Ico (2001) requires nothing less than complete investment in its construction. Every crumbling stone and rusty lever serves to reinforce an exacting and authoritative design, as staged and artificial as the huge obtrusive castle that serves as the only environment. The game remains strangely ironic in this way, exhibiting a realism and artistry that’s twice or maybe even three times removed from prominent troubles on the receptive level: the controls are unintuitive, in-game cameras are stubbornly restrictive and refuse to comply with direction, and bloom lighting frequently threatens monotony, casting everything in a hazy glow that makes one squint and strain unnaturally.

Fine. As a game—as an interactive apparatus—it’s not perfect.

But behind Team Ico and Fumito Ueda’s unnerving design lies moments so inescapably beautiful and human that to call Ico anything less than moving is missing something entirely, something important. Yorda (the NPC that the player, as young protagonist Ico, must lead through the massive fortress labyrinth) curiously checks her elbow often when left idle. Perhaps it’s to knead the arm that Ico must constantly tug on, ushering the both of them through gameplay sequences of puzzle solving and light combat that would be brisk enough in the first place. Or it could simply be fatigue—after all, stress manifests itself in many forms and, without spoiling the story, to say that the adolescent Yorda is worried about sneaking out without Mom’s permission is quite an understatement. Later, when freedom seems all but spread out before the pair, Yorda is so physically and emotionally drained that she can barely stand on her own two feet, and stumbles when Ico tries to drag her with the same aggressive urgency that he (the player) has used before.

Many people cite the bridge sequence, the false endgame, as the crux of Ueda’s authorship, the “moment” in which the game crosses over from simplistic platformer to emblematic beacon of art, but the true measure of Ico’s brilliance comes from everything that came before: Ico’s half-lanky and awkward stride as he struggles to carry a bomb (clearly biting off more than he can chew but masking the struggle behind not-quite-realized machismo); the small controller vibrations set off when Ico and Yorda’s grip snaps taut; and Yorda, when given a moment to herself, quietly examines her elbow, and humanity’s small intricacies become stylized revelations of themselves, lasting far beyond their intention.

The apparatus of Ico is flawed, to be sure, but at the same time, how alive the diffraction is!

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Posted by Kurt Shulenberger on October 13th, 2009 :: Posts :: Tags : Fumito Ueda, Ico, Playstation 2, Team Ico, Yorda
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