Hyrule by way of New Las Vegas
Ridley Scott's Blade Runner will forever be one of my favorite films of all time. The world is steeped in a sense of atmosphere that is, in my opinion, unparalleled. The production design, score, cinematography, script, themes, and performances culminate in a masterpiece of cinema. As you'd expect, I was incredibly excited for Dennis Villeneuve's follow-up, Blade Runner: 2049. Sitting down in the theater last October; Twizzlers on one side, popcorn on the other, I was immersed in the lavishly filmed exploits of Agent K. But, at the time, that was the best thing I could say about the film. Mr. Deakins totally deserved that cinematography Oscar. To be honest, at first I didn't particularly like 2049. It felt like a shallow imitation of Scott's classic.
Recently, I bought the film on Blu-Ray (on sale for a cool $20) and re-watched the film. This second viewing gave me a newfound appreciation for Villeneuve's work that I simply didn't have before. In fact, all it took was an adjustment of my mindset to really enjoy what is, perhaps, an even better film than the original. To do this, I had to assume a less biased perspective, and evaluate what 2049 took from the original, and what the film introduced itself, to create an equally compelling piece of cinema. Only by separating my inherent love for the original, and my want for the exact same thing, only better and more exciting, could I appreciate this film's excellence. In fact, my experience with 2049 is actually rather similar to the plight of Mr. Phillips.
I'm an avid supporter of Game Informer magazine, and I always love reading the feedback letters at the beginning of each issue. This month, Mr. Sean Phillips voiced his disdain for The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Here is his message verbatim:
"Why was Breath of the Wild awarded Game of the Year over other titles? Personally, I thought it was the worst entry in the series next to Skyward Sword, and also the worst game I played in 2017. It lost what made the Zelda series great for me, and felt more like 90 percent of all the other open-world games out there. I understand BotW has its fans, and I will never knock them for that. I just don't understand why it's getting all the praise and high scores from critics."
Normally, I'd read a letter such as this and simply move along. Yet, it didn't strike me until after I'd had my personal Blade Runner revelation that Mr. Phillips and I had very similar, but inverse, issues. I found Blade Runner: 2049 wholly too similar to its predecessor. Phillips found Breath of the Wild completely unrecognizable in relation to its predecessor. When, in fact, neither of us were right. On the surface, Blade Runner 2049 looks a whole lot like the Ridley Scott classic, whereas The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild looks rather different in comparison to its predecessors. However, when you looked beneath that layer, you learn that, in fact, 2049 strays far off the beaten path, while Breath of the Wild walks right down the center of it.
While Blade Runner 2049 features far more diverse locations than the original, it is rather in-line with Scott's film. If all of the yellow and gold was replaced by a cool blue, it would be hard to tell that many of 2049's shots weren't from the original. We still have the wide angle cityscapes punctuated by low bass tones. Wide establishing shots assisted by otherworldly sounds. Low to the ground city streets, overpopulated and claustrophobic. Interiors marked by godlike architecture. It's all here. Yet, this isn't a bad thing. In fact, by keeping these core principles intact, 2049 is able to explore many different locations, from the farm at the beginning of the film, to New Las Vegas, to the scrap-heap sweatshop. These are amazingly designed; the rusted, mechanical look of the factory, and the Las Vegas streets, thick with dust and decrepit statues were highlights of the film for me. I found these wildly inventive and totally unexpected. All of these locales stand in stark contrast to the city of the original Blade Runner, but feel cohesive because of overall congruities with the previous film.
In contrast, Breath of the Wild looks incredibly different on the surface in comparison to past Zelda games. The traditional structure that fans have come to know and love has been removed in favor of a non-linear approach that harkens back to the NES original. The dungeons can be taken care of in any order, the story takes a backseat to the experience, and overworld exploration is the core of the game. While those elements make Breath of the Wild a natural extension of the debut title, for all intents and purposes, this is a huge diversion from what we've come to expect from 3D Zelda. Ocarina of Time structure this is not. The surface level gameplay deviates from what we've come to expect by a pretty wide margin, but it does retain several key elements. There is a large degree of familiarity in the locations you'll visit and the characters you'll meet; From the Zora Domain to the Goron tribe, these are familiar characters that helped ease me into this brand-new Zelda experience. Likewise, the art style is a further refinement of the pseudo-realistic, comical style that began in Skyward Sword. In fact, this is the perfect middle ground between Twilight Princess and The Wind Waker. This, in conjunction with the characters and locations help the game feel, purely from a surface level, not as foreign as its design would make it appear.
Yet, a surface level examination of these two works only reveals so much. On the surface, Blade Runner 2049 is still a largely derivative film, with some experimentation tucked under familiar techniques. On the other hand, Breath of the Wild appears to be a very different game from its 3D predecessors, using familiar visual tropes only to establish the sense that you're still in Hyrule. When evaluating 2049 from a perspective of plot and theme, you actually see a great deviation from the previous film. My mistake was to linger on the overlapping elements; overbearing corporate deities, detective story lines, and questions of humanity. While these are still present, these elements only serve as a springboard for a fully fleshed out narrative that explores new themes in the context of a larger world.
When thinking critically about the original Blade Runner, it is very easy to point out its thin plot. Deckard is a Blade Runner and his former boss has tasked him with hunting down four Nexus-6 model replicants. The replicants die, one way or another. Deckard falls in love with a fifth replicant named Rachel, and they run away together. The end. While that is a gross over-simplification of what happens in the film, the point is, the plot can be summed up rather succinctly. For what is a rather heady, philosophical film, the narrative thread is rather weak. The characters are all incredibly interesting, but for the most part, are fairly one-dimensional. Deckard himself isn't even a traditional hero; in fact he really just serves as a shepard to move us through the film. He is the liaison between Ridley Scott's vision and us the audience. Really, the plot takes a near total backseat to the overall experience. At its core, Blade Runner is a pinpointed exploration of the replicants' plight for more life, and the moral complications of artificial intelligence. Scott is hardly concerned by the overarching world he's created, or the surface narrative itself. To that effect, 2049 sharply deviates from that concept.
Villenueve is far more concerned with telling a complete narrative set within a living world. Agent K is directly involved with this plot this time around; he isn't merely a pawn like Deckard was. We see him chase down leads to solve his case, but also to fulfill himself. Deckard, in effect, was just doing a job. K, on the other hand, is tugging at threads simultaneously because it is his job, but also because he wants to reveal the truth; he wants to be part of something larger. The protagonist of 2049 is in direct control of the narrative, whereas at points it felt like Deckard was simply being dragged along. We explore Agent K, and his desires just as fully as we unravel the identity of the replicant child. That leads into my thematic mistake: viewing the themes of the film as merely retreads of the questions of humanity that Scott already explored. However, when Agent K's motivations and arc are really dissected, this is a story about self-acceptance and fulfillment, about love and loss. It's easy to see a replicant, Agent K, who is trying to prove his humanity and digest what that revelation would mean. Yet, that would be to ignore the fact that K isn't really concerned with being more "human", but instead with simply fulfilling his need for closure and clarity.
Blade Runner 2049 goes a step beyond changing the narrative structure and adopting different themes though, because Villenueve is concerned with the overall world of Blade Runner in a way Scott wasn't. When you really evaluate the original Blade Runner, that entire film happened in a vacuum. Nothing outside of what was directly important to Deckard was established. 2049 grounds its plot in a grander world that feels alive. The data blackout is established, we learn about the replicant uprising, and we see a fuller glimpse into everyday life in this universe. While I initially saw some of these pieces of context as dangling plot threads, now I see them as what they are: context. Scott put a microscope on Deckard, and never pulled back the lens. Villenueve applies a similar laser focus on Agent K, but unlike Scott, often pulls back the lens to reveal what his happening tangent to the main plot.
Under the surface Blade Runner 2049 looks remarkably different from its predecessor, but on the contrary, Breath of the Wild is a wholly similar experience. The Legend of Zelda is built on a few core concepts: puzzle-solving, combat, and exploration. Those three staples have been present in every single Zelda title, from home console to handheld, and Breath of the Wild is no different. Really, the Shrines and Divine Beasts are the same puzzle-solving instances that made the dungeons of past games so enjoyable. They just present the content in a fresh light. In fact, while there is a greater emphasis on physics-based manipulation, the actual puzzle gameplay doesn't deviate much from that found in, say, The Wind Waker. It is not as though Link is suddenly confronted with 120 ancient picross boards he needs to solve. All Breath of the Wild did was decentralize the puzzle rooms; the core experience has remained the same.
Combat has significantly widened in scope, but boils down to the same fundamentals as before. Reductively speaking, Link is equipped with a melee weapon, a bow, and a shield. The combat revolves around the player's ability to Z-Target an enemy, dodge attacks, and strike when opportunities arise. This is identical to how combat has been handled since 1998. Breath of the Wild merely elevates this facet of gameplay by allowing for variables such as terrain and weapon type to keep combat fresh. The sandbox nature of the game puts a greater level of player choice into each enemy encounter; allowing for stealthy approaches, head-on assaults, and everything in between. This is an extension, not an overhaul, of what came before it. Actually, the combat in Breath of the Wild is perhaps the most familiar element of the whole game.
Exploration, like combat and puzzle-solving, is nearly unchanged in principle. Link still treks across vast, natural environments; meeting NPCs, solving option puzzles, and defeating enemies along the way. While Ocarina of Time, and especially Skyward Sword, are very linear, I'd posit that Breath of the Wild's framing of exploration is no different than The Wind Waker. Both games drop the player in large worlds, and allow for varying means of exploration. The addition of climbing and the concept of going anywhere in Hyrule appear like stark deviations, and while they do come at the cost of meaningful storytelling, they are, like the combat, merely extensions of ideas begun in past titles.
Breath of the Wild synthesizes what makes a Zelda game a Zelda game and reconfigured those tenants into a fresh experience. This is a prime example of classical video game sequel design. Back during the NES days, it was extremely common for a game series to ebb and flow from entry to entry. Just look at not only The Legend of Zelda, but Super Mario. Both Zelda II: The Adventure of Link and Super Mario Bros. 2 (USA) were totally different games in comparison to their originals. Yet, both games retained the fundamental aspects of their respective series. I believe that Sean Phillips was disappointed in Breath of the Wild was for this reason: We have become so trained by modern gaming that each sequel will iterate and improve, but will rarely shake-up a formula to this extent. So, understandably, some people don't take a step back and really analyze what makes a franchise tick, and consequently, just what makes each game fit within the confines of said franchise. Rarely are those elements surface deep, as Breath of the Wild illustrates.
At the end of the day, I was too quick to judge, and I'd reckon Sean was as well. I find myself guilty of this often; especially with games. They'll release on a Friday, and my opinions will be up on Sunday. This simply isn't enough time to really develop an opinion on a game. As such, I've tried to slow down and really internalize a game before I write about it here at Penguins With Capes. Kirby Star Allies is a perfect example, as my thoughts that first weekend no way reflected by true feeling when all was said and done and my review went up weeks later. Media such as games and film are meant to be digested and examined fully; not given a cursory glance and moved on from. If Sean and I had really stepped back and examined Blade Runner 2049 and The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, we would've learned a great deal about the two works that wasn't apparent at first. That isn't to say it's wrong to dislike either Breath of the Wild or Blade Runner 2049 for the exact reasons I've discussed here. Diverse opinions are excellent, and debating against them strengthen our own feelings. As long as you're thinking and coming to your own conclusion, feel anyway you like.
Hey guys-
Just wanted to pop in and give you all a bit of context for what you just read. Besides gaming, film is another subject I love to talk about. For a while now, I've wanted to combine these two interests together here at Penguins With Capes, and you've just witnessed the beginning of that. I am incredibly proud of this piece. However, it took a long time to write. Far longer than the traditional content here on my blog, as as such, these types of gaming/film crossover pieces will be going up no more than two times a month. In the gap weeks between crossover posts, there will be the same type of strictly-gaming opinion pieces you've come to enjoy! The bottom line is: there will be some type of post uploaded every week, only now the occasional one will include film. I'm very excited to be adding this to the page, and I hope you enjoy it.
While Blade Runner 2049 features far more diverse locations than the original, it is rather in-line with Scott's film. If all of the yellow and gold was replaced by a cool blue, it would be hard to tell that many of 2049's shots weren't from the original. We still have the wide angle cityscapes punctuated by low bass tones. Wide establishing shots assisted by otherworldly sounds. Low to the ground city streets, overpopulated and claustrophobic. Interiors marked by godlike architecture. It's all here. Yet, this isn't a bad thing. In fact, by keeping these core principles intact, 2049 is able to explore many different locations, from the farm at the beginning of the film, to New Las Vegas, to the scrap-heap sweatshop. These are amazingly designed; the rusted, mechanical look of the factory, and the Las Vegas streets, thick with dust and decrepit statues were highlights of the film for me. I found these wildly inventive and totally unexpected. All of these locales stand in stark contrast to the city of the original Blade Runner, but feel cohesive because of overall congruities with the previous film.
In contrast, Breath of the Wild looks incredibly different on the surface in comparison to past Zelda games. The traditional structure that fans have come to know and love has been removed in favor of a non-linear approach that harkens back to the NES original. The dungeons can be taken care of in any order, the story takes a backseat to the experience, and overworld exploration is the core of the game. While those elements make Breath of the Wild a natural extension of the debut title, for all intents and purposes, this is a huge diversion from what we've come to expect from 3D Zelda. Ocarina of Time structure this is not. The surface level gameplay deviates from what we've come to expect by a pretty wide margin, but it does retain several key elements. There is a large degree of familiarity in the locations you'll visit and the characters you'll meet; From the Zora Domain to the Goron tribe, these are familiar characters that helped ease me into this brand-new Zelda experience. Likewise, the art style is a further refinement of the pseudo-realistic, comical style that began in Skyward Sword. In fact, this is the perfect middle ground between Twilight Princess and The Wind Waker. This, in conjunction with the characters and locations help the game feel, purely from a surface level, not as foreign as its design would make it appear.
Yet, a surface level examination of these two works only reveals so much. On the surface, Blade Runner 2049 is still a largely derivative film, with some experimentation tucked under familiar techniques. On the other hand, Breath of the Wild appears to be a very different game from its 3D predecessors, using familiar visual tropes only to establish the sense that you're still in Hyrule. When evaluating 2049 from a perspective of plot and theme, you actually see a great deviation from the previous film. My mistake was to linger on the overlapping elements; overbearing corporate deities, detective story lines, and questions of humanity. While these are still present, these elements only serve as a springboard for a fully fleshed out narrative that explores new themes in the context of a larger world.
When thinking critically about the original Blade Runner, it is very easy to point out its thin plot. Deckard is a Blade Runner and his former boss has tasked him with hunting down four Nexus-6 model replicants. The replicants die, one way or another. Deckard falls in love with a fifth replicant named Rachel, and they run away together. The end. While that is a gross over-simplification of what happens in the film, the point is, the plot can be summed up rather succinctly. For what is a rather heady, philosophical film, the narrative thread is rather weak. The characters are all incredibly interesting, but for the most part, are fairly one-dimensional. Deckard himself isn't even a traditional hero; in fact he really just serves as a shepard to move us through the film. He is the liaison between Ridley Scott's vision and us the audience. Really, the plot takes a near total backseat to the overall experience. At its core, Blade Runner is a pinpointed exploration of the replicants' plight for more life, and the moral complications of artificial intelligence. Scott is hardly concerned by the overarching world he's created, or the surface narrative itself. To that effect, 2049 sharply deviates from that concept.
Villenueve is far more concerned with telling a complete narrative set within a living world. Agent K is directly involved with this plot this time around; he isn't merely a pawn like Deckard was. We see him chase down leads to solve his case, but also to fulfill himself. Deckard, in effect, was just doing a job. K, on the other hand, is tugging at threads simultaneously because it is his job, but also because he wants to reveal the truth; he wants to be part of something larger. The protagonist of 2049 is in direct control of the narrative, whereas at points it felt like Deckard was simply being dragged along. We explore Agent K, and his desires just as fully as we unravel the identity of the replicant child. That leads into my thematic mistake: viewing the themes of the film as merely retreads of the questions of humanity that Scott already explored. However, when Agent K's motivations and arc are really dissected, this is a story about self-acceptance and fulfillment, about love and loss. It's easy to see a replicant, Agent K, who is trying to prove his humanity and digest what that revelation would mean. Yet, that would be to ignore the fact that K isn't really concerned with being more "human", but instead with simply fulfilling his need for closure and clarity.
Blade Runner 2049 goes a step beyond changing the narrative structure and adopting different themes though, because Villenueve is concerned with the overall world of Blade Runner in a way Scott wasn't. When you really evaluate the original Blade Runner, that entire film happened in a vacuum. Nothing outside of what was directly important to Deckard was established. 2049 grounds its plot in a grander world that feels alive. The data blackout is established, we learn about the replicant uprising, and we see a fuller glimpse into everyday life in this universe. While I initially saw some of these pieces of context as dangling plot threads, now I see them as what they are: context. Scott put a microscope on Deckard, and never pulled back the lens. Villenueve applies a similar laser focus on Agent K, but unlike Scott, often pulls back the lens to reveal what his happening tangent to the main plot.
Under the surface Blade Runner 2049 looks remarkably different from its predecessor, but on the contrary, Breath of the Wild is a wholly similar experience. The Legend of Zelda is built on a few core concepts: puzzle-solving, combat, and exploration. Those three staples have been present in every single Zelda title, from home console to handheld, and Breath of the Wild is no different. Really, the Shrines and Divine Beasts are the same puzzle-solving instances that made the dungeons of past games so enjoyable. They just present the content in a fresh light. In fact, while there is a greater emphasis on physics-based manipulation, the actual puzzle gameplay doesn't deviate much from that found in, say, The Wind Waker. It is not as though Link is suddenly confronted with 120 ancient picross boards he needs to solve. All Breath of the Wild did was decentralize the puzzle rooms; the core experience has remained the same.
Breath of the Wild synthesizes what makes a Zelda game a Zelda game and reconfigured those tenants into a fresh experience. This is a prime example of classical video game sequel design. Back during the NES days, it was extremely common for a game series to ebb and flow from entry to entry. Just look at not only The Legend of Zelda, but Super Mario. Both Zelda II: The Adventure of Link and Super Mario Bros. 2 (USA) were totally different games in comparison to their originals. Yet, both games retained the fundamental aspects of their respective series. I believe that Sean Phillips was disappointed in Breath of the Wild was for this reason: We have become so trained by modern gaming that each sequel will iterate and improve, but will rarely shake-up a formula to this extent. So, understandably, some people don't take a step back and really analyze what makes a franchise tick, and consequently, just what makes each game fit within the confines of said franchise. Rarely are those elements surface deep, as Breath of the Wild illustrates.
At the end of the day, I was too quick to judge, and I'd reckon Sean was as well. I find myself guilty of this often; especially with games. They'll release on a Friday, and my opinions will be up on Sunday. This simply isn't enough time to really develop an opinion on a game. As such, I've tried to slow down and really internalize a game before I write about it here at Penguins With Capes. Kirby Star Allies is a perfect example, as my thoughts that first weekend no way reflected by true feeling when all was said and done and my review went up weeks later. Media such as games and film are meant to be digested and examined fully; not given a cursory glance and moved on from. If Sean and I had really stepped back and examined Blade Runner 2049 and The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, we would've learned a great deal about the two works that wasn't apparent at first. That isn't to say it's wrong to dislike either Breath of the Wild or Blade Runner 2049 for the exact reasons I've discussed here. Diverse opinions are excellent, and debating against them strengthen our own feelings. As long as you're thinking and coming to your own conclusion, feel anyway you like.
_____________
Just wanted to pop in and give you all a bit of context for what you just read. Besides gaming, film is another subject I love to talk about. For a while now, I've wanted to combine these two interests together here at Penguins With Capes, and you've just witnessed the beginning of that. I am incredibly proud of this piece. However, it took a long time to write. Far longer than the traditional content here on my blog, as as such, these types of gaming/film crossover pieces will be going up no more than two times a month. In the gap weeks between crossover posts, there will be the same type of strictly-gaming opinion pieces you've come to enjoy! The bottom line is: there will be some type of post uploaded every week, only now the occasional one will include film. I'm very excited to be adding this to the page, and I hope you enjoy it.
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