by Jed Pressgrove
The title screen of Mainichi recalls the history of Japanese RPGs. Instantly sentimental music is a trick that almost every JRPG plays (even moodier ones like Chrono Cross). Once you move past Mainichi’s title screen, that decades-long thread is lost. Enter a world where JRPG music doesn’t exist.
Mainichi’s rejection of sentimental music is partly why Craig Stern wrote “Mainichi is not an RPG,” a statement that spends too much thought on what RPGs have been rather than on what they can be. Mainichi is a minimalist RPG and demonstrates how one can “role-play” outside of the sentimental model. The game’s sociological approach also contrasts with the sentimentality of many western RPGs — the promise of character creation mostly reflects a colorblind and genderless fantasy.
Developer Mattie Brice uses a Groundhog Day narrative structure to share her emotional struggle as a trans woman. The game’s purpose is no secret, but it does present a more passive attitude than either Anna Anthropy’s dys4ia or Devi Ever’s Grand Titons. The hurtful messages you receive in Mainichi are influenced by that RPG standby: equipment. The importance of appearance in Mainichi makes even the faction politics of Fallout: New Vegas seem limited.
The player’s mission in Mainichi might become finding the path of least heartache. Walking down a sidewalk, for example, is more than a mundane everyday occurrence. Whereas the sidewalks of Will You Ever Return: In da Hood showcase an intermingling of fantasy and reality, the sidewalks of Mainichi smack only of uncomfortable realities about prejudice and relief. Nonplayable characters prompt you, not the other way around.
The coffee shop sequence is the most provocative part of the game. If you play Mainichi in a certain way, you can avoid discomfort and discouragement until it comes from an unexpected source. This “ending” fulfills Brice’s intensely personal message, less of a damning critique than a difficult heart-to-heart.
Last year critic Sidney Fussell asked “Can videogames teach us about race?” Mainichi, though more about gender, answered that question the year before it was asked. Brice could have made a longer, less repetitive, and more hopeful game (for that, Grand Titons is a better artistic creation), but at the very least, Mainichi provides a window into the social potential of video games.