush through content you've already seen in order to find a new branch on the path, and having those slew of deaths behind you never feels like a failure because they're as much a part of the story as your survival is. What determines the branches of the path, however, sometimes bothers me, especially in Chapter 5. The mechanics for the infinite hell loop (i.e. your two parties can only reunite once, so you better have all your collectables or have fun restarting the chapter) are arbitrary, and as such senselessly frustrating. Which items trigger the right ending are likewise—playing without an FAQ on the train turned it into a multiple choice guessing game, and I learned nothing from my mistakes other than how long I needed to spam "next" in order to get through my death and back to the quiz part of the scene.
So there's that.
Near all the rest of the game I loved.
I found the game more frightening than emotionally resonant, but that's not quite a bad thing. Where character development and interaction are concerned, I found it a compelling and detailed, often believable, depiction of the effects of trauma and stress; with a few exceptions (Satoshi/everyone, but primarily Satoshi/Yuka) I didn't see the relationships as entities in their own rights, but rather as insights into the experiences and emotions of the individuals involved. So while there are emotional moments, they were more fascinating than affecting: they were another view of what can happen to a person, and between people, in such an extreme environment.
I haven't yet mentioned the game's focus on bodily functions, but I love it. Yes, it's embarrassing and absurd, and can be problematically fetishized (Yuka, I'm looking at you), but it may be my single favorite factor of the game's atmosphere. Well, maybe not more than the voice acting—the game would be dead in the water without that—but the focus on the most mundane of bodily functions are what bring it all home: you're trapped in hell, assaulted from all sides by more than you can handle, but starting your period is the straw to break your back. You don't just feel like you're going crazy; you know that being thirsty now means that you could soon die of dehydration. The focus on the body, on how we're tied to it, how it limits and threatens us, ties the vast supernatural concept onto the believable details of the real. There game is full of things worse than death—but death is still pretty damn bad, and if you end up with "worse" it will probably be because of this fragile, demanding sack of meat.
I imagine I'll replay Corpse Party to get the real ending at a later date, when the cutscenes feel fresh again and I can enjoy it, rather than just rush through with FAQ in hand (although that is where the FAQ will be, thanks to name tags). It's also one I'll lend to the roommate, who loves survival horror.
Because honestly, it's the best horror in a visual medium that I've ever encountered. The concept is okay, but the execution is exceptional—and that's an impressive combination. An earworm of an idea, one so inherently unsettling that it burrows into your brain and lives there, may be tricky to find but they're damn easy to execute, and then you end up with a generation and half of kids who will always remember Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark but, you know, it ain't art. A good but not great idea has potential, but extracting every drop of it takes skill. Corpse Party wrings the stone in its fist: interactive medium, excellent audio, strong cast, and a wealth of details to drive it home. It's not perfect but it is fantastic, and I'm glad I gave it a go.
Second Playthrough
Starting
guess which part of this incredibly infuriating stupid asshole game I'm currently at
no, really, guess [spoiler, it's the aforementione glowing blue child]
like there are fewer things I enjoy than the sound of Yoshiki choking on gravel and dirt as he's repeatedly buried alive, but! after a dozen listens, even I'm good, thanks
A favorite game
Incredibly infuriating asshole nature aside:
I couldn't pick a favorite game any more than a favorite book, the medium is just too large. Imagine here that I'm rambling about the games I think most worthy of respect, or which I've sunk the most time into, or which caused various formative changes; imagine that it's an unwieldy ramble that could double as "half of every game I've ever played."
But the truth is, my favorite game may be Corpse Party. Favorite in the way that Maledicte is my favorite book, even though books are as large a medium: it's not the objective best, it's not the game that everyone should play, it's not particularly formative; but it takes root deep down in my id and, there, it's perfect.
Corpse Party, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
It has superb voice acting, despite the game's indie origins and the demands on the voice acting. Panting/crying/dying sound effects easily slip into the territory of narm; these go the other way, precise and guttural, intentionally approaching the pornographic. Much of the game straddles "horrific or pornographic?" but
it's intentional. See: the focus on the bodily functions [see "I beat Corpse Party on the train." section for more info]. These make the hell dimension tangible, balance the ephemeral scale with small physical embarrassments, parched throats and unexpected menstrual cycles. Occasionally it functions as comic relief; more often, it makes the violence resonate because we're always focused on bodies: their needs and fragility and the sounds of their failure.
Seiko/butts and the whole Yuka/omorashi thing trip right into fetishistic, but then so does Morishige's love affair with entrails; it's not unproblematic, but it is to an extent universal.
Survival game/survival setting stories are my weakness because I like to see characters confront the impossible, or rather what they just couldn't conceptualize: the dissolution of social mores and rules; mutilations and deaths, including their own. Who allows their morals to be compromised? (Who doesn't, and dies instead?) Who says fuckit and becomes a murderer; or says finally and realizes their dream of becoming a serial killer? Who has what form of breakdown? What do the responses to these extreme conditions say about their underlying personalities, their interactions, their reactions?
And I like violence because it's communication, unusual in form and content: conversations with selves and others that aren't likely to occur any other way; often intimate by nature, because they're conversations that occur via bodies.
And Corpse Party is a superb version of both. It doesn't go the route of dark humor (see: Danganronpa); it doesn't go the route of axe-crazy, wildly exaggerated and almost surreal facial expressions and psychic breaks (see: When They Cry, Mirai Nikki). Instead, it vents that excess into the fetishistic, discomforting and borderline sexual—which actually serves to bring the emphasis back to the body, which allows even wilder a setting and even more impossible things to happen to bodies.
To say that it hits my kinks would be a vast understatement. This is all I want in the world: extreme reactions to impossible situations, realized with loving and grotesque detail. Also, it uses Wrong Ends to explore those themes to the fullest. Also, Morishige, actually perfect, with a particularly literal form of communication-via-violence. Also when I was playing at 3am with the lights off and headphones on, my bedroom door slammed shut with a resonant bang because breezes or air pressure or vengeful grade school ghosts, so there's that, too.
Morishige and Fireshrine
Trolling 8tracks for Morishige fanmixes because I'm trash, and everything is awful until someone includes Fineshrine by Purity Ring.
Does it fit? Not really, because Morishige's story is about disconnect: his distance from others, his intimacy with dead bodies; his authentic caretaking of Mayu, his fetishization of her corpse; the collapse that comes when the objectified dehumanized corpse is revealed to be the only living person he cares for. To give the violence-victim a willing voice destroys that disconnect. That particular intimacy was on Morishige's side alone.
But violence-as-intimacy, violence as definitive relationship, is far more accurate than a dozen songs about starcrossed romances (which is rather to miss the point) or whatever trope you'd use to describe those violence-as-overly-literal-metaphor alt rock songs.
Morishige finds a blood-soaked pouch
My other favorite thing about that Morishige scene:
(Juu, did you think about that all night? shhh don't be ridicul—yes, yes I did) I'd that Ayumi and Yoshiki are given every opportunity to mention the identity of the corpse—it's on their minds, Shige has obviously interacted with it, they know he and Mayu were close, the subject has in every possible way come up, they just don't say anything
because they're distracted by Morishige.
It's a fantastic sequence: in the face of their chapter-long avoidance of that hallway, the doll provides a taunting, cruel, loving-detailed description of Mayu's corpse—and then as they're trying to figure out how to do the one thing they least want to do, Morishige shows up, poorly pretending not to've done it. He's an awful liar. He makes vague attempts—he knows his fascination with corpses is not for polite company—but he can't pull it off. The very things that make him depend on Mayu's acceptance, that also make him objectify and dehumanize humans via anonymous corpses, also make him too removed from others to know how to pass, to be anything other than disconcerting. And he's too far gone, in the sense of "too fascinated" as well as "too unhinged." There's every sense that his social distance was subdued, before—something he felt keenly but that no one else much noticed, except perhaps Mayu. Heavenly Host has changed him, extrapolating his problems until his fingers are gore-stained and he doesn't bother to hide them.
Anatomical model take two and Wrong Ends
The anatomical model wrong end (Chapter 5 Wrong End 1 3) ins't as terrifying the second time—and, frankly, the first time was so scary that I'm fine with that. But what a great Wrong End.
It's thematically tight (the only way to encounter/avoid it resolves around curiosity, echoing both the conversation when Yoshiki first investigates the model and the theme of investigative wariness throughout the game: to explore everything is necessary but also, in itself, dangerous).
And more than that: a perfect example of building character through Wrong Ends. They're the chance to expose characters to unique, extreme stimuli; to show reactions that may only be incited by these particular circumstances, but which build a more detailed portrait of the characters—because, while not canonical, they're possible. Yoshiki's reactions to the concrete chance to become a savior; the way he compares himself to Satoshi (without animosity, but with a certain envy); the increasing intimacy of the relationship between Yoshiki and Ayumi, still marked by combative interaction. All that potential is buried in them, and we've seen glimpses (especially in the scenes around pool in chapter 4), but they're made explicit here—but, canonically, unrealized; so much remains unsaid between them.
Corpse Party: Book of Shadows
Chapter 1: Seal
I never had much emotional investment in Corpse Party, and that's not a complaint! The draw for me was using hellish circumstances and Wrong Ends to explore how people cope with the worst possible stimuli, who becomes a hero, who starts fetishizing corpses, etc. Naomi/Seiko in particular didn't move me; Seiko functions interchangeably as fanservice and comic relief, so that her death leaves Naomi stricken is jarring, although I like the fallout of Naomi's assumed and actual guilt.
Well there's more feels packed into the bed scene BoS Ch1 than the entirely of the base game. The difference is subtlety; the way that Seiko alternates between defensive humor and vulnerable emotion provides necessary explanation, and. just. Naomi: empathetic but uncomprehending. It has all the depth I needed base game to have. It's beautiful.
The hair in her mouth, the black fluid on her thighs! These small details are so satisfying because the base game has a strong emphasis on the physical—those are small, mundane details like twisted ankles (as this narrative recalls) that ground the horror, as I've mentioned 2398234 times but discussed in detail in the "I beat Corpse Party on the train" post; these are strange, nightmare details, able to piggyback onto what the base game achieves and become truly unnerving.
I went into Book of Shadows nearly blind, as I am wont to do; I had no idea it was a collection of side stories/alternate universe tales. Corpse Party has fantastic Wrong Ends; they're the game's foremost tool for exploring reactions to negative stimuli. This side story turns the base game itself into a Wrong End, and I just ljsdfsdfs it's so beautiful, it's captivating meta that falls perfectly in line with the game's ethos. To call "Seal" a strong start would be an understatement, this was some seriously good shit.
Chapter 2: Demise
Chapter 2 Wrong End 1—where Mayu is literally torn limb from limb—is excessive, not in the sense of "tasteless" (this is Corpse Party! who cares about taste!) but in the sense of "violating the game's reasonable scope and suspension of disbelief for the sake of grotesque creativity." But so help me if the sound effect of cracking bones is anything but superb.
100% absolutely totally fine.
The delight of these stories is that every word is steeped in dramatic irony, simultaneously hilarious and horrifying. Unlike foreshadowing, we don't look forward: we look back, seeing with all the benefit of hindsight every betrayed hope and expectation. It's overwritten, sure; it's also engaging and effective.
[screenshot of Yoshiki hugging Ayumi]
"If circumstances were different, this could be the start of a really heartwarming, romantic scene": the game. I don't really ship Yoshiki/Ayumi (I don't really ship anyone except Shige/corpses), but:
where the base game has biology to ground the horror, this has intimacy. Needing to pee and needing a moment to rest both mark the passage of time and create a sense of scale, but this is quieter, more private, with an interpersonal focus.
Can we take a moment to admire the art in this game: the additional character assets, like Yoshiki's cringe face; the chance to see memorable locations realized in full detail (setpieces like Mayu's remains and the upcoming dissection room are great, but my favorite may just be the hallways of Heavenly Host, shattered, dark, corpse-littered); it has the expected stylistic pitfalls, but [in a specific screenshot example] the closeup makes the whole eye/face/hand/what's going on with her nose and fingernails ratio glaringly awful, look at the loving detail of that injury.
But the highlight of "Demise" was the orchestration of Mayu's death. Her splitting, bruised stomach has inherent foreshadowing, since we know how she died in base game; Nana's bruises remind us it's inevitable; the art is horrific, especially as the marks grow darker—less in its own right but because it's so intimately suggestive, because it recalls precise details of the most memorable, horrific character death in game. And when that death comes, it has every detail that the Chapter 2 Wrong End is missing: it's as excessively grotesque, but the aspects that require a suspension of disbelief (the autonomous splitting of her body, the strength of the child spirits) are integrally tied to Heavenly Host, especially as it appears in these chapters, not just a closed space but a closed time. Heavenly Host will rearrange itself, it will make these fates inevitable—but most especially Mayu's. Her death is a fixed event, central to so many experiences. Attempting to avoid it only makes it worse.
(That said, Mayu's voice is surprisingly shrill? This saddens me; the voice acting was the highlight of base game, and almost universally flawless. Luckily, the sound of her insides is great.)
Chapter 3: Encounter
Let me sum up: ehhhhh.
I love the use of timed choices: it breaks up the slow, forgiving flow of most visual novels, and of Book of Shadows in particular which, for better and worse, doesn't even have the chase sequences of base game—so things like avoiding the fucking blue ghost are just "don't click the obvious danger zone"—such engaging gameplay!
I mentioned that Mayu's voice was unexpectedly shrill; the mysterious old woman in "Encounter" is just plain awful, harsh and overacted. If I seem to be harping, it's only that the voice acting in base game was what sold me on the whole thing. Book of Shadows has fantastic sound design—the binaural audio is sometimes gimmicky but often used well, and the foley work is phenomenal. But it feels like giving extra screen time to characters that originally had little—like Mayu—exposes the fact that they aren't that good. And hell if I know what's up the old woman's voice acting.
But, to the point: Tsukasa is charming, the encounter is scary and the atmosphere strong, this chapter establishes some backstory for Heavenly Host, but flashbacks just don't contribute much to the main narrative. The foreshadowing is too distant; the views into Satoshi and Yui's dynamic is just plain bizarre. This chapter is half uncomfortable fanservice and half horror too disconnected from the Heavenly Host experience. It left little impression.
Chapter 4: Purgatory
I have mixed feelings about Naho's flashback personality. I like what the voice actor has to say about it—that the discovery of Naho's playful, sweet side initially seems out of place but comes to make a certain sense and create a more complex character. And I like what this indicates about Heavenly Host, that it changes her—begins to change her before she even goes there, due to her psychic ability.
But what's well and good in theory is ridiculous in execution. Secretly cute is one thing, meowing like a cat is another. The upcoming pantyshot doesn't help: this chapter embraces anime clichés so hard as to feel like fanservice, and it's not the same sort of fanservice in Chapter 1, where the bathing nudity was also a conversation about bodies and sexual subtext. This serves no purpose, it only undermines the development of Naho's personality.
I do love the way that the flashback narrative alternates between Sayaka and Naho's PoV. Sayaka is charming, and makes for a marked contrast to Naho. The background music changes, the tone changes; Naho's her inner voice is pragmatic, pessimistic, cold. (Her playfulness/coldness exhibit simultaneously in her at-home behavior, particularly her treatment of Taguchi.)
The horror elements are superb, partially as a result of the inherent foreshadowing but mostly because of the way Naho's somber narrative contrasts with the chapter's cute, energetic trappings, adding tension and a darker tone. Sachiko's first appearance is startling; the voice on the recording is perfect—the clip repeating, growing louder, until character and player alike are listening with anxious anticipation.
Naho has a strange role in base game, simultaneously architect and victim. The narrative and cast emphasize the former, but the latter is a constant distraction, pulling Naho's attention slantwise and making her the worst sort of guide through hell. In the base game, we learn that the Sachiko charm is a combination of both—and we revisit it here, see her disseminate the charm with intent but due to motivations outside of her control. It's still objectively unconscionable, but now it makes a strange sort of sense.
Finally: everything about the Dissection/Death room is flawless. This isn't the most profound example of metaknowledge but it's one of the most effective, because when Sayaka stumbles around there in the dark, the dramatic irony of the player's knowledge, of that little grain of rice she finds on her legs, is almost overwhelming. It's a delight, too, to see the room drawn in detail; that Sayaka gets caught up in details (the maggots, the bucket of arms) accentuates this. And I have hella tolerance for the grotesque, but the tongue removal sound effects even grossed me out—the sound design in this game is amazing.
who cares who cares next chapter is Morishige fuck yeah
Chapter 5:Shangri-La, or: A Morishige Essay
You know those tingles you get from close-listening to a piece of music? The transcendent and ironic beauty of Hannibal finding the eye in S2 while Dona Nobis Pacem rises behind him? That's the prologue to chapter 5. I should have been nervous about a Morishige-centric chapter, as I find him flawless in base game and Book of Shadows has been hit and miss in how it expands on characters. But if I was, the prologue put that to rest.
The delicate dirge made of Pachelbel's Canon. The contrasting, cheery tone of the phone. Morishige romanticizing the most disturbing details of death, "The blood that splattered far and wide shone in my flash like a bright red flame, and whole chunks of flesh were strewn about like flower petals." Viewing it as art; viewing it as a study of human nature. "Yet only humans possess the capacity to turn their violent impulses into art." (He even gets the title drop!) Morishige questioning his own motives; Morishige wondering, with all dramatic irony, about the identity for this corpse, and asking her to speak to him.
I appreciate that the prologue addresses Morishige's interactions with Yuka. In base game, Morishige appears passive rather than active, a consumer of corpses (although that's no small thing). The discomfort he causes in others is merely a biproduct of Heavenly Host, which has revealed preexisting poor social skills. Stalking Yuka then feels out of place, too proactive, even aggressive.
Book of Shadows clarifies, classing him not just as consumer but as budding producer, a little baby psychopath. (See, also: Mitsuki and Fukuroi talking about Kizami, "strong in body and strong of will," "probably fine by himself." In Chapter 2 "Demise," Mayu and Yoshiki made the same, equally ironic, assumptions about "cool and collected" Morishige who was "fine, wherever he is." We're invited to elide Shige and Kizami, seeing the similarity between baby psychopath and psychopath at his peak. As Sachiko says: "I like you. You've got promise.")
I love the Wrong Ends in this chapter—they're so creative and lovingly detailed, and the narrative wants us to them to see them that way, to obsess over the same intimate details that Morishige does, to appreciate them, as he does, for their spectacle and commitment.
(Ah, the sweet sound of Shige gagging.) Morishige's discovery of Ayumi's corpse in Wrong End 4 is a conscious attempt at depersonalizing corpses. The veritable corpse party of Heavenly Host has thusfar been composed of (presumed) strangers; but Ayumi he knows, and Ayumi he must force himself to dehumanize. This is also the most active and unhinged of his corpse desecrations—in his attempt, he goes too far (trying to rip out her hair with his teeth! laughing while reaching to take her tongue! every family's favorite memento of a deceased loved one, as we all know).
(It's interesting, also, that Shige immediately wonders why Yoshiki wasn't with Ayumi—his focus is always interpersonal, and here he unconsciously compares Yoshiki and Ayumi with himself and Mayu, pinning hope on the thought that, if together, they should be able to save each other.)
In base game, Shige dies when depersonalization is confronted with intimacy, when he realizes that the corpse he most idealized is in truth his only real friend. I've written about this before. On one hand, to have Ayumi's corpse trigger an identical end cheapens his relationship with Mayu, as both friend and favorite corpse; on the other, this trigger is inverted: rather than a depersonalized corpse revealed to be a personal friend, Ayumi begins as a person and it's his inability to depersonalize her that does him in.
The scene with Kaida's corpse in the entranceway is an unconcious attempt at depersonalization. Shige is isolated, by circumstance and by choice, from other people; Mayu is his only safe form of socialization, and he can't access her. In his obsessive search of her, he's constantly aware of what her absence means. He's never known how to socialize with anyone else, and Heavenly Host has taxed him beyond his ability to maintain a sociable facade. He needs help now more than never, actively searches for help, and is explicitly unable to find it.
Corpses, meanwhile, are everywhere.
They become safe platform for experimentation, silent recipients of his emotional turmoil. In order to remain safe, they must be dehumanized. But his ability to interact with them means that he's more intimate with the deceased than the living; in fact, the more comfortable he grows with corpses, the less he's able to interact with other people, who find him increasingly strange.
Distance and intimacy are the selfsame thing, all a single outlet for preexisting anxieties that Heavenly Host has exacerbated. But, once again, he goes too far.
And it's the best scene in any game in the history of ever.
Morishige mocks Taguchi, but the truth is that Taguchi, viewing the dead through his camera lens, is succeeding in what Morishige consciously intends to do: distancing himself from tragedy as a way to cope with it. Morishige thinks that distance comes naturally, since distance is his default. But what Morishige unconsciously desires is intimacy—it's why he treasures Mayu, why he constructed a "cool and collected" persona, why he struggles with the forced isolation of Heavenly Host. In searching for intimacy, here where the rational and the normal have long since broken down, he overreaches. Stalks Yuka. Slides his hands into corpses. Melds the conflicting ideal of distance and desire for intimacy into something atrocious.
And there is that telling detail:
That we shouldn't be surprised that this was the form his inner conflict took. Sachiko certainly isn't. Morishige had this potential, all along.
This chapter's end is flawless. We knew that his favorite corpse in this universe must still be Mayu—but to have it explicitly revealed as the remains of Mayu's Book of Shadows Chapter 2 death is the most perfect of possible denouements. My life feels empty, to have finished this chapter—but I have an impression it has post-game content? Not all hope is lost.
Shangri-La bonus thoughts
Here's the other interesting thing about Morishige's experience in "Shangri-La": no matter the current configuration of the school, the infirmary door opens for him. Heavenly Host is a hell dimension not just because bad things happen there, but because it facilitates bad things. Free will is crucial—it's a theme many of the spirits reiterate it, urging survivors to be strong, not to give in to the darkening. And the hands-off game of the school is terrifying, the clogged sinks and broken pipes, long, passive deaths by dehydration and hunger. But Heavenly Host remains a closed space and a closed loop, and is frequently proactive in its aims. In "Demise," Mayu's death is a fixed point, not just in fact but in nature: she will split open, and if she tries to avoid it then the school will manufacture it. There is fate, which Heavenly Host achieves through effort.
And so Heavenly Host renders for Morishige the worst possible stimuli: he struggles when separated from Mayu, and so is separated from her; he displays negative coping mechanisms when exposed to corpses, so is given corpses; when the two overlap the results are awful, so he has access to Mayu's corpse in particular, no matter how it defies Heavenly Host's internal logic, no matter which loop he's in.
Chapter 6: Mire
The binaural audio can be gimmicky, even distracting; but then there are moments like this, when Kizami's opens up into his deep, loud psychopath voice and then comes around to whisper "cry for me, Yuka," right into her/our ear, which are so very effective. I adore Tomokazu Sugita's voice—it's surprisingly deep (especially compared to the rest of this cast) and, when he wants, so resonant.
In base game I honestly didn't make much connection between Morishige and Kizami, but I like how Book of Shadows handles it: Shige approaching corpses as art, as a means of exploring and elevating the human condition; Kizami also views murder as elevation and as beauty, "It's only when one's terror and hopelessness reach their peak that the soul truly shines!" To be fair, the latter wasn't present in base game: from what we see of Kensuke's murder and other Byakudan corpses, Kizami's murders are brutal but efficient; torture and "revealing the light" are slight retcons.
But, more importantly, both are using death to establish communication. Morishige perceives corpses as a safe social platform, using them to vent his anxieties. Kizami:
Kizami compensates for his sociopathic inability to relate to humans through violence, using it to establish meaningful, "true" dialog. Similar motives, similar medium, different methods, although, as Sachiko points out and Book of Shadows establishes, Morishige may have some unrealized potential for active violence.
You'd think I'd find Yuka irritating, but I never do. There's some ick done with her character, the omorashi, the loli aspects of her victimization in this chapter (the pantyshot when Kizami slices her dress, I mean really), the fanservicy treatement of her age and appearance and cutesy behavior. Bless that her voice actor has such humor about this—her soulful testimony is a delight.
But while I have quibbles, I love her. I love her misplaced sense of propriety most of all—everyone is sensitive to the smelly dirty gross aspects of Heavenly Host, but no one is as obsessive as Yuka, fastidious in her choice of bathroom, burying her soiled underwear. In a way, it makes the truth of the situation graver to have such fervent petty contrast.
So the fact that she ends up in the basement, in the dissection/death room and then in the body pool room, and then in the pool in one of history's most stomach-churning scenes, is phenomenal; the cruelest torment for fastidious Yuka.
So ... is this chapter what happens if Yuka gets caught in base game chapter 5? An alternate version of that reality? I suppose it doesn't matter. "Mire" doesn't say a lot about any characters involved—a bit about Kizami, who then falls by the wayside; very little about Yuka that wasn't established in base game; a little about Sachiko, again not much that we didn't see in base game (the sweet ghost girl/evil ghost girl duality, the fact that the line between those identities is blurred), but far more explicitly. Decent chapter, mostly because Yuka ends up in some phenomenal setpieces; otherwise, not awfully robust.
First Playthrough
I'm Playing Corpse Party. (Did you know I have a PSP? I'd almost forgotten. Feels good to use it again.)
There's a fine line between "this baddie is a real and present danger and I should run away right now" and "I have tried and failed to get past this baddie six times now and I am really sick of the incredibly well-acted but now memorized, prolonged death scene that follows" and the tail end of Chapter Two has crossed it. YES AVOID THE GLOWING BLUE CHILD. I got it. Now it would be nice if I could ... avoid the glowing blue child.
Pretty fantastic game so far, though. Aesthetically it just manages to leave me wanting: it needs either a heavier hand with the illustrated gore in order to contrast the sleek but pretty traditional anime/visual novel styling, or a stronger overall style. As it, it leans slightly towards Umineko no Naku Koro ni territory of sleek and almost traditional but spiked with whiplash grotesqueries, but Umineko is all about that heavy hand and so the contrast shines, whereas here it never quite manages the same. The detailed backgrounds are fantastic if slightly monotonous (the limitations of a single location), but the character models are fuzzy and imprecise by comparison—a pity.
But where it excels is a combination of character and voice acting. The script is a little more down and dirty than the art style suggests, and it's perfect—it makes for a cast which exceeds the limits of its cliché character typing. The voice acting is exceptional, and when there's this much screaming, hyperventilating, and dying that matters one hell of a lot. What could be comical is not: it's haunting, and actually more effective than the bloody illustrations at conveying the horror and violence of the game. So while the plot, like the setting, has yet to grab me, the impact that both have on the characters—their terror, their immediate danger, the background threat of isolation and starvation—is compelling.
Now if only I could get past this section. (FAQ I had to resort to for earlier section advises: "Run out and go east to new area." THANKS GUYS.)
Morishige: literally perfect.
I'm actually liking most of Corpse Party's cast, for a variety of reasons. I get the girls confused a tad, but I usually do; they're also more prone to potentially annoying crying fits, but it's such a realistic response to the game's trauma (and so well acted) that I embrace them. I even like Yuka, because the most stereotypical of her tropes—looks young, acts young, is therefore vulnerable—are played up intentionally and to great effect, making her brother Satoshi into a fantastic character on her behalf, making Yuuya ... well, Yuuya.
Yuuya is worthy competition for my favorite character, because spoiler spoiler spoiler but of course I love his deceptive character type. Satoshi is a dark horse favorite, because he really is awesome—of the whole cast, his response to the hell he's in is perhaps the most realistic and powerful. Yoshiki is a little too obvious a shoe in because, I mean, gruff delinquent with a heart of gold? it's fair to say I collect those—but again the characterization is so solid that it's not a collection of clichés, but instead a compelling person.
But Morishige. Morishige, Morishige. I'm think I'm coming up on the tail end of chapter four, and I still haven't seen much of his relationship with Mayu other than word of god that they're close, but leaving that aside: his response, his isolation and macabre fascination, how he teeters on the razor line between disinterest and awareness, keeping it together and breaking down, lack of affect and idly digging through piles of rotting entrails just ... is so twisted and compelling. It sets him apart and makes him stand out and I can't keep my eyes off of him. Most realistic responses? No. But the best? Yes my god this kid is perfect.
If you're me.
And I am.
Morishige's death transcribed
Mayu... I'm well aware if I'm not there for you, Mayu, it's plain to see how much danger you'll be in. That's what I've been telling myself all this time, anyway. Heheh ... but that's not the real reason I'm trying so hard to find you. No, nothing so noble.
Everything I saw your face, and heard you greet me with that "Shige-nii!" you'd always say ... you were saving my life. Please ... Mayu ... I need you. Please, show yourself!
Don't ... leave me all alone...
Damn... Just once more. I have to see the suffering of others. It's the only thing keeping me sane!
...And I am still sane...
...I am...
God, I've taken so many of them. So many pictures of the dead. It's so weird. They're all real, honest-to-goodness corpses ... but to me, they just look like fakes. Nothing but props. Realistic ones, granted. Much more detailed and lifelike than the cheap, fake bodies you see on television, and in movies...
Heh... Hahaha... Hahahahahaha...
Hmm... This one is the flashiest by far. Utterly pulverized against the wall near the infirmary... Hoooo... Absolutely breathtaking. She's been reduced to nothing more than a chaotic jumble of flesh ... but not long ago, all of it was connected. This was once a human being, walking and talking, with a mind of her own...
Should there truly be an afterlife, she must be embarassed to show her face there, with such a hideously disfigured appearance! I'd probably feel bad for her, if she weren't a complete stranger...
Haha... *sigh* *deep breaths*
It's half identification and half fascination, which is an ideal combination for the birth of a favorite character. I get it, Morishige, I really do—and also I think you're a twisted little freak, and I love you for that, too.
Morishige uses it, primarily, not to unite but to distance. He looks at corpses, at his pictures of corpses, and sees them as Other: they are not whole, as he is; they are not people, as he is; they are rendered inhuman, therefore he is still human. But his complete lack of affect—that he doesn't see human remains as human, that he can't equate them to human suffering but if anything equates them to further dehumanizing humiliation, that, well, he can go digging in a pile of entrails without so much as a hiccup of revulsion—indicates that there's actually something wrong with, something inhuman in, him.
But it's not all distance. He gets off to them, his pictures, his corpses—and don't you dare tell me that his heaving breathing is anything but. He lingers by their bodies, wallows in their entrails. He bonds to them, flesh to flesh. He's standoffish with his classmates, can only admit to the truth of his relationship with his sole friend when she is far beyond his reach, but the corpses are his lovers in all their rotting glory.
Like Kizami Yuuya, he wasn't like this on the outside world—but the potential was always there. What Heavenly Host Elementary School brings out in its prisoners is more interesting to me than the story behind the building itself, which is brilliantly delivered but fairly predictable. It exposes fatal flaws and unexpected courage, but most of all it exposes. How we behave in extreme situations is indicative of nothing save potential, but honestly that's a hell of a lot: that we have it in us to be brave and to break down, that maybe we just need a little push to become serial murderers, that there may be something very strange, in some of us, in how we interact with our fellows—cringing from their wholes, wallowing in their unconnected parts.
Science Lab anatomical model
In the not-a-mental-illness sense (i.e. not my agoraphobia), my greatest fear is life where life should not be. It's almost but not quite autonomatonophobia, as it's both broader and more specific: Semi-humaoid animatronics can still freak me out (let me tell you about the terror that is cymbal-banging monkey toys). Many dolls are miraculously terror-free, and some I even want to collect. Things like mannequins and wax figures are weird, but not on their own scary. But a living doll or a wax figure that moves outranks everything in terms of things which scare the shit out of me. They make spiders seem quaint and forgettable.
I call it "life where life should not be" because it's more about that than the basic uncanny valley effect of the not-quite-human: it's the essential wrongness of something which mimics but fails to be life suddenly gaining it—and the threat that then anything, any doll or figure, could cross that boundary.
What I'm saying is that the Science Lab basically destroyed me.
I'm finding Corpse Party scarier than any game I've played or watched for a vast number of reasons, and I admire it—it's a testament to the game as a success. I've had a few creep out moments (playing on the train before dawn, headphones on, isolated and consumed) and startles (playing in bed, in the dark, with headphones on, and then the cat moved and I almost lost my shit), and I love them.
But the Science Lab was a full-body flush of fear, a red wave from the gut outwards that left my fingertips tingling. It was the knowledge that something was about to go very wrong, and then the game playing coy with me ... and now it's basically spoiler time: inviting me to begin the wrongness and to shoulder the blame, to doubt that things were beginning, to hope that they could ever possibly be over. There's some fantastic Wrong Ends on the basis of concept and voice acting alone, but the Science Lab has substance and character (although I can only ship Yoshiki/Ayumi on the basis of what their relationship says about each, and intense and unusual situations lead to intense and unusual bonding), and it preys on exactly what I fear most, and it plays so clever and cruel right to the end.
And then I had to turn off the game and turn on the lights and read something for a bit so that I was thinking of something other than a sheet over an anatomical model when I was trying to sleep.
Mayu's voice is Morishige's apocalypse
Replaying Corpse Party Chapter 5 with guide in hand so maybe I can not get stuck in an endless loop this time.
Apocalypse is one of my favorite words for reasons I've discussed before*. We use it with one meaning—the end of the world—but its etymology means something else: revelation. Take the two together, and an apocalypse is a cataclysmic revelation, the knowledge that destroys the world.
Mayu's voice is Morishige's apocalypse.
It's the uniting of his two halves, his best and worst: his unnatural disconnect from humanity, and his intense bond with the meat of men. His beloved pile of rotting entrails is no longer a dehumanized abstraction, but rather identified—in first person, by Mayu herself—as the closest thing he has to a lover by normal terms. The knowledge obliterates him, destroying his mind and then by implication his body.
But there's a joy in his self-destruction: his crazed laughter is gleeful. It is the best and worst thing that could happen to him, to discover that the jumble of flesh has an identity, the worst possible identity, and that he's been defacing his beloved this whole time—but also to know that the corpse he loved best was the person he loved best, and it's she that he's been viewing, fondling, loving this whole time.
It's horrible, it's beautiful, it's too much and the knowledge destroys him.
* In this discussion about The Path.
I beat Corpse Party on the train. Not the real, 100% completion, good ending—I'll get that someday which is not today—but also not the stuck in an infinite hell loop ending, so: success.
On the whole, Wrong Ends are handled well—it's fairly quick and easy to rush through content you've already seen in order to find a new branch on the path, and having those slew of deaths behind you never feels like a failure because they're as much a part of the story as your survival is. What determines the branches of the path, however, sometimes bothers me, especially in Chapter 5. The mechanics for the infinite hell loop (i.e. your two parties can only reunite once, so you better have all your collectables or have fun restarting the chapter) are arbitrary, and as such senselessly frustrating. Which items trigger the right ending are likewise—playing without an FAQ on the train turned it into a multiple choice guessing game, and I learned nothing from my mistakes other than how long I needed to spam "next" in order to get through my death and back to the quiz part of the scene.
So there's that.
Near all the rest of the game I loved.
I found the game more frightening than emotionally resonant, but that's not quite a bad thing. Where character development and interaction are concerned, I found it a compelling and detailed, often believable, depiction of the effects of trauma and stress; with a few exceptions (Satoshi/everyone, but primarily Satoshi/Yuka) I didn't see the relationships as entities in their own rights, but rather as insights into the experiences and emotions of the individuals involved. So while there are emotional moments, they were more fascinating than affecting: they were another view of what can happen to a person, and between people, in such an extreme environment.
I haven't yet mentioned the game's focus on bodily functions, but I love it. Yes, it's embarrassing and absurd, and can be problematically fetishized (Yuka, I'm looking at you), but it may be my single favorite factor of the game's atmosphere. Well, maybe not more than the voice acting—the game would be dead in the water without that—but the focus on the most mundane of bodily functions are what bring it all home: you're trapped in hell, assaulted from all sides by more than you can handle, but starting your period is the straw to break your back. You don't just feel like you're going crazy; you know that being thirsty now means that you could soon die of dehydration. The focus on the body, on how we're tied to it, how it limits and threatens us, ties the vast supernatural concept onto the believable details of the real. There game is full of things worse than death—but death is still pretty damn bad, and if you end up with "worse" it will probably be because of this fragile, demanding sack of meat.
I imagine I'll replay Corpse Party to get the real ending at a later date, when the cutscenes feel fresh again and I can enjoy it, rather than just rush through with FAQ in hand (although that is where the FAQ will be, thanks to name tags). It's also one I'll lend to the roommate, who loves survival horror.
Because honestly, it's the best horror in a visual medium that I've ever encountered. The concept is okay, but the execution is exceptional—and that's an impressive combination. An earworm of an idea, one so inherently unsettling that it burrows into your brain and lives there, may be tricky to find but they're damn easy to execute, and then you end up with a generation and half of kids who will always remember Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark but, you know, it ain't art. A good but not great idea has potential, but extracting every drop of it takes skill. Corpse Party wrings the stone in its fist: interactive medium, excellent audio, strong cast, and a wealth of details to drive it home. It's not perfect but it is fantastic, and I'm glad I gave it a go.
Second Playthrough
Starting
guess which part of this incredibly infuriating stupid asshole game I'm currently at
no, really, guess [spoiler, it's the aforementione glowing blue child]
like there are fewer things I enjoy than the sound of Yoshiki choking on gravel and dirt as he's repeatedly buried alive, but! after a dozen listens, even I'm good, thanks
A favorite game
Incredibly infuriating asshole nature aside:
I couldn't pick a favorite game any more than a favorite book, the medium is just too large. Imagine here that I'm rambling about the games I think most worthy of respect, or which I've sunk the most time into, or which caused various formative changes; imagine that it's an unwieldy ramble that could double as "half of every game I've ever played."
But the truth is, my favorite game may be Corpse Party. Favorite in the way that Maledicte is my favorite book, even though books are as large a medium: it's not the objective best, it's not the game that everyone should play, it's not particularly formative; but it takes root deep down in my id and, there, it's perfect.
Corpse Party, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
It has superb voice acting, despite the game's indie origins and the demands on the voice acting. Panting/crying/dying sound effects easily slip into the territory of narm; these go the other way, precise and guttural, intentionally approaching the pornographic. Much of the game straddles "horrific or pornographic?" but
it's intentional. See: the focus on the bodily functions [see "I beat Corpse Party on the train." section for more info]. These make the hell dimension tangible, balance the ephemeral scale with small physical embarrassments, parched throats and unexpected menstrual cycles. Occasionally it functions as comic relief; more often, it makes the violence resonate because we're always focused on bodies: their needs and fragility and the sounds of their failure.
Seiko/butts and the whole Yuka/omorashi thing trip right into fetishistic, but then so does Morishige's love affair with entrails; it's not unproblematic, but it is to an extent universal.
Survival game/survival setting stories are my weakness because I like to see characters confront the impossible, or rather what they just couldn't conceptualize: the dissolution of social mores and rules; mutilations and deaths, including their own. Who allows their morals to be compromised? (Who doesn't, and dies instead?) Who says fuckit and becomes a murderer; or says finally and realizes their dream of becoming a serial killer? Who has what form of breakdown? What do the responses to these extreme conditions say about their underlying personalities, their interactions, their reactions?
And I like violence because it's communication, unusual in form and content: conversations with selves and others that aren't likely to occur any other way; often intimate by nature, because they're conversations that occur via bodies.
And Corpse Party is a superb version of both. It doesn't go the route of dark humor (see: Danganronpa); it doesn't go the route of axe-crazy, wildly exaggerated and almost surreal facial expressions and psychic breaks (see: When They Cry, Mirai Nikki). Instead, it vents that excess into the fetishistic, discomforting and borderline sexual—which actually serves to bring the emphasis back to the body, which allows even wilder a setting and even more impossible things to happen to bodies.
To say that it hits my kinks would be a vast understatement. This is all I want in the world: extreme reactions to impossible situations, realized with loving and grotesque detail. Also, it uses Wrong Ends to explore those themes to the fullest. Also, Morishige, actually perfect, with a particularly literal form of communication-via-violence. Also when I was playing at 3am with the lights off and headphones on, my bedroom door slammed shut with a resonant bang because breezes or air pressure or vengeful grade school ghosts, so there's that, too.
Morishige and Fireshrine
Trolling 8tracks for Morishige fanmixes because I'm trash, and everything is awful until someone includes Fineshrine by Purity Ring.
Get a little closer, let fold
Cut open my sternum, and pull
My little ribs around you
The rungs of me be under, under you
I'll cut the soft pockets, let bleed
Over the rocky cliffs that you leave
To peer over and not forget what feet are
Splitting threads of thunder over me
Listen closely, closely to the floor
Emitting all its graces through the pores
You make a fine shrine in me
You build a fine shrine in me
Does it fit? Not really, because Morishige's story is about disconnect: his distance from others, his intimacy with dead bodies; his authentic caretaking of Mayu, his fetishization of her corpse; the collapse that comes when the objectified dehumanized corpse is revealed to be the only living person he cares for. To give the violence-victim a willing voice destroys that disconnect. That particular intimacy was on Morishige's side alone.
But violence-as-intimacy, violence as definitive relationship, is far more accurate than a dozen songs about starcrossed romances (which is rather to miss the point) or whatever trope you'd use to describe those violence-as-overly-literal-metaphor alt rock songs.
Morishige finds a blood-soaked pouch
My other favorite thing about that Morishige scene:
Ayumi: What...is that...in your hand?
Morishige appears to be grasping a blood-soaked pouch in his hands.
Morishige: Hmm? Oh, this? I, uh, found it under the floorbards in the hallway...
(Juu, did you think about that all night? shhh don't be ridicul—yes, yes I did) I'd that Ayumi and Yoshiki are given every opportunity to mention the identity of the corpse—it's on their minds, Shige has obviously interacted with it, they know he and Mayu were close, the subject has in every possible way come up, they just don't say anything
because they're distracted by Morishige.
It's a fantastic sequence: in the face of their chapter-long avoidance of that hallway, the doll provides a taunting, cruel, loving-detailed description of Mayu's corpse—and then as they're trying to figure out how to do the one thing they least want to do, Morishige shows up, poorly pretending not to've done it. He's an awful liar. He makes vague attempts—he knows his fascination with corpses is not for polite company—but he can't pull it off. The very things that make him depend on Mayu's acceptance, that also make him objectify and dehumanize humans via anonymous corpses, also make him too removed from others to know how to pass, to be anything other than disconcerting. And he's too far gone, in the sense of "too fascinated" as well as "too unhinged." There's every sense that his social distance was subdued, before—something he felt keenly but that no one else much noticed, except perhaps Mayu. Heavenly Host has changed him, extrapolating his problems until his fingers are gore-stained and he doesn't bother to hide them.
Anatomical model take two and Wrong Ends
The anatomical model wrong end (Chapter 5 Wrong End 1 3) ins't as terrifying the second time—and, frankly, the first time was so scary that I'm fine with that. But what a great Wrong End.
It's thematically tight (the only way to encounter/avoid it resolves around curiosity, echoing both the conversation when Yoshiki first investigates the model and the theme of investigative wariness throughout the game: to explore everything is necessary but also, in itself, dangerous).
And more than that: a perfect example of building character through Wrong Ends. They're the chance to expose characters to unique, extreme stimuli; to show reactions that may only be incited by these particular circumstances, but which build a more detailed portrait of the characters—because, while not canonical, they're possible. Yoshiki's reactions to the concrete chance to become a savior; the way he compares himself to Satoshi (without animosity, but with a certain envy); the increasing intimacy of the relationship between Yoshiki and Ayumi, still marked by combative interaction. All that potential is buried in them, and we've seen glimpses (especially in the scenes around pool in chapter 4), but they're made explicit here—but, canonically, unrealized; so much remains unsaid between them.
Corpse Party: Book of Shadows
Chapter 1: Seal
I never had much emotional investment in Corpse Party, and that's not a complaint! The draw for me was using hellish circumstances and Wrong Ends to explore how people cope with the worst possible stimuli, who becomes a hero, who starts fetishizing corpses, etc. Naomi/Seiko in particular didn't move me; Seiko functions interchangeably as fanservice and comic relief, so that her death leaves Naomi stricken is jarring, although I like the fallout of Naomi's assumed and actual guilt.
Image of Seiko sleeping
Naomi: There, there. Good girl, good girl...
Well there's more feels packed into the bed scene BoS Ch1 than the entirely of the base game. The difference is subtlety; the way that Seiko alternates between defensive humor and vulnerable emotion provides necessary explanation, and. just. Naomi: empathetic but uncomprehending. It has all the depth I needed base game to have. It's beautiful.
The hair in her mouth, the black fluid on her thighs! These small details are so satisfying because the base game has a strong emphasis on the physical—those are small, mundane details like twisted ankles (as this narrative recalls) that ground the horror, as I've mentioned 2398234 times but discussed in detail in the "I beat Corpse Party on the train" post; these are strange, nightmare details, able to piggyback onto what the base game achieves and become truly unnerving.
I went into Book of Shadows nearly blind, as I am wont to do; I had no idea it was a collection of side stories/alternate universe tales. Corpse Party has fantastic Wrong Ends; they're the game's foremost tool for exploring reactions to negative stimuli. This side story turns the base game itself into a Wrong End, and I just ljsdfsdfs it's so beautiful, it's captivating meta that falls perfectly in line with the game's ethos. To call "Seal" a strong start would be an understatement, this was some seriously good shit.
Chapter 2: Demise
Chapter 2 Wrong End 1—where Mayu is literally torn limb from limb—is excessive, not in the sense of "tasteless" (this is Corpse Party! who cares about taste!) but in the sense of "violating the game's reasonable scope and suspension of disbelief for the sake of grotesque creativity." But so help me if the sound effect of cracking bones is anything but superb.
Mayu: "Friends... I guess in that regard, I've really been blessed. My friends are all happy, fun, beautiful people." Especially my very best friend, Morishige, who has a happy fun beautiful fetish for corpses!
Yoshiki: "Considering how cool and collected [Morishige] is, I'm sure he's fine, wherever he is."
100% absolutely totally fine.
The delight of these stories is that every word is steeped in dramatic irony, simultaneously hilarious and horrifying. Unlike foreshadowing, we don't look forward: we look back, seeing with all the benefit of hindsight every betrayed hope and expectation. It's overwritten, sure; it's also engaging and effective.
[screenshot of Yoshiki hugging Ayumi]
"If circumstances were different, this could be the start of a really heartwarming, romantic scene": the game. I don't really ship Yoshiki/Ayumi (I don't really ship anyone except Shige/corpses), but:
[Image: Nana and Mayu talking in the foreground while Ayumi rests of Yoshiki's shoulder in the background.]
Nana: I'll bet it's a lot like when you're with Morishige, isn't it?
where the base game has biology to ground the horror, this has intimacy. Needing to pee and needing a moment to rest both mark the passage of time and create a sense of scale, but this is quieter, more private, with an interpersonal focus.
Can we take a moment to admire the art in this game: the additional character assets, like Yoshiki's cringe face; the chance to see memorable locations realized in full detail (setpieces like Mayu's remains and the upcoming dissection room are great, but my favorite may just be the hallways of Heavenly Host, shattered, dark, corpse-littered); it has the expected stylistic pitfalls, but [in a specific screenshot example] the closeup makes the whole eye/face/hand/what's going on with her nose and fingernails ratio glaringly awful, look at the loving detail of that injury.
[an image of the wound on Maya's stomach
Maya: (It's darker, more clearly outlined...and it looks bigger now, too!)
But the highlight of "Demise" was the orchestration of Mayu's death. Her splitting, bruised stomach has inherent foreshadowing, since we know how she died in base game; Nana's bruises remind us it's inevitable; the art is horrific, especially as the marks grow darker—less in its own right but because it's so intimately suggestive, because it recalls precise details of the most memorable, horrific character death in game. And when that death comes, it has every detail that the Chapter 2 Wrong End is missing: it's as excessively grotesque, but the aspects that require a suspension of disbelief (the autonomous splitting of her body, the strength of the child spirits) are integrally tied to Heavenly Host, especially as it appears in these chapters, not just a closed space but a closed time. Heavenly Host will rearrange itself, it will make these fates inevitable—but most especially Mayu's. Her death is a fixed event, central to so many experiences. Attempting to avoid it only makes it worse.
(That said, Mayu's voice is surprisingly shrill? This saddens me; the voice acting was the highlight of base game, and almost universally flawless. Luckily, the sound of her insides is great.)
"My final wish is that Shige-nii be the one to find my body. As long as it's not too revolting to look at, anyway. I want him to think I'm pretty. I miss him."
Chapter 3: Encounter
Let me sum up: ehhhhh.
I love the use of timed choices: it breaks up the slow, forgiving flow of most visual novels, and of Book of Shadows in particular which, for better and worse, doesn't even have the chase sequences of base game—so things like avoiding the fucking blue ghost are just "don't click the obvious danger zone"—such engaging gameplay!
I mentioned that Mayu's voice was unexpectedly shrill; the mysterious old woman in "Encounter" is just plain awful, harsh and overacted. If I seem to be harping, it's only that the voice acting in base game was what sold me on the whole thing. Book of Shadows has fantastic sound design—the binaural audio is sometimes gimmicky but often used well, and the foley work is phenomenal. But it feels like giving extra screen time to characters that originally had little—like Mayu—exposes the fact that they aren't that good. And hell if I know what's up the old woman's voice acting.
But, to the point: Tsukasa is charming, the encounter is scary and the atmosphere strong, this chapter establishes some backstory for Heavenly Host, but flashbacks just don't contribute much to the main narrative. The foreshadowing is too distant; the views into Satoshi and Yui's dynamic is just plain bizarre. This chapter is half uncomfortable fanservice and half horror too disconnected from the Heavenly Host experience. It left little impression.
Chapter 4: Purgatory
I have mixed feelings about Naho's flashback personality. I like what the voice actor has to say about it—that the discovery of Naho's playful, sweet side initially seems out of place but comes to make a certain sense and create a more complex character. And I like what this indicates about Heavenly Host, that it changes her—begins to change her before she even goes there, due to her psychic ability.
Sayaka: This was a thing that sort of...happened between us sometimes. She'd turn into a cat, and I'd play the part of her master.
But what's well and good in theory is ridiculous in execution. Secretly cute is one thing, meowing like a cat is another. The upcoming pantyshot doesn't help: this chapter embraces anime clichés so hard as to feel like fanservice, and it's not the same sort of fanservice in Chapter 1, where the bathing nudity was also a conversation about bodies and sexual subtext. This serves no purpose, it only undermines the development of Naho's personality.
I do love the way that the flashback narrative alternates between Sayaka and Naho's PoV. Sayaka is charming, and makes for a marked contrast to Naho. The background music changes, the tone changes; Naho's her inner voice is pragmatic, pessimistic, cold. (Her playfulness/coldness exhibit simultaneously in her at-home behavior, particularly her treatment of Taguchi.)
The horror elements are superb, partially as a result of the inherent foreshadowing but mostly because of the way Naho's somber narrative contrasts with the chapter's cute, energetic trappings, adding tension and a darker tone. Sachiko's first appearance is startling; the voice on the recording is perfect—the clip repeating, growing louder, until character and player alike are listening with anxious anticipation.
Naho has a strange role in base game, simultaneously architect and victim. The narrative and cast emphasize the former, but the latter is a constant distraction, pulling Naho's attention slantwise and making her the worst sort of guide through hell. In the base game, we learn that the Sachiko charm is a combination of both—and we revisit it here, see her disseminate the charm with intent but due to motivations outside of her control. It's still objectively unconscionable, but now it makes a strange sort of sense.
Finally: everything about the Dissection/Death room is flawless. This isn't the most profound example of metaknowledge but it's one of the most effective, because when Sayaka stumbles around there in the dark, the dramatic irony of the player's knowledge, of that little grain of rice she finds on her legs, is almost overwhelming. It's a delight, too, to see the room drawn in detail; that Sayaka gets caught up in details (the maggots, the bucket of arms) accentuates this. And I have hella tolerance for the grotesque, but the tongue removal sound effects even grossed me out—the sound design in this game is amazing.
who cares who cares next chapter is Morishige fuck yeah
Chapter 5:Shangri-La, or: A Morishige Essay
You know those tingles you get from close-listening to a piece of music? The transcendent and ironic beauty of Hannibal finding the eye in S2 while Dona Nobis Pacem rises behind him? That's the prologue to chapter 5. I should have been nervous about a Morishige-centric chapter, as I find him flawless in base game and Book of Shadows has been hit and miss in how it expands on characters. But if I was, the prologue put that to rest.
The delicate dirge made of Pachelbel's Canon. The contrasting, cheery tone of the phone. Morishige romanticizing the most disturbing details of death, "The blood that splattered far and wide shone in my flash like a bright red flame, and whole chunks of flesh were strewn about like flower petals." Viewing it as art; viewing it as a study of human nature. "Yet only humans possess the capacity to turn their violent impulses into art." (He even gets the title drop!) Morishige questioning his own motives; Morishige wondering, with all dramatic irony, about the identity for this corpse, and asking her to speak to him.
I appreciate that the prologue addresses Morishige's interactions with Yuka. In base game, Morishige appears passive rather than active, a consumer of corpses (although that's no small thing). The discomfort he causes in others is merely a biproduct of Heavenly Host, which has revealed preexisting poor social skills. Stalking Yuka then feels out of place, too proactive, even aggressive.
Book of Shadows clarifies, classing him not just as consumer but as budding producer, a little baby psychopath. (See, also: Mitsuki and Fukuroi talking about Kizami, "strong in body and strong of will," "probably fine by himself." In Chapter 2 "Demise," Mayu and Yoshiki made the same, equally ironic, assumptions about "cool and collected" Morishige who was "fine, wherever he is." We're invited to elide Shige and Kizami, seeing the similarity between baby psychopath and psychopath at his peak. As Sachiko says: "I like you. You've got promise.")
Morishige: (I swear, it feels like there's another me slowly and steadily awakening within.)
I love the Wrong Ends in this chapter—they're so creative and lovingly detailed, and the narrative wants us to them to see them that way, to obsess over the same intimate details that Morishige does, to appreciate them, as he does, for their spectacle and commitment.
(Ah, the sweet sound of Shige gagging.) Morishige's discovery of Ayumi's corpse in Wrong End 4 is a conscious attempt at depersonalizing corpses. The veritable corpse party of Heavenly Host has thusfar been composed of (presumed) strangers; but Ayumi he knows, and Ayumi he must force himself to dehumanize. This is also the most active and unhinged of his corpse desecrations—in his attempt, he goes too far (trying to rip out her hair with his teeth! laughing while reaching to take her tongue! every family's favorite memento of a deceased loved one, as we all know).
(It's interesting, also, that Shige immediately wonders why Yoshiki wasn't with Ayumi—his focus is always interpersonal, and here he unconsciously compares Yoshiki and Ayumi with himself and Mayu, pinning hope on the thought that, if together, they should be able to save each other.)
In base game, Shige dies when depersonalization is confronted with intimacy, when he realizes that the corpse he most idealized is in truth his only real friend. I've written about this before. On one hand, to have Ayumi's corpse trigger an identical end cheapens his relationship with Mayu, as both friend and favorite corpse; on the other, this trigger is inverted: rather than a depersonalized corpse revealed to be a personal friend, Ayumi begins as a person and it's his inability to depersonalize her that does him in.
Morishige: (That's right. This is just a pile of meat that happens to be shaped like Shinozaki. It's not a person anymore. It's a thing!)
The scene with Kaida's corpse in the entranceway is an unconcious attempt at depersonalization. Shige is isolated, by circumstance and by choice, from other people; Mayu is his only safe form of socialization, and he can't access her. In his obsessive search of her, he's constantly aware of what her absence means. He's never known how to socialize with anyone else, and Heavenly Host has taxed him beyond his ability to maintain a sociable facade. He needs help now more than never, actively searches for help, and is explicitly unable to find it.
Corpses, meanwhile, are everywhere.
They become safe platform for experimentation, silent recipients of his emotional turmoil. In order to remain safe, they must be dehumanized. But his ability to interact with them means that he's more intimate with the deceased than the living; in fact, the more comfortable he grows with corpses, the less he's able to interact with other people, who find him increasingly strange.
Distance and intimacy are the selfsame thing, all a single outlet for preexisting anxieties that Heavenly Host has exacerbated. But, once again, he goes too far.
Morishige: Mmmmng. I've struck bone! This viscous chill belies the steadfast strenght of the marrow within. It's almost...sensual.
And it's the best scene in any game in the history of ever.
Morishige mocks Taguchi, but the truth is that Taguchi, viewing the dead through his camera lens, is succeeding in what Morishige consciously intends to do: distancing himself from tragedy as a way to cope with it. Morishige thinks that distance comes naturally, since distance is his default. But what Morishige unconsciously desires is intimacy—it's why he treasures Mayu, why he constructed a "cool and collected" persona, why he struggles with the forced isolation of Heavenly Host. In searching for intimacy, here where the rational and the normal have long since broken down, he overreaches. Stalks Yuka. Slides his hands into corpses. Melds the conflicting ideal of distance and desire for intimacy into something atrocious.
And there is that telling detail:
It was a shame that I could only gaze upon these gorgeous works of art within these school grounds. Before returning home with Mayu, I'd need to erase every one of these photographs from my phone. It seemed like such a waste... The world in which I once dwelled was far too narrow-minded to accept these masterpieces. It was often a hard place to call home.
That we shouldn't be surprised that this was the form his inner conflict took. Sachiko certainly isn't. Morishige had this potential, all along.
This chapter's end is flawless. We knew that his favorite corpse in this universe must still be Mayu—but to have it explicitly revealed as the remains of Mayu's Book of Shadows Chapter 2 death is the most perfect of possible denouements. My life feels empty, to have finished this chapter—but I have an impression it has post-game content? Not all hope is lost.
Shangri-La bonus thoughts
Here's the other interesting thing about Morishige's experience in "Shangri-La": no matter the current configuration of the school, the infirmary door opens for him. Heavenly Host is a hell dimension not just because bad things happen there, but because it facilitates bad things. Free will is crucial—it's a theme many of the spirits reiterate it, urging survivors to be strong, not to give in to the darkening. And the hands-off game of the school is terrifying, the clogged sinks and broken pipes, long, passive deaths by dehydration and hunger. But Heavenly Host remains a closed space and a closed loop, and is frequently proactive in its aims. In "Demise," Mayu's death is a fixed point, not just in fact but in nature: she will split open, and if she tries to avoid it then the school will manufacture it. There is fate, which Heavenly Host achieves through effort.
And so Heavenly Host renders for Morishige the worst possible stimuli: he struggles when separated from Mayu, and so is separated from her; he displays negative coping mechanisms when exposed to corpses, so is given corpses; when the two overlap the results are awful, so he has access to Mayu's corpse in particular, no matter how it defies Heavenly Host's internal logic, no matter which loop he's in.
Chapter 6: Mire
Kizami: Heh...hahahahaha! Now, show me that spark of life. Put everything you've got into it...and cry for me, Yuka. Cry as loud as you can...
The binaural audio can be gimmicky, even distracting; but then there are moments like this, when Kizami's opens up into his deep, loud psychopath voice and then comes around to whisper "cry for me, Yuka," right into her/our ear, which are so very effective. I adore Tomokazu Sugita's voice—it's surprisingly deep (especially compared to the rest of this cast) and, when he wants, so resonant.
In base game I honestly didn't make much connection between Morishige and Kizami, but I like how Book of Shadows handles it: Shige approaching corpses as art, as a means of exploring and elevating the human condition; Kizami also views murder as elevation and as beauty, "It's only when one's terror and hopelessness reach their peak that the soul truly shines!" To be fair, the latter wasn't present in base game: from what we see of Kensuke's murder and other Byakudan corpses, Kizami's murders are brutal but efficient; torture and "revealing the light" are slight retcons.
But, more importantly, both are using death to establish communication. Morishige perceives corpses as a safe social platform, using them to vent his anxieties. Kizami:
That's why I've decided to conduct a little experiment. A way to see if I can really understand other people...and if I can make them understand me.
I wonder if any of you were aware...that all I ever wanted was to kill you. Like animals, humans are honest only when they're on the brink of death. They all look me right in the eye...and engage me in real, true dialogue...with rare exception.
Kizami compensates for his sociopathic inability to relate to humans through violence, using it to establish meaningful, "true" dialog. Similar motives, similar medium, different methods, although, as Sachiko points out and Book of Shadows establishes, Morishige may have some unrealized potential for active violence.
You'd think I'd find Yuka irritating, but I never do. There's some ick done with her character, the omorashi, the loli aspects of her victimization in this chapter (the pantyshot when Kizami slices her dress, I mean really), the fanservicy treatement of her age and appearance and cutesy behavior. Bless that her voice actor has such humor about this—her soulful testimony is a delight.
But while I have quibbles, I love her. I love her misplaced sense of propriety most of all—everyone is sensitive to the smelly dirty gross aspects of Heavenly Host, but no one is as obsessive as Yuka, fastidious in her choice of bathroom, burying her soiled underwear. In a way, it makes the truth of the situation graver to have such fervent petty contrast.
So the fact that she ends up in the basement, in the dissection/death room and then in the body pool room, and then in the pool in one of history's most stomach-churning scenes, is phenomenal; the cruelest torment for fastidious Yuka.
So ... is this chapter what happens if Yuka gets caught in base game chapter 5? An alternate version of that reality? I suppose it doesn't matter. "Mire" doesn't say a lot about any characters involved—a bit about Kizami, who then falls by the wayside; very little about Yuka that wasn't established in base game; a little about Sachiko, again not much that we didn't see in base game (the sweet ghost girl/evil ghost girl duality, the fact that the line between those identities is blurred), but far more explicitly. Decent chapter, mostly because Yuka ends up in some phenomenal setpieces; otherwise, not awfully robust.
