Culture Transfer in Video Game Localization

BRINGING THE FOREIGN INTO PLAY Cultural Transfer in Video Game Localization

Milla Hyttinen University of Tampere School of Modern Languages and Translation Studies Translation Studies (English) MA Thesis May 2010

Tampereen yliopisto Käännöstiede (englanti) Kieli- ja käännöstieteiden laitos

HYTTINEN, MILLA: Bringing the Foreign into Play – Cultural Transfer in Video Game Localization Pro gradu -tutkielma, 87 sivua + suomenkielinen lyhennelmä, 10 sivua. Kevät 2010

Abstrakti Tässä tutkielmassa tarkastellaan videopelien lokalisointia ja pyritään selvittämään, kuuluuko lokalisointiin määritelmällisesti kääntämisen rajat ylittävää kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Aiemmassa tutkimuksessa pelit määritellään usein toiminnallisiksi viihdetuotteiksi, joiden kulttuurisella alkuperällä ei ole merkitystä varsinaisen pelikokemuksen kannalta. Tästä johtuen vahva kotouttaminen olisi perusteltu yleisstrategia. Lisäksi lokalisoinnin ymmärretään usein pitävän sisällään kulttuurista kotouttamista, joka ei kuuluisi kääntämisen piiriin. Pyrin kyseenalaistamaan tätä ja hakemaan samalla tarkennusta lokalisoinnin ja pelien määritelmään suhteessa kääntämiseen. Tutkimuksen lähtökohtia ovat aikaisempi tutkimus ja lokalisoinnin kaupallinen määritelmä, joita tarkastellaan teoriaosiossa rinnakkain pelien olennaisimpien piirteiden ja kääntämisen määritelmän kanssa. Tutkimusaineistoksi valikoitui visuaalisesti ja alkuasetelmaltaan lähtökulttuuriinsa sijoittuva japanilainen peli sekä sen Pohjois-Amerikkaan ja Eurooppaan lokalisoidut versiot. Koska peli heijastaa eksplisiittisesti lähtökulttuuriaan ja lähtö- ja kohdekulttuuripiirit ovat hyvin kaukana toisistaan, oletin, että kulttuurinen adaptaatio nousisi selkeästi esiin siinä tapauksessa, että se olisi erottamaton osa lokalisointia. Vieraannuttavampaa strategiaa pidin puolestaan merkkinä kääntämisestä. Tutkittu peli osoittautui aiempien tutkimusten väittämiin nähden hyvin vieraannuttavaksi eikä sisältänyt käytännössä lainkaan kulttuurista adaptaatiota, jonka olisi voinut tulkita kääntämisen ulkopuoliseksi. Pidin tätä osoituksena siitä, ettei pelilokalisointiin kuulu määritelmällisesti kääntämisen ulkopuolista kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Sen sijaan on erotettavissa seuraavat kaksi lokalisoinnin ominaisuutta, joista jälkimmäinen saattaa olla erityisen helposti sekoitettavissa kulttuuriseen adaptaatioon: tekninen lokalisointi ja aluekohtainen lokalisointi. Tutkimuksen johtopäätöksenä oli, että pelit eivät eroa muista, perinteisemmistä tekstityypeistä syvällisesti kääntämisen ja sen haasteiden kannalta, mistä syystä pelien kielellistä ja kulttuurista välittämistä on perustelluinta kutsua kääntämiseksi lokalisoinnin sijaan käännöstieteen piirissä. Kyseessä on kuitenkin kääntämisen erikoisala, joka ansaitsee itsessään lisää tutkimusta erityisesti pelikontekstin ja multimodaalisuuden vaikutuksesta kääntämiseen sekä kulttuurin ilmenemisestä peleissä. Avainsanat: videopelit, lokalisointi, adaptaatio, pelien kääntäminen, pelitutkimus, konsolipelit, tietokonepelit, vieraannuttaminen, kotouttaminen

CONTENTS 1. INTRODUCTION

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2. VIDEO GAMES—INTERPLAY OF FUNCTION AND MEANING

4 5 7 9 12

2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4

Interaction vs. Interpretation in Games and Film Representation and Gameplay The Twofold Nature of Video Games: Product/Artifact Culture in Representation and Gameplay

3. LOCALIZATION, TRANSLATION AND VIDEO GAMES

3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4

Easier Done Than Defined Localization = Domestication? Differentiating between Localization and Translation Enter Foreignization

4. GAME PLAN

4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4

Remade in Japan: Japanese Games in Western Markets Mukokuseki and kokuseki The Case of the Crimson Butterfly Research Method

5. CHASING CULTURAL GHOSTS

5.1 Representation 5.1.1 In-Game Text 5.1.2 Visuals 5.1.3 Audio Content

5.2 Functionality 5.2.1 Menus 5.2.2 In-Game Instructions

5.3 Interpretation of Findings 5.3.1 Summary 5.3.2 Underlying Cultural Themes and Issues

15 16 18 22

24 26 26 28 31

35 38 38 38 51 60 63 64 68 70 70 72

6. END GAME

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REFERENCES

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SUOMENKIELINEN LYHENNELMÄ

1. Introduction

Video games represent a relatively young form of entertainment that is quickly gaining in popularity and social visibility. Multidisciplinary studies on games have proliferated since the late 1990s (Williams and Smith, 2007: 2), but the linguistic and cultural content and translation of games remain relatively scarcely studied areas, even in the field of Translation Studies.

The practice of what is nowadays called “video game localization” has nevertheless been going on for a few decades and helped catapult the games industry into dramatic growth by the 21st century. Rendering games usable and understandable outside their country and language of origin facilitates international sales, which not only account for a substantial portion of the game publishers’ profits, but also drive the dissemination of new design ideas and innovations within the games industry (Chandler, 2005: 3; Kalata, 2007; Kohler, 2005). As an important factor in the growth and development of gaming, game localization makes for a rich and worthwhile object of academic interest.

Due to the fairly recent emergence and rapid development of the game localization practice itself, most of the terminology arises from the practical, commercial realm. Game publishers and industry professionals view game localization as a way to further increase revenue and have these interests in mind in regard to all terminology and guides written on the subject. The main reason why the entire process is referred to as “localization” rather than “translation” is that there are significant technical considerations and more staff involved in rendering a game into another language than with the translation of any other entertainment medium, making the process a part of game development from the outset.

Beneath technical and practical considerations, however, there is the question of culture, which seems like the most interesting converging point of the localization practice and Translation Studies. In the localization industry context, cultural transfer is often squarely set apart from the translation of linguistic content, and the two are viewed as separate subsets of the overall localization process (Fry, 2003: 13). This is in direct conflict with Translation Studies, which are increasingly strongly inclined to view cultural considerations, even extralinguistic ones, as an inseparable part of the translation process (Pym, 2005: 7–8). These differences have not been exhaustively explained yet. 1

What truly piqued my interest is that so many of the pioneering academic studies on video game localization seem to maintain that video games by default require more drastic and consistent cultural adaptation than any traditional medium (e.g., Mangiron and O’Hagan, 2006; O’Hagan, 2007; Bernal Merino 2006; Bernal Merino, 2007). The question arises, is there something about the nature of games or localization itself that requires this? Cultural adaptation or domestication in translation—erasing some of the original, foreign cultural markers and replacing them with domestic ones—is a translation strategy that has historically been at its most radical in literary translations geared toward children (Klingberg, 1986: 14). As gamer demographics provided by the Entertainment Software Association (ESA) in 2009 show, however, the average age of today’s game-playing population is 35. Furthermore, it seems inexplicable that international game sales could have fuelled interest in gaming and the development of video games if a home-grown impression is of prime importance.

It would seem that there are still very interesting areas to explore in the basics of the cultural nature and transfer of video games, which is why the purpose of this study is to delve deeper into them. Using the definition of video games, localization industry terms and earlier research on video game localization as a starting point, this study will zero in on the cultural aspect of the localization process within a Translation Studies framework. The research question is this: does video game localization inherently entail cultural adaptation that is outside the scope of traditional translation? If it does, how do these changes relate to translation? If it does not, why does it seem that way? The premise here is naturally that cultural adaptation can generally be seen as something relating intimately to translation, and also that the way and degree to which adaptation is employed in translation usually depends on the circumstances rather than on any specific medium (see Oittinen, 2000: 76–84).

I will begin by studying the most relevant aspects of the game medium in Chapter 2 and move on to examine the industry concept of video game localization as it relates to video games and translation and discuss the research problem in more detail in Chapter 3. Chapter 4 introduces the research material and defines the method, which is followed by the empirical part of this thesis in Chapter 5. I seek to answer the research question by carrying out a qualitative, in-depth analysis on a Japanese PlayStation 2 game, Zero: Akai Chō, and two of its English localized versions, released in North America and Europe.

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There were three essential criteria for selecting the games: (1) the source game had to reflect its cultural origin explicitly, (2) the source and target cultures had to be far apart, and (3) the target cultures had to represent significant market areas. I assumed that with this type of material, any cultural adaptation beyond translation would stand out particularly clearly. This is because translation as such tends to be tilted toward foreignization when the distance between the source and target cultures is great, whereas the sheer size of the North American and European market areas should call for significant adaptational localization changes based on the industry definition of localization.

By looking for and examining localization changes as well as translation decisions, I hope to gain some clarity into how localization and translation relate to each other when it comes to cultural transfer. As I base my analysis on the assumption that any cultural feature in the game could have been modified in the localization process, what is left unchanged is just as interesting as what has been changed.

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2. Video Games—Interplay of Function and Meaning This chapter explores the most relevant aspects of video games. The purpose is to gain some preliminary insight into how games differ from traditional media and in what ways their cultural origin manifests itself.

The term “video game” is frequently used to refer to games played on a computer as well as games played on a separate game console. Further broadened, it may refer to any type of digital games, such as mobile and arcade games. Although I will use the term “video game” in its relatively loose sense with a particular focus on console and computer games, it warrants mentioning that not everything can be generalized to apply to even these two types of games. The gaming platform entails many differences in the genre selection, functionality and sales of the games developed for them. I will therefore also use more accurate terms when a distinction needs to be made. For the most part, however, the perspective from which games are discussed in this chapter does not necessarily call for a clearer distinction.

The game medium is marked by rapid development. The evolution of commercial video games—computer and console games alike—has progressed hand in hand with the advancement of technology. That is to say, in leaps and bounds. As technology improves, video games are also becoming increasingly complex in content, presentation and functionality. The new technical sophistication brings with it not only improved graphic performance, but also worlds of deepening representation and experience.

In 1972, the digital table tennis game Pong, featuring a square dot bouncing between two vertical lines, seemed technically and graphically sophisticated when compared to a slightly older television tennis game Odyssey, which not only managed to have poorer graphics, but also made less sense and forced players to keep score on paper (Kohler, 2005: 14). Today, both of these games seem like the epitome of simplicity when compared to the latest sports games or any other popular titles, illustrating the quantum leaps that video games have been taking. Realistic or artistic graphics, nuanced themes, complex controls, vast game worlds or spaces and voice-acting have become the norm in most established game genres.

Parallel to this type of deepening development, the genre selection has also expanded greatly and includes game types that may only barely qualify as video games at all. This diversity is 4

what makes video games particularly challenging to define. For the purposes of this study, I will concentrate mostly on console and computer games that have clearly evolved from the earliest prototypes of video games, “video games proper,” so to speak. This refers to games that are primarily played as an end in themselves, rather than as a means to do something else that could also be done without the video game medium, such as to get fit with Wii Fit, sing in SingStar or test one’s trivia knowledge in Buzz! Even with this preliminary distinction, the full spectrum of games that should fit one definition is still quite staggering.

Contemporary game studies distinguish between two basic directions or perspectives from which the task of defining video games can be approached. One approach is to see video games as deriving from traditional rule-bound games, such as board games, and to seek a definition through the concepts of rules and play that are common to all video games (ludology). The other approach is to view video games through the lens of traditional forms of storytelling, such as film, with the aim of seeing how games resemble or differ from these narrative constructions (narratology). These two perspectives, ludology and narratology, have in some contexts been perceived as contradictory, but considering the complexity of games, it is more accurate to see them as complementary. (Frasca, 1999; Eskelinen, 2004; Juul, 2001; Konzack, 2007: 119–121).

Approaching the subject from a localization industry perspective, Vanessa Wood from Sony Computer Entertainment Europe maintains that video games are becoming more and more like movies (Bernal Merino, 2009). This could be seen as a narratological view. Because the perspective of this thesis is focused on video game localization—a process that is becoming more complex as games themselves continue evolving—it makes sense to begin by taking a look at how games and film are in fact very different, and to go on to explore ways in which they may be seen as coming closer together. This approach is intended to weave ludological and narratological definitions of games together from the particular perspective of this study.

2.1 Interaction vs. Interpretation in Games and Film

Film is an art form that traditionally relies on linear, predetermined story-telling, be it verbal, visual, aural or all of these combined, to capture and keep the viewer’s attention. In contrast, although the majority of today’s video games feature narrative elements and a frame story 5

that leads the action forward, games are generally not played for any narration as such, but for the immersive, challenging, interactive experience that they offer. As Vuorela (2007: 23) points out, from a game developer’s point of view, games are basically made up of a sequence of interactive functions, whereas the game story merely provides the framework. Therefore the single most distinctive feature of video games is interactivity, which is also commonly referred to as “gameplay.” More specifically, gameplay means the actual mechanics that define how players can interact with the game environment, and can be considered to be the only truly necessary part of a game. The popular puzzle game Tetris from 1984 is frequently used to illustrate this (Konzack, 2007: 120). Tetris has nothing in the way of a narrative; it relies solely on gameplay that consists of fitting different shapes together by manipulating them as they fall from the top of the screen.

Gameplay as the raison d’être of games is therefore what ultimately sets games apart from films and other narrative constructions. This observation is the main premise of the ludological approach. Some ludology-based arguments go further to claim that games cannot be considered as a medium of artistic expression similar to films due to gameplay (Picot, 2009; Vuorela, 2007: 23). If art is equated with a creation that can only be interpreted, not interacted with, then there is no denying that games do not qualify as art. While films emphasize the creator, the “story-teller,” games can effectively make players the authors of their own experience. What this argument fails to consider, however, is that it may not be accurate to define the gaming experience solely through gameplay, and there may be another order of expression taking place in games. This is where narratology can play a role in complementing the definition of games.

As Thompson (2007: 58) points out in his book for aspiring game designers, even games with little or no story need context and meaning. The overall gaming experience is composed not only of gameplay, but also of the meanings built around and within it. Throughout this thesis, I will refer to these meanings as “representation.” The simplest example would be the square dot in Pong, which in the context of the game represents a ball in a table tennis match. Tetris is a very rare type of video game in its level of abstraction, but even it has clearly defined polyomino shapes (“Tetriminoes”), which together with gameplay bring puzzles and construction toys to mind.

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The reason why the role of these meanings may be difficult to see by comparing games and films is that the concept of representation in games cannot be understood in an exactly similar manner as representation in film. Lacking the dimension of gameplay, a film could not even exist without consistent representation. In games, however, representation is present to highly varying degrees and in different forms for different games and entirely different purposes, often becoming meaningful only as the game is played. The concepts of representation and gameplay will be further examined in the following section.

2.2 Representation and Gameplay

So far, it has been established that a game is made up of gameplay and some type of representation. What is not entirely clear yet is the relationship between the two.

It could very well be argued that it makes next to no difference whether the dot in Pong is a ball or not; the game is fun to play all the same. However, thinking of Pong—consciously or unconsciously—as representing a table tennis match with a ball and two paddles makes instantly much more sense than a white dot wandering from one end of the screen to another with two vertical lines to make it change direction. Representation is therefore the point from which the game derives its identity and meaning. The functional gameplay in Pong, apart from representation, is to take carefully coordinated and timed action in order to keep the white dot from disappearing from the screen, and ultimately to reach a high score.

Once the fundamental workings of the game are figured out, it would seem that all that truly matters in games such as Pong are what the player sees on screen and how he or she reacts to it (see Picot, 2009). However, it needs to be pointed out that this is an example of both gameplay and representation in their embryonic forms. Essentially, the action is an ongoing repetition of the same simple function, and while the flow of the game clearly resembles that of a table tennis match, there is nothing about a square dot in itself that says “ball.”

As was pointed out at the beginning of this chapter, games are quickly evolving. In light of this, it is very interesting at this point to take a brief look further back in time and note that one of the earliest known digital games, Spacewar! developed in 1961, was actually far more complicated in functionality than Pong (1972). So complicated, in fact, that at the time it was hardly comprehensible outside computer-savvy circles. (Kohler, 2005: 14–15). It did have a 7

representational identity as a space game, with two space ships, missiles and stars, but relied so heavily on physics and complex controls that representation was left far behind functionality. The game had to be learned from a lengthy instruction manual, which may very well be why Pong came to be the first truly successful mainstream game rather than Spacewar! (ibid.: 15).

The most important implication here is that sophisticated and complicated action in a video game needs equally complex or realistic layers of representation and meaning to make sense of what can actually be done in the game. In a sense, development had to backtrack from Spacewar! and begin to build up from the rudimentary basics of both gameplay and representation and keep them in balance in order for games to make their breakthrough as a medium. Even the primitive representational identity of Pong implies that in its more developed form, representation comes to intertwine inseparably with gameplay to produce the overall gaming experience.

In a more modern video game, such as Tomb Raider (1996), representation is much more explicit and realistic than in either Pong or Spacewar! The game features a three-dimensional world, a detailed frame story, recognizable settings such as ancient tombs in Egypt, and a playable human character, identified as a female archaeologist from England. The overall theme of adventure can be unmistakably derived from all the representational elements and the way they function together with gameplay, which is complex in equal measure to representation.

Summing games up as a balanced synthesis of gameplay and representation is a sufficient and fairly comprehensive definition for the purposes of this study. It serves as the basis for the following question, which is particularly relevant when considering adaptation in game localization: gameplay and representation may have to be in balance, but since gameplay can be seen as the heart of a game, does this mean that representational elements are interchangeable? If it does, it might be hypothesized that cultural adaptation in game localization is based on the nature of games. It is also the most essential question in determining whether or not games can ultimately be seen as a medium of artistic expression. This will be considered in the next section, introducing the central concepts of product and artifact and returning to draw upon the comparison with film.

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2.3 The Twofold Nature of Video Games: Product/Artifact

In his research article on video game localization, Miguel Á. Bernal Merino (2006: 27) expresses the crucial insight that “a video game is a ‘product designed for mass consumption’ and an ‘artistic team creation’ at the same time.” He speaks of the “duality nature” of games as products and artifacts, defining an artifact as a unique aesthetic creation, whereas the primary purpose of a product, such as a car or utility software, is to cater to the needs and expectations of consumers (ibid.: 28). In other words, products are all about fulfilling a certain function, while artifacts come into being through artistic expression.

Although Bernal Merino does not consider this division to be enough to strike a clear difference between games and other audiovisual products, which was his purpose, it is highly useful in the context of this study when set side by side with the concepts discussed in the previous section. While the product/artifact division does not directly translate to the duality of gameplay/representation, there are certain parallels that aid in exploring the meaning and importance of representation in a game.

How do the definitions of a product and artifact apply to a video game, then? First of all, games can be seen as products because the central importance of gameplay makes them “functional,” and in that sense closer to high-tech toys or utility software than films. The product nature is also visible in the extent to which game content can potentially be edited for release into different market areas. Bernal Merino (2006: 28) goes so far as to say that “everything in a video game is open to particular changes for specific territories, if it would mean a potential increase in sales.” Considering that the cost of producing a typical commercial video game rises above $10 million, it is obviously in the game developers’ and publishers’ interests to try to meet consumer expectations (Fernandez, 2008: 181). It may be difficult at first to see how this could be reconciled with seeing games as artifacts. There are, however, numerous ways to point out how games are more than simply products.

One particularly poignant way to illustrate the artifact nature of games would be to consider cultural acceptability through the example of video game controversy. Pure products, such as utility software, rarely contain culturally sensitive or controversial elements. The most likely explanation for this is that the manufacturers and marketers of these products see the intended function as taking precedence over any representational elements that might be 9

considered offensive or controversial and thereby cause legal problems or hurt sales. In creative and expressive works like films, however, these elements may be used as part of the expression, inextricably woven into the fabric of the story and overall presentation.

It follows that if games are solely products with functionality—entertaining gameplay—as their only unchangeable core part, controversial representational elements can only be seen as a superfluous yet entertaining addition that is easily replaceable. The question is, can controversial representation actually be an inherent part of a game as a whole? As gameplay and representation continue developing, the answer is increasingly clearly “yes.”

An enlightening example of this is the phenomenally successful game series Grand Theft Auto (GTA), developed by the Scottish video game developer Rockstar North. The Gamer’s Edition of the Guinness World Records 2009 names GTA as the most controversial game series in the history of gaming (Glenday and Pullin, 2009: 108). This is based on the amount of media attention the series has received as one of the most notorious examples of games whose content is perceived as promoting violence and glamorizing crime. In GTA games, the objective of the main character is to make his way up through the criminal underworld in a vast fictional city, which is usually modeled more or less identifiably after an existing metropolis. In the latest installment of the series, GTA IV, the setting is a highly realistic rendering of New York City, dubbed “Liberty City,” where the Eastern European main character arrives at the outset in search of a better life and finds himself knee-deep in the business of crime.

Generally speaking, game developers have to think twice before using depictions of violence, sexual and criminal acts, as this type of content will invariably be reflected in age ratings and may even result in bans in some countries, obviously risking sales (Chandler, 2005: 26–27). However, Rockstar North has incorporated many explicitly violent and sexual themes as part of the GTA games. Despite severe restrictions and widespread media controversy rising from these elements, the game series in its uncensored form has received perfect and nearperfect reviews from game critics and become the most successful video game series of all times on PlayStation 2 (Glenday and Pullin, 2009: 108–109).

While it might be argued that the controversial elements are used as an additional selling point by simply gluing them to an already functional gameplay, signs of the very opposite 10

can be seen in reviews of GTA IV, one of which summarizes the appeal of the game in the following words:

But while the mechanics, side missions and other core gameplay elements are all fantastic, it's the story and overall presentation that elevates GTA IV to heights very rarely seen in gaming. Rockstar North has once again done an amazing job of walking the fine line between humor and seriousness with characters that you're immediately able to connect to. They're almost all bad people, to be sure, but each of them has character weaknesses and vulnerabilities that make them real. (Roper, 2008).

Furthermore, Gonzalez’s (2004) article on a wide variety of controversial video games suggests that games that rely purely on violence, breaking taboos and shocking audiences are not likely to reach particular success, not necessarily even when propelled by the free publicity bought by controversy. Therefore, the controversial themes of the highly successful GTA series may be considered to be an inherent part of the creation as a whole and to function on the game world’s own terms and meanings, together with the gameplay.

To offer a slightly different kind of example, in 2007, two years prior to its release, the Japanese survival horror game Resident Evil 5 was accused of being racist on the basis of its first trailer, where a white protagonist was shown shooting black zombies in an African village (Pham, 2009). Whereas the developers of GTA IV had consciously woven in controversial themes, it had most likely not even occurred to the developers of Resident Evil 5 that their game might be perceived as racist. They were aware of the entire context, but the trailer portrayed only a small part of the game. As a result, the developer Capcom chose not to change the content in response to negative feedback while the game was still in development. Although an African female protagonist was added to the game after the initial trailer was released, the game’s producer, Jun Takeuchi, stated that the criticism had had no effect on the game design (McWhertor, 2008). In a Los Angeles Times article, Capcom’s spokesman Chris Kramer was quoted justifying the choice of Africa as a location for the game by emphasizing the logic of the game series’ frame story (Pham, 2009). It was also pointed out that when seen as a whole, the game was clearly not racist (ibid.).

As can be seen on the basis of the previous examples, even serious considerations of what is culturally acceptable do not necessarily dictate the representational content of video games in the way they might affect other software products and their related imagery. Game developers can justify their choices of content through the inner logic and expression of the

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game as a whole. In early games, these elements may indeed have been superfluous or even offensive, but today the way they can be incorporated into the meanings of the game changes the interpretation completely. In the sense of overall expression receiving priority even in some commercial games, it is indeed justifiable to view games as artifacts such as films, in addition to products. Many games do, in fact, sell for their overall artifact identities as much as for providing enjoyable gameplay. They are also rated on those grounds by game critics, and as Dave Ranyard from Sony points out, game review scores are very important to game developers (Bernal Merino, 2009).

The developing game stories told through both representation and gameplay are clearly bringing games closer to movies in their capacity as artifacts, but the fundamental differences still remain—and will remain. To say that these “game stories” are constructed and enjoyed similarly to films and separately from gameplay would be entirely mistaken or simplistic at best. Game developer Michaël Samyn captures this very well when describing his mostly non-commercial games:

When we talk about “story” with respect to our games, we don’t mean linear plotbased narrative constructions. When we say story, we refer to the meanings of the game, the content, its theme. (…) [W]e believe that contemporary computer games have already crossed the borders of traditional games. Most of them just don’t realize it yet. They don’t realize that the most interesting aspect of their design is the way in which they express the story: through the environment, the animations, the colour, the lighting, etc. (Samyn, 2008).

While commercial game developers may not have the luxury to explore the artistic potential of the medium to the fullest, as Picot points out (2009), it seems clear that the game medium contains representation that is not separable from the game as a whole. This in turn would qualify games as a medium of artistic expression similarly to films and other traditional narratives, meaning that they must also be tied to their culture of origin in different ways than such products as utility software and DVD players. The next section takes a closer look at how culture manifests itself in representation and gameplay.

2.4 Culture in Representation and Gameplay

At a time when monochrome dots and lines and simple controls were the only building blocks of a game, it would have been quite an accomplishment to create a deeply culturespecific game. This is not to say, however, that the earliest games were not affected by their 12

culture of origin. In recent studies, culture has been shown to be inherent in every aspect of game design, built into the very makeup of a game (Kalata, 2007; O’Hagan, 2009). From the way controls, characters and game worlds are designed to camera angles and the level of linearity or non-linearity in gameplay, games coming from different cultures can feature notable differences (Kalata, ibid.). Even games that in principle belong to the same genre may look, feel and function very differently, depending on the origin of the game.

In addition to the inherent cultural specificity, modern games can also have an explicit layer of cultural representation, as in-game graphics allow for increasingly realistic depiction. The representation of a game may therefore draw upon a highly realistic cultural setting, as in the case of the distinctly American GTA IV. However, if games that are based on films and other predetermined stories and locations are excluded, it has traditionally been more typical for games to take place in imaginary settings. The word “imaginary” here does not necessarily refer to full-fledged fantasy worlds; it can refer to real-world or historical settings, but the anonymity and lack of clear cultural or ethnic markers can make the settings seemingly culture-neutral in most games. This is particularly typical in Japanese games. Iwabuchi (2002) uses the expression “culturally odorless,” or mukokuseki in Japanese, to describe these worlds that seemingly exist in no-man’s land.

One reason why fantasy settings appear so common in games could be that representation that is based on imagination opens up more possibilities and freedom when it comes to designing gameplay. Realistic depiction requires that game mechanics also abide by the laws of physics. For example, a human character in a relatively realistic setting cannot logically be designed with an ability to jump from the ground to the roof of a building. An imaginary representational quality has to be added to account for breaking the scientific laws. Consequently, realistic cultural settings are also rarer.

Even when a game does take place in a realistic cultural setting, it is not necessarily that in which the game was developed. This is exemplified by GTA IV which is set in an American cultural space, but was developed in Scotland. Explicit cultural representation is therefore not a perfectly straightforward or even a common matter in games, but to a large extent, the same could probably be said about any expressive medium. The story of a novel may or may not be set in the real world or in the culture that the writer grew up in, but it will still reflect

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its cultural origin, if not in anything else, in the way the story is constructed, linguistic features and the thinking that underlies it.

Almost every game naturally also has linguistic elements, which in the gaming context can be assigned various roles and appear in many different text types. According to Frank Dietz (2006: 124), the purpose of language in games is to help and instruct the player to proceed, while at the same time introducing elements of intrigue, fleshing out characters and bringing depth and authenticity to the game world. Based on this, it can be said that language in games can either serve the functional gameplay or mesh with the representation of the game. Examples of the “function-serving” language would be commands, menus, system feedback and instructions on screen or in the user manual. The second category includes spoken and written dialog, cut-scenes, letters, news articles and information within the game world.

Linguistic content of games has clearly followed the general development of gameplay and representation. There are changes to the more verbose even in heavily action-driven game genres such as first-person shooters, as can be seen by comparing Doom from 1993 to Doom 3, released in 2004. However, the process has not been as simple as mere growth in linguistic content. Even though most of the earliest games contained very little if any text, there are also many examples of 1980 computer games that were purely text-based and relied on language parsing, known as Interactive Fiction (Keller, 2007). It would perhaps be better to say that linguistic content is woven into the game as a whole with increasing sophistication.

To sum up, culture can play an explicit part in creating and conveying a game’s meanings, but regardless of whether a game has realistic cultural representation, cultural influence is deeply ingrained in the very fabric and architecture of the game as well as its language. Despite external and structural differences, games would therefore appear to represent the same type of cultural products as films and literature in the most fundamental sense. Nevertheless, the cultural and linguistic transfer of video games is discussed in the framework of localization. The next chapter takes a closer look at the reasons behind this.

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3. Localization, Translation and Video Games

I have already used the word “localization” throughout the early part of this thesis to refer to the overall process of creating new language versions of a video game. As mentioned in the introduction, this is a term used by the games industry itself. There is no general consensus yet on what the linguistic and cultural transfer of games should be referred to in a Translation Studies framework, but the question has been taken under closer scrutiny in several studies. Some of the most noteworthy contributions to the subject have been made by Miguel Á. Bernal Merino (2006), Minako O’Hagan (2007) and Carmen Mangiron (Mangiron and O’Hagan, 2006). Most of the pioneering studies borrow from the localization industry terminology, as there are very few other sources of information available.

The only consensus seems to be on the view that video game localization entails more consistent and large-scale cultural adaptation than any other medium. In fact, this in itself complicates questions relating to terminology. Would it not be inaccurate to refer to the linguistic and cultural transfer of games as translation alone, assuming that there is another level of cultural transfer at play that no other type of translation entails? Should the term “localization” or some other distinguishing name be used to accurately reflect this? On the other hand, is it too broad a term? Mangiron and O’Hagan (2006: 20) have suggested the term “transcreation” to refer to the “quasi absolute freedom to modify, omit, and even add any elements which they deem necessary to bring the game closer to the players.”

This thesis seeks to question the idea itself that there is a fundamentally unique quality in the cultural transfer of games, which would call for extensive cultural adaptation beyond translation. If such a quality exists, the reason for it would have to be found either in the nature of games or in the nature or definition of localization. I have already tentatively pointed out that the game medium itself does not seem to differ from other media in a way that would by itself warrant significant cultural adaptation. In fact, such adaptations might rather be ill-advised considering the balanced structure of gameplay and representation. The explanation may therefore very well lie in localization itself.

Since most of the earlier studies have had industry terminology and definitions as their starting point, I will begin by taking a look at localization in its original industry context and then examine attempts to move it into the realm of Translation Studies. 15

3.1 Easier Done Than Defined

Localization as a term seems to have gained in popularity with the proliferation of computer software over the past few decades. Consequently, the general meaning of the word is nowadays most commonly associated with technology. Considering the size of the localization industry and the frequent use of the word, it is nevertheless still surprisingly far from a clearly defined and unequivocal term, as theory lags behind practice. In fact, it is questionable whether such a thing as “localization theory” exists. As Anthony Pym (2005: 4) aptly puts it, “[t]here is something willfully perverse in dragging ideas away from the realm of commercial practice and making them act like a scholarly discipline.”

Much has been written on and around the topic of localization in recent years, but as Folaron (2006: 196-197) points out, the way localization is defined in the industry tends to vary greatly depending on the perspectives of those who formulate the definitions. In fact, what localization even entails can differ substantially depending on what is localized—a car, a magazine, a piece of software or a website. Even if the scope is narrowed to technologybased products, as it will be here, forming a balanced view is not easy considering the complexity of the process and the gamut of different professionals involved. Although this is good to bear in mind, some generalizations naturally still can and have to be drawn. Although problems may arise when the term is specified, the most common industry definitions of localization nevertheless have the same core.

Bert Esselink, one of the most well-known and often-quoted authors on the subject of localization, defines localization as follows:

In a nutshell, localization revolves around combining language and technology to produce a product that can cross cultural and language barriers. No more, no less. (Esselink, 2003: 4).

This definition seems to encapsulate very well what the word refers to in the modern day. However, while it is certainly true that localization is no less than this, if there was anything to add or specify, I would argue that it would have to do with the motive of such endeavor, which is already implied by the word “product.” This aspect becomes clearer in the definition of the Localization Industry Standards Association (LISA), which defines

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localization as “the process of modifying products or services to account for differences in distinct markets” (Fry, 2003: 13).

There are at least two emphases to be noted in these definitions. The first underlines the interplay of language and technology, and the second places the focus on business motives and a product to be sold. These could be called the two basic denominators that determine whether the overall process is referred to as localization rather than translation: (1) the object of localization is a product that combines technology with language, and (2) the purpose of localization is to increase sales by modifying the product for a specific target locale.

If this definition is applied to video games, it can be observed that all games are based on software technology and the linguistic content is integrated into the program code. Furthermore, video games are typically commercial1 products that are developed in large teams with sizable budgets. The act of rendering a game understandable and usable beyond its country of origin is a business process aimed at reaching wider international markets and therefore ultimately yielding larger profits. It seems clear, then, that similarly to any software, video games meet both conditions of combining technology with language (object) and being commercial products (purpose), which is why it is entirely justified and correct to speak of “video game localization” in the industry context.

However, while this definition alone might suffice in the industry context, it becomes problematic when brought to the sphere of Translation Studies. Problems arise particularly in determining what exactly is meant by “modifying products or services to account for differences in distinct markets” in LISA’s definition. To add to the confusion, “localization” has been previously used in Translation Studies with a meaning that differs from the modern definition.

The next section explains more specifically how the industry term has been used in the context of Translation Studies in previous research and illustrates the difficulties faced in telling translation apart from localization.

Of course, there are also non-commercial games created by individuals and small teams. These are consciously left out in this context for the simple reason that video games could not have developed into their present form without the funding of the commercial video game industry. 1

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3.2 Localization = Domestication?

Before taking on new connotations in the digital age, “localization” in Translation Studies referred to a heavily domesticating translation strategy in children’s literature and songs (Klingberg, 1986: 15; Parrish, 2003: 3). Domestication or cultural adaptation in its most radical form might mean replacing foreign proper names with local ones and even transferring the entire setting of a story to a local environment that is more familiar to the target reader or receiver (Klingberg, 1986: 14–15). This is a translation strategy that places the emphasis on target text readers in order to ensure that the translation is as understandable and enjoyable as possible. In so doing, however, it may even completely erase the original cultural markers of the source text and therefore involve significant rewriting. This may be very difficult to carry out consistently, and the end result can even be viewed as a different work. Therefore, the degree and amount of domestication usually depends largely on the intended purpose and target audience of the translation and is determined on a case-by-case basis.

In certain types of products, a kind of complete “rewriting” is precisely what localization refers to even today. The only thing that matters is the core product or basic concept; a bare structure which can be stripped of original content and fleshed out again in a different locale. The product still remains fundamentally the same, because its raison d’être lies in its function, not in the original content as with most literary and artistic works. This is known as “concept trade,” good examples of which would be TV shows such as the Idol series and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? (Iwabuchi, 2002: 96–97).

Although some comparisons might be drawn, software localization is essentially different from what “localization” used to mean in the context of Translation Studies. The industry term has first and foremost come to refer to modifying technical and product aspects to render them usable and understandable in foreign locales. In games, this can mean converting the video display format from NTSC to PAL when localizing an originally American game into Europe, or making adjustments to the interface to accommodate a translation that takes more space than the original text. In linguistic and cultural content, localization can mean, for example, taking differing country standards into consideration in instructions and replacing symbols that are meaningless in the target culture. These types of “domesticating” changes are often not only meant to offer a more pleasant user experience; 18

they are mandatory in order to ensure proper and safe functionality and use of the localized product.

Other types of changes may be made in order to conform to local laws or other guidelines. Germany, for example, has strict laws concerning depiction of blood and Nazi symbolism in video games (Chandler, 2005: 33). Somewhat similarly, excessive use of Christian symbolism in Japanese games, which might be considered blasphemous outside Japan, is often censored from U.S. versions (Kohler 2005: 206–207). Furthermore, the content of certain types of games may be altered to match local conditions or expectations with the aim of attracting new users to the localized version. For example, a driving game may have its soundtrack changed.

Localization, as it is defined in this chapter so far, is above all a technical and business process that can entail changes on many levels. But how, then, does this relate or apply to the overall aesthetic, cultural content of games? If a game has a distinct cultural setting and theme, does localization by default extend to these as well in the form of cultural adaptation?

In previous academic research on game localization, the answer would seem to be “yes.” This has been justified by viewing games primarily as functional products whose main purpose is to entertain (e.g., Bernal Merino, 2006; Mangiron and O’Hagan, 2006; O’Hagan, 2007; O’Hagan, 2009). Although Bernal Merino suggests and considers the artifact nature of games, he nevertheless sees the product nature as taking precedence when it comes to the question of cultural translation/localization:

[W]e are talking about a product (not an artefact), and we are not obliged to maintain the source culture identity. On the contrary, we must favour the target culture. The acceptance of the product by the receiving culture is more important than its nationality. (Bernal Merino, 2006: 31).

O’Hagan is slightly more specific in expressing the perceived reasons for why the target culture should be favored:

[T]he ultimate purpose of video games as a pleasure-giving medium (…) constitutes skopos in the context of translation and is something that the games localiser needs to bear in mind, as the raison d’être of the end product. With games localisation, the translator is expected to convey a game play experience that is as close as possible to the equivalent of the original. (O’Hagan, 2007: 4).

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Furthermore, Mangiron and O’Hagan justify the need for the word “transcreation” in the following words:

[T]he traditional concept of fidelity to the original is discarded. In game localisation, transcreation, rather than just translation, takes place. (Mangiron and O’Hagan, 2006).

For the reasons stated in the citations, the general assumption appears to be that the cultural game content by definition calls for cultural adaptation—“localization” in the original sense of the word, as it were. Not only domesticating translation, but something that exceeds the limits of translation and relates specifically to video game localization, as Mangiron and O’Hagan’s comment seems to suggest.

One thing is immediately clear: it is by no means mistaken as such to advocate domesticating translation strategy in video game localization. This strategy can work very well particularly if a game is not tied to any realistic cultural setting, as they traditionally have not been. Mangiron and O’Hagan (2006) offer good examples of this from the Japanese role-playing games Final Fantasy X and X-2, set in a fantasy world. Their case study revealed, for example, that the American translator had added an allusion to the American Lollapalooza rock festival by translating the original Japanese word raibu, meaning “live concert,” into “Yunapalooza,” derived from the main character Yuna’s name (Mangiron and O’Hagan, 2006: 19). In these particular cases, Bernal Merino (2007: 1) is largely correct in stating that “the place of origin or the language of development of the game is not relevant to the game experience itself.”

However, it is one thing to advocate domestication and quite another to assume that cultural adaptation is required by default in video game localization, beyond translation. Even in a purely translational sense, it seems questionable to claim that all or even most games have the same function and therefore their translations have the same skopos, which can be defined as the intended purpose of a translation that is used to determine the best translation strategy. This would pertain to all games and game genres. If, on the other hand, the functional product nature of a game is taken to be the only determining factor in the overall process of game localization, what it seems to imply is that the original game content is almost entirely interchangeable, which is in conflict with what was argued in Chapter 2.

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It is actually possible to take a look at what happens if the entire game content is substituted, as such drastic measures are actually not completely unheard of. O’Hagan (2007: 4) cites an example of a deeply culture-bound Japanese dating game, Tokimeki Memorial, whose U.S. version, Brooktown High: Senior Year Hands-on, “retained only the theme of dating simulation from the original,” while everything else was redesigned and geared toward American audiences following market research that was conducted in the U.S. This can be done if a game as a whole is viewed as a product concept or format, such as the previously mentioned television program Idol.

The crucial question in this context, which O’Hagan (ibid.) also mentions is open for debate, is whether Brooktown High can still be considered or perhaps even recognized as the localized version of Tokimeki Memorial. In essence, the original aesthetic identity and cultural origin have been almost completely replaced. If representation is radically changed, gameplay will have to be redesigned as well. The result is, for all intents and purposes, a different game. The paradox is ultimately the same as when a children’s book is radically domesticated: is it the same work? This type of cultural adaptation, even when brought to the game context and linked to commercial considerations, still seems to deal with questions and problems relating to translation rather than anything external.

It seems internally contradictory to claim that video game localization inherently strives for cultural adaptation if the outcome can actually cease to be a localized version when the task is successfully completed. Clearly, some type of confusion must be at work, most likely deriving from industry definitions. One possible source for confusion is a rule of thumb in the localization industry to localize a product in such a way that it has the “look and feel” of a domestic product (Fry, 2003: 3; Chandler, 2005: 5). What needs to be noted is that these rules are formulated by localization industry professionals, not by translation scholars or even by translation professionals. From an industry perspective, “the look and feel of a domestic product” may not equal cultural adaptation as it is defined in the context of Translation Studies, but simply that the product is skillfully translated and that any technical, cultural or linguistic elements do not prevent the user from enjoying it.

Chandler (2005), writing from the industry perspective on the practical game localization process, actually also speaks of the “flavor” of the game that needs to be maintained. She gives the example of True Crime: Streets of L.A., a game set in the city of Los Angeles, in 21

which “the cultural specificity is necessary to the overall look and feel of the game” and therefore should not be erased in the localization process (ibid.: 26). Although Chandler sees these cases as localization challenges when discussing the desirability of cross-cultural game design, to any professional translator this kind of cultural specificity would rather present only routine translation challenges.

The fact remains, however, that various substitutions and changes can be and are made during the commercial localization process, some of which reach into the cultural content as well. How do these fit in? How are they beyond translation? According to a common industry definition, translation differs from localization in that it is one of the many subsets of localization, dealing with the linguistic content (Esselink, 2000: 4; Fry, 2003). This is not, however, a satisfactory distinction. While it is true that the entire process can be referred to as “localization,” the issue is more complex when it comes to separating translation from localization on the level of content and actual decision-making. As I will point out in the next section, certain individual linguistic changes can actually be seen as localization rather than translation decisions, and some cultural modifications beyond language are best described as translation. It is therefore necessary to try to differentiate localization more clearly from translation on the level of content changes.

3.3 Differentiating between Localization and Translation

The separation between localization and translation may be clear in the case of technical modifications, which are exclusively localization, but the line becomes increasingly blurred when it comes to cultural and linguistic game content. Di Marco (2007: 2) calls the transfer of the entire cultural and linguistic game content simply as “cultural localization.” The purpose of this thesis is to further explore whether translation as such can be pulled out of the somewhat obscure notion of “cultural localization” in order to see what remains.

On a general level, it could be said that the main task of translation is to convey the source content in an understandable and appropriate manner to the target culture, and a wide variety of strategies can be employed to this end. Individual translation solutions may include additions, omissions, modifications and substitutions similarly to localization. When it comes to cultural and linguistic elements, the difference between localization and translation seems to lie not so much in the types of changes that are made, but rather in the 22

motivation of making them and the resulting effect. As has been established, localization is a technical and business process mainly concerned with sales, acceptability, usability, legality and ensuring customer satisfaction, while translation aims primarily at successful intercultural communication and creative delivery of meaning in their own right, which may also entail changes of an ideological nature.

The following example represents a localization change on the level of language: a Russian character originally named “Vodka Drunkenski” was changed into “Soda Popinski” in the NES (Nintendo Entertainment System) version of Punch-Out!!, a game originally developed for the arcades in Japan. This name change was most likely motivated by Nintendo of America’s policy of removing all alcoholic references and avoiding ethnic stereotypes, while Nintendo of Japan did not have similar guidelines (McCullough). Although the change is a rather creative textual shift and could perhaps seem like an ideological statement from the translator, in this context it is clearly a localization decision with the purpose of making the product more acceptable and neutral. These types of localization decisions are usually concerned with details rather than the work as a whole, which is why the result may not always agree perfectly with the overall context and intention. In this case, characterizing the muscular and rather intimidating character as an ardent lover of “soda pop” gives an entirely different impression of him than the original.

On the other hand, there are times when even graphical changes can be seen through the lens of translational motives, as in the following case:

I remember one project I worked on had a light bulb that signified an idea in the popup help text. However, in the target language a light bulb signified nothing more than a light bulb. If this light bulb symbol had been used, it would have confused the users of the target language. Instead, the graphics were replaced with the translation for the word “idea.” (Louden in Chandler, 2005: 86).

In this example, translation and localization can be seen to overlap in a certain sense. Replacing an image should by definition be a localization change, as it deals with usability and graphical elements, but in this particular case it is also essentially the kind of change that a translator would do for the sake of successful inter-cultural communication.

Extra-linguistic game elements can therefore clearly be viewed through the lens of translation and some linguistic elements through the lens of localization, illustrating the 23

complex relationship between the two. It is helpful to understand the motivations of localization, but the concept still remains elusive in terms of how it relates to the cultural transfer of a game on the content level. Clearly there exists “localization” separately from translation, but what exactly is “cultural localization”? Is it an inherent part of the entire localization process, and, if so, how does it relate to actual cultural translation? Does the functional or product nature of games make their cultural transfer a unique process after all?

It would seem that the research question cannot be conclusively answered through individual examples taken from different games. Considering the nature of games laid out in Chapter 2 and the importance of understanding the entire game context, it is necessary to carry out an in-depth analysis on a full game, taking into consideration the whole context and how changes affect it.

The following section suggests foreignization as a way to roughly identify what might be called “cultural localization” beyond translation, serving as the basis for choosing the research material and designing the empirical study.

3.4 Enter Foreignization

As mentioned in section 3.2, the stated industry goal of the localization process is that the end result “has the look and feel of a nationally-manufactured piece of goods” (Fry, 2003: 3). In product-centered localization the strategy is therefore by default geared toward the target locale. This corresponds confusingly closely with what might be called domestication from a translational point of view. Translation decisions might be easier to tell apart from localization decisions if reflected through the mirror of foreignization, a translation strategy that would seem to go completely against the purpose of localization as seen from a product perspective. Before this can be elaborated upon, a working definition of foreignization is in order.

Although the term “foreignization” itself, along with “domestication,” has become wellknown within Translation Studies mainly through the work of Lawrence Venuti (1995), the fundamental principle it refers to was known much earlier. Previously referred to as “alienation,” foreignization was advocated particularly by Friedrich Schleiermacher in the early 19th century and by Antoine Berman in the 1980s (Munday, 2001). 24

According to Berman, “[t]he properly ethical aim of the translating act is receiving the foreign as foreign” (quoted in Munday, 2001: 149). This seems to summarize the basic sentiment of all three scholars, but the most apt definition in this particular context is that formulated by Schleiermacher. In his view, foreignization differs from domestication in that it is not about trying to simulate the effect that the source text had on source culture receivers, but rather conveying the effect that the source text would have on the members of the target culture if they could understand the language of the original work (Schleiermacher, 1813/1992). This would appear to directly oppose the general localization principle adopted in earlier research that players should be able to experience the localized version “as if it were originally developed in their own language” (Mangiron and O’Hagan, 2006: 14–15). When it comes to functionality, this is certainly true, but not necessarily from a translational point of view.

Foreignization as it is defined by Schleiermacher would therefore seem to serve only the goals of translation, as such a strategy might not make much sense from the business and marketing perspectives that drive localization decisions. As Sprung (2000: xiv) also notes, “the most effective way to make a product truly international is to make it look and feel like a native product.” There is, however, at least one way in which foreignization could be seen to work as a localization strategy as well. Namely, the foreign can be employed to make the product seem more attractive by using mental images of the source culture that already exist in the target culture and are found exotic.

This kind of “foreignizing localization” might prove challenging to tell apart from foreignizing translation, but presumably not nearly as difficult as the two types of “domestication.” As a basic principle, if the foreign has somehow been retained in the target content, it must be possible to see it as serving the overall context of the game in order to qualify as translation rather than localization.

This is the foundation on which the empirical research of this thesis is based. If culturally foreignizing changes can clearly be identified as translation rather than localization, and the overall translation strategy is usually consistent as it deals with the work as a whole, then cultural localization changes should stand out as individual “domesticating” decisions. The next chapter expands upon the grounds for choosing the research material and defines the method. 25

4. Game Plan In order for foreignization to be a useful tool, the research material has to be selected with certain criteria. The source game should be one which, from a translational point of view, is likely to require at least a moderate degree of foreignization. As was mentioned in Chapter 3, domestication can be a very viable translation method for games that are set in a fantasy world rather than a realistic one. Therefore, the choice should fall on a game that has a realistic cultural setting. Furthermore, the source and target cultures should preferably be far apart. As Leppihalme (2007: 372) observes, the greater the distance between the source culture and target culture, the more alien features can be expected in the translation. To make the localization decisions stand out even more in contrast, the target culture would have to represent a significant market area, which from a business and marketing perspective would presumably call for various types of localization changes, particularly as the source and target cultures are distant.

Based on these reasons, I chose a Japanese game that incorporates many explicit markers of its cultural origin and its North American and European localized versions. I chose two target versions for two distinct areas, as I suspected that they might exemplify different types of localization changes that could be helpful in understanding more about the nature of content-level localization. With a culture-specific Japanese game, it would be reasonable to assume that any cultural adaptation that is beyond translation would stand out particularly clearly, given that translation as such would probably be tilted toward foreignization. However, as was mentioned in Chapter 2, Japanese games have a particular tendency to take place in imaginary settings rather than realistic ones. The following two sections provide a closer look at Japanese games and the role of cultural origin in them in order to further elaborate on the choice of the research material.

4.1 Remade in Japan: Japanese Games in Western Markets

Throughout this thesis, I have already made multiple references to Japanese games. This is not due to any particular emphasis in this study. In actual fact, even though video games originated in the United States, Japan has held a strong position in the console games industry for well over two decades. Words such as “Nintendo” and “Super Mario” have found their way into mainstream lexicon far beyond active gaming circles, and two out of 26

the three console game industry leaders today—Microsoft, Sony and Nintendo—are Japanese. History offers a fairly straightforward explanation for this: the global breakthrough of Japanese games can be traced back to 1985, when Nintendo Co., Ltd. released the NES2 game console with a host of Japanese games in North America, Europe and Australia, effectively kick-starting the Western video game markets which had begun to dwindle in the early 1980s (Kohler, 2005: 8). Japan seems to have maintained a strong foothold on the industry ever since.

However, this offers little in the way of explanation as to why Japanese video games fared better at the time than Western ones. It is very interesting how many Japanese games were adopted with open arms by the American and European public in the 1980s, despite the fact that these games were exported with little or no modification from a very distant culture. Far from a marginal curiosity, Japanese games such as Super Mario Bros. became “mainstream,” insofar as gaming in the 1980’s could be described in those terms. Even though today certain types of games can sell by virtue of being Japanese (further discussed in section 4.2), this was very unlikely to be the case with games in the 1980s. Japanese popular culture, particularly in the form of Japanese animation (anime) and comics (manga), had yet to make its entrance into Western markets and cultivate wide-spread interest in the Japanese culture. The only plausible explanation is that Japanese games introduced elements that were novel in gaming, and even more important—a certain something that simply worked for games.

The main thesis in Chris Kohler’s insightful 2005 book Power-Up! How Japanese Video Games Gave the World an Extra Life is that Japanese games were the first to start developing game representation in the 1980s into its present form. Kohler speaks of this as the introduction of cinematic elements and narrative to games. While I fully agree on the general thesis, I nevertheless adhere to the concept of representation as defined in Chapter 2 and claim that games never construct “narratives” in the film sense. From this perspective, what “narrative and cinematic elements” might rather refer to is the type of representation that flows forward and progresses with gameplay instead of the repetition of the same function and same simple meanings, as in Pong, for example.

2

NES, the Nintendo Entertainment System, is known as Famicom in Japan and elsewhere in Asia.

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Kohler (2005: 24, 35–36) attributes this introduction particularly to Shigeru Miyamoto, the creator of the highly successful Mario Bros. and The Legend of Zelda game series. Miyamoto designed game characters and distinct, imaginative settings and incorporated them into game worlds in ways that no other games at the time did. It could be said that these were the types of “game stories” that were the perfect fit for the game medium. Although there were something called “graphic adventures” developed in the West which resembled graphic novels and featured complex narratives, gameplay in these games remained very simple, setting them apart from the new form of game stories in Japanese games that actually helped gameplay become more complex.

Whereas representation in Western games might have been typically borrowed from relatively realistic models, the task of designing games was seen differently in Japan. As Kusahara (2002: 277) points out, art and aesthetics permeate all layers of the Japanese society and the division into high culture and popular culture is not as clear as it is in the West. It is perhaps therefore not surprising that Japan, of all countries, would have been the first to incorporate a wilder order of artistic imagination into games.

Originally, the unique representation and gameplay of Japanese games, such as Donkey Kong (1981) by Shigeru Miyamoto, were deemed so foreign that the games were predicted to fail entirely in the West. Instead, what these types of games did was lift the Western game industry back on its feet. (Kohler 2005: 45–46). The interesting thing to note here is that this innovation in game design had its roots in the very cultural difference itself, dealing with the implicit cultural specificity. This is also where the Japanese tendency to have imaginary game settings is likely to be rooted. The next section introduces different manifestations of explicit cultural representation in Japanese games.

4.2 Mukokuseki and kokuseki

The Japanese word mukokuseki translates literally as “statelessness,” referring to something or someone that has no nationality (mu = no/nothing, kokuseki = nationality). The word is also often used to describe a typical quality of Japanese anime and manga; representation in which the characters and worlds have no identifiable nationality or ethnicity (Iwabuchi, 2002: 28). In this context, I use mukokuseki as a succinct way to refer to the lack of ethnic cultural markers in Japanese games, such as characters with Japanese features and names. By 28

using a Japanese word I also seek to underline that “lack of cultural markers” refers specifically to lack of Japanese cultural markers—identifiable signs of the game’s origin— rather than just lack of a realistic cultural setting which could be based anywhere in the world. The antonym of mukokuseki would be kokuseki, meaning “nationality.” In this particular context, I use it to refer to the presence of Japanese ethnic markers.

Kalata (2007) and Kohler (2005) both maintain that the prevalence of mukokuseki worlds in Japanese games stems from the strong visual tradition in Japan. Iwabuchi (2002: 70–72, 94) has a slightly different view, as he describes mukokuseki as the erasure of culturally distinct characteristics in Japanese cultural products. In his view, these commodities are culturally “odorless” (ibid.: 27). In response to Iwabuchi’s view, Kohler (2005: 7) has pointed out that it is hardly accurate to describe the Japanese style as lacking nationality, considering that the style itself is uniquely Japanese. This is very true on the inherent level of culture-specificity and acknowledged by Iwabuchi as well, but when it comes to explicit representation in games, it is also true that some Japanese mukokuseki games might not necessarily be recognized as Japanese at all, particularly by a casual player.

Usually representation in a game is either mukokuseki or kokuseki, but there is also a combination of both, in the sense that visual style is mukokuseki and the characters do not have any Japanese ethnic features, but the setting is clearly located in Japan and the characters have Japanese names. In other words, there are basically three types of Japanese games when it comes to cultural representation:

(1) Mukokuseki visuals + kokuseki setting (2) Mukokuseki visuals + mukokuseki setting (3) Kokuseki visuals + kokuseki setting

The first combination category includes games which feature a stylized, strongly animeinfluenced graphic look, but clearly have a story and characters based in Japan. An example of this category would be the Shin Megami Tensei series, whose characters look more Western than Japanese and have varying hair colors, but are nevertheless identified as Japanese through their names, speech, locations and other culture-specific representation. These are the prime examples of Japanese games that can sell in the West by virtue of being Japanese, fuelled by the popularity of anime and manga in the West. Some can become underground 29

hits even before they are localized. It is probably for this reason that even the name of the series Shin Megami Tensei has been retained in Japanese in Western markets. To a certain degree, this might constitute “foreignizing localization,” in addition translation.

The second, mukokuseki category can contain two types of games. The more common one is a full-fledged fantasy game, with fantasy characters and fantasy worlds. Games of the popular Final Fantasy series provide an example of this, as well as The Legend of Zelda series and most other Shigeru Miyamoto games. The second type of mukokuseki games have realistic characters and setting, but rather than Japanese, they are based in some other existing culture or country. The Clock Tower game series is an example of this. Clock Tower 3 has characters and settings identified as English. These types of games require presumably the least amount of any cultural adaptation, although the overall theme, story and gameplay may deviate significantly from typical Western game design.

The third, kokuseki category contains games which have realistic Japanese characters as well as a Japanese setting. Many of these are connected in story to Japanese cultural or historical events or concepts. For example, the game series Way of the Samurai, Yakuza and Tenchu are set in the worlds of samurai, yakuza (Japanese mafia) and ninja respectively. In addition to these, there are also Japanese kokuseki games that do not ride on any popular and widely known Japanese theme or style, but have a realistic Japanese setting. Examples of these are Glass Rose and the Siren series, which have characters and settings that are clearly Japanese both in location and story.

In the context of this study, the last type of Japanese games, such as Glass Rose and Siren, make for the most suitable research material. This is because “Japaneseness” as such could probably not be construed as their most interesting selling point in the eyes of Western consumers, and therefore it seems most likely that cultural localization, motivated by business considerations, would come in most strongly to eliminate foreign cultural elements that might be perceived to hamper the actual gameplay experience of the Western players.

Translation, in contrast, would be more likely to treat these cases on an individual basis and employ foreignization to the degree that is necessary, desirable or even inevitable in order to maintain the Japanese identity, which is nevertheless part of the game’s inherent meanings. The following section introduces the kokuseki game that was ultimately chosen. 30

4.3 The Case of the Crimson Butterfly

As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, the most important criterion for the source game was that it be a Japanese kokuseki game. The choice fell on Zero: Akai Chō (零～紅い蝶～, “Zero: Crimson Butterfly”), an atmospheric and visually realistic game in the survival horror / horror adventure genre.

Zero: Akai Chō is a Japanese game developed by Tecmo for PlayStation 2 and the second installment in a game series titled Zero in Japan (Fatal Frame in North America and Project Zero in Europe and Australia). The representation features Japanese cultural markers in visuals, story and locations. Image 1 shows the main character of Zero: Akai Chō, Mio Amakura, and her twin sister Mayu. The outward appearance of the characters, while not perfectly photorealistic, identifies them as young East Asian girls. The way their names are written and read in Japanese confirms their Japanese nationality.

Image 1. Mio Amakura (left) and Mayu Amakura. Image scanned from the Japanese manual.

The game begins as the twin sisters get lost in the woods and find themselves trapped in a deserted, haunted mountain village that is rumored to have disappeared from the map. The

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gameplay involves exploring the village, solving puzzles and using an antique camera with metaphysical qualities to ward off vengeful spirits and to receive helpful hints from sympathetic ones.

Only the barest rudiments of the story are told via cutscenes (brief cinematic non-interactive sequences) throughout the game to push the action forward: two girls trying to find their way out of a haunted village and getting entangled in the nightmarish past of the location that keeps reliving itself. A deeper and more complex tale about the village’s past is unraveled through notes, journals, encounters with certain vanishing spirits, “spirit stones” that store the thoughts of the villagers, visuals and photographs that can be picked up throughout the village. As the game progresses, these elements reveal more about the beliefs, lives and deaths of the villagers and how they intertwine with Mio and Mayu.

The story of the village’s past revolves around a macabre Shinto ritual which used to be performed every few decades. According to ancient beliefs, this would appease the gods and keep the worlds of the dead and the living separated. To this end, young identical twins were forced to endure a ritual involving the killing of one twin by the other. The remaining child was able to go on living, but many times was too severely traumatized to carry on a normal life. The tradition remained unbroken across generations, until one year right before the ritual, the girl who was to sacrifice her twin sister managed to escape. The girl who was left behind was sacrificed anyway, only to have the ritual fail due to the absence of her sister. As a consequence, every villager perished and the village itself was swallowed up into a twilight reality.

Considering the many supernatural elements, the game cannot be said to be entirely “realistic” in the strictest sense of the word. It is, however, very consistent in its cultural representation, mixing realistic depiction with ancient Japanese folklore, religious beliefs and death legends. Mio and Mayu are portrayed as ordinary girls who stand aghast at the paranormal phenomena they come to witness, yet try to cope to the best of their ability. The game relies heavily on atmosphere, using verbal, visual and auditory means to create an eerie ambience, and many of these game elements include cultural references, both explicit and implicit.

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Besides realistic cultural depiction, this particular game was chosen because of the interesting localization history of game series. The Zero series currently consists of four games. Apart from some converging plot points and references between the games, each installment is an independent work with a different story and main character. The theme, gameplay and representation are nevertheless very similar. The localized version of the first installment —Fatal Frame/Project Zero—featured a modified main character (Image 2).

This change was explained by differences in character design between Western and Japanese games (Di Marco, 2007: 2). Western games tend to have tall adult characters, which is why Zero’s young protagonist, Miku Hinasaki, was localized to look like a taller, older girl with Western features. Miku’s school uniform was also replaced with Western clothing and her black hair was rendered auburn. This would appear to be a localization decision, because Miku’s Japanese name or her brother Mafuyu’s Japanese appearance were not changed accordingly. This change confirms that in this type of game, some cultural features may be considered secondary to actual gameplay, even if the cultural markers are relevant from a translational point of view. Image 2. Miku Hinasaki in the Japanese version (left) and localized versions (right). Image sources: and

The reason why I chose the second installment as my research material rather than the first is mainly practical; I was unable to obtain the first localized version, Fatal Frame (2002). However, the same basic conditions apply to the second installment: it is a game that brings Japanese culture and meanings into play in very subtle yet visible ways. Changes such as the modification of Miku Hinasaki are precisely the kind that stand out as domesticating in a way that does not agree with the overall foreign context from a translational perspective and may therefore possibly be considered as “cultural localization.”

If this is the type of non-translational cultural adaptation that is an inherent part of game localization, I expect to find similar instances in the localized versions of Zero: Akai Chō. By looking for and examining these changes as well as foreignizing translation decisions, I hope

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to gain some clarity into how these changes relate to each other when it comes to the cultural transfer of the game.

Zero: Akai Chō was localized into North American, European and Australian markets. In addition to the original Japanese game, my research material consists of the two English localized versions: the first one which was released in North America and a subsequent multilingual release which came out in Europe. Release details are listed in Table 1.

NTSC-J region:

Zero: Akai Chō (零～紅い蝶～)

(Japanese version)

Released on November 27, 2003 Publisher: Tecmo Language: Japanese Age rating: 15+ (CERO rating)

NTSC region:

Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly

(North American

Released on December 10, 2003

version)

Publisher: Tecmo Language: English Age rating: M (17+) (ESRB rating)

PAL region:

Project Zero II: Crimson Butterfly

(European version)

Released on April 30, 2004 Publisher: Ubisoft Languages: English, French, German, Spanish, Italian Age rating: 16+ (PEGI rating)

Table 1. Cover images, release dates, publishers, languages and age ratings of the game versions. Images scanned. Data source: .

I chose two localized versions published in two different, significant market areas to monitor possible differences particularly in the localization decisions. Originally, I had planned on examining the marketing materials (box art and manual) as well, as there were some very interesting, immediately obvious differences in their visuals. As it turned out, however, they quickly proved irrelevant for this study, as the focus is specifically on video game

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localization and in-game elements, and the box art and manual are not only printed materials, but also localized by the marketing department rather than the localization team (Chandler 2005: 240–244). I will only use them for contextual reference where relevant.

4.4 Research Method

The greatest challenge in this study is the same that many researchers face when delving into video game localization: due to confidentiality reasons there is no access to the information on the process and decisions that actually took place as the game was localized (O’Hagan, 2009: 216). It warrants underlining that there is little that can be said with absolute certainty about the reasons behind any changes without information that only the localization team, developers, publishers and translators may be privy to. In distinguishing translation decisions from localization decisions and analyzing the changes, I could only work with what was visible in the finished localization. I attempted to address this shortcoming by taking the overall game context carefully into consideration and, where necessary, drawing upon knowledge of general game localization practices, which are covered in great detail in Heather Chandler’s Game Localization Handbook (2005).

My basic method was to compare the original game and the localized versions. This was carried out by playing the Japanese game and the European version side by side on two different PlayStation 2 consoles. I used the same difficulty level (normal) and followed largely the same play trajectory throughout the story mode. This was to ensure that any possible differences observed between the games were due to localization/translation, and not because of different choices made during gameplay or due to different difficulty levels.

Each string of text and many visuals were photographed, cutscenes which could not be stopped were recorded, and notes were taken of the overall context and gameplay. Once both game versions were cleared in the story mode, the photographs and videos were carefully combed through side by side. I also carried out a comparison between the European and North American game versions, but without photographing each instance. This comparison was more straightforward, as the differences turned out to be very few.

By comparing the original game to the localized versions, I sought to find out what had been done to the explicit cultural markers embedded in the game. I determined three in-game 35

content types—referred to as “in-game assets” in the localization industry (Chandler, 2005)— in which to look for explicit cultural references: texts, graphics and audio elements (including spoken content). These constituted the three basic areas which I examined for cultural features and their translation or localization changes. Because games are multimodal entities whose full context is particularly relevant from the translational point of view, the boundaries between visuals, sounds and texts are by no means clear-cut. When deciding which elements to discuss under each category in the analysis in Chapter 5, I tried to determine which element (textual, visual or audio) was most relevant from the cultural standpoint and made references to the surrounding context and elements of other categories.

Based on the structure of games and considerations of localization discussed in the theory portion, I decided to further divide the analysis of the cultural content elements into two larger categories: representation (language, visuals and sounds in the aesthetic, story-telling sense) and functionality (graphic menus and in-game instructions; language and visuals as they relate to actual gameplay and functionality). This division was made because, as established in the previous chapters, localization can be seen as a process that is mainly concerned with usability, technical aspects and business considerations. Therefore, functionality might be expected to show a greater degree of localization changes than representational elements. Representation, in contrast, might be more fertile ground for translation. In other words, I hypothesized a certain difference in the degree of localization decisions between the two, which might prove helpful in understanding how the translation and localization changes relate to each other within the game context.

My approach is essentially descriptive: I do not look for successful or unsuccessful solutions or pay particular attention to translation problems. As stated previously, I am ultimately interested in finding out whether there is cultural adaptation beyond translation that is inherent in the game localization process. If there is, I ask why and to what effect.

As mentioned previously, I view foreignization as a rough indication of translation decisions. A more accurate tool and a consistent frame of reference is necessary for analyzing different practical strategies of cultural transfer, whether the changes are linguistic, visual or audio. According to translation scholar Ritva Leppihalme (2007: 368), local translation strategies can be boiled down to four basic choices: retain, change, omit and add. I will view cultural content changes through these four strategies, complemented with “substitution” as the fifth: 36

(1) Retaining is transferring a source element into target content with no modification. (2) Change means translating the original element, which entails conveying the meaning of the original more or less faithfully. (3) Omission happens when a source element is not transferred into the target content at all, resulting in a clear loss in meaning. (4) Addition is adding something into target content that was not present in the source content, usually with the intention of making up for lost meaning. This also covers added explanations. (5) Substitution refers to replacing a source element with a target element that has different semantic content, but the same approximate function as the original. For example, a play on words in the source language that would not work in the target language might be substituted with a different kind of play on words or joke to achieve the same effect in the target language—in this example, amusing the reader.

Out of these strategies, substitution is the most likely category for cultural localization changes that are beyond translation. Of course, substitution is also a common translation strategy, being a part of cultural adaptation or domestication. The expectation was, however, that a translator would be inclined to avoid the most extreme strategy of cultural adaptation with this type of culture-bound game and context. This makes the task easier, but whether a certain substitution is translation or not will still have to be determined on a case-by-case basis. Additions and omissions are also possible categories for cultural localization.

I have transcribed most of the original Japanese writing in the in-game examples by using the Hepburn romanization system, which is widely used in the English-speaking world as well as in Japan. The original written form is provided for those readers who understand Japanese. For those who do not, it may be useful to know that the Japanese writing system mixes three different scripts: logographs (kanji) and two syllabaries (hiragana and katakana). Kanji script covers most nouns and verb stems, hiragana is typically used for word inflections and particles, and katakana is for words of foreign origin. Japanese can be written horizontally from left to right or vertically from top to bottom, in which case the reading direction moves from right to left.

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5. Chasing Cultural Ghosts This chapter presents the findings obtained from the research material using the method described in the previous chapter. The analysis of content-level changes is divided under two main sections: representation (5.1) and functional aspects (5.2). Unless otherwise specified, all in-game images in this chapter are photographs taken by me.

As briefly mentioned in the method section, the differences between the North American and European localized versions are very few. The translations turned out to be exactly the same, but, as expected, there were some differences in localization changes that I intend to raise. For this reason, I will mostly refer to the European and North American versions as the same “English version” and make a distinction only in parts where there were actual differences between the games. The source game will be referred to as the “Japanese version.”

5.1 Representation

As discussed in Chapter 2, representation refers to the aspects of a game which build the game story, aesthetic experience and meanings that make sense of the gameplay. Because there is a particularly great overlap between the written and visual representational content, I will often refer to images when discussing the written content and vice versa.

5.1.1 In-Game Text

I use the term “in-game text” in this context to refer to all of the written content that appears within the game in a space specifically reserved for it, usually a dialog box. This excludes text in the manual as well as writing embedded in graphics (discussed in section 5.1.2).

I look for cultural references and transfer strategies in two types of textual elements: (1) proper names and terminology, and (2) general vocabulary, expressions and their contexts. The former linguistic elements are fictional and fabricated specifically for this game’s imaginary context and story, whereas the latter deal with real-life cultural references. This division was made because generally any purely fictional elements are easier to domesticate than references to the existing space of a certain culture that tie into the story. 38

PROPER NAMES AND TERMINOLOGY

All of the character names that appear in the Japanese game are ethnically Japanese and all are retained in the English version. This choice places the game unambiguously in a Japanese cultural space. The names have been naturalized in the sense that their original written form in kanji is not left anywhere in the game. Furthermore, whereas the Japanese typically write last name before first name, this order has been reversed, which is customary when Japanese names are rendered in the Latin alphabet. The most central character names are presented in Table 2 as they appear in the original Japanese game and English version:

Japanese:

English:

天倉 澪 (reading: Amakura Mio)

Mio Amakura

天倉 繭 (reading: Amakura Mayu)

Mayu Amakura

立花 樹月 (reading: Tachibana Itsuki)

Itsuki Tachibana

黒澤 紗重 (reading: Kurosawa Sae)

Sae Kurosawa

真壁 清次郎 (reading: Makabe Seijirō)

Seijiro Makabe

Table 2. Character names.

There is a bit more variation in how place names have been rendered. For the most part, names that could be construed as proper names are retained, while descriptive place names are translated. There appears to be only one borderline case: the central setting of the game, Minakami mura (皆神村), “Minakami village,” has been translated as “All God’s [sic] Village” (mina = all/everyone, kami = god). Despite the fact that the village is fictional, Minakami could also be considered as a proper name. The decision to translate it according to meaning rather than to treat it as a proper name implies that in this case the meaning in the game context is placed before cultural authenticity. Nonetheless, it is a highly faithful translation, most likely intended to convey the strongly religious coloring of the village’s past.

Another frequently used name for the village is chizu kara kieta mura (“the village that vanished from the map”), translated as “The Lost Village” in the English version. Translating place names that are primarily descriptive is a more straightforward matter than translating what could be considered mainly a proper name. All of the descriptive names have been translated adhering closely to the original. Table 3 lists some examples. 39

Japanese:

English:

囁き橋 (Sasayaki kyō)

Whisper Bridge

朽木 (Kuchiki [lit. decayed tree])

Old Tree

縄の御堂 (Nawa no midō)

Rope Temple

Table 3. Descriptive place names.

Others place names have both a proper name and a translated component. Most are house names, which derive from the family names of their late residents. Table 4 outlines the most central examples.

Japanese:

English:

逢坂家 (Ōsaka ie)

Osaka House

暮羽神社 (Kureha jinja)

Kureha Shrine

御園 (Misono)

Misono Hill

Table 4. Proper names combined with a translated/added component.

In the first two examples in Table 4, the translated components are ie (house/household) and jinja (Shinto shrine), while the proper names Osaka and Kureha are retained intact. Misono, however, is accompanied by “Hill,” which is added in translation. In the Japanese version, Misono is simply described as an elevated area that serves as the entrance to the Minakami village. The meaning of “Misono” is roughly “sacred/honored location,” which might be considered relevant as it ties in with what the place was used for according to some documents found in the village. Nevertheless, in this case, the Japanese proper name Misono takes precedence over meaning.

Apart from proper names, the game has its particular vocabulary built around the imaginary Shinto ritual involving the sacrifice of twins, which used to be performed in the village to keep the gate to the world of the dead sealed. All terms are translated according to meaning (e.g. “Crimson Sacrifice,” “Repentance”), with one notable exception. The Japanese word kusabi (楔) is used as a term in the game world and has a relevant meaning, but unlike any other term, it is retained as “Kusabi” in the English version. It is impossible to deduce from 40

the game context alone why this particular word has been retained whereas all similar terminology has been translated, but the effect is clearly foreignizing. The Japanese word kusabi means a lynchpin or a wedge, and in the game’s context it refers to a human being who may be tortured and sacrificed as a substitute if the normal ritual with twins cannot be performed. There is no loss of meaning either way, as the meanings of the terms become clear through the context. One explanation for using Kusabi instead of translating the term could be that the foreignness adds a more frightening echo to the word.

Another type of terminology is formed by the fictional items and equipment in the game. The most essential items consist of camera equipment such as lenses and film, in addition to healing medicines, keys and special items. Most terms have been translated in a fairly straightforward manner according to original meaning. For example, there is an item called “Spirit Stone Radio” in the localized versions. The original Japanese term is a combination of the kanji symbols for “spirit/ghost” and “stone” and the loanword “radio” in katakana script (霊石ラジオ, reiseki rajio). It is a device that allows the player to listen to the thoughts and impressions of villagers, crystallized into precious stones found along the way.

None of these terms are retained in the original Japanese phonetic form in the localized versions, but for the most part, there are no significant shifts in meaning either. Because of the high level of fidelity overall, the translation of the most central item in the game, the old camera that is found in the village, stands out all the more clearly as an exception.

Image 3: 射影機 (shaeiki) / The Camera Obscura

The Japanese name of the old camera, shaeiki, appears to have been coined for the game. Based on the meanings of the individual kanji characters it is comprised of, it could be interpreted to mean some type of “shadow device” that is used for attacking. The English 41

name, “Camera Obscura,” includes an additional dimension that the original term does not have: an allusion to the archaic optical device which led, in part, to the invention of the camera and may indeed evoke ideas of a mystical camera of sorts.

“Camera Obscura” would therefore seem like a clear departure from other translation decisions for items and terms. It seems adaptational, but there is an interesting contextual factor that may well have influenced the decision. Namely, there is a plate saying “shadow obscure” in English in the lower part of the camera viewfinder in the Japanese version as well as in the English version (Image 4). This could be a clue that the translation derives from the original game, rather than being an untypical departure from the source text by the translator. The Japanese development team may have suggested “Shadow Obscure” as the English name for shaeiki, and the translator may have consequently refined it to Camera Obscura. It is interesting that the one change in this category which most clearly seems to adopt an adaptational approach might actually be derived from the original Japanese game.

Image 4. The text “shadow obscure” at the bottom of the camera viewfinder.

To sum up, proper names have mainly been left in their original Japanese form, while descriptive place names and fictional terminology have been translated adhering closely to the original meaning, with very few exceptions (Kusabi and Camera Obscura). The strategies employed are mainly retaining and changing, with only one addition (“Hill” in Misono Hill) and no omissions. None of the names have been culturally adapted, i.e. changed to resemble names of another locality, or altered in any radical way. Based on this, it could be deduced that there is no cultural localization in names and terminology, only moderately foreignizing translation.

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CULTURAL REFERENCES IN TEXTS AND CONTEXTS

This category focuses on cultural references in the game texts. The main difference to the previous category is that these textual elements deal with real-world cultural references and concepts rather than fictional names and terminology. Examining them is thereby not equally straightforward, and the context weighs heavier on how they are interpreted.

There are basically two types of contexts in which representational written messages appear. The following descriptions of these two are meant to illustrate how images and the gameplay context can be linked with the written messages:

1) When the player directs the game character to a certain object and presses the action button to examine it, a dialog box appears providing information on the object. For example, when the player presses the action button in front of a bookshelf in a certain room, the following dialog box appears: “Just like the sliding screens, the books lining the bookcase have rotted.” These short text bits are often presented as if they were the main character Mio’s thoughts and observations. Generally, they serve to deepen players’ understanding of the game world or inform them of found items.

2) There are books, notes and diaries that can be picked up in certain locations. These “books” generally contain 1–8 short pages of text that often shed light on the past of the village and the lives of those who used to live in it. These are the longest consistent passages of text in the game and many times their interpretation depends at least partially on where they were found. This may also be the only clue as to who the writer was.

Beginning with an overview of how the in-game texts have been translated, there seems to be a slight inconsistency between the sentence-level translation strategy and local strategies of transferring words that refer to distinctly Japanese objects. Sentences often adhere closely to the original Japanese text, sometimes to the point of slight awkwardness (e.g. “On the stairs in front of the entrance, a piece of a note lies”), giving a foreignizing impression. On the other hand, extremely few loanwords have been used in the text. Even borrowings that are in relatively common usage in the English language, such as futon, have been rendered 43

into more general expressions, such as “bedding.” Table 5 lists a host of Japanese words that might possibly have been retained, but have been translated.

Japanese:

Explanation:

囲炉裏 (irori)

A traditional hearth built into the floor sunken fireplace of a room. A Japanese cushion used for sitting on cushion the floor.

座布団 (zabuton) 布団 (futon) ぞうり(zōri)

English:

Japanese bedding consisting of bedding mattresses and covers. Used on the floor and stored away during the day. Japanese sandals, traditionally worn sandals with a kimono.

Table 5. Traditional objects of Japanese culture with Western counterparts.

The Japanese objects listed in Table 5 have Western counterparts, but may still have some distinctly Japanese use or look different from similar Western objects. Most of these words have been translated with the general term. The translations in and of themselves do not convey the cultural origin, but this is where the visuals can greatly affect the overall impression. If the object itself is not shown in the graphics, the translated word might seem perfectly ordinary and familiar to a Western player. For example, in the context of Image 5, a Westerner is more likely to associate “bedding” and “cushions” as belonging to a bed rather than to be used for sleeping or sitting on the floor, as the original objects futon and zabuton are. However, since they are in a closet out of sight, the impression is not foreignizing based on the translation alone. On the other hand, irori, translated as a sunken fireplace, is shown as a hearth built into the floor of the room (Image 6). The unfamiliar visuals serve as a cue that despite the familiar word, the type of hearth it refers to is foreign.

Image 5. Cushions (zabuton) and bedding (futon).

Image 6. Irori built into the floor.

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There are also plenty of Japanese objects and concepts in the game that have no close Western equivalents. Table 6 lists some examples. In the majority of cases, these are referred to with a descriptive or established translation and are very often accompanied by visuals. The player gets to see what the objects look like or receives other contextual information and the descriptive translation provides information on the basic purpose or meaning.

Japanese:

English:

鳥居(torii)

arch/Shinto gate

火鉢 (shōji)

sliding screen

地蔵 (jizō)

guardian deity statue

分家 (bunke)

branch family

箱庭 (hakoniwa [lit. box garden]) small garden 祠 (hokora)

small shrine

Table 6. Japanese objects/concepts with no Western counterparts.

Most of the objects and concepts in Table 6 are likely to be immediately recognized as foreign by the player of the English versions. Borrowings that would make the Japanese cultural markers even more transparent are not used even for the distinctively Japanese items. “Kimono” is one of the very few exceptions to this. Rather than Japanese-sounding words themselves, however, it is often the context that creates the genuine foreignizing effect together with the words. For example, at one point in the game Mio finds kimonos in a chest of drawers and thinks to herself that they all seem to be women’s kimonos: “There are some old kimonos in the chest of drawers. They all look like women’s kimonos.” While “kimono” is a widely recognized word in English, in common usage it might be thought of as referring exclusively to female clothing. The implication that there are men’s kimonos as well may therefore add a hint of foreignization and authenticity.

In a few places the Japanese source text explicitly describes certain objects as either Japanese or imported from the West. In both cases, translation follows suit (images 7 and 8).

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Image 7. Specification of Japanese origin.

Image 8. Reference to the West as foreign.

Notable omissions occur rarely, and most cases do not seem intentional. For example, there is a room with two kimonos, red and blue, on display on the wall. If they are examined, the original Japanese text says: Kabe ni aka to ao, ittsui kimono ga kakerareteiru (“there is a red and a blue kimono hanging on the wall”). The English translation reads: “There are kimonos hanging here, too.” It could be that the translator left out the reference to red and blue because the player can see what color the kimonos are, but this seems unlikely, considering that the vast majority of translations adhere closely to the original. Because there is no apparent translation problem to explain the omission in this case either, the reason is most likely technical. There are, however, also some seemingly intentional omissions when it comes specifically to cultural references. These are the most interesting cases in the context of this study. Table 7 gives two examples of such omissions in one passage.

First paragraph in the Japanese version:

First paragraph in the English version:

村に点在する道祖神らしき石仏には、他の “The guardian deity statues in this area are different in that they are engraved with 地域に見られる男女神のものとは違い、 Shrine Maidens.” 双子の巫女らしき仏が刻まれている。 Rough translation of the full meaning: “The Buddhist guardian deity statues scattered across the village differ from the ones in other areas, which depict male and female deities. [The ones in this area] are engraved with twin shrine maidens.” Table 7. Omissions

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Traveler’s guardian deity statues can be seen on roadsides and village borders in Japan. The statues frequently depict a married couple, representing guardian deities that ward off evil spirits. (Kawamura, 2005). Similar guardian deity statues are to be found around the Minakami village, but rather than a married couple, they depict twins. The “Folklorist’s Note” in Table 7 explains these statues to the player, who has already seen many of them in the game. The Japanese source text explicitly mentions that statues in other areas depict male and female deities (男女神). This has been omitted completely in translation, stating only that the statues in the village differ from the ones in other areas in that they depict twins. The reference to male and female deities provides information that is outside the game’s world, extending into the existing cultural space of Japan. It seems that the translation evades this as something of a distraction and concentrates on what is relevant as far as the game story is concerned. Nevertheless, it makes no attempt to dodge the actual reference to guardian deity statues.

There is also another, slightly less obvious cultural omission in the same passage: the word sekibutsu (石仏) in the Japanese text refer specifically to Buddhist stone images, but there is no mention of Buddhism in the translation. This represents a relatively common type of omission, although so inconspicuous in nature that it is only barely an omission at all. Namely, references to the two main religions of Japan—Buddhism and Shintoism—are frequently left unspecified. Some examples are listed in Table 8. Japanese:

Explanation:

仏壇 (butsudan)

A Buddhist household altar for honoring deceased family members family altar and ancestors.

神社 (jinja)

Shinto shrine

shrine

Shinto chief priest

Veiled Priest (the faces of the priests are covered in the game)

宮司 (guuji)

English:

黄泉 (yomi)

Hell in Shinto mythology. The dead in yomi do not suffer punishments, Hell but carry on in an eternal twilight zone, similarly to the Greek Hades.

神事 (shinji)

Shinto rituals

sacred rituals

Table 8. Religious references.

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It is not hard to understand why references to Shintoism or Buddhism have not been made explicit in most cases. For example, the Japanese word jinja can only be used of a Shinto shrine, but if the meaning of the word is translated literally, it simply becomes “shrine.” Consequently, the English translation has an interesting way of presenting these concepts to the Western player as if they were familiar to him or her. As previously mentioned, the game story revolves around a Shinto ritual meant to seal the gate to yomi, the underworld, but the translation makes no explicit reference to Shintoism. Therefore words such as “Hell,” “sacrifice” and “Veiled Priests” may bring to mind Satanic rituals for a Western player. This, however, does not seem to be the purpose. It appears more likely that the translator has wanted to translate the meanings as they best serve the clarity of the fictional game story and avoid explicit real-life references where possible, as in the case of omitting the male and female deities. This seems likely also because the translation does not appear to purposefully and specifically avoid referring to Buddhism and Shintoism as such. For example, torii is translated as “Shinto gate.”

The third instance of cultural omission has to do with dolls and Japanese festival customs. The game contains an abundance of references to the rich doll tradition in Japan. Of all the Japanese dolls, hina ningyō (“hina dolls”) are arguably the most distinctively Japanese (Pate, 2008: 52). They are specific types of dolls that are put on display during the Japanese Doll Festival or Girl’s Day, hinamatsuri. In the localized games, hina dolls are translated as “dolls” and hinadan (a stand on which the dolls are displayed, see Image 9) as “doll stand.”

Image 9. The hinadan doll stand and reference to hinamatsuri customs.

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Image 10. Twin dolls on the top tier of the hinadan as seen through the camera viewfinder.

Although the word-level allusion to hinamatsuri has been omitted by dropping the word hina, it still lingers both in the visuals (Image 9 and 10) and between the lines in the text shown in Image 9: “The dolls on the top row are both female. They look the same, like twins. Maybe it’s a local custom…?” This has been faithfully translated from the original and contains a reference to the hinamatsuri customs. The hina dolls on the stand represent the imperial court, and the top row is reserved for the imperial lord and lady (Pate, 2008: 51, 54). Mio is surprised by the fact that the dolls on the top row are identical female dolls rather than a male and a female and wonders if this could be due to a local custom.

A Western player who has no knowledge of hinamatsuri will necessarily interpret both the images and words slightly differently. They will in all likelihood melt into the overall fictional experience and foreign impression (Image 10 provides a close-up of the Japanese features of the dolls) and be accepted as such. The meaning that the English-speaking player can draw from the written message is nevertheless the most essential information within the game’s inner context: repeating references to twins.

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Additions or explanations seem even rarer than omission when it comes to cultural references. The following example illustrates one small addition that makes up for an omitted word in another sentence. Although the change is very small, it is one of the very few that seem to be made due to cultural differences. Examining oil lamps in an altar room (see Image 11) brings up the two sentences in Table 9.

Image 11. Visual context of an addition and omission that balance each other out.

Japanese version:

Original meaning:

English version:

無数の灯りが部屋を紅く 照らしている。

The countless lamps bathe the room in a red glow.

The countless votive lamps bathe the room in a red glow.

灯明の紙には文字がびっ しりと書かれているが、 読むことはできない。

The paper of the votive lamps is covered with writing, but you can’t read it.

The paper of the lamps is covered with writing, but you can’t read it.

Table 9. Addition and omission

In the English version, “votive lamps” is added to the first sentence and removed from the second. In the Japanese version, the first sentence only speaks of “lamps” (akari, 灯り) and the word tōmyō (灯明), meaning “light offered to a god,” is only mentioned afterwards. This seems to imply that the Japanese player is expected to have experiential knowledge about what kind of lamps these are based on the context and visuals even before it is specified, whereas the Western player needs this information upfront.

The order in which information is presented is therefore subtly changed to reflect the level of knowledge of the player. However, the assumption behind this translation still seems to be that the Western player is actively aware that these are the objects of a foreign culture with foreign customs. The mentioned writing on the paper shade of the lamps is not explained, 50

but with the word “votive,” a Western player is more likely to construe the writing as prayers, which is the intended interpretation.

All in all, the strategies that convey the linguistic cultural content appear moderate, neither extremely foreignizing nor very domesticating. Almost nothing has been retained as such in this category, but nothing has been substituted either, and the original content is mainly treated very respectfully.

When the translations are viewed in their full context and with the images they refer to, the overall impression tends to be quite foreignizing. Considering that the textual translation does very little to try and balance this out, it appears tolerant of explicit Japanese cultural markers and references. Based on these strategies, there can be little doubt that the linguistic cultural content has been conveyed solely by translational means.

Due to the contextual overlap, several references to the game’s visuals have already been made in this linguistic section. The purpose of the next section is to give a more focused overview of the game’s visual elements, but similarly, it will be interspersed with references to linguistic elements.

5.1.2 Visuals

Visual cultural markers are what most firmly and clearly sets the game in Japan, manifest in almost every level of visual representation. The houses in the village represent traditional Japanese houses in architecture and interior. Ghosts from an earlier period appear dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, and all human-like characters have Japanese ethnic markers. The representation is visually very authentic and very specific about the cultural environment it depicts.

The only character in the game who at first seems to have any inconsistent mukokuseki features is the apparition of a young boy called Itsuki Tachibana, whose hair color is white (Image 12). This may even seem like an anime-style feature. It turns out, however, that his hair color is explained in the game. There is a diary in the Tachibana house, written by a little girl named Chitose, who writes that her big brother Itsuki went to perform the village ritual

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with his twin brother Mutsuki and returned alone, with his previously black hair turned pure white.

The consistency of cultural depiction is therefore not broken despite appearances. This is also another good example of how the visuals and verbal content work together to create the overall meanings and why neither can be discussed in complete isolation.

Image 12. White-haired boy, Itsuki Tachibana. Image scanned from the Japanese manual.

The English version does not contain any radical changes to the distinctly Japanese visuals that would be comparable to the modification of Miku Hinasaki’s looks. The Japanese characters, settings and objects remain visually unaltered. Some of the visuals are likely to be instantly recognized as Japanese by a Western player, while certain backdrops, such as a Japanese graveyard (image 14) or a Buddhist altar (image 13), might be more of an unfamiliar sight.

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Image 13. Buddhist family altar

Image 14. All God’s [sic] Cemetery

When it comes to visual adaptation, or the lack thereof, it needs to be noted that for the most part, the game visuals serve to create an atmospheric backdrop for the game world and may not require active attention or interpretation on the player’s part. Therefore, many things about the background visuals may hardly be experienced as particularly foreign. In contrast, there are certain visual elements that may draw the player’s attention more strongly and require some level of interpretation. Because all of the in-game texts are translated, I paid particular attention to graphic elements that featured Japanese writing, as they are the most concrete and conspicuous reminder that the game was originally created in a foreign language. These are the most interesting examples of retaining decisions during the localization process, assuming that the general aspiration of localization itself would be to create an illusion of a domestic product or even subdue the foreignness to the extent possible.

One example of graphical retaining is a news clipping that Mio picks up before entering the village. The content of the clipping is translated in the in-game text, but the picture is the same in the English and Japanese versions (Image 15). It shows a clipping from a Japanese newspaper with vertical writing. The image is almost detailed enough to make out the following headline in Japanese: 地質調査員が不明 (translated as “Geological Surveyor Missing”). If the player pays close attention to the visuals at this point, he or she may get the impression that Mio is reading the text in Japanese.

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Image 15. Japanese news clipping in graphics.

Image 16 illustrates another kind of example. Here the player’s attention is drawn to writing on a scroll that cannot actually be read and whose content makes no difference as far as the game’s story is concerned. What is interesting is how the visuals relate to what is said in the informative dialog box: “It’s written in ancient characters. You don’t know what it says.” The writing is clearly vertical and written on an old scroll, and the comment implies that Mio is unable to read it not because it is completely foreign to her, but because the characters are obsolete.

Image 16. Writing on a scroll.

The previous two examples have featured images with text that is not even meant to be readable in the image itself. The following examples feature visuals that have Japanese text which is relatively easy to make out in detail and is meant to be read.

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Image 17 shows a map with the kanji characters for “Osaka house”—逢坂家 (Ōsaka ie)— handwritten in the upper right-hand corner. When the map is first found in the game, the dialog box in the original Japanese version explicitly states what is written on the map. This information is thereby easily transferred into the translation. Nevertheless, the Japanese text in the graphics has not been modified in the localized versions.

Image 17. Japanese writing on the upper right corner of the map.

Perhaps the most interesting example of retained graphics appears in at least two situations during the game when Mio finds something carved or written on the walls in the Japanese katakana script. In these instances, the meaning of the writing is actually relevant to the game’s story and the text is apparently meant to be read from the wall, because it is not repeated anywhere in the dialog boxes in the Japanese game. Despite this, the visuals have not been altered in the English version.

Image 18 shows a wall with the Japanese handwritten words nigete (imperative form of the verb “run”) and mata oiteiku no (“are you leaving me again?”). These words imply that Mayu wrote them as a message for Mio before going off on her own, possibly while possessed by the vengeful spirit of Sae Kurosawa, a village girl who was left behind by her twin sister and killed in the failed village ritual.

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Image 18. Katakana writing on the wall.

Image 19. English translation added: “Something is written on the wall. It says ‘Run’ and ‘Are you going to leave me again?’ in Japanese.”

Instead of altered graphics, the English version has an added translation, provided in a dialog box (see Image 19). This is a very unusual type of addition, not found anywhere else in the game. Besides translating the words on the wall, the explanation goes further to specify that the words are written in Japanese. This entire text bit is absent in the Japanese original, as it is expected that the Japanese player can read the writing on the wall.

A similar, although somewhat concealed, instance can be found if the player wanders into a small closet in the Tachibana house. When Mio enters, the door is suddenly locked and a whispering voice repeating the words “help me” echo in the room. If the player at this point takes out the camera and looks through the viewfinder, he or she will see the Japanese word tasukete (“help/save me”) written all over the walls (Image 20). This text can only be seen through the viewfinder. Here, no explanation or translation is provided for the Japanese writing in the English version. However, the spoken whisper saying tasukete in Japanese is translated in the dubbed version as “help me,” conveying the same meaning.

Retaining the Japanese wall writings is one the strongest reminders for the Western players that they are playing a game originally developed in a different language. The retained Japanese writing can be seen either as an additional hindrance for the Western players that the Japanese players do not experience, or alternatively as an element that gives an authentic impression by letting the cultural origin show through.

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Image 20. Hidden writing on the closet walls (タスケテ, tasukete, ”help/save me”)

So far, I have discussed only retaining decisions in the game visuals, which seems to have been the dominant strategy. There is, however, a very clear and a very interesting case of substitution as well. This is one of the few cases in which the North American and European localized versions differ, which is why I will make a distinction between them. The reason why this substitution was saved for last is that these visuals and their accompanying texts have a dimension that appears to reach beyond the imaginary game world, as a tongue-incheek meta-reference by the game development team.

Throughout the game, there are hidden, trapped spirits that can only be seen and “captured” by taking a photograph of a certain location at a certain point in the game. While most of these spirits are the same in the Japanese, North American and European versions, at least two of them are different in all three. In the Japanese version, these two exceptional spirits are called sagashi tsuzukeru otoko, literally “a man who keeps seeking” and kaki tsuzukeru onna, “a woman who keeps drawing.” The former has an image that looks like an actual photograph of a man instead of game graphics, and the image of the latter spirit has three cartoon characters drawn in the Japanese manga style. These two are completely different from all other hidden spirits in the Japanese game and clearly meant as jokes. They are also very easily missed by a casual player and play no part in the actual story mode of the game.

In the North American version these same two spirits are rendered “James Mielke” and “Bill Donohue,” and in the European version “Ugly Caretaker” and “Lady of the Night.” Images 21, 22 and 23 show the spirit called sagashi tsuzukeru otoko and its substitutions in the North American and European versions. This spirit is found when the window of a small storeroom is photographed in the Kiryu house toward the end of the game. 57

Image 21. Sagashi tsuzukeru otoko (Japanese version) The name of the spirit is highlighted on the left; image and description are in the gray area on the right. The description below the image identifies the “spirit” as “an editor, who came to investigate the village for his work in the hopes of finding ghosts. As he kept searching persistently, his soul was stolen and he was trapped in darkness.” This is not a part of the game’s actual story or world, as the only few people who got trapped by the village after it disappeared are introduced during the game.

Image 22. James Mielke (North American version)

Image 23. Ugly Caretaker (European version)

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All of the names, images and stories of these “spirits” are different, but it would seem that the Japanese and North American versions both contain a joking reference to the same existing person: James Mielke, the former editor-in-chief of the Electronic Gaming Monthly publication. The “story” in the Japanese version (translated in the caption of Image 21) leads me to think that James Mielke may have visited the development team to interview them as this game was being developed and earned himself a humorous in-game reference. It is rendered much more explicit in the North American version, Fatal Frame II, making the reference an even more conspicuous discontinuation of the make-believe game representation, as a hidden real-life joke. Adding to the reference to James Mielke, the accompanying text would also seem to parody the type of unintentionally amusing English translations that English-speaking players could see in early localizations of Japanese games.

In contrast, the European version has a completely different kind of substitution, “Ugly Caretaker.” It is not entirely clear why this change was made, but judging from the nature of it, it seems very likely that the European localized version was made based on the existing North American localization rather than the original Japanese game. For the most part, the two English versions are nearly identical, but here the European version seems to entirely circumvent the very pronounced reference in the North American version and seek to substitute it with something a bit closer to the game’s representation, while still maintaining a hint of playfulness, or possibly a reference to someone known to the European localization team. It may be that if the European version were made based on the original version, the Japanese text would simply have been translated.

As they are, however, both of these substitutions would seem to exceed the limits of translation and qualify as some type of localization. Although “Ugly Caretaker” may be changed from “James Mielke” rather than from the original sagashi tsuzukeru otoko, the quality of the change is nevertheless localization. On the other hand, the original Japanese reference itself also exceeds the limits of the game content proper. It is very interesting in itself that the only instance of heavy adaptation in the game’s graphics and texts has to do with a meta-reference—a completely different text type embedded within the game context. It would appear that these substitutions are not made in order to overcome cultural barriers and enhance the gameplay experience per se, but to retell (or hide) an external joke by the development/localization teams. This makes the other retaining decisions seem more

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deliberate, particularly in places where it might have been justified to change or substitute certain visuals which contained Japanese writing.

5.1.3 Audio Content

Whereas the retained visuals form the single most foreignizing feature in the game, spoken language tends to draw the experience a bit closer to the target culture. All of the spoken Japanese language in the original game is dubbed into English, and the original Japanese audio track is not available in either of the English versions.

This in itself could be seen as an act of domestication, but it is warranted to first consider that the decision to dub rather than subtitle a game may be based solely on conventions and/or budget. According to Chandler (2005: 14), “full game localization” always involves dubbing the game dialog in addition to translating all in-game texts, whereas a subtitled version is called “partial localization.” “Full” and “partial” refer not only to the degree of localization, but also reveal the general tendency within the industry to consider full localization as the desired norm sales-wise, and partial or no localization as less satisfactory but acceptable when budget is limited and/or the game is to be shipped to a relatively small language area.

Chandler (ibid.: 14–15) views full localization in a positive light, as it “shows the player that the publisher is committed to providing the best quality gaming experience.” In contrast, the video game journalist Chris Kohler sees this tendency as a sign that “video games are still treated as a second-class medium” and points out that Akira Kurosawa’s acclaimed film Seven Samurai would never be re-released with English audio track alone (Jenkins, 2006). These are two conflicting views from the localization industry and the gaming community, with the first seeing games through localizational motives and the second through translational motives.

I have no way of finding out for certain whether the localized version of Zero: Akai Chō was dubbed due to the industry convention or because dubbing was deemed necessary in this individual case. Two facts would seem to indicate that the reason lies in convention, however. First, based on the age ratings, the localized versions target players aged 16 and older. If a game is targeted for young children, dubbing is well justified, but in this case, age clearly cannot be the reason. Another clue lies in the translation strategy adopted in dubbing. 60

Dubbing itself seems like an adaptational choice, and if it was chosen for that reason, then the translation strategy might also be expected to be tilted toward domestication. This does not seem to be the case.

The “audio translation” in the English version follows the original audio as closely and respectfully as the written translation follows the textual content. All of the English voice actors use the Japanese names and pronounce them nearly flawlessly, and the intended illusion seems to be that they are, in fact, speaking Japanese. Also, the game’s theme song has been retained in Japanese and subtitled into English (“Chō” by Tsukiko Amano; played at the very end of the story mode).

The only notable and repeating difference between the original spoken Japanese and English dialog is that Mio calls Mayu oneechan—a diminutive way to address elder sister in Japanese—whereas in the English version Mio calls her sister by her name Mayu. This means that the player of the Japanese version knows immediately and is constantly reminded that Mayu is the first-born of the twins, whereas the player of the English version can only retrieve this information from the user guide. Knowing which of the twin sisters is elder has significance in the game’s story context, but since it would have been a highly foreignizing strategy to keep oneechan unchanged or even to have had Mio call Mayu “big sister,” considering that the age difference is next to none, oneechan has been omitted and naturalized into “Mayu.”

All similar, more or less untranslatable Japanese honorifics that provide detailed information on interpersonal relationships are omitted in the English version. This is a customary translation decision due to a difference in Japanese and English languages and for the most part does not make for a loss in meaning that might hinder understanding of the immediate gameplay events. There seems to be only one exception to this, which also involves other audio elements.

Exploring an old mansion called Kurosawa House, the twins examine an old, small cell. Just as they are about to leave, the door slams shut, trapping Mayu inside the cell and leaving Mio on the other side. Terrified, Mayu begs Mio through the small cell window not to leave her alone. Despite her pleas, Mio reassures her that she will only go look for the cell key and

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return as soon as possible. As Mio turns to leave, she hears an eerie voice from Mayu’s direction quietly utter the following sentence:

(Japanese)

(English)

Oneechan… mata, watashi o oiteiku no…?

“Dear sister… Are you leaving me again?”

Mio stops in her tracks as she hears this and her eyes widen. She turns around, but sees only Mayu’s lowered head through the cell window. The Japanese line reveals that someone else is speaking through Mayu, as she calls Mio oneechan—elder sister—even though it has been established that Mio is the younger of the twins. Another thing that communicates an unusual quality in the Japanese version is that the subtitles are fully in katakana script, which can sometimes be used to denote the Japanese speech of a foreigner, or, as in this case, an alien or inhuman quality.

As oneechan has been translated as “dear sister” and the typography of the English subtitles is not changed to reflect the katakana script, the only verbal indication that Mayu is not herself is lost. Therefore Mayu’s possession could only be conveyed through non-verbal means—the altered voice. In the dubbed version, it is indicated by reproducing her tone perhaps even more eerily than in the original version, thereby preventing any essential meaning from being lost.

This is a good example of how, beyond linguistic content, every now and then certain auditory qualities slightly alter how certain spoken messages come across in the English version as opposed to the Japanese one. For example, some whispers and words uttered by ghosts that are barely audible or discernible on the Japanese soundtrack are rendered more distinct in the English version. Furthermore, the English-speaking voice actor of Itsuki Tachibana sounds slightly older than the Japanese voice actor, although it is impossible to tell whether this is intentional. For the most part, however, the English dubbing attempts to be as true to form as it is to content.

This is particularly clear in the case of the game’s “spirit stones,” crystals that store the thoughts of the villagers and can be listened to with the Spirit Stone Radio. The stones usually contain human voices carried over static and background noises that cover half of the speech. Some of the voices have a broken, grating quality which is frequently used in 62

Japanese horror cinema in connection to ghosts. Most of these auditory signals are recreated in the English audio track, although exact sameness is of course impossible with different voice actors.

All in all, the English audio translation clearly aspires to give as authentic a reproduction of the original audio track as possible. Although the faithfulness and overall foreignizing strategy is my only clue and the rest is speculation, my guess is that if dubbing was not a localization convention and was rather decided on a case-by-case basis, this particular game would probably not have been dubbed, or the original Japanese audio track would have been provided in addition to the English one.

I am drawn to the somewhat paradoxical conclusion that the fact that the game is dubbed is a localization decision in and of itself, but the manner in which the dubbing is executed is verbal and audio translation, and nothing in the content as such can be considered as significant cultural adaptation.

5.2 Functional Aspects

Whereas section 5.1 had as its main focus the representation and meanings of the game, this section focuses on the functional aspects. By “functional aspects” I refer to the game menus, commands and in-game instructions which have many similarities with utility software.

The reason why functional aspects are discussed separately in this section is that these visuals and texts deal with the product nature of the game and any culture-specific elements are therefore more likely to undergo visual and verbal localization than purely representational elements. This assumption is based on the preliminary distinction between localization and translation made in Chapter 3. In localization, it is considered a prerequisite to good usability that nothing too foreign either in texts or visuals prevents the player from using the game and understanding its functions fully. It is therefore interesting to see how these changes relate to ones that were made or not made in representational elements.

It is possible to distinguish two types of menus and instructions. They can relate either to the game system itself and the basic functions, such as saving, loading and changing game settings, or to the game’s unique, individual menus that tie in with the actual game world 63

and its interactive system. The first types of menus are common to nearly all games, which is why I intend to focus only on the in-game menus and instructions that are particular to this game. The most prominent elements of usability—graphic menus—will be examined first. Because there are some differences between the European and North American versions in these elements, the game versions will once again be referred to separately when necessary.

5.2.1 Menus

The game’s main menu can be accessed at any point during the game. It displays current game statistics, time, date and play time and serves as a portal to the submenus, which allow the player to view the map, re-read collected diaries and books, view photographs that have been taken, listen to spirit stones or change the camera settings, among other things.

The appearance and layout of the main menu is almost exactly the same in all three game versions. Image 24 displays the main menu view in the Japanese and European versions. As is to be expected, all of the text on the interface has been translated in the English versions, albeit within severe space restrictions. It would appear that no graphical changes have been made to accommodate translations in the main menu. In the case of vertical writing in the original (on the right-hand side of the menu, showing the current chapter name), the translation has been rotated 90 degrees to fit the original space.

Image 24. Main menus in the Japanese and European versions.

The only linguistic adaptational difference between the original game and the localized versions is that some kanji characters denoting counters have been omitted from the English games. For example, after the number that indicates how many photographs have been 64

taken during the game, the Japanese version has the counter symbol for flat objects such as sheets of paper (枚, mai). This has been removed, but the counter for points (点, ten) has been translated as “pts.” Furthermore, the format of date and time has been changed. Both of these changes follow normal translational conduct, although making the changes may have required slight adjustment to the game code.

Something very interesting comes up in the “Camera” submenu in the North American version. Contrary to expectation, the original Japanese function symbols have not been changed (Image 25). Below the texts “Power-Up Lens,” “Additional Functions” and “Equipped Functions,” there are Japanese kanji symbols embedded in graphics that denote the name of each function. White boxes have been added around them for highlight (not present in actual game menus).

However, as can be seen in Image 26, these same function symbols been changed for the European version. For example, in the upper right corner (under “Additional Functions”), there is the symbol for a function called “Instant,” abbreviated as IN. In the Japanese and North American versions, the character for the same function is 瞬, which has the same meaning “instant,” or “blink.” In the North American version, the explanations and names for these functions are provided in English when the player selects one of the kanji symbols, but the functions are still easier for the European to recognize and use than the American player.

Image 25. Camera menu in the North American version. Japanese function symbols.

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Image 26. Camera menu in the European version. Abbreviated English function symbols.

It needs to be noted in this context that the North American English version was released first, shortly after the Japanese version, whereas the European version was released several months later. Therefore, the Japanese function symbols in the North American version most likely do not mean that it has a more “foreignizing” approach than the European version. A much more probable explanation is that there simply was not enough time to change the symbols for the first release, which was fixed in the European version. This is the only significant usability issue having to do with graphics. It should also be observed that none of the representational graphics with Japanese writing were changed even in the European version, although the changed function graphics may indicate that it would have been possible.

A particularly interesting question here is whether this type of change should be considered as localization or translation. In essence, the kanji symbols have been replaced with their close equivalents in meaning, but they are incorporated into the game by way of what might be called “technical localization,” embedding the abbreviated translations into the graphic interface. In this sense, it could be seen as both translation and localization, albeit not “cultural” localization.

There is also another change involving localization in the same camera menu in both English versions. The three small menus titled “Additional Functions,” “Film,” and “Equipped Functions” (see images 25 and 26) are in a different order in the Japanese and English 66

versions. Namely, “Film” and “Additional Functions” have changed places. Image 27 displays the original Japanese camera menu, where the film type selection menu is in the top segment (enclosed in a white box for highlight). I briefly considered whether this change was due to cultural reasons, but it seems more likely that it was only meant to accommodate a longer translation: the translated text “Additional Functions” takes far more space than “Film,” and there is more space in the top segment than in the middle one, as can be seen in images 25, 26 and 27.

Image 27. Camera menu in the Japanese version. “Film” segment in the top right corner.

The camera menu in the North American version is not the only place in the English menus where Japanese writing has been retained. Image 28 shows the “Memo” menu, where the player can read Mio’s notes on what has happened in the game so far. The title that is highlighted in Image 28, “Twin Doll,” is also highlighted in red in the background image in Japanese.

Admittedly, this is a borderline case as far as whether it should be considered a part of the representational or functional side. The background image provides no additional information and merely repeats the text that is highlighted. It is apparently meant to blur the line between the fictional game world and technical game menus by showing Mio’s “actual” notebook in the background. Nevertheless, reflecting back to original expectations and the goals of localization, it is somewhat surprising how much Japanese writing has been retained even in the functional menus.

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Image 28. The highlighted words “Twin Doll” are shown red in Japanese on the notebook (双子の人形 – futago no ningyō). The Japanese text is retained in both English versions.

5.2.2 In-Game Instructions

Unlike in the representational texts, there is very little in the in-game instructions that could be considered clearly culture-specific. For the most part, the instructions deal with the fictional camera functions and are translated as technical texts.

There is, however, one substitution that stands out quite clearly. When the instructions specify which button to press for which function, the button symbols have been changed for the English versions (Image 29). This is simply because the default controller configuration is different in Japanese and Western games. It represents a localization change which is due to different area standards rather than cultural differences.

Image 29. Area standard localization: controller symbols (enclosed in white boxes for highlight)

The Japanese in-game instructions differ from representational texts not only in text type, but also in the sense that they contain plenty of borrowings from English. For the most part, 68

these are written in katakana script, while in some places there is the occasional word or abbreviation in Latin alphabet. All of the English borrowings that refer to modern technical qualities create something of a contrast with the otherwise very old and traditional Japanese ambience in the game and its visuals, written content and even the game menus.

Linguistically, this contrast would of course be difficult and perhaps even pointless to try and convey in the English translation. What could be noted instead is how the translation deals with loanwords. Not all of them are accepted as such into the localized version, despite an otherwise very faithful translation strategy. For example, a camera ability called hitto bakku—“hit back”—in the Japanese version is changed into “Blast Back ability” in the localized versions, which was perhaps seen to serve the English-speaking audiences better. In Japanese, an English borrowing in itself may be striking enough. Nevertheless, these would seem like normal translations rather than any special type of adaptation.

Overall, the instructions seem to be somewhat more freely translated than other texts. Namely, there is more rephrasing and combining sentences, apparently for more concise and/or natural expression. This is very probably the due to the different text type. The following example illustrates how sentences are sometimes combined in the instructions:

Fairly literal translation of the original Japanese sentence structure:

Translation in the English versions:

“During this effect, the spirit’s movements

“While this effect is active, the spirit will

will slow down so that it is easier to

move slower and shutter chances will be

photograph. While the spirit is slowed

longer, making the spirit easier to capture.”

down, the shutter chances will also be longer.”

To sum up, there are clearly more localization changes to be seen in the functional than representational aspects of the game, but nothing that deals directly with cultural considerations. There are basically two types of localization changes that can be observed in the functional aspects. One is purely technical, helping to incorporate translations into the game’s graphical elements. The other type has to do with taking different area standards into consideration and making adjustments or substitutions accordingly. Otherwise, there seem to be only translational changes in the menus and instructions. 69

5.3 Interpretation of Findings

In this chapter, I examined the Japanese video game Zero: Akai Chō and two of its localized versions. The first two sections zeroed in on explicit cultural markers in written, visual and audio content and the strategies used to convey them. Representational and functional aspects were divided into separate categories, expecting that there might be a difference in the degree of localization between the two. This section sums up the findings and attempts to bring in a deeper cultural perspective to aid in their interpretion.

5.3.1 Summary

Overall, the English version gives a very foreignizing impression in the Schleiermacherian sense. The rendering conveys nearly everything in the way it originally appears in the Japanese game, giving largely the same impression to the Western player that he or she would have gotten playing the original game with a sufficient understanding of the Japanese language. In other words, there is very little actual rewriting or even explanation. On the other hand, the Japanese origin is not highlighted in a way that might be considered as foreignizing localization. The English version only seems to strive for an authentic rendition of the original.

The representational cultural content in the English version contains very few additions, omissions and substitutions. Most of the Japanese proper names have been retained and the overall rendering is quite faithful. At the same time, the moderate strategy of not seeking to underline the foreignness shows in the nearly complete lack of other linguistic retaining decisions (excepting kusabi), omitting Japanese honorifics that signify relationships (e.g., oneechan—“dear [elder] sister”) and, in some contexts, not specifying real-life religious references.

In-game visuals with all of their culture-specific imagery are unaltered, even in cases where the graphics clearly display Japanese writing. The only instances of visual and verbal substitution that I found were hidden meta-references, which were different in the North American and European versions. I would not necessarily consider these as part of the game’s actual representation, but the changes in them can certainly be considered as localization. Furthermore, the fact alone that the game was dubbed could also be considered 70

as localization, as it seems to have been done due to convention rather than necessity. The dubbing itself, however, is a respectful reproduction of the original dialog and soundscape.

There was a clear difference to be noted in the level of localization in purely representational and functional aspects of the game. Graphics which had some instructional element or abbreviation relevant to the game’s functions were changed in the European version, whereas the vast majority of the representational visuals were intact, even if they included foreign characters or symbolism. Furthermore, the translated in-game instructions reflected differences between Japanese and Western game system standards. It would appear that these are examples of localization, but not what could be called “cultural” localization.

Although there was no difference in the English translation of the European and American versions, there turned out to be two notable differences in localization decisions: the aforementioned meta-references and function symbols. The observation that the Japanese function symbols in the North American version were fixed in the subsequently released European version implies that these types of graphic changes were entirely possible given enough time, but considered necessary only in the functional aspects of the game. None of the representational graphics featuring Japanese writing were changed even in the European version, which makes it seem more like a deliberate foreignizing choice rather than an unsatisfactory solution deriving from lack of time or resources. It also does not seem likely that the overall foreignizing effect could be ascribed to a half-hearted or inferior localization job. Although the emphasis has not been on translation quality, it is relevant to mention here that the translation appears to be professional, quality work overall.

Based on the strategies of cultural transfer, it would seem that there is cultural adaptation in the American and European versions only as far as translation and dubbing themselves can be considered cultural adaptations. In almost every other respect, the Japanese game is presented to the player with no cultural rewriting or explanation. There is only technical localization, such as changing the place of the “film” segment to accommodate a longer translation. The meta-reference represents a substitution, but not one that is meant to enhance cultural understanding of the game’s own meanings. It does not seem like a cultural shift, as the original reference is likely to be just as mystifying to the Japanese player as its translation would have been to the Western player.

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The cultural transfer of the game content proper therefore seems to be a translation through and through, and from a certain perspective even a surprisingly foreignizing one at that. The English version makes practically no effort to strive for equivalent effect. There is good reason to ask why, considering that this seems to go almost completely against previous research on video game localization. A more comprehensive look at the game’s cultural meanings may be necessary to explain these findings, which is the purpose of the following section.

5.3.2 Underlying Cultural Themes and Issues

As a horror game, the predominant theme both in the story and in gameplay is fear and more specifically, the primordial fear of death and the dead. In this sense, the game setting seems universal enough. There are, however, countless subtle Japanese cultural meanings worked into the representation that only marginally have to do with external ethnic markers, but may be seen to contribute greatly to the make-up of the game.

Implicit references to Japanese deathlore and symbolism concerning death are particularly prevalent. Yūrei is a Japanese word for a restless spirit, and although the word itself does not appear to be mentioned anywhere in the game, the ghosts that appear in the game are all yūrei in the sense that they are bound to their place of death by strong emotions and are unable to move on. There are also specific types of ghosts called onryō, spirits that are driven by vengeance. These are the ones that attack the player. In folktales, yūrei are often described as wearing a white (burial) kimono and having unkempt hair (Iwasaka and Tolkien 1994: 72). There seems to be a somewhat explicit reference to these visual cues already in the first fleeting apparition that is shown as the game begins: Mio sees her sister overlaid with an image of a sobbing girl in a white kimono as they get closer the village.

However, the emotions that underlie Japanese ghost stories are more complex than fear, as death comes hand in hand with another cultural theme in Japan. Iwasaka and Tolkien (1994: 6, 18–20), writing on the cultural experience in Japanese death legends, point out that the reason why Japan has such a strong ghost folklore tradition is intimately linked with a strong sense of obligation toward one’s community and family in Japanese society. This indebtedness does not end even in death (ibid.: 36), which explains the very intricate death customs and ancestral worship in Japan. 72

This sense of obligation is strongly evident in the game as already built into the story setting: twins have to be sacrificed every few decades to keep the village from being swallowed by darkness. Sentences such as “For the village…” and “We were born for this purpose” keep repeating in writings and ghost talk from the village’s past. Simultaneously, there is a more delicate, individual layer of obligation in the love and bond that the twins share with each other. The story of the twin sisters Yae and Sae Kurosawa is told through dozens of journals, notes, spirit stones and flashbacks. The strong-willed Yae refuses to kill her sister and the girls try to escape the impending ritual, but only Yae succeeds. As Sae is left behind and sees the despair of the villagers and witnesses her childhood friend Itsuki hang himself, she grows more convinced that they should have performed the ritual and saved the others. Even after death, her spirit waits for her sister to return and complete the ritual.

The stories and personal tragedies of other twins who were previously sacrificed are told throughout the game. The emotional conflict in both of these repeating parallel storylines— individual wishes or love weighed against the duty to a nurturing community—is peaked in the act of one twin killing the other and sacrificing a loved one at the altar of the collective good. At the same time, by way of alleviating the heavy personal sacrifice, it is implied that the twins will be united into a single being in the ritual, which might be seen as the ultimate end of obligation and longing. Sae repeatedly expresses her wish to be sacrificed in order to be one with her sister. The choice is harder on Yae, who would have to kill her sister and go on living as “the Remaining.” As Yae follows her individual desires and escapes the village, trying to take her sister with her, the resulting disaster that sweeps across the village seems to echo age-old stories designed to warn young people of the consequences of defying ancient traditions.

A similar sense of guilt and obligation tinges Mio’s relationship with her sister. Mayu is terrified of being left behind and clings to her mentally and physically stronger sister, Mio, who is ridden with ambivalence, balancing between her independent nature and a desire to protect and be with Mayu. Flashbacks reveal that when the girls were little, Mayu fell down a steep hill and injured her leg, which left her with a permanent limp. It is implied that Mio feels responsible because she was rushing Mayu, causing her to slip and fall. Their relationship is frequently paralleled with that of Yae and Sae, as the psychically sensitive Mayu is intermittently possessed by the spirit of Sae Kurosawa and believes Mio is Yae, who will leave her behind. 73

Mio and Mayu’s relationship is not only revealed through flashbacks, visuals and dialog, but also carried over into actual gameplay: in many parts of the game, the limping Mayu is left behind if the player runs too fast, in which case she sometimes asks Mio to wait or complains a pain in her leg. The player may feel compelled to stop and wait for her, whereas other times when Mayu gets in the way in cramped spaces the player may be frustrated with her and push her aside. Again, if a hostile spirit attacks only against Mayu who is completely helpless and cries for Mio in panic, the player may take more emotionally charged action than normal to banish the ghost and defend Mayu. This gameplay feature is likely designed to create real emotional identification with the main character and her feelings for her sister. O’Hagan (2009) studied a similar situation and a Western player’s reactions to a Japanese game called Ico, in which the protagonist has to take care of another character who is frequently left behind or even killed unless she is protected. Her study supports my assumption that this Japanese gameplay feature relies on cultural meanings and may elicit slightly different reactions in Japanese and Western players (ibid.: 226–227).

As was already mentioned in section 5.1.1, there are also plenty of references to Shintoism and Buddhism in the game, some of which tie in with the player’s actions. A simple example is the passing through torii, a Shinto shrine archway, when the twins enter the village. If the player returns to check the Shinto gate where the twins entered, he or she will find that the path has disappeared and there is no way to return through the same gate. What is not explicitly stated in this context is that torii symbolically marks the entrance to a sacred space and is often found near Shinto shrines. In the game, it hints at the strongly religious and ritualistic past of the village that the twins are about to discover. The girls also find Buddhist guardian deity statues called Jizō in the Japanese game as they enter the village. All of the statues depict twins. Jizō is the guardian deity of children, particularly children who have died before their parents. The fact that these statues with images of twins are plentiful may suggest early on that many twins have died in the village to players that are aware of the custom.

One of the cultural meanings that most of the Western players are likely to recognize is the reference to Japanese horror cinema, perhaps particularly to the 1998 film Ring, which has gained popularity in the West. The film also drew upon Japanese folklore, but there are some visual references in the game that would seem to point directly at the film. For one, as the player passes an old well in the cellar of a certain house, a hostile onryō crawls out of it with 74

her long black hair hanging heavy over her face. There is a similar scene in the film. Another example is an old photograph of Yae and Sae Kurosawa, in which Sae’s face appears warped (Image 30). This same effect was used in Ring to imply the impending, unnatural death of the photographed person. In this instance, the game mixes film and in-game references. There are plenty of twin statues and dolls in the village, with one of the heads broken off.

Image 30. Photograph with a warped face.

In a similar vein of cultural meaning, using a “camera” and a “radio” in the horror context could be seen as drawing from the Japanese horror cinema, in which mundane technology such as televisions and cell phones are often connected to ghost legends and traditional folklore. Deeper than that, however, it seems to speak to the persistence of original Japanese cultural traditions and beliefs that keep seeping through the apparent surface Westernization (Iwasaka and Tolkien 1994: 9). Mechanical or electrical devices with an ancient, timeless and frightening dimension are used to create a disturbing mix that draws upon cultural meanings.

These examples provide only a limited overview of the ways in which the game’s cultural meanings run deeper than the explicit cultural markers. The explicit ones can be translated, but deeper cultural meanings serve as the ingredients upon which the game operates and become an inseparable part of the gaming experience. These cannot be changed without a complete reconstruction of the game, in which case the result would be an entirely different game; the product of another, in this case, Western culture.

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There can be little doubt that this game is experienced differently by Japanese and Western players. A Japanese player is likely to recognize many familiar real-life cultural features and references, and his or her cultural knowledge and experiences add to the interpretation. Whatever meaning is lost on the Western player in reality, however, may be, and very likely is, replaced by a sensory openness and heightened sensitivity to detail which is evoked by the foreignness. This is particularly true in the game context that invites the player to explore an imaginary world, interact with it and piece together his or her own meanings. When the sights or contexts are entirely or partially new and unfamiliar, many of them might be interpreted to be a part of the game’s world and effortlessly accepted as part of the experience, much in the way a young child constructs an understanding of the world.

This implies that although some of the cultural meanings described here are probably reinterpreted by a Western player, they will nevertheless have a meaning instead of being rendered entirely meaningless. Many of them, such as fear of the dead and obligation to loved ones, are ultimately universal themes that transcend cultural barriers. Other times, representation deriving from the Japanese culture may come across as a familiar basic idea redressed in a very original and intriguing form, whether the source is recognized as Japanese or not. The use of an old camera as a weapon might be one these, as it represents a very original and inventive rendering of the pre-existing gaming concept of a battle system.

On the other hand, if the player is more keenly aware of the Japanese origin, understanding certain contexts may become based on the simple awareness of foreign origin alone. The player gets to travel into and explore not only an imaginary game world, but also into an existing culture, its aesthetics and markers. Playing a game can be like an immersive, authentic and subjective journey to another culture in a very natural way. In some situations the pronounced unfamiliarity may even add to the frightening experience for a Western player.

It would seem that retaining the explicit cultural references may even have been perceived as the only viable strategy of cultural transfer in this case: receiving the foreign as foreign. This is also evident in the fact that, despite being permeated with Japanese cultural meanings and markers, the game was nevertheless exported to the West.

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6. End Game

The purpose of this study was to find out if there is cultural adaptation that is an inherent part of the localization process—“cultural localization”—and thereby attempt to clarify the concepts of localization and translation in the context of video games. I viewed foreignizing strategies as an indication of translation rather than localization decisions after having selected a game in which any adaptations should have stood out very clearly. Besides linguistic features, I took into account visuals, audio content and cultural symbolism embedded in gameplay.

The findings were antithetic to previous research that speaks to the necessity of cultural adaptation in game localization: there was practically no cultural adaptation in the game content despite the very foreign look and feel of the original game. Based on the strategies used in the localized versions, it would seem that translation is a much more accurate description of the cultural transfer that took place during the localization process. While there were also localization changes or adaptations, the concept of cultural localization did not seem to apply to any of them.

Normally, changes in one localized game and the decisions of one localization team would not warrant any sweeping generalizations, particularly with no access to the information on why certain changes were or were not made. However, as I hope to have demonstrated in Chapter 4, this is one of the clearest examples of a game whose cultural origin should have been visibly and clearly diluted or replaced if game localization inherently required cultural adaptation beyond translation and if gameplay was the sole important factor in the overall gaming experience. Remarkably little of such dilution is present. It could be said, based on this alone, that video game localization does not inherently entail cultural adaptation beyond translation.

This is in line with the initial seed of doubt that made me question earlier assumptions, but it only meets half of the challenge posed for this study. The more challenging and even more important part was gaining a clearer understanding of the relationship between translation and the changes known as localization. If video game localization does not inherently entail cultural adaptation, why would such a misconception even exist? What is the nature of the localization changes that were and can be made? 77

I believe that I was, in fact, able to piece together an answer to this question throughout the research process, although not entirely in the way I had expected. My study was specifically designed to examine the difference between translation and localization through a cultural lens, as culture seemed like the clearest conflict point between localization and translation. As I analyzed the research material, I focused on keeping an eye out for content-level cultural rewriting which aims at rooting out foreign cultural markers in the source content and replacing them with familiar ones in order to enhance the gameplay experience. I found none. For this reason, the difference between localization and translation did not become clearer directly through taking a look at cultural aspects. However, as I sifted through the functional aspects and compared changes in the North American and the European version, the actual role of localization began to get clearer. Although I had assigned these aspects of my research a somewhat more marginal role, they turned out to be more helpful than expected. Based on observations made through them, I suggest that content-level localization itself could be seen to consist of two layers.

The first layer is enabling localization. To use an allegory, this could be compared to a framed painting, where the painting itself is translation and the frame is localization. Some graphics in the English versions were replaced or moved around in order to accommodate longer translations, which itself was localization. For example, an image with a Japanese function symbol was replaced with one that had an abbreviated translation. The important thing to note is that the graphic element included a translation, which was simply worked into the game through localization. Instead of a cultural localization change, this was translation and enabling localization combined. Translation functions on the level of linguistic and cultural content, localization in setting up the frame for it.

This also explains the example in section 3.3 about substituting an image of a light bulb with a translation, in which case there seemed to be an overlap of translation and localization. The same thing can be said about dubbing. The execution of dubbing itself can be seen as enabling localization, but the rendered speech and audio content is translation. In this sense, translated films also contain enabling localization as they are subtitled or dubbed.

The second layer is area localization. This is localization in its most literal sense: something is “made local.” It is also the most slippery and multifaceted industry concept. Trying to cover exhaustively all possible examples would be extremely difficult, but what can be done is to 78

pin the basic meaning in place as it is relevant in this context. On the level of content, area localization attempts to conform to differing standards, guidelines and rules in different areas, and the reasons arise from business and marketing considerations. The issues that motivate these changes can be concrete or only perceived. The following list contains some of the most central categories, with examples used earlier in this thesis:

technical standards

-

laws

-

market research

-

different video display formats (p. 18) different controller configurations in Japan and Western countries (p. 68) age ratings (p. 10) restrictions on depicting blood in Germany (p. 19) reconstruction of Tokimeki Memorial (p. 21) modification of Miku Hinasaki (p. 33)

publisher guidelines

-

guidelines of Nintendo of America concerning Vodka Drunkenski in Punch-Out!! (p. 23)

additions by development /

-

the in-game joke with sagashi tsuzukeru otoko, James Mielke and Ugly Caretaker (p. 57–59)

localization team members to different area versions

All of the above reasons may effect content-level changes in the game which are beyond translation. This in and of itself is nothing new. However, it is crucial to make a distinction between cultural adaptation (translation) and area adaptation (localization). Area localization has only secondarily to do with culture or cultural differences per se and directly to do with different technical standards, legislation, market tendencies and company guidelines in different areas of the world. Localization in the (entertainment) software industry and cultural adaptation in translation and are two entirely different things, but very easily confused with each other within the overall concept of localization.

For example, the modification of Miku Hinasaki’s appearance would be very easy to think of as cultural localization. It needs to be questioned, however, if this change was called for in order to enhance cultural understanding of the localized game. What, in actual fact, was there to understand differently by a Western player? The first Zero / Fatal Frame / Project Zero was a Japanese game with a Japanese character, and this fact is ultimately unchangeable without reconstructing the entire game, as noted at the end of the previous chapter. The 79

actual intention seems to have been to modify the character so as to be more in line with the Western game design practices in the hopes of boosting sales, because certain character design types are perceived as the desired norm in the Western world. Of course, this view is based on the assumption of what Western players are truly looking for in a game experience, which they themselves may not even be able to articulate. Therefore, results of market research are applied into the game context without considering the cultural meanings of the game as a whole, which from a translational point of view is primary.

The mix-up between area localization and cultural adaptation is one possible explanation of why previous research underlines cultural adaptation in game localization. There is also another very likely reason: the lack of explicit cultural markers in many games. A domesticating translation strategy in games that are set in fantasy worlds may have been construed as a general tendency of cultural localization specific to all games. As mentioned earlier, domesticating translation strategy might often be expected to be employed in similar fantasy contexts in any medium. This, combined with possible area localization, may very easily have created the illusion of drastic inherent cultural adaptation particular to the game medium.

Ultimately, my thesis is that there is no such thing as “cultural localization” specific to game localization. The division into two types of content-level localization changes also agrees with the initial industry definition of localization made in Chapter 3:

(1) The object of localization is a product that combines technology with language (enabling localization is required), and (2) the purpose of localization is to increase sales by modifying the product to make it appropriate for a specific target locale (area localization comes into play).

Both of these may work together with translation, which includes both linguistic and cultural transfer, but are ultimately separate from it. “Cultural localization” may therefore be considered as something of a misnomer that can refer to one of two things: cultural adaptation in translation or area localization. Neither one of these is a new phenomenon or specific to games as such, but it seems that the difference between them has not been entirely clear.

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Should we speak of video game localization or video game translation? Based on this study, I advocate the latter in the context of Translation Studies. It helps avoid the confusion between “localization” and “cultural adaptation” and emphasizes that games are a translatable medium equivalent to more traditional ones in the sense that the same basic considerations in translation apply. Each case has to be viewed individually and special expertise may be required. Speaking of localization is relevant only if one wishes to specifically address the technical limitations or commercial considerations that frame the translation of video games or may effect changes beyond translation. The term is also useful and relevant in the industry context or in general as a way to refer to the entire process involving a great deal of professionals in addition to the translator(s).

To sum up, I conducted qualitative research in order to clarify how content-level localization relates to translation, and to bring out that the gameplay dimension does not make games a fundamentally different aesthetic medium than any other as far as translation is concerned. This was meant to pave the way for future research, particularly in Translation Studies, although some findings made through the lens of translation may offer a new angle for other fields as well, such as Game Studies.

One logical way to continue would be to pay closer attention to how the gaming context and multimodality relate to translation. This was outside my scope, but as I sifted through my research material, I was particularly fascinated by how the game story was constructed through the journals, brief cutscenes, the environments and items, and how the translation had to work together with these and other extra-linguistic elements. Further research could produce very interesting findings. After all, translation has everything to do with context.

Another interesting area that I also frequently touched upon is how culture is built into games. Based on this study, cultural influences in game design seem to be a richness that fuels new game innovations rather than forming barriers.

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References

Research Material

Zero: Akai Chō. Developed and published by Tecmo. (2003). NTSC-J. Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly. Published by Tecmo. (2003). NTSC. Project Zero II: Crimson Butterfly. Published by Ubisoft. (2004). PAL.

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Pym, A. (2005). Localization: On Its Nature, Virtues and Dangers [online]. Available from: http://www.tinet.cat/~apym/on-line/translation/Localization_bergen.doc [Accessed 22 December 2009]

Roper, C. (2008). Another Take. In H. Goldstein Grand Theft Auto IV Review. IGN [online]. Available from: http://xbox360.ign.com/articles/869/869381p7.html [Accessed 24 November 2009]

Samyn, M. (2008). The Graveyard Post-Mortem. Tale of Tales [online]. Available from: http://tale-of-tales.com/blog/the-graveyard-post-mortem [Accessed 8 January 2009]

Schleiermacher, F. (1813/1992). On the Different Methods of Translating. In R. Schulte and J. Biguenet (eds) (1992) Theories of Translation. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 36–54.

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Sprung, R. (ed.) (2000). Translating Into Success: Cutting Edge Strategies for Going Multi-Lingual In a Global Age. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing.

Thompson, J. (2007). The Computer Game Design Course: Principles, Practices and Techniques for the Aspiring Game Designer. London: Thames & Hudson.

Venuti, L. (1995). The Translator’s Invisibility: A History of Translation. London: Routledge.

Vuorela, V. (2007). Pelintekijän käsikirja. Vaajakoski: Gummerus Printing.

Williams, J. P. and Smith, J. H. (2007). Introduction: From Moral Panics to Mature Games Research in Action. In J. P. Williams and J. H. Smith (eds) The Players’ Realm: Studies on the Culture of Video Games and Gaming. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 1–15.

87

Suomenkielinen tiivistelmä VIERAAT VAIKUTTEET PELISSÄ

Kulttuurin välittäminen videopelilokalisoinnissa

Johdanto Videopelit edustavat suhteellisen nuorta viihteen muotoa, joka erottuu muista erityisesti interaktiivisuudellaan. Monitieteinen pelitutkimus on ollut kasvussa 90-luvulta lähtien, mutta videopelien kääntämisestä on yhä hyvin niukasti tutkimusta käännöstieteellisestä näkökulmasta. Kääntämisen sijaan alalla puhutaan pelilokalisoinnista, ja ilmiön sinänsä voidaan katsoa kiihdyttäneen kansainvälisten pelimarkkinoiden kasvua. Käytäntöjen ripeän kehityksen ja tutkimuksen vähäisyyden vuoksi lokalisointiteollisuus on sanellut useimmat määritelmät

omista

kaupallisista

lähtökohdistaan.

Ohjelmistopohjaisten

tuotteiden

kääntäminen onkin laajamittainen projekti ja vaatii useiden näkökohtien huomioon ottamista, jotka eivät tule välttämättä lainkaan esille perinteisen kääntämisen yhteydessä. Varhainen käännöstieteellinen tutkimus pelilokalisoinnista ammentaa lähinnä kaupallisesta sanastosta. Kaupallisten ja käännöstieteen määritelmien välillä on kuitenkin ristiriitoja, joita ei ole vielä tyhjentävästi selitetty. Suurimmat erot vaikuttavat liittyvän erityisesti kulttuurisiin

näkökohtiin.

Käännöstieteessä

kulttuurista

välittämistä

pidetään

erottamattomana osana kääntämistä (Pym, 2005: 7–8), kun taas lokalisoinnin määritelmässä kieli ja kulttuuri erotetaan toisistaan ja kääntämisen katsotaan koskevan vain kielellistä välittämistä (Fry, 2003: 13). Kiinnostukseni herätti erityisesti se, että käännöstieteellisissä tutkimuksissa videopelien lokalisoinnin esitetään vaativan määritelmällisesti kulttuurista adaptaatiota (ks. esim. Mangiron ja O’Hagan, 2006; O’Hagan, 2007; Bernal Merino 2006; Bernal Merino, 2007). Käännöstieteen piirissä kulttuurista adaptaatiota voidaan pitää käännösstrategiana, jonka käyttö riippuu tilanteesta ja kohdeyleisöstä eikä niinkään tietystä viestinnän kanavasta. Tässä tutkielmassa otetaan lokalisoinnin peruskäsitteet suurennuslasin alle kulttuurisen välittämisen,

kääntämisen

ja

pelien

olennaisten

ominaispiirteiden

valossa.

Tutkimuskysymykseni on, kuuluuko pelilokalisointiin määritelmällisesti kääntämisen ulkopuolista kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Jos kuuluu, oletan, että tämän täytyy johtua joko pelien luonteesta tai lokalisoinnista itsestään. Toivon tutkimuksen selkeyttävän lokalisoinnin käsitettä suhteessa kääntämiseen, samoin kuin kääntämisen suhdetta videopeleihin.

i

Videopelien ominaispiirteet Tässä tutkielmassa käytetään yleiskielen sanaa ”videopeli” löyhässä merkityksessään viittaamaan sekä tietokoneella että pelikonsoleilla pelattaviin peleihin. Kaikki samat ilmiöt eivät kuitenkaan päde molempiin pelityyppeihin, minkä vuoksi käytän tarpeen vaatiessa myös tarkempia termejä ”tietokonepelit” ja ”konsolipelit”. Videopelit ovat kehittyneet kuluneiden vuosikymmenten saatossa huimaa vauhtia, minkä myötä myös peligenrejen kirjo on kasvanut merkittävästi. Monimuotoisuus vaikeuttaa pelien määrittelyä. Nykyisen pelitutkimuksen mukaan pelejä voidaan lähestyä periaatteessa kahdesta näkökulmasta, joko ludologian tai narratologian suunnalta. Ludologia tarkastelee videopelejä perinteisten pelien, kuten lautapelien, muodostamaa taustaa vasten ja lähtee liikkeelle säännöistä ja leikin käsitteestä. Narratologiassa pelit nähdään tarinankertojina ja niitä verrataan perinteisiin kerronnallisiin viihdemuotoihin, kuten elokuviin. Ludologiaa ja narratologiaa on pidetty vastakkaisina ilmiöinä erityisesti pelitutkimuksen alkuvaiheissa, mutta

pelien

monimuotoisuuden

vuoksi

on

kuitenkin

perustellumpaa

nähdä

lähestymistavat toisiaan täydentävinä. (Frasca, 1999; Eskelinen, 2004; Juul, 2001; Konzack, 2007: 119–121). Vanessa Wood esittää lokalisointialan näkökulmasta, että pelit ovat kehittymässä yhä selkeämmin elokuvien suuntaan (Bernal Merino, 2009). Aloitan videopelien määrittelyn tämän tutkimuksen kehyksessä tarkastelemalla, kuinka videopelit eroavat elokuvista ja missä

mielessä

pelien

voidaan

katsoa

kehittyvän

lähemmäs

elokuvia.

Samalla

tarkoituksenani on kuroa videopelien narratologinen ja ludologinen määritelmä yhteen tässä tutkimuksen tarpeisiin. Elokuvan voidaan katsoa edustavan taidemuotoa, joka nojaa yleensä lineaariseen, ennalta määritettyyn kerrontaan. Vaikka videopelit usein sisältävät kerronnallisia elementtejä ja toimintaa kuljettavan kehysjuonen, pelien määräävin ominaispiirre on interaktiivisuus. Tätä voidaan kutsua myös pelimekaniikaksi, jonka asettamien rajojen ja sääntöjen puitteissa pelaaja voi vaikuttaa peliympäristöönsä. Toisin sanoen pelimekaniikka erottaa videopelit selkeimmin elokuvista ja tekee peleistä erityisen viihdemuodon. Tämä on ludologisen katsontakannan perusväittämä. Äärimmilleen vietynä se on kuitenkin usein tulkittu myös siten, etteivät pelit voi edustaa taidemuotoa elokuvien tavoin pelimekaniikan takia (Picot, 2009; Vuorela, 2007: 23). Ajatus perustuu siihen, että taide on puhtaasti tulkinnallista, kun

ii

taas pelit sallivat pelaajan luoda hyvin pitkälti oman kokemuksensa pelimekaniikan määrittelemissä rajoissa. Tämä näkemys ei kuitenkaan ota huomioon, että peleillä voi olla omanlaisensa ilmaisun muoto, joka poikkeaa perinteisestä kerronnasta. Tässä suhteessa narratologinen näkökulma voi täydentää pelien määritelmää. Pelien suhteen voidaan usein puhua kerronnan sijaan ”representaatiosta”, joka tarkoittaa pelin merkityksiä, kontekstia ja teemaa, jotka kietoutuvat yhteen varsinaisen toiminnallisen pelikokemuksen kanssa. Representaatiota on myös sellaisissa peleissä, joissa ei ole lainkaan varsinaisia kerronnallisia elementtejä tai kehystarinaa, esimerkkinä pulmapeli Tetris (1984). Näin ollen pelit olisivat kokonaisuutena pelimekaniikan ja representaation erottamaton yhdistelmä. Koska pelimekaniikka nähdään kuitenkin usein pelin ydinominaisuutena, on aiheellista kysyä, onko tietynlainen representaatio helposti vaihdettavissa toisenlaiseksi. Tällä

on

merkitystä

erityisesti

kulttuurisen

adaptaation

tullessa

kyseeseen,

sillä

adaptaatiossa tietyt kulttuurisidonnaiset elementit on usein korvattava toisilla, mikä on perinteisen kerronnan kääntämisessä usein erityisen haasteellinen tehtävä. Tähän kysymykseen voidaan etsiä vastausta tarkastelemalla videopeliä kaupallisen tuotteen ja mediataiteen yhdistelmänä. Kyseisen erottelun tuo esille videopelilokalisointia tutkinut Miguel Á. Bernal Merino (2006: 27). Videopelit ovat kaupallisia tuotteita siinä mielessä, että ne pyrkivät vastaamaan kuluttajien odotuksiin. Bernal Merinon (mts. 28) mukaan pelin mikä tahansa elementti voidaan muuttaa kohdekulttuuria vastaavaksi peliä lokalisoitaessa kaupallisuuden vaatimuksista. Toisaalta pelejä voidaan selkeästi pitää taiteena siinä mielessä, että ne voivat sisältää jopa kulttuurisesti loukkaavia elementtejä, jotka on kudottu osaksi pelin merkityksiä, jolloin niiden tulkinta muuttuu. Sama ei oletettavasti onnistuisi tuotteiden suhteen, kuten esimerkiksi hyötykäyttöön tarkoitettujen tietokoneohjelmistojen, joissa käyttötarkoitus ajaa ilmaisun edelle. Peleissä ilmaisua eli representaatiota voidaan siis pitää yhtä tärkeänä kuin käyttötarkoitusta. Tässä mielessä videopelit ovat taidemuoto siinä missä perinteiset kerronnalliset viihdemuodotkin. Pelien ilmaisu voi näin ollen olla myös hyvin kulttuurisidonnaista. Pelien rakenne ja suunnittelu heijastaa aina implisiittisesti lähtökulttuuriaan (Kalata, 2007), minkä lisäksi pelin sisältö voi sijoittua myös eksplisiittisesti hyvin realistiseen kulttuuriseen ympäristöön. On kuitenkin erittäin yleistä, että pelit sijoittuvat fantasiamaailmoihin. Kielellinen sisältö on luonnollisesti aina kulttuurisidonnaista ja palvelee joko representaatiota avaamalla pelin merkityksiä tai ohjaa toimintaa käyttöohjeiden ja valikoiden kautta.

iii

Lokalisointi, kääntäminen ja videopelit ”Lokalisointi” on kaupallinen termi, jota käytetään puhuttaessa prosessista, jonka avulla peli muokataan myyntikelpoiseksi muille markkina-alueille. Käännöstieteen piirissä ei ole vielä yksimielisyyttä siitä, kuinka pelien kielellistä ja kulttuurista välittämistä tulisi nimittää. Aihetta ovat tutkineet erityisesti Miguel Á. Bernal Merino (2006), Minako O’Hagan (2007) ja Carmen Mangiron (Mangiron ja O’Hagan, 2006). Tutkijat vaikuttavat kuitenkin olevan yhtä mieltä siitä, että pelit vaativat määritelmällisesti johdonmukaisempaa ja radikaalimpaa kulttuurista adaptaatiota kuin muut viihdemuodot. Tämä itsessään vaikeuttaa määrittelyä, sillä jos pelien kulttuurinen välittäminen edellyttää kääntämisen ulkopuolista kulttuurista adaptaatiota, pelien suhteen ei voida puhua yksinomaan kääntämisestä. Toisaalta lokalisointi on merkitykseltään liian laaja, sillä siihen kuuluu myös puhtaasti teknisiä näkökohtia. Sopivan määritelmän hakemisen sijaan tässä tutkielmassa

pyritään

kyseenalaistamaan,

kuuluuko

pelien

lokalisointiin

todella

kääntämisen ulkopuolista kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Asia ei ole itsestään selvä, sillä lokalisoinnin ja kääntämisen käsitykset kulttuurista poikkeavat toisistaan. Lokalisoinnin yleisistä kaupallisista määritelmistä voidaan johtaa kaksi päätelmää: (1) lokalisoinnin kohde on tuote, jossa kieli ja tekniikka yhdistyvät, ja (2) lokalisoinnin tarkoitus on lisätä tuottoa muokkaamalla tuote sopivaksi kohdemarkkina-alueille (Esselink, 2003: 4; Fry, 2003: 13). Määritelmä soveltuu videopeleihin, mutta käännöstieteen piiriin se ei istu ongelmitta. Erityisen epäselvää on, mitä tuotteen ”muokkaamisella” tarkoitetaan. Asiaa mutkistaa lisäksi se, että termi ”lokalisointi” on esiintynyt aiemmin käännöstieteen piirissä ja viitannut voimakkaasti kotouttaviin käännösstrategioihin lastenkirjallisuuden ja laulujen kääntämisessä (Klingberg, 1986: 15; Parrish, 2003: 3). Ohjelmistolokalisointi viittaa nykymääritelmien mukaan ennen kaikkea teknisiin, lain vaatimiin ja muihin kaupallisuuden sanelemiin muutoksiin, jotka voivat ilmetä kielen lisäksi myös grafiikassa, äänimaailmassa ja muissa elementeissä. Kaupallisesta näkökulmasta esitetään usein, että lokalisoinnin tavoitteena on saada lokalisoitu tuote vaikuttamaan kotimaiselta tuotteelta (Fry, 2003: 3). Tästä johtaen pelilokalisointia käsittelevissä käännöstieteellisissä

tutkimuksissa

videopelit

käsitetään

usein

tuotteina,

joiden

kulttuurisella alkuperällä ei ole merkitystä varsinaisen pelikokemuksen kannalta (Bernal Merino, 2007: 1). ”Kotimaisen” vaikutelman nimissä vedotaan kulttuurisen adaptaatioon.

iv

On sinänsä totta, että kotouttava käännösstrategia sopii usein videopeleihin, sillä monet niistä sijoittuvat fantasiamaailmoihin. On kuitenkin täysin eri asia puhua määritelmällisestä adaptaatiosta. Väite kulttuurin merkityksettömyydestä koskisi pelejä viihdemuotona koko ilmiön valtavassa kirjossa. Voidaan todeta, että jos kulttuurisidonnainen peli irrotetaan lähtökulttuuristaan ja muokataan uudestaan kohdekulttuurin ehdoilla, tulos ei välttämättä ole enää lokalisoitu versio vaan uusi peli (O’Hagan, 2007: 4). Vaikuttaa ristiriitaiselta pitää kulttuurista adaptaatiota lokalisointiin määritelmällisesti kuuluvana, jos lokalisoinnin lopputulos ei ole enää lokalisoitu versio adaptaation ollessa täydellinen. Lokalisoinnin käsite kotimaisesta vaikutelmasta ei siis todennäköisesti tarkoita samaa kuin kulttuurinen

adaptaatio

käännöstieteessä.

On

kuitenkin

yhä

epäselvää,

kuinka

lokalisointiprosessissa tehdyt muutokset suhteutuvat kulttuuriseen välittämiseen ja missä lokalisoinnin ja kääntämisen välinen rajalinja toisin sanoen kulkee. Kaupallisten määritelmien mukaan kääntäminen eroaa lokalisoinnista siten, että kääntäminen on yksi lokalisoinnin osa-alueista, joka koskee kielellistä sisältöä (Esselink, 2000: 4; Fry, 2003). Tämä ei kuitenkaan ole tyydyttävä määritelmä, sillä tietyt kielelliset muutokset voivat olla lokalisointia, kun taas jotkin graafiset muutokset voidaan nähdä kääntämisenä. Koska epäselvyydet lokalisoinnin ja kääntämisen välillä vaikuttavat juontuvan erityisesti lokalisoinnin sekoittumisesta kulttuurisen kotouttamisen käsitteeseen, rajalinja voi selkeytyä, mikäli lokalisoitua tuotetta tarkastellaan vieraannuttavan kääntämisen kautta. Friedrich Schleiermacherin (1813/1992) mukaan vieraannuttava käännös antaa kohdelukijalle saman vaikutelman kuin alkuperäinen teos olisi antanut, mikäli lukija olisi ymmärtänyt alkuteoksen kieltä. Toisin sanoen vieraannuttaminen antaa kohdeteoksen vieraan alkuperän näkyä, mikä on täysin päinvastainen pyrkimys kuin lokalisoinnin ”kotimainen vaikutelma”. Vieraannuttavat kulttuuriset muutokset pelisisällössä voitaisiin näin ollen nähdä selkeästi käännösratkaisuina lokalisoinnin sijaan. Vieraannuttamista voidaan kuitenkin käyttää tietyssä mielessä myös lokalisoinnin kaupallisesta näkökulmasta. Tällöin tuotteen vieraasta kulttuurisesta

alkuperästä

nostetaan

korostuneesti

esiin

elementtejä,

jotka

ovat

kohdekulttuurissa tunnettuja ja joita voidaan pitää viehättävän eksoottisina. Kyse on kuitenkin tietynlaisista stereotyyppeihin nojaavista muutoksista, joka on suhteellisen helposti erotettavissa varsinaisesta vieraannuttavasta kääntämisestä. Ero on vähintäänkin helpommin tunnistettavissa kuin lokalisoinnin ja kotouttavan kääntämisen välillä.

v

Aineisto ja metodi Jotta vieraannuttamista oli mahdollista käyttää mahdollisimman tehokkaana apukeinona tässä tutkimuksessa, tutkimusaineisto oli valittava tietyin kriteerein. Valinta osui lähtökulttuurinsa eksplisiittisesti sijoittuvaan japanilaiseen peliin sekä sen PohjoisAmerikassa ja Euroopassa julkaistuihin lokalisoituihin versioihin. Koska kulttuuri on representaatiossa selkeästi esillä ja kulttuuripiirit ovat kaukana toisistaan, käännösstrategian

voidaan

odottaa

kallistuvan

vieraannuttamisen

puolelle.

Lokalisointiratkaisut puolestaan oletettavasti tulisivat selkeästi esiin, sillä kyseessä on peli, jonka

ei

varsinaisesti

voi

katsoa

myyvän

juuri

japanilaisella

alkuperällään

tai

eksoottisuudellaan. Tällaisessa tapauksessa kääntämisen ulkopuoliselta ”kulttuuriselta lokalisoinnilta” voisi odottaa selkeitä muutoksia, jotka pyrkisivät tuomaan tuotteen lähemmäs kohdekulttuurin konventioita ja esitystapoja, jotta pelikokemus ei häiriytyisi vierauden vuoksi. Päädyin myös valitsemaan pelin kaksi eri markkina-alueille lokalisoitua versiota, jotta mahdolliset kohdealueesta johtuvat erot lokalisoinnissa nousisivat esiin. Oletuksena oli, että kun kyseiset muutokset on saatu näkyviin, niitä on helpompi verrata kääntämisessä käytettyyn kulttuurisen adaptaation määritelmään ja näin ollen piirtää selkeämpi raja kääntämisen ja lokalisoinnin välille. Tutkimuspeliksi valikoitui japanilaisen Tecmo-pelitalon PlayStation 2 -konsolille kehittämä ja julkaisema Zero: Akai Chō (零～紅い蝶～) sekä pelin kaksi lokalisoitua versiota: Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly (Pohjois-Amerikka) ja Project Zero II: Crimson Butterfly (Eurooppa). Kyseessä on tunnelmallinen kauhugenreen sijoittuva peli, joka heijastaa lähtökulttuuriaan niin implisiittisesti kuin eksplisiittisestikin. Tutkimus toteutettiin pelaamalla pelin japanilaista ja eurooppalaista versiota rinnakkain kahdella eri PlayStation 2 -konsolilla. Tarinatila pelattiin läpi suurimmaksi osaksi samaa reittiä ja pelaamisjärjestystä noudattaen samalla vaikeustasolla (normaali). Tarkoituksena oli varmistaa, että peleissä havaitut erot johtuivat lokalisoinnista tai kääntämisestä eivätkä eri vaikeustasosta tai erilaisista valinnoista pelaamisen aikana. Valokuvasin kaikki tarinatilassa eteen tulevat tekstit ja osan visuaalisista elementeistä. Välinäytökset oli videokuvattava, sillä niitä ei voinut keskeyttää. Samalla tein jatkuvasti muistiinpanoja pelitilanteesta ja kontekstista. Kun molemmat pelit oli läpäisty tarinatilassa,

vi

kävin kummastakin versiosta otetut kuvat ja tekstit tarkasti läpi. Suoritin myös vertailun pohjoisamerikkalaisen ja eurooppalaisen peliversion välillä. Tutkin peleistä eksplisiittisiä kulttuurisia elementtejä ja niiden välittämistä kolmella pääasiallisella tasolla: grafiikka, kieli ja äänet. Eksplisiittiset elementit jaoin kahteen kategoriaan: representaatio (kieli, kuvat ja äänet, jotka palvelevat pelin representaatiota ja estetiikkaa) ja toiminnallisuus (kieli ja kuvat; graafiset valikot ja pelinsisäiset ohjeet). Oletin jaon paljastavan eroja lokalisoinnin määrässä, sillä pidän lokalisointia prosessina, joka perustuu ennen kaikkea kaupallisille, teknisille ja käytettävyysnäkökohdille. Toiminnallisen puolen kulttuurisissa elementeissä voisi näin ollen odottaa olevan enemmän varsinaisia lokalisointimuutoksia. Tutkimusotteeni oli ennen kaikkea kuvaileva ja laadullinen. Tutkin, kuuluuko pelin lokalisointiin kääntämisen rajat ylittävää kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Jos kuuluu, yritän selvittää miksi ja mikä vaikutus sillä on. Jotta muutoksia erilaisissa kulttuurisissa elementeissä (verbaalisissa, visuaalisissa ja auditiivisissa) olisi helpompi arvioida ja vertailla keskenään, pyrin luomaan selkeän jaon viiteen erityyppiseen strategiaan. Ritva Leppihalmeen (2007: 368) mukaan paikalliset käännösstrategiat voidaan jakaa neljään luokkaan: säilyttäminen, muuttaminen, lisääminen ja poistaminen. Lisäsin viidenneksi kategoriaksi ”korvaamisen”. (1) Säilyttäminen tarkoittaa lähde-elementin siirtämistä kohdesisältöön sellaisenaan. (2) Muutos tarkoittaa enemmän tai vähemmän uskollista käännöstä. (3) Lisäys on jokin kohdesisältöön lisätty elementti, jota lähdesisällössä ei ollut. (4) Poisto viittaa lähdesisällössä olleeseen elementtiin, jota ei ole siirretty kohdesisältöön. (5) Korvaaminen

tarkoittaa

lähde-elementin

korvaamista

toisenlaisella

kohde-

elementillä, jolla on erilainen semanttinen sisältö, mutta pääosin sama funktio. Edellä luetelluista strategioista viides eli korvaaminen on todennäköisin kategoria mahdollisille lokalisointimuutoksille, jotka ovat kääntämisen ulkopuolisia. Myös lisäykset ja poistot voivat olla lokalisointia. Kyse on kuitenkin myös normaaleista kääntämisen adaptaatiokeinoista. Oletuksena oli, että tällaisessa pelissä kääntäjä välttäisi kulttuurista adaptaatiota, mutta kunkin tapauksen kohdalla on silti tutkittava erikseen, onko kyseessä kääntäminen vai lokalisointi.

vii

Analyysi Aloitin tarkastelemalla representaatiota palvelevaa tekstisisältöä, grafiikkaa ja ääniä, joihin lukeutui

myös

puhuttu

dialogi.

Pohjoisamerikkalaisen

ja

eurooppalaisen

version

englanninkielinen käännös oli lähes täysin sama, joten viittaan niihin pääosin samana englanninkielisenä versiona. Teen eron vain silloin, kun versioissa on selkeitä eroja. Kulttuurisia viittauksia sisältävän tekstisisällön englanninkielinen käännös osoittautui maltillisen vieraannuttavaksi. Kuvitteelliset japanilaiset erisnimet oli säilytetty ja kulttuurisia viittauksia sisältävät sanat oli käännetty uskollisesti alkuperäistä merkitystä noudattaen. Japaninkielisten sanojen säilyttäminen sellaisinaan oli harvinaista, mutta myös kulttuuriset poistot ja lisäykset olivat huomattavan harvinaisia. Korvaavaa strategiaa ei ollut käytetty käytännössä juuri lainkaan. Lähes kaikki representaatiota palvelevat visuaaliset leimallisen japanilaiset elementit oli säilytetty sellaisinaan, myös kuvat, joissa pelaaja voi selkeästi nähdä japaninkielistä kirjoitusta. Esimerkkeinä japaninkielinen lehtileike, vanha kirjakäärö ja seinään kaiverrettu japaninkielinen kirjoitus, jolla oli merkitystä pelin juonen kannalta. Suurimmaksi osaksi englanninkielisen version visuaalinen ulkoasu oli siis erittäin vieraannuttava. Ainoa korvaava muutos koski pelinsisäistä kätkettyä vitsiä, joka vaikutti viittaavaan suoraan pelin tekijöihin ja poikkeavan siten pelin muusta representaatiosta. Kuva kuvateksteineen oli erilainen japanilaisessa, pohjoisamerikkalaisessa ja eurooppalaisessa peliversiossa. Kyseessä ei kuitenkaan ollut varsinainen kulttuurisidonnainen viittaus. Englanninkielinen versio oli dubattu kokonaan englanniksi, mitä itsessään voisi mahdollisesti pitää kulttuurisena adaptaationa, sillä alkuperäinen japaninkielinen ääniraita ei ollut saatavilla. Varsinainen dubbauksen sisältö noudatti kuitenkin alkuperäistä ääniraitaa hyvin uskollisesti niin sisällön kuin muodonkin puolesta. Sisällöllisesti sitä ei siis voi pitää kulttuurisena adaptaationa. Representaatiota palvelevassa sisällössä ei siis ilmennyt lainkaan varsinaista kulttuurista adaptaatiota, jonka olisi voinut tulkita kääntämisen ulkopuoliseksi. Ainoa lokalisoinniksi tulkittava muutos oli tehty kätkettyyn, pelin ulkopuolelle viittaavaan vitsiin, joka ei varsinaisesti ollut kulttuurisidonnainen. Pelin toiminnallista puolta edustavissa teksteissä ja grafiikassa oli enemmän lokalisoinniksi tulkittavia muutoksia pohjoisamerikkalaisessa ja eurooppalaisessa versiossa, mikä vastasi

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odotuksiani. Yllättävää oli kuitenkin se, että pohjoisamerikkalaisen version valikoissa oli toimintosymboleja, jotka oli jätetty japaninkielisiksi. Eurooppalaisessa versiossa samat symbolit oli korvattu uusilla, joissa oli englanninkielinen lyhenne samalle toiminnolle. Oletin tämän johtuvan siitä, että pohjoisamerikkalainen versio julkaistiin ensimmäisenä, pian japanilaisen alkuperäisversion jälkeen, eikä siihen sen vuoksi ehditty tehdä kaikkia tarpeellisia muutoksia. Asia korjattiin eurooppalaisessa versiossa. Tämä kuitenkin kertoo myös siitä, että representaatiossa säilytetyt kulttuurisidonnaiset kuvat ja symbolit oli jätetty tarkoituksella, sillä ne olivat alkuperäisessä muodossaan myös eurooppalaisessa versiossa. Englanniksi käännetyissä teknisissä ohjeissa esiintyvät peliohjaimen näppäinsymbolit oli myös lokalisoitu vastaamaan länsimaisen pelijärjestelmän standardeja. Japanilaisissa peleissä näppäinasetukset ovat oletusarvoisesti erilaiset kuin länsimaisissa peleissä, vaikka ohjaimet ovat samanlaiset. Toiminnallisen puolella esiintyvät lokalisointimuutokset olivat suureksi osin teknisiä eivätkä niinkään kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Kääntämisen ylittävät muutokset liittyivät yleensä käännöksiin itseensä. Esimerkiksi japanilaisen toimintosymbolin käännöksen saaminen peliin vaati pienimuotoisen lokalisointioperaation, jonka avulla englanninkielinen lyhenne saatiin lisättyä pelin grafiikkaan. Englanninkielinen

versio

osoittautui

kokonaisuudessaan

hyvin

vieraannuttavaksi

schleiermachilaisessa mielessä, eikä kulttuurista adaptaatiota tai jälleenkirjoittamista ilmennyt käytännössä lainkaan. Länsimaalainen pelaaja saa käännöksestä todennäköisesti enimmäkseen saman vaikutelman kuin hän olisi saanut pelatessaan alkukielistä peliä, mikäli olisi ymmärtänyt riittävästi japanin kieltä. Vieraannuttaminen vaikutti myös harkitulta, sillä englanninkielinen versio oli kaiken kaikkiaan laadukasta ja huolellista työtä, eikä vaikuttanut siltä, että vieraannuttava vaikutelma olisi voinut syntyä huolimattomasta työstä. Vaikka ainoastaan eksplisiittiset kulttuuriin liittyvät elementit oli mahdollista kääntää, peli oli

täynnä

myös

implisiittisiä

kulttuurisia

teemoja

niin

representaatiossa

kuin

pelimekaniikassakin, jotka todennäköisesti tarjosivat länsimaiselle pelaajalle hyvin erilaisen käsityksen kuin japanilaiselle pelaajalle. Teema ja useat pelillisistä ominaisuuksista nojasivat japanilaisiin kummituslegendoihin, tapoihin ja kansanperinteeseen. Vaikuttaisi kuitenkin siltä, että vieras vaikutelma on pelissä pikemminkin rikkaus kuin kulttuurinen muuri, eikä lähtökulttuurin vierauskaan lainkaan estä tai häiritse pelinautintoa, vaan saattaa tietyin tavoin jopa vahvistaa sitä. Tulkinta on erilainen, mutta ei välttämättä heikompi.

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Loppupeli Tämän

tutkielman

tarkoituksena

oli

selvittää,

kuuluuko

videopelilokalisointiin

määritelmällisesti kääntämisen rajat ylittävää kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Perimmäisenä tavoitteena oli pyrkiä selkeyttämään lokalisoinnin ja kääntämisen välistä rajalinjaa. Tulosten perusteella pelilokalisointiin ei kuulu määritelmällisesti kääntämisen rajat ylittävää kulttuurista adaptaatiota. Tutkitun pelin englanninkielisissä versioissa oli niukasti minkään tyyppistä kulttuurista adaptaatiota, ja vaikutelma oli pääosin vahvasti vieraannuttava. Peli oli valittu juuri sitä silmällä pitäen, että sen kulttuurisessa sisällössä olisi tullut esiintyä selkeitä muutoksia, mikäli kulttuurinen adaptaatio kuuluisi olennaisesti lokalisointiin. Englanninkielisiin versioihin oli kaikesta huolimatta tehty eräitä kääntämisen rajat ylittäviä muutoksia, jotka tulkitsin lokalisoinniksi. Muutokset tulivat erityisen selviksi tutkittaessa toiminnallista puolta ja vertailtaessa pohjoisamerikkalaista ja eurooppalaista peliversiota keskenään. Kyseiset lokalisointimuutokset eivät kuitenkaan koskettaneet kulttuuria sinänsä, vaan olivat jaettavissa kahteen kategoriaan: tekninen lokalisointi ja aluelokalisointi. Tekninen lokalisointi on toimenpide, jonka avulla käännös voidaan sisällyttää pelin koodiin tai graafisiin elementteihin. Esimerkkinä tästä toimivat eurooppalaisen version lokalisoidut toimintosymbolit. Symboleissa oli käännetty elementti, mutta käännöksen lisääminen peliin vaati teknistä lokalisointia. Aluelokalisointi puolestaan tarkoittaa alueiden mukaan tehtyjä tuotemuutoksia, jotka voivat perustua teknisten standardien eroavaisuudelle, laeille, eri julkaisuyhtiöiden menettelytavoille, markkinatutkimuksille tai muille pelin kaupallista tai tuotepuolta koskeville näkökohdille. Aiempien tutkimusten oletukset kulttuurisesta adaptaatiosta saattavat perustua havainnoille aluelokalisoinnista. Aluelokalisointi ei kuitenkaan vastaa kulttuurista adaptaatiota, sillä aluelokalisoinnilla on ainoastaan välillisesti tekemistä kulttuurin kanssa ja se perustuu ennen kaikkea tuotenäkökohdille. Johtopäätökseni on, että varsinaista pelilokalisointiin olennaisesti kytkeytyvää kulttuurista lokalisointia ei sinänsä ole, eivätkä pelit eroa perinteisemmistä tekstityypeistä syvällisesti kääntämisen kannalta. Tästä johtuen pelien kielellistä ja kulttuurista välittämistä on perustelluinta

kutsua

kääntämiseksi

lokalisoinnin

sijaan

käännöstieteen

piirissä.

Kääntämisen erikoisalana se ansaitsee itsessään lisää tutkimusta erityisesti pelikontekstin ja multimodaalisuuden vaikutuksesta kääntämiseen sekä kulttuurin ilmenemisestä peleissä.

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