1986’s The Legend of Zelda’s story was 46 words long. Here it is:
“Many years ago Prince Darkness Gannon stole one of the Triforce with Power. Princess Zelda had one of the Triforce with Wisdom. She divided it into 8 units to hide it from Gannon before she was captured. Go find the 8 units Link to save her.”
First off, yeah, proper English is not The Legend of Zelda’s strongest suit. But, secondly and more importantly, this was all the story that was given. Granted, the NES had its manuals and people could read more about Impa and Gannon, for instance, but, for just plugging in the system and playing the game, this was all there was. And it was great that way.
This sort of approach to games and stories in games has changed greatly since the NES days, to some success and some failures. With hardware advancements allowing for a more fleshed-out world, what ways would games choose to engage the player with the game’s world? This led to two major movements: storytelling and atmosphere. When working together, these two elements provide a deeper connection, emotionally and mechanically, between the player and the worlds and settings around them. But, which is inherently better? For my money, I’d say that atmosphere trumps story.
Describing why exactly this is, and how I reached the conclusion I did, can be tricky. So, in trying to think of parallels that can highlight the differences in gamemaking movements, I couldn’t think of better examples than Zelda’s Ocarina of Time and Skyward Sword. Although, structurally, the games are the same, the ways in which they describe plot and convey story are starkly different, and are critical in understanding the divide between the two camps. First, the similarities that make the comparison valid:
1. Both games contain the same characters in mostly the same roles. Zelda and Link met as children and carry on a relationship as adults, in some capacity. Impa, Ganon/Demise, and the Triforce also serve the same purposes as usual.
2. Both games implement similar mechanics. The Gates of Time that exist within both games should, by rights, have similar effects on the world around Link and the ways in which Link interacts with it. Any differences here are important.
3. “Evil” traditionally seen in the series has the same basic-level threat on the world at large. Both threaten to consume the worlds in darkness, and the evidences of this devolution should be prevalent as the player progresses through the game’s plot.
With those parameters set, we can see how different Ocarina handles itself from Skyward Sword. To be as specific as possible, I will reference smaller moments that are indicative of larger positive or negative elements. Ocarina, on the one hand, centers around Hyrule Castle Town for much of the hub world activities, and is a barometer for distinction between past and future. Before Ganon comes to power, the town is vibrant and alive, as people shuffle about, shops operate, and the castle in the distance is kept well. There is much care in establishing all parts of the world pre-evil, as contrast through visual and audio cues later in the game cement the attachment to the “good ol’ days.”
After the seven years pass, the distinction between this version and the dilapidated Ganon-ruled Hyrule is clear, as we as players have seen what the world was like previously. The castle, for one, is destroyed. The town, though buildings remain, are broken down, roofless, and abandoned. It is clear a seismic event occurred, and, since it’s obvious something terrible has befallen the area, it can also be inferred that someone is responsible, someone is in danger, and someone must provide justice. This is all the story Zelda truly needs to be captivating; whereas convoluted storyline elements limit the ways in which the player can interpret the circumstances, a simple story with a world that supports the assumptions the brief story makes is much more engaging than if the story is told in all its detail.
Ocarina establishes, to fluctuating degrees of success, that Ganon’s takeover has direct effects on the world and the inhabitants. The Gorons are captives in the Fire Temple, Zora’s Domain is frozen, et cetra. This allows for the barebones story to take on more of a interactive interpretation, where inference fills in any gaps that exist. It’s never told what happened to Jabu Jabu in the Domain; it’s the player’s intuition to assume, or fail to assume, what happened. In any case, the world and the way in which it is presented scale the tension without relying on text or dramatization. The dark, stormy skies surrounding old Hyrule Castle Town, as well as the music-less sound, provide the setting with an unsettling emptyness that encourages the player to, at the very least, restore the world to its former vibrancy.
These moments of unsettling quiet lend themselves to a heightened sense of time and time being wasted. Whereas Link was free to visit the Fishing Hole as a boy, to spend his time there in relative relaxation, the subsequent visits there feel as if he’s ignoring something of vastly more importance. The player is constantly reminded that, when they approach the Castle Town, the broken moat bridge bears witness to Link’s need to hurry, or at least be prompt. Though only a few obstacles exist where Ganon’s takeover directly impede Link’s ability to succeed, the atmospheric touches such as the bridge, the dark skies, and the silence heard in the desolation force Link to reckon with a world quickly falling apart.
Skyward Sword, on the other hand, generally fails to establish a sense of dread. During encounters with Ghirahim in Faron Woods throughout the game, tells through dialogue what Demise and Ghirahim’s intentions are, and that the world is in direct threat lest Link vanquish them.The issue here, of course, is that these dangers are not expressly seen by the player. No outward damage to the worlds exists, outside of a destroyed Gate of Time in Lanayru Desert, and brief lighting changes during a cutscene. One of the great failures of Skyward Sword, though story elements are woven quite well within cutscenes, is that the story feels disconnected from the world itself. Though Zelda is in grave danger, she neither is seen in immediate danger (until the credits sequence’s flashback) nor is seen with any injury, empirical weaknesses, or emotional strains. If anything, she’s wearing the cleanest white dress Link’s ever seen. This undercuts the scaling of the story, as it doesn’t truly mean anything if the ill effects aren’t constantly felt.
Skyward Sword fails on this account, as Zelda is in danger in word only. There is no extension of evil seen in the world. Faron Woods remains as colorful, bright, and full of life as it had when the player first stepped foot in the region. If the world isn’t in immediate danger in these ways, why are we in any sort of rush to save it? Since Link can travel between times, seeing that the world is decently free of ill effect in both the past and the future, there’s no stark contrast between good and evil that atmosphere provides. The world feels as if it’s safe already, thus killing any sort of emotional drive to complete the quest. Granted, the much-needed story adrenaline shot of fulfilling Link’s promise to Zelda allows for this to carry through a few moments, but the fact that story alone cannot carry a world on its own is evident in this comparison.
Granted, not all games are like this. It is unfair to assume that any game with a story is worse than any game without a dialogue-fueled arc. But, in a general sense, a story without the accompanying atmospheric touches fails, whereas an atmospheric game can overcome a lack of story. Take, for example, the introduction of Super Metroid on the SNES.
The game’s opening title card reveals scientists, dead on the floor. Nothing more truly needed to be said, as there is direct and unmistakable danger pervading the scene and the moment. Samus, as the game begins, details how she battled the Space Pirates, eradicated the metroids, and transferred one to Seres’ research station for scientists to study. As soon as she re-boarded her ship, however, a distress beacon flashes and she is called to investigate the problem.
There’s a critical element of world building that Super Metroid executes to perfection; in this case, it creates an immediate level of emotional response that other games and stories don’t always reach. The first five minutes of the game seamlessly weave explorative curiosity, ominous trepidation, and fearful self-preservation. Story, regardless of its pathos, does not always create these emotions, and even more rarely connects on all of them simultaneously. Where the Zelda games attribute its world’s connectivity to a duality of lore and interpretation of stimuli, Super Metroid is almost entirely inferred and presented visually and audibly. The blue-and-black-dominant exploration halls, with its Alien-style droning music backgrounding, are immediately swapped for the same halls, filled with flashing reds and a pulse-pounding musical piece, all wrapped in a countdown timer bow. The things we once cared about, namely, the metroid’s broken casing, the scientists lying dead on the floor, and the basic backstory of the station, are no longer as important to us as the singular goal of escape. Throughout the game, these types of cues are implemented well, but the introductory moments cement Super Metroid’s world as a pitch-perfect example of an atmospheric world.
Now, these comparisons aren’t an end-all conclusion in favor of atmosphere over story. In its context, however, Metroid presents a more compelling world than Zelda because its narrative arc is covered through player intuition and inference, rather than building upon preexisting motifs and symbols. On its own, as a unique and singular experience, Super Metroid can overcome the four-paragraph story through allowing the player to expand its impact or ignore its gaps, whereas Skyward Sword, especially, does not provide any areas with which to supplement the story in meaningful ways.
The real argument presented here is that, when left completely separate from each other, on two separate planes of existence, which one is more influential in allowing a player to connect with a game? And, in that hypothetical vacuum, atmosphere succeeds. Good stories can exist in tandem with good atmospheres, as they usually do, and each helps the other. But a good story cannot replace an atmosphere, while an atmosphere can hold the place of a story because of how a player develops the world through experiencing it.
A New High Score 