he Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time’s opening sequence is, for me, the best evocative of most video game titles. System that can help hear the galloping on the horse, joined by soft minor-key piano and melancholy, soaring ocarina notes as a child within a green tunic rides below the setting moon. The camera pans for a blocky, low-resolution, yet spartanly beautiful landscape when the sun rises. It prepares you for just a game that might be as melancholy since it was exciting, as emotionally affecting mainly because it was technologically innovative. Released in Europe in this particular day in 1998, Ocarina of your time was among the first true 3D adventures, a capsule world on the game cartridge, and yes it remains practically the most best.
It’s a dark story, when you consider it. Link, a young child maturing from the forest, has his identity and his childhood stolen from him because discovers that he is not the elf he thought he was but an orphaned Hylian boy. Considering the grave task of stopping a wicked man whose hunger for power will corrupt anyone on the planet, he is imprisoned for seven years within a temple, reawakening within the body strong to discover the world has nearly ended. The vivacious land of Hyrule that they knew is finished, replaced by a devastated ruin crawling with monsters under swirling, menacing skies. The N64’s low-poly visuals lent the whole lot a surreal patina, like something half-imagined and half-remembered. Its sort-of sequel Majora’s Mask, released in 2000, leans fully to the surreal, vaguely nightmarish, end-of-the-world vibe of Ocarina of Time’s darkest moments.
For a game often remembered for a childhood classic, Ocarina of Time is pretty damn scary. Link’s nightmares, his serious little expression facing his heavy responsibilities, the shuddersome monsters from the Shadow Temple