From my perspective, Miyazaki is a rather unique, yet extremely serious game developer.
His career did not begin in the game industry. In fact, he didn’t become a game developer until he was almost thirty years old.
Even among developers of my generation (those of us born in the 1970s), I think it’s remarkable that someone who wasn’t even a game developer during the dawn of the polygon era eventually became one of Japan’s most representative game creators. (In other words, compared to the rest of us from the same generation—including myself—his career path is exceptionally unusual. Most notably, unlike many of us, he was not working at one of the major development studios that held a significant technological advantage during the early polygon era. That, more than anything else, is what makes his path so unique.)
Next, regarding my impression of Dark Souls.
People often focus on its difficulty as a game, but I believe Miyazaki’s true creativity shines through in the world he created. (By the way, I personally think Dark Souls has fairly simple action mechanics, and I don’t actually consider it to be an especially difficult game.)
If you look into my own career, you’ll see that I was personally involved with the Dark Souls series and Elden Ring as the General Manager overseeing both production and marketing (Just to clarify, I wasn't part of the development team itself. My involvement was simply as the General Manager of the publisher-side department overseeing production and marketing). From that perspective, I can say that Dark Souls didn’t suddenly become a massive success overnight. It was the result of everything Miyazaki and his team had built up through their previous titles.
Today, he receives offers from all over the world, but when I think back to the days when he and his team were struggling the most, many of those offers seem like they’re coming from people who only know who they are today. Some of them almost feel like complete reversals in attitude. Well, that’s just my personal perspective.
Personally, I had grown tired of people who would simply compare games by saying things like, “That title cost X billion yen to make and sold Y million copies,” and then use nothing but those numbers to judge them against other games. There were so many people who couldn’t appreciate the journey or the growth of the developers themselves. Anyone can look at the current numbers—they’re available to everyone. Whenever I heard those kinds of opinions, I always thought, “That’s exactly what you’d expect from someone who’s never actually developed games.”
What surprised me even more was that, even if people couldn’t properly evaluate that journey, almost nobody even seemed interested in trying to understand the process of how those developers gradually reached where they are today.
(I'm NOT talking about the fan community).
Now, going back to Miyazaki, there are two things about him that have always stayed with me.
The first was back when I was developing Summer Lesson for VR, around the time it was generating a lot of buzz.
One day, he came to try an early build of Summer Lesson along with people from several other game companies.
While everyone else was laughing, chatting, and having fun with it, Miyazaki alone played it with incredible seriousness. Then, after everyone had finished and started discussing their impressions, he remained completely silent, staring intently at the preview monitor, deep in thought.
Everyone became curious and finally asked him, “Miyazaki, what are you thinking about?”
He suddenly smiled and said,
“Oh… I got completely absorbed in thinking about what I would do if I were making this, and what kind of game I’d create.”
What he talked about after that was, in the best possible sense, completely insane.
It was one of those rare moments when I caught a glimpse of what I’d call his “mad scientist” side—his deeply serious, obsessive approach to creativity.
The other thing that left a strong impression on me was that he generally dislikes video interviews (including live streaming).
I once asked him about it by email, and he replied with quite a long explanation. After reading it, I completely understood where he was coming from.
Simply put, he doesn’t like watching himself moving around on video. (Psychologically speaking, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that.)
But there was another reason.
According to him, there are naturally many people in this industry who know games far better than he does. Whenever he listens to those people speak, he realizes that his own understanding is still shallow, and it makes him feel that he’s not yet in a position to be the one talking about games.
I mean… it’s common for well-known developers to say, “I still have a long way to go.”
But whenever someone like him says that, my reaction is always,
“Come on… if you say you’re still not there yet, then the rest of us won’t feel qualified to talk about games at all.” (laugh)
Anyway, that’s one of the reasons why video interviews with Miyazaki are extremely rare. And conversations with him on camera—especially long-form discussions with another developer—are even rarer. They almost don’t exist at all.
By the way, the other game developer in that photo is Masahiro Sakurai.
If you ask me, he’s basically:
“A Saiyan who genuinely believes he’s just another ordinary human.”
Every now and then, when the rest of us are struggling with some problem, he’ll say something that sounds exactly like Goku saying,
“Well… why don’t you just fly?”
And I’ll reply,
“Because we humans can’t use Flight Technique.”
Then he just stares at me with a completely puzzled look.
To put it in terms of Demon Slayer, I’d describe him as:
"Like Muzan Kibutsuji casually showing up at a drinking party where all the Hashira have gathered, genuinely believing he's just another ordinary guest".
That’s the kind of person he is.
1)
Back in a time when the term “game center” didn’t even exist yet, a dimly lit coffee shop run by my father’s older sister received one of the early Space Invaders cocktail arcade cabinets—long before the game exploded into a nationwide phenomenon.
Inside that dark café, I can still remember the glowing CRT pixels floating beneath the glass tabletop, the mysterious low-frequency background music, and the unforgettable sound effects each time an invader was shot.
2)
When I was an elementary school student in the 1970s, video games were surrounded by prejudice and social stigma. Teachers and PTA members would patrol arcades looking for students. If you were caught, you could be forced to stand before all 600 students during the school’s morning assembly and publicly apologize in the schoolyard.
3)
There were classmates in college—people who happened to share classes with me, though they were never really my friends—who had already secured positions at major corporations. With smug smiles, they would say things like, “Turning your hobby into your job is foolish,” or “You were even captain of an athletic club at such a prestigious university, and you still want to work for a video game company? (laughs)”
More than the games themselves, it was the environment surrounding them that shaped who I became.
Living in that environment, I refused to be looked down upon by people who dismissed games—adults who judged students only by academic credentials or athletic achievements. So I proved myself by excelling in both. I made sure that those who looked down on games had nothing left to say, whether the measure was grades or sports.
People may not expect it, but I started yacht racing at fifteen. I reached the podium at Japan’s National Sports Festival, consistently ranked among the top five in the All Japan Championships, and even raced at the front of Japan–U.S. international competitions.
The desire to silence people who insisted that pursuing what you truly love as a career is somehow wrong—or who made bizarre claims such as, “Once you get your dream job, that’s the finish line, so you’ll stop trying”—became one of the fundamental inspirations behind the very theme of conflict itself.
As a matter of fact, I once had a manager who genuinely believed exactly that. He said, “If you put someone in the position they want most, they’ve already reached their goal, so they won’t grow anymore.” What nonsense.
Isn’t the real reason simply that you never truly loved what you were doing? Then again, for people who never genuinely loved games in the first place and only wanted promotions and social status, a job title really is the finish line.
Looking back, I can honestly say that today’s version of myself was forged through fighting against people who never grew, who suppressed what others genuinely loved, and who always chose to stand on the side that condemned video games.
I only wanted one thing: to be somewhere I could play games without anyone getting angry at me, and to live my own life by creating the games I loved. That was all I ever thought about.
And I can proudly say this: I have never once lost to the people who tried to pull me away from games by dressing up their arguments with one excuse after another.
Hideo Kojima on the end of physical disc production for video games:
"Since production is ending in 2028, this is about video games, but I grew up with physical media, so I find it really sad. Currently, I’ve been buying up a lot of Blu-rays, such as various movies, and CDs too.
The situation is different for games, as they are downloaded to the hard drive, that means the game data remains on your own hardware. However, if things shift to streaming in the future, that won’t be the case anymore.
With streaming subscription services, like Netflix or Amazon, there is a server somewhere, and you essentially just have the right to turn the tap, and when you do, the data flows out. That’s how movies work on these platforms, right? You don't download the data, you access it directly through a subscription. And the consequence of that is that you don't actually possess the data yourself.
There are companies that own these servers and let you 'turn the tap' for a monthly fee. However, with nations, politics and various ways of thinking, one naturally has to consider the possibility that if there is a change, the data inside will stop being distributed. And if that happens you won’t be able to watch or play the movies and games you like.
That is what is frightening.
So, what is happening to video games in 2028, might also happen to movies. I’d like everyone to keep that in mind."