"Excuse me, Princess!"
If you just winced, you’re probably a fan of a certain age. You remember Friday afternoons in 1989. You remember the Super Mario Bros. Super Show! and that specific moment when the live-action segments ended, the catchy rap faded out, and the screen transitioned into the fantasy world of Hyrule. It was loud. It was abrasive. It was The Legend of Zelda television show, and honestly, it’s one of the strangest pieces of media Nintendo ever let out into the wild.
Most people today know it through memes. They see the YouTube Poop edits of Link being a "nice guy" or acting like a petulant teenager. But there’s a lot more to the story than just a few viral clips of Link trying to get a kiss.
Back in the late 80s, Nintendo was basically the king of the world. They were everywhere. They wanted to be more than a toy company; they wanted to be an entertainment empire. DIC Enterprises, the same studio that gave us Inspector Gadget, was tasked with bringing the pixelated world of the NES to the small screen. What they created was thirteen episodes of pure, chaotic energy that fundamentally misunderstood the quiet, lonely atmosphere of the original games while simultaneously building a weirdly detailed lore that still haunts the franchise today.
Why the Zelda cartoon felt so different from the games
When you play the original NES game, the vibe is isolation. You're a tiny guy in a green tunic wandering a wasteland. There’s almost no dialogue. It’s eerie.
The The Legend of Zelda television show threw that out the window immediately. Instead of a silent protagonist, we got a Link who wouldn't shut up. He was voiced by Jonathan Adams, who played him like a sarcastic, slightly entitled surfer dude. He was obsessed with getting a kiss from Princess Zelda as a reward for his heroism. It was a 1980s sitcom dynamic transplanted into a high-fantasy setting, and it felt bizarre even at the time.
Zelda herself was a massive departure. In the games, she was usually the damsel in distress. In the show? She was a badass. She carried a bow, she wore a practical adventure outfit, and she often saved Link’s skin more than he saved hers. This version of Zelda was actually way ahead of its time. She didn't wait around in a dungeon; she was out there in the mud, fighting Octoroks and calling Link out on his nonsense.
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The show’s version of Ganon was also... interesting. He lived in the "Underworld" and spent most of his time screaming at his incompetent minions. He had the Triforce of Power, and he desperately wanted the Triforce of Wisdom, which King Harkinian—Zelda's father—kept in a jar. Yes, a jar. The stakes felt like a Saturday morning cartoon because, well, that's exactly what it was.
Breaking down the thirteen-episode legacy
People often think the show ran for years. It didn't. There are only thirteen episodes total. Because it was part of the Super Mario Bros. Super Show!, it only aired on Fridays. This gave it a "special event" feel for kids, but it also meant the writers never really had to worry about long-form character arcs or deep world-building.
Each episode followed a predictable beat:
- Link tries to get Zelda to kiss him.
- Ganon sends a monster to steal the Triforce.
- Link and Zelda fight the monster using "zapping" magic from their swords.
- Link loses his chance at a kiss.
- Roll credits.
It was formulaic, sure. But for a generation of kids who had never seen their favorite pixels move like real people, it was mesmerizing. We didn't care about the wonky animation or the fact that Link's "sword beams" looked like laser tag. We were just happy to see a Stalfos in motion.
The creative team and the "Excuse Me, Princess" phenomenon
The scriptwriting was handled by a rotating door of writers, but the voice direction is where the "attitude" came from. They wanted Link to be "cool." In 1989, cool meant being a jerk with a heart of gold.
The catchphrase—the one everyone loves to hate—wasn't meant to be a meme. It was just a recurring gag. Link said "Well, excuse me, Princess!" twenty-nine times over the course of the thirteen episodes. If you do the math, that’s more than twice per episode. It was a verbal tic that became the defining trait of a character who, in the games, was literally defined by his silence.
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Koji Kondo’s iconic music was rearranged into a synth-heavy, poppy soundtrack. It’s catchy, but it lacks the gravitas of the original score. If you listen closely, you can hear bits and pieces of the game’s themes buried under the 80s production. It’s a fascinating time capsule of how Western media tried to "fix" Japanese IP for an American audience. They thought kids wouldn't like a quiet Link. They thought we needed snark.
Why Nintendo walked away from TV
After the The Legend of Zelda television show ended its initial run, Nintendo started getting very, very protective of their characters. We all know what happened with the 1993 Super Mario Bros. movie. Between the cartoon and that live-action disaster, Nintendo pulled back the reins.
For decades, we didn't see another official Zelda screen adaptation.
The cartoon became a bit of a "lost" relic. It was released on DVD by Shout! Factory in the mid-2000s, which is when the internet really discovered how weird it was. The "Excuse Me, Princess" memes exploded on sites like Newgrounds and YouTube. Suddenly, this forgotten relic of the 80s was everywhere again.
The connection to the Zelda games of today
Believe it or not, the show left a mark.
While Eiji Aonuma and the modern Zelda team probably don't spend their days rewatching the DIC cartoon, the idea of Zelda as an active, capable leader became more prominent in later games like Ocarina of Time (as Sheik) and Spirit Tracks. The show proved there was an audience for a Zelda who was more than a prize at the end of a dungeon.
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Even the monsters had a specific look that influenced how Western fans perceived the world. The show used designs straight from the original instruction manual art, which was much more "fantasy-horror" than the cute, rounded designs we see in Wind Waker or Breath of the Wild.
The Underworld in the show was a dark, grimey place filled with bubbling lava and weird machinery. It felt dangerous. That grit is something fans still clamor for in modern Zelda titles.
How to watch it now (if you dare)
You can't really find the The Legend of Zelda television show on major streaming platforms like Netflix or Disney+. It pops up on YouTube from time to time on various "retro" channels.
Watching it now is a trip. The animation is... let’s be kind and call it "economical." Characters’ faces often shift mid-sentence, and the backgrounds are reused constantly. But there’s a charm to it. It’s a relic of an era when video games were still the "Wild West." No one knew how to adapt them properly because there were no rules yet.
If you decide to dive in, don't expect The Last of Us or Arcane. Expect a loud, colorful, slightly annoying, but ultimately well-intentioned adventure.
Actionable steps for fans of the Zelda lore:
- Watch the Pilot: Check out "The Ringer." It’s the first episode and establishes the weird dynamic immediately. It's the best way to see if you can handle thirteen episodes of Link’s 80s attitude.
- Compare the Bestiary: Look at the show's versions of Moblins and Tektites. It’s fascinating to see how they interpreted the 8-bit sprites into 2D animation.
- Listen to the Voice Acting: Jonathan Adams (Link) and Cyndy Preston (Zelda) actually give pretty spirited performances despite the script. It’s worth noting their chemistry, which is surprisingly decent.
- Identify the Tropes: Look for the "Triforce of Wisdom" usage. The show treats it like a magical GPS or a crystal ball, which is a total departure from how the games handle the artifacts.
- Ignore the Critics: Most people dismiss this show as "bad." It’s not "bad"—it’s just extremely of its time. If you go in with the right mindset, it's a hilarious look at Nintendo's growing pains.
The The Legend of Zelda television show remains a bizarre footnote in the history of one of the greatest gaming franchises ever. It’s a reminder that even the biggest giants have a few skeletons in their closet—some of which wear green tunics and won't stop complaining about not getting a kiss.
Next time you’re playing Tears of the Kingdom and you’re gliding over a beautiful, silent Hyrule, just remember: there’s a version of that world where Link is probably screaming "Excuse me!" at a giant bird while falling into a volcano. And honestly? We’re probably better off for it.