Different strokes
By Fuseball

Somehow, just as I'm beginning to lose all interest in it, that most vanilla of consoles, the PS2, buys itself another few months of prime space under the telly. Last year it was Shadow of the Colossus that rescued it from a dusty-cupboard fate, now it's Okami.

For a while I wasn't so sure. The opening hour or so is filled with long-winded mythological back story and only the most rudimentary fragmented gameplay. The celestial brush, Okami's unique feature, feels like an ungainly gimmick, and your initial tasks lack purpose and that essential imaginative spark. Then, just as your attention begins to waver, you leave the confines of the village and begin to explore, and the game proper kicks in.

And it's glorious.

In your world, you might not want to paint a dragon. Nor might you want an afro hairstyle. It's cool.

Okami is generous of spirit. There's a rich story here that it wants you to experience. Disinterested in hardcore gaming credentials, the relatively gentle difficulty allows your brushwork skills to be honed in combat until those scything strokes become second nature, and exploration becomes a confident joy. Almost every action rewards either yen or praise, the dual currencies of Okami, and serves to give the game a sense of constant progress. It's a comfortably familiar pacing. Familiar to anyone who has played Zelda, that is.

Now I was hoping to get through this review without mentioning Miyamoto's perennial masterpiece, but so much of Okami owes a huge debt to Link's adventures. What is surprising, however, is how successfully it builds and expands upon the blueprint. Where a game such as Starfox Adventures was a ham-fisted facsimile, a soulless homage; Okami isn't afraid to be its own beast. Free of Zelda's stifling rules and conventions (boomerang, hookshot etc.) it takes great pleasure in writing a new, more expressive, rulebook. There's little of the tedious item swapping of old when you have almost all you need only a deft brush sweep away. It's all so much more natural and free-flowing than playing a bloody ocarina. Your lupine form also serves as a delicious dig at Twilight Princess's protracted gestation. Were it not for the fact that both Zelda and Okami are exclusives to their respective hardware platforms, Nintendo would have reason to be worried that their flagship title might just be being eclipsed here.

There'll be no trick-or-treaters here. Set him off, boy!

It's a beautiful game in its own right, though. Coaxing rare graphical splendour from the distinctly last-gen PS2, it can still conjure a breathtaking sequence when it needs to. The restoration of life and colour into a barren, infected Nippon never fails to delight. Sometimes it can feel like stepping through a watercolour dream-world of pastel blossoms, rivers and forests. It's far more ambitious and striking than Wind Waker's more conventional cel-shaded animation, and is carried off with an unwavering confidence. That it never threatens to overwhelm the player with more style than substance is testament to how effortlessly it complements the gameplay. It simply wouldn't convince if the game looked any other way.

OK, now listen, Okami... sit. Now, Okami.... don't be gay. Don't be gay, boy!

So, is this the perfect action RPG? Well, you have to accept that this far more geared to Japanese tastes than Zelda ever was. The mythology, names and places (and there's a lot of all three) have only been lightly westernised, and as a result you'll find yourself referring back to maps and objective lists more than usual. There's also clearly a layer of reference lost to us, with the liberal stylistic flourishes of Kanji scattered throughout the game, particularly during combat. Your wisecracking bug/fairy companion can also serve as more irritant than light-hearted relief, but that's the only fly in the ointment in an otherwise near faultless gaming experience.

If this really is to be the PS2's creative swansong, before we all abandon ship for the next gen, then I can't think of a finer masterpiece with which to to bow out. Perhaps not a game for everyone, but then couldn't we say that about any of the PS2's finest moments?

Stunning.

November 2006

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