A Year in the Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword

It makes perfect sense that this latest Legend of Zelda would ask so very many questions about the nature of video games and video game design – Zelda's 25th year has been nothing less than a continuous reminiscence – but at the same time, one rarely expects a game series with so much tradition and synonymity with the video games industry as a whole to make such a clear and conscious break from that same tradition. Skyward Sword might not be some experimental iOS indie game, but within the confines of this series and this genre and this developer and this system, no other game in 2011 pushed the boundaries of what is possible or what a developer can do with game design.

So very much has been said about this game already that to add anything meaningful can be a little difficult, and yet, perhaps some of this game's litany of innovations should be brought up yet again. The Zelda series, and moreso the Wii in general (due to a rather lackluster year of releases) find themselves needing to fight extra hard for acceptance or even acknowledgment. A game like Skyrim released to thunderous applause that hasn't really even died down yet, and the best that I could say about that game's accomplishments is that, man, that's a big game.

Skyward Sword, on the other hand, is a pretty quietly insane restructuring of Zelda and video game conventions, even as it plays into those same conventions more faithfully than something like, say, Phantom Hourglass. The first of these innovations has to do with the game's one-of-a-kind look, an absurdly beautiful 3D interpolation of the Impressionist aesthetic. It's not the same as a game like Muramasa, which, while beautiful, simply presented a moving painting; rather, Skyward Sword utilizes the fundamentals of its art style to create an actual interpretation of that style, a style incredibly well-suited to the strengths of the Wii and which fits brilliantly into the milieu of the game itself. Gamers who scoff at the low-fidelity of the visuals miss the point: the technical accomplishments of any number of HD games seem insignificant and rather masturbatory when there's a visual style with actual gameplay applicability and a contextual use for that style. Not to mention that, in general in video gaming, style>no style.

The obvious element of Skyward Sword's futurism, though, and the topic which obviously dominates the discussions of this game, is its implementation of motion control. So thoroughly does it dominate the game (and subsequently, every other game) that, should motion control become some sort of standard in the future (which is seeming increasingly doubtful), Skyward Sword will stand tall as the progenitor of it all. That's maybe a strange claim to make, considering that we've had "motion control" now for six years, but Skyward Sword makes all of those games seem like rudimentary experiments in the form with one fell swoop. The Zelda series has, for some time, been about transporting the player to a new realm, making them feel like they're the avatar on the screen (his name is "Link" for a reason, after all), but Skyward Sword pushes this aspect to new heights. The sword movements are the perfect example of meaningful motion controls, corresponding far more accurately to your hand's motions than ever before, while still offering a quasi-power fantasy by interpreting your movements with much more flair than even you could pull off. To feel both completely in control and not like a flailing idiot was quite the impressive trick.

Elsewhere, motion control contributes to a wholeness of design that has rarely been seen done this well in the series as a whole, never mind in video gaming. Accessing your inventory is done with an incredibly slick radial menu; the various tools in the game (like the Beetle or the bow and arrow come to mind) are all operated with simple to understand movements; and never once did the controls feel like they were faltering. In fact, they're pretty much invisible, except when Nintendo feels it necessary to stick them into some areas that could have done without (the swimming comes to mind). People will continue to complain to the high heavens about how developers should always use button control because of its instant gratification, but I think it might be better (if done right, obviously) to use control schemes that become joys in and of themselves, that don't automatically give the player a mechanical or binary response. Assuming that the wide range of human movement (or even human emotion!) can be represented by an ever-increasing number of buttons is, in my view, asinine, and Skyward Sword goes a long way to showing how this idea can be actually put into practice.

With a game that makes such bold claims right in its first few minutes (art house graphics! motion controls! flying and shit!), it's pretty easy for a review of Skyward Sword to devolve into a breathless exaltation of the game's many features. But what's most impressive to me about Skyward Sword is how these features are built into the very fabric of the game itself. Functionally, Skyward Sword operates in the Zelda canon as an origin story. Link and Zelda live amongst the Skyloftians, a group of people who are the "chosen" of the Goddess, tossed up in the sky to protect them from the wild, dangerous, demon-influenced fauna down below. By the very nature of this setup, the player knows that they're going to be traveling to that very world, and after a somewhat lackadaiscally paced opening, you're thrust down to the surface world to, well, not even really save Zelda, but rather to unravel the mythical plot that you've been pushed into.

While it's often thrilling for the player to see the origins and the explanations for so many Zelda canon issues in full daylight, the plot is a little bit lacklustre. It's very charming and well-written, and gets some serious mileage from its main bad guy, Ghirahim, but it does often have the air of being a means to an end, a checklist rather than having a narrative thrust all its own. A little too much of the plot comes down to a "so it is written" explanation. Thankfully, Nintendo is too canny to rely on this plot entirely, and the supporting characters (the people of Skyloft, the various tribes on the surface) all have endearing and quirky details all their own. It makes the world feel alive, which is honestly a far better alternative than the innumerable games that think that their plots are Dickens or something.

I mentioned that the plot often feels like a means to end, and while its incredibly unfortunate when that happens ("oh! We have to collect the fish that represent the melody of the hero that will unlock the gate of time, only after you collect the three Plot Coupons of power!"), it's forgivable considering what happens once the plot gets out of your way. Skyward Sword's below the clouds proto-Hyrulean landmass is one of the greatest achievements in video game design ever. The game effectively obliterates the overworld/dungeon dichotomy, which makes every encounter on the surface feel active, dangerous and alive. The ways in which you interact with these areas are always shifting, requiring you to have a dungeon state of mind at nearly all times. Despite how incredibly complex these areas are, they never feel overwhelming – instead, they feel dense with the possibilities of play. This is a true sandbox, a geography of interlocking tasks that never feel rote or boring, but completely vibrant. It gives the player a ton of freedom as well – if you want to be the type to delve into the game's streamlined RPG systems (which are so much more satisfying than the menu crawl that the modern RPG has become) you can; if you want to be a crazy collector, you can do that too; if you want to do a variety of sidequests, go ahead; if you want to upgrade all your equipment so that you can be an unstoppable behemoth, do it. And all of these elements (which could have easily devolved into the Skyrim-ian "more is better" mantra) are just as well designed as the main game itself, feeling like a part of the design whole. (Though being told what the various collectibles are nearly every time you pick one up does get awfully frustrating after awhile)

And the combat! My god, the combat too is easily some of the best combat ever put to disc in a video game, requiring you to not only have the aggressive acumen of a fighter, but the puzzle-solving skills of a thinker. The enemies are sophisticated in a way very rarely seen in video gaming, and your skills are put to the test almost constantly. It's a refreshingly difficult game, and one that absolutely puts its control scheme to the test. Describing the endorphin rush that I got from enemies is, well, indescribable, and if someone offers you the chance to play even five minutes of this game, demand that it be in an enemy-rich environment. It's completely and totally brilliant.

The game's especially incredible when it taps into its inner Metroid – basically, the first few hours allow you to become intimately familiar with the landscape, only to have that same landscape shift into something nearly unrecognizable a few hours later. The most interesting of these changes is when you enter the Silent Realm, an ethereal area where you can't use any weapons, and have to hide from Phantom Hourglass/Spirit Tracks-esque phantoms. It's literally hide and go seek, but it's the most nerve wracking and enthralling set piece in video games in the last year.

And when you do step foot into the dungeons, having thoroughly conquered the wilderness outside (side note, because I don't want to belabour the point, but if you're interested I've examined some colonial narratives within Skyward Sword which you can read about here), the dungeons welcome you with even more dense distillations of that Zelda magic. These are some of the most fantastic, challenging, architecturally interesting, puzzle-laden action-filled areas in video gaming, with the true standout being the Ancient Cistern, a simultaneously serene and nightmarish ode to Buddhism. These areas feel most in line with Zelda's lineage, not really shaking up the formula that much, but they are indeed incredible expansions, which is more than enough.

In fact, the gameplay design is at times perhaps too perfect. Skyward Sword has made its gameplay so dense and so necessary upon player involvement at all times that the world as a whole actually suffers a little bit from it. Unless you're retreating back up to Skyloft to do any number of (generally pretty fun sidequests), downtime is pretty much a thing of the past, as the whole world is basically challenging you or trying to kill you at all times. Skyward Sword doesn't have the expansiveness or sense of geography of an Ocarina of Time or Twilight Princess or A Link to the Past, nor does it have the oddball screwiness or wild stylistic change-ups of Link's Awakening or Majora's Mask (the latter of which is still the very best Zelda game ever made because of its world). Indeed, the whole world seems to reflect only the player's involvement, a phenomenon that I never thought would actually happen in modern video gaming. The landscape only opens up at your command, expanding out in logically sequenced concentric circles, and while it's certainly an incredibly admirable achievement, it doesn't contribute to the sense of place that earlier games in the series or something like Xenoblade Chronicles possess, even as individual areas (like the sandsea) are amongst the most imaginative and most gorgeous areas ever conceived of in video gaming. Partially, this also has to do with the method of transportation as well – your Loftwing is a fun animal to control, but getting from place to place seems a little rote and the abstract cloud backgrounds as you fly aren't exactly that engaging for the senses.

And that's ultimately a really weird thing to hold back a game this great from standing at the apotheosis of its series. Skyward Sword feels like a fundamentally masterful game, with its various design elements overlapping brilliantly and its characters shining more brightly than ever before. 98% of the time you play it, the game is actually perfect. And yet, the game manifests itself in the memory as a collection of moments rather than a cohesive experience, and that comes down to the ephemeral "world" that doesn't exactly exist in this game. Honestly, though, with gameplay at this high of an order, with so many video game constructs being deconstructed, built back up and perfected, I'll take some less-than-convincing world building and plot development. Skyward Sword is busting at the seams with unfathomably great ideas, and there's no doubt in my mind that the lessons learned here will be applied in the next Zelda game to even greater effect.