Ignorance is Bliss

Michael Lee

Tears of the Kingdom | Nintendo

At dawn’s break, the world again revealed itself to me.
Towering mountains stirred from sleep,
Veritable giants spoken of 
in legends told through the ages. 

I wandered in this world alone,
my thoughts my only company.
Was it strange to feel such melancholy
in the face of this outstanding beauty.

“Now… Go.”

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild remains the most profound gaming experience I have had as an adult person. As a kid, everything wows you. It’s no surprise that Super Mario World, Chrono Trigger and Donkey Kong Country are etched into my brain. Don’t get me wrong, they are truly excellent games that are still in my rotation to this day. But to feel that same excitement as an adult, there needs to be something more. There have been indie RPGs that have made me cry, there have been action games that have made my pulse pound with intensity, but there hasn’t been anything that moved me in the way that Breath of the Wild did. I’ve already talked about how the experience was utterly sublime, but it’s worth rehashing just how the game pulled me in from the first moments. Breath of the Wild makes clear in its opening cinematic what its thesis statement is. The notes on the piano twinkle as Link runs to the edge of a cliff, having awoken from a 100-year slumber, and a crash of cymbals sends the camera panning out over the vast expanse of Hyrule. Birds chirp. Link stares out at the landscape before him. Here is the world. And as Zelda says telepathically to us, “now go.”

That’s it. Breath of the Wild gives you the world and ultimately leaves everything up to you. The experience of playing this game is almost exclusively what you make of it. For me, that meant entire play sessions wondering what was over that next hill. Picking up the controller and simply pointing in a direction made every hour in Hyrule an adventure. Would I find something? Would there be nothing? Would I die? What did this ruin once represent? Did people ever live here? Learning about the world organically was the ultimate rush.

So why on Earth does ANYONE want to know ANYTHING about Tears of the Kingdom?

The only piece of media I have consumed in the lead up to the game is the 2019 reveal trailer. I saw that the game, at least from appearances, is cut from the same cloth as Breath of the Wild and that was enough for me. I decided I would not look at any more promotional materials for the game. As a perpetually online person, making this decision has led to me being caught in a minefield waiting for this game to be released. One errant click and BAM! I could learn something about the game that would, ultimately, alter how I approach my playing of it. Information has bled into my Twitter feed, and I can’t avoid seeing headlines with images from time to time, but I have done everything possible to not learn anything else about Tears of the Kingdom since 2019. By being spoiler celibate, being removed from the churn of inane YouTube trailer breakdown videos and the fanatical theorizing from a very enthusiastic fanbase, I’ve found peace in my LACK of knowing.

On a return to town,
the tavern had become unwelcoming.
The boisterous telling of tall tales
now mere hollow words.

Spoken with the authority of a king,
was I to believe the words of this drunkard?
Surely I needn’t stay, 
the stories unheard yet were out there for me to find. 

Spoiler Buffet

Why is there such a desire to know everything about a piece of media before even being able to experience it? There has been a slow creep towards giving the audience more and more of a media object prior to its release. Research suggests that going into something with spoilers leads to less emotional arousal, enjoyment, and investment. The problem is that promotional materials now try to give us a taste of the arousal it wants to awaken in us, but in doing so, have to reveal more of the finished product, leading to spoilers. Look at a theatrical trailer for Ridley Scott’s 1979 classic Alien compared to the trailer for the recently released Evil Dead Rise. Evil Dead’s trailer reveals several of the jump scares that are found in the film. We have an idea of what to expect. In the trailer for Alien there isn’t a single frame of a Xenomorph. Can you imagine sitting on a creature as terrifying and iconic as that, designed by famed Swiss artist H.R. Giger, and not showing it off to the public in a trailer? It would be near unthinkable today. 

The trailer for Evil Dead Rise gives us so much because it has to show us enough “things that we like” to the point that we might consider seeing it opening weekend. The cultural shorthand we have been trained to respond to is flashed before us, we read the visual language of tropes, hear the musical stings that indicate horror to us, and are drawn in. The legacy of Evil Dead Rise does not matter a lick to the studio, nor does it matter if there is any extended critical engagement with the film. They got our fifteen dollars, the shareholders are happy. We knew the jump scares were coming, turns out they were the best part, which is likely why they were in the trailer. We won’t fall for that again…ooooh what’s that?

In the information age, the media landscape moves exponentially faster than it did years ago. Culture has become a hyper-mediated experience. We are wired into so many different networks, circuits of information, and media loops we become an addict. We consume much more, and as such, are constantly reaching for the next thing to give us that dopamine hit that makes our miserable lives worth living. Every piece of media has to give us SOMETHING to fuel this addiction to consumption, there can be nothing left to chance, nothing ambiguous, nothing boring. Tell me now what the thing is so I can enjoy the thing. Don’t make me wait for the thing.  

It represents a triumph for the culture industry as discussed by Theodor Adorno, giving us the impression that we as customers are having our needs met, when in fact, we have fallen victim to a ‘cycle of manipulation and retroactive need’ which we help feed into now through social media. Mark Fisher would say that we’re suffering from a ‘depressive hedonia,’ unable to do anything else except pursue the pleasure principle, the Freudian notion that we instinctively pursue pleasure and avoid pain to satisfy our biological or psychological needs. Late Capitalism demands this of us, and ironically, our pursuit—such an active sounding word—leads us to a state of immobility and inaction, becoming true gluttons of culture. In our debilitated state we perpetually consume. It becomes exhausting, yet we’re all hooked. The sugary sweet confections the culture industry produces cannot be resisted.

Against the trunk of an old sallow
its branches dangling into a near’by brook
I wondered if time
was somehow different out here.

Freed of the put upon rhythms of the factory
Had time slowed like this stream
trickling over moss-covered rocks
or was it purely mine own daydream.

Trust the Process

The narrative tissue that loosely holds Breath of the Wild together was just enough to guide me as I played, but was never so urgent that it could pull me away from searching for mushrooms or uncovering another shrine. Majora’s Mask this was not. No countdown to worry about. This wasn’t Ocarina of Time either. No Navi urging me along to the next destination. I was free to be the Hero on my own terms, in my own way. Breath of the Wild was ambivalent about what I needed to even reach the end. Tame the Divine Beasts, or don’t. Ganon’s right there in Hyrule Castle waiting, stop him when you feel like it. 

There’s a reason why articles still get written about new tech found in Breath of the Wild. The game is about discovery. And because it leaves so much up to the player, it has taken literal years to unearth some of the game’s deepest secrets. In my own time with the game, the most exhilarating moments were those moments of discovery. Seeing something atop Satori Mountain, finding a way up there, and camping out into the overnight hours to get a peek at the Lord of the Mountain. I hadn’t heard anything about Lurelin Village prior to playing, so you can imagine my surprise when journeying down the coast from Hateno I came across a completely unexpected village. Put another pin on my Sheikah Slate map. I honestly didn’t care that there “weren’t any dungeons” because Hyrule itself was rewarding enough to explore.

Knowing that Tears of the Kingdom is once again being produced by Aonuma Eiji, directed by Fujibayashi Hidemaro, and will feature music by Kataoka Manaka was enough for me to put on the blinders and wait in isolation for the release date. It’s like hearing about a new Spielberg or Scorcese film. You just trust that whatever the subject matter, their talent will deliver something of a certain level of quality. You don’t have to spoil everything in the trailer. Just step into the theater and let them take you where they want you to be taken. This is that, but for video games. Just trust Aonuma.

If we circle back to Fisher, and the idea that many of us find ourselves in a “depressive hedonia” seeking only the pleasure principle, it makes sense that we demand that a game have several trailers and gameplay previews ahead of its release. The idea that we may pursue pleasure, and instead find pain—or the disappointment of a game not living up to our expectations—is a frightening prospect to many. That we may take psychic damage by being *gasp* wrong about something or feeling unsatisfied. It’s why media discourse is so busted now. Things we buy should only be dopamine delivery systems, why the hell would we want to feel anything else? How dare a game waste my precious time by being mid. They should’ve released more gameplay footage so I could’ve known to avoid it.

The idea that we might, every now and then, find disappointment in a piece of media should offer an opportunity to be reflexive, yet it seems that to most, that experience is unacceptable. It’s an entitled attitude on the part of the consumer, and contributes to the lack of media literacy that we see in social media spaces.

I could be wrong about Tears of the Kingdom. Maybe it will let me down. I am willing to let that happen. The not knowing is exciting. What could this game be about? What new abilities will be at Link’s disposal? What will Hyrule look like? Will it move me like Breath of the Wild did?

May 12th, I’ll know. Until then. Please, NO SPOILERS.

The fog began to lift
though dewdrops still clung to bellflowers.
The horizon ahead took shape 
and the multitude of paths leading there called to me.

Which should I follow?
Shall I wind through a meadow chasing butterflies
or race to edge of the world 
in search of the sun peeking through the clouds.

Michael Lee is the Editor of KOSATEN, and writes in other places as well. His work looks at video games, anime, and Japanese fandom, with a particular focus on doujinshi and other fan-created media.