Majora’s Mask
Scott Juster
The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask is often thought of as “the mutt” of the Zelda series35. It is an understandable sentiment, as it diverges from many of the standard Zelda tropes: it is not set in Hyrule, the villainous Gannon is nowhere to be found, and Princess Zelda’s only contribution to the adventure is lending her name to the title. While Link and many of his familiar tools are present, they are applied in a unique world governed by a constantly ticking doomsday clock, full of dark characters with intractable problems. It is a game that seems in conflict with itself: it simultaneously follows the conventions of its predecessors while also including themes and game mechanics that criticize tradition.
Unsettling the Player
The Legend of Zelda series is not known for its strict narrative continuity. While some of the Zelda games theoretically take place in the same universe, a player would have little trouble jumping into most titles without knowledge of the
previous games.
As the sequel to one of the most critically-acclaimed and widely-played games of its era, Majora’s Mask assumes and utilizes the player’s familiarity with Ocarina of Time as both a ludic and narrative tool in order to evoke feelings of uneasiness, anxiety, and strangeness. The game opens with a familiar character: Young Link from Ocarina of Time. Young Link embodies specific plot and gameplay implications: Seeing him in his usual green garb, riding Epona suggests that the game is picking up where Ocarina left off in terms of story. When the player is given control of Link, it becomes clear that he follows the same control scheme, environmental rules, and interaction system from the previous game. Majora’s Mask greets the large audience of people who played Ocarina of Time with a familiar setup.
However, as soon as these recognizable feelings are evoked, the game’s antagonist, the Skull Kid, transforms Link into a Deku Scrub. This sudden shift dramatically alters the character that players have come to expect. Link’s mechanics are severely impacted: suddenly, swimming, long jumps, and swordplay are impossible. The standard Zelda plot is also thrown into question: the most pressing concern is not finding the Triforce, looking for a Princess, or vanquishing a great evil, but rather trying desperately not to be trapped in a monster’s body. Because the game has already deviated from the familiar coming-of-age tale told in most Zelda games, there is no narrative clue as to when, or if, the story or the gameplay will return to the “normalcy” of Ocarina of Time. Majora’s Mask boldly exploits the popularity and consistency of its own franchise to throw players off balance.
Eventually, the player is able to transform Link back into his normal form, but Majora’s Mask’s emphasis on creating anxiety by subverting familiar symbols and systems remains. Because of the game’s unusually short development cycle36, many of the character models from Ocarina of Time are found in Majora’s Mask. The game utilizes this constraint as a strength by fashioning what is essentially a Star Trek-style “mirror universe” in which people look the same but act differently. For example, Koume and Kotake, both fearsome enemies that guarded one of the final temples in Ocarina of Time are characterized as harmless old witches that ask for Link’s help and offer to aid him in his quest. Majora’s Mask is full of examples of characters whose Ocarina of Time characterizations are changed to challenge the player’s associations: An honest fisherman is recast as a pawn broker who knowingly sells stolen merchandise, a jealous ranch-hand becomes a sympathetic talent agent, and even the helpful fairy companion Navi becomes the curt, sarcastic Tatl. After having spent so much time building relationships with these characters in Hyrule, encountering familiar faces and having to treat them as strangers works to make Termina foreign in both a geographic and a social sense.
An Open World with Consequences
Majora’s Mask pairs these unique mechanical and thematic changes with an overall game structure that diverges sharply from Ocarina of Time. With Termina, Majora’s Mask presents the player with a rare situation: the game world, along with its NPCs and quests, changes without the player’s prompting. Although Majora’s Mask came out before it was popular to describe games as having an “open world,” it remains one of the most intricate examples of a functional virtual world. Because of the Skull Kid’s mischief, the moon’s inexorable descent towards Termina is a real and constant reminder that matters in the game.
Even the most photorealistic, majestic game environments like New Austin in Red Dead Redemption or Liberty City in Grand Theft Auto 4 allow the player to dictate the pace at which most events in the world occur. A player can start quests whenever they want, and in many cases, can take long breaks in between objectives without suffering any mechanical or narrative consequences. A person waiting on you to deliver a certain item will wait until eternity, and will say nothing of the time it took you to get there. In Majora’s Mask, the game systems make it clear that Link and the player are agents, not masters, of the world. Miss an opportunity and it disappears; mistakes are only corrected by sacrificing time and progress by rewinding to the first day.
The game makes concessions by allowing the player to protect key items and abilities from the three-day erasure cycle, but the social progress Link makes with the townspeople and their problems is reset. Relationships are erased and solved problems crop up again with every rewind. The player has a lot of time to think about the world and to see old patterns play out. Link and the player become very familiar with Termina’s denizens, their struggles, and their stories. Such repetition can lead to monotony and existential pondering, and it soon becomes clear that certain people in the story bear a disproportionate burden when it comes to fixing the world and dealing with life’s hardships. Link and the player can only cling to childish wonder for so long before fusing it with pragmatism. Because Link never talks, this transition is difficult to witness. However, other children in the world face the same battles as Link, and their stories expand on the themes stifled by
Link’s silence.
Childhood Responsibility and the Burden of Leadership
Legend of Zelda games traditionally focus on Link and Zelda, two youthful characters tasked with assuming a level of responsibility incommensurate with their age. Majora’s Mask examines this concept in depth by including many characters that, despite their youth, must grapple with questions of duty, social expectations and altruism.
When Link travels to the Southern Swamp, he finds the Deku Kingdom in the midst of a witch-hunt precipitated by the Deku Princess’ disappearance. A monkey last seen with the Princess is captured and the King becomes focused on revenge, vowing to boil him alive and “prolong his suffering” as punishment for the Princess’ disappearance. This all takes place in the context of a much larger threat to the Deku Kingdom that transcends the kidnapping of a single individual: their swamp has been poisoned and the environment is slowly dying. Despite this, the King’s thirst for revenge overpowers his duties as a leader.
In actuality, the young Princess was the only one who saw the large threat clearly, and her kidnapping was a result of her attempts to save the kingdom. After Link frees her, she learns of her father’s actions during her absence and comments: “Father does such rash things when he’s worried about me.” Upon returning, she chastises her father for his single-mindedness and orders the monkey freed. The King admits that “Hasty decision making is my weakness...This time, more than ever, it has become clear to me.” The Deku Princess is shown to be the most clear-sighted leader in the Kingdom, despite her status as a child. Because of this, she is compelled to put herself in danger and teach her father lessons that normally parents teach children. Her story mirrors that of Link’s: both must assume responsibility for society at large, and act in a capacity that often exceeds the abilities of their elders.
The Deku society is not the only one in which young members assume premature maturity. When the Goron tribe’s best warrior disappears and a supernatural blizzard threatens their village, the Goron elder leaves his citizens and his family in an attempt to rectify the situation. Although he realizes his son is distraught without him, he resolves to push on, saying “Forgive me, my child! Your father has work to do!” Even after Link offers to help solve the problems concerning the village’s dwindling supplies and the disastrous effects of the cold snap on the people, the Elder displays an insular, stubborn attitude reminiscent of the Deku King. He states that the fate of the village “is our problem!” and “We shall not rely on the strength of strangers.”
Like Ocarina of Time (and most other Zelda games), Majora’s Mask is partly a story about isolation: in both ludic and narrative terms, Link is alone in overcoming the challenges he faces. Just as Link (and the player) must accept the ethos of self-sufficiency and stoicism in the face of an uncertain outcome, so too must the Goron Elder’s Son. After Link helps the village, the Elder’s son says “Even if my daddy isn’t right beside me, I won’t be selfish and cry.” The natural desire for fatherly attention is instead framed as selfish. The selflessness Link is forced to assume is also present in the lives of other youths in Termina. The Elder’s Son must accept that he has a responsibility to his people that transcends his own desires.
We are given a preview of what may await the Elder’s son upon meeting the Zora kingdom’s young matriarch, Lulu. Although the Zoras’ political structure is nebulous, Lulu’s family heritage and cultural influence make her a de facto leader of her society, which makes her transition from child to adult all the more important. While young, Lulu differs from the previously mentioned characters in that she has recently made a crucial transition in life: she will soon be a mother. As an added, painful component to this transition, she must also deal with the process of losing her children after her eggs are stolen.
Compared with the aforementioned youthful leaders, Lulu’s concerns are arguably the broadest and most personal: instead of theoretical notions of justice and independence, she must deal with the prospect of shaping the next generation of her society. Furthermore, it is subtly implied that Mikau, the Zora who went out in search of her eggs and who dies in Link’s arms, is Lulu’s mate and the father of her children. Not only must Lulu grow from being a child into being a leader and a parent, she must do it without a partner.
Lulu’s arduous transition out of childhood illustrates the challenges that Link’s story usually glosses over or leaves open to player interpretation. In Ocarina of Time, Link’s aging is done in a split second and stems from magic rather than hard-earned experience. Because of his silent demeanor and vague family structure, Link is cast as a figure fighting to preserve a world in which he is a perpetual outsider. His endless devotion to saving the world is consistent to the point of becoming a cliché, but Lulu’s story serves as a reminder of the real consequences of failure: there is no future without taking the responsibility to create one and safeguard those who will live in it.
Responsibility towards the larger good isn’t exclusive to Termina’s young ruling elite. Link’s obscure origins are echoed in the many other heroic youths across Termina who are quietly engaged in personal struggles. Romani, a young ranch hand, tries to warn her older sister about a mysterious force, known as “Them” bent on stealing their cows and ruining their business. Her warnings go unheeded, and only Link takes any interest in helping save the farm. Another child, Pamela, is thrown into the role of caretaker after her father is turned into a monster. Because of his condition, Pamela hides her father and adopts an understandable anxiety towards the magical and the supernatural. Even after Link helps her, she asks him to keep his distance in order to prevent future trouble: “Your strange power...If father sees that, he’ll surely want to research it. That’s why... I don’t really want...you to meet my father... I’m sorry to say such a thing...” This paranoia demonstrates a reversal of traditional roles: Pamela, the child, is protecting her father from potential danger and his own naiveté.
The Bombers are the epitome of this youthful wisdom. In both a narrative and ludic sense, they provide the means to solving Termina’s salvation. The notebooks the children carry keep track of the various townspeople and serve to map their relationships and their problems. By giving Link and the player a tool with which to structure quests and prioritize challenges, the Bombers demonstrate a holistic view of Termina that goes beyond the obsession with immediate problems other townsfolk fail to see past. As characters, their selflessness and sense of adventure is matched only by Link’s: even the moon’s imminent fall and the town’s evacuation fail to drive them into hiding. As the end draws near, only the children and the soldiers remain in the town. The difference between the two groups is that the children elected to stay without be ordered to do so.
The Nature of Aging
While most depictions of youthfulness in Majora’s Mask are sympathetic and heroic, Nintendo complicates things with the introduction of Tingle. The character, an impish 35-year-old who harbors a fascination with fairies, wryly undercuts the solemnity with which other earnest adventurers in the game are treated. Despite his similar stature, clothing choices, and interest in magic, Tingle enjoys none of the respect afforded to Link. Instead, Tingle is used within the story to demonstrate the dangers of grandiose dreams. At the same time, Nintendo employs Tingle as a joke about the growth of the Zelda franchise and its players.
While the other youths in Termina face complex and often dangerous decisions, Tingle stays removed from adult responsibility. The time he spends attached to his balloon, hovering high above the ground is a metaphor for Tingle’s relationship with society. While he observes and documents the world, he is removed from having to deal with its intricacies. For Link and the other children in the game, having to face challenges and make difficult decisions augments the simple passage of time, turning the concept of simply aging into the concept of maturing. Despite being 35 years old, Tingle’s life plan is to “stand here waiting for a fairy of my own,” instead of pursuing any specific goals. Tingle’s own father laments this, and complains “That spoiled child is off playin’ hooky again! A child his age has no business searching for fairies...!” Instead of engaging with the world and its realities, he seems to seek refuge in escapism.
This specific type of character also functions on a meta-level in regards to the Zelda series and certain perceptions of the medium. The stereotype of a delusional man-child in a state of retarded adolescence is a familiar one, especially in the realm of video games. Tingle’s clothing and his interest in magical adventures ape Link’s identity without ever realistically approaching his abilities. Viewed cynically, the player can be seen to acting as a Tingle-esque character simply by playing the game. The player dons a virtual costume in order to fantasize about being a hero. When Majora’s Mask was released, long-time players of Zelda had been acting out the same basic role for over a decade. While Link functions as an avatar with a relatively static age, it is quite conceivable that people who started their Zelda adventure as children had grown into adults by the time Majora’s Mask was released. Majora’s Mask contains a subtle tease from Nintendo: perhaps Tingle, with his delusions of grandeur and obsession with childhood, is more realistic than any other character in the game?
Of course, this joke can just as easily be applied to the developer or Link as a character. Nintendo’s approach regarding the design of Zelda games is conservative: with the possible exception of Zelda II, the games utilize the same basic dynamics, reuse the same basic abilities and items, and consistently structure the plot as a traditional hero’s tale in a battle of good and evil. Until Majora’s Mask, the series itself was still preoccupied with the same things it had focused on since its “childhood” years.
In many ways, Tingle functions as a Dorian Gray picture for the player, the character of Link, and the Zelda series as a whole. As an avatar, Link can provide an escapist fantasy for those who seek one. The player, Nintendo, and the internal fiction of the Zelda universe collude to turn a blind eye to the problems of perpetual youthfulness; and instead, the darker side of these traits is bound up in an effigy. Tingle is used to mock and critique the obsession with childhood and fantasy that is pervasive throughout the Zelda series, even as the cycle is repeated once again while exploring Termina.
A Composition of Conflicting Parts
Tingle encapsulates the mysterious, unexpected, and sometimes-contradictory oddities that make Majora’s Mask such an intriguing game. Its reused character models, control scheme, and graphical style may have been born from the economic realities of development, but such recognizable aspects are creatively used to foster the strangeness that permeates Termina. In possessing the outer veneer of familiarity, the inconsistencies and surprises in the world make it a more foreign place for experienced players. Suddenly, characters do not conform to their normal behavior, the passage of time itself is altered, and Link and the player are no longer the only active agents in the world.
Many of those additional agents are youths who illustrate the challenges that arise from social pressure and a responsibility for the greater good. Whether they are Deku royalty or simply children trying to look out for loved ones, their stories stand in for Link’s shallow character development. In doing so, Majora’s Mask joins in the tradition of casting Link as an essentially blank slate while reserving the luxury of exploring themes that require characters whose functions go beyond acting as ciphers to be molded by the player. It is a game that follows a long tradition even as it breaks from it.
With Tingle, Nintendo compresses various counterpoints to the game’s central themes into a single character. Tingle acts as a foil to the game’s heroic child figures. His existence pokes fun at those that would spend their time fantasizing about magical adventures. His apparent stagnation in terms of maturity and life accomplishments presents an alternate, pessimistic interpretation of Link’s perpetual youth and never-ending quests. To self-conscious players, especially older ones, he functions as a mirror capable of reflecting an unpleasant image of childish escapism and irresponsibility.
However, in his potential to provoke confusion and anxiety, Tingle ultimately exhibits the same themes that give Majora’s Mask its strong, unique personality. It is a game whose plot, characters, and game systems challenge the player to resolve the discrepancy between the familiar and the foreign, to examine the roles and abilities of children, and to question relationship between age, maturity, and the passage of time. Majora’s Mask benefits from the strength of its lineage while also exhibiting novel concepts and untraditional ideas. It is a “mutt” in the most positive sense of the word.