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 1
2. VIDEO GAMES—INTERPLAY OF FUNCTION AND MEANING 4 2.1 Interaction vs. Interpretation in Games and Film 5 2.2 Representation and Gameplay 7 2.3 The Twofold Nature of Video Games: Product/Artifact 9 2.4 Culture in Representation and Gameplay 12
3. LOCALIZATION, TRANSLATION AND VIDEO GAMES 15
3.1 Easier Done Than Defined 16 3.2 Localization = Domestication? 18 3.3 Differentiating between Localization and Translation 22 3.4 Enter Foreignization 24
4. GAME PLAN 26
4.1 Remade in Japan: Japanese Games in Western Markets 26 4.2 Mukokuseki and kokuseki 28 4.3 The Case of the Crimson Butterfly 31 4.4 Research Method 35
5. CHASING CULTURAL GHOSTS 38
5.1 Representation 38 5.1.1 In-Game Text 38 5.1.2 Visuals 51 5.1.3 Audio Content 60
5.2 Functionality 63 5.2.1 Menus 64 5.2.2 In-Game Instructions 68
5.3 Interpretation of Findings 70 5.3.1 Summary 70 5.3.2 Underlying Cultural Themes and Issues 72
6. END GAME 77
REFERENCES 82 SUOMENKIELINEN LYHENNELMÄ
1
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 extra-
linguistic ones, as an inseparable part of the translation process (Pym, 2005: 7–8). These
differences have not been exhaustively explained yet.
2
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
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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
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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
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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
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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 near-
perfect 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
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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 plot-based 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 culture-
specific game. This is not to say, however, that the earliest games were not affected by their
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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
14
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.
15
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.
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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 technology-
based 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.
1 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.
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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;
19
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).
20
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.
21
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
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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
23
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 pop-up 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
24
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 well-
known 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).
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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.
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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
27
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
29
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 anime-
influenced 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
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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.
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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: <http://www.cameraslens.com/gallery/index.php> and <http://game.watch.impress.co.jp>
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
34
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:
(Japanese version)
Zero: Akai Chō (零~紅い蝶~)
Released on November 27, 2003
Publisher: Tecmo
Language: Japanese
Age rating: 15+ (CERO rating)
NTSC region:
(North American
version)
Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly
Released on December 10, 2003
Publisher: Tecmo
Language: English
Age rating: M (17+) (ESRB rating)
PAL region:
(European version)
Project Zero II: Crimson Butterfly
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: <http://www.gamefaqs.com/console/ps2/data/915022.html>.
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
35
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
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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:
37
(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.
39
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.
40
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
41
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
42
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.
43
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
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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: English:
囲炉裏 (irori) A traditional hearth built into the floor of a room.
sunken fireplace
座布団 (zabuton) A Japanese cushion used for sitting on the floor.
cushion
布団 (futon) Japanese bedding consisting of mattresses and covers. Used on the floor and stored away during the day.
bedding
ぞうり(zōri) Japanese sandals, traditionally worn with a kimono.
sandals
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
地域に見られる男女神のものとは違い、 双子の巫女らしき仏が刻まれている。
“The guardian deity statues in this area are different in that they are engraved with Shrine Maidens.”
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.
Table 8. Religious references.
Japanese: Explanation: English:
仏壇 (butsudan) A Buddhist household altar for honoring deceased family members and ancestors.
family altar
神社 (jinja) Shinto shrine shrine
宮司 (guuji) Shinto chief priest Veiled Priest (the faces of the
priests are covered in the game)
黄泉 (yomi) Hell in Shinto mythology. The dead in yomi do not suffer punishments, but carry on in an eternal twilight zone, similarly to the Greek Hades.
Hell
神事 (shinji) Shinto rituals sacred rituals
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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,
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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-in-
cheek 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.
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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.
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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,
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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
will slow down so that it is easier to
photograph. While the spirit is slowed
down, the shutter chances will also be
longer.”
“While this effect is active, the spirit will
move slower and shutter chances will be
longer, making the spirit easier to capture.”
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.
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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
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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.
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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.
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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
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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?
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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
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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 - different video display formats (p. 18) - different controller configurations in Japan and
Western countries (p. 68)
laws - age ratings (p. 10) - restrictions on depicting blood in Germany
(p. 19)
market research - 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 /
localization team members
to different area versions
- the in-game joke with sagashi tsuzukeru otoko, James Mielke and Ugly Caretaker (p. 57–59)
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
80
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.
81
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.
82
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Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly. Published by Tecmo. (2003). NTSC.
Project Zero II: Crimson Butterfly. Published by Ubisoft. (2004). PAL.
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i
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.
ii
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
iii
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.
iv
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.
v
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.
vi
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 Pohjois-
Amerikassa 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,
vii
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.
viii
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
ix
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.
x
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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