by Jed Pressgrove
Like its predecessor, The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom bars entry to Hyrule until the player completes a glorified tutorial. If a so-called open world game must include this type of contrivance, the initial trial should be brief, as in Fallout 2 or Dark Souls, for two reasons:
- The shorter the delay to the meat of the game, the better.
- Replaying a tutorial on subsequent playthroughs is tedious.
I criticized Breath of the Wild for the trite battles and busywork in its introductory Great Plateau area, which takes about an hour or two of your time (if not more if you want to explore—an urge that isn’t rewarded with anything particularly interesting). Seven years later, Tears of the Kingdom presents the Great Sky Island. I again question the use of “Great” as an adjective, because there’s nothing spectacular about being locked into an educational portion of a game whose design otherwise preaches freedom—especially when you must interact with a former Hylian ruler named Rauru, who has the personality of an ironing board.
Similar to the Great Plateau, the Great Sky Island has shrines where Link gains powers, though these locations must now be visited in a specific order. As Rauru nudges you to the next shrine, you run into puzzles on the island that require new skills (primarily Ultrahand). Along the way you encounter peaceful robots who relay helpful tips and malicious robots who allow you to practice the unimaginative combat system.
The script gives an explanation for this environment, but that doesn’t take away the manufactured stench of the area. Obviously the game needs to introduce mechanics, but I would prefer a concise training sequence from Rauru. The lanky fellow might show irritation as Link commits errors with the complex Ultrahand ability. Anything to decrease the extended blandness. (For all the complaints that could be directed at the more linear Zelda titles, I appreciate the sense of discovery involved with locating a special item in a dungeon and the simplicity of a quick message about the artifact’s capabilities.)
Thankfully, Link’s main powers in Tears of the Kingdom outshine what he could do in Breath of the Wild. The abilities lend a more surreal tone to the adventure. They go well beyond the activities one would envision in a dream about Link. They even correct some of the dubious qualities of Breath of the Wild. I recently visited Wikipedia because I couldn’t remember all the powers from Breath of the Wild. But these four I won’t forget.
Ultrahand
You can build complicated contraptions (just browse YouTube) with this superglue ability, but you don’t have to be perfect with it to solve certain puzzles, so Ultrahand has a comical jankiness to it that recalls Scribblenauts. While Ultrahand brings the most mechanical possibilities to Tears of the Kingdom, it’s my least favorite of the four, mainly because of the awkward controls. My main irritation: Waggling an analog stick to unglue parts is inefficient and silly. Should have been a button press. I also don’t have much of a desire to build things outside of situations where I need to. Frankly, I would have preferred Nintendo to reinvent the game’s stale combat. (It’s no surprise two of my favorite Zeldas, Zelda II: The Adventure of Link and Twilight Princess, emphasize the intricacies of swordplay.)
Fuse
The simplest of the four, but it goes a long way toward eliminating one of the limitations of Breath of the Wild: the uncreative weapon-breaking system that could pass as parody. Fuse permanently welds items together for various bonuses, including magical effects, higher attack power, and, most importantly, extra durability. If you combine the right items, certain weapons can last quite some time. That’s enough to warrant praise alone; the experimentation with different amalgams adds intrigue. Fuse makes chests more attractive. In Breath of the Wild, I started ignoring many chests because the items I discovered disintegrated so easily. In Tears of the Kingdom, I’m curious about what I might find and manipulate with Fuse. Exploring the advantages of fused materials pays off when you face monsters with unique weaknesses, creating a stronger dynamic between the hero and the random elements scattered throughout the world.
Ascend
Ascend feels like a satirical wrinkle about the tension between the desire for convenient exploration and the limits of logic. Blasting Link through a ceiling qualifies as the goofiest action in any Zelda. It’s as exciting to misuse as use: I’ve inadvertently thrusted myself into places that had nothing to do with my original intentions. After you use this skill, the game asks if you want to go through with the ascension, in case your aim was terrible or you see a massive problem waiting for you above. I find it almost impossible not to go through with the process every time. The option to back out of consequences robs the game of irony.
Recall
Although time manipulation isn’t an original concept for the Zelda series, being able to isolate a rewinding effect on an object introduces novel game-breaking possibilities. Recall is thus a double-edged sword. Undeniably fascinating to play with, but when used on items in conjunction with Ultrahand, many of Tears of the Kingdom’s shrine challenges become repetitive jokes.
– — — I … ——…
Sometimes tutorialization seems to never end in modern games. An hour or two (Zelda), a baker’s dozen (Persona 5), 20+ hours (Xenoblade Chronicles 2). Part of the issue lies in developers’ and gamers’ confusion about the value of mechanics. The more mechanics, the more depth. Even if this assumption is true (it’s not—a simple session of Texas Hold ‘Em Poker has more depth than most video games for social and psychological reasons as much as mechanical ones), we run into the predicament of games taking on too much or, as we would say in Mississippi, getting too big for their britches. Too many games are counterinstinctual, turgid, overambitious, and trendy. And games need to be accessible for financial and philosophical concerns. So tutorials overstay their welcome. The manual never died. It transformed into an obtrusive, virus-like guide within games. These eyesores, earsores, and brainsores are accepted because people feel empowered when they get to do extra things in games. Look at me I’m a builder chemist craftsman cook and photographer in an action game I finally appreciate things that I never could in real life I finally have depth
—- —- —-
I dive off the Great Sky Island. In the wilderness. Happy to leave behind the lessons. Stoked about the real game. I find a few shrines. They want me to fight single enemies and build rafts. They want me to learn things I’ve already learned.
TO BE CONTINUED …
This is the second part of an ongoing critical series. Click here to read the first part, “Why Isn’t Zelda Smarter?”
Game Bias 