Visually, the game draws obvious inspiration from the 8 and 16-bit eras, yet never feels like a paint-by-numbers recreation of those games. Hyper Light Drifter places pixel-colored glasses on the player, respectfully invoking some of the greatest elements of retro gaming that extend beyond art and into the very soul of the game. It took me back to a time where the majority of my understanding of a game came from exploration – and, if I was lucky, a few paragraphs in an accompanying booklet. There is a sadness to the game, a combination of resistance and defeatism, that likely could not have been captured so deeply in any amount of dialogue.
The tale is told not through a checklist of events, NPC explanations, or cutscenes, but rather through the environment, the music, and good old imagination. The few remaining allies tell wordless stories, which are explained only through brief, somber pictographics, and yet much remains unsaid. Was there a war? A hostile takeover by machines? Or perhaps greed left the land in ruins. HLD didn’t provide a concrete explanation of how this place became what it has. It is atmospheric, a stunning portrait that uses insinuation as its primary medium. The game has been criticized for its implied plot, but I must disagree. While its gameplay strengths are plentiful, it is in the atmosphere that Hyper Light Drifter truly excels. The combat is exciting, the atmosphere intoxicating, and the journey exciting. In fact, my formal review of the title marked my very first five-star rating. It is simultaneously minimalist and grandiose across the board, from the aesthetically impressive environments to the haunting musical scores. While its release is still a very young game, Hyper Light Drifter has already left a profound mark on me. In that, and in everything else, it is a roaring success.
The game is not about creating an emotional story, but rather about creating an emotional experience. The wordless Drifter serves as an oddly relatable protagonist, an effective conduit for any who have ever felt lost, alone, uncertain, afraid. You don’t know him, what he’s been through, or what is attempting to destroy him – externally or internally. The timing of Hyper Light Drifter‘s release was perfect for me, and I found myself relating quite a bit to the titular Drifter. I am, without any intention of wit or pun, an escapist at heart. I have found that when I am faced with uncertainty, I do not seek understanding or comfort. Hyper Light Drifter appears to have made the short list. There are few games that I willingly replay, and fewer that I feel I must replay. I had played, and loved, many a game prior to Ocarina, and yet none have stuck with me, with the longevity or intensity of that one. They cannot express my satisfaction at locating all of the Gold Skulltulas, or explain how mighty I felt the first time I raised the Biggoron Sword. They cannot capture the awe I was in upon discovering Lake Hylia for the first time, nor the frustration that I felt on my fifth attempt to locate the mid-level switch in the Water Temple. No adjectives can sum up how I felt the first time I stepped onto Hyrule Field. My ongoing love affair with Ocarina is something that cannot be adequately expressed, even with the sheer volume of words at my disposal. None of these reasons are why I am drawn to that cartridge like a magnet responding to metal. It was the definition of a perfect storm – 3D gaming was in its youth, The Legend of Zelda had the luxury of notoriety, the world was sprawling for its time, and new mechanics were introduced that would forever change the landscape of gaming. That’s ok – for me, Ocarina was my definitive gaming experience. It’s no secret that, graphically, the game has not aged particularly well. At least once a year, I find myself revisiting The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time on Nintendo 64.
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