It goes without saying, but I feel like The Last Guardian is a litmus test for
what kind of gamer you are.
If you’re reading this, then you know the story
behind it. The game was announced about
a decade ago, and drew plenty of eyes across the medium. The crew behind Ico and Shadow of the
Colossus -- two central pillars for the “games are art” argument -- are
getting together to release a brand new installment? Sign me up, we said in droves. And we waited, and waited, and waited. But The
Last Guardian pole vaulted right over the PS3, and landed on the PS4 in
2016 -- well into the console’s lifespan.
Was it worth the wait?
I can’t imagine how many reviews featured the “was
it worth the wait” line as a lead-up.
For me, though? It was always a
given that The Last Guardian would be
something special -- like I had no reason to worry because of the minds and pedigree
behind it. “GOTY 2016 incoming,” I
thought on occasion. I thought that it
would be the latest pillar in the art debate, without question. I thought that I could rest easy, because
Team Ico and the rest of the funky fresh crew had it in the bag. Imagine my surprise, then, when some
reviews gave it
a decent(ish) score
instead of an avalanche of TENOUTTATENs -- not enough to change the
conversation, but Metacritic
can be telling at times. And imagine
my greater surprise when it
got a permanent price drop, which seems to signal all sorts of unfortunate
implications.
So I pretty much went from “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” to
“WELP.”
You know what really got to me, though (and by
extension is more of an impetus for writing this post AND playing The Last Guardian than the game
itself)? It was my brother’s reaction to
the game. He went in with no shortage of
excitement, as he always does whenever a new game is out. Then a few nights after he’d had some time
with it -- behind closed doors, as if to keep his process a mystery -- I asked
him what he thought of it. Here’s a
general list of reactions, in no particular order, every time I pressed him on
the subject:
“Last
Guardian sucks.”
“Ugh.”
“I’ll finish it, but I won’t enjoy it.”
“You’re better off not playing it.”
“This is the most frustrating game I’ve ever
played.”
And I’m just like…really? Really?
That’s the game that asks too
much of you? The guy who bought Resident Evil 6, Assassin’s Creed Unity, and
The Bureau: XCOM Declassified on
sight-unseen whims -- the guy who bought RE6
again just to try and prove that
it’s a “great game, great experience” -- can’t handle The Last Guardian? That
meant there were two possibilities: either TLG
was a severe mess that couldn’t begin to justify the hype and pedigree, or
he had (and still has) shit taste. Given
some of the tacky characters and customizations he’s made in games past, I’m
leaning toward the latter. But no matter
what, I had to try the game for myself to be sure. To see with my own eyes if it was art or an
abomination. And what did I find? What do I think of TLG? What does it reveal
about me, my big bro, and gamers in general?
Let me say this to start: I don’t think TLG is the greatest game ever. But I do think that it’s one of the most interesting games released in a good
while.
For the record: when I first tried out the game,
it wasn’t exactly under optimal conditions.
See, my brother’s disappointment with the game was so vast that he wiped
every last shred of its existence from the PS4.
(I haven’t asked if he finished the game, and I’m kind of afraid of his
answer.) So I had to reinstall it after
clearing up some memory -- but since we were expecting company, I decided to
forgo a big patch so that I could get to it quickly. Imagine my surprise when said company never
showed up. On the plus side,
though? I got to spend a good three hours
with the game in one shot. On the minus
side, I dealt with an uneven version of said game.
I’m inclined to believe that, patch or no, TLG is rough. The camera isn’t
exactly the most cooperative or helpful, which is kind of a problem when you
need to manage the space around you as well as keep track of a creature the
size of a double decker bus. Moving the
player character -- a nameless kid, as far as I know -- doesn’t feel as smooth
or precise as I would’ve preferred, though that’s to be expected when you’re
playing as a boy who’s likely had to endure some head trauma before the game’s
start. I’m still on a standard PS4
instead of the Pro variant, but I still can’t say that the frame rate (and
everything tied to it) is particularly even or speedy. While I’m not docking proverbial points for
failing to be 60fps or have rain-slick visuals like a Platinum game, TLG isn’t the most
technically-impressive game out there.
On the surface, at least. But
I’ll get back to that.
The main, make-or-break aspect of the game is
Trico, the towering bird-dog that teams up with the kid for their
adventure. If the Ico brigade didn’t want to start riots in the streets, then they
had to make Trico the best character they possibly could. No mistakes, no foul-ups; since TLG is effectively a not-so-secret
escort mission whose puzzles and exploration is entirely dependent on an AI partner,
they had to get it right or say goodbye to a core gameplay mechanic.
From what I can gather, they didn’t fully
succeed. I’ve seen reports and reviews
of the bird-dog failing to do what he’s asked; getting confused by simple
tasks; ignoring, if not refusing commands; turning tricky platforming segments
-- and even basic ones -- into exercises in frustration. It’s almost enough to make me wonder if the
devs infused some ancient, unholy magic into each disc, so that no two Tricos
act exactly the same. If they did, then
that’s commendable (if worrisome by virtue of their command of the dark
arts). But that doesn’t necessarily make
it a good idea. And even if they didn’t
do that, then it means there’s a lack of consistency and functionality that
gamers are accustomed to.
I say as much, because in my eyes, playing TLG isn’t too far-removed from having a
dog as a couch co-op partner.
Granted I’ve heard the argument that Trico acts
more like a cat than anything, but since I’ve had limited exposure to those,
I’m okay with saying that he’s very doglike.
Honestly, it felt like the devs had somehow scraped up all the data on
my dogs and crammed them into the game.
He’ll spend a good 15-30 seconds in place, staring and trying to figure
out what to do (even though it’s plainly
obvious what he’ll do). He’ll flip
out as noisily as possible over what seems like a minor thing to us mere
humans. He’ll go ape over the mere possibility of getting a treat. He’ll act like he doesn’t care you exist at
one point, but cling so desperately to you in another that you’d think you’re
his oxygen tank.
In my experience, dogs are weird, inconsistent,
noisy, annoying, and dumb. If the devs
managed to capture even a fraction of that, then they deserve infinity
awards. True, that doesn’t make for the
most ideal or pleasant gaming experience for everyone; those that want abject
control of their pets (i.e. their gigantic virtual one) are in for a shock when
Trico doesn’t react within 1/60th of a second after your button press. Is that true to life? Yeah, probably, unless you’ve managed to
properly train your pet of choice. I
wouldn’t know what that’s like, seeing as how I still have to worry about my dogs trying to eat poop whenever they
go outside.
But being “true to life” and being “convenient for
a video game” are two separate things.
As gamers, there’s a level of functionality and responsiveness that we
expect from the titles we play. Even if
there are a ton of particulars that people can debate about -- visuals, sound,
difficulty, story -- one of the most basic measures of a game’s quality is how
well it performs. Does it do what it’s
supposed to when it’s supposed to? If
so, then it’s time to move on to the next point of discussion and
analysis. If not, then it’s time to bust
out the red pen and start marking up the proverbial test.
So from a technical and fundamental standpoint,
there are parts of TLG that just
don’t work, or at least don’t work consistently. That’s a real issue, and any gamer --
reviewer or otherwise -- that takes issue with it is 100% justified in doing
so. Some of these problems didn’t even
have to be there, really. I get that
making Trico have a will of his own is important and true to life, but gamers
aren’t going to enjoy TLG as passive
observers who can marvel over how much moxie he’s got. They’re going to be active, with a focus on
using what tools they have to make it to the end credits. How are they supposed to give top marks to a
game that, by both technical shortcomings and design overreach, saddles them
with enough caveats to crush a dump truck?
So yes, I get it.
I get why this game isn’t covered in gold stars. I get why it didn’t sell as well as expected,
and why it got a price drop. I get why
my brother hates the game. But damn it,
it only took me three hours -- and not even that -- to be captivated by this
game in a way I never thought possible.
Fundamentally, the story has a simple setup. You play as a kid who wakes up in a
mysterious place -- a dungeon, at first glance.
He’s got tons of weird markings all over his body. More pressingly, he’s trapped in a strange
place that’s far from home alongside a bird-dog that could pass for the baby
brother of one of Pacific Rim’s monsters. The two of them have to work together to
escape and find their freedom -- and as is the standard, they become closer to
one another along the way. I just hope
that Penny
Arcade’s prophecy doesn’t come to pass.
Given that Trico doesn’t have a commanding
knowledge of human language, TLG isn’t
what I’d call bristling with dialogue.
For the most part, the story is MIA; once you have your context and
mission (such as they are), you’re off to explore this mysterious new
land. And while I’m a staunch defender
of and campaigner for good video game storytelling, I’m A-OK with TLG’s approach. Who am I?
What is Trico? Where are we? Why are we here? Where are we going? Why can Trico shoot lightning out of his tail
whenever a shiny trinket tells him to?
All valid questions, but TLG doesn’t
even give the kid a name at the outset.
There’s keeping your cards close to your chest, and there’s duct taping
them to your nips.
But there’s a benefit to that approach. While TLG
doesn’t take time to spell out every bit of its story (at least in the
early parts), it gives the gameplay a chance to shine. Or, to be more precise: instead of having all
of the answers force-fed to you via cutscenes, audio logs, or codex entries,
you’re invited to try and piece together everything on your own, at your own
pace. The circumstances work with the
aesthetics -- the visuals, the designs, the architecture and more -- to get the
brain going. It’s storytelling without
saying a single word. True, it’s all too
easy for the game to prove you wrong later, but the fact that there’s more than
enough material to let players start crafting theories based solely on what
they’ve seen is a reward in itself.
It’s to the point where I’d argue that the point
of TLG isn’t just to beat the game
and watch those end credits roll. And
even though the game is something along the lines of a puzzle platformer, it’s
not entirely about solving this puzzle or reaching that platform. No, I’d say that the real beauty of it is its
ability to build player investment -- to have him or her get lost in a world
beyond reality. Obviously, the relationship
between the kid and Trico pushes toward that end goal; you can’t spell
“character” without “care”, after all. But
there’s more to it than that. There are
mysteries and secrets that need to be uncovered, and the only one with a chance
is the one holding that PS4 pad. That’s
you, mate…assuming you don’t pass the pad off to a dog with a working knowledge
of gaming hardware.
Investment is the name of the game here, and on
multiple levels. Speaking personally, I
played for so long without interruption -- I don’t think I even left my chair
until it was time to feed my IRL dogs -- because I wanted to figure out what
made that bird-dog tick. What were his
habits? His thought processes? His likes and dislikes? His responses to stimuli? His capacity for learning? His tolerance for shenanigans, like that time
I screwed up a jump and made a landing that would’ve rammed a normal child’s
shin bones through his shoulders?
Sorry for making you see such a grisly image. Here’s a picture of Christina Hendricks to
compensate.
Trico really is the star of the show here. Even if he can’t say a single word (or can he?), he still manages to be a
character worth watching and admiring.
Being able to learn about him, let alone see him in action, feels like a
real privilege that I lucked into. When
I first met him in that dungeon pit and he lashed out, I legitimately made the
kid run to the opposite end of the room just
to make sure I had enough distance between us. Within the hour, I was laughing at him for
being a huge coward since he wouldn’t jump into a pool of water -- only to go
“Ah, jeez! Shit!” when his eventual dive made waves large enough to bowl me
over. I stayed rooted in place for
almost a full minute when it seemed like there was another Trico out
there. I was shocked by Trico’s sudden
psychedelic trip once I found the lightning mirror, but it quickly turned into
concern -- and that concern only grew when the big guy positively freaked out while exploring the nest
interior.
Based on those anecdotes, I think it’s safe to say
that ol’ bird-dog has lightning-blasted a nook for himself into my heart. And yes, I won’t even try to deny that part
of the appeal of TLG is forming a
bond with the mini-colossus, because it works like gangbusters. But part of that appeal comes from more than
just gamers being (likely) pet owners, and thus going “This animal reminds me
of MY animal! I am deeply in love
now!” It’s about getting to know Trico and
learning that he’s more than just an AI, and more than just a mass of
polygons. Because there’s so much to
learn, there are so many opportunities to put a part of your soul into the
game. And something tells me that that’s
exactly what the devs wanted.
All things considered, TLG isn’t the most labor-intensive or execution-heavy game out
there. It does make use of pretty much
all of the PS4 pad’s buttons, you’re not expected to belt out massive combos or
react to danger with split-second timing.
It’s a mellow, meditative game, which works to its advantage. You’re not just learning about your
unexpected partner; you’re learning about the world as you explore, so you can
solve the mysteries before some big, bombastic reveal can slap you upside the
head. Really, though, it’s not as if
playing detective is required to enjoy TLG. I find it rewarding, and I’m surprised at how
naturally it happens, but anyone who wants to “last guard and chill” has every
opportunity to.
The aesthetic is exactly what you’d expect from
the guys behind Ico and Shadow of the Colossus: natural,
expansive areas where the sands of time have worn away all but the most meager
traces of life. Well-treaded ground,
sure, but that’s ground that deserves treading;
the airs of mystery and melancholy let the player indulge in the
atmosphere. It’s precisely the right set
of circumstances to make players wonder just what happened in this place, or
why it even exists…buuuuuuuuuuuuuut
it’s till more than possible to enjoy it as-is without any ulterior motives or
excess effort. It’s a strange new world,
and you’ve got every right to take in the sights.
Is TLG going
to go down as one of the greatest games the medium has to offer? I don’t know.
Probably not, if it’s reached this state. But then again, it doesn’t have to; it’s
still an incredible game that has intrigue in spades. As rough as it is around the edges -- and
well into that chewy core, if we’re being honest -- it’s hard to deny that
those special touches help make it into something worthwhile.
TLG at
large actually reminds me of something my Japanese teacher often said. After a certain point, she expected the class
to write test answers out with all of the fixings -- all of the hiragana,
katakana, and kanji we’d learned up to that point. That tended to leave us pressed for time (or
me at least, because I’m actually part turtle), and there was still the issue
of us needing to make good sentences -- not just translations, but actual statements.
Since she was an easygoing teacher, she gave us an
out. If we tried to get by with
easy-to-make sentences and answers, then she’d let them slide (as long as they
were within reason), but dock more points if we got them wrong. If, however, we tried to make harder and more
complex sentences, then we’d still lose points for screwing up, but not nearly
as many. As a result, it was entirely
possible to have red markings across a handful of sentences across a handful of
pages, but still walk away with a score no lower than a 93. To paraphrase her words: “You’ll earn more
points if you try something hard than if you do something easy.” To quote her words more directly: “Brad Pitt desu!” Even teachers are allowed to have their
celebrity crushes.
But whatever the case, that’s TLG in general. Even if it
has some glaring issues, I’m absolutely glad that it exists. As important as it is to have a functional
game, we’ve long since reached a point where being functional isn’t enough
anymore. Games have to do more. Be more.
In a world where outcries of homogeneity have justifiably run rampant,
and where the major publishers have blithely run entire genres into the ground,
we need games that are willing to break the mold even if they end up cracking a
bit in the process.
I hope that the devs managed to make enough off of
this game to relax a little, and to have enough support and confidence for
their next big project. Or, in more
immediate terms, I hope that the responses to TLG have helped them justify the decade-long wait. We need more games like this, so that we
gamers can be tested on more than reflexes or accuracy. But failing that? I’ve learned something important: I would
much rather have games that try and stumble than those that succeed from the
depths of their respective ruts.
So yeah, thanks Trico. You showed me what kind of gamer I really am.
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