The Rotting Pizza of Final Fantasy 7

After a treacherous, stomach-churning climb that takes me through the ruins of a church up into its dilapidated spire, remnants of a city surround me. I look up at the slice of the circular structure where these buildings fell from, gazing up from under the rotting pizza. Tracing the intricate pipework, you can see how the organs of the city collapsed into the slums below: even from atop a roof, with winds blowing precariously, I am miles below Midgar. The sheer scale is overwhelming, the detail and fidelity of the world captivating.

At this point I’m about 10-20 hours into Final Fantasy 7 Remake. The game has taken me on a journey through incredibly modelled environments, places familiar, gloriously elaborated on and unfurled with unbelievable technical mastery. However, the most breathtaking view is now presented to me, the skybox of the city ‒ ambitiously rendered in excruciating detail. I can’t take it all in at once: it looks like a frame from Akira or Ghost in the Shell, and echoes the Architectural forms of Expo Osaka 1970’s Space Frame Inhabitable roofing systems. It makes me wonder, would this level of worldbuilding and detail exist without having the ‘prototype’ of the original PS1 game?