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.