You just need to look at it to understand.
It is literally cutting its cloth from Link’s shirt.
The world has a papercraft feel, constructed of sharp-edged ramps and boxy buttes.
At first you deal with these slimes and shadowy knights by hitting them with a stick.
Then you find a sword, a shield.
Later still, bombs, a magic staff, an ice-blasting dagger.
So far, so familiar.
A tried-and-true broadening of the world through weapons and tools, made satisfying by some classic foreshadowing.
A conspicuous stone door, a curious tuning fork sticking out of the ground.
But that world-opening is also done in another, more novel way.
Throughout the kingdom you find scraps of the game’s manual.
Manuals, game guides, messy notes.
It is lovingly realised.
you might practically smell this instruction booklet.
More practically, it adds a sense of discovery to the finer details about enemies and environmental obstacles.
“HOLY CROSS,” says one, next to a silhouetted picture and inscrutable text.
It raises questions at regular intervals.
What’s so special about these gold coins, or these flowers?
These shrines and golden platforms have some connection - but what?
Some pages have scribbles in ballpoint pen atop the instructions.
An absolute joy to me, the shortcut liker.
A more cautious designer would be reluctant to overuse such line-of-sight chicanery.
And the jester is not under your command.
It works, provided you’re equipped to read such cues.
A dark corner into which I cannot see because of an overhanging block?
Some might find that sightless groping for hidden goodies tiresome.
But it does give Tunic that sense of depth you sometimes get with clever fixed-perspective games.
Not only literal depth, but flouncy metaphorical depth.
The axonometric point-of-view starts as a visual design decision, and in its repeated use, becomes a theme.
This is emblematic of Tunic’s old-school attitude.
It trusts you to figure this stuff out.
That’ll make linguist fans of theHylian languagehappy.
But it extends to blow-by-blow exploration and combat.
“Oh wow,” I said, as I burned to death.
Yet Zelda is where the fox’s heart belongs.
For better and sometimes for worse.
Do I need something that lets me use these hooks to cross gaps?
Or is it the (probably explosive) ability to get through these strong stone doors?
This is the flipside of the hands-off approach.
Sometimes the manual’s cryptic hints will lead you toward the correct place.
“Ah, a big frog-shaped rock with a clearly posted ability requirement,” I thought.
“That’ll be the entrance.”
The actual entrance was hidden by two turns of the screen behind some pillars and up an unseeable ladder.
The same isometric tricks that bestow pleasing moments of discovery can also cause frustrating critical misses.
I got the grappling hook.
It was inside the dungeon.
But there are those who won’t always enjoy the spectre of SNES cluelessness that Tunic conjures up.
Thedifficulty of the fightingalso hits an abrupt ramp at some of the boss battles.
Really, he simply required brute force and luck.
(Oh, and the lack of any pause or slowdown when bringing up your inventory.
Panicking through items to swap out a firepot while the enemy charges at you in a Soulslike?
Doing the same thing in Zeldalike?
These grumbles aside, Tunic is a resolute and intelligently made adventure in its own right.
Nostalgic platformers give you coyote time, but then fill their world with needless dialogue.
Like an overhanging camera view, Tunic sees Zelda from the top to the bottom.
It is a tribute well-paid.
