Nier: Automata is one of those games you have to experience for yourself. If you haven't then beware spoilers, but the game is set up with dead ends, false finishes, constant narrative table-flips, and a grand total of 26 endings. I remember ploughing through it breathlessly with only the vaguest idea of what was going on, then looking at the wiki afterwards to find out what the hell just happened. So when director Yoko Taro says he wanted to create something that even he couldn't quite grasp, I kinda see where he's coming from.
Speaking to Archipel in a new video about his writing process, in which Taro wears his trademark "Emil" mask (a character from Nier), the creator says he had no idea where to start with Automata, other than knowing he wanted a new "starting point each time" and "something different to write" for projects.
"Drakengard depicts a dark and violent story, whereas Nier Replicant is themed around sorrow," says Taro. "At the time, there wasn't really something set in stone that I wanted to do. I had already built a story that raises emotion with Replicant. This time around, I attempted to create something more confusing with Automata."
Taro says the starting point for Automata was a character designed so players couldn't possibly relate to her. "At the very beginning, the story's frame started with Simone's character," says Taro. "It's this big female robot that sings on stage. In Replicant, you always fight enemies understanding the reason why you do so. This time around, it's impossible to feel empathy. She devotes herself to a man as she dresses with corpses. I added this trait that players can't relate to.
"Automata's story progresses while holding some of these situations that are difficult to understand. I aimed for a story I'd have trouble grasping myself."
Mission accomplished, I'd say. Taro then gets a little more philosophical and embarks on a great extended metaphor about game design and making cubes.
"Looking back [on Automata], I don't really have any regrets," says Taro. "I'd actually say that I've never felt like I carried out anything completely. It feels more like a task. I would say that building a story is like making a cube out of clay. You make it, but every time you look at it, you find a side that's crooked.
"Then you manipulate it again, just to realise that it's crooked somewhere else. That feeling keeps going on forever. As you keep adjusting it, the deadline finally hits and you need to stop.
"At that moment, you start feeling that it somehow turned out all right. But shortly after, you see some crooked parts once again."
Taro's point is a great one. I've been a writer for a long time now, and there are certain pieces you work and work at but are never quite happy with: then it's deadline, and it has to go. And years later you can stumble across these half-remembered pieces, and it's like seeing them anew.
"Three years later, you'd look again and feel it looks like a nice cube again," says Taro. "Your feeling towards it keeps evolving. I never had that feeling of having made the perfect cube or the perfect scenario. After some time though, I could feel like I made the necessary efforts.
"So in the end I don't feel regret towards something I should perhaps have done. If I had infinite time and resources, I'd keep working on that cube forever. There's a need to put a stop at some point. Then the time just comes. You don't get to be fully satisfied, but it ultimately comes to an end. There's a bit of sadness when you can't work on it anymore. However, I never feel the need to take over things I left out into something else. I always start again from scratch, aspiring to perfect that cube."
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