A little bit of this obstinance added to Trico’s charm, but it happened far too often, so most of the time it just bombarded me with frustration and made me lose any feeling that I existed in this world. Whether he was facing the wrong direction and refused to turn around or was just a few steps to either side of where he needed to be to initiate a jump, I became exhausted by his refusal to heed my commands.
The problem here is that there were countless times where I’d mentally solved a puzzle and knew exactly what to do, only to find that Trico stubbornly refused to go to the spot I needed him to get to. Entering an environment and figuring out what he can climb, destroy, or interact with requires a healthy dose of careful observation. Herein lies one of The Last Guardian’s most conflicting features: I love the concept of not possessing or physically maneuvering Trico, in that it preserves the feeling that he’s an independent and intelligent creature. I use the word “vague” before, because even as the credits rolled, I still didn’t feel like I had a firm grasp of how to get him to do what I wanted or needed. Many times I found my attempts to get back to solid land were thwarted by getting caught in my cute companion’s weird underbelly. Grabbing onto a tuft of feathers as Trico leaps from ledge to ledge can be oftentimes thrilling, but at the same time, the simple act of dismounting him is cumbersome. A lot of these are done while you’re climbing on top of him, which mirrors that main, memorable mechanic of Shadow of the Colossus. “You don’t have direct control of Trico, but can prompt him with a series of commands and gestures that nudge the beast to jump, swipe, or head in a general direction.
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