public focus is nearly always put on the changes LTTP would make to the zelda structure, a structure that would go famously untampered with for many years. the way in which dungeons and setpieces are housed within the world and the resultant rhythm of the entire adventure would go on to define zelda for many people. in a similar vein, the dungeons adopt the trademark zelda puzzle-box quality but do not be fooled! dungeon design was still in the oven when this game came out! there are some binding of isaac ass dungeons in this game!
instead, i’d posit the most potent and enduring of lttp’s feats is the game’s embracing of sentimentality.
of the super nintendo’s myriad catalog of “superized” NES titles, lttp stands nearly alone in its reluctance to expand in size. its hyrule is an 8x8 screen block, only matching up to the original’s 16x8 map when bundled with the dark world. instead of building out, all of the increased power has gone into fidelity. gone are the days of nondescript old men and moblins in caves, all replaced by bespoke NPCs with rudimentary but individualized identities. story objectives/side quests and unique characters are mapped to each other, inducing a Pavlovian association between interacting with the people in this realm and forward momentum. this is the game that created the cucoo. can’t argue with that shit
more than the people, the world itself is rife with sentimentality. people don’t remember how prosaic the dungeons can get because of how thematically developed, and crucially, thematically distinct they are. i smiled every single time a dungeon kicked me out to the overworld for a moment, reminding me of the greater world i was inhabiting. your bread and butter in this game is environmental puzzle-solving which engenders a reverence and familiarity of the world in the player. all this is cute, but it wouldn’t mean shit if the world itself didn’t respect your attention. fortunately, it’s real nice. there’s an excellent balance between well-trodden corridors and out-of-the way crannies. furthermore, hyrule is filled with cute details and fun little ornaments. there’s a sense of craftsmanship to the world that rings true even when you’re in a corner that isn’t extrinsically rewarding, something that certainly isn’t true for the games before this one.
these individuals and this world are heralded until the very end, where the game begins another zelda tradition by using the ending sequence to give us a farewell tour of hyrule, followed by a melancholic staff roll over a horizon of rolling hills.
there’s an argument to be made that this sentimentality eventually somewhat swallowed zelda- how many complaints by now have been made at the gargantuan openings of the wii games? but there is an undeniable power in the sense of a wider and grander adventure that you get with these theatrics. even though the moment-to-moment gameplay of this game isn’t revolutionary to the series, zelda 3 plainly earns its notoriety as where the “legend” truly began.
instead, i’d posit the most potent and enduring of lttp’s feats is the game’s embracing of sentimentality.
of the super nintendo’s myriad catalog of “superized” NES titles, lttp stands nearly alone in its reluctance to expand in size. its hyrule is an 8x8 screen block, only matching up to the original’s 16x8 map when bundled with the dark world. instead of building out, all of the increased power has gone into fidelity. gone are the days of nondescript old men and moblins in caves, all replaced by bespoke NPCs with rudimentary but individualized identities. story objectives/side quests and unique characters are mapped to each other, inducing a Pavlovian association between interacting with the people in this realm and forward momentum. this is the game that created the cucoo. can’t argue with that shit
more than the people, the world itself is rife with sentimentality. people don’t remember how prosaic the dungeons can get because of how thematically developed, and crucially, thematically distinct they are. i smiled every single time a dungeon kicked me out to the overworld for a moment, reminding me of the greater world i was inhabiting. your bread and butter in this game is environmental puzzle-solving which engenders a reverence and familiarity of the world in the player. all this is cute, but it wouldn’t mean shit if the world itself didn’t respect your attention. fortunately, it’s real nice. there’s an excellent balance between well-trodden corridors and out-of-the way crannies. furthermore, hyrule is filled with cute details and fun little ornaments. there’s a sense of craftsmanship to the world that rings true even when you’re in a corner that isn’t extrinsically rewarding, something that certainly isn’t true for the games before this one.
these individuals and this world are heralded until the very end, where the game begins another zelda tradition by using the ending sequence to give us a farewell tour of hyrule, followed by a melancholic staff roll over a horizon of rolling hills.
there’s an argument to be made that this sentimentality eventually somewhat swallowed zelda- how many complaints by now have been made at the gargantuan openings of the wii games? but there is an undeniable power in the sense of a wider and grander adventure that you get with these theatrics. even though the moment-to-moment gameplay of this game isn’t revolutionary to the series, zelda 3 plainly earns its notoriety as where the “legend” truly began.