The fifth installment in the Persona series is preceded by Morgana “let’s go to sleep” memes its reputation as the most stylish RPG out there — and it is one that it definitely deserves. From the hip music and costumes to the game-changing (#badumtss) design, everything about it yells coolness: and really f*ckin’ cool is exactly how you feel as you guide the Phantom Thieves through their — highly questionable, but more on that later — quest of “changing people’s hearts”.

As you may already know, the Persona series — which, of course, started at 3 — is the prodigy love child of dating sims and Pokémon, with a god at the end. It doesn’t get much more Japanese than that — except, maybe, if you set it in Tokyo, which is exactly what happens here: and the game does a good job of exploring the big city’s real-life settings. Not quite as depressing as blue P3 nor as happy-go-lucky as yellow P4, P5 lies somewhere in the middle on many accounts, painted a passionate red. As my last Persona, it is also one that I believe I am able to judge in a sufficiently impartial manner, and that is exactly what I’m about to attempt below. Please mind that, as per usual, this article was written for those who have already finished the game (and, I suppose, those who are not yet familiar with it at all): if you are currently playing it, or plan on doing so anytime soon, I suggest you stay away.

I swear this is trying to keep it simple.

While Persona games are not Kingdom Hearts, they are not all that linear either: to understand them, one must start at the end, where vital revelations are usually made. In P5’s case, the core to understanding the plot is the existence of a “cognitive world” parallel to ours — a sort of alternate reality where people’s real/deepest emotions, desires and views take form. Normally, people are not so twisted that they manifest too strongly in this world, but in the case of individuals with particularly corrupted desires or powerful obsessions, a “Palace” — the physical manifestation of how they see the world and those in it — may appear. At the center of this Palace is a well kept “treasure” — a symbolic representation of whatever caused the respective person’s imbalance. Take the game’s first Palace as an example: Kamoshida is a high school volleyball coach and former athlete whose fame and power went to his head, to the point where he now secretly abuses his students, both physically and sexually. Because of this, his Palace is the school turned into a castle (where he is king), and his treasure is an important medal from his career as an athlete, marking the point in time where his arrogance began. The general public’s conscience and its respective manifestations, on the other hand, are cluttered together in Mementos, a place resembling Tokyo’s underground system. Basically and in short, all people manifest “anonymously” in Mementos by default, but if any of them happen to develop especially deep desires or obsessions, an individual Palace separate from Mementos is formed from their cognition.

As it turns out, humanity is lazy: people’s shared desire is to have their futures decided for them, rather than make their own choices, and this is why Mementos looks like a subway system, with the silhouettes of people being herded together like cattle into carriages headed for the depths. That the “treasure” at the center of it all turns out to have the appearance of the Holy Grail is a pleasantly clever surprise — Atlus seems to be implying that religion is to blame for humanity’s numbness, which is a pretty brave stand to take, even today. What’s more, the game goes on to reveal that the treasure has been given such power by humanity that it has become an actual god: Yaldabaoth (no, I did not just hit my head on the keyboard). In typical godly fashion, right upon gaining sentience, Yaldabaoth decides it sure would be swell to “play a game”: and so it takes the place of Igor, the well known master of the Velvet Room, and proceeds to give two random people the power of entering the cognitive world — or, as it is also referred to, the Metaverse — and summoning any Personas while in it: one whom he knows will try to beat humanity out of its stupor (our protagonist, Joker), and one who will punish it (Akechi, of course). Depending on who wins, it will then either spare or destroy the world. You know, just another Tuesday.

What the god did not know, however, is that before disappearing, Igor, a true fan of the people, took all of mankind’s lingering hope and made a cat out of it: Morgana. Morgana is quite the resourceful feline, what with being able to talk, summon a Persona, and even turn into a car. (Yes, I realize this whole paragraph sounds like I’m having a stroke.) While unaware of what exactly he is, he knows that his role is to guide Joker and his teammates as they navigate the Metaverse, attempting to throw down the Palaces of the wicked and uncover the secrets of Mementos.

Of course, in the beginning of the game, you don’t know crap about any of this: all you know is that you’re able to enter Palaces through a smartphone app and summon monsters to beat other monsters, all the while looked after by a talking cat. #newstroke

Well, it could be worse.

Take your heart — “take” being the keyword.

Regarding mechanics and plot structure, P5 follows the principles of the two — and only, of course — Persona games before it: there’s a whole team of characters, with an arc for the “awakening” and recruitment of each; each arc has a main villain/boss; only the protagonist — Joker — is able to summon more than one Persona and visit/make use of the Velvet Room; the game follows a school year calendar; you can improve personal attributes and your bonds with other people through several different daily activities, granting you a range of benefits (more so here than in previous titles, in fact, since the deepening of relationships comes with extra abilities, and not just more EXP when fusing Personas of the same Arcana); you can date a girl — or more, at your own risk (unfortunately, modern as it is, P5 still does not allow for same-sex relationships).

It does, however, quite specifically feature a heavy theme of thievery and sin — better yet, the promotion thereof — that is all its own:

1. Arsene, Joker’s main Persona, is named after Arsène Lupin, a fictional “gentleman thief” by French author Maurice Leblanc (incidentally, “Leblanc” is also the name of Sojiro’s coffee shop, where Joker lives), known for going after criminals; Morgana’s is called Zorro, and Akechi’s is Robin Hood. 2. Joker’s character development, as well as all of the others’, involves “breaking free” of chains, both literal and metaphorical. 3. Your team, besides the name you choose to give it, is known as The Phantom Thieves, and the whole story is about “stealing hearts”. 4. Joker’s ultimate Persona is Satanael, a “son of God who rebelled against Him for freedom and bestowed free will and chaos upon humanity” — his Sinful Shell attack, combining the power of the seven deadly sins, is ultimately responsible for Yaldabaoth’s demise. 5. Humanity’s corruption, described as the lack of free will, is symbolized by the Holy Grail, while the game’s true antagonist and final boss is a chastizing god.

And while we’re at it: seven eight deadly sins.

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of the seven deadly sins, to the point of collecting tons of artwork relating to it. However, because my boyfriend played the game first, I never saw the names of the trophies for completing the Palaces — and did not realize that each was related to one of the sins until my second playthrough. (Yes, despite their mention in the calling cards. Yes, I’m pretty ridiculous. Well, at least I guessed which was which on my own.)

The deadly sins were originally eight, until Pope Gregory — that rebel — altered the list by adding envy and merging sorrow with sloth and vainglory/vanity with pride. (Seven just sounded better? I guess? How unlike the Church, making no sense.) But Atlus, in true sinful thievery, was like, FU Church, and adopted the current list plus vanity. The math wouldn’t have checked out otherwise, and we all know how important Math is.

With that said, the representations make a lot of sense: Kamoshida abused his students — Castle of Lust; Madarame made himself adored as an artist while actually using his pupils’ works — Museum of Vanity; Kaneshida cared only about getting richer — Bank of Gluttony; Futaba could not come to terms with herself about her mother’s death — Pyramid of Wrath; Okumura stepped on everyone in order to get to the top — Spaceship of Greed; Sae feels that she has to work harder than any male to maintain her position and that she is not allowed her sister’s carefree student life — Casino of Jealousy; Shido saw himself as the only person worthy of steering Japan — Cruiser of Pride.

Very cleverly, all that’s left is Sloth — and Atlus saved it for the people of Mementos, the representation of humanity itself. The humanity that is okay with being told what to do.

What do you mean, “ethics”?

Now hold your horses and let’s get serious for a bit. While I am the first to praise P5’s message of breaking free from one’s limitations and others’ opinions, most of the times I could not help asking myself: what the fuck am I doing?

Let’s review the game’s premise: for the most of it, the Phantom Thieves basically enter people’s Palaces and steal their treasures — the symbols of what started their wrongdoing — in order to “clean” them of their twisted desires. They supposedly do this for the good of society: to protect the weak from those who would abuse their power to deprive them of their freedom in any way. But how does this make them any different from the “bad guys” themselves? They, too, are forcefully changing a person through methods unbeknownst to them and out of their control. They, too, are dictating ways of life. This is not to say that they are not in the right — of course rape is wrong, of course abuse of any kind is wrong; that is not at all the point here –, but that they, too, are abusing power: the only difference is that they are doing it under the banner of justice. We must not forget that with free will, just as as with democracy, come choices of all kinds, not only those we as individuals think are right: otherwise we would be gods, or dictators. Freedom is a two-way street, and it does imply the right to one’s thoughts, whatever they may be. These people may be criminals, and surely they deserve proper punishment for it — but is that what changing their minds is? What the Phantom Thieves are achieving is false remorse — these “changes of heart” are not real, for they never would have happened naturally: not at those times, anyway. There’s no real redemption in them. In this sense, and awkward as it may be, I do feel that Akechi was right in his statements, whether he meant them or not: the Thieves’ actions are criminal, just as much as their victims’. Yes, these people may be trash, but they are being robbed of the right to be trash, not just getting fair punishment for acting like trash. They are not just getting arrested, they’re being artificially changed. They are not paying for what they did, but for who they are.

In a way, near the end, the game does acknowledge the seemingly paradoxical wrong in the group’s actions: among the mindless masses in the lower levels of Mementos, they find their former victims — and only then do they realize that by taking away their twisted desires, they also took their individuality, thus making them once more irrelevant nobodies with no driving force, accustomed to not thinking and drowning in sloth. Even more shockingly, they are grateful for it — grateful for having been rid of what made them what they were, for being free to be… jailed. Free to not be free.

This is a very grey zone, and it can be argued that the ends justify the means: all things considered, maybe breaking a bad guy’s whole identity in order to rid society of him is still better than not getting rid of him at all. It’s not so different from capital punishment, really, albeit with divergent implications: when the state murders you, you are still murdered as you; these people, on the other hand, are literally condemned to live while never allowed to be themselves again. To me, this just feels wrong: and yet, it is true that most of these criminals probably wouldn’t have been caught through different means, and would have continued to cause pain upon many. So what is the right path? If we had this power, should we use it?

Matters become even worse when you consider the “smaller” changes of heart — the quests you do in Mementos. These do not even necessarily involve criminals per se, but bullies, bad parents… what right do we have to change these people’s ways like this? Should they not achieve their epiphanies by themselves, or at least consciously? Shouldn’t we be encouraging their victims to stand their ground — give them the tools for it — rather than just… well, cheat? And on a different, even more controversial level: are “bad people” — not criminals, just people such as those you find in Mementos — not allowed to exist?

I believe Atlus knew what they were doing when they put us in the Thieves’ shoes — in fact, I believe they intended for these exact thoughts, and many more, to be triggered in every player by all of the apparently mixed signals thrown their way: after all, it makes for excellent brain food. But not every player is capable of these thoughts. Some players are just kids. Others are simply not so smart, or not so balanced. Not everyone can accommodate deep thinking. For some of those, Atlus may be saying it’s okay to tell someone what and how to be — and that’s a tiny bit worrying. Or am I just overthinking?

Teenagers vs The World, or why P5 can occasionally be cringy.

All Persona games — all three of them — feature teenagers: in fact, that’s one of their defining traits. Previously, however, this has been unrealistic at worst and relatable at best. P5 takes things to a whole new level by featuring dozens and dozens of lines of dialogue badmouthing “adults” — the Thieves are trying to rid the world of “bad adults”; every cast member’s life — literally — is messed up because of “bad adults”; near the end of the game, Sae meekly asks Joker to please entrust matters to “adults” from then on…

Atlus, most of your players are “adults”, ‘k. You are adults (I hope). The problem with the world is not “bad” adults, it’s “bad” people. Adults have just had more time to turn “bad”, and possess way more power to show it. It’s cringy to see (mostly) intelligent teenagers, fictional as they may be, speak of “adults” almost as if of a different species, or as if not realizing that’s exactly what they are about to become. Makoto is fucking seventeen and quite clever — at the very least, don’t put stupid words in her mouth, pls.

It’s annoying.

The one true girl.

Persona being half-dating sim as it is, arguments over who is the best girl/waifu in each game are abundant (and hilarious). The fact that Atlus has never made any couple “canon” — although one might argue some hints have been dropped — naturally helps fuel the fire. In P5, as per usual, there are girls for all tastes. (Trust me, aaaallllll tastes.) These are mine.

3. Takemi. Punk doctor as she may be, I swear my appreciation of Takemi is not biased. I think (?). Anyway, to me, Takemi is easily the hottest girl in the game, followed by Ann (Sae would be serious competition — if she had a different haircut. Sorry, Sae!), and it does help that both her teasing nature and voice acting (in Japanese, that is — the English version is too deep) are extremely attractive. I’m not too fond of the self-defeating attitude, though, nor of the fact that she gets close to no character development. Either way, out of all the adult female cast, she looks best next to Joker, by far. That’s something, I guess. #sorrykawakamilovers #notsorry (Also, her Arcana is Death! Death is a wonderful Arcana. Alice is amazing. Yes.) 2. Ann. Once you realize she’s neither conceited nor that dumb, Ann is a character that easily grows on you, refreshingly tearing away quite a few preconceptions. Being hot hasn’t made her annoyingly popular — quite the opposite; girls avoid her –, and together with Ryuji, she is by far the most genuine character in the whole cast. She is earnest, sweet, pragmatic and brave, and also the Thief who (healthily) questions the group’s actions the most. And she couldn’t care less about diets. #relate (Also, her Arcana is Lovers. Lovers is a nice Arcana. Ishtar is gorgeous. Yes.) 1. Makoto. The best girl, period, no arguments. Seriously. Makoto is intelligent, determined, dignified, collected, resourceful, pretty — and a Taurus to top it off. (#totallyserioushere.) Her Multiverse suit is all black, her Persona is a bike, her element is Nuclear, she had a great relationship with her father, and in the USA she would definitely get voted Most Likely to Succeed. Almost imperfectly perfect, tbh — which is the only real type of perfection. (Also, her Arcana is irrelevant. It sucks.)

Nope, no Futaba. They’re like siblings (and not Lannister/Targaryen siblings). Sorry, guys.

Verdict

While I remain certain that P3 — the first Persona — is my favorite in the series, because no other plot or cast has come close so far, I was not quite as easily able to establish a preference between P4 and P5. All things considered, however, I’d have to say that P5 is the winner. The game is at least 100 hours of fluidity, tastefulness, and pure, genuine fun. The battle system is better than ever, the Palaces are each of them amazing in their own uniqueness (it’s hard to choose a favorite — but I’d have to say mine is Shido’s, closely followed by Futaba’s), the music is to die for, the character design is gorgeous. It is not without its flaws — Joker is ridiculously cool in the Metaverse, but still not as much as Chad Yu in daily life (sorry, facts are facts); overall, P4 probably has more hilarious moments –, but it is at once light and heavy, depending on how you choose to experience it: and that’s not an easy feat in a video game.

More importantly, however, it is all about that passionate red; the unique fire inside each of us that makes us wake up, get up and get out there, that makes us who we are — and how we must never let it go out. It exalts the sin of free will — that “sin” which we call life, and is all we have — against the false virtue found in the shackles of religion. It tells us we’re fine the way we are. And just for that lesson, it would be well worth playing.