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The “Go Big or Go Home” Strategy

Before 1997, Japanese RPGs (JRPGs) in the U.S. were a mess. Titles came out of order. Names got changed for no reason. Half the time, they never even made it across the Pacific. Publishers thought Americans didn’t have the patience for games that were more talking than action—games that made you sit with a story instead of just hitting buttons. But Sony and Squaresoft (they’re Square Enix now) decided to roll the dice. And man, did it change everything.

The marketing budget for FF7? Unheard of for a game back then. Estimated at $30 million just in North America. That’s like what a big Hollywood movie would spend. This wasn’t a quiet launch for the RPG crowd. It was a full-on takeover of mainstream media. Primetime TV ads—spots that used to only go to movies or huge brands—were now showing these dramatic, mysterious clips for the game.

And these weren’t your typical “kids yelling at a screen” game commercials. They were little works of art. One I still remember: cuts of the game’s full-motion videos (FMVs—those fancy pre-rendered scenes), orchestral music swelling, a deep voice saying stuff like “a story of war and friendship… a love that can never be… and a hatred that always was.” Then the kicker: “the most anticipated epic adventure of the year will never come to a theater near you.” Bold move. They weren’t selling a toy. They were selling an epic—something on par with a movie. The plan was clear: hook not just gamers, but anyone who loves a great story. And it worked. Suddenly, FF7 wasn’t just a game people wanted—it was an event they didn’t want to miss.

Finally, Games Felt Like “Movies You Could Play”

The second you fired up FF7, you knew the ads weren’t just hype. The opening sequence? Breathtaking. It starts on a young woman’s face, then pulls back to show Midgar—the cyberpunk city with those huge, smoking reactors. Nothing console gamers had seen before came close. The game blended those high-quality FMVs right into the gameplay, so it felt like one continuous experience. No jarring cuts, no “wait, is this a movie or a game?” moments. That was all thanks to the PlayStation’s CD-ROMs—they could hold hours of video and audio, something those old cartridge systems (looking at you, N64) couldn’t touch. CD-ROMs felt like magic back then, honestly.

The world itself was a technical wonder. Before FF7, RPGs were mostly flat 2D sprites—cute, but not exactly immersive. FF7 used 3D character models moving over these rich, pre-rendered backgrounds. It gave everything depth, like you were walking through a living painting. Think about Sector 7: the neon slums, gritty and crowded, like a place people actually lived. Then the Gold Saucer—glitzy, golden, totally over-the-top. Every spot had its own vibe, its own personality. You didn’t just “visit” places—you felt like you were there.

Even the battles got the cinematic treatment. Yeah, the core was turn-based (you pick an attack, wait your turn), but it didn’t feel boring. The camera would swing around the action, zooming in when someone cast a spell. And the Summons? Oh, those were the stars. Call up Shiva, Ifrit, or Bahamut, and suddenly you’re watching a mini-movie. The screen fills with animations—ice storms, fire blasts, massive dragon attacks. I still remember the first time I used Knights of the Round: thirteen knights, one after another, slamming into the enemy. It was long, it was over-the-top, and we all talked about it for weeks. That’s the thing—FF7 didn’t just let you play a story. It made you feel like you were part of something huge.

Cloud, Sephiroth, and That Moment No One Forgets

FF7’s story wasn’t like other games back then. It hit different. Deeper. Darker. More emotional. It talked about big stuff—who we really are, losing people, companies being greedy (that’s Shinra all over), even saving the planet from those reactors. And it wrapped all that into a journey. Felt personal, but also huge.

The characters stick with you. Take Cloud Strife. Spiky hair. Used to be in SOLDIER. At first, he’s just a mercenary. Only cares about getting paid. But as you play, he’s sorting out his messed-up memories. Trying to figure out who he really is. That’s the heart of it—watching him go from “I don’t care” to a real hero.

Then there’s Sephiroth. Easily one of the best bad guys ever. He starts as a legend. Everyone looks up to him. But his fall? Scary, and sad too. He’s calm. Almost quiet. And that creepy music plays when he’s around. He’s so strong it’s overwhelming. You don’t just hate him. You kind of feel for him. That’s good writing, right?

But let’s talk about the part that broke everyone—Aerith dying. Aerith was the girl with flowers. Kind. Happy. She healed your party. You spent hours with her. Fought next to her. Watched her and Cloud get closer. Then, at the end of the first disc? It happens. She’s praying at an old altar. Sephiroth drops down. Stabs her with his sword. Just like that.

No magic to bring her back. No quest to get her back. She’s gone—for good. Your party has an empty spot. And you feel that loss, right in the gut. Back then, games didn’t do that. Death was usually temporary. You reload a save. Or use a potion. Everyone’s fine. But Aerith? She stayed gone.

That made Sephiroth’s evil feel personal. Now you weren’t just saving the planet. You were getting back at him for someone you cared about. I still remember my friend crying when it happened. We played that scene twice. Just to make sure we didn’t miss a way to save her. We didn’t.

People still say that moment is one of the saddest in gaming. And it makes sense. It showed games could make you feel real, raw things. Not just excitement. But sadness. Grief. That’s when we all got it: games aren’t just fun. They can be art.

Why FF7 Still Matters (Even Now)

FF7 wasn’t just a successful game. It changed the whole industry. It sold millions of copies all over the world. It helped PlayStation win the console wars back then—sorry, Nintendo. But its biggest impact? It changed how people in the West looked at JRPGs.

Before FF7, publishers thought Americans only wanted fast action. But FF7 showed there were tons of people who wanted deep games with good stories—people no one was reaching yet. All of a sudden, everyone started translating JRPGs. Xenogears. Chrono Cross. Later Final Fantasies, like VIII and IX. Those games all made it to the U.S. because of FF7. It was like opening a door. Suddenly, we had all these great stories to play through.

It also brought a whole generation together. We talked about it in school hallways. “Did you get to Knights of the Round yet?” We argued about Cloud with Aerith vs. Cloud with Tifa on early internet forums. And it was in big magazines—games never did that before. Its influence is still everywhere now. Other games use its way of telling stories. There’s a movie (Advent Children), spin-offs, even a full modern remake. It showed the world games aren’t just for kids. They’re a way to tell stories, like movies or books. They can make you laugh, cry, or think.

For a lot of us, FF7 was our first RPG. It was the first game that didn’t just let us press buttons. It let us live a story. So I gotta ask—what part stuck with you? Was it Aerith’s death? The first time you saw Midgar? That Knights of the Round summon? Share your favorite memory in the comments. I’d love to hear it.

The Phenomenon of 'Final-Fantasy VII': Examining the JRPG That Conquered America

The “Go Big or Go Home” Strategy

Finally, Games Felt Like “Movies You Could Play”

Cloud, Sephiroth, and That Moment No One Forgets

Why FF7 Still Matters (Even Now)