Shadow of the Colossus: 20 years on, this Playstation classic still looms large

Designer Fumito Ueda’s illustrious gameography is dominated by scale. The European box art of Ico — his first title as director — encapsulated Ueda’s artistic intent. The cover shows a pair of diminutive figures, silhouetted amidst towering viaducts and windmills. Rather than glorifying its protagonists, Ico finds its geography and architecture more heroic than its heroes.

Ueda’s follow-up retained that sense of awe, while pivoting towards grander ecological concerns. Once again, its box art portrayed the lead as woefully overwhelmed by a gargantuan presence. Not a building this time, but a living beast. Shadow of the Colossus was born — its title pithily emblematic of Ueda’s fixation.

The game focuses on scale, but is deceptively compact. Shadow of the Colossus’s setting is tantalisingly non-descript, while gameplay focuses exclusively on a series of boss fights — the eponymous colossi. Wander — the player character — strikes a Faustian bargain with the entity Dormin to resurrect his deceased lover in exchange for slaying the sixteen giants roaming the forbidden lands.

Each colossi inhabits an arena uniquely tailored to their anatomical quirks: lakeside podiums, sand pits, clandestine temples and so forth. Toppling the creatures is possible only by impaling Wander’s sword into illuminated sigils tattooed across their bodies. Achieving such a feat takes some legwork: physical or mental depending on the context. Certain fights revolve around cracking an environmental conundrum; baiting attacks into pillars to stun your foe into submission. Others are arduous ascents through fur and sinew, colossi violently responding to Wander’s clutches like bucking broncos.

There are few mechanics outside these encounters. Wander wields only two weapons and is incapable of crafting supplementary items. There are no skill trees or stat points. Such a dedication to minimalism can be difficult to execute in a medium often burdened with conveying monetary value. Yet, revisiting Shadow today is a salve amidst behemoth titles whose vast runtimes often come at the expense of focus.

Shadow of the Colossus’s dearth of environmental activities belies the meticulous craft lurking in its bucolic landscape. Each clash is preceded by a prolonged journey across the wilderness towards the next arena. Each trek proves tougher than the last. Inevitably, these extended periods of commuting encourage player introspection. As the luster of Wander’s quest wanes and Dormin’s motivation is rendered clear, the player is becomes diminished by swathes of negative space. Ueda is uniquely talented in making players feel small.

Given those sorrowful and subversive tendencies, it should come as little surprise that Shadow of the Colossus was quickly held up as a nascent example of the art game on release. Buoyed by its reach on the PlayStation 2 console, Wander’s tragic pilgrimage became the poster child for a popular existential debate: can a video game make you cry? Other games had set a precedent: Aerith’s fate in Final Fantasy VII or Silent Hill 2’s wretched video tape, for example. But Shadow of the Colossus’s impact can’t be so easily encapsulated by a single scene. Rather, it is better defined by the gradual onset of guilt, as the purging of the innocent colossi renders the world into an ecological horror. Shadow of the Colossus is a video game that can make you cry. It’s also one that can make you feel ashamed.

A litany of artists and filmmakers were inspired by Ueda’s elevated design: indie games such as FAR: Lone Sails and Sword of the Sea or tentpoles like Breath of the Wild share a clear affection for pensive adventure. In film you can look to last year’s Best Animated Feature Oscar winner Flow. From storytelling stripped of dialogue to cel-shading that revels in lively imperfections, the film is synchronised to Shadow of the Colossus’s aesthetics. No surprise then that filmmaker Gints Zilbalodis is a self-proclaimed fan of Ueda’s work. 

Yet, the most sincere on-screen response stemmed from an unorthodox source. In the Adam Sandler film, Reign over Me (2007), Sandler is depicted as a recluse grieving the death of his wife and daughter on 9/11. Concurrent to the core narrative of Sandler reuniting with a college roommate (Don Cheadle), we learn that his character is addicted to a new video game: Shadow of the Colossus.

One montage of Sandler and Cheadle bonding over their shared obsession with mastering each fight provides a cutesy respite from the film’s morose subject. Unlike the vast majority of video game cinematic stand-ins however, it is difficult not to dissect the contextual deployment of Shadow throughout the film. Sandler is a contemporary mirror to Wander: an individual at the end of their world desperate to undo life-altering loss. Slaying the colossi is a vain attempt to expunge his own grief. Unlike Wander however, he avoids reducing himself to a sacrificial totem. We never witness Sandler completing the game.

Ueda’s persistent fascination with scale doesn’t appear to be fading anytime soon. His new title — known only as Project Robot — debuted its first teaser at last year’s Game Awards ceremony. Giant mechanical beasts gaze upon an endless expanse; a nimble individual scales one’s spine and stands upon its shoulder, subsequently ascending into the unknown abyss above. The spectacle is instantly familiar but no less awe-inspiring. One matter is undeniable: Shadow’s influence casts itself far and wide.