ICO

In an industry that has always run with the idea of "bigger, better, and faster", Ico was the milestone of the PS2-generation that implied the true future of video games lies in minimalism and player connectivity.

You can almost feel the testosterone of a Gears fanboy spiking the Ico lovefest of recent years. The game, when played by the wrong person, can be outright offensive. "I've played Zelda, dammit! I know you can do more in a video game than this!" they might yell. The idea of Ico being a piece of art isn't reinforced by its overly sentimental fanbase, but by the way it feels completely alien to some players even though it remains grounded in gameplay not too distant from more popular titles.

Ico's presence as minimal art can be narrowed down into a list: no HUD, IDM score, no real dialogue, etc. It's a matter of class. Team Ico who-- you guessed it! --developed Ico modeled the game entirely around what the core experience is and what would detract from it. The idea that your character cannot die in combat would break a The Legend of Zelda [ゼルダの伝説] game, but since Ico's main concern varies from those games it works as a strength. At Ico's core is the player's connection to Yorda, the girl you have at your side for the better part of the game, dragging her along every step of the way. While the audio and art direction are sublime, it is the core experience delivered through the platforming and puzzles that makes it a timeless adventure.

Since the PlayStation-era, games have grown more and more obsessed with player connection through cinematic presentation. Instead of deep storytelling, Ico creates a tangible emotional connection in the player through subliminal elements. The way the controller vibrates when you grab hold of Yorda's hand, the loneliness of the game's world, and the haunting music all exhort an emotional reaction out of the player that most games would try to attempt forcefully via FMVs and lengthy cut-scenes. It's remarkable how well Ico works without these things, as only an hour into the game I would feel my heart rate escalate when I had to leave Yorda behind or when I had to make a jump I wasn't quite sure I could manage. I didn't know why I was at this castle, I didn't know who Yorda was, but I wanted to escape it with her by my side. Through crafting a believable world with elegant presentation, Ico turned the 8-bit joke of saving the princess into an actual concern.

Between Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty and Final Fantasy X [ファイナルファンタジーX], the PS2 era came into its own in 2001. Even with all Ico's heart and ambition, I can't say it's a superior game than those two. Yet, as a pure experience, Ico will forever be put in the hall of fame for the simplicity of its design (have I mention how the game is actually fun?) and its brilliant presentation. The "games as art" discussion has become null in recent years, between the chiptune scene and 8-bit decals in the walls of every nerd's home. Games have always been art. It wasn't until Ico that gamers got a real taste of games that stirred up emotion in the player through sheer interaction and existence in a different world.

Ico's ending won't make you cry and the games making you feel lonely dates back to Metroid [メトロイド], but 2001 brought about the first game to fill gamers with an intangible connection to an unrealistic scenario. And, it was all done through the player convincing his or herself through a personal connection to the world, not in-game cinemas and plot devices.

Everytime i have to describe ICO as my favorite game of all time i'm left speechless. I cant point the things that make the game special without spoiling what makes the game special, so if i came to you and told you that the game is a puzzle walking-artistic-sim about a boy in a castle, it can sound lame as hell, so i always resort to show the box art. it captures all that the game is without a word, the setting might be the castle, yes, but it more feels like you are walking on a lonely desert with massive mysterious structures, that leave your mind with hundreds of questions, and very few answers. The front and center of the box art show two figures holding hands, running from the desert, they want to escape, and that's what it's is all about.

The atmosphere is creepingly silent, huge rooms, yards, towers, without a single person, just the sound of your feet pressing into the stone, even tho you're always with Yorda, you two never speak outside of cutscenes. Your imagination runs wild, trying to figure the story and it's meaning, during what otherwise could be the most boring sections of the game. The only times the silence is broken is when you either encounter enemies or save the game, and they are massively distinct. Saving the game, being triggered by the player when sitting on a couch with Yorda to rest a bit, would be desturbing in any game, but in this experience it feels like a calm, relaxing lullaby. Encountering enemies on the other hand, is hectic, scary and chaotic, complementing the nature of these encounters, shadow creatures come out of holes on the ground and come to take your only company you have to who knows where.
One of my favorite, most peculiar and personal aspects of ICO is it's absent tutorial and start of the game. Much like it's setting and story, the game starts with no buttons on screen, it's up to you to explore it's inputs and limitations, it complements the atmosphere so well it's almost unnoticable and it's such a good idea that it's almost surreal someone thought of that out.
And the cherry on top of the atmosphere and gameplay is Yorda. What should i say about yorda that hasnt been said a billion times before? It's the biggest bond i've ever had with a character, and you can't literally understand what she is saying, she communicates by mumbling at times and by gestures. There are so many ways they make this work, you need her to progress in the castle, you need her to escape the castle, if yorda gets captured it's game over, you have to guide her by holding hands, and later on you want to leave the castle with her and free her of something you can't even fully comprehend. It's one of the most beatiful bonds in a game ever.
The animations, convey the sense of how natural and human Ico and Yorda are, specially in contrast to the enemies in the game, which are unnatural and evil, it's something you usually don't think about as much but the animations alone convey to you that you're fighting evil, one can say that their visual design alone can indicate they are evil, but there are moments in it that contradict this statement.
The ending, if you know, you know, i don't want to spoil in case there's a lost soul reading a review from a 20+ year old game they never played.

The final note i want to leave is, i do overlook it's flaws. There's so much i like in it that i just can't give it something other than a perfect rating. There will never be anything quite like this experience ever again, for me.

Ico's lonesome protagonists rest their heads on each other's shoulders when you sit down on a bench to save. A cute little loop plays endlessly in the background. When you return to the game, you hear nothing but occasional birdsong. A patch of sunlit grass or a still pool of water wait in the depths of an abandoned castle by the sea. Ico's command of atmosphere is definitely impressive, and was a massive influence on the use of bloom in seventh-generation games and beyond. It combines the sweeping wistfulness of Romantic painting with the still calm of "cinematic platformers" like Another World. Ultimately, though, much like Gears of War is a game about the joys of shooting aliens in the face, Ico is a game about the pleasures of solving puzzles, skipping between stones, climbing, running, stick-fighting, and holding someone's hand. There are no movie-game aspirations or "playable cutscenes" here. The operating principle is the same, it just has a defter touch than most.

Se a maioria dos jogos quer fazer do jogador um ser poderoso, o objetivo de Ico é o contrário.

Cada parede escalada, alavanca puxada e sombra apunhalada tem o peso de uma tonelada. Talvez por isso a sensação de heroísmo dele é tão pulsante.

Jogá-lo não é exatamente prazeroso, mas é uma senhora experiência.

Artfully hides its linearity and fundamental game-ness by stripping away ornament. The player isn’t told where to go or what to do, and the feeling of anxiety that shadows the illusion of free will remains although there’s only one thing to do, and one way to do it. The process of subtraction extends beyond the game’s mechanics and into its themes and visual language too: that is, the language barrier (who needs dialogue) adds to the feeling of alienation the player feels when experiencing said illusion, and this is set against the bare backdrop of the sublime: the foreboding cliffs and vast landscapes constantly reminding of the relative insignificance of one's struggle for existence. This forced reflection strengthens the game's drive — the feeling of dread when experiencing "the dizziness of freedom" (the push/pull: to jump or not, to turn the system off, etc) becomes insignificant when compared to the responsibility one feels for saving Yorda. Love triumphs, life too.

I'm going to spare whoever is reading this some sappy, pretentious review about this being a "gripping" game or something. Games don't need to be artsy and affecting to be good games. What really grabs you about this game though is how massive it is in relation to how puny you are, and how you are still fairly well equipped to traverse it. The game isn't crammed with enemies and it is super linear with no upgrade systems and only one real objective. But the puzzles are incredible and diverse, the gameplay is pretty tight if a bit jumpy, the way the story unravels is excellent and uncanny, and to this day it's still a visually breathtaking game. Somehow, Team Ico were able to strip a game down to its most basic elements while making its scale one of the most grandiose in gaming, and pull it all off. It doesn't get redundant, it's consistently fun, and the final boss is terrific. A truly unique and fun platformer that was vastly ahead of its time in 2001.