Told and Retold ~ 'Ocarina of Time'

Appraising the iconic game, what it means to me, and its only official adaptation

While The Legend of Zelda had been a beloved and revolutionary game franchise since before its jump to 3D in 1998 with Ocarina of Time for the Nintendo 64, Ocarina topped lists of all-time greatest video games for years after its release.

But not only was Ocarina once considered the pinnacle of its medium (although it’s still the game with the highest Metacritic score at 99), it was also—as mentioned elsewhere—the video game that made me love video games.

My first playthrough took me so many years—by the end of which the 2006 Twilight Princess had become the first Zelda game I ever beat—that it became the main symbol of my childhood; one of the main reasons I love medieval fantasy, depending on how it's done; and the most personal piece of media for me.

I can still remember being brought downstairs from nap time and seeing my brothers and cousin playing as the green-clad elf-like Link running around in the Kokiri Forest for the first time, and the idea of being able to play as this mythic hero in this mythic world of Hyrule filled with endearing characters, labyrinthine temples culminating in boss fights, and a childlike sense of wonder—the first step in 3D open worlds—fundamentally impacted my imagination from there.

Of course, as with the whole series, it’s a pagan mythology, but just as there’s still value in the foundational myths, Zelda codes its paganism in Arthurian chivalry. The three goddesses and their Triforce mcguffin that holds creation together can even be seen as a parallel to the Holy Trinity, if a heretical one.

On an objective level, I can see why Ocarina is no longer considered the pinnacle. Its character models now look primitive, the technical limitations of its time require open areas to be surrounded by rock walls that make the world feel oddly enclosed, and its intrusive tutorials grow more and more obnoxious after I’ve known this game for a quarter-century. (I understand that the 2011 remake for the Nintendo 3DS mitigates some of its issues, but I have yet to play it.)

On the other hand, my love for this game did not translate into a love of open worlds in general, so the limitations in world design actually make for a world that doesn’t overwhelm me to explore. Ocarina’s 2017 fully open world Zelda successor Breath of the Wild is now commonly considered the greatest game of all time, but the longer it’s been since my lone playthrough, the less I’ve felt like revisiting it. I certainly wouldn’t call it a bad game; it just wasn’t for me.

At the end of every Ocarina playthrough, I feel like I’m saying goodbye to my childhood, like I’m accomplishing a personal journey, and even its horror elements that have crawled under my skin my whole life (and almost ruined my childhood when I learned the implicit lore behind them) help it feel that way.

Because this game had such an impact on me, it’s sadly become the thing I’ve most recurringly dreamt about throughout my life. A recent dream where I was reading an official Ocarina of Time novelization, however, led me to discovering that all Ocarina of Time novelizations are fan-made and instead purchasing the official manga adaptation from 2000 (or rather, the 2016 Legendary Edition)!

And it’s quite fitting that the first Japanese comic with a right-to-left structure I’ve ever read is a retelling of essentially my first virtual adventure.

Since the game’s storytelling is fundamentally designed around a single-player experience, from the ways it often utilizes its non-player characters (or NPCs) to the way it develops Link as an audience surrogate by not giving him dialogue, the manga’s revisions take advantage of their own medium.

Now, Link has a voice; we see just how naive he is and how the story’s events affect him, such as how he’s haunted by the Great Deku Tree’s absence throughout the journey. Zelda herself, already the most developed NPC in the game, gets even more to do here, from a new initial meeting with Link to a new secondary motive in the second act. Most needed is the villainous Ganondorf’s further development; he even utilizes the Gerudos that the game merely tells us are his subjects!

While the dungeons and temples are now regulated to their boss fights, they further utilize side characters by pairing Link with them; even a set piece at Lon Lon Ranch gets expanded into a skirmish. One boss, though, is the most curious deviation, giving Link a childhood connection to it. I can see the emotional resonance it’s going for, but I think it could have been more effective had we seen this connection form chronologically instead of in a flashback after the fact.

Since this manga is just a couple-hour read (not counting the two bonus story arcs, one of which fulfills the fantasy of wanting to knock the fairy sidekick Navi out of the air), it doesn’t make me feel like I’ve been on a personal journey by the end like the game does, even with the meatier characterizations.

Even so, while this adaptation will never take the game’s place in my heart, it’s still a delightful companion piece to it, and a more accessible way for non-Nintendo gamers and non-gamers in general to experience the story; I’ll probably never play the game again without thinking, “Man, I wish that part were here.”

I’ve heard good things about Zelda mangas in general (I plan on also getting the Majora’s Mask manga, partly because I’d be able to enjoy the story more when I’m not timed throughout it), so I hope those developing the live-action Zelda movie (the kind of movie I need to be good and am terrified it won’t be) are taking notes from how the mangas have translated the games into more cinematic terms.

But while the game wouldn’t blow away a newcomer today, its impact is undeniable, both on me personally and on the history of its medium.

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ADDITIONAL NOTES

The game I feel should dethrone Ocarina instead of Breath of the Wild is 2015’s side-scrolling Ori and the Blind Forest, which I have yet to find on any all-time greatest lists outside my own. It’s the most well-balanced game I’ve ever played.

The Arthurian influence of the Master Sword is probably why I thought the Sword in the Stone and Excalibur were the same thing until I read the actual stories.

The Ocarina of Time dreams I’ve had most often involve the redead zombies that terrified young me… But the best Ocarina of Time dream I ever had—and best dream I ever had period—had me get transported inside the game, clash blades with an evil Will Riker, flush him down a toilet, start smacking a zombified Worf with a Buzz Lightyear action figure, then start hitting him with less force out of concern that I was actually on a movie set and actually hurting Michael Dorn.

In addition to the fan-made novelizations, there’s no shortage of unofficial film homages and adaptations, including the feature-length Hero of Time (2009); it’s amateurish, but I enjoyed its heart and ambition when I watched it years ago.

If I were to suggest an appropriate demographic for both versions, it would be tweens and older. In addition to the pagan themes, stylized fantasy violence, and unsettling horror elements, there’s also some risque attire. Yet, the horror elements are cut way down in the manga, and the game’s most risque characters—the Great Fairies—are entirely absent, even if one adapted character especially looks more provocative as an illustration than as a primitive 3D model.

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