Throughout the course of history, the delicate balance between goodness and perfection has haunted mankind. Ancient philosophers Voltaire and Confucius warned about the dangers of perfection, but the inner dichotomy continued to drive many artists insane. Robert Louis Stevenson famously burned his first draft of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Just days before a Paris art exhibit, the iconic Claude Monet drove a knife through the heart of nearly 15 “flawed” paintings. Even modern artists, such as Francis Bacon, had studios littered with remnants of destroyed works of art.
What happens when a video game icon accepts good in place of perfection? Is it possible to live with a flawed product? Such is the story of Eiji Aonuma and a dungeon that infamously became a thorn in the collective side of the Zelda community. Yes, we are talking about the Water Temple from Ocarina of Time. But what was the one flaw that drove him crazy, you might ask? Well, the answer is quite surprising.
Released in 1998, Ocarina of Time revolutionized video games as the industry transitioned to three-dimensional graphics. From the vast plains of Hyrule Field to the intricate puzzles and story, Ocarina of Time is nothing short of a masterpiece. The game is still praised as the highest-rated title on Metacritic with a score of 99 and became the catalyst that launched Eiji Aonuma’s career.
Despite the accolades, each time I fired up the Virtual Console on my Wii in the late 2000s for another playthrough, I let out an agonizing groan. I knew what awaited me soon after pulling the Master Sword. The changing water levels. Hours of backtracking. Hidden keys. Confusing switches. Ocarina of Time’s one glaring nuisance: the Water Temple! A chorus of befuddled fans joined my disdain on GameFAQs and other internet forums, and each complaint must have echoed in Eiji Aonuma’s mind. In the face of our shared contempt, one particular flaw rose to the top of Aonuma’s list.
In a 2009 interview with The Guardian, Eiji Anouma admitted, “The Water Temple in the Ocarina of Time was notorious for being very tough to conquer. I am most sorry that it was not easy for you to put on and take off the heavy boots. Aside from the problem with the boots, I like the Water Temple so much.”
I was shocked. Even appalled. Eleven years of reflection on perhaps the only blemish in an otherwise “perfect” video game, and Aonuma was haunted by the inner demon of repetitive menu options?! No sign of remorse for my confused backtracking? None for the obscure water level switches? Zero regrets for dubious key locations?
But as alluded to at the beginning of this piece, this is a redemption story. Unlike Monet, Bacon, and others, Eiji Aonuma was given a second chance. When asked by late Nintendo president Satoru Iwata in 2011 why he wanted to remake Ocarina of Time for the Nintendo 3DS, Aonuma proudly proclaimed, “I’ve got to fix the Water Temple!”
As Iwata joked about how fans would likely hound Aonuma for the rest of his life if he did not fix the dungeon, the fine staff at Grezzo thankfully took our collective gripes into consideration. Additional images and color schemes made raising and lowering the water levels much less confusing. The map display on the lower screen provided quick access to unexplored rooms and treasure chests. And yes, even the Iron Boots could be equipped and removed with the press of a button.
After 13 years of regret over a simple mistake, Eiji Aonuma finally exercised his inner “menu-option” demons. As I chuckle about the hours it still takes me to conquer this underwater maze in its original state, I cannot help but wonder what other quirky regrets continue to haunt our series producer. Perhaps a certain button layout? Or dungeon design? Or motion control mechanic? All I know is that the answer would likely surprise me.
As I ponder which Zelda game to replay next, my eyes came to rest upon my original Wii that is still plugged into the television of my game room. Just as flaws make us unique from each other, the frustration of the original Water Temple is a memory that I do not wish to soon forget. I have the convenience and portability of the Nintendo 3DS, but I am choosing the original knowing what awaits me on the other side. As I once again pull the Master Sword from its pedestal, this time it will be with a little smirk. For I now know that the one thing that haunted its creator for 13 years will be repetitively displayed each time I visit the menu screen.
