"What are you doing, bud" I asked my TV. Trico. He was rolling around in a shallow pool of water, emitting bassy chirps of pleasure. I couldn't help but crack a smile. The goofy playfullness reminded me of my dogs back home, and as it had done dozens of times already, The Last Guardian instigated a sudden pang of homesickness.
"No, that way" I pointed again, stamping my little feet in frustration. Trico's head snaked around to look at me, curiously. Tilted slightly to one side, he regarded me and my frustration stoically. But then his ears twitch, perked, and his head snaps back to the direction I had motioned. His feet shuffle around, tail swishing past and almost knocking me off my feet. I can't help but grin again, as I leap clumsily onto the back of his leg, just as his ruffled wings spread in preperation for takeoff. Fucking finally!
The Last Guardian is a beautiful game, and in it's own way, groundbreaking.
There is more personality and life to Trico than to any number of voiced human characters you could name. To make a character feel alive, you need to give it independence; The game will prompt you to issue commands, but often they feel less like commands and more like requests, which are slowly and methodically considered and then either dismissed or carried out. There will be misunderstandings, and frustrations. And then sometimes everything will click, and you'll feel so in tune and grateful that you cannot help but feel pride at what you've both just accomplished. "Good boy!" I mutter to my TV, overwhelmed with relief. Yeah!
It's hard to stay mad at Trico. He doesn't always promptly do what you want, but in a way that is often incredibly endearing. It doesn't feel like you're fighting an algorithm, it's as though you're training an animal. Trico has been so carefully crafted that it's impossible to think of him as just a tool to help you achieve your goals; he is a companion, one that may at times be obtuse, though through his grace and intuition he is seldom held responsible. It's your job to help him understand what you need him to do, and if you can't then that's your fault, not his.
This is naturalistic game design at it's finest.
There are systems in play, of course, and there is slight repetition of gameplay elements and mechanics. Of these, many are far from perfect (One could argue that the core antagonist in the Last Guardian is the camera, maliciously uncooperative in such a precarious and claustrophobic landscape). But what makes The Last Guardian shine is its attention to detail. It's in the gutteral barks Trico shoots at you as you clamber over fallen masonry, in his nervous hopping after being spooked, his feline mistrust of water, and his piercing focus when he sees you lumbering forward with a treat. It's in the way your arms boyishly flail around as you rush down the stairs, and in your heartbreakingly piteous limping after taking a heavy fall. There's over 9 years worth of attention to detail in this game, and it shows.
Since finishing The Last Guardian I still feel that weird protective attachment to Trico. It's sometimes unsettling to think that so many other people are sharing those experiences, which seem so personal. That sense of ownership is strong, and it feels strange knowing that you have to share it.
"Bonding" is often characterised by emotions such as affection and trust. And shared hardships, and sadness. Terrible, terrible sadness.
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