《塞尔达传说：时之笛》重制版 IGN 前瞻：差异化远超想象

Key Preview Takeaways:

This is not a 1:1 remake: Expanded dialogue, revamped puzzles, and a detailed new art style prioritize adding depth.
Some structural changes convey a more logically constructed world.
Hyrule is a stage: The remake embraces a theatrical style, which reminds me of one of Ocarina’s original inspirations.

Taking my first steps out of Link’s treehouse and into Kokiri Forest, The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time remake came to life. Zelda series producer Eiji Aonuma described this as a “faithful interpretation” of the Nintendo 64 original, and that term stuck with me as I explored Hyrule for more than an hour. This is far from a 1:1 remake: I found familiar rooms containing redesigned challenges that change how the world and player function. I spoke to old friends who had new things to say that added texture to Hyrule and its people. And, I unpacked how its updated controls and detailed art design redefine its old-school combat and puzzle solving for the modern day. This remake isn’t about scope; it’s about depth. The Zelda series is full of old stories, and the Ocarina of Time remake presents itself as a legend retold, with clear theatrical inspirations that have completely changed how I’m approaching it.

First, a quick word about spoilers. I know some of you have never played the N64 game, meaning Ocarina of Time will be a wholly new experience. So, I’m only going to talk about explicitly what I saw in the three chunks I played during the preview. Two sections were split across the first 90-ish minutes of the adventure, while the third and largest section was set in the first dungeon you play as Adult Link, which happens at roughly the one-third mark of the story. So, there will be no spoilers for anything outside of what Nintendo chose to show us.

Back to Kokiri Forest. Not counting last-gen upgrades or spinoffs, this is the series’ proper Nintendo Switch 2 debut, and the leap forward in quality immediately drew me in. Rays of light poke through the trees; moss and mushrooms thrive on the withered bark; our hero’s tunic is decorated with handwoven flourishes – and it’s all running at a crisp 60 fps. A pleasant musical performance recreates the forest’s original MIDI theme with what sounds like just a handful of real musicians. Hyrule has never felt more intimately realized than this.

That applies to the dialogue as well. Later, a Castle Town citizen gawks at Link’s outfit, treating him as some foreign outsider from the distant forest: “Intricate stitching that implies the whole ensemble is handmade!” he excitedly says. The forest’s shopkeeper apologizes to Link for his empty shelves, blaming the stubborn Kokiri ringleader Mido for blocking the path to the Great Deku Tree, where the staff goes to restock.

No matter how hard I try to juke Mido, he won’t let anyone pass without a sword and a shield. Here, the remake shows its willingness to change up Ocarina’s level design. After crawling to the secret area that contains the Kokiri Sword, I find that the challenge to reach it has been overhauled. The treasure chest used to be tucked away in the back corner of a maze with a giant boulder – now it’s perched on a high platform in the center of the room, with the boulder rolling around it. The fact that it’s different is interesting on its own, but the way this change impacts what this room is now asking of you reveals a lot.

This remake isn't about scope; it's about depth.

On N64, this obstacle was about learning to recenter the camera behind Link by tapping Z to see around corners and avoid the boulder. It was teaching you how to play one of the first 3D action-adventure games ever made. This remake no longer carries that burden, and that lesson is unnecessary since the right stick provides complete camera control. Instead, since Link can now jump at the press of a button, this room marks the first time you are required to jump in order to reach the treasure. It stripped out an obsolete tutorial and replaced it with a newly relevant one. My hour in Ocarina was stuffed with nuanced differences like this.

I’m fully equipped now that I have the sword and shield, and Link feels excellent to control. His movement felt immediately familiar to Link in Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, with a dash, a jump, and snappy third-person gyro aiming with projectile-based weapons like the slingshot. I was running, leaping, and sniping spiders like a pro in the first dungeon, Inside the Great Deku Tree.

I worked my way to the area I was most looking forward to seeing. Ever since Aonuma’s gameplay demonstration, I’ve been interested in Ocarina’s apparent fascination with a more logically constructed world. As seen in one room of Inside the Great Deku Tree, a floating platform from the N64 game has been replaced by a crumbling bridge that’s now actually built into the environment. I came in with the idea that the remake cares about explaining every element of its world, and my preview session only reinforced that theory.

I was on the lookout for more instances of this in the Forest Temple. Atmospheric fog blankets the ground in this old, haunted mansion where Adult Link hunts down four ghosts. After two open-world 3D Zeldas that largely took a break from the franchise’s traditional dungeons, it felt great to push blocks around, navigate through twisted hallways, and collect small keys. I was reminded of how classic Zelda design welcomes different types of logic and reasoning than Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom’s open-ended approach.

While the Forest Temple’s overall layout was mostly unchanged, it included new cutscenes that fleshed out the dungeon’s antagonists, and yet again showed differences in how specific moments played out. An arena where Link fights a Stalfos used to have a giant hole in the middle. Link needed to avoid it or risk falling to the floor below, but the Stalfos could defy gravity and hover over the gap. You could explain it away as part of this dungeon’s supernatural trickery, but it always looked out of place to me.

Here, that hole has been exchanged for a shallow pool of acid. The skeleton enemies can still walk in it – they don’t have any flesh to lose – while Link takes damage if he enters it. This means the fight plays out the same as it used to: the Stalfos has access to the whole room while Link is constrained to its edges, but the way it’s constructed is more logical. And, when two Stalfos arrive as reinforcements after Link takes out the first, they used to bring a platform with them that filled the room. Now, they just spawn from the acid, making for a more challenging miniboss that forces you to contend with this constraint the whole time.

The fights against the Stalfos were my best look at combat so far. Sword slashes land with a crunchy THWAP, like a loud, powerful, backhanded slap with a striking burst of light to match. Enemy attacks clang off Link’s shield and send him stumbling backwards before his final spin attack sends the Stalfos exploding into a pile of bones. These battles play out with elegant choreography.

A Trip to the Playhouse

Elegant choreography. Atmospheric fog. Handwoven flourishes. Ever since my preview event, I find my mind returning to this anecdote told in an Iwata Asks interview ahead of the release of Ocarina of Time 3D in 2011: On a hot summer day during the development of Zelda for Nintendo 64, designers Toru Osawa, Yoshiaki Koizumi, and Jin Ikeda needed some inspiration. They’d been struggling to figure out how to make swordplay work in a 3D space. Where should the camera focus? How can the player take on multiple enemies at once without getting overwhelmed? These questions spurred a field trip to Toei Kyoto Studio Park, a theme park attached to Toei’s film studios where visitors can see theatrical period drama shows, often featuring samurai.

The heat caused them to duck into a playhouse to cool off. Inside, they watched a stage show where one samurai was fending off a number of ninjas. They noticed that, in this battle, the samurai locked eyes with one enemy at a time. They circled each other as if linked by an invisible tether (or in some cases, literally linked by a chain-sickle), and fought while the others waited their turn to step in. This observation, among others, helped to spark the development of Ocarina of Time’s foundational lock-on Z-targeting system.

undefined — Toei Kyoto Studio Park in Kyoto, Japan.

I bring this up because it’s clear that live theater inspired Ocarina’s original developers in at least this one key way. As I played the remake of their work, I often felt like I was experiencing Ocarina through the lens of a theatrical period drama at a playhouse.

Take combat, for example: locking onto an enemy narrows the lighting of the scene, putting dramatic emphasis on that invisible tether linking you and your foe. Link weaves back and forth in a dancelike motion, as enemies you aren’t targeting hoot and holler in the background. They, too, are waiting for their turn to strike.

Opening a chest to reap your rewards places an overhead spotlight on whatever treasure you’ve just obtained. Similarly, Floormasters – the iconic disembodied hand enemies that stalk Link from the ceiling – are now telegraphed by a bright spotlight that shines on Link and changes color just before the hand swoops down. These lighting cues feel intentionally theatrical.

The more I thought about this framing on my flight home and in the days that followed, the more I realized just how many design choices fit this theme in some way. Fog covering the ground adds atmosphere as if from a haze machine; Link’s meticulously detailed costume attempts to ground us in the era like it’s a piece of historical fiction; logically constructed puzzles add a practical, handmade feeling to the set; that small handful of musicians could be performing live as the pit orchestra tucked right underneath the stage.

Quest logs are written in past tense, telling an old story: “There once was a young boy named Link who lived in a woodland known as Kokiri Forest.” Even the first reveal trailer opened with a narrator reflecting on ancient events: “Long ago, there was a land called Hyrule…” Ocarina of Time is a play: Hyrule, its stage; dungeons and villages, its sets; enemies and townsfolk, its actors; and Link, its chosen hero.

When I spoke to that Castle Town villager who was stunned to see a boy from the far-off Kokiri Forest, I couldn’t help but think about how sprinting across Hyrule Field to get between the two towns takes less than 90 seconds. A few Peahat enemies dot the landscape, a crack in the ground is begging for a well-placed bomb, but so far, this space that once felt grand and open feels small and quaint in a modern context.

Ocarina of Time is a play: Hyrule, its stage; dungeons and villages, its sets; enemies and townsfolk, its actors; and Link, its chosen hero.

Narratively, characters act like the kingdom of Hyrule is enormous, when practically, it’s very small. Rather than reimagining this version of Hyrule by making it as large as we remember it to be, it reframes each area as a fictional representation of a world much larger than what we actually see. If you’re watching The Wizard of Oz on stage, you understand the yellow brick road to be way bigger than the set shows us. This wouldn’t necessarily excuse any shortcomings that could be found in a Hyrule Field that ends up feeling lackluster by today’s standards – it’s far too early to judge that based on the few minutes I spent with it – but it’s one way to think about how Nintendo altered the meaning of these areas without radically changing their scope.

I was surprised when Aonuma said the team chose to keep the loading screens between areas, but when viewed through this context, it makes a lot of sense: Kokiri Forest, Hyrule Field, and Castle Town are different sets, and the loading screens between them represent the crew swapping them out before the next scene begins. There’s only so much room on the stage.

All of this positions the Ocarina of Time remake as an affectionate retelling of a legend: it is old, it is important, and it is worth revisiting. The storytellers feel there are still things we can learn from it. After seeing just a couple of classic towns and dungeons reborn in this inspired way, I fully agree.

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Image credit: Trevor Williams, Getty Images