(Originally published to Glitchwave on 9/29/2023)
[Image from wikipedia.org]
Okami
Developer: Clover Studios
Publisher: Capcom
Genre(s): Action-Adventure
Platforms: PS2
Release Date: April 20, 2006
By definition, Okami is the epitome of a cult classic video game. It shares this distinction with the likes of EarthBound, Killer7, and every game that Tim Schaffer has ever stamped his name onto. With the examples I’ve given, Okami is at least in good company. Still, Okami sticks out like a sore thumb among these underappreciated gems. To put it bluntly, these games are weird. Despite their exceptional quality, one would not be surprised that their content would alienate the broad gaming demographic and condemn them to a lifetime of cult stardom. Okami is the beautiful, blonde Cleopatra from Freaks being initiated into the club of misfits with the “gooble gobble” ceremonial table banging while everyone can plainly see that she shares no kinship with this marginalized group. I realize that I’m inadvertently being harsh to the bonafide cult classics of gaming and that Okami is described as a cult hit for a clear reason, but Okami sharing the space with all of these eccentric oddities is like sending a man to a maximum-security prison for twenty years among the filthiest scum of society for the crime of mail fraud. What I’m trying to illustrate here is that Okami is such an exceptional title that it transcends that niche cult appeal that inherently restricts the other ones from gaming prime time, which makes the fact that no one paid it any attention at its release all the more tragic. Some attributed Okami’s financial failure to the fact that the game was “too Japanese,” creating an uncomfortable culture shock for young Western audiences. Firstly, they underestimate how enraptured a widespread percentage of young people in the West are with Japanese culture of all kinds, and this is because it is so detached from their waspy American upbringing. Secondly, all of the longstanding titans of the video game world feature at least a pinch of Japanese culture and folklore in the fabric of their foundations (Mario, Zelda, Pokemon, etc.) Surely an unabashed homage to the developer’s collective heritage wouldn’t prove to be too disagreeable for the designated gaming demographic, no? Not only is Okami not off-putting in the slightest, but the game is innovative, immersive, charming, and arguably outclasses many of the 3D Zelda titles that it takes heavy inspiration from.
Given that Okami is an interactive Japanese folktale, the expositional method of introducing the game is displayed as a storied campfire legend, presented with that papery storybook tone portrayed with still images. A hundred years prior to the events of Okami, an evil eight-headed serpent named Orochi cast an oppressive shadow over the cozy little village of Kamiki. From the human sacrifices to the rumors of turning people into stone with just its gaze, Orochi’s presence rendered the poor village folk of Kamiki in a catatonic state of fear. One valiant warrior named Nagi dares to challenge the beastly tyrant when one of Orochi’s sacrificial arrows strikes the home of his love interest Nami, and the duel that ensues sees Nagi’s blade struggling to even make a dent in Orochi’s hardwearing scales. That is, until the mystical white wolf Shiranui barges in to save the exhausted Nagi. By summoning the moon with a thunderous howl, the luminescent power of the celestial body grants Nagi’s blade a gleaming vigor powerful enough to decapitate all eight heads of the foul dragon. To ensure the longevity of the time of peace after Orochi’s defeat, its spirit is immured in Nagi’s blade situated in the ground of the Moon Cave arena where the legendary battle took place. A century later, some prankster unsheathes the sword from its earthly casing and Orochi is once again unleashed onto the world to usher in a new era of darkness. Fortunately, one beacon of hope is that the wolf who aided in vanquishing Orochi in the past also shakes its dirt casing slumber and awakens to nip the new regime of the sinister hydra in the bud. A hundred years may not seem like a long duration of time for this epic tale to be canonized in the archives of ancient legend, but Okami is set in the classical period of Japan when all of the stories of yore were still being written. A century between the origin story and its follow-up is but a hiatus in the ongoing legend.
I could describe Okami’s visuals as gorgeous and breathtaking and call it a day, but even attributing those glowing descriptive words to the game wouldn’t be doing it justice. Instead, I am going to illustrate the true extent of Okami’s radiant presentation. Have you ever been out on the town and unexpectedly caught a glimpse of the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your entire life? (or man. Sorry if this analogy isn’t all that LGBT+ inclusive) Suddenly, anything else occupying the cognitive drip feed in your brain is blown to the wayside and you find yourself in a dumbfounded daze. Your mind short circuits, your face is beet red, your heart is running a marathon, and your stomach is being throttled by butterflies the size of bricks. Choruses of a string quartet reverberate from no origin point, and a mist of red, white, and indigo colors illuminate the elated, palpable mood. You can’t help but want to stare, but you know that any prolonged visual contact with this woman is as dicey as looking at the sun. Any real human contact with this woman is ill-advised because the Broca’s area of the brain responsible for human speech and articulation will be clouded in an obscuring torrent of static, resulting in a stream of manic gibberish. Or, the newfound passionate fire burning will conjure up the ability to speak French, serenading her with the language of love, albeit haphazardly like Pepe Le Pew. The marvelous aspect about Okami is that it is a video game and not a human woman with thoughts and feelings, so the player is free to ravish its awe-striking aesthetic with hearts in their eyes and their tongues rolled out on the floor. I make no hyperbolic claims when I say that EVERY visual aspect of Okami’s ink-washed world is as stunning as the next. Even the demonic underlings and their murky territories that should be ugly by all logic still managed to steal my breath away. Okami is a dime piece, the it-girl; not just eye-candy, but the inside of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Okami isn’t a beautiful game, it’s THE beautiful game. It’s Scarlett Johansson if she were rendered in Japanese watercolors and wood carving art. Okami makes fellow cel-shaded marvel and possible artistic inspiration The Wind Waker look flat and depleted in comparison.
The world that the cel-shaded watercolors are vividly constructing is the nation of Nippon, otherwise known as Japan during the “classical” era of its history. As one can expect from a game set before the advent of the printing press, the chain of islands off the Pacific coast of Asia is still unadulterated by technological proliferation. This pre-industrial island nation is a naturalistic wonderland, an immaculate environment with only the organic essentials that comprise a landscape. Blooming cherry blossom trees are aligned in unison along the cliff sides, with the brisk wind gently blowing off the pink petals with such grace and coordination that it's like a visual symphony. Hillsides are drenched in the towering downpour of roaring waterfalls, whose running stream continues to rapidly flow in the intersecting river channels. The grass gleans the color green as strikingly as the fields of Ireland, surrounded by a bouquet of pleasant flowers. Any man-made architecture interspersed around the area fulfills the simplest fundamentals of human civilization, from stone towers to the single-room, bamboo huts located in the villages. At least, this is the general aesthetic of the starting district of Eastern Nippon where herbage is abundant. The Western area of Nippon features slightly less vegetation and instead is geographically defined by beachy cliff sides overlooking the ocean and the capital city of Sei’an hosting a grid of more resplendent pavilions fitting for the aristocratic political representatives that reside there. All of the greenery that the horizontal halves of Nippon share is totally deviated from in the blustering snow of Kanui, mirroring the mountainous northern island of Hokkaido. Whether or not the player is treading through the tall grass of the mainland or climbing the wintry peaks of Kanui, any kind of topography on display in Okami is the epitome of the word picturesque. I’d also like to point out that even though the game is relatively restrained by the historical accuracy of a light period piece and cannot include too many outlandish points of interest on the map, Okami’s various hubs are richer and more engaging than Hyrule Field or its branching paths. All Ocarina of Time needed was more elevation and maybe a running brook or two.
At least, these districts of ancient Japan should ideally epitomize the word picturesque under normal circumstances. Because the errant evil of Orochi and his wicked ilk are now mucking about once again, a pernicious haze has cursed every region of Nippon into a gloomy depression. Fear not: for it is the divine mission of Okami’s protagonist to alleviate the noxious presence of the aura and restore balance. Okami’s benevolent savior is Amaterasu, the sun god from Japanese mythology. George Carlin once expressed that his choice of religious deity was the sun, for he could easily prove that the insurmountable star actually existed and that it provided tangible sustenance to humans and the Earth they exist on as opposed to the other supreme beings worshiped in organized religions (although he prayed to Joe Pesci to “get shit done”). I think the developers conveyed the same sentiment here, personifying the gargantuan mass of fire as a magnanimous heroic figure. Amaterasu is the “origin of all that is good and mother to us all,” a common tagline uttered about her that implies that the sun is the true benefactor of the universe. She feeds the animals and clothes the trees with leaves: she’s Mother Teresa with a silky coat of white fur. It was also Clover Studio’s creative decision to depict Amaterasu as a white wolf, for reasons I will delve into in the future. For now, let’s focus on how playing as a four-footed lupus is compared to a bipedal human. Controlling Amaterasu is just as fluid and graceful as the most nimble of video game protagonists, possessing a few distinctive quirks. Unlike Link who can only hop onto a platform or an edge when he reaches the absolute tip of it, the developers have granted Amaterasu the ability to jump manually with one press of a button and stick to the walls for a one-time course correction. Her innate attack is a headbutt, mostly used to break open chests and disturb the peaceful snoozing of various NPCs. While traversing the fields, Amaterasu’s speed accelerates twice if her run isn’t interrupted, either creating a streak of grass and flowers behind her or her swift speed brushing through them to the point of seeing them more clearly. Amaterasu’s movement and physical characterization is surprisingly dynamic in a gaming climate more accustomed to characters balancing themselves with only two feet.
But Amaterasu’s innate movements are not the focal point of discussion concerning her control scheme. The astonishingly unique mechanic in Okami is the use of the Celestial Paintbrush, a godly tool modeled after Amaterasu’s bushy tail dipped in black ink. The paintbrush can be used at any time as long as there is a splash of ink in the tank, holding down the R1 button and skidding the still screen with black paint strokes whenever the square button is also held down. The player can technically imprint any black indentation if it’s a simple scribing and not an illustrious canvas, for the ink supply is not infinite. Plus, the developers rightfully chose to keep this mechanic simple for the actual practicalities of the paintbrush outside of spontaneous artistic expression (except for the one time where the player gets to draw the design for a mask). Another overarching mission parallel to Amaterasu’s goal of revitalizing Nippon is reclaiming all thirteen of the celestial brush techniques learned from the brush gods: deiform creatures that represent a different animal in the Japanese zodiac with the same pale white skin and red tattooed markings as Amaterasu. With these varied techniques, Amaterasu can fully extend her transcendent influence upon all that constitutes the universe. Manipulating the elements of water, fire, electricity, and ice all involve drawing a defined line between the elemental source and what needs to be impacted, usually something contrasting. Changing the way of the wind requires directional coordination with a loop to violently blow gusts of blustering air. Amaterasu’s kryptonite is understandably water, so drawing a circle over any body of water will create lilypad platforms to prevent her health from dwindling from water exposure via swimming. A simple circle/oval around any plant life will make any pitiful and dour, leafless tree or four-leaf clover flourish with bright allure. Adding a stem to that circle creates a cherry bomb that uncovers cracked crevices, and a simple slash will sever. Painting a sun or a crescent moon in the sky will revert the current time of day like the “Sun’s Song” tune from Ocarina of Time. While we’re on the subject, Amaterasu’s mystical apparatus is far more convenient and accessible than Link’s musical instrument which similarly sways the world around him with another artistic medium. Sure, what I can execute with the brush is comparatively limited, but memorizing the various techniques with their elementary etchings and constant usage makes me feel more capable and adept than pressing pause to recite a composite tune only used once or twice. I did, however, become rather cross whenever the game decided my brush strokes didn’t match the intended technique pattern. I’m no Claude Monet, but I thought art was supposed to be subjective! It’s the intent that matters!
A number of the Celestial Brush techniques can also be used while fighting enemies. Okami orchestrates combat like a JRPG would. In the close vicinity of a hovering scroll that emanates an eerie glow, the screen will enclose Amaterasu and create a bounded, annular arena where grunts will be summoned to ambush the white wolf. Okami’s common enemies from the underworld are a more eclectic bunch of demons and imps than the legions of hell from Doom. At first, the mischievous breeds of imps will taunt Amaterasu by slapping their asses at her. Then, the armies will increase their numbers with long-nosed Tengu Demons, ogres, foul avian spirits, elemental wheels with detached sensory body parts as hood ornaments, etc. The potential of what the paintbrush can provide during the skirmishes with these hellion trolls mostly results in liberally using the slash move and planting a cherry bomb at arm’s length to create a devastating impact. Luckily, Amaterasu’s other means of offense are not restricted to butting enemies with her skull. The arcane disc that she carries on her back is not a glowing saddle, but the primary melee weapon used to dispatch the horrid beasts. The “divine instruments” are classified into three distinct categories. Amaterasu’s base instrument which seems to be the only one rendered in the cutscenes is a reflector, which deals a modest amount of damage while also countering damage that the enemies dish out. Rosaries are a chain of sacred beads that are best used at long range, dealing rapid fire short bursts of damage. Lastly, glaives are heavy blades whose attacks can be charged up to really blow chunks out of the demon’s health bars. The player isn’t persuaded to stick with one instrument type to hone their specific properties, for certain enemies are slayed more efficiently with one type of instrument compared to others. With all of the holy devices at hand, the power of the sun will compel these demonic fiends and exorcize them back into the spiritual ether.
Then again, even if Amaterasu is having some complications with eradicating these foes with one instrument, it is unlikely that failure will be an imminent consequence. The one glaringly negative aspect of Okami that is subject to prevalent criticism is that the game is ridiculously easy. 3D Zelda games don’t exactly provide the apex of a video game challenge, but Okami’s general difficulty is brisker than an autumnal breeze in the New England countryside. The imps and demons are not as fierce as their hellish denominations would suggest, with their attack damage equating to a measly little papercut. Amaterasu is more likely to dwindle her health orbs while swimming than she is grappling with these unwashed ghouls. About one-fourth of the way through the game, I noticed that the tiny sliver of health I had lost due to a few honest mistakes in battle hadn’t replenished after it was over, so I figured that every battered bruise was accumulative. This theory was dead and buried once I looked through my inventory and found three types of “holy bone” health restoration items that I unknowingly had in bulk. Soon after, I realized that simply walking up to the luminescent save points automatically restored Amaterasu’s health entirely. I died a whopping total of ZERO times throughout my blind playthrough of Okami, which would be an astounding accomplishment in any other video game. Here, it’s indicative of the game lacking a substantial challenge. The game does grade Amaterasu’s performance in battle with a series of blooming trees, with the pink cherry blossom trees signifying the maximum proficiency in terms of time and damage received. Still, sweating the effort to fulfill the game’s highest standards is not a herculean hurdle as it will likely happen across 70% of random enemy encounters. The paltry reward of extra yen for your troubles is a fittingly lukewarm compensation. The only excuse I can salvage to redeem Okami in this regard is that the patron saint of the sun, Amaterasu, should never befall the embarrassing fate of being trounced by hell’s little henchmen, for that would illustrate an illogical imbalance of power.
As arguable as it is for 3D Zelda, Okami’s strengths pertain more to the puzzle-solving aspects. Puzzle-oriented obstacles are littered all over the game’s central progression route at practically every waking moment. Sure, none of the puzzles in Okami will cause the player to experience an oncoming brain hemorrhage in their attempts to solve them but considering how effortless the combat can be, it’s refreshing to approach another facet of Okami’s gameplay with at least a modicum of honest consideration. A large sum of the puzzles will involve the brush techniques, so the player will become more than accustomed to each one’s special properties to the point of mastery. The one exception is the bullshit Blockhead puzzles whose pinpoint accuracy and randomized patterns must sincerely expect that the player has a camera lodged in their eye socket but fortunately, these outliers are few and far between. The potential of the brush techniques also flourishes with minigames that will pop up occasionally as alternative ways to spur progression. Okami will cast a line with the brush to aid a series of hapless fishermen reeling in some aquatic whoppers in a fishing minigame far less tedious and dull than any time Zelda implemented something like this. Catching a thief in the urban streets of Sei-an always requires sharp reflexes like Amaterasu is in a duel, and the “water lily taxi” features a fine collaboration with both the lily pad and whirlwind techniques. The digging minigame is an underground escort mission where Amaterasu paves a traversable path for a seeing-impaired human (it must be pitch black under the ground) which involves swift reaction times with a myriad of brush techniques to blow away the blocky nuggets of Earth from beneath the surface. The trial and error type of difficulty curve with this minigame is probably the sole example of a sizable strain I experienced while playing Okami.
I suppose Okami has “dungeons” in the same way that Zelda does, but the game approaches these enclosed, labyrinthian mazes a bit differently. Because dungeons are an essential ingredient to an exceptional Zelda adventure, they all take high precedence in the comprehensive arc of the story. Completing any dungeon in a Zelda game will always reward the player with some sort of dazzling Macguffin that is imperative to unlocking more of the plot. The climactic climb of a dungeon will always elicit a proud sense of accomplishment because earning the MacGuffin is an essential point of progression. In Okami, excavating through the structures outside of the Nippon hub is relatively anticlimactic. They are structured similarly with locked doors and multiple floors, but the context behind the need to survey the grounds isn’t always an elevated task. The first dungeon in the depths of the Agata Forest is to find a boy’s lost pet, a piece of an ongoing quest to reunite the dog with the eight other members of his canine squadron. The Water Dragon’s insides involve plucking the fox rods from its fleshy ligaments, a shorter yet more sumptuous version of Jabu Jabu’s belly where the stomach acid is as boldly red as a hearty Shiraz wine. Some dungeons are but fleeting treks that are over as soon as they begin, and some abstain from culminating in fighting a boss to conclude it. Disappointment struck me at first because the elaborate Zelda dungeons are what I yearn for, and these samplers weren’t quite fulfilling my expectations. However, I came to appreciate that this direction gave Okami’s overall progression a smoother ebb and flow. Zelda’s primary points of interest are the dungeons, so any lull in the overworld makes the progression graph resemble a wonky mountain range. In Okami, all story points share a relatively equal standing.
The most surprising facet of Okami that caught me off guard is how humorous it is. One would assume from the elegant, artful aesthetic and old-world atmosphere that Okami would conduct itself with the utmost graceful decorum like a regal princess. It turns out that this royal lady has a layer of immaturity and cackles loudly at fart jokes, or so to speak. In a game where a humble, pristine setting is liable to be swallowed into the looming black abyss at any given moment, Okami’s lighthearted charm stems from its constant streak of levity. As spellbinding as the tale of Nagi defeating Orochi a century ago is in the introduction, the result of passing it down from generation to generation has twisted the triumphant epic into an apocryphal mess. Somewhere along the line, a factor of Orochi’s defeat was rumored to be attributed to the heavy consumption of a golden brand of sake brewed in the meek hamlet of Kamiki. Now that Orochi is rearing its eight ugly heads over the village once again, the modern Kimiki mixologist, Kushi, is brewing up a new batch of sake to sedate the beast with drunken impairment once again. Fellow supporting characters in Okami also tend to flaunt their comical traits. Nagi’s descendant Susano resides in present-day Kamiki touting himself as the greatest warrior alive due to his prestigious lineage. The reality of his status is that he’s a lazy, balding buffoon with a beer (sake?) gut who is seen sleeping around like a hibernating bear during daylight hours. When he’s awake, he clumsily stumbles over himself at every step he takes, and Amaterasu must use the imperceptible power of the Celestial Brush to assist every valiant action of Susano and protect his inflated ego by proxy. Disguised by a makeshift mask with a crude emblem drawn on it, Amaterasu gets to learn about the intricacies of the opposing operation in the Moon Cave and learns that the Imps are nothing but a bunch of excitable spastics who are just as afraid of Orochi, if not even more, as the denizens of Kamiki. I laughed out loud when the chubby bullying victim Urashima was yeeted across the beach by The Orca fish that he was accused of lying about, receiving the most severe lashing from the thing that would’ve saved his dignity in an ironic twist of fate. Think that the majestic, heavenly Amaterasu is immune to all of the silliness? Well, the player can purchase a move at one of the dojos called “Golden Fury” where Okami lifts up her legs and urinates on enemies. Do I really have to elucidate on the similar “Brown Rage” move and what orifice she uses to execute the move? The wacky tone may seem disorienting for the grand spectacle that Okami conveys, but the many moments of mirth are quite refreshing and self-aware. Okami is an interactive fairy tale, and the content in these fictional chronicles admittedly tends to be outlandish as is.
All of the moments and interactions that I’ve mentioned are interspersed throughout the whole game, but I did mention that Okami’s lightheartedness was a constant. Amaterasu is a protagonist who dabbles in upbeat instances with her jovial, doglike expressions, but her lupine form that is confined to barking and howling sort of inhibits a fully comedic personability. The character in Okami that makes levity leak like a sieve is Amaterasu’s right-hand man Issun: her envoy on her heroic quest and the mouthpiece for the communicatively subdued Amaterasu. This nanosized shrimp is essentially the Okami equivalent of one of Link’s partner characters from the 3D Zelda titles, which might reignite a feeling of panic as severe as an acid flashback for many players. Don’t write off Issun just yet, for he is not a headache-inducing nightmare like Navi. Or, at least that’s my perspective because Issun seems to be a contentious character even for those who adore this game. I gather that what makes people tend to dislike Issun is that the hopping bug has a sexual appetite that would make Tommy Lee seem gay, along with a sleazy manner of pronouncing his lasciviousness. He first appeared out of the cleavage of a maiden’s dress and hasn’t really refocused his mind on more enterprising priorities since. He simply cannot refrain from commenting on the buxom bosom of Ms. Rao and not-so-subtly squeezing out innuendos about her bust in casual conversation while bouncing in unison with their gravitational rhythm. I’ve been a Daxter apologist all my life, so I’m quite attuned to randy, pygmy sidekicks who stick to the hero’s shoulders like a hardened booger. I’ll make the same defense for Issun because he’s my favorite character in Okami. His forthright, borderline belligerent responses to the NPCs are always hilariously candid, and always keep the game from sinking into the overwrought soberness of a story with this kind of grand spectacle. Despite his crassness, Issun still carries a strong moral center and is actually a respectable artist who is dedicated to his craft. In the end, when Amaterasu, or “furball” as Issun so flippantly refers to her, must part ways, I felt a sentimental detachment from the hopping little bug. Issun does, however, tend to habitually give unsolicited advice in several situations, and his nagging during a particularly difficult blockhead puzzle made me want to squish him like a grape.
Okami’s story has what I like to refer to as a “Star Wars Original Trilogy arc,” a grand epic divided into thirds whose individual parts can function on their own detached merits separately, but still have a particular narrative tone and placement in the overarching story like the iconic space opera film trilogy. The reason why the first Star Wars feels finalized despite its role as the first in the trilogy is because George Lucas hadn’t anticipated making any sequels. Okami’s first third is to save Kamiki Village from the wrathful omniscience of Orochi, the scenario set up to be the central conflict for the duration of the game. After drinking himself stupid, Orochi is defeated by the efforts of Amaterasu and the bumbling oaf Susano to conclude his dauntless hero arc, with the revelation that he was the one who pulled the Tsukyomi sword in the first place. If the game ended here as the narrative had implied, the game would’ve been unsatisfyingly brief, but capping off the game with the situation that introduced it still would’ve proven to function as a complete narrative package. To my delight, the adventure was far from over.
“The Empire Strikes Back” is situated over yonder in the urban western Nippon where the capital, Sei’an City, is facing a miasma of mist and the hostile rage of the Water Dragon, creating a serious famine and a total plummet in morale. What draws comparisons to the darker sophomore sequel in the Star Wars trilogy is the shocking twist. The source of the plague is on the offshore Oni Island where a civilization of evil demons call home, and the only creature who can penetrate its defenses is the Water Dragon. With the guidance of the priestess Rao, Amaterasu and Issun snatch the source of the Water Dragon’s almighty ability, killing it as a result. This outcome may signal victory, but the Water Dragon is revealed to have been Sei-an’s once benevolent protector from the vile outside influences of Oni Island, who was suffering from a confounding curse. With the city's primary protector ousted at the bottom of the ocean, Rao reveals herself to be the nefarious fox demon Ninetails, whose duplicity has allowed her to conduct a coup of Sei-an City and kill the active Queen Himiko when Amaterasu’s guard is down. While Ninetails is ultimately stopped by Amaterasu when she finds another method of ransacking Oni Island, the shocking murder of Sei-an’s executive figurehead is still a gut punch that elicits more doom and gloom from a society that was already despondent.
Lastly, the “Return of the Jedi” final third takes place on the icy peaks of Kanui. Besides serving as the grand finale of the game, the last third of both Star Wars and Okami clean up the loose ends that the previous two arcs scattered about. Amaterasu collects the last of the thirteen brush techniques, Issun’s lore is expounded on when Amaterasu visits his microcosmic tree stump society of Ponc’tan, and the stakes are raised even higher when the dreadful omen of an eclipse is going to sap Amaterasu’s powers. Like “Return of the Jedi” the last act of Okami features an Ewok filler B plot involving Amaterasu and Issun traveling back in time and reenacting the events of the tale that occurred one hundred years ago with Nagi and Orochi, all to affirm that Amaterasu is indeed the reincarnated form of Shiranui. Couldn’t they see the resemblance beforehand? The Kanui arc features the village of shapeshifting wolves struggling with a harsh blizzard that can only be halted by summoning the molten spewings of a volcano, but it’s the secondary side to the “Ark of Yamato” A single that finalizes the story. Okami’s narrative has often been criticized for being too wonky and uneven, with the proposal that it should’ve ended with defeating Oroshi as the game promised. My rebuttal to this solution is that those who state it overlooked the fact that the Orochi conflict was always minuscule in scale. Orochi’s influence merely oppressed one dinky hamlet on the eastern coast of the country, and the infamous battle between him and Nagi is what put Kamiki as a relevant dot on Nippon’s map. Amaterasu is a God who should supersede the repeated small potatoes prophecy she’s been summoned for to fulfill her potential. When the game raises the scope of the setting and presents a conflict with an unexpected result where the mighty Amaterasu might fail, the story becomes far more interesting.
I mentioned before that I’d divulge why Amaterasu is a wolf, and the reason is that the Kanji character for “wolf” is synonymous with “great god” as a double entendre. As simple and cheeky as this clever developer easter egg is, the subject of why Amaterasu at least couldn’t be a chiseled, human-like God like in Greek or Roman mythology is still subject to discussion. I believe the God Amaterasu couldn’t be human because humans are flawed creatures. We’re insecure, boastful, cowardly, and easily led astray by our temptations: characteristics that can be attributed to the actions of Okami’s various NPC characters like Susano. Take Amaterasu’s rival Waka for example. We don’t want to believe that this pretentious pretty boy (Issun’s words) who butchers the French language is Amaterasu’s empyrean peer because of the humanoid way in which he conducts himself. We see him as unfit to be a messiah of any sort, yet somehow everything he bolstered about his status was true, and he still makes many mistakes like the people his body is emulating. A wolf is a mammal with the same milk of human kindness, but not the complex, frazzled cognitive intricacies that plague the human race. Yami, the root of all evil and the head honcho of every previous boss in the game, is a featureless sphere that is physically removed from any organic life as possible. The contrast between the awe-striking Amaterasu and this barely describable thing at the end showcases a profound connection between animals and man, life on Earth, and the symbiotic, kindred bond that all organic life shares. Now that’s what I call a spiritual awakening.
I still insist on speculating that Okami being released at an inopportune date in gaming’s burgeoning itinerary is the root cause of its lackluster fate because the game sure didn’t falter on quality. Okami is a spectacular reinterpretation of 3D Zelda’s action-adventure foundation that discerns itself from its source with more than a stunningly captivating aesthetic. Admittedly, my Zelda comfort zone associated with meatier dungeons and substantial combat difficulty was not contented in Okami, but the game more than compensates with its own feats of surpassing its source. Okami’s world would beam with effervescence even if it was rendered in muted gray, for the characters' spunk and personality match the shine of the sun. All of the gameplay assets remain useful throughout the game’s duration, and the plot probes something deeper than the traditional hero’s journey from Zelda. In short, Okami is too damn good to leave in the undiscovered realm of obscurity, as hip as its hidden gem status might make it. Who wouldn't like Okami? Now is your chance to rectify the past and play this euphoric, funny, epic, hippy-dippy adventure game.
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