I’m currently writing a dissertation on the localisation of videogames. I say currently, but I’ve yet to really put pen to paper - merely doing lots and lots of reading. Anyway, I wrote this article as a way of focusing my thoughts a little.

Some videogame memories are universal. Burned into the minds of most gamers is Ryu’s ‘You must defeat my dragon punch to stand a chance!’ words of discouragement, or a gravel-voiced Snake checking in with the Colonel, marking the opening of Metal Gear Solid. ‘It’s-a Me, Mario!’ is another to provoke knowing nods and smiles. Raise a glass then, to the humble videogames translator, without whom, we would never have had the chance to create these memories, or the hundreds like them. Without whom, these memories would not be universal, but confined to a cluster of volcanic islands in the pacific.

With Japan traditionally being the most prolific of nations in the sphere of videogame development, and the thirst for Asian gaming ever growing in the Western hemisphere, the role of the videogames translator is more important than ever. However, in terms of accolades, it receives perhaps the least attention. Where are the BAFTAs for the translators? Nowadays, there’s an award for almost every discipline in the industry – from character design to audio production – and yet one of the most crucial is almost universally ignored.

That in itself may be testament to how good a job the videogames translator is doing. A successful translation of a videogame is one that plays like a domestically produced game, with no jarring dialogue to draw attention to the fact that they’re playing a game created on the other side of the planet. Their work ensures that instead of linguistic abominations like Zero Wing getting into gamers’ hands, they instead play slickly realised localizations of the Metal Gear Solids of this world.

If the end result is not enough to deserve a tip of the cap, then the means surely does. The industry has moved a long way since the days of Zero Wing. Money has rolled in, technology has advanced, and games have become much more epic. The Playstation era brought full motion video and high-quality audio, while the Xbox kicked open the online world. Art-teams swelled, programming teams double and tripled in size, and yet the translator’s floor space has remained by in large unchanged, with often a single translator working on an entire game.

Considering that these days, an entire game can mean upwards of 1.5 million words – frequently culturally entwined, presented in a variety of media, and subject to constant change and revision - the challenge is overwhelming. Chipping away at that mountain, and having to do so on a tight deadline, is an unenviable task, and one that deserves huge appreciation from the entire industry.

Still not convinced? Look at your catalogue of games. Remove any games produced in a foreign language. Mario 64? Gone. Ocarina of Time? Gone. Final Fantasy VII? Gone. What are we left with? A near empty shelf, littered with more Need For Speeds than Goldeneyes.