A boy and girl sit on a stone bench. They do not talk - how could they? They speak different languages and come from different worlds. Still, there is a connection between them. The young, horned boy stands up and takes the princess’ hand. Together, they resume their Sisyphean odyssey across battered bridges and ruined towers, evading the encroaching shadows in their vainglorious drive for freedom.
Ico is now 20 years old. To this day, it is still the single most underappreciated game ever made. Created by the inimitable Fumito Ueda - who pioneered his iconic “design by subtraction” approach to development here - this cult classic’s influence on the games industry at large is unmistakable. Without Ico, there would be no Breath of the Wild. Without Ico, there would be no The Last of Us. Without Ico, there would be no Bloodborne. Essentially, without Ico, gaming would be worse off. It is remarkably ironic that despite poor sales at launch, Ico has arguably had one of the most enduring impacts on the games industry in history.
For those of you who have not played Ico - well, first of all, go play Ico - here’s a brief breakdown of what happens: Ico is ostracised from his village for being born with horns. After being locked in a coffin as a sacrificial lamb, he wakes up in a mysterious castle and encounters Yorda, a young princess who will soon die in order to prolong her mother’s lifespan. Your only task in the game is to prevent this by escaping together - that’s it. As I mentioned above, this is the genesis of the “design by subtraction” principle that has since proceeded to completely redefine how games are made and what they can be. There’s a certain irrefutable beauty to this simplicity: it is unpretentious, unphased by overabundance, and unmistakably artistic in the most pure sense of the word. After all, Ueda himself painted the breathtakingly beautiful image we see on the game’s Japanese box art - it’s a shame the people behind the US version had so little faith in people who played games that the painting was replaced with this monstrosity.
It might seem like a stretch for anyone who is unfamiliar with the work of Ueda and Team Ico, but Ico’s influence is still clearly visible in contemporary games. As well as inspiring the likes of Hidetaka Miyazaki and Neil Druckmann, artists as diverse as Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood and Guillermo Del Toro have spoken openly about Ico’s undeniable brilliance. It’s easy to discuss its blatant innovations in game design - it introduced key frames and bloom lighting, and helped to establish non-dialogic narrative progression - although I think to focus on technical achievements is to dismiss Ico’s true value. It is, put plainly, one of the purest examples of a game that is emphatically that: a game. There is no pretense. There is no overbearing jargon. There is no pressure to be anything it is not. It is one of the least “gamey” video games ever made because to be “gamey” is to be conspicuous. At no point in Ico do you feel like you’re holding a controller. You’re just Ico. You need to save Yorda. That’s all.
Given that Ico has been out for two decades, I’m not really fussed about being precious with spoilers. If you haven’t played it and you’re reading this article… Well, that’s on you, bud. You’ve had a fifth of a century. While Ico himself is capable of dispelling shadows and moving objects, Yorda is unable to do anything other than walk and occasionally jump. This type of story - where you are tasked with escorting a companion through an increasingly challenging labyrinth of puzzles - is the blueprint for some of the most ostensibly esteemed games ever made. God of War? The Last of Us? Resident Evil 4? Ico, mate. They all depend on Ico. A world without Ico is a world where your favourite games don’t exist. Write Mr. Ueda a letter to say thanks, yeah?
Ico also inspired Team Ico’s two subsequent games - Shadow of the Colossus and The Last Guardian - which, in turn, are also absurdly influential in their own right. If you told me Shadow of the Colossus was the best game of all time, I’d give you the PC I’m typing this on. I’d give you my car. I’d give you my house, which I don’t even own. You, reader, are a person with excellent taste. You know the difference between “game good” and “game bad.” Shame Ico’s better though, innit.
I could write about Ico all day (don’t test me, really), from its origins as a simple “boy meets girl” concept gone berserk to the fact it was originally envisioned as a PlayStation title before being delayed to launch for PS2, which at the time wasn’t quite as prevalent a move as it might seem in the modern games industry. The Last Guardian still has it beat on that, though - supposed to be a PS2 game and it came out four years into the PS4 life cycle. Wild.
The thing is, I won’t write about Ico all day, because, ironically enough given that I am writing right now, to write about Ico is to do it a disservice. Ico is designed to be played, so you should go and play it. To be honest, I desperately want to discuss the magic of its ending, although I couldn’t possibly bear the guilt of ruining it for someone who has yet to experience it for themselves. It is possibly the single most emotionally affecting scene in any video game ever - it even manages to surpass that soft and solitary sequence hidden away at the finale of The Last Guardian. That’s coming from someone with a Trico tattoo, by the way. Ico is just that good.
Today marks 20 years since the most underappreciated game ever made originally launched. You may not have played it - you may not have even heard of it. Believe me, though - the devs behind your favourite games? Yeah, they know about Ico. Without it, the games industry as we know it would be a different - and irrefutably worse - place.
Play. Ico.