Shadow of the Colossus

The debate on whether or not video games are art is convoluted, heated, and ill-spirited. The combination of fiery rants by gamers who enlist an absolutist philosophy and the ignorance people have in experiencing gaming make for a very redundant, very stupid, if you will, debate. Both sides treat the games as only examples but nothing more; all feelings relinquished, the gameplay looked upon forcefully. I bring this up because most gamers vouching that games are art use Shadow of the Colossus as their prime example. Because of this, I feel the significance of the game, its beauty and emotional power, is lost in the debate. Let us not use this game as a mechnism for a debate but celebrate its timeless greatness.

By now, most people know of the premise of this game: a man, named Wander, arrives at a desolate land with a corpse of his beloved. He plans to resurrect her from the dead. The only way to do that is to slay sixteen colossi, giant gods on earth. It is a simple premise for an adventure game, minimalist, some would say. Shadow of the Colossus creates many dichotomies emotionally, aesthetically, and technically; it succeeds as a paramount game through this elegant and careful design. Consider one aspect, the immensity of space, the immensity of the colossi, in appearance and physicality, in relation to the loneliness and minuteness of Wander and Agro, the minimalism shows the stark contrast of protagonist and antagonist, suggesting a certain impossibility of the task.

Another thing that suggests brilliance of this game is the way it uses its simplistic gameplay as it emotional focal point. Just like the theme of companionship in Ico, Shadow of the Colossus uses its gameplay to create a soft undermining to a gargantuan task, a sense of melancholy pervades instead of sheer accomplishment. Consider the music, which is a feat in gaming much like it was in Final Fantasy VII, during the scenes as each colossi goes down. It is certainly not highlighting the greatness of the player slaying the beast. I sense more of a sullen sadness. The game slowly unravels its turmoil, the morality question of how far one would go for love is dissected and questioned. Deterioration is visualized; this isn't just a story with one main objective, it is a testament to human will and blind compassion.

The visuals are saturated with sunlight, playing with the intricate canyons and rock formations. The wind flows through the landscape like a river, howling to the empty spaces that the player wanders through. The colossi lumber with strength; they fall hard. I recall the fifth colossus; the bird in the misty lake. To get its attention, you fire an arrow at it. Being perched up on a broken column, it takes note and flies over head; the music sustains its calm. You see it fly out into the distance, turn around, and dive towards you. The direct feelings you get are bold and true. Taking it down was gut-wrenching for me; it was a combination of a release of tension and guilt.

Yes, I understand why gamers constantly refer to Shadow of the Colossus when arguing about the validity of games being art. Yet, we miss the point in obfuscating the feelings evoked through the visuals and gameplay by marking it as gaming's figurehead. What I see in this game far exceeds it as an example. I see a powerful story set in an outlandish world. We keep on fighting, but for what? Sometimes it is tough to explain our most internal feelings and motives.