The Last Guardian

Boy, it's been a while since I've written one of these. Put this on.

Let's just get it out of the way: The Last Guardian is the most emotionally affecting game I've ever played. I love it with all my heart, in spite of its (mostly technical) flaws. It's my game of the year, game of the generation, and almost certainly in my shortlist of greatest games of all time.

There's a tendency in game reviews to talk about great games with a strong vision as Important Works, as if being very good isn't enough. I want to avoid that, but at the same time, I feel that I really have to stress that The Last Guardian has affected me in a way that no game ever has before, and likely never will again. I also don't want to say "this game made me cry" (although it has, and how), as if that means it's automatically a great work of art (although it is). How can I genuinely and honestly convey my feelings about this game to you via just words? How can I explain my bond and journey with Trico, a videogame AI character, to you? It seems impossible.

Do you have a pet? Have you ever felt your heart swell with love and joy just from looking at them being themselves, or giving them a hug, or sitting on the couch watching TV while they sit on your lap or rest against your leg? The Last Guardian felt like that to me, like years of being a dog owner condensed down into a 12-hour experience. It builds slowly, soaring to incredible highs, some heart-breaking lows, and it ends on a perfect note that left me absolutely devastated and joyful at the same time. More than anything, I was grateful to have had the privilege of playing this game. Sometimes you just know that you've experienced something the likes of which only comes along once in a lifetime, and this was one such time.

The boy's journey with Trico starts when he finds himself waking up next to him (I don't know if it's a boy, but I used male pronouns, as my dog is male and it comes naturally) in a cave, and he needs the boy's help to get back on his feet. There are spears lodged in his body and he's chained up. The boy removes the spears, feeds him, and an inseparable bond forms. It's easy to fall in love with this creature and his big, sad, curious eyes. He starts to follow the boy around, since he proves adept at finding barrels filled with sustenance for him, and soon enough he starts to clamor for his affection too, nuzzling up to him, at which point only a monster wouldn't press the pet button(!).

Trico is just such a marvel to behold. His feathers move individually in the wind as he walks around the environment curiously inspecting every nook and cranny, or following the boy around. He's curious, and bold, but sometimes cautious, tender but a little bit awkward, mild-mannered but will fly into a rage whenever the boy is under attack by the mysteriously animated suits of armor that inhabit the crumbling ruins they find themselves in. All of that comes through thanks to world-class animation and AI. He does not respond instantly like a robot when called, but will finish what he's doing before ambling over. Other times, he may just spy a ledge he can jump to himself, and go without your say-so. He doesn't feel the least bit like a robotic AI companion, but like a living, breathing animal with a will of his own. In combat, the boy is the helpless one, while Trico makes short work of enemies. Basically, the boy is his escort mission, rather than the other way around.

My biggest motivator in the game was simply to be with Trico. Whenever the game forced us apart for some time, my biggest drive was to get back to him, or find a way to get him back to me, whatever the cost. As with Ueda's other games, the narrative is extremely minimalistic, although there is a decently lengthy flashback sequence. It's a testament to Ueda's growing confidence as a storyteller that he feels comfortable enough to resort to a full-blown cinematic flashback without compromising his vision, in which the gameplay tells the story. If you want to be technical, the entire narrative is told via flashback, as there is a voice-over of the boy as an older man narrating the events. Again, a confident move, instantly removing the possibility of the tearjerker ending where the boy dies. This game does not go for the cheap emotional shots.

I could write here about the puzzles, or the boy's somewhat awkward controls, or how impressively the scale of the game's world is rendered, but really, it's all about Trico. You can read about how the game plays like a mix between ICO and Shadow of the Colossus elsewhere. I'm writing this for me, as a record of how I felt two days after playing this incredible game. It's about how much I miss Trico, even as I'm sitting here. How much I love to boot the game up and just sit with him for a while, staring at him as he just is, a part of that world, remembering our adventures together. It's not real, of course. Those things already happened, and I'm staring at a time capsule, trying to remember what it was all like the first time. But I can't go back there. I can only look at it now and be so grateful that this game exists, that at least one person high up at Sony realized its value, or saw it as a prestige project, and let it survive. It's almost surreal.

We don't deserve this game, but it exists, and I'll cherish the memories for as long as I have them.