(Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/20/2023)
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[Image from glitchwave.com]
The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Developer: Nintendo
Publisher: Nintendo
Genre(s): Action-Adventure
Platforms: Wii
Release Date: November 18, 2011
A lot of Skyward Sword’s makeup is a compromise between the previous two 3D Zelda titles, namely the graphical presentation. After consecutive bouts of controversy regarding the visuals of both The Wind Waker and Twilight Princess, Nintendo appeased their havering fans by striking a balance between the light of the former game and the darkness of the latter. The result seen here could probably be described as Wind Waker’s cel-shaded brightness being baked overnight in a kiln. It’s a warm, water-colored maturation of the rounded, cartoonish puffiness seen in Wind Waker, deviating from the sharp and damp moodiness of Twilight Princess. My personal quibble on Skyward Sword’s aesthetic is that its milky tint verges on a strong resemblance to Disney’s hand drawn animation, a look too saccharine for my liking. I’ve always adored the exuberance of the Wind Waker’s visuals and am disappointed that Skyward Sword’s animated aesthetic isn’t a bodacious piece of eye-candy. While not as strikingly lurid as The Wind Waker, the balance between animated expressiveness and stark realism should at least prove not to piss off the irresolute Zelda fanbase at first glance.
Skyward Sword also makes a compromise between Link’s age. Previous Zelda titles alternate between a pre-adolescent eleven-year-old Link and a barely legal adult Link of 18/19, with Ocarina of Time as the game that formally established this dynamic and the sole title where Link’s age is relevant from a thematic standpoint. Skyward Sword introduces “teenage Link” at the age of 15 or 16. He may fit the stature of a fully grown Link, but is treated with a sense of condescension as a child. If that sentence doesn’t summarize the teenage experience, I don’t know what does. This source of angst is conveyed via Link’s life as a sophomore student at the boarding school Knight Academy on his airborne home of Skyloft.
Regarding the incongruous Zelda timeline, Skyward Sword’s placement is at least easy to follow because it is set far before every other title released before it. That’s right: Skyward Sword is ostensibly the very first Zelda adventure to ever occur. Because of its relatively humble beginnings, Zelda’s name hasn’t the slightest regal connections. She’s merely Link’s peer at the academy and Link’s lifelong friend. The only level of prestige she bears is being the daughter of the academy’s headmaster Gaepora, who evidently was reincarnated as an owl in the distant future. Zelda is just a sweet, giddy teenage girl whose friendly affections for Link are portrayed through the opening sequence where they interact in anticipation for the annual Wing Ceremony. Both Zelda and Link are also caught up in a love triangle with fellow classmate and local beefy, broad-shouldered chad Groose. His palpable envy for Link’s relationship with Zelda becomes a liability when Groose sabotages Link’s chance to win the grand prize of an event with Zelda by stashing his Loftwing, this game’s feathered Epona companion. I’ve always shared the sentiment that this opening sequence proves to be the best that 3D Zelda has offered yet. Not only does it effectively introduce a recurring setting along with the dynamics of characters new and old, but Skyward Sword marks the first time where Link and Zelda resemble real human beings. Their interpersonal relationship is adorable and seeing them interact domestically with each other makes their characters surpass their typical avatar leanings with paramount implications, even if Link is reserved to his grunts and yelps as usual. Perhaps the volatile teenage period adds a certain coming-of-age edge. It certainly beats the drag of an introduction presented in Twilight Princess with Link performing farm work by a country mile (no pun intended). What’s most impressive is that the stoic, bland Zelda character finally evokes a sense of wanting to protect and save her from the player.
However, the introduction is unfortunately the extent of Skyward Sword’s magnificence, as everything plunges downward similarly to how the capturing of Zelda ultimately sets signals the remaining duration of the game. Where do I begin in detailing the scrolling laundry list of issues I have with Skyward Sword? Well, I’ve already mentioned Skyloft, the society situated in the sky, for starters. The hometown of the teenaged iterations of Link and Zelda is a quaint, rustic village with fluffy, white clouds obscuring all other land masses potentially surrounding it. The unassuming folk of Skyloft operate their remote community modestly, living in single room wooden cottages around the interior perimeter with the bare essentials of home decor. The meager amount of energy this community collectively uses is powered via the windmills placed all over the isle, an ingenious source of inexhaustible energy considering their high altitude location. The windmills provide energy to a few notable buildings, namely the one-stop-shop Bazaar tent at Skyloft’s center and the Knight Academy dormitories at the isle’s northwestern peak. Overlooking the cascading lake basin off the eastern side opposite the tower in the plaza is the specially designated Isle of the Goddess, where the winged statue of the goddess Hylia casts a benevolent shadow over Skyloft’s denizens. The statue also acts as a giant effigy for the community as she’s a spiritual figure regarding Skyloft’s origin along with the rest of the outside world. One may interpret the aspects of Skyloft’s communal identity as being overly pristine to the point of suspecting something darker underneath (not referring to the friendly monster Batreaux residing under the floorboards of a stable) the suspended surface, but it really is as idyllic as it sounds. There is nothing inherently wrong with Skyloft in regards to its layout or atmosphere as I was charmed by its tranquil coziness. The problem lies in how the game uses Skyloft in the grand scheme of things as it exemplifies the closest definition of a hub in a Zelda game. Really, Skyloft isn’t too different from the lively areas from the previous games such as Windfall Island or any depiction of the Hyrule epicenter around Zelda’s castle. Still, those were notable destinations on the map that Link only routinely visited on his own volition for side quests past the few obligatory story situations. Having to revisit Skyloft to restock on Link’s various wares and resume the rhythm of the narrative interspersed between the dungeons feels like Link is constantly tethered to his humble beginnings. A substantial factor of the hero’s intrepid journey is leaving the nest, which the previous games conveyed wonderfully. Revisiting Kokiri Village or Grandma’s house on Outset Island once after completing a sizable portion of the game causes a sensation that washes over the player on how much Link has grown. Being forced to visit home again and again is a half-measure that dilutes that epic effect of adventuring.
The Skyloft hub isn’t an awkward nitpick of slight streamlining found in Skyward Sword: it’s indicative of how the entire game flattens the 3D Zelda design into a fucking crepe. Let’s extend my grievance of Skyloft one meter beyond to the fluffy, crystalized masses of condensation that pillow the floating commune. Ideally, the surrounding sky should act as the game’s vast, vacant open area like the Great Sea from Wind Waker. The blue sky up above is as seemingly immeasurable if not even more so than its watery parallel down below that divides the continents. That sense of wonder with any potential discovery in this sprawling space is arguably heightened by the fact that Link’s sight is heavily shrouded by the viscous, white liquid accumulations. Therefore, exuding that grandiose scope of adventure should be a breeze according to regulation. However, my disappointment is the immeasurable factor pertaining to Skyward Sword’s wide open range of boundless air because of how confined the skies truly are. Nintendo really emphasized the “limit” in “the sky’s the limit,” misinterpreting the age-old idiom and twisting the meaning of the expression. Any of the notable destinations situated outside of Skyloft like the Lumpy Pumpkin tavern and that island with the bamboo shoots (there are so few distinctive spots) still feel like they are in the windy civilization’s jurisdiction, short ventures off the mainland with the same direct curtness as going to a convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes. That kind of trip needs to be brief in order to curb the intense cravings immediately. In a game like Zelda with no routes to any addictive substances, that sensation of basking in the free-flowing excitement of an uncharted adventure felt in Wind Waker is practically gone. The context of immersion is the only instance in which I will forsake convenience in a video game. Also, why do the clouds look so sickly? The golden, popcorn-butter tint disgusts me enough to become inclined to lecture the yokels of Skyloft on emitting greenhouse gasses. At least Link’s Loftwing animal mate soars through this semi-toxic sky gracefully, retaining some assets from Epona while adding some surprisingly smooth motion control flying features.
To add another layer of irony to how restricted the sky is, Skyward Sword’s world expands exponentially once Link dives down to the surface world underneath the clouds. Besides volumizing the scant area of the world map, the surface world is especially intriguing from a narrative standpoint. You see, the humble people of Skyloft are a bit ignorant. No, this isn’t another stab at how they’ve polluted their air quality, but how they’ve put the surface world on a pedestal. The clouds around Skyloft are so thick that the surface world is but a mythical realm told in stories of legend around their campfires. Even with breeds of horse-sized birds at hand, no one has thought to use their innate soaring prowess to penetrate through the wispy divider because of some silly indoctrination passed down several generations. Link’s call to adventure gives him the golden opportunity to break through the forbidden barrier and become the first human resident of Skyloft to explore the surface world, Zelda withstanding on account of her captivity. The surface world is divided into three districts that vaguely resemble some notable geographical tropes from series past while connecting the areas to the future Hyrule by sharing the names of the kingdom’s provinces mapped out in Twilight Princess. Faron is still a deep forested realm, but with the atmospheric mysticism dialed back compared to Twilight Princess due to the sun’s rays not being filtered through the blanketing leaves of the many trees. Eldin is the site of an active volcano like the familiar Death Mountain, only with a streaming lava moat around its perimeter as an uninviting defensive measure as opposed to falling rocks. Lastly, the Lanayru desert fills the void of what will eventually become Gerudo, and there’s even a species of dragonfly here that references Hyrule’s arid valley of sand. Lanayru is also my favorite of the three areas because of its gimmick involving hitting a purple crystal to transform the barren quicksand pits into a fertile patch of grassland over a certain radius.
From the perspective of a Skyloft resident, I’m sure the terra firma of the surface world is jaw dropping beyond comprehension. As a seasoned Zelda veteran like myself, however, the surface world is relatively dull. While shifting the landscape of Lanayru is neat and all, this desert still displays the same prevalent design issue like its woodsy and molten borders, and it's that all of these areas are as boxed in as the sky above them. Considering how thematically polar all of these areas are, it’s not surprising that there is a significant layer of division between them unlike the districts of Hyrule. The sky's the mediator between these three areas as it is the only means of transport between any of them. Link will dive off his Loftwing and use his trusty sailcloth to negate the violent impact of his crude arrival’s velocity, and return to flying around Skyloft by requesting the option at one of the various bird statues. Never will Link find a method of transporting between the three realms more organically by foot or by any grounded vehicle. It’s the sky’s way or the highway. Because of the hub world acting as a transit station between each area, the surface world feels so disconnected. The traversal process feels no different than being transported via a magical painting hanging from Peach’s Castle in Super Mario 64, something that ruins the much-needed interconnectivity of a Zelda world. Funny enough, the color signifiers of each area seen from the sky are displayed like a scalene triangle, a sense of organization that would have some sense of cohesion. However, given how short the distance is between them in the prohibitive sky hub, it inadvertently makes the surface world seem pitifully small.
The singular areas themselves are designed like playgrounds. They each offer enough ground for Link to excavate, but the parameters are far too defined. Besides a way to establish boundaries between each area, this enclosed construction makes the consistent objective for each area feasible. However, it does not make them enjoyable. Before Link enters the area’s dungeon, he must undergo the “dowsing” process which involves using his sword as a radar to ascertain the location of a myriad of collectables. The initial scent trail to follow is Zelda’s, but who is the game trying to kid thinking rescuing her will be that quick and effortless. Utilizing the sword as a dowsing rod will be put to use to find five of the same objects located across the map that have some semblance of context with progressing through to the dungeon. Having to play a game of metal detecting with this feature is especially aggravating because in order to locate the objects, the player has to compromise the third-person view in favor of Link’s first-person perspective with a beeping glowing purple reticle at the center. Apparently, this process also requires rigorous concentration, which is why Link’s movement is reduced to a glacial tiptoe when seeing through this mode. The physical and narrative pacing during these sections is slower than molasses and having to perform these tasks before EVERY dungeon is maddening.
But who is the person/thing that mandates this grating tedium? I’m glad I finally reached my segway into discussing Fi, because she was and still is the primary source of my source of frustration with Skyward Sword. On the fateful night of Zelda’s capture, Fi beckons Link to follow her to the basement level of the Isle of the Goddess to uncover the Goddess Sword (the beta version of the Master Sword) and unsheathe it from the marble casing. The levitating arcane being that led Link to this location is the spiritual soul residing in the mythical sword, and she is obligated to aid the prodigal Link to victory against the universe's dark forces. The player is going to wish that Link settled for a knock-off forged by the local Skyloft blacksmith because pulling the sacred sword and receiving Fi as an auxiliary prize feels like a curse. Fi’s idea of assisting Link is to mollycoddle him like an overbearing parent. Her constant interruptions just to play the role of Captain Obvious in every situation are an insulting slight to every player’s intelligence and shows she has zero sense of self-awareness. But how could Fi conceivably be cognizant about how useless and annoying she is given her state of existence? She’s essentially a glorified AI Nintendo implemented to facilitate the new crop of gamers that the Wii garnered with its unparalleled accessibility. She’s C-3PO if the effete, metallic know-it-all was dipped in cotton candy wax, swallowed a vocoder, and wore a cloak and fishnet stockings combo to signify the gender swap. Half of Fi’s input is telling Link her approximate percentage odds on any given scenario. Need I point out the obvious reference? Unlike Han Solo who will tell C-3P0 to shut his fucking mouth unit, Link will be forced to comply with paragraphs of text that moves along like black sludge without any objection. Fi skating on the air when Link reaches his goal at the end of a dungeon attempts to make her more personable via acts of gaiety, but the scene is uncomfortably uncanny like a holographic dead celebrity in a commercial. I want to pull a Tonya Harding and bust up her knees to make it stop. If the Fi-possessed Goddess Sword is the unevolved version of the mighty Master Sword, then the significant improvement is simply made by performing an exorcism to permanently rid the blade of its condescending spirit. Nintendo somehow managed to craft a partner character worse than the infamous Navi, and I use the word “character” tentatively when describing Fi.
Another aspect of Skyward Sword that practically shares an equal billing of vexing incompetence with Fi are the controls. We initially weren’t afraid of contesting with the radical peripheral of motion controls because Twilight Princess made them work with relative simplicity when the Wii console launched. However, one could still argue that Twilight Princess was initially designed as the Gamecube’s swansong and the motion controls for the Wii version were tacked on. Skyward Sword is the only mainline Zelda title exclusive to the Wii with the motion controls in mind. Sometime in the middle of the Wii’s lifespan, Nintendo decided to amplify the Wii’s true motion control capabilities by introducing the Wii Motion Plus appendage wedged between the Wiimote and the nunchuck. Now, the kinetic involvement in using the motion controls would feel eerily closer to reality, or at least that was the ideal result. While the additional fluidity of the add-on sounds fun in practice, Nintendo did not consider that a game like Zelda involves a deeper, more complex gameplay schema than the party sports showcase Wii Sports Resort and the hack-n-slash sequel Red Steel 2. When the extensive range of motion is mixed in with analog control and a use for each button on the controller, the multifaceted amalgamation can make the general controls awkward, to say the least. Link’s unsheathed sword stance sees him pointing it outward like an amateur fencer, making me worry that one clumsy trip will cause him to get impaled. Of course, Link can’t throw too much caution to the wind when moving because he now has to contend with a new stamina gauge which is both colored and shaped like a lime. It depletes quickly when Link is sprinting or executing the roll move (making the player use it sparingly now), but it also accounts for advanced sword skills like the diagonal and horizontal spin dash. I guess Link’s stamina was a new consideration to aid in the kinetic immersion of the enhanced motion controls but besides a few neat puzzles, I’m not certain the implementation was entirely necessary.
Putting Link’s energy into better consideration will be tested on the field with the familiar range of enemies like the flying Keese and the gelatinous Chuchus. The common Zelda enemies that the game overloads on Link are the Moblins/Bokoblins. The ugly, mangy swine shaped in Ganon’s image are the most humanoid of Hyrule’s storied bestiary, which means they are the prime candidate for testing the player’s dexterity with the Wii Motion Plus controls by blocking Link’s sword swipes with rough-hewn cutlery. Their defensive maneuvers are surprisingly responsive and their numbers can get overwhelming when one with a horn calls in the cavalry to deal with Link intruding on their territory. The Lizalfos enemies also appear to challenge the controls even further with greater agility and sturdier defense, but much less frequently as they are endemic to the Eldin region. For the most part, the combat controls with standard enemy encounters are tolerable. The controls become an unyielding chore regarding the forward stab maneuver outside of the four cardinal directions. Executing this move always seems like a stroke of luck and in instances with the totem pole laser and the scorpion boss battle, the player can be punished unfairly if the controls decide to waver. Overall, the level of player involvement does somewhat fulfill my wish for 3D Zelda’s combat to engage the player with substantial difficulty. Still, with the context of Skyward Sword’s motion controls, it’s like being grateful that my brisk morning walks are more strenuous now that I’ve contracted polio.
One aspect that gels well with the motion controls are the bevy of new gadgets at Link’s disposal. The item lineup in Skyward Sword dials back on the audacious factor that made the ones from Twilight Princess so entertaining, but more than compensates for their more frequent usage and utility. The Beetle is a mechanical drone in the shape of the insect of its namesake, fluttering around like a remote control biplane to navigate through tight, out-of-reach crevices and drop bomb plants on rocks and enemies from up above. The Gust Bellows blasts away hefty mounds of sand that have accumulated from Lanayru’s fallow decades while the whip allows Link to latch onto switches from a distance and snatch trinkets from enemies. Bombs have been integral items since the dawn of the series, but Skyward Sword marks the first time where Link can roll them like explosive bowling balls. All of these nifty tools were significant proponents to making the first three dungeons as engaging as they were. I thoroughly enjoyed cutting down spider webs with the Beetle in the Skyview Temple, rolling bombs down chutes to blow up the sea lava monkeys in the Earth Temple, and rotating pulleys on platforms in the Lanayru Mining Facility with the Gust Bellows. They all elevated dungeons that would quite frankly be far less memorable without them. Each of these items can also be upgraded at the blacksmith’s bench in the Skyloft Bazaar using the various materials that enemies leave behind, building on their range of utility even further.
The second half of Skyward Sword is signaled similarly to its 3D Zelda predecessors. Once the first quest of piecing together three essential artifacts is complete, another version of the previous arc is presented with a whole new slew of dungeons to excavate. The narrative context that discerns Skyward Sword from the others is that the latter arc is spurred by the need for Link to enhance the Goddess Sword. The “skyward sword” alluded to in the title does not refer to the relative elevation of the sword’s burial site, nor is it a phallic innuendo. Link’s most strapping skill with this sword is the Skyward Strike, achieved by pointing the Wiimote upward and holding it to charge solar or holy energy to release it as a ranged vertical slice. This move functioned well when it came to activating the winged triforce icons, but its tepid burst is indicative of its vestigial state of weakness that Link must enhance to crack open a time gate where Zelda is taking refuge. Summoning the sacred flames also involves the harmonious strumming of a divine harp, this game’s instrument that can be played with the Wiimote, and the plans are conducted out of another temple in the (not so) far off reaches of the cloudy domain of Thunderhead. So far, Skyward Sword does enough to deviate from the tried and true Zelda quest line by altering the context a bit.
The dungeons featured in the second half of Skyward Sword are the most exemplary sections in the game. Behind the glistening waterfall at the edge of the river in Faron Woods lies the Ancient Cistern, a sanctified temple illuminated in the divine, bright light of the Gods. This Hindu-esque holy garden with blooming lotus flowers and lily pads resting on the surface of its majestic pool of water at its center is a stunningly gorgeous scene, the exemplary case of the game’s impressionistic visuals finally flourishing. Before one gets the impression that Link has been raptured away to the promised land, the heaven depicted here has no Earth as a median point to prevent Hell from being its conjunctive neighbor. The Ancient Cistern’s basement is a contrasting underworld cave with a moody blue stillness, coagulated streams of blood, and hordes of condemned, Bokoblin zombies. The basement section of the cistern doesn’t exactly compete with the same level of visual splendor as its opposite side, but the contrast is still conveyed effectively. Using a boat in Lanayru with a time-crystal attached, Link and one of the native plucky robots set sail on the once-bountiful sea, manipulating the effects of the purple gem to emulate its former prosperity. A cloaked pirate vessel simply referred to as the “Sandship” has taken the crew of the Lanayru robot with the sea captain’s hat hostage, and Link must rescue the lot of them while attempting to uncover the next sacred flame somewhere on board. Not only is a pirate ship a unique and exciting setting for a Zelda dungeon, but the motif of working in tandem with the unfruitful present and cultivated past of the area makes for some wickedly clever puzzles here. Shish Kebabing thorny water plants to make for magma platforms and clawing at the backsides of humongous centipedes in the Fire Sanctuary is also cool, I guess. I’d place the former two dungeons side by side with some of the series finest, along with the fight against the golden Shiva golem Koloktos at the climax of the Ancient Cistern. Tearing him limb from limb with the whip and brutally breaking open his core with his own giant scimitar sword feels incredibly cathartic. Unfortunately, the kraken Sandship boss Tentalus is not worthy of its ostentatious “Abyssal-Leviathan” title. It looks like a goofy Monsters Inc. extra with a weak spot so conspicuous that even Fi never bothered to point it out.
The caveat to experiencing Skyward Sword’s best sections is that Link will have to endure a smattering of busy work on the way up to them. I could’ve started discussing the game’s pension for padding during the passage on the dowsing fetch quests, but stalling between the meat of the game persists to an especially egregious degree in the second half. I’m not referring to collecting the Sacred Tears across each area as I enjoy the more contained and gamified version of what was presented in Twilight Princess with genuinely harrowing stakes. What I don’t approve of is the portions that occur between the Sacred Tears scavenger hunt and entering a dungeon, minus the thrilling minecart rollercoaster segments in Lanayru. Skyward Sword is already pushing the revisitation of these areas for a second time, so you can imagine that blowing through the first dungeon again is skating on thin ice with my patience. Escorting a particularly arrogant Lanayru robot through the fiery cliffs of Eldin to douse the flames around Fire Sanctuary wasn’t exactly a highlight either. To make the vein on my head pulsate even more with the growing irritation, the final quest to collect the three pieces of the Triforce is the epitome of inanity. What herculean objectives must be met to collect such consecrated pieces of Zelda lore? Swimming for music notes in a flooded Faron, another handicapped stealth mission in Eldin, and growing a peach from a tree that grows in Lanayru. By this point, one could get the impression that the game is fucking with them with all this repetition. On top of all of that, Link must attend to repressing The Imprisoned in the Sealed Grounds every so often. The scaly, nightmarish monster with a throng of razor-sharp teeth shakes his rooted encumbrance to wreak havoc on the Sealed Grounds as chronically as a bad case of gonorrhea, and Link must send him back to a state of concealment THREE times throughout the game. Was all of this content necessary? The extensive padding just bloats an already lengthy game to the point where my sanity is bound to burst.
Link also fights Skyward Sword’s main antagonist three times, but the narrative staves off from exhausting his encounters. The surprising part about this pervasive villain is that it isn’t Ganondorf. Sure, a flame-haired prototype of Ganondorf named Demise is the looming threat over Skyloft and the epic final boss of the game. Still, the technical definition of an antagonist is the strongest counteractive force against the protagonist, and this description more appropriately fits Demises apprentice Ghirahim. This androgynous, thin white duke of evil initially acts as the first roadblock as his fight will demand a reasonable level of proficiency with the motion controls. His second fight in the Fire Sanctuary will act as another checkup, and the third fight before the final boss is the penultimate culmination of motion controlled prowess. While his fights verge on being unfair because the controls are inherently finicky, I still appreciated Ghirahim as a character. It’s refreshing for a Zelda game to feature a villain that is a constant physical impediment to progress rather than the dark omnipresence of Ganondorf until Link faces him at the very end. That, and Ghirahim’s devilish charm adds a charismatic layer to his sadism as he waves his snake-like tongue around Link’s ear and threatens to torture him so ruthlessly that “he’ll grow deaf from the sounds of his own shrieks of pain.” A genuinely bone-chilling threat if there ever was one. One highlight moment with Ghirahim is his untimely end when Demise uses his puppet one last time to forcefully extract the weapon inside him. Even though his master has murdered him after the lengths he went through to resurrect him, he still accepts his fate with psychotic glee. The man is fucking daffy.
Discussing Ghirahim’s strengths as a villain reminds me of the compliments I gave Skyward Sword at the beginning. I realize that Skyward Sword’s true substance lies in all of its characters, their interactions with one another, and the growth that occurs by the end of their adventure. Zelda is no longer the rosy-cheeked little girl she once was after braving the dire implications of her eminent destiny. She’s matured greatly through this whole ordeal, and the player can determine this even without the weighty logs of exposition she delivers. Impa, Zelda’s Sheikah protector from Ocarina of Time, returns in two forms of time, with her elderly form assisting Link in the present and her younger form for Zelda in the past. When she disintegrates from old age at the end, the moment is profoundly bittersweet because of the time in which Link got to interact with her. Really, the outstanding case of character growth in Skyward Sword may come as a shock to the uninitiated, and that is regarding Groose. At the middle mark of the game, this school bully stereotype (complete with his own two little cronies too) learns that he’s not the center of the universe. I mean this quite literally as the wizened soothsayer Impa states matter-of-factly that Groose is not destined to save Zelda like Link. This revelation that his hopes with Zelda are fruitless causes a moment of clarity to occur. With his biggest insecurity reaching a point of closure, he gets over himself and starts making himself useful as a supporting character to the cause. By the end, this meathead douchebag with a stupid hairdo actually became a loveable big lug of a guy who became Link’s friend. Has the franchise ever reached a positive character arc of this magnitude before? Impeccably, this is a first.
Well, Ocarina of Time: I hope you’re happy. How can you still flaunt your impact with a sense of pride when Skyward Sword is a product of your legacy? While Wind Waker and Twilight Princess both came with minor deterrents, I still defended them as worthy successors to Ocarina of Time with great fervor. Now, because of Skyward Sword, I am marching alongside my dismayed Zelda fan brethren waving a picket sign that says, “NOT MY ZELDA” in bold red letters. I suppose a 3D Zelda title that is a slave to its design philosophy was bubbling up on the surface for quite a while, and Skyward Sword was the boiling point. Skyward Sword is rife with uninteresting filler content, a shoddy use of the motion control scheme, and overstays the welcome of all of its areas. It has a partner character as grating as Navi, gameplay more repetitive than Majora’s Mask, a Triforce quest as insufferable as Wind Waker, and has a more sluggish sense of pacing than Twilight Princess. Skyward Sword is a wake-up call that what Ocarina of Time established for the series has finally run its course. I’m glad I played it again after all these years as its positive aspects started blossoming in my mind. Yet, Skyward Sword possesses too many objective flaws to forgive and gloss over.
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