There’s something almost poetic about a game director telling players they’re too busy to appreciate his art. Naoki Hamaguchi’s recent comments about Final Fantasy VII Rebirth’s length have sparked one of those rare gaming conversations that transcends simple preferences and touches on something deeper about our relationship with entertainment. When the director suggests that players found his game too long not because of any design flaw, but because we’re all drowning in content, he’s pointing to a fundamental shift in how we consume media. It’s not just about one game’s pacing—it’s about the collision between epic storytelling and the modern attention economy.
Hamaguchi’s defense of Rebirth’s length reveals an interesting tension between artistic vision and audience reception. He stands by his creative choices, insisting that no section of the game was “longer than necessary,” yet he’s simultaneously promising that the trilogy’s conclusion will be “more concise.” This isn’t the typical developer backtrack we often see when fans complain. Instead, it’s a nuanced acknowledgment that while the art itself might be perfect, the context in which it’s experienced has changed dramatically. The director isn’t apologizing for his vision—he’s adapting to our reality.
What’s particularly fascinating about this situation is how it mirrors broader cultural shifts. We live in an era of content abundance where our entertainment options are virtually limitless, yet our time remains stubbornly finite. The very concept of “too long” has become relative to what we’re sacrificing to experience something. When Hamaguchi observes that players “have too much to do and too much to play,” he’s describing a phenomenon that extends far beyond gaming. We’re all curators of our limited attention, constantly making calculations about what deserves our precious hours.
The promise of a more concise third installment raises interesting questions about artistic compromise. Is Hamaguchi sacrificing his vision to appease impatient players, or is he simply becoming more skilled at pacing? There’s a delicate balance between respecting the audience’s time and maintaining creative integrity. The best storytellers understand that conciseness doesn’t necessarily mean brevity—it means eliminating the unnecessary while preserving the essential. If Hamaguchi can achieve this balance, the final chapter could become a masterclass in modern game pacing.
Ultimately, this conversation reveals more about us as players than about the game itself. Our collective impatience speaks to a deeper anxiety about missing out, about falling behind in the cultural conversation, about that ever-growing backlog of experiences we feel obligated to complete. Hamaguchi’s comments serve as a mirror reflecting our own relationship with entertainment in the digital age. Perhaps the real question isn’t whether Rebirth was too long, but whether we’ve lost the ability to savor something truly epic when it demands our full attention and time.
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