Brintendo
12 reviews liked by Brintendo
Pokémon X
2013
I’ve long maintained that X and Y are my least favorite Pokémon games. This is different than thinking they’re the worst Pokémon games, which I don’t believe they are, at least not anymore. Unlike Sun and Moon which seemed terrified to ever let you experience the game without a new cutscene or tutorial every 5 steps, X and Y still more or less maintain an illusion of player-driven adventure. The ever-satisfying core gameplay loop that made these games such a sensation (exploring towns and routes, catching Pokémon, engaging in battles) still feels largely intact, especially when compared to projects like Sword and Shield or Legends: Arceus which ventured to break that formula apart without replacing it with anything interesting. X and Y still undeniably feel like Pokémon: not a glorified cutscene compilation, not a shitty MMO, not a half-baked BOTW clone, just Pokémon. As jaded as this series makes me, that’s always a feeling I’m willing to chase.
And while yes the games certainly feel a bit undercooked, it’s not from a lack of love and care. Additions like the fairy type, super training, and the PSS all strike me as the handiwork of a studio that on some level still gave a shit. For fuck’s sake, they 3D modeled all 700+ Pokémon and let you pet every last one of them! In retrospect, a lot of the stranger design decisions here seem to be motivated less by apathy or incompetence and more by a desire to show off what “the first 3D Pokémon game” was capable of. Areas like Route 1 or Glittering Cave are functionally glorified hallways, but they show off an over-the-shoulder angle the DS could never do. Rideable Pokémon are a momentum-breaking slog, but they provide a golden opportunity for the camera to whip around as you bask in the glory of the beautifully-rendered Rhyhorn model. Santalune Forest has the same exact layout as Virdian Forest, likely to inspire some feeling of “wow, look how far we’ve come since the Gameboy”, potentially explaining the rest of the Gen 1 nostalgia on some level as well. Lumiose City may be hell to navigate, but if you’re focused on just how much bigger it is than the metropolises of old, you may not even notice. Hell, even the baffling Parfum Palace side-mission makes a lot more sense when you consider all the fancy new textures it flaunts along the way. Playing X and Y, you get the sense GameFreak was really proud of what they managed to accomplish graphically, and wanted to show it off at every turn. The theme of the game IS “beauty” after all.
But, over ten years after the fact, (God I feel old…) a graphical showcase for the Nintendo 3Ds isn’t especially enticing. And I mean, the console wasn’t exactly a visual powerhouse back in the day, either. There is an appealing artstyle in here—I generally like the Pokémon models for what they are, and I think retaining a chibi aesthetic in the overworld was a smart move—but the muted colors and blandness of the locales really hurt it. Sure these environments aren’t nearly as barren as what we’d see in the games to come, but they’re certainly not as lively as anything we got on the DS or even the GBA. And it’s not like we haven’t seen areas built for spectacle before—Black 2 and White 2 were full of ‘em, but they never let it compromise their level design in the same way X and Y does. I mentioned Lumiose City’s size earlier, but what I didn’t recall is just how much less there is to actually do there than in the much smaller Castelia of old. A lot of Kalos is like that—impressive for the time, but lacking in real substance. Just about the only place where I think this show-off mentality really does hold up is in the gyms. Each one of them has a unique puzzle that could only make sense in a 3D space. They’re fun, they’re creative, they have great art direction, it’s honestly my favorite aspect of the whole game. It’s a shame the rest of the region can’t compare.
And with that new hardware sheen having long worn off, it brings into greater focus just how much of X and Y feel unfinished. Areas like the Power Plant or the Haunted House that once struck me as odd, pointless excursions feel a lot more telling as an adult who knows what “cut content” is. The gap between the first and second badges is one of the longest in the series, a pacing choice I’d actually quite like if the remaining 6 badges didn’t arrive in such a mad dash one after the other. I don’t play these games for the story or the postgame, but both are noticeably more barebones than usual. I mean come on man, why does every Team Flare member, from leader to grunt, get a fully-rendered 3D model for their battle intro, while the elite four, gym leaders and champion are stuck with PNGs? Does that seem like an intentional choice, or as a shift in priorities to better accommodate a looming deadline?
The difficulty curve is the area that feels the most neglected in my eyes. The EXP Share—a quality of life feature I actually really appreciate—seems to have been implemented without regard for an already-existing level curve. Kalos has evidently outlawed carrying a full team of 6, as the only trainer you’ll be facing with as many is the champion. Plenty of trainers carry strong Pokémon with interesting movesets, but when you’re gifted so many free Pokémon along the way, finding a method to cheese them is really a matter of “when”, not “if”. I was playing X under a particularly restrictive set of nuzlocke rules, and even still I found the majority of gameplay save for the absolute finale to be pretty close to mindless. I don’t think a harder game is necessarily a better one of course—but the seeming disinterest in creating opportunities for a player to strategize in your JRPG feels like a pretty major oversight to me.
And speaking of difficulty, I guess I have to talk about Mega Evolution. I’ve already stated in my ORAS review that I’m not a fan, but I haven’t articulated why. For one, they’re barely utilized in their debut game: 25 out of 30 mega stones are locked behind the postgame, with only two trainers in the campaign actually using them in battle. I’d be more mad they hardly see use in casual play, if it wasn’t so obvious why: they completely break the game. What could have been a way to revitalize some old Pokémon and address power creep along the way only exacerbated it. Megas completely overpower a normal playthrough, which makes the fact that so many of them were given to already-strong Pokémon even more frustrating. I think just about the only Mega that isn’t insanely broken, was given to a Pokémon that actually needed one, and doesn’t completely ruin their design (because oh yeah most Megas look really, really dumb) is Mega Beedrill. And he’s not even available until ORAS.
You also can’t discuss Mega Evolution without addressing the domino effect it’s had on the series. Z-Moves, Dynamax, Gigantamax, Battle Styles— Mega Evolution and it’s consequences have been a disaster for the Pokémon franchise. These are not interesting new additions, they’re glorified win buttons that never get the space to be fleshed out since they’re gone by the next installment. I haven’t even played Scarlet and Violet because the idea of learning an entirely new gimmick I know won’t last just seemed so exhausting. Remember when a new Pokémon game brought sizable structural changes: held items, abilities, the physical/special split, reusable TMs, real, substantial mechanical shake-ups that changed the way the game is played? I wish Gamefreak did.
That’s, in so many words, my issue with X and Y. It’s the last Pokémon game that got the fundamentals, but it’s really JUST fundamentals. Kalos is a flavorless region, the battles are a total afterthought, and it’s adherence to spectacle rings hollow a decade plus after release. The games that came after may be worse, but they’re worse in more interesting ways. And in the absence of genuine innovation, I can’t help but focus on all the things X and Y introduced to the series I wish would go away: stupid generational gimmicks, a suffocating yearly release schedule, and a precedent for cut corners selling games. It’s hard not to look at Black 2 and White 2, games bursting at the seams with content and polish and smart, fully-developed design that nonetheless underperformed, and compare them to X and Y, the unfinished, nostalgic tech demos that sold like hotcakes. I can’t be surprised at the direction Gamefreak chose to move in, but man if I’m not disappointed.
And while yes the games certainly feel a bit undercooked, it’s not from a lack of love and care. Additions like the fairy type, super training, and the PSS all strike me as the handiwork of a studio that on some level still gave a shit. For fuck’s sake, they 3D modeled all 700+ Pokémon and let you pet every last one of them! In retrospect, a lot of the stranger design decisions here seem to be motivated less by apathy or incompetence and more by a desire to show off what “the first 3D Pokémon game” was capable of. Areas like Route 1 or Glittering Cave are functionally glorified hallways, but they show off an over-the-shoulder angle the DS could never do. Rideable Pokémon are a momentum-breaking slog, but they provide a golden opportunity for the camera to whip around as you bask in the glory of the beautifully-rendered Rhyhorn model. Santalune Forest has the same exact layout as Virdian Forest, likely to inspire some feeling of “wow, look how far we’ve come since the Gameboy”, potentially explaining the rest of the Gen 1 nostalgia on some level as well. Lumiose City may be hell to navigate, but if you’re focused on just how much bigger it is than the metropolises of old, you may not even notice. Hell, even the baffling Parfum Palace side-mission makes a lot more sense when you consider all the fancy new textures it flaunts along the way. Playing X and Y, you get the sense GameFreak was really proud of what they managed to accomplish graphically, and wanted to show it off at every turn. The theme of the game IS “beauty” after all.
But, over ten years after the fact, (God I feel old…) a graphical showcase for the Nintendo 3Ds isn’t especially enticing. And I mean, the console wasn’t exactly a visual powerhouse back in the day, either. There is an appealing artstyle in here—I generally like the Pokémon models for what they are, and I think retaining a chibi aesthetic in the overworld was a smart move—but the muted colors and blandness of the locales really hurt it. Sure these environments aren’t nearly as barren as what we’d see in the games to come, but they’re certainly not as lively as anything we got on the DS or even the GBA. And it’s not like we haven’t seen areas built for spectacle before—Black 2 and White 2 were full of ‘em, but they never let it compromise their level design in the same way X and Y does. I mentioned Lumiose City’s size earlier, but what I didn’t recall is just how much less there is to actually do there than in the much smaller Castelia of old. A lot of Kalos is like that—impressive for the time, but lacking in real substance. Just about the only place where I think this show-off mentality really does hold up is in the gyms. Each one of them has a unique puzzle that could only make sense in a 3D space. They’re fun, they’re creative, they have great art direction, it’s honestly my favorite aspect of the whole game. It’s a shame the rest of the region can’t compare.
And with that new hardware sheen having long worn off, it brings into greater focus just how much of X and Y feel unfinished. Areas like the Power Plant or the Haunted House that once struck me as odd, pointless excursions feel a lot more telling as an adult who knows what “cut content” is. The gap between the first and second badges is one of the longest in the series, a pacing choice I’d actually quite like if the remaining 6 badges didn’t arrive in such a mad dash one after the other. I don’t play these games for the story or the postgame, but both are noticeably more barebones than usual. I mean come on man, why does every Team Flare member, from leader to grunt, get a fully-rendered 3D model for their battle intro, while the elite four, gym leaders and champion are stuck with PNGs? Does that seem like an intentional choice, or as a shift in priorities to better accommodate a looming deadline?
The difficulty curve is the area that feels the most neglected in my eyes. The EXP Share—a quality of life feature I actually really appreciate—seems to have been implemented without regard for an already-existing level curve. Kalos has evidently outlawed carrying a full team of 6, as the only trainer you’ll be facing with as many is the champion. Plenty of trainers carry strong Pokémon with interesting movesets, but when you’re gifted so many free Pokémon along the way, finding a method to cheese them is really a matter of “when”, not “if”. I was playing X under a particularly restrictive set of nuzlocke rules, and even still I found the majority of gameplay save for the absolute finale to be pretty close to mindless. I don’t think a harder game is necessarily a better one of course—but the seeming disinterest in creating opportunities for a player to strategize in your JRPG feels like a pretty major oversight to me.
And speaking of difficulty, I guess I have to talk about Mega Evolution. I’ve already stated in my ORAS review that I’m not a fan, but I haven’t articulated why. For one, they’re barely utilized in their debut game: 25 out of 30 mega stones are locked behind the postgame, with only two trainers in the campaign actually using them in battle. I’d be more mad they hardly see use in casual play, if it wasn’t so obvious why: they completely break the game. What could have been a way to revitalize some old Pokémon and address power creep along the way only exacerbated it. Megas completely overpower a normal playthrough, which makes the fact that so many of them were given to already-strong Pokémon even more frustrating. I think just about the only Mega that isn’t insanely broken, was given to a Pokémon that actually needed one, and doesn’t completely ruin their design (because oh yeah most Megas look really, really dumb) is Mega Beedrill. And he’s not even available until ORAS.
You also can’t discuss Mega Evolution without addressing the domino effect it’s had on the series. Z-Moves, Dynamax, Gigantamax, Battle Styles— Mega Evolution and it’s consequences have been a disaster for the Pokémon franchise. These are not interesting new additions, they’re glorified win buttons that never get the space to be fleshed out since they’re gone by the next installment. I haven’t even played Scarlet and Violet because the idea of learning an entirely new gimmick I know won’t last just seemed so exhausting. Remember when a new Pokémon game brought sizable structural changes: held items, abilities, the physical/special split, reusable TMs, real, substantial mechanical shake-ups that changed the way the game is played? I wish Gamefreak did.
That’s, in so many words, my issue with X and Y. It’s the last Pokémon game that got the fundamentals, but it’s really JUST fundamentals. Kalos is a flavorless region, the battles are a total afterthought, and it’s adherence to spectacle rings hollow a decade plus after release. The games that came after may be worse, but they’re worse in more interesting ways. And in the absence of genuine innovation, I can’t help but focus on all the things X and Y introduced to the series I wish would go away: stupid generational gimmicks, a suffocating yearly release schedule, and a precedent for cut corners selling games. It’s hard not to look at Black 2 and White 2, games bursting at the seams with content and polish and smart, fully-developed design that nonetheless underperformed, and compare them to X and Y, the unfinished, nostalgic tech demos that sold like hotcakes. I can’t be surprised at the direction Gamefreak chose to move in, but man if I’m not disappointed.
Metroid Dread
2021
This review contains spoilers
It’s not bad. Decent, even. Catch me on a nice day and I’ll tell ya it’s good! But as much as I enjoyed my time with Metroid: Dread (and I did enjoy it, mostly), I can’t help but feel like it plays things way too safe while also somehow fumbling a lot of the fundamentals. I think the clamoring for a new Metroid game may have overshadowed any priorities for what that game should be. Truthfully, the Metroid name has a lot of baggage. When I hear that name, I think of the NES original’s ambitious nonlinear structure, Return of Samus’s willingness to make you uncomfortable, Super’s masterful sense of immersion and player freedom, or Fusion’s total disruption of series tradition. Dread on the other hand is just… another Metroid. A fine Metroid, but there’s nothing here that really even attempts to be as innovative or transgressive as the 4 games it’s a sequel to, and that to me is the biggest disappointment here.
World design is once again Mercury Steam’s downfall. The linearity isn’t what bugs me –only 2 outta 7 games in this series truly dedicated themselves to the concept, if we’re being honest –but the way it’s implemented is pretty lame, I think. The map always spits you out exactly where you need to be, with any attempts to move off the beaten path usually met by dead ends. I never felt super connected to ZDR in the way I still do to Zebes or SR-388 or the BSL station, and I think it’s because the game never provides any incentive or really any opportunity to familiarize yourself with its layout. It doesn’t help that, while not as egregious as Samus Returns, the level design is still quite cramped and blocky. This doesn’t feel like a living, breathing world as much as a backdrop for a computer entertainment game. It’s also just a really obnoxious approach to building a Metroidvania, if you ask me. I decided to do some backtracking for items before the final boss, and had a pretty terrible time because so many of these screens are so tight and obstructive that they seem intentionally designed to hinder player traversal. The fact each major area is only connected by elevators and teleporters, each one equipped with their own lengthy, demotivating loading screen only makes things worse. And speaking of making things worse, the EMMI zones only serve to compound Dread’s issues with map design. The way each one has to gut whatever area it’s in to make room results in those areas feeling so much less cohesive. It doesn’t help that these zones each look identical, making a by all accounts very pretty and aesthetically diverse game feel visually samey in my head.
The EMMIs themselves also, uh, suck? I think these suck. Relegating each one to their own clearly-demarcated sections that you can freely walk in and out of immediately deprives them of any sense of oppressive spontaneity that something like the SA-X had. Then, once you actually get inside, it’s a formality. Either you effortlessly make it to the other side without hassle, or you get insta-killed immediately and respawn right outside the door. If these were more substantial sections with a little more leeway there might be interesting conflict here. But as is, I’m either gonna skate by mindlessly or I’m getting stuck repeating the same 10 seconds of gameplay over and over again, each loading screen killing the pace and my patience more and more. The omega cannon segments, a genuinely creative new idea, at least have some compelling puzzle design and an exciting flashiness to them. But for me they ultimately get really bogged down by an overly cumbersome control scheme and that same trial & error tedium. The EMMIs also lack any of the thematic resonance that made the SA-X or the Space Pirates of past games so memorable, which is like, the best part of these type of encounters??? I think even the devs get bored of these guys after a while, since they go largely absent from the mid-to-late game only for the final EMMI to be killed off unceremoniously in a cutscene. I dunno man, a big swing and a miss for me.
A lot of Metroid: Dread has this weird give-and-take to it. The power-ups are really cool and satisfying to use, but the way they’re implemented is shockingly unimaginative. Outside of a few optional missile tanks (the only optional collectible you’ll find 80% of the time), you’re mostly only using these upgrades as specialized keys for specialized doors, the grapple beam and ice missiles being the biggest offenders. Boss fights are fantastically frenetic, but so many of them are copy-and-pasted, particularly in the late game, that they lose a lot of their initial impact. I actually really like the attempt at a steeper difficulty, but while some challenges feel really tense and gratifying, others like the EMMIs just feel like banging your head against a wall until it cracks. The game is fucking stunning to look at, easily one of the best graphical showcases for the Switch, but the environments themselves are just kind of bland and forgettable to me. Outside of some novel Chozo structures, it all felt like more of the same caves, plant areas, waterworlds and Norfair clones I’m used to.
This review seems really mean and that’s because yeah, it is. But as I said at the start, I did enjoy my time here. For all that I think Dread gets wrong, I think it gets Samus very, very right. Her controls feel wonderfully agile, and the way she moves in cutscenes is just…so fucking cool like holy shit wow. While I don’t think her moveset here has as much depth as it did in Super or as much crunchiness as in Fusion/Zero Mission, I can’t deny how satisfying the simple act of moving and shooting is in Dread. This was the thing that really ruined Samus Returns for me, but fuck dude, even the counter and Aeion system don’t make me want to kill myself now! It’s a remarkably fun game to play considering how unremarkable so many of it’s design decisions are. And hey, as nitpicky as I can get here, I can’t deny how great the sense of spectacle is here. Sure it’s fanservice, but that Kraid fight had me a hootin’ and a hollerin’, and moments like that go a long way in the final analysis. I have a lot of grievances with Metroid Dread, but I don’t think it’s a bad game per se, and I’d easily recommend it to any aspiring Metroid fan. Just, y’know. Play the other ones first.
“But schlocky,” you cry, “Does all this redeem Mercury Steam for Samus Returns?” Hahaha absolutely not. Are you fucking kidding me? Have you read the articles about what they put their developers through? No way man. Burn that shit to the ground.
World design is once again Mercury Steam’s downfall. The linearity isn’t what bugs me –only 2 outta 7 games in this series truly dedicated themselves to the concept, if we’re being honest –but the way it’s implemented is pretty lame, I think. The map always spits you out exactly where you need to be, with any attempts to move off the beaten path usually met by dead ends. I never felt super connected to ZDR in the way I still do to Zebes or SR-388 or the BSL station, and I think it’s because the game never provides any incentive or really any opportunity to familiarize yourself with its layout. It doesn’t help that, while not as egregious as Samus Returns, the level design is still quite cramped and blocky. This doesn’t feel like a living, breathing world as much as a backdrop for a computer entertainment game. It’s also just a really obnoxious approach to building a Metroidvania, if you ask me. I decided to do some backtracking for items before the final boss, and had a pretty terrible time because so many of these screens are so tight and obstructive that they seem intentionally designed to hinder player traversal. The fact each major area is only connected by elevators and teleporters, each one equipped with their own lengthy, demotivating loading screen only makes things worse. And speaking of making things worse, the EMMI zones only serve to compound Dread’s issues with map design. The way each one has to gut whatever area it’s in to make room results in those areas feeling so much less cohesive. It doesn’t help that these zones each look identical, making a by all accounts very pretty and aesthetically diverse game feel visually samey in my head.
The EMMIs themselves also, uh, suck? I think these suck. Relegating each one to their own clearly-demarcated sections that you can freely walk in and out of immediately deprives them of any sense of oppressive spontaneity that something like the SA-X had. Then, once you actually get inside, it’s a formality. Either you effortlessly make it to the other side without hassle, or you get insta-killed immediately and respawn right outside the door. If these were more substantial sections with a little more leeway there might be interesting conflict here. But as is, I’m either gonna skate by mindlessly or I’m getting stuck repeating the same 10 seconds of gameplay over and over again, each loading screen killing the pace and my patience more and more. The omega cannon segments, a genuinely creative new idea, at least have some compelling puzzle design and an exciting flashiness to them. But for me they ultimately get really bogged down by an overly cumbersome control scheme and that same trial & error tedium. The EMMIs also lack any of the thematic resonance that made the SA-X or the Space Pirates of past games so memorable, which is like, the best part of these type of encounters??? I think even the devs get bored of these guys after a while, since they go largely absent from the mid-to-late game only for the final EMMI to be killed off unceremoniously in a cutscene. I dunno man, a big swing and a miss for me.
A lot of Metroid: Dread has this weird give-and-take to it. The power-ups are really cool and satisfying to use, but the way they’re implemented is shockingly unimaginative. Outside of a few optional missile tanks (the only optional collectible you’ll find 80% of the time), you’re mostly only using these upgrades as specialized keys for specialized doors, the grapple beam and ice missiles being the biggest offenders. Boss fights are fantastically frenetic, but so many of them are copy-and-pasted, particularly in the late game, that they lose a lot of their initial impact. I actually really like the attempt at a steeper difficulty, but while some challenges feel really tense and gratifying, others like the EMMIs just feel like banging your head against a wall until it cracks. The game is fucking stunning to look at, easily one of the best graphical showcases for the Switch, but the environments themselves are just kind of bland and forgettable to me. Outside of some novel Chozo structures, it all felt like more of the same caves, plant areas, waterworlds and Norfair clones I’m used to.
This review seems really mean and that’s because yeah, it is. But as I said at the start, I did enjoy my time here. For all that I think Dread gets wrong, I think it gets Samus very, very right. Her controls feel wonderfully agile, and the way she moves in cutscenes is just…so fucking cool like holy shit wow. While I don’t think her moveset here has as much depth as it did in Super or as much crunchiness as in Fusion/Zero Mission, I can’t deny how satisfying the simple act of moving and shooting is in Dread. This was the thing that really ruined Samus Returns for me, but fuck dude, even the counter and Aeion system don’t make me want to kill myself now! It’s a remarkably fun game to play considering how unremarkable so many of it’s design decisions are. And hey, as nitpicky as I can get here, I can’t deny how great the sense of spectacle is here. Sure it’s fanservice, but that Kraid fight had me a hootin’ and a hollerin’, and moments like that go a long way in the final analysis. I have a lot of grievances with Metroid Dread, but I don’t think it’s a bad game per se, and I’d easily recommend it to any aspiring Metroid fan. Just, y’know. Play the other ones first.
“But schlocky,” you cry, “Does all this redeem Mercury Steam for Samus Returns?” Hahaha absolutely not. Are you fucking kidding me? Have you read the articles about what they put their developers through? No way man. Burn that shit to the ground.
The most striking thing about AM2R is certainly the story behind it. There’s something uniquely compelling about a passion project 10 years in the making, tragically cut down before it’s prime that’s clearly resonated with a lot of people, including myself. The most striking thing about actually playing AM2R is just how damn polished it all feels. The pixel art is stunning, it runs like a dream, and the smoothness of the controls rivals even Zero Mission. The quality of the world design in particular really grabbed me, each area has such a distinct and well-conceived theme with some of the more creatives puzzles I’ve seen from this series. It’s borrowing the gated funnel structure of Metroid II, but the addition of a map (and notably, no map stations) makes exploration feel incredibly fulfilling and the most player-driven it’s been since… I dunno, Super? It’s clear the team working on this were incredibly devoted to making the best possible version of this game they could and I think they succeeded. I don’t play a ton of fan games myself, but the ones I have played have never been even close to this level. This is on par with any official Metroid release, and in some areas even surpasses them.
Where I’m less sold on Another Metroid 2 Remake is, funny enough, as a remake of Metroid II. Which is to be expected, honestly. I don’t think you actually can remake Metroid II without fundamentally ruining most of the things that make it interesting. The obscure graphics, the awkward music, the monotonous structure, the claustrophobic screen crunch, all that Gameboy jank was such an integral part of Metroid II’s deliberately uncomfortable atmosphere. Any additional layer of polish you add on top of it only serves to strip it of its identity. This isn’t to say AM2R doesn’t have an identity if it’s own—it has loads!—but it’s not the same identity, it’s not even in the same ballpark. Most of the time, I forgot I was even playing a remake of Metroid II at all.
Which sounds really negative but honestly I… don’t really care. Much like Zero Mission, what we have here is such a thrilling, enjoyable experience on its own that I’m more than willing to put asides any shortcomings it has as a recreation of a game that I’ve already played and still have full access to. Judged on its own merits, what we have here is a Metroid that feels great to control, offers a brilliantly thought-out and realized world, and adds in a wealth of new ideas I haven’t seen before. I can’t really ask for more than that. AM2R is a blast, and absolutely deserves a spot on the shelf with all the other Metroids—and not too far from the top of the pile either. This is the real deal.
Oh yeah and fuck Nintendo lmao
Where I’m less sold on Another Metroid 2 Remake is, funny enough, as a remake of Metroid II. Which is to be expected, honestly. I don’t think you actually can remake Metroid II without fundamentally ruining most of the things that make it interesting. The obscure graphics, the awkward music, the monotonous structure, the claustrophobic screen crunch, all that Gameboy jank was such an integral part of Metroid II’s deliberately uncomfortable atmosphere. Any additional layer of polish you add on top of it only serves to strip it of its identity. This isn’t to say AM2R doesn’t have an identity if it’s own—it has loads!—but it’s not the same identity, it’s not even in the same ballpark. Most of the time, I forgot I was even playing a remake of Metroid II at all.
Which sounds really negative but honestly I… don’t really care. Much like Zero Mission, what we have here is such a thrilling, enjoyable experience on its own that I’m more than willing to put asides any shortcomings it has as a recreation of a game that I’ve already played and still have full access to. Judged on its own merits, what we have here is a Metroid that feels great to control, offers a brilliantly thought-out and realized world, and adds in a wealth of new ideas I haven’t seen before. I can’t really ask for more than that. AM2R is a blast, and absolutely deserves a spot on the shelf with all the other Metroids—and not too far from the top of the pile either. This is the real deal.
Oh yeah and fuck Nintendo lmao
This review contains spoilers
Zero Mission was the only Metroid I had played prior to starting this marathon, so I was really excited to revisit it and see how it feels within the wider context of the series. Turns out a good ass game is still a good ass game, although I do think I have a greater appreciation for why that is now. It’s a really seamless blend of Super Metroid’s power and exploration with the speed and movement of Fusion, leading to Samus’s most comfortable, accessible adventure yet. This is such a fun game to pick up and just GO, you can really blast through it and it’s incredibly satisfying to do so. I definitely see why this was the Metroid that initially got me hooked.
There really isn’t a ton I have to say about Zero Mission on its own. It’s a pretty baseline Metroid, all the features and iconography you’d expect are here, wrapped up in a lovely high-contrast art style and some excellent controls. It’s simple, but sometimes that’s all you need. It’s a bit easier and more handhold-y than I’d prefer (aside from the Mother Brain fight, which is still dookie ass 18 years later) but considering that this is clearly intended as an entry-level Metroid, it’s the kind of thing I can easily look past. Short, sweet and engaging all the way through.
If I did have any gripes it’s that while I still think Zero Mission is a great game, I’m not sure it’s a great remake. The tone here is just too fun and bombastic to feel like a suitable replacement for the harshness of the NES original. That was a very punishing, often unintuitive game, but that’s precisely what lent it such an oppressive feel. You felt genuinely outmatched on a hostile alien world, something Zero Mission’s heightened player empowerment and abundance of Chozo-signposting can’t replicate. The bright backgrounds and adventurous score lend the game a compelling atmosphere of its own, but it’s not the same atmosphere as the stark black voids and unsettling chiptunes that surrounded the Zebes of old. Not to mention than in its attempts to tie more closely to Super Metroid, it ends up spoiling a lot of what that game does (most obviously with Samus’s final upgrades, but more upsetting to me being how it totally botches Super’s tiny Kraid fakeout). Zero Mission is a much more enjoyable, less tedious game than its 1986 predecessor and for most that will be enough. But for me, this is just not an equivalent replacement for that original experience, janky though it may be.
Oh yeah, before I forget: Chozodia rocks! From what I understand that section is pretty love-it-or-hate-it among fans but I think it rules. Works for all the reasons the SA-X encounters worked, just more fleshed out. Glad to see that even a game as action-packed as this has room for something so uncomfortable and tense. It’s the one area of the game that captures a similar feeling as the NES classic, and I think it kicks ass. The whole game kicks ass. Fuck yeah, Zero Mission!
There really isn’t a ton I have to say about Zero Mission on its own. It’s a pretty baseline Metroid, all the features and iconography you’d expect are here, wrapped up in a lovely high-contrast art style and some excellent controls. It’s simple, but sometimes that’s all you need. It’s a bit easier and more handhold-y than I’d prefer (aside from the Mother Brain fight, which is still dookie ass 18 years later) but considering that this is clearly intended as an entry-level Metroid, it’s the kind of thing I can easily look past. Short, sweet and engaging all the way through.
If I did have any gripes it’s that while I still think Zero Mission is a great game, I’m not sure it’s a great remake. The tone here is just too fun and bombastic to feel like a suitable replacement for the harshness of the NES original. That was a very punishing, often unintuitive game, but that’s precisely what lent it such an oppressive feel. You felt genuinely outmatched on a hostile alien world, something Zero Mission’s heightened player empowerment and abundance of Chozo-signposting can’t replicate. The bright backgrounds and adventurous score lend the game a compelling atmosphere of its own, but it’s not the same atmosphere as the stark black voids and unsettling chiptunes that surrounded the Zebes of old. Not to mention than in its attempts to tie more closely to Super Metroid, it ends up spoiling a lot of what that game does (most obviously with Samus’s final upgrades, but more upsetting to me being how it totally botches Super’s tiny Kraid fakeout). Zero Mission is a much more enjoyable, less tedious game than its 1986 predecessor and for most that will be enough. But for me, this is just not an equivalent replacement for that original experience, janky though it may be.
Oh yeah, before I forget: Chozodia rocks! From what I understand that section is pretty love-it-or-hate-it among fans but I think it rules. Works for all the reasons the SA-X encounters worked, just more fleshed out. Glad to see that even a game as action-packed as this has room for something so uncomfortable and tense. It’s the one area of the game that captures a similar feeling as the NES classic, and I think it kicks ass. The whole game kicks ass. Fuck yeah, Zero Mission!
Metroid Fusion
2002
This review contains spoilers
How do you follow up a masterpiece 9 years after the fact? By corrupting everything it stood for. Metroid Fusion is, first and foremost, a story of infection. Before the game even begins, an encounter with an X Parasite leaves the series iconography shattered: Samus’s gunship is destroyed, her iconic power suit defiled, her life saved by a Metroid vaccine. Her new “fusion suit” is a powerful visual statement: an almost unrecognizable, uncomfortably organic design that evokes the Metroids Samus once slaughtered more than it resembles a legendary bounty hunter. Fitting, not just because of its origins, but because it’s in this game that Samus learns what it’s like to be hunted herself. This doesn’t feel like Super Metroid anymore. This feels alien. This feels wrong.
Samus is noticeably weaker in Fusion than any of her prior appearances. Even when fully upgraded she can’t reliably tank hits like she used to, and her new Metroid DNA gives her an extreme vulnerability to the cold. Rooms that would have given you no trouble in past games become genuine questions of survival, with boss fights becoming daunting challenges. While every Metroid game begins by stripping you of the upgrades you collected in the previous mission, their absence is most viscerally felt in Fusion. You didn’t just lose your abilities, they were taken from you. It’s a fresh wound that hurts all the more thanks to the SA-X, a parasitic mockery of Samus at her full power trapped on the same space station as you. The game tells you point blank that you stand no chance against the SA-X in your current state: If you see it, all you can do is run. A warped shadow of your lost autonomy, the SA-X’s all-too-familiar presence dominates the whole experience. No matter where you go you know that it’s out there, you know that it’s looking for you, and you know firsthand exactly what it’s capable of. The danger and horror of Metroid have never been so pronounced.
Even the Metroid formula isn’t safe from infection. While past titles were all about independently exploring vast, interconnected ecosystems, Fusion has you following linear objectives through segmented–and distinctly artificial–simulated environments. The game puts you on a tight leash, forced to take orders from an on-board AI, your destination always cleanly marked on the map. The moments you do get to freely explore are aberrations, disruptions that no longer feel safe given your newfound frailness and the constant threat of the SA-X. By the time I finished the first three Metroid games my connection to their worlds felt intimate, I knew them front to back and felt confident traversing them. By the time I finished Fusion, the BSL space station still felt like a stranger, one I was desperate to leave behind me.
That linearity seems to be a major point of contention, and it certainly threw me off at first after the expansive freedom Super Metroid provided. It felt stifling, oppressive, like I wasn’t allowed to be in control… which is precisely how Samus must be feeling. If you come to this series for the exploration first I can see how Fusion might come as a disappointment, but for me it only made things more immersive. Like Samus I was growing numb to it all, the bleak reality of my life as a government pawn setting in, my resentment towards my situation and Adam’s orders only building, every locked door another reminder of how much agency I had lost. It’s a really smart use of structure as a form of storytelling.
In a lot of ways, Fusion feels more like a successor to Metroid II than it does Super Metroid. Both are much more linear, rigidly-segmented adventures, with progression being gated by a series of boss battles, and a greater emphasis placed on making the player feel uncomfortable rather than empowered. But as much as I adore Metroid II, I vastly prefer Fusion, if only because it’s so much more fun to play. The increased agility of the fusion suit, the fast crunchiness of your weapons, the streamlined GBA button layout, this is the most enjoyable controlling Samus has ever felt. I’ve mentioned the boss fights a few times now and it’s because they’re really the highlight of the game to me, the moment where all the game’s choices come together to create these huge, frenetic encounters against truly difficult opponents where one slip-up means death. Fusion overall is a much faster, more difficult game than the Metroids we’re used to and that was something I really connected with. Big Megaman Zero 3 vibes, which a lot of this game has come to think of it.
If it wasn’t abundantly obvious, I think Metroid Fusion is fucking brilliant. I could never not respect such a ballsy shakeup of series convention, but the fact it’s also an incredibly enjoyable game to boot is just icing on the cake. A masterclass in vision, theming and atmosphere the likes of which only Metroid is capable of. I wish all sequels could be this bold.
Samus is noticeably weaker in Fusion than any of her prior appearances. Even when fully upgraded she can’t reliably tank hits like she used to, and her new Metroid DNA gives her an extreme vulnerability to the cold. Rooms that would have given you no trouble in past games become genuine questions of survival, with boss fights becoming daunting challenges. While every Metroid game begins by stripping you of the upgrades you collected in the previous mission, their absence is most viscerally felt in Fusion. You didn’t just lose your abilities, they were taken from you. It’s a fresh wound that hurts all the more thanks to the SA-X, a parasitic mockery of Samus at her full power trapped on the same space station as you. The game tells you point blank that you stand no chance against the SA-X in your current state: If you see it, all you can do is run. A warped shadow of your lost autonomy, the SA-X’s all-too-familiar presence dominates the whole experience. No matter where you go you know that it’s out there, you know that it’s looking for you, and you know firsthand exactly what it’s capable of. The danger and horror of Metroid have never been so pronounced.
Even the Metroid formula isn’t safe from infection. While past titles were all about independently exploring vast, interconnected ecosystems, Fusion has you following linear objectives through segmented–and distinctly artificial–simulated environments. The game puts you on a tight leash, forced to take orders from an on-board AI, your destination always cleanly marked on the map. The moments you do get to freely explore are aberrations, disruptions that no longer feel safe given your newfound frailness and the constant threat of the SA-X. By the time I finished the first three Metroid games my connection to their worlds felt intimate, I knew them front to back and felt confident traversing them. By the time I finished Fusion, the BSL space station still felt like a stranger, one I was desperate to leave behind me.
That linearity seems to be a major point of contention, and it certainly threw me off at first after the expansive freedom Super Metroid provided. It felt stifling, oppressive, like I wasn’t allowed to be in control… which is precisely how Samus must be feeling. If you come to this series for the exploration first I can see how Fusion might come as a disappointment, but for me it only made things more immersive. Like Samus I was growing numb to it all, the bleak reality of my life as a government pawn setting in, my resentment towards my situation and Adam’s orders only building, every locked door another reminder of how much agency I had lost. It’s a really smart use of structure as a form of storytelling.
In a lot of ways, Fusion feels more like a successor to Metroid II than it does Super Metroid. Both are much more linear, rigidly-segmented adventures, with progression being gated by a series of boss battles, and a greater emphasis placed on making the player feel uncomfortable rather than empowered. But as much as I adore Metroid II, I vastly prefer Fusion, if only because it’s so much more fun to play. The increased agility of the fusion suit, the fast crunchiness of your weapons, the streamlined GBA button layout, this is the most enjoyable controlling Samus has ever felt. I’ve mentioned the boss fights a few times now and it’s because they’re really the highlight of the game to me, the moment where all the game’s choices come together to create these huge, frenetic encounters against truly difficult opponents where one slip-up means death. Fusion overall is a much faster, more difficult game than the Metroids we’re used to and that was something I really connected with. Big Megaman Zero 3 vibes, which a lot of this game has come to think of it.
If it wasn’t abundantly obvious, I think Metroid Fusion is fucking brilliant. I could never not respect such a ballsy shakeup of series convention, but the fact it’s also an incredibly enjoyable game to boot is just icing on the cake. A masterclass in vision, theming and atmosphere the likes of which only Metroid is capable of. I wish all sequels could be this bold.
This review contains spoilers
If the original Metroid wanted you to feel endangered, its sequel wants you to feel uncomfortable. Samus has indeed returned, and she’s not on the defensive. While the first game was a retaliatory mission to stop a band of space pirates, Metroid II is an all-out assault. Seeing the damage that the Metroids caused on Zebes, the Galactic Federation has sent their top bounty hunter (that’s you) to the Metroid homeworld, SR388. You’re not here to save anyone, or to prevent any great catastrophe. This isn’t about justice, but extinction. You’re here to kill all Metroids, plain and simple.
What really impressed me about Metroid II is how big a piece of shit it makes you feel for playing it. The game is structured around locating and defeating 40 Metroids, each boss fight spread out across the map. You plunge deeper and deeper into their home, checking each corner in search of your prey. If the first game was a riff on Alien, so is this, but with you as the hostile alien threat. The tight Gameboy screen closes in around you, obscuring your field of vision. You could be standing right in front of a Metroid, and you wouldn’t know it until it’s too late to prepare. When you finally find one, you’re not rewarded with a skillful, choreographed boss fight but an ugly, erratic affair. You fire missiles wildly in the hope they connect and inevitably, you win your war of attrition. It’s surprising and tense, but with Samus being so much stronger in this game you’re hardly ever at any real risk. Their deaths were ensured the moment you landed, these encounters nothing more than acts of futile, animalistic retaliation. The genocide counter in the corner ticks down, and your descent into hell continues.
It’s remarkable how well the Gameboy’s limitations are used to enhance the experience. The large sprites minimize the already-small screen, creating a pervasive sense of claustrophobia. Those crunchy square waves create some truly alien sounds, much more overtly dissonant than the previous game’s music. Even playing with GBC colorization like I did, the whole experience feels dimly-lit, an atmosphere built around simple tilesets and a lack of backgrounds. To facilitate playing in on-the-go sessions, the map is structured like a series of segmented chunks moving downward, a choice that makes navigation more intuitive while at the same time codifying your misguided progression: you can’t turn back now, you’ve gone too deep. It’s a really miraculous showcase of what you could do with this technology. Fuck man, this Gameboy game has jumpscares!
The ending really blew me away. It’s everyone’s favorite part of this game, and for good reason. An entire planet lying in ashes behind you, the only thing left standing in your way is one final Metroid egg. It hatches, and starts following you, thinking you’re its mother. After all the death and destruction, Samus can’t bring herself to pull the trigger. It’s the most devastating thing a killer can do: growing a conscience when it’s already too late. You make your way to the surface, climbing your way out of hell, the baby assisting you along the way. It’s a strangely relaxing trip, more relaxing than you know you deserve. You crawl into your ship, exhausted, and end your mission in willful failure. As the credits roll you can’t help but wonder what it was all for, the blood on your hands soaking the controller.
If you couldn’t tell, I think this game is really special. To me these first two primordial Metroids are characterized by ambition above all else, reaching for a type of gameplay the tech of the time just couldn’t quite achieve yet. Metroid II is flawed to be sure: it’s repetitive and janky and I still wasn’t able to beat it without looking up a map online. But when the rest of the experience is this powerfully affecting, it’s easy to sweat the details in the final analysis. I’m extremely curious to see what this team could accomplish with 16-bit hardware, but I’m really glad I played these first. In spite of, and often because of their limitations, they produced some truly unforgettable games.
Don’t skip this one. Play it, and play it with the lights off.
What really impressed me about Metroid II is how big a piece of shit it makes you feel for playing it. The game is structured around locating and defeating 40 Metroids, each boss fight spread out across the map. You plunge deeper and deeper into their home, checking each corner in search of your prey. If the first game was a riff on Alien, so is this, but with you as the hostile alien threat. The tight Gameboy screen closes in around you, obscuring your field of vision. You could be standing right in front of a Metroid, and you wouldn’t know it until it’s too late to prepare. When you finally find one, you’re not rewarded with a skillful, choreographed boss fight but an ugly, erratic affair. You fire missiles wildly in the hope they connect and inevitably, you win your war of attrition. It’s surprising and tense, but with Samus being so much stronger in this game you’re hardly ever at any real risk. Their deaths were ensured the moment you landed, these encounters nothing more than acts of futile, animalistic retaliation. The genocide counter in the corner ticks down, and your descent into hell continues.
It’s remarkable how well the Gameboy’s limitations are used to enhance the experience. The large sprites minimize the already-small screen, creating a pervasive sense of claustrophobia. Those crunchy square waves create some truly alien sounds, much more overtly dissonant than the previous game’s music. Even playing with GBC colorization like I did, the whole experience feels dimly-lit, an atmosphere built around simple tilesets and a lack of backgrounds. To facilitate playing in on-the-go sessions, the map is structured like a series of segmented chunks moving downward, a choice that makes navigation more intuitive while at the same time codifying your misguided progression: you can’t turn back now, you’ve gone too deep. It’s a really miraculous showcase of what you could do with this technology. Fuck man, this Gameboy game has jumpscares!
The ending really blew me away. It’s everyone’s favorite part of this game, and for good reason. An entire planet lying in ashes behind you, the only thing left standing in your way is one final Metroid egg. It hatches, and starts following you, thinking you’re its mother. After all the death and destruction, Samus can’t bring herself to pull the trigger. It’s the most devastating thing a killer can do: growing a conscience when it’s already too late. You make your way to the surface, climbing your way out of hell, the baby assisting you along the way. It’s a strangely relaxing trip, more relaxing than you know you deserve. You crawl into your ship, exhausted, and end your mission in willful failure. As the credits roll you can’t help but wonder what it was all for, the blood on your hands soaking the controller.
If you couldn’t tell, I think this game is really special. To me these first two primordial Metroids are characterized by ambition above all else, reaching for a type of gameplay the tech of the time just couldn’t quite achieve yet. Metroid II is flawed to be sure: it’s repetitive and janky and I still wasn’t able to beat it without looking up a map online. But when the rest of the experience is this powerfully affecting, it’s easy to sweat the details in the final analysis. I’m extremely curious to see what this team could accomplish with 16-bit hardware, but I’m really glad I played these first. In spite of, and often because of their limitations, they produced some truly unforgettable games.
Don’t skip this one. Play it, and play it with the lights off.
Super Castlevania IV
1991
Castlevania makes its big leap to 16-bits with Super Castlevania IV and the results are… I mean, yeah sure man it’s ok! From what I understand this was an early release for that newfangled Super Nintendo Machine, and it’s within that context that this game makes the most sense to me. This is a hardware showcase, which explains the emphasis on technical spectacle and the fact that it’s a sorta-retelling of Castlevania 1 but with a shiny new coat of paint and all-new all-different playstyle. And in that respect, it’s very impressive! If I played this in 1991 it would have undoubtedly rocked my socks off. This ragtag bunch of programmers did a lovely job and their mothers should all be very proud, etc. etc. etc. It’s just a shame then that playing it now, after seeing what else the series has to offer, the most I can really muster for Super Castlevania IV is tepid indifference.
I guess we’re just diving in then. Let me address the elephant in the room and tackle this game’s most controversial element first: the play control. Our main man Simon is back, and he brought some swanky new moves with him for his 16-bit debut. Belmont can now whip in 8 directions, his chain extending much farther than ever before, with the added benefit of being able to control his jumps in mid-air. This is a HUGE shakeup for a series originally built around a stiff, limiting control scheme, but it’s a shakeup I don’t necessarily mind. While I adored the classic controls precisely because of their inflexibility and strongly disagree with the idea it was anything that needed to be “fixed”, I also don’t think there’s anything inherently sacrilegious about wanting to make an entry in this series that’s focused on being more empowering and comfortable to use. Lots of characters had their movesets expanded and streamlined in the transition to the SNES, often to great success. Hell, Megaman X is basically an entire sub-franchise based on this principle and I adore those games, so fuck it, we ball. I’m fine with the Belmont clan trying something new, and excited to see what fresh opportunities that may open up for the overall game design.
But that’s kinda where my beef with Super Castlevania IV lies: its disinterest in really examining those opportunities. Aside from a few (admittedly cool) grappling sections, this is by and large the same shit, different whip, without any real thought put into how that difference dramatically changes the way Castlevania feels. Enemies and stage layouts do little to account for the incredible amount of range and maneuverability your new octo-directional god-flail provides, resulting in a game that’s less concerned with deliberate positioning or thoughtful movement as it is pressing B to steamroll and Belmont-struttin’ to the finish. I still died plenty, sure, but when I revived I was never asked to change up my strategy, since plowing forward head-first was almost always the most viable option. I wasn’t even looking at my heart counter for most of the game, because your whip is just so absurdly useful it makes bothering with subweapons entirely pointless. The call for precision does start to pick up eventually, but only in the last third or so, and mostly by means of really fiddly platforming and a lot of instant-death spikes with weird hitboxes. It’s just…sloppy, and that’s the last word I thought I’d associate with Castlevania.
Let me be clear, because I’m worried this might be misconstrued: I’m not bothered by the fact Super Castlevania IV isn’t as rigid or challenging as what came before, as much as I’m bothered that it’s simply so much less engaging to play. I got hooked on Castlevania because it was the kind of game you couldn’t just mindlessly brute-force your way through, you had to take your time and think through your actions if you wanted to improve. It was tough but always fair, always intentional, and if you were willing to meet it on its level it was an immensely satisfying experience to learn and master each stage. Super Castlevania IV is not disappointing because it’s different or easy, it’s disappointing because I’m doing the same thing I’ve been doing for 4 games straight but more brainless than ever. It’s not exactly a bad time, it feels good enough to play in the moment, but it isn’t really rewarding or memorable long-term, and the fact that it’s three times the length these usually go for really highlights its shallowness.
All this might be excusable if the presentation was better but honestly I’m not feeling that either, man. There’s a few good backgrounds here and there and the exuberance that it explores the SNES hardware with is hard not to be somewhat charmed by (Mode 7 hallways, cool as fuck dude) but most of this looks really muddy and bland to me. It lacks the goofy cartoon monster mash aesthetics of its predecessors but hasn’t quite arrived at the gothic anime look of what’s to come, so you get this weird middle child without much visual personality of its own. Music is also a real letdown, you’d think a console as well-suited to absolutely fucking shredding as the SNES would be packed full of new rockin’ Castlevania bangers but it’s mostly a very ambient, atmospheric affair. Which I could maybe get behind if it was done better but a lot of this just sounds kinda dinky and lame, returning favorites like Vampire Killer and Bloody Tears notwithstanding. Honestly this rendition of Bloody Tears is SO good on its own I’m almost willing to let everything else in this paragraph slide. Almost. Simon’s Quest truthers stay forever 🔛🔝!
I dunno. This review is a mess. I don’t like being this mean towards a game I’m this lukewarm on, but I also can’t lie and act like this was a real showstopper in any regard either. It’s far from bad, but nothing about it really compels me, which is a shame. It’s the biggest, grandest Castlevania yet, and I’ve already forgotten most of it. I can respect it, I can appreciate it, but I think this one is just a swing and a miss for me personally.
I guess we’re just diving in then. Let me address the elephant in the room and tackle this game’s most controversial element first: the play control. Our main man Simon is back, and he brought some swanky new moves with him for his 16-bit debut. Belmont can now whip in 8 directions, his chain extending much farther than ever before, with the added benefit of being able to control his jumps in mid-air. This is a HUGE shakeup for a series originally built around a stiff, limiting control scheme, but it’s a shakeup I don’t necessarily mind. While I adored the classic controls precisely because of their inflexibility and strongly disagree with the idea it was anything that needed to be “fixed”, I also don’t think there’s anything inherently sacrilegious about wanting to make an entry in this series that’s focused on being more empowering and comfortable to use. Lots of characters had their movesets expanded and streamlined in the transition to the SNES, often to great success. Hell, Megaman X is basically an entire sub-franchise based on this principle and I adore those games, so fuck it, we ball. I’m fine with the Belmont clan trying something new, and excited to see what fresh opportunities that may open up for the overall game design.
But that’s kinda where my beef with Super Castlevania IV lies: its disinterest in really examining those opportunities. Aside from a few (admittedly cool) grappling sections, this is by and large the same shit, different whip, without any real thought put into how that difference dramatically changes the way Castlevania feels. Enemies and stage layouts do little to account for the incredible amount of range and maneuverability your new octo-directional god-flail provides, resulting in a game that’s less concerned with deliberate positioning or thoughtful movement as it is pressing B to steamroll and Belmont-struttin’ to the finish. I still died plenty, sure, but when I revived I was never asked to change up my strategy, since plowing forward head-first was almost always the most viable option. I wasn’t even looking at my heart counter for most of the game, because your whip is just so absurdly useful it makes bothering with subweapons entirely pointless. The call for precision does start to pick up eventually, but only in the last third or so, and mostly by means of really fiddly platforming and a lot of instant-death spikes with weird hitboxes. It’s just…sloppy, and that’s the last word I thought I’d associate with Castlevania.
Let me be clear, because I’m worried this might be misconstrued: I’m not bothered by the fact Super Castlevania IV isn’t as rigid or challenging as what came before, as much as I’m bothered that it’s simply so much less engaging to play. I got hooked on Castlevania because it was the kind of game you couldn’t just mindlessly brute-force your way through, you had to take your time and think through your actions if you wanted to improve. It was tough but always fair, always intentional, and if you were willing to meet it on its level it was an immensely satisfying experience to learn and master each stage. Super Castlevania IV is not disappointing because it’s different or easy, it’s disappointing because I’m doing the same thing I’ve been doing for 4 games straight but more brainless than ever. It’s not exactly a bad time, it feels good enough to play in the moment, but it isn’t really rewarding or memorable long-term, and the fact that it’s three times the length these usually go for really highlights its shallowness.
All this might be excusable if the presentation was better but honestly I’m not feeling that either, man. There’s a few good backgrounds here and there and the exuberance that it explores the SNES hardware with is hard not to be somewhat charmed by (Mode 7 hallways, cool as fuck dude) but most of this looks really muddy and bland to me. It lacks the goofy cartoon monster mash aesthetics of its predecessors but hasn’t quite arrived at the gothic anime look of what’s to come, so you get this weird middle child without much visual personality of its own. Music is also a real letdown, you’d think a console as well-suited to absolutely fucking shredding as the SNES would be packed full of new rockin’ Castlevania bangers but it’s mostly a very ambient, atmospheric affair. Which I could maybe get behind if it was done better but a lot of this just sounds kinda dinky and lame, returning favorites like Vampire Killer and Bloody Tears notwithstanding. Honestly this rendition of Bloody Tears is SO good on its own I’m almost willing to let everything else in this paragraph slide. Almost. Simon’s Quest truthers stay forever 🔛🔝!
I dunno. This review is a mess. I don’t like being this mean towards a game I’m this lukewarm on, but I also can’t lie and act like this was a real showstopper in any regard either. It’s far from bad, but nothing about it really compels me, which is a shame. It’s the biggest, grandest Castlevania yet, and I’ve already forgotten most of it. I can respect it, I can appreciate it, but I think this one is just a swing and a miss for me personally.
Super Metroid
1994
This review contains spoilers
pretty good game imo
Absolutely no idea how to write about this one. It’s Super Metroid. It’s like trying to write a Backloggd review for oxygen, we all know it’s good and we all know why it’s good. It’s just self-evident. I could write you a bunch of paragraphs you’ve already read before about the atmosphere or the movement or the map design or whatever but it would be a waste of my time and yours because we already know this shit. The sky is blue, the earth is round, Super Metroid rocks. Duh.
What I do have to offer is my experience as somebody who had never played this until now. And yeah, the hype is more than deserved. I’ve played plenty of games with a similar structure or tone or gamefeel to this but none have felt as confident, as seamless, as utterly absorbing as Super Metroid and the world it presents. I’m kind of floored this game is already 30 years old, because you could have released this yesterday and it would still feel ahead of the curve. It’s just that good.
It’s interesting playing this with the benefit of cultural osmosis. I went in with a pretty strong idea of what the game would be, so much of its mechanics and iconography burned into the collective consciousness long before I got there. But actually discovering it all for myself was a different beast entirely. I knew what was coming, but figuring out how to get there was up to me, and I felt like I was always left surprised when I figured out the answer. I felt like I was part of this huge tradition that existed long before me and would continue to exist long after, it was really cool.
Of course, those moments I had no idea were coming were some of the most captivating. I’ll never forget hearing the new Brinstar theme for the first time (probably my favorite song in what’s easily a new top 10 OSTs), or uncovering Dragyon in the depths of Maridia, or piecing together what might have happened in the Wrecked Ship. Games like these live or die by their ability to keep you engaged with the world, and few game worlds feel as rich as this one. I explored pretty thoroughly and still only got a 64% in completion—I guess that means I’m due for a round trip.
I’m once again really grateful that I’m playing these games in order. Like a lot of Super Nintendo titles, Super Metroid is essentially a juiced-up version of its NES progenitor. It’s back to Zebes, but with deeper and more refined mechanics, higher graphical fidelity, a greater sense of spectacle and finally, FINALLY an in-game map. You can’t really appreciate how momentous all that is unless you’ve played what came before. The first 15 minutes of Super feel tailor-made for that audience, a rescue mission for the baby YOU saved, tracing your steps backwards through the Space Pirate base YOU destroyed, seeing how much more ambient and expansive that once-familiar planet has become in your absence. Tons of other moments throughout thrive off your knowledge of how this game used to go, from the first Chozo sentry to the jaw-dropping Kraid reveal to even Mother Brain’s final form. It was just rewarding to see how things evolved, and I'm really glad I had given myself that opportunity. Play games in order!
You know, I tried to play this a few years back after beating Zero Mission but dropped it almost immediately because I couldn’t stand how Samus felt to control. Which feels so silly to me now, because coming off of the NES and Gameboy games, this plays like a dream. If only past-me wasn’t such a loser idiot and could appreciate how big a deal “shooting diagonally” really is. I don’t want to make it sound like the early Metroid games are just stepping stones to this one made obsolete in retrospect because I don’t feel that way. Those are both still very interesting (and more importantly, uniquely interesting) games. But it really does feel like THIS is what the series has been reaching for the whole time, the atmosphere, the interconnectedness, the movement, everything, it’s all here and it’s absolutely perfect. It’s like the tech finally caught up to the dev teams' vision and the results are staggering. It's a revelation. 30 years later, we’re still playing catch-up.
Super Metroid, man. What a game.
Absolutely no idea how to write about this one. It’s Super Metroid. It’s like trying to write a Backloggd review for oxygen, we all know it’s good and we all know why it’s good. It’s just self-evident. I could write you a bunch of paragraphs you’ve already read before about the atmosphere or the movement or the map design or whatever but it would be a waste of my time and yours because we already know this shit. The sky is blue, the earth is round, Super Metroid rocks. Duh.
What I do have to offer is my experience as somebody who had never played this until now. And yeah, the hype is more than deserved. I’ve played plenty of games with a similar structure or tone or gamefeel to this but none have felt as confident, as seamless, as utterly absorbing as Super Metroid and the world it presents. I’m kind of floored this game is already 30 years old, because you could have released this yesterday and it would still feel ahead of the curve. It’s just that good.
It’s interesting playing this with the benefit of cultural osmosis. I went in with a pretty strong idea of what the game would be, so much of its mechanics and iconography burned into the collective consciousness long before I got there. But actually discovering it all for myself was a different beast entirely. I knew what was coming, but figuring out how to get there was up to me, and I felt like I was always left surprised when I figured out the answer. I felt like I was part of this huge tradition that existed long before me and would continue to exist long after, it was really cool.
Of course, those moments I had no idea were coming were some of the most captivating. I’ll never forget hearing the new Brinstar theme for the first time (probably my favorite song in what’s easily a new top 10 OSTs), or uncovering Dragyon in the depths of Maridia, or piecing together what might have happened in the Wrecked Ship. Games like these live or die by their ability to keep you engaged with the world, and few game worlds feel as rich as this one. I explored pretty thoroughly and still only got a 64% in completion—I guess that means I’m due for a round trip.
I’m once again really grateful that I’m playing these games in order. Like a lot of Super Nintendo titles, Super Metroid is essentially a juiced-up version of its NES progenitor. It’s back to Zebes, but with deeper and more refined mechanics, higher graphical fidelity, a greater sense of spectacle and finally, FINALLY an in-game map. You can’t really appreciate how momentous all that is unless you’ve played what came before. The first 15 minutes of Super feel tailor-made for that audience, a rescue mission for the baby YOU saved, tracing your steps backwards through the Space Pirate base YOU destroyed, seeing how much more ambient and expansive that once-familiar planet has become in your absence. Tons of other moments throughout thrive off your knowledge of how this game used to go, from the first Chozo sentry to the jaw-dropping Kraid reveal to even Mother Brain’s final form. It was just rewarding to see how things evolved, and I'm really glad I had given myself that opportunity. Play games in order!
You know, I tried to play this a few years back after beating Zero Mission but dropped it almost immediately because I couldn’t stand how Samus felt to control. Which feels so silly to me now, because coming off of the NES and Gameboy games, this plays like a dream. If only past-me wasn’t such a loser idiot and could appreciate how big a deal “shooting diagonally” really is. I don’t want to make it sound like the early Metroid games are just stepping stones to this one made obsolete in retrospect because I don’t feel that way. Those are both still very interesting (and more importantly, uniquely interesting) games. But it really does feel like THIS is what the series has been reaching for the whole time, the atmosphere, the interconnectedness, the movement, everything, it’s all here and it’s absolutely perfect. It’s like the tech finally caught up to the dev teams' vision and the results are staggering. It's a revelation. 30 years later, we’re still playing catch-up.
Super Metroid, man. What a game.
Metroid
1986
Ernest Hemingway once said that, “the first draft of anything is shit.” But Ernest Hemingway was a homophobe who loved big game hunting almost as much as he loved infidelity, so maybe we don’t have to take his word on everything. Also, I’m pretty sure he never played Metroid, so I’m not sure why I brought him up in the first place. Anyway, video games!
I know a lot of people say to skip over this one when getting into Metroid, but I think that’s silly. If I’m immersing myself in a franchise, I’m invested in seeing how its mechanics evolve over time. Sure it might be jank, but I want to see how that jank informs the rest of the series. And hey, I get it—I’ve played Zero Mission, that’s a great game! But I feel like you’re missing the point if you think these two games are offering interchangeable experiences.
While Zero Mission is great at making you feel like the toughest bounty hunter in the galaxy, Metroid NES excels at making you feel truly out of your depth on a hostile alien world. The first hour or so of my playthrough felt almost comically unforgiving, constantly barraged by enemies I couldn’t reach, lava pits I couldn’t avoid and long, monotonous hallways I couldn’t wait to be done with. I honestly really respect it as a tone-setter: Samus is NOT welcome here, and you as the player feel that too.
I think the plain black backgrounds also do wonders for that unforgiving atmosphere. I adore Zero Mission’s vibrant backdrops, but something about the cold void of Metroid NES makes this Zebes feel so much more unknowable, like you don’t even get to see what lurks in the distance. These environments feel truly alien, and you only get a glimpse of them.
Of course, the game REALLY begins once you start exploring and unlocking upgrades and familiarizing yourself with that environment, and by then it’s… I mean, I guess it’s alright? While that first hour is brutally compelling, and the mid-game item hunt legitimately satisfying, once you start to get the hang of Metroid it becomes clear that there’s just not a ton of depth here. Rooms are pretty basic and repetitive without a lot to distinguish one from the other, and while the upgrades are a lot of fun to use, they do seriously trivialize combat. It feels unfair to fault a game for a lack of complexity when it’s the first of its kind, but it’s hard not to dwell on as you make your way through Zebes’ seemingly endless supply of identical vertical shafts.
While the first half of my playthrough was filled with frustration and intrigue and overcoming hardship, the second was mostly a lot of meandering zigzagging as I searched for new hordes of creepy crawlies to effortlessly dispatch. Not an altogether bad way to spend a Saturday, but not a remarkably engaging one either. For what it’s worth, the challenge does ramp up by the final boss, but that fight is so atrociously designed that I’m not going to dignify it with another sentence.
The bones of a great series and a great genre are here, and that IS worth seeing for yourself. Like I said, I’m glad I didn’t skip it. But truthfully, Metroid is more interesting in its atmosphere and ambition than as a cohesive, finished whole. As it stands, Metroid is too singular an experience to be outright dismissed, but too genuinely flawed to be truly great.
(Special thanks to Phil Summers and his excellent Hand-Drawn Game Guides, which I consulted throughout my playthrough. Yeah that’s right, I used a guide! Bite me! You can check out Phil’s beautiful Metroid guide for yourself here: https://sites.google.com/view/handdrawngameguides/free-guides/metroid-presented-by-hand-drawn-game-guides?authuser=0)
I know a lot of people say to skip over this one when getting into Metroid, but I think that’s silly. If I’m immersing myself in a franchise, I’m invested in seeing how its mechanics evolve over time. Sure it might be jank, but I want to see how that jank informs the rest of the series. And hey, I get it—I’ve played Zero Mission, that’s a great game! But I feel like you’re missing the point if you think these two games are offering interchangeable experiences.
While Zero Mission is great at making you feel like the toughest bounty hunter in the galaxy, Metroid NES excels at making you feel truly out of your depth on a hostile alien world. The first hour or so of my playthrough felt almost comically unforgiving, constantly barraged by enemies I couldn’t reach, lava pits I couldn’t avoid and long, monotonous hallways I couldn’t wait to be done with. I honestly really respect it as a tone-setter: Samus is NOT welcome here, and you as the player feel that too.
I think the plain black backgrounds also do wonders for that unforgiving atmosphere. I adore Zero Mission’s vibrant backdrops, but something about the cold void of Metroid NES makes this Zebes feel so much more unknowable, like you don’t even get to see what lurks in the distance. These environments feel truly alien, and you only get a glimpse of them.
Of course, the game REALLY begins once you start exploring and unlocking upgrades and familiarizing yourself with that environment, and by then it’s… I mean, I guess it’s alright? While that first hour is brutally compelling, and the mid-game item hunt legitimately satisfying, once you start to get the hang of Metroid it becomes clear that there’s just not a ton of depth here. Rooms are pretty basic and repetitive without a lot to distinguish one from the other, and while the upgrades are a lot of fun to use, they do seriously trivialize combat. It feels unfair to fault a game for a lack of complexity when it’s the first of its kind, but it’s hard not to dwell on as you make your way through Zebes’ seemingly endless supply of identical vertical shafts.
While the first half of my playthrough was filled with frustration and intrigue and overcoming hardship, the second was mostly a lot of meandering zigzagging as I searched for new hordes of creepy crawlies to effortlessly dispatch. Not an altogether bad way to spend a Saturday, but not a remarkably engaging one either. For what it’s worth, the challenge does ramp up by the final boss, but that fight is so atrociously designed that I’m not going to dignify it with another sentence.
The bones of a great series and a great genre are here, and that IS worth seeing for yourself. Like I said, I’m glad I didn’t skip it. But truthfully, Metroid is more interesting in its atmosphere and ambition than as a cohesive, finished whole. As it stands, Metroid is too singular an experience to be outright dismissed, but too genuinely flawed to be truly great.
(Special thanks to Phil Summers and his excellent Hand-Drawn Game Guides, which I consulted throughout my playthrough. Yeah that’s right, I used a guide! Bite me! You can check out Phil’s beautiful Metroid guide for yourself here: https://sites.google.com/view/handdrawngameguides/free-guides/metroid-presented-by-hand-drawn-game-guides?authuser=0)
Before the days of the Switch, the lines between console and handheld gaming were much more defined. Console games represented the cutting edge, they felt boundless and expansive. Handheld gaming on the other hand, was a medium defined by its restrictions. These games were small, both in terms of storage space and literal screen real size. They had to be designed to be compact, with shorter on-the-go play sessions in mind. As a kid, that didn’t really bother me. The convenience of being able to play video games in my bed trumped any interest in spectacle. But I think there’s also a real magic to handheld games, one that’s kind of been lost to time. There’s an intimacy to the experience, that tiny screen so close to your eyes, the speakers right next to your ears, the entirety of the system in your hands. It felt oddly personal, these miniature worlds you can fit in your pocket, seemingly crafted just for you.
I think about that a lot when replaying Minish Cap, a game that revels in its smallness. Its map is tiny but dense, inviting you to appreciate the nooks and crannies just as much as the larger picture. Thats where this iteration of Hyrule truly comes alive, a land that breathes in its smallest moments. The size-changing mechanic is more than just a gimmick, it’s a statement. This a game about appreciating scale, about minding the little details all around you. Behind every character, every wall, every tree stump could be a connection, a secret, an adventure, hidden in plain sight. While I’ve certainly explored bigger games, few are those I feel as close to as this one. Every pixel feels familiar, like I’ve traveled through it a million times before. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to travel through it a million times more.
I think about that a lot when replaying Minish Cap, a game that revels in its smallness. Its map is tiny but dense, inviting you to appreciate the nooks and crannies just as much as the larger picture. Thats where this iteration of Hyrule truly comes alive, a land that breathes in its smallest moments. The size-changing mechanic is more than just a gimmick, it’s a statement. This a game about appreciating scale, about minding the little details all around you. Behind every character, every wall, every tree stump could be a connection, a secret, an adventure, hidden in plain sight. While I’ve certainly explored bigger games, few are those I feel as close to as this one. Every pixel feels familiar, like I’ve traveled through it a million times before. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to travel through it a million times more.