My favorite of the prime trilogy, all thanks for getting the option to get pickup icons if you launch the satelites from the sky city, had the most fun towards the end game when I had all of the powers so I could collect all of the missles, energy tanks and other pickup upgrades, and yet I still ended up with 97% because one map didnt have those helpful icons.
End game was stressful as hell, no save points, just run through the final dungeon with the phazon meter while solving puzzles, fight dark samus, fight Auroroa, all in one go without saving, that was old school stressful gaming lol
Overall a good game, and a good entry to end the trilogy.

Normally, a trilogy of games would be confined to the same console. Keeping an IP to a confined minimum of three is a respectable decision based on maintaining conciseness with a three-act story arc or preserving the natural evolution of a series before it severely starts to lose its initial luster with subsequent entries. It also helps the general cohesion that all three games in a trilogy are rendered with the same game engine and are released around the same time. It worked for Mario on the NES, Donkey Kong Country on the SNES, both Crash Bandicoot and Spyro trilogies on the original PlayStation, etc. Did the Metroid Prime series on the Gamecube tightly wrap up the 3D Metroid subseries in a neat, little three-piece package on Nintendo’s sixth-generation system? Sadly, Retro Studios only managed to eke out two titles on the twee little lunchbox, putting every Metroid fan that purchased a Gamecube at an awkward place of irresolution. It’s not as if Retro Studios failed to meet their deadlines before the Gamecube’s demise, nor did the sixth generation of consoles deviate from this industry-practiced pattern of a well-rounded set of three consecutive mainline games per series. My insightful conspiratorial musing on why Retro Studios deferred the third Metroid Prime game after the Gamecube’s tenure is that a little birdy over at the Nintendo mothership in Japan flew all the way across the pond to inform Retro Studios that a revolution was coming: The Nintendo Revolution (later renamed the Nintendo Wii). Because they received this tidbit of crucial information, Retro Studios shifted their efforts to finishing their final rendering of the Metroid series on the Wii. What made the presence of a Metroid title on Nintendo’s new console so pertinent? In short, the motion controls. Because a large portion of Metroid Prime’s gameplay involves aiming and shooting, Nintendo would be foolish not to capitalize on the notion of a 3D Metroid game where the player can control Samus more intimately than ever before. As thrilling as the notion of waving Samus’s arm cannon around with newfound layers of kineticism is, the inherent novelty of motion controls will strike gamers with a familiar sense of dread. Does Metroid Prime 3: Corruption supersede the negative connotations associated with motion controls and provide us with an exemplary ending to the critically acclaimed 3D Metroid trilogy? Well…

Why does Retro Studios seemingly enjoy making the Metroid fanbase fretful? Gamers everywhere had to install pacemakers after their hearts couldn’t take the nerve-wracking thought of the highly anticipated next Metroid game being a first-person shooter after its prolonged absence. After being relieved at the result of Metroid Prime being a modern masterpiece and the second gaming carrying on the first game’s mantle splendidly, it was apparently time for another onslaught of anxiety-induced heart murmurs. Considering how astounding the finished product of Metroid Prime was, at least everyone could now trust Retro Studios' game developer acumen. Still, the new ideas on display here feel as if gamers are once again witnessing a pack of vultures circling around the Metroid series on the brink of death, praying to God that it will show signs of revitalized vigor so that they will leave and peck at Star Fox or something instead. If motion controls weren’t as maligned in the gaming community as they are, one might chide me for approaching what could be exciting feats of gaming innovation with such abject cynicism. Frankly, the stigma surrounding them is justifiable, which means the vultures can probably break out the fancy china and napkins for a freshly stinking feast. To assuage players of the mental burden revolving around Metroid Prime’s new peripheral, I’m glad to report that the motion controls in Metroid Prime 3 are perfectly competent (for the most part) and do not severely hamper the Metroid Prime experience. However, there is still plenty to find fault with Metroid Prime 3 which has little to nothing to do with the Wii’s primary control gimmick.

My primary gripe with Metroid Prime 3 is how it strips the essentials of Metroid’s rich, intuitive design down to a slurry of standard first-person shooter elements. I should’ve expected something like this considering the third entry to a series is always the point where streamlining occurs to make a series more accessible after the gameplay formula has been tweaked to refinement over the course of two entries. Even though Metroid Prime 3 submits to the third-entry pattern as usual, certain outliers exacerbate the extent of its accessibility. Historically, 2007, the year of Metroid Prime 3’s release, was when the first-person shooter genre hit its commercial stride and began its course as the dominating king of gaming for the duration of the seventh generation. At the same time, Nintendo was trailblazing new ground for widespread accessibility on the Wii to garner an audience totally unfamiliar with the gaming medium. Metroid Prime is both a first-person shooter and a Nintendo-produced title, so the two happenstance sums of its identity, unfortunately, make for a distressing equation in 2007. Both factors make their best efforts to subdue Metroid’s idiosyncrasies that have made the series one of Nintendo’s most influential and acclaimed properties for the sake of garnering a broader audience.

At face value, Metroid Prime 3’s introduction vaguely recalls the one from the first game. Samus arrives on an intergalactic tanker called the GFS Valhalla suspended somewhere in the vast reaches of the cosmos to discuss a matter of utmost importance with the vessel’s decorated commander Admiral Dane. Samus is tasked to cleanse the internal hard drives of a series of organic supercomputers called the “Aurora Units” located all around the galaxy that have been infected by a nasty virus. Apparently, the situation is so dire that it calls for enlisting three other bounty hunters to assist Samus on her mission: the “Silver Surfer on ice” Rundas, the phlegmatic, mech-powered Gohr, and the bouncy, flirty shapeshifter Gandrayda. Seeing Samus work alongside this motley of bounty hunters reminds me of the Superman joke from Seinfeld, stating that the practicality of the Justice League is superfluous because the Man of Steel would never require assistance for any act of heroism. Still, it’s relatively amusing seeing other figures in the Metroid universe of the bounty hunter vocation besides Samus. Despite the number of valiant warriors on deck, the GFS Valhalla still manages to be successfully infiltrated by a fleet of space pirate goons, causing the spaceship to sink into the gravity of a nearby planetoid as its remnants lie dormant forevermore like the frigate that opens the first game. The chaos during the introduction certainly upholds the Metroid standard of hooking the player with that ticking sense of tension.

Suspicions should rise from any Metroid veteran while witnessing Metroid Prime 3’s introduction sequence. I’m breathing a sigh of relief that the game doesn’t revert to modeling itself as a co-op shooter like Halo after seeing Samus fraternizing with the other bounty hunters during the expositional buildup in the GFS Valhalla. Still, where does the game get off uttering so much dialogue? Gamers often criticize 3D Nintendo titles for lacking spoken lines of dialogue, another smirch against the old fuddy-duddys at the company for rejecting gaming modernity. Even if Nintendo ever decides to inject enough voice acting in their IPs to fill a Tennessee Williams play, Metroid should still be the series with the lowest priority for this radical change. The last time I checked, isolation was a key component to Metroid’s tone and atmosphere, and conversing with NPCs on a regular basis is antithetical to conveying that crushing feeling of loneliness. Samus is still roaming around the map(s) without a bounty hunter peer or a diminutive sidekick to keep her company. Still, the former agents of the now-defunct GFS Valhalla insist on signaling in information on Samus’s objectives through some sort of earpiece in her power suit. Sure, transmitting current objectives to Samus and pinpointing them on a map with a question mark was present in the previous two Metroid Prime games, fueling the counterargument that 3D Samus had already tarnished that explorative Metroid meatiness. To think that the majority of Metroid fans hadn’t batted an eye until now! I, along with several other Metroid fans, interpreted the objective signaling from the first two games with a suspension of disbelief. We viewed the suggested trajectory as something for our eyes only, a videogamey attribute like a pause menu or the game over screen. When characters from the game are constantly voicing commands at Samus and directing their orders by uttering Samus’s name, the immersiveness of being surrounded by a looming air of alienation is heavily compromised. Even with streamlining the trajectory to completing an objective, one would think the process would be at least smoother, but I encountered far too many instances where the game would nail down an objective on the map just to send the player back to fetch an upgrade needed to progress that isn’t marked. This does not foster exploration through the player’s intuition, it’s just brazenly misleading.

A considerable aspect of Metroid’s intentional feeling of onset dread through sci-fi seclusion is also compromised with Metroid Prime 3’s environments not coalescing on one planet. As a landmark first for the series, Samus progresses through the game by traveling to and fro from five different planets and or smaller orbital bodies by flying to them with her ship. Did an unpaid intern at Retro Studios come up with this newfangled idea to “innovate” on Metroid’s gameplay and if so, why did the higher-ups listen? It is the dumbest change that Metroid Prime 3 implements by a fair margin, even among plenty of other questionable ones. If the state of abandonment in Metroid doesn’t send pangs of nervous uncertainty down the player’s spines, the flow of progression deeper into the catacombs of uncharted ground will. That is, it would trigger this feeling if Metroid Prime 3’s maps were constructed as a conglomerate of diverse environments connected by branching paths like every other Metroid game. Venturing from the tranquil origin point of her parked ship to an area comparatively harsher and deadlier through inquisitive excavation is a strong element of Metroid’s level progression. Encountering a number of dead ends after completing the assigned objective and resorting to tread back to the ship to change the course directive is as cheap and inorganic as a lawn flamingo. What is this? Ratchet & Clank? Actually, that comparison reminds me of something amusing. I adored Insomniac’s space-age 3D platformer series as a kid and was slightly disappointed while playing the first Metroid Prime that Samus wouldn’t be revving up her ship’s engines to blast off to multiple planets throughout the course of the game like the way that Ratchet & Clank organizes progression. Now that I grasp the slow burn, intricate direction of Metroid, a Metroid game that actually delivers on my initial expectations is a sacrilegious transgression equivalent to spitting in my face. On top of acting as a remote valet, Samus’s ship is also armed to the teeth with missiles and a grapple beam that lifts hefty objects airborne. All Samus’s ship did in every previous Metroid game was twiddle its proverbial thumbs waiting for Samus to finish her mission or to periodically save. Here, it’s Samus’s indentured servant, and calling it to bombard defensive systems with a load of firepower from the skies is another brassy scene in a series that relies on subtleties.

It could be possible that I’m acting a tad overdramatic. Splitting the notable districts of a Metroid Prime world could still function appropriately if the daunting sense of progression is still emulated on each individual planet. I’m sorry to say that Retro’s streamlining seeps deeply into the level design as the planets are divided by individual districts, signified on the map by the ability to dock Samus’s ship. The worst offender of the planetary parting is Bryyo, the first legitimate location in the game whose exploration isn’t halted entirely by the narrative. The first section of the world that Samus arrives at is a sweltering rock with the cosmos as a prominent backdrop. With the exception of the mechanical Chozo technology that intersects the branching paths, the unhinged alien fauna and the wild humidity exude a prehistoric atmosphere. Its beauty is arguable, but one cannot deny its curious aura. After completing the first objective on the planet, Samus scurries back to her ship with the coordinates to Bryyo’s Fiery Airdock, a smoldering furnace whose sulfurous claustrophobia rivals that of Magmoor Caverns with the manmade industrial sterility of the Metroid Laboratory on Phendrana. Remember when every player’s heart sank from the tonal whiplash of stumbling upon the Phendrana laboratory after an hour or two of plodding along the serene, snowy cliffside? That effective sensation could only be achieved through organic progression, and the fact that Bryyo could’ve offered the exact same reaction but ultimately couldn’t due to the artificial way Metroid Prime 3 approaches level progression is such a shame.

Elysia and the Pirate Homeworld aren’t as jaggedly orchestrated as Bryyo. There are plenty of free vacancies for Samus to park her ship on their surfaces, but she isn’t forced to hop between them via flight to visit each section. Elysia implements a tramway system to carry Samus across the various isles suspended in the sky. If you’re adept with your Greek mythology knowledge, I can affirm that Elysia is as immaculate as its name would suggest. The ancient Chozo creatures have crafted a scattered sky metropolis among the clouds, with glimmers of golden light shimmering among the clouds and cracks of lightning booming in the distance to signify the rapturous scope of the setting. Elysia is Cloud City from Star Wars as depicted in a glorious afterlife with sparse architecture. Yet, I believe that Elysia is a gas giant, so the hazy, ethereal effect is actually a noxious element wafting around, still exuding a sense of Metroid danger (literally) in the air. From a conceptual standpoint, Elysia is a highlight section of the game, and I might prefer its angelic serenity to the electric iridescence of the Sanctuary Fortress from the last game. However, Elysia is quite a pain to navigate due to the zigzagging arrays of skylines that Samus must grapple on and ride around. The Pirate Homeworld also affirms all connotations to its name. The place that the series mainstay menaces call home has a hostile glow surrounding it, signifying a prevailing threat of danger at every step. The underground metro transit system is a logical method of transportation for what we can infer is an active civilization, transporting Samus around the three prominent districts in what is the most organic example of traversal in the game. The only aspect about the Pirate Homeworld that bothers me is the escort mission that serves as the area’s climax. What irks me isn’t the AI of the soldiers charging headfirst to their deaths, but the fact that the corrosive acid rain that Samus spent at least three overarching objectives finding a means to become immune from doesn’t phase them in the slightest. So much for continuity? I’m not sure what to make of the base of the federation on Norion or the Metroid-infested remnants of the GFS Valhalla either. Transitory filler for a few story beats, perhaps?

While I explicitly stated at the beginning of this review that Metroid Prime 3’s motion controls weren’t a substantial detractor, their radical implementation after two Metroid Prime games played on a more traditional controller still makes them worth delving into. All in all, Metroid Prime 3’s control scheme isn’t much different than it was with a Gamecube controller. Shooting is still assigned to the primary A button while the B button usually used to execute action still makes Samus leap off the ground. Jumping manages to be smoother due to the player’s trigger finger fitting nicely on the back of the Wiimote. Analog control still fits on the left thumb even if the nub is separated by the additional nunchuck peripheral. The motion aspect is all in the aiming, which is highlighted by a more pronounced reticle. As one would probably guess, the accuracy of Samus’s shots coincides with the player’s ability to line them up with the reticle. Since Metroid Prime is a more combat-intensive Metroid experience, not automatically ensuring a dead-on hit with the targeting system like in the previous games makes the action more challenging and engaging. The grapple gameplay on the other hand, however, is a fickle affair. Swiping the nunchuck half of the controller when using the grapple beam will tear away enemy shields, machine sockets, and chunks of debris. When executed properly, it feels like the player is cracking a whip, but only when the game decides to register a grapple with the adhesive stick instead of a pathetic energy splash. The section on Bryyo where Samus must pull back three levers on a generator was the worst instance of their unresponsiveness, and I’m pretty sure the flying space pirates that were present were laughing at my struggle, which infuriated me to no end.

All other gameplay attributes in Metroid Prime 3 involve little to no motion control, and the total number of them has been reduced or slightly modified. The game forgoes the Super Missile upgrade that blasted the most microscopic of cracked barriers and stubbornly locked doors. The missiles themselves eventually are rendered in the ice variety after a certain point, and they’re mainly used for freezing makeshift ice platforms more than combat. Accumulating missile upgrades are mainly for the occasional door locked behind five or so targets that need to be hit all at once. The trusty scan visor is now accompanied by an X-ray visor and one that calls Samus’s ship for a variety of commands. Every beam Samus acquires replaces the old one as opposed to having it join her arsenal for specific elemental situations. It’s a shame the game can’t be bothered to mix and match the beams anymore, but I guess upgrading to a stronger beam every time makes sense. The modification that upsets me more is making Samus jump in morph ball form without the push of a bomb, for my proficiency with double jumping with bombs that I honed to expertise has been rendered obsolete. One Metroid tradition I’m actually glad that Metroid Prime 3 has forsaken is the need to recollect all of these gadgets and upgrades because it became a tiring tease.

Metroid Prime 3 forces all of Samus’s weapons and other abilities to take a backseat to Phazon: the mechanical and narrative weight of the entire game. Since its heavy lore implications and infamous mine on Tallon IV, the pernicious substance has been edging its way far too close to Samus for comfort. After materializing itself as Samus’s evil, neon blue doppelganger in the second game, Phazon’s growing evolution in the third game has critically struck the bounty hunter. After an encounter with Dark Samus on Norion in her attempt to obliterate the planet with a Phazon meteor called a “Leviathan Seed,” Samus recuperates from her strained victory with a nasty Phazon infection. It now runs rampant in Samus’s bloodstream, and she must release it from her system like any other bodily waste. Expunging the toxin comes in the form of a superweapon, an extension of Samus’s standard beam unleashed by holding down the start button. Samus’s visor becomes engulfed in a hazy static, and the frenzy ceases when the energy bar at the top of the visor is either entirely depleted or taps out by pressing the start button again. If Samus neglects to do either, the bar will turn red and force Samus to drain the Phazon or succumb to the corruption and die bleeding out into her suit. Considering using Phazon proves to be far more effective at dispatching enemies than any regular weapons, one would figure to abuse this mechanic without impunity. However, the caveat is that the Phazon energy coincides with Samus’s health, with a full bar equalling out to one whole energy tank. This balancing act is what makes the Phazon usage the most interesting new mechanic that Metroid Prime 3 offers. Unleashing the ineffable substance is contingent on whether the player can afford to drain their health for their own safety, a gamble based on the player’s defensive skills during combat.

Even though using Phazon comes with dire complications, it seems like the player will be obliged to take the gamble even if they feel tentative about it. Eventually, the enemies become so durable due to the prevailing corruption of Phazon, so the only effective means of wiping them out is to fight fire with fire. Despite the risk, Samus will end up flaunting her internal affliction. In the way Phazon is used, it seems like an illicit drug rather than space-age asbestos. Everyone, even the heroes, is imbibing the stuff to make themselves stronger at the cost of their physical and mental integrity. The most tragic examples of Phazon use are Samus’s bounty hunter chums, who fall the furthest from grace when they get a hint of it. Unlike Samus who can control her inner struggle, the other three bounty hunters go stark raving mad with drug-induced delusion and attempt to sabotage Samus’s mission. Because they are too far gone to save, Samus must euthanize them with the brute force of her arm cannon to prevent further harm to themselves or the fate of the galaxy. While their boss fights on each of the three significant areas all amount to the struggle of keeping the targets aligned with all of them moving erratically, the narrative depth behind these fights obviously bestows some emotional weight. Or, at least that’s what the game is trying to convey. I got the impression that the bounty hunters were the good guys in the introduction, but were these guys Samus’s bosom buddies? Is the fact that Gandrayda cheekily called Samus “Sammy” enough to signify a sense of a personal connection? We aren’t granted enough time to interact with them under normal circumstances to understand the gravity of the scenario. The main bosses that cap off an area’s completion at their Phazon cores prove to be much more of a challenge but did not feel the slightest bit of grief upon slaying these Phazon-riddled giants, so I suppose the emotional effect sort of worked. Ridley is one of these titans in his new “Omega” variant which seems to be the metallic “Meta” coat, but thicker because it’s now protecting a tender wound from when he plummeted down an elevator shaft with Samus on Norion. What exactly is Ridley’s stake in Dark Samus’s nefarious plans to flood the universe with Phazon? Is he simply acting as a cog in this wheel just to spite Samus? We weren’t bereft by Ridley’s absence in the second Metroid Prime, and his inclusion here just feels like an arbitrary lark.

After liberating each world of their Phazon problem, Samus and the federation troopers take the newly acquired Leviathan Battleship to penetrate the barrier surrounding the planet Phaaze: the source planet of the Phazon corruption. Once Samus makes the intrepid plunge downward to the point of no return, something unexpected occurs. You see, at this point in the game, the player shouldn’t fear the damaging effects of Phazon as they did when Samus’s health bar first turned red and the alert levels were critical. In fact, the player should be comfortable using it as an extra boost. Well, the game assumes the player has been fiending Phazon like a crippling addiction because Samus will be in an inescapable state of Phazon frenzy mode for the duration of the finale. From the trek to the center to the two boss fights with Dark Samus and the multi-phased Aurora Unit, the constant state of alert and the threat of that bar filling to its breaking point is genuinely hairraising, more so than any of the series' mainstay escape sequences. In the end, when the federation celebrates Samus’s conquering of Phazon and all it adulterates, the ending I received was one where she returns to Elysia and looks longingly out into the skyscape. I’m told that this scene is her lamenting the deaths of her fallen bounty hunter comrades, which overtly adds more weight to Samus’s grief. Still, I don’t know why it’s specifically where she fought Ghor. Maybe she’s showing some favoritism like Dorothy did for the Scarecrow. Despite all of the effective moments in Metroid Prime 3’s finale, the best part by a fair margin is how the game handles the obligatory fetch quest near the end. To usurp the Leviathan Battleship from the space pirates, Samus needs to recover a code located deep in the broken catacombs of the GFS Valhalla. Restoring the battleship to the state of traversability only requires five of the nine energy cells, and they can be plucked out of the walls at the first point Samus sees them. This is the only clear improvement that Metroid Prime 3 makes to what was already in place for the previous two games, and I am extremely grateful for not having to backtrack, especially in this divergent galaxy.

Upon playing Metroid Prime 3, I’ve concluded that the 3D trilogy should’ve been titled “Metroid Phazon.” Now that the third and final entry in the trilogy shares little in common with the previous two, Phazon is the one constant that unites all three games and gives them the sense of a cohesive trilogy arc. Everything else in Metroid Prime 3 is naturally hard to compare to the previous two Metroid Prime titles, and it’s not only because the player has to contend with flailing Samus’s arm cannon around with a detached, bulky wand to ensure accuracy. For the record, I much prefer how the first two Metroid Prime games approached exploration and level design because it was astounding that a 3D game could effectively emulate a design philosophy that seemed staunchly planted in the 2D space with no legroom to innovate. Metroid Prime 3 looks like a Metroid game but does not act or feel like one, sharing more in common with its first-person shooter contemporaries than any title of its own namesake. I cannot criticize Metroid Prime 3 for what it wasn’t trying to be, which was the first two games only with motion controls. As far as a more action-intensive, space opera Metroid goes, Metroid Prime 3 still succeeds thanks to the Phazon system, and the grapple beam utility to a lesser extent, for offering something interesting while raising Metroid Prime’s skill ceiling. My comparative distaste for Metroid Prime 3 compared to the other two ultimately comes down to a matter of taste. I much prefer Alien to Aliens because I prefer a rich, brooding atmosphere in my horror media, but I can still concede that the latter still achieves something substantial with its different intentions.

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