ICO: THE EMOTIONAL VIDEOGAME

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(Image from wallpapercave.com)
(This essay is my thoughts on a videogame I greatly enjoyed playing, and I should warn those who have yet to play Ico that there are spoilers ahead).

INTRODUCTION

When Ken Kutaragi unveiled the technology that would become PlayStation2 he claimed that the machine would allow the fusion of games, film and music to create new eras of entertainment. An era where the player experiences the full range of emotions while involved in the game. Did any title come close to reaching this noble goal? I think so. A game created by a Japanese team lead by Fumito Ueada has come very close to fulfilling the promises Sony made. Its name was Ico.

THE STORY SO FAR

As is so often the case, Ico has pretensions toward being a film and the story so far is told via a cutscene. The introductory scene tells the story of Ico’s imprisonment that will form the basis of the whole adventure. Ico is a seven year old boy who has horns growing out of his head. The tribe he is born into know that a boy with horns represents some terrible omen and so Ico must be banished from society. He is taken on horseback and lead to an impossibly vast castle, far out to sea, on a towering rocky island. Inside this fairytale Alcatraz, rows and rows of sarcophagi lie in wait. Ico is placed inside one of these and, presumably, left to rot. Naturally, the little boy is soon liberated. A small earth tremor causes the sarcophagus to fall and break open. Ico is freed from this suffocating jail and, with the player’s help, must find a way out of the larger prison that is the castle itself.

THE CASTLE

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(Image from wallpapercave.com)

The first thing that the player notices is how beautiful the castle is and how lonely it makes Ico seem. The latter feeling is achieved largely by dispensing with the usual videogame dressings of health bars and power-ups and by having no musical accompaniments. Instead, Ico himself makes all the sounds as he runs around looking for a way out. His footsteps and his voice reverberate around the cold, stone walls and the only other sounds are the crackling fires and the wind. It has been said by some that the main character of Lord Of The Rings is not Frodo or any of his companions. Rather, it is the landscape of Middle Earth. Similarly, the castle that is Ico’s prison has such presence that it too can be seen as the central character. It is also an incredibly stark and beautiful character, something that videogames pull off only rarely. They can frustrate, scare and delight, but they hardly ever make you stop and stare at the sight before your eyes. But Ico’s location is so stunning and real that the player feels compelled to simply soak it all in. That doesn’t mean that the castle IS realistic, because such a construction could never exist. Rather the design team applied the basic rules of architecture and transposed them to a fantasy world. Rising miles into the air and stretching all the way to the horizon, the castle is too magnificent to exist and yet it looks real. There are two important things to remember about the castle, because it highlights the genius of the team behind the game. The first is that the castle always exists as a coherent whole, but in reality the only thing that exists is the location where Ico currently stands. At one point, the player finds herself outside, where a windmill stands before a small lake. The walls of the castle tower above it and seagulls soar far below the cliff where this location is set. It is the organic nature of this tranquil scene that is so impressive: The way the water in the lake ripples when a bird lands on it, the way the wind billows through the sails of the windmill and Ico’s clothing and the way the rest of the castle fades into a distant haze. It is when the player gazes into the distance that they make out what looks like some kind of structure. Some time later, the player has found their way to this very structure. Out of curiosity they turn in the direction of the windmill and, sure enough, it is there, tiny, still lazily turning its sails. Whatever location you are in, it is always possible to see exactly what you would expect and yet the castle never exists in its entirety. Rather, it is a separate series of locations cleverly designed to fool the player into believing that it all exists.

The second clever thing is that these graphics are low-resolution models. The scenery does not gain its power because of a high polygon count, but because of a creative use of light and shadow. This could well be an important lesson for those developers chasing an ever-higher polygon count to learn: That Ico’s power to captivate is the result of artistic design rather than technological grunt. Indeed, it achieves its beauty because it is a low-resolution model, in the same way that an avant-garde film may achieve its style through grainy film. Of course, the fact that it is a low-resolution model can betray itself if the player chooses to scrutinise the graphics. It’s like an oil painting of a castle that reveals itself to be lumps of oily paint when you get too close. Still, why bother getting too close? Instead, just soak up the atmosphere. Standing in vast empty rooms with areas shrouded in darkness and illuminated by flickering torches, where sunlight filters through the windows and Ico’s movements kick up small clouds of dust. Crossing bridges whose arches stretch down for miles, where seagulls lazily soar on the currents far below you, and far below them the sunlight causes the sea to sparkle. Standing beneath a tree and marvelling at the way the sunlight dances about the leaves as they gently rustle in the breeze. Above all, climbing to the highest parts of the castle and surveying all the locations you have visited, stretched out before you like a lucid dream.

GAME MECHANICS

A gamer might be reading this and wondering what the point is. Surely the objective of Ico is not simply to go on a virtual tour of a castle and its surroundings? Well no, the point of Ico is to help the eponymous character escape and this is achieved by solving the various puzzles that inhabit the rooms and other locales of the castle. Essentially, each puzzle asks the same thing. There is a point that you must get to, and the trick is to work out the steps that take you to where you need to be. The player is asked to perform death-defying leaps from ledge to ledge, or leap onto chains and ropes in order to swing across vast gaps. They must drag blocks over to pressure-sensitive floor switches, thereby using their weight to activate the switch and open a door somewhere, or they might need the block to help Ico gain access to something beyond his reach. There are bombs that can be lit via a flaming torch and used to destroy certain objects, and mechanical devices that have a lever that must be pulled if they are to work. If there is one aspect of the game that has come under negative criticism, it is the fact that the puzzles tread such familiar ground. The negotiating of crumbling ledges and finding the switch to open the door is lifted straight from Tomb Raider. Swinging from ropes and chains has been a staple diet of platformers since the days of Hunchback. Turning sticks into flaming torches by dipping them into a naked flame, and then touching the fuse of a bomb is decidedly Zelda-esque and manhandling blocks into a desired location would be familiar to anyone who has played Resident Evil. If the designers had come up with some revolutionary puzzle dynamic, there is a possibility that the gamer would stand in a room and have no idea what is required of them. But by sticking so closely to proven formulas the objective is understood but the player must still figure out the steps they need to advance. But a more cynical person might say that the puzzles in Ico have become so well-worn that they are now cliched. If a gamer comes across a locked door and instantly knows they must find the switch to unlock it, then the puzzle is solved and actually finding the switch is just a way to artificially extending the time the player will take to complete the game. It is like a crossword puzzle that is so obvious you know the answer straight away, but the crossword forces you to work out where on the grid the word must go. A lot of modern games deserve the same criticism: That they offer the player no new experiences and are just old games embellished with state-of-the-art visuals. Ico itself could be criticised for presenting cliched puzzles in a beautiful way, but then by including another feature, it redeems itself.

YORDA

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(Image from theoryofgaming.com)

In nearly every game ever released the player’s interests have been overtly self-centred. It’s true that early shooters always put the burden of being humanity’s last hope squarely on the shoulders of the player but don’t be fooled: The only skin that needed saving was the player’s own. But in Ico the life you must protect is not so much the titular character, but that of another. You find her, trapped in a cage that is suspended high in the ceiling of a tower. This character is called Yorda and can be described as semi-controllable. Normally she will wander around by herself, but by pressing the appropriate button, Ico can call her over to him. Once close enough, Yorda will offer her hand and can be lead about so long as the button remains depressed. Yorda is not as athletic as her partner, so whereas she can climb up small ledges and jump little gaps, she cannot climb up ropes or reach higher platforms. This means that the game often has a route that the boy can negotiate, but must pave a way for the girl to follow. For instance, it is possible to climb up onto a platform and then call Yorda over and offer a hand up. It is also possible to call her, thereby encouraging her to risk a leap over a lethal drop. At other times, Ico’s chivalrous attitude is not enough, and the player must complete a puzzle that will open up a path for Yorda to follow. Given that the self-centred approach has been a staple diet of games for so long, it might be supposed that the player would simply leave Yorda to rot in the castle but that is impossible for two reasons. You need to save the princess because there are some puzzles that cannot be completed without her help. In particular, there are stone statues that block many exits, and Yorda has an innate magical ability that causes them to part when she is brought close. But what is more important is that the player WANTS to save Yorda. In the same way that the skills of the puppeteer makes you feel an emotional attachment to a lump of rubber in ET, the skills of the animator and some clever programming combine to make the player feel empathetic toward this little girl. Everything about her demeanour suggests a kind of vulnerability, from the way she is drawn in delicate, pale hues, to the way she walks: head bowed, with her hands clasped to her chest as if she is cold. Far from being a robotic partner that blindly follows your lead, Yorda has a range of emotions and cognitive responses. As Ico runs around trying to solve a puzzle, his partner seems to be interested in what he is doing, Her gaze follows him as he charges around and she will even point out essential items that may be handy. If Ico strikes a sword against stone, the sudden noise can sometimes make her flinch, and her fragility is emphasised by the way she is jerked along with her arm trailing behind her when Ico grabs her hand and runs. As has been said before, she can be coaxed into jumping across gaps, but if it is too large she will refuse with a shake of her head. Some of these touches are immediately apparent but others do not reveal themselves until after extended play. The more time the player spends in the game, the closer the bond between Ico and Yorda becomes and the more the player feels protective toward them. When you gain pleasure from watching Yorda chase birds in a garden, or feel sorry for her after she is left alone and cries out for Ico in her own indecipherable language, you know you are in the presence of something special.

Because the game can make you feel genuinely protective toward Ico and Yorda, the fact that you must also put them into some incredibly dangerous situations can also be seen as a clever psychological trick. It is decidedly disconcerting to make Ico dangle by one hand from a chain that hangs over a mile-long drop, and almost impossible to watch Yorda chase a bird, absent mindedly running toward a cliff edge without being the responsible parent and calling her back. Actually, in most cases sudden death is avoided. Should Ico run right to the edge of a drops he will whirl his arms around and this gives the player just enough time to save him. As for Yorda, she has enough sense to avoid a lethal drop. Yet somehow the tension of placing them in such precarious situations never goes away. 

THE EVIL QUEEN

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(Image from Wizarddojo.com)

Tension is bad enough, but the game also has the capacity to make you panic. Every good story needs a villain and in Ico that role is filled by a diabolical queen. One look at her ghastly pale face and flowing black robes is enough to convince you that her daughter, Yorda, is being prevented from leaving the castle for reasons other than her own good. Naturally, an ultimate baddie worth their salt has a legion of henchmen to do their dirty work, so wherever you go there is always a chance that the smokemen will launch an assault. These flying demons are seemingly formed out of black soot, with piercing blue eyes that leave glowing trails as they dart about on tattered wings. They emerge from inky puddles that spread across the floor, and are intent on dragging Yorda into these shadowy holes. She cannot defend herself against the shadowmen, so it is up to Ico to prevent her capture. This is tricky for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the game never forgets that Ico is just a little boy, so his attacks are limited to ineffectual swipes of a sword or stick. Secondly, the smokemen are not your usual stupid videogame adversary, all lining up for a kicking. Instead, they actually adopt team tactics. Sometimes a large, brutish demon may force Ico into a corner and keep him there while smaller, nimbler smokemen fly off with Yorda. At other times, a smokeman will land near Ico and deftly avoid his sword by flying a little distance away. This tempts the player to chase after him, but it is only when Yorda cries out that they realise they have been tricked. Ico was being lured away from the girl so other demons could grab her. Should the smokemen succeed in dragging the princess all the way into the hole, Ico is turned to stone. The player soon learns to keep Yorda close to Ico so he can defend her if needs be, but the game’s design means Ico must often leave her behind in order to secure a path both characters can follow. At any moment, Yorda might cry out to indicate that she is under attack and Ico must race back in the desperate hope that he is not too late.

ADOLESCENT ARTFORM

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(Image from pastermagazine.com)

Inevitably, there will come a time when Ico is too late. Yorda is dragged into the inky shadow and her would-be protector instantly turns to stone. However, things are not so bad, because all that happens is that the game resets to the last save point. This is a pity, because the game provides no opportunity regret the failure to protect Yorda beyond making them repeat a section of the game. But, at a later point in time, a crucial development in the storyline sees Ico and Yorda separated. By this time, the desire to protect Yorda has become so ingrained that to see Ico without her is genuinely upsetting. Maybe that sounds peculiar, but really any form of storytelling has the power to move us if handled well enough. Books, plays, films all have the ability to make us cry, and the superb portrayal of Ico and Yorda’s journey is a rare example of effective narrative in videogame form. It is an incredibly beautiful game that compels the player to stop and stare, but it is the range of emotional responses it can generate that is arguably what makes this a standout title. It can make you feel contentment as you watch Yorda point out some wildlife and then vainly give chase. It gives a feeling of warmth to see the pair fast asleep in each other’s arms when you return from a saved game. The views that you take in on your journey inspire awe, and when Yorda saves Ico’s life after having her own life saved so many times, it is hard not to feel proud of her.

And then there is the range of negative emotions that a journey such as this inflicts. The dizzying sensation of vertigo rears its ugly head as Ico scales the crumbling ledges of a tower, with small chunks becoming dislodged, the wind tearing at his clothes, and the camera positioned to emphasise an exceedingly long drop. The heart leaps into the throat when Yorda attempts a jump only to fall from view (followed by relief when it turns out Ico grabbed her hand at the last moment). When the queen’s motives for keeping Yorda captive is made all too clear, the need for revenge could not be stronger and the closing sequences are perhaps the most melancholy that videogaming has offered.

The story of Ico is almost entirely visual, focusing as it does on the unspoken bond between the two escapees. The use of cut-scenes that some people find intrusive in a videogame are kept to a minimum and what lingers in the memory is the thought that here is a videogame that goes some way to advance the maturity of an adolescent art form.