Ico

I've got several different things to say about this game, and perhaps more importantly for Back-Blogged, the experiences associated with buying and beating it. So bear with me as I take a very rare break from the norm and head into paragraph-based formatting.

First, why did I buy this game in the first place? A year and a half ago, I became fixated on finding and familiarizing myself many "best video games of the decade" lists. Ico was on several of those lists, and that was enough reason for me to locate a copy and buy it. However, due to the rarity of the game - it came out in September 2001, nearly a full decade ago now, and never sold well at all - I had to shell out $50 including shipping in order to secure my own copy. Not six months after I'd done so, Sony announced that Ico and its spiritual successor Shadow of the Colossus (which I'd also purchased, but only for $20) would be ported in an HD package to the PS3 in 2011. And just like that, I'd spent $70 for the PS2 versions of two games I'd soon enough be able to get for $30 in HD. But that's the price I paid for being overambitious in my acquisition of these games, I suppose.

Second, how long did it take me to play this game, and how did I go about doing so? The answer to the former question is both nine months and six hours. To explain myself, I'll answer the latter. I first popped Ico into my PS2 in early January and experienced the first hour of gameplay. I never touched the game again until last night, when after literally months of telling myself, "I should really get back to Ico," I finally got back to Ico, knocking the rest of the game out in five more hours. So, why the sudden followthrough on my two-hundred-day-old promise? Because the aforementioned Ico/SotC HD combo pack has a release date of September 27th. If I didn't beat Ico before that date, then the extra $40 I'd spent to acquire the game would have been a complete waste. At least now it's "worth" the three weeks sooner that I was able to enjoy Ico. I won't pretend that's even close to an even trade-off, but at least it's something, artificial though it may be.

Third, and most importantly, did this game live up to the hype? It did. It wasn't the best game I've ever played, or even the best adventure/puzzle PS2 game I'd ever played (a title that still belongs to Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time). It was brief, simple, and lacked many memorable puzzles, moments, or scenes. But with its minimalist approach to plot and dialogue, and with its vast and beautiful environment, and with its mysterious protagonist, sidekick, and villain, it was very much a game that elicited emotional reactions from me, throughout. Wonder. Fear (especially early on). Hopelessness (whenever my partner, the ghostly princess Yorda, was attacked by ghouls). Frustrated anger (at said ghouls). Exhaustion (when I finally got to the game's end and fell asleep before the final cinematic was over, and needed to watch the ending on YouTube this morning to finish off the full experience). Companionship (as I came to appreciate what Yorda could do for me). Gut-punching sorrow (when it became clear, at the end of the game, where the ghouls I'd hated so much all game, and killed with malice and glee, had come from). I've had more fun while playing games and I've felt more rewarded for beating games and I've been more interested in the stakes at hand in the stories of many games, but I'm not sure if any game has managed to make me "feel" so many things in so short a time and with so few characters and plot points as Ico did. Again, not a perfect game. I've only given it a four out of five on my backloggery.com page. (I've also marked it "complete" since there is absolutely nothing to collect or do beyond the basic linear narrative at hand.) Ico doesn't crack a list of my ten, twenty, or perhaps even fifty "favorite" video games of all time. But it was certainly a unique experience worthy of a special sort of recognition. In a way, the game feels seven or eight years ahead of its time. In the present, short "indie" artistic games get high praise all the time as DLC releases. If Ico was a couple hours shorter, it'd fit right in with the likes of Braid and Limbo as minimalistic gaming gems. The third quarter of the game, roughly speaking, was extremely repetitive and reminiscent of the second quarter of the game; I could have done without it entirely. Also, the combat was frustrating and lengthy, mirroring my biggest complaint about Sands of Time. For a while I felt like the intermittent attacks by the ghouls, trying to recapture Yorda, were ruining the flow of the exploration-based game. But in hindsight, I recognize that they filled me with negative emotions, and that without the constant threat of their presence looming, the game wouldn't have "felt" nearly the same as it did. So in a weird way, while I enjoyed the game less because of the poorly-varied hack-and-slash combat portions, I respect the game more for including them.

Finally, one more question: can video games really be a form of high "art?" It's a growing debate. My problem with it has always been that "art" is poorly and loosely defined. The Mona Lisa is art, for sure. Few would say it isn't. Yet, who decided that it was? Is a three-panel comic done by a professional cartoonist also "art?" And is a poorly-made drawing by a kindergartener "art?" If not, why was it made in something called "art class?" If so, is there any drawing that isn't "art?" It's a nearly pointless debate. It's like arguing over how interesting a series of sentences must be in order to tell a "story." I have heard one guy on the Internet - a blogger and critic whose opinions I usually at least respect - try to come down heavily on the "yes, games can be high art" side of the debate, only to use Super Mario Bros. 3 as his ironclad case in point. Seriously? A level-based platform game with little variance or emotion-inducing... anything? I've never been back to that guy's blog ever since. Anyway, I'm not here to answer whether or not video games are truly artistic. But I will say that Ico is one of the best examples on the "pro" side of the debate. (I swear, I see no way in which Super Mario Bros. 3 is anything but a "con" example. What a joke.) The non-American cover art for the game does its tone and feel so much more justice than the shitty generic cover art seen at the top of this post. Ico is minimalistic. For all intents and purposes, the fortress-like castle that serves as the games environment is the primary antagonist of the game. Everything around you portrays melancholy and decline. Even the ambient sounds - no background music except during cut scenes and combat, but plenty of chirping birds and blowing breezes - signify the utter lonesomeness of Ico and Yorda. When Yorda is taken from you by the ghouls, you try to get her back not even primarily because it's "game over" if you don't, but because she's the only thing keeping you from being utterly lost and alone in a bewildering labyrinth wrought with isolation and despair. This isn't a masterfully-told story here. There is very little "character development" because there is very little characterization at all. But then, going back to the Mona Lisa, would it be half as famous as it is today had Da Vinci written a three-paragraph explanation for the painting? Of course not. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then you cheapen it by trying to capture its essence in anything less. In Ico, story and explanation and even actual gameplay are afterthoughts to setting, tone, mood, and feel. I wouldn't even say I've "played" Ico. I've more so "experienced" it. And that won't sound even the slightest bit pretentious if you've experienced it too.

In closing, I'd like to reiterate that Ico wasn't an incredibly fun game, nor is it one with any replay value whatsoever. It is entirely linear, despite its vast environment, and there's little to no sense of accomplishment once the final credits roll. But it's a unique and special game because of what it does to the gamer, and not what the gamer does with it, so to speak. If video games can be art, then Ico is as artistic as they come.