Sonic the Hedgehog 2 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/28/2022)

[Image from igdb.com]

Sonic the Hedgehog 2

Developer: Sega (Sonic Team)

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: Genesis/Mega Drive

Release Date: November 21, 1992

The first Sonic the Hedgehog did not succeed in swaying me. Sega thought that their audacity to spurn the undisputed video game champ of Nintendo was totally justified because they claimed Sonic’s unequivocal awesomeness would render the likes of Mario null and void. All we had to do as gamers were take a chance on its competition and help usher in Sega’s gaming empire. While Sonic and the Sega Genesis/Mega Drive provided a worthy alternative to Nintendo’s systems, the company did not eclipse Nintendo’s presence and dethroned them from their seat as the king of the gaming medium. Given that Sonic was the juggernaut that Sega paraded in this battle they created, it’s a wonder how they ever fathomed a chance of winning. Admittedly, Sonic had charisma, appeal, and a performative prowess that outmatched anyone from Nintendo’s mascot lineup. However, the “blast-processing” mumbo-jumbo Sega touted was nothing but a cheap gimmick (what a surprise). As lame as it sounds, Mario has persisted because his platforming is practical and suitable for his world. Sonic’s blisteringly fast momentum did not bode well with the constant obstacles that constantly halted his trajectory. In fact, the first Sonic title presented so many walls, enemies, and awkward platforming sections in Sonic’s way that it seemed as if speed was discouraged. Fortunately, gaming is littered with sequels that strive to mend the blemishes of the previous title. Considering Sonic’s popularity, the release of one was inevitable. One year after Sonic’s debut, Sonic the Hedgehog 2 was the sequel that could potentially convert skeptics like me by overhauling all of Sonic’s flaws and finally impact Nintendo’s reign over the industry.

One can only tweak Sonic so much before going overboard. He’s a simple character with a restrained array of abilities. The blue hedgehog’s prime asset is his speed which can get bogged down from overcomplicating it with the frills of upgrades. Sonic would have faltered even more if Sega granted Sonic as many power-ups as Nintendo did for Mario in Super Mario Bros. 3. Any enhancement to Sonic would have to expand and or accommodate his sprightly nature. Given that Sonic already zooms across the map like a bat out of hell making him faster would’ve rendered him unplayable. The developers wisely decided to augment a component of Sonic’s speed that wasn’t his maximum potential. Climbing inclined ledges in the first game tended to be awkward due to insufficient innate momentum to scale up the next platform. The game assumes that the player should be blazing through the level but fails to consider all the assorted enemies and numerous collisions with the walls that upset the movement rate. Sega’s solution to this common dilemma was the spin dash, a manual method of gaining momentum for getting over those stubbornly steep ledges or simply for a quick boost. Crouching and holding down the jump button will cause Sonic to rev up enough kinetic energy by spinning in place, and releasing him will cause Sonic to dash while curled up in a ball with enough speed to overcome several platforming hurdles. Sonic can also utilize this move for the assorted roller coaster loops and plow over most ground-floor enemies. The spin dash is a stroke of genius that compliments Sonic’s swift and alert gameplay while also greatly compensating for the abrupt cessations at the core of Sonic’s faulty design. In the grand scheme of Sonic ingenuity, the introduction of the spin dash is akin to inventing the wheel: a requisite for any Sonic game whose inclusion in Sonic 2 consigns the first game to the prehistoric dark ages.

If the player didn’t immediately launch themselves into the game by pressing the start button, they might have noticed that Sonic is sharing the space of the open-faced emblem in the game’s menu. His golden, furry compadre smiling at the player and gesturing his fist is Miles Prower, who is thankfully better recognized by his nickname “Tails” because his full name is a god-awful pun. Long before Sega gave Sonic enough friends to fill a penthouse orgy, this plucky fox with a genetic mutation was his first and only aid in saving the woodland critters of Mobius from becoming Robotnik’s mechanized slaves. As subsequent entries in the Sonic franchise were released, Tails' role as the mechanical wizkid and his quest for self-confidence is extrapolated, but not so much here. All we see pertaining to this in his debut here is him escorting Sonic through the sky via a biplane. However, one aspect of Tails seen here that remains consistent throughout the series is his supporting second banana status to Sonic. Like Luigi before, Tails is the “little brother” character for the second player, intending to have significantly less impact and precedence. Tails even take the secondary role a step beyond Luigi as the game simultaneously sets Sonic and Tails on the field. The second player will hardly get the sensation that they are playing as Tails because the camera will solely focus on Sonic, leaving Tails in the dust as Sonic zips around at the speed of light. Tails also cannot die, ultimately making the second player ideal for dealing with the Robotnik encounters while Sonic sits back and fondles his chili dog. Talk about being insignificant! Player 1 also can play Tails as a solo venture, but who would want to play as a character that is slower than Sonic without any special attributes? Adding Tails to the experience was a slight sampler of the bloated character roster that Sega always planned for Sonic.

The first game’s core problem was not the lack of the spin dash or a buddy that follows Sonic around like a dog. Sonic’s debut title misfired due to the questionable designs across most game levels. Lethargic platforming sections and trudging slowly through the water were completely counterintuitive to Sonic’s ideal purpose of sprinting through levels. Green Hill Zone, the starting level of the first Sonic game, was the only area that granted Sonic reasonable legroom to strut his stuff. Unfortunately, the game peaked at Green Hill Zone as every following level inhibited Sonic seemingly every step of the way. Emerald Hill Zone, Sonic 2’s first level, treats the player to the same quality standard as Green Hill did, but there is something peculiar about it. It doesn’t take a staunch Sonic enthusiast to notice that Emerald Hill Zone looks exactly like Green Hill Zone, almost down to the name. Emerald Hill possesses the same tropical foliage, mountainous towers of earth, a sparkling body of water in the background, etc. A few minor differences include a color pallet swap for the wasp bots, monkeys flinging coconuts from the tops of trees, and corkscrew sections that share the space with the inverted roller coaster loops. Starting the game with a remixed Green Hill Zone is refreshing and all, but it might signify that not only is the game repeating itself, but Sonic is already out of ideas.

When I stated that I’d be happy with the first Sonic game if it only included Green Hill Zone, I was being hyperbolic. Repeating Green Hill Zone to the extent of a full game would be like a box of cereal with nothing but marshmallows: the nuance is completely gone. Upon further consideration, perhaps Sonic 2 upholds the idea of only offering Green Hill Zone. No, I don’t mean almost the same level repeated ad nauseam like Emerald Hill, but levels that recreate the design and essence of Green Hill Zone using it as a template. My worries about Sonic 2 repeating its predecessor's mistakes were relieved with Chemical Zone, the level that follows Emerald Hill. Despite Chemical Zone displaying a more sterile, urban setting, the fabric of Green Hill Zone is interwoven in Chemical Zone’s industrial intricacies. Double-helixed ramps zigzag through several connecting routes as complex as the DNA structures they are modeled after. Pneumatic energy pushes Sonic through a series of tubes whose channels are so roundabout that it's liable to make the player feel dizzy. Downward ramps are so steep that it’s a wonder that Sonic’s inclined acceleration doesn’t make him catch fire. When Sonic reaches the bottom of these slopes, he jets off so vigorously that the camera struggles to catch up, hitting the wall on the right side of the screen as a result. One moment in the second act that breaks this whirlwind pacing is when Sonic must climb a series of moving blocks to avoid drowning in the rising pink water.(?) Somehow, platforming sections involving ascension don’t feel as jarring as those found in the first game, most likely because they still require movement. Chemical Plant Zone is an electrifying playground that exemplifies the pinnacle of Sonic’s level design. If not for Green Hill Zone serving as the precedent an entire game earlier, I’d declare Chemical Plant as the ultimate classic Sonic level.

While Chemical Plant is the stand-out level in Sonic 2, the game does not suffer from a massive decline in quality after experiencing the best that the game has to offer. While not as intense and multifaceted as Chemical Plant, each subsequent level still uses Green Hill Zone as inspiration. Just the name of Aquatic Ruin Zone may be enough to send shivers down the spines of anyone traumatized by the painful underwater slog that was Labyrinth Zone. However, Aquatic Ruin might be a testament that the developers learned their lesson and adapted accordingly. Aquatic Ruin is modeled with two distinct layers, one being the rocky ruins over the water and one being submerged in the drink. Accidently dipping into the water while speeding through the dry route is a soft penalty, but traversing the underwater path is as viable a means to navigate the level. Sonic’s speed is only slightly reduced as opposed to wading through water at a snail’s pace, and bubbling spots for Sonic to breathe are seen more frequently. Eventually, the two paths will intersect by the end of the level, a fantastic conclusion to the zone and another example of the layered design from Green Hill Zone in full effect. Casino Night Zone is a fully realized version of Spring Yard Zone, a flashy nocturnal setting beaming with the pizzazz of city nightlife. This zone marks the beginning of Sonic levels themed around casinos, with pinball bumpers and slot machines galore as part of the level design. Hill Top is a craggy, volcanic crater that further expands on the ascension sections seen in Chemical Plant. Mystic Cave is the most labyrinthine level that still offers multiple paths. Oil Ocean presents a series of cannons whose implementation in the level is similar to the pipes in Chemical Zone. The only level that shits the bed is Metropolis Zone, the final fully-fledged level with multiple acts. This level’s unfair enemy placements and the sections involving the bolts where Sonic has to rev up them on the nut recall some of the worst aspects from levels seen in the first game. Sega evidently didn’t grasp how to execute a Sonic game’s difficulty curve smoothly as Metropolis Zone and the finale level Wing Fortress digress back to Sonic 1’s flaws in the name of amping up the challenge near the end of the game.

I still find fault with the fact that Sega insists on crafting Sonic games with a punishing arcade difficulty in mind. Yet again, the player only has a piddly three lives to complete the game, and losing all of them blows the player right back to the very bottom. Even though this still irritates me, I suppose I can’t fault the developers too much for at least making survival easier for the player. While boxes containing extra lives still aren’t placed generously, the player now has the opportunity to stack lives without having to collect 100 rings. If the player manages to finish a stage with an estimated ballpark of at least 50 rings, an icon of Sonic will appear. Doing this in succession will net the player an extra life. Having around the same amount of rings when reaching any checkpoint also transports the player to this game’s special zone in a haze of red light. Special zones in Sonic serve as opportunities to net one of seven prized Chaos Emeralds, and since checkpoints are fairly commonplace, the player could potentially acquire all seven of them after the second zone to use Super Sonic. As lenient as that sounds, the half-pipe sections in the special stages are no cakewalk, but at least acquiring rings and avoiding bombs is feasible, unlike the rotating game of chance presented in the first game.

I’m not sure the additional perks in Sonic 2 could prepare the player for the final bout against Robotnik. Just like the first game, the mustachioed mechanical madman will appear at the end of each level’s final act as a boss. He hovers around in the same pod but still has some crazy new ideas to conquer Sonic. Ultimately, every new trick Robotnik has up his sleeves results in the same easy roulette of boss encounters from the first game. That is until Sonic reaches the zenith of his Death Egg battleship for the final duel. Before Robotnik must face his blue adversary for the last time, he decides to release an ugly, hostile robotic model of Sonic, known colloquially as Metal Sonic. Metal Sonic has had many appearances in later Sonic titles with more coloring and a sharper-looking sheen, but his clunky bronze form shows his humble origins like Marvel’s Iron Man. He also doesn’t pose much of a challenge, but the same cannot be said for the Death Egg Robot that Robotnik scurries into once Sonic has defeated his mechanized mirror. Robotnik’s mech is unpredictable and punishing, and the player must flirt with the stingiest of high hitboxes to do any real damage to it. Super Sonic would’ve been nifty and apropos for this climactic confrontation, but the developers thought it wise to deprive the player of any rings. Not only will the player die upon getting hit even once, but they will also be forced to fight Metal Sonic again. The process of fighting both of these bots will most likely drain the player’s lives, causing the player to go back to square one even at the final bout. If you can claim that you’ve never lost all of your lives to the Death Egg Robot and were crestfallen at the result at any point while playing this game, you’re a liar.

I love it when developers can take some time to honestly reflect on the faults of their games and use what they’ve learned to craft a smoother experience for the next title. One would not expect this type of introspection with Sonic the Hedgehog as Sega used their new mascot to bite their thumbs at Nintendo like rude little miscreants. Upon seeing the final product of Sonic’s debut, Sega realized that all the boasting they did made them look like total jackasses as they didn’t have a leg to stand on. Sonic the Hedgehog 2 is an exemplary sequel that finally proves Sonic’s capabilities by expanding on the first game’s one exceptional attribute: Green Hill Zone. Using the multilayered design and lenient range of obstacles of Green Hill Zone, Sega formulated a bevy of levels that arguably surpass Green Hill Zone in complementing Sonic’s lighting-fast velocity. I still think that some aspects of this game are rather harsh, but the overall product wouldn’t make me feel duped if I hypothetically cheated on Nintendo with Sega by purchasing a Genesis console back in the day.

Metroid Fusion Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/23/2022)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Metroid Fusion

Developer: Nintendo

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: GBA

Release Date: November 17, 2002

It’s difficult to say whether or not Metroid Fusion was Nintendo’s “plan B” if Metroid Prime had failed. Both games were released on the same day in November of 2002. Metroid Prime obviously took higher precedence over Fusion due to its status as the franchise's monumental leap into the third dimension after being absent for an entire generation. Under the general excitement for Metroid Prime, however, a malaise stemmed from a rookie developer at the helm of the ambitious project. Also, a whole generation of 3D adaptations gave us the precognitive ability to anticipate a series of transitions to 3D being less-than-adequate after so many rough ones. Metroid Fusion could’ve been a fail-safe to still maintain the reinvigorated Metroid hype if Metroid Prime affirmed the cynical notions of a choice selection of people. After all, it’s safer to build upon foundations that have already been established instead of starting from the ground floor. As it turned out, Retro Studios fired on all cylinders and crafted a spectacular 3D Metroid game and arguably the finest game that Nintendo produced for the Gamecube. Metroid Fusion became a handheld supplement for unfortunate occurrences on the road when Metroid Prime could not be played. I jest, of course, but Metroid Prime’s accolades eclipsed the impact that Metroid Fusion could’ve had. Metroid Fusion now had to prove that 2D Metroid could still coexist with its 3D twin that had surpassed it.

Metroid Fusion was still important to the franchise's evolution because it still had been eight long years since we had seen Samus, except for her role as a playable character in the first two Super Smash Bros. games. The franchise wasn’t in dire need of being revamped as Super Metroid practically perfected the rudimentary formula the NES Metroid laid out and was arguably the greatest game on the SNES. Still, eight years of gaming progress since Super Metroid’s release could’ve produced a new Metroid game whose advanced hindsight would expose all of the Super Metroid’s cracks that were not clear to gamers of the SNES era. Either that, or it could cultivate an experimental title that takes the Metroid series into a new, radical direction. Metroid Fusion proved somewhat of the latter, a sequel that deviated slightly in gameplay, atmosphere, and design philosophy while maintaining the core essence of the previously listed elements. Even though Metroid Prime had changed the course for Metroid for the foreseeable future, Metroid Fusion proved that 2D Metroid still had something new and interesting to offer.

Except for Metroid II on the original Game Boy, each subsequent game's sequential narrative has only been implied. Because Metroid Fusion was released on the same day as another Metroid game, the developers had to explicitly state that Metroid Fusion was another entry in the line of Samus’s story with the subtitle “Metroid 4” appearing in the title screen. This distinction between the 2D Metroid titles and Prime became even clearer once Prime became its own separate entity with two sequels, solidifying Metroid Fusion even deeper in the series canon with the previous titles. Metroid Fusion continues from the resolution of Super Metroid in a galaxy where Metroids are no longer a vital concern. As relieving and anticlimactic as this sounds, one must remember that space is infinite, so there could be an innumerable amount of intergalactic threats. Fusion’s face-hugger is the X, an amorphous, multi-colored parasite that feeds off its victim's DNA structure. Because their predators, the Metroids, have been eradicated, the X now run rampant due to the upset in their ecosystem. Samus almost succumbs to the draining force of the X but is saved via an inoculation containing a Metroid’s genetic material. She is sent to investigate the origin of an explosion in the abandoned BSL station where the X’s influence is a scourge on the facility. Metroid Fusion’s premise is somewhat ironic, but it still evokes chills nonetheless.

Any title on a handheld Nintendo console from a series usually seen on a home system was a case of relegation. The impetus for gaming on the go stemmed from convenience, unfortunately sacrificing the quality one would get on a home console. Super Mario Land and the Oracle games may emulate the experience effectively, but anyone who claims they are up to par with their mainline counterparts is kidding themselves. Metroid, on the other hand, seems to have a history of putting every other mainline title on a handheld console, or at least that’s the pattern I can discern. Sure, the GBA wasn’t comparable to the capabilities of the Gamecube, just as the original Game Boy couldn’t hold a candle to the NES/SNES. However, the GBA served as a turning point where its graphical prowess could compete with at least some of the home consoles, notably Nintendo’s pixelated consoles of the past. This is especially promising considering the last Metroid game was on the SNES, and a handheld Metroid could visually compete with the iconic Metroid we were familiar with without a jarring technical regression. Metroid Fusion’s pixelated graphics are as exceptional as we remembered them in Super Metroid, but there is a peculiar tone to them not seen in the previous game. The most appropriate way to describe Metroid Fusion’s graphics is…fleshy? They are bright, artful, and lurid, yet somewhat sickly and unnatural. It’s a distinct art style reminiscent of the classic anime film Akira and the album cover of Aesop Rock’s Bazooka Tooth, but I couldn’t tell you if the style had a name. All the same, it’s what slightly elevated Metroid Fusion in the visual department over Super Metroid. Eight years was all it took for a handheld game to surpass its console predecessor, a sign of gaming’s rapid growth.

Metroid Fusion does very little to deviate from Super Metroid’s gameplay, but then Super Metroid’s gameplay isn’t too dissimilar from the first Metroid. As early as the first title, Metroid crafted something unique in the 2D platformer genre and decided to persist with it for every subsequent game, even for the 3D Prime entries. Samus still acquires gadgets that help her traverse through an alien environment while blasting through a bestiary’s worth of extraterrestrial creepy crawlies using an eclectic arsenal of weapons. As stated before, Super Metroid’s gameplay formula would have withstood the test of time, yet Metroid Fusion still tweaks it slightly. For one, the X is a new type of enemy with a prevalent presence, surprisingly more so than the Metroid’s ever was in the previous games. Instead of being conveniently inserted near the end of the narrative, the X is a constant force to reckon with in every corner of the laboratory. However, Samus never fights the X directly. Strangely enough, they serve as Fusion’s source of health and replenishing ammo. Once an enemy is vanquished, the X essence floats around until Samus either latches onto it or darts off to resurrect enemies. Reanimating enemies is always an irritating factor of the X, and it’s the only instance in a video game (that I can recall) where units of health can cause harm to the player. As vexing as the X could be, I appreciate the system the developers have established using them. Three different colors of X can spawn from defeated enemies, with yellow restoring health, green restoring ammunition, and the rare red restoring an abundant amount of both. The number of restorations is significantly reduced from the bevy of ammunition types littered around Super Metroid. This coincides with Fusion’s proclivity to streamline Samus’s abilities and power-ups. Returning Metroid players might be disappointed with the lack of options Fusion presents, but I’ll gladly take it over scrolling frantically through Samus’s lengthy inventory in a pinch.

In some aspects, Metroid Fusion’s goal seems to veer towards making a more accessible Metroid experience. Stacking upgrades is one thing, but the most contentious method of accessibility the developers implemented is what they did with the game’s world design. Unlike the open-ended realm of Zebes with its interconnected districts, the BSL station takes an approach unseen in the series. Branching off of the entry point where Samus’s ship is docked are six sectors located south of the hub. Each sector varies in terrain and carries a unique set of challenges. The sectors do not overlap, and Samus returns to the hub via the same elevator she rode down on without any alternate paths available. While I understand the vocal criticisms that claim this butchers Metroid’s design philosophy, I have to disagree. Each sector’s sanctioned sandbox design still emulates how the districts of Zebes were formatted, even if all of them are enclosed. Players will still find the same amount of breakable walls, deep chasms, and tight crevices for maneuvering through with the morph ball. Not connecting the laboratory sectors almost exposes the illusion of seamless world design, something to consider when evaluating Super Metroid and Metroidvanias of the same ilk.

However, what I don’t like concerning Metroid Fusion’s design choices is how progression through these areas is executed. Metroid Fusion is brimming with exposition if the opening cutscene is any indication. Super Metroid expressed the events surrounding the game with masterful subtlety, using only two lines of spoken dialogue to set the harrowing scene and letting the gameplay and atmosphere take it from there. Zero lines of spoken dialogue are uttered through the compressed sound chip of the GBA, but there is enough text between the few characters in this game (including Samus) to fill the pages of a Hollywood script. I’m not sure if this is due to an accessibility initiative or a sign of video games becoming more dialogue-intensive since Super Metroid’s release, but Fusion’s constant need to keep the player informed on what is occurring is the antithesis of what made Super Metroid’s story impressive. Exposition infiltrates Fusion’s progression every step of the way as Samus is given a clear objective from the navigation rooms seen in each sector. Samus is then briefed by a federation official who not only explicitly marks the objective's location on the map but also asks her if she’d like her directions repeated to her a second time. How could a series that practically pioneered letting the player loose in a hostile void with unclear parameters become so patronizingly linear? As a result of dotting the trajectory for Samus, the player feels less inclined to deviate from the beaten path to find upgrades. Of course, Metroid veterans know better and will meticulously power bomb every room in a thorough search of the facility. Still, newcomers to the series will suffer from not knowing any better.

I realize that perhaps Fusion’s pension for hand-holding might be to uphold the game’s intended atmosphere. Metroid Fusion still exudes the feeling of claustrophobia, yet it stems from an entirely directional ethos. By diluting Samus’s autonomy, it creates a sensation of unease, as if she is always being watched. Samus is no longer at the mercy of the magnificent scope of outer space but a lab rat in an experiment conducted by uncaring hosts. As much as the narrative wears out its welcome, the growing mystery behind the circumstances of the explosion and the federation’s true intentions. The player’s suspicions are affirmed when Samus rejects the federation's directions and uncovers a section of Metroids that the federation was planning on releasing back into the ecosystem. Upon discovering this, the federation plans for Samus to abort the mission as they send in federation troops to finish the job, without even considering that they would all perish at the hands of the X. Metroid Fusion manages to be the most unsettling the series has ever been. While Metroid has always felt tense, Metroid Fusion feels sufficiently creepy.

Despite Metroid Fusion’s direction, by some miracle, it still manages to be more difficult than Super Metroid. Reaching the objectives isn’t any more obtuse than in previous games, although one particular section involving several bloated spike enemies and the space jump ability wore on my patience. The main reason for Fusion’s amplified difficulty is the bosses. They are why excavating the laboratory for upgrades is essential to success, even to the point where the player has to grind for them to stand a chance against the bosses. Serris X swims around the arena at breakneck speeds, the security bots only leave themselves vulnerable for a second, and I’m pretty certain that the munching jaws of the plants in the Plant Core boss room are inescapable. Ultimately, the damage output of each boss makes them so imposing, with the margin of error when fighting these bosses razor-thin. The gigantic size of bosses like the arachnid Gedo and the garishly grotesque Nightmare almost forces the player to tank an inordinate amount of damage as they ricochet off the walls like a bouncing DVD logo. The game’s obligatory Ridley encounter is possibly the hardest for any Metroid game for this reason. The bosses don’t compensate for any of the more facile aspects of the game, yet the fact that these bosses are in a game intended to be easier is a pleasant surprise.

The apex of these formidable foes and the crux of Fusion’s narrative is the SA-X, the uncanny clone of Samus conjured up by the genetic power of the X. You know how unstoppable Samus feels near the end of each Metroid game after all of her power has been recovered? That’s the potency of the SA-X, and it doesn’t have good intentions with Samus’s full potential. A sequence that introduces the SA-X, where the parasite causes devastation to a door only for the game to zoom in on its vacuous, inhuman eyes, is the best display of “show, don’t tell” the game offers. I got the impression from this scene that the SA-X would act as a persistent hunter like Nemesis or Pyramid Head, but the malevolent force only rears its unfeeling head on occasions, usually when Samus is out of sight. However, the fact that it could be lurking anywhere on the station aids the discomfort of always being watched by an omnipotent force. One exception is when the game forces the player to interact with the SA-X in close quarters, displaying how quickly it can eviscerate Samus and cause the player to wet themselves in fear. Another impression is that the SA-X must be stopped. With the power imbalance on display, the clearest overarching objective coincides with Samus’s unspoken goal of getting stronger. Fighting SA-X at the end is a cathartic duel after scurrying away from it in sheer terror for so long. For unclear reasons, the SA-X helps Samus defeat an evolved Metroid monster that keeps Samus from exiting the facility once that typical self-destruct countdown engages. Did the SA-X submit to Samus’s will after she showed it humility by defeating it, or was it something cheap in an attempt to give Fusion one last edge over Super Metroid? Considering the bosses, it’s most likely the latter.

Metroid fans could’ve simply played Metroid Prime to satisfy their deferred cravings and while it’s exciting to explore uncharted realms and possibilities, it's also imperative to get reacquainted with old ground. In saying that, the pixel art and 2D perspective were all Metroid Fusion had in common with its iconic predecessor. While its ambition to deviate from aspects seen in Super Metroid is valiant, it creates a whole new slew of perfunctory elements that still give Super Metroid the overall advantage. While Super Metroid is clearly the better game, this fact does not render Metroid Fusion insignificant or unworthy of holding Super Metroid’s mantle. For all of Metroid Fusion’s flaws, I still appreciate the finished project for its willingness to expand and innovate: the mark of a true sequel.

Destroy All Humans! 2 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/14/2022)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Destroy All Humans! 2

Developer: Pandemic

Publisher: THQ

Genre(s): Third-Person Shooter, Open-World

Platforms: PS2, Xbox

Release Date: October 17, 2006

Destroy All Humans 2!, the sequel to my favorite childhood mayhem machine, was an exciting prospect at its release. I always deemed it a satisfying successor to the first game, but I always believed that the first one was still the superior of the two. The main reason for this was because the premise of alien invaders in a game spoofing the 1960s didn’t make any sense to me. Horror films of the 1960s catalyzed what I would consider the beginning of the elements we still associate with the genre. The 1960s revisited gothic horror and made it gorier, Night of the Living Dead laid the foundation for the zombie subgenre, and controversial movies like Psycho and Peeping Tom chilled us with killers that felt too close to home. The “atomic age” of horror films that featured alien invaders immediately became laughably quaint, and Ed Wood’s notorious Plan 9 From Outer Space only contributed a minute fraction of the cause. Obviously, the overall premise of Destroy All Humans does not represent the horror landscape of the decade. Fears regarding the Cold War still lingered, but events like the war in Vietnam shifted the context of our overseas tribulations. Alien invasions in the 1960s seemed all too out of place. However, I now realize that Crypto still has an integral role in the 1960s. Destroy All Humans! 2 (Make War, Not Love as the original additional subtitle) shifts the atomic age horror tribute direction from the first game to focus on the satirical aspects, with Crypto as the roastmaster general. Also, one must consider that sticking to the familiar ground of the 1950s could’ve inhibited the evolution that comes with a sequel, which Destroy All Humans needed.

A decade might be a lengthy period, but Destroy All Humans 2 is still a direct sequel that continues the story after the first game's events. Crypto’s unimpeachable reign as “president” of the USA has been swimmingly for the past ten years. Everything has been smooth sailing for the malevolent, pint-sized extraterrestrial until the KGB intercepts the location of the Furon mothership hovering over Earth’s gravitational pull and blows it to smithereens with a launch of heat-seeking ballistic missiles. Pox is pulverized on impact but manages to store his essence in a mobile holographic device as a convenient means of communication. Crypto’s mission of recovering the flotsam of the Furon mothership isn’t only a task spurred by necessity; it’s also fueled by vengeance to make the Ruskies pay for hitting the Furons closer than any other earthling ever has.

The areas in the first Destroy All Humans were confined to American soil. While the restrictions made sense in its attempt to concisely illustrate the culture of America during the 1950s, the narrative direction limited the span of areas the game could cover. We cannot forget that Crypto’s imperialistic endeavor in the first game was to conquer Earth, and simply seizing power over America is small potatoes for the Furon empire. Ten years later, Crypto’s mission of world domination is still a work in progress. Fortunately, the United States is a small fraction of the globe left unsubdued. One of the biggest appeals of Destroy All Humans 2 is expanding the settings of areas past the entrapments of America’s territories as the player gets to take Crypto on a world tour. The game starts on American ground in Bay City but soon after spending some time in Crypto’s kingdom, he will fly his saucer over the Atlantic to the cloudy streets of Albion in Britain, the Asian metropolis of Takoshima, the remote tundra of Tunguska, all the way to landing on Earth’s moon. An alien’s operation to overtake the Earth isn’t thorough enough without claiming our orbiting celestial body that shimmers in the night sky. Each of these areas directly correlates with real-world places that hold historical significance with the 1960s. Bay City is intended as a broad metropolis that could be any city along California’s central western bay, but it’s pretty obvious that it’s mirroring San Francisco, the de facto capital of the American hippy movement in the latter half of the 1960s. Albion, also known as London with the moniker of England’s original name, depicts the stylish Mod culture that ran rampant across the country's youths throughout the decade. Tunguska is a contrasting taste of the Soviet Union, and let’s just say that the moon setting coincides with the game’s time of July 1969 for a reason. The only area whose connections to 1960s counterculture and the historical relevance is unclear lies with the Tokyo-inspired Takoshima area, but who needs an excuse to be able to wreak havoc all over this picturesque island metropolis?

As one can imagine, broadening the range of Earth settings in Destroy All Humans 2 satisfyingly expands the bounded scope presented in the first game. While I much prefer laying waste to a wider selection of cultures, there is more substance to each of these areas besides being spaced out more widely on the globe. Each area in the first game acted as a compact sandbox for Crypto as he hops around, causing chaos. Santa Modesta was the only level in the first game that effectively exuded that sense of freedom due to its wide area and a reasonable level of backlash against Crypto. The wrath of the humans progressively became more immense as each subsequent area increased the rate of fire, which unfortunately created an imbalance of the earlier levels feeling too relaxed while the later levels could potentially trounce Crypto in seconds. Crypto’s continued presence across every area in the second game will progressively increase five alert levels instead of four. The forces that come with accumulating these levels are less defined. Nevertheless, they attack Crypto with the same amount of fervor. In the first game, Crypto simply walking among the humans was enough to garner the attention of the Majestic, the loftiest alert-level faction, in only a few minutes. The sequel’s highest alert levels will only commence if Crypto really flexes his might and does some serious damage. Police squadrons and military forces are also relatively the same in size and presence in every area, which greatly aids a sense of equal opportunity for freedom matched with its consequences across each area.

As for the areas themselves, the developers wisely chose to compound what Santa Modesta presented and used it as a template for every area in the sequel. Specifically, Santa Modesta offered a breadth that fostered more exploration than the other small compact areas in the first game. Capitol City might also be an exception, but it hardly feels fair when giant tesla coils immediately eviscerate Crypto’s saucer, and the entire Majestic agency is waiting for him with their guns locked and loaded at every landing site. Each area in Destroy All Humans takes inspiration from Santa Modesta’s example by offering vast playgrounds with a consistent geographical theme while presenting districts throughout the area to diversify the layout. Since most of these areas are thematically based on some of the most populated cities in the world, mapping out an assorted urban plain most likely wasn’t difficult. Bay City features the most notable San Francisco staples like the outdoor hippy mecca of Golden Gate Park, the steep streets of Haight-Ashbury, and the American base of the KGB situated in the middle of the map is vaguely similar to Alcatrazz Island. Takoshima presents the most congested city setting in the game, with backroad streets littered with beautiful cherry blossom trees that connect the concrete jungle to a maze-like Zen Temple. Off the main road, islets feature feuding ninja communes, a castle on a hill, and an active volcano. While the remote setting of the frigid Soviet industrial town Tunguska recalls that Destroy All Humans areas are better when they are sprawling, it still manages to exude the same design philosophy as the others. Solaris, the name of the Russian research settlement on the moon, is the only area not formatted like the others, mostly due to the barren nature of the setting. However, it can be excused here because the moon is the perfect last area, for no other place on Earth could serve as the pinnacle of the planet’s expedition. With the addition of a much-coveted map highlighting every district, the areas in Destroy All Humans 2 finally emulate the quasi-open world format of the first game consistently and adequately.

These areas also feel more lived in because they all offer more content. The main missions in the first game seemed implemented by the developers due to obligation more than anything. Most missions in the first Destroy All Humans end as quickly as they started, with only one or two objectives before the player could hightail off to murder people at their own leisure. Destroy All Humans 2’s story is far more intricate than the one from the previous game, so the developers accommodated the campaign with weightier missions. Every area has at least five main missions, and each of these offers a hearty range of objectives to keep the player occupied. One may assume that longer missions would bloat the experience, but elongating the tasks is exactly what the missions needed to uphold the story without seeming like an afterthought. A better sense of organization aids these missions because returning to the mothership to unlock the next mission in the first game and hopping around the map tended to be a jarring upset in pacing. Since the mothership has been wiped out of the stratosphere, Crypto begins a mission by conversing with Pox or another NPC somewhere on the field, and it feels much more like how missions are started in typical open-world games. All the missions in Destroy All Humans 2 are all killer with no filler and surpass any of the missions from the first game. The climactic point of Takoshima, where Crypto and Natalya scale Mount Seiyuki and take down a Kaiju rampaging through the city streets, is so bloody epic that the game runs the risk of peaking halfway into the campaign. Besides the main missions, the player can also complete odd jobs that range in objectives or Arkvoodle missions where Crypto manufactures an international cult using that lascivious idol who grants him places to land his saucer as its omnipotent figure. The missions across the game still have a difficulty curve wonkier than a slinky, but perhaps that’s just a trope of the open-world genre.

Action seems to take precedence over any other gameplay elements in Destroy All Humans 2. The James Bond-esque intro sequence in the main menu makes it easy to see which fictional 1960s icon the game draws its inspiration from. The bevy of stealth missions that the first game offered is blown to the wayside in favor of more overt destruction. Given that the game's name is “Destroy” All Humans and not “Evade” All Humans, the player can be eternally grateful. The game endows Crypto’s arsenal with new toys to foster a more bombastic direction. Every weapon from the previous game is back in its full glory, with an upgraded Anal Probe now serving as a useful weapon instead of an extraction tool. Destroy All Humans 2 doubles the total of Crypto's weapons on foot for what already proved to be an extensive bunch. The Dislocator launches discs that send people and vehicles on a nauseatingly bumpy ride, the mothership’s janitor, Gastro, blasts at foes from a hovering hologram, and the Meteor Strike summons a barrage of meteors that can level skyscrapers. Not since the peacemaker nuke from Jak 3 has a gun inspired so much awe with its destructive potential. The Burrow Beast is an optional weapon unlocked by completing the Arkvoodle missions. Unlocking a monster that gulps up people from under the ground would’ve been more exciting if the player didn’t have to beat the game first. Each saucer weapon from the first game also reappears, with only one lackluster Anti-Gravity Field added to the roster. The weapon selection in the first game was practical, but it’s hard to return to what is now a piddly number of options with so many tools of chaos at the player’s disposal here.

Even without weapons, Crypto can create enough of a commotion with just his mind. The essentials of Crypto’s psychic powers also carry over to this game, but they’ve been tweaked instead of being directly built upon like the weapons. Crypto’s abilities are no longer inhibited by a psychic gauge, so now he can continuously whisk anything off the ground and suspend them in the air. However, this does not mean that Crypto’s brain is an inexhaustible source of unlimited potential. Upgrades are much more commonplace in the sequel, with the plentiful Furotech Cells funding the expansion purchased at Pox’s mobile marketplace. Crypto’s psychic powers, however, are upgraded via the “gene blend” system, where he slurps up people across many nationalities and vocations using his saucer’s Abducto Beam and splices their genetic material. Although the process may seem like a fetch quest grind, Crypto’s perverse scientific experiment pays off because the ability to transmogrify any vehicle for ammunition is a godsend. Instead of using the transparent holobob, Crypto rather “body snatches” an unsuspecting victim off the street and can literally walk miles in their footsteps before their life meter depletes completely due to Crypto’s presence in their bodies. It’s disturbingly parasitic. To avoid causing attention while body snatching, Crypto can use a timely named distraction technique called “Free Love,” where every human in the vicinity will dance around nonchalantly to a groovy guitar lick. I appreciate all the new abilities, but psychokinesis was more fun in the first game. I don’t know what’s changed over a decade, but everybody in the 1960s is so resistant to being flung into walls by psychic powers that the impact barely leaves a scratch. One could argue that this was part of an improvement to fix something broken from the first game, but Destroy All Humans 2 is already rife with graphical glitches and framerate issues as is.

The satirical scope may not be as pronounced here, unlike the first game, but at least the sequel is as side-splittingly hilarious. I lamented that more missions in the first game didn’t feature conversations where the player could cycle through dialogue options, but in the sequel, the player can make Crypto spout countless lines of caustic comments while talking to NPCs. I never get tired of hearing him talk. I’d implore the player to try a drinking game whenever the game makes any timely pop culture references or intentional anachronisms, but I do not want to be responsible for any alcohol-related deaths. Some of the humor is racy (especially in Takoshima) and based in stereotypes, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t guffaw whenever Crypto made immature prank calls, a Japanese cop spoke unfitting jive, or when Crypto enacted his plan to sic the Russian cosmonauts on the Furon’s Blisk rivals by telling them that they plan to take away their vodka. Crypto gleefully rides away with the bedlam that this causes with the hippy-dippy song “She Changes Like the Weather,” playing like the stinker he is. It’s comedic gold. However, none of these humorous moments are enough to establish a concise ethos, but there is still something substantial here.

The prime point that Destroy All Humans 2 seems to convey with its satire is that even in what was perceived as a new age of enlightenment, mankind and the society they created hadn’t changed all that much. No amount of LSD can cure human vices or their stubborn obliviousness. Reusing some of the same jokes while reading people’s minds might have signaled a lack of new humorous material, but it could illustrate that nothing has changed. Crypto consistently comments that his cult is the “opiate of the masses,” a phrase that correlates drugs with religion. Dirty, hubristic iconoclasts that defined the counterculture of this era throw down their values in exchange for the most appealing thing Crypto can offer, which of course, is a bunch of empty promises. The first game expressed that people were stupidly impressionable, and the sequel comments that things like drug-induced “enlightenment” and “free love” are just as big of a farce as the patriotism that fueled the 1950s. Crypto’s status as an alien gives him a position of an outsider looking in, an unbiased being without the follies that beset mankind.

That is, Crypto was the perfect specimen for critiquing human nature in the first game. Crypto was an exceptional alien soldier with a sense of snarkiness behind his venomous contempt for the human race. In the sequel, he’s practically gone native. Too much time masquerading among the humans has caused Crypto to adopt a sense of appreciation for their ways of life and has softened him up quite a bit. One could argue that this is due to the sequel’s Crypto being a clone of the one from the first game after that one unexpectedly died, but Planet Furon just doesn’t possess the same frills of sex, drugs, and rock and roll as Earth does. That, and his newly acquired sexual appendage, almost makes him one of us, and Pox detests it more than anyone. Crypto’s character is explored thoroughly here as more than an intergalactic harbinger of death and persecution. His arc is detailed through his relationship with Natalya, a rogue KGB spy and Crypto’s love interest, who aids him throughout the game. Despite approaching Natalya in a sleazy manner that makes Andy Dick look gentlemanly by comparison, the two have an odd chemistry with one another that works. Eventually, she starts to warm up to Crypto’s advances and likes him. When Natalya gets killed by Blisk/Russian leader Milinkov at the game's climax, the player almost feels as devastated as Crypto. Maybe I can sympathize with Crypto trying to bat out of his league here, but maybe Crypto’s newfound admiration (in many forms) is a testament that Furons and humans aren’t so different. Through fraternizing with humans and understanding them, it could lead to a peaceful society between the two (although it's not likely). Crypto ends up saving the human race from the Blisk at the end of the game, and if that's not ironic, I don’t know what is. After all, Arkvoodle, the benevolent creator of the Furons, is just as self-righteous and hedonistic as any hippie.

It is now apparent to me that Destroy All Humans 2 is vastly superior to its predecessor. The game is a sequel that knew the previous title had much to improve upon and thus made an effort to do so and succeeded. Destroy All Humans 2 adds so much to the first game’s template and augments everything from the weapons, areas, missions, etc. I thought that continuing the premise of an alien imperialist taking over Earth in the 1960s was inappropriate, but delving into the material has proven to me that it can still work. The augmentation has even uplifted the B-movie fabric of the premise and presentation to a depth unseen in the first game. The most unfortunate aspect is that despite all of the improvements, the myriad of technical issues in Destroy All Humans 2 that were already present in the first game deter its overall quality. I wish I could overlook this with its positive attributes, but it’s too significant of a detractor. Nevertheless, at least Destroy All Humans 2 maintains the same maniacal thrills that the first game had.

The Beatles: Rock Band Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 11/7/2022)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

The Beatles: Rock Band

Developer: Harmonix

Publisher: MTV Games

Genre(s): Rhythm

Platforms: Xbox 360, PS3, Wii

Release Date: September 9, 2009

Since Harmonix was torn asunder from its parent company thanks to Activision’s interest in procuring the Guitar Hero franchise, Rock Band has always felt like it was competing against Harmonix’s former brainchild. Guitar Hero may have spurred the rhythm game craze of the late 2000s and became an era-defining phenomenon, but Rock Band’s enhanced number of peripherals made the experience a more well-rounded party machine. Guitar Hero was worried that Rock Band’s existence would render the former obsolete. Besides implementing the additional instruments from Rock Band, Guitar Hero started to flaunt its more recognizable brand name and reach out to many legendary rock acts to create games themed around them. Aerosmith, Van Halen, and Metallica are all legendary rock/metal acts with devoted, widespread fan bases with several recognizable songs in the popular music canon. How could Rock Band stand a chance to compete with Guitar Hero after being backed by so many rock and roll icons? Hilariously enough, Rock Band’s retort to Guitar Hero’s posturing was to theme one of their games around THE seminal rock band to end all other seminal rock bands: The fucking Beatles. Guitar Hero hung itself with a bass string upon hearing this.

I don’t think I have to explain why making The Beatles: Rock Band was a game, set, and match for Rock Band over Guitar Hero. As famous and critically respected, all of the band's Guitar Hero sought to commemorate them in the form of a rhythm video game, absolutely none of them hold a candle to the level of adulation and prestige of The Beatles. I speak with no sense of hyperbole when I say that The Beatles are not only the most popular, influential, and celebrated music act in rock music but across all music of the 20th century. Guitar Hero struck gold a few times, but Harmonix discovered some platinum-diamond hybrid. The appeal of a Beatles-themed Rock Band game is obvious. Every living, breathing person knows at least a few of their songs, and their music is accessible to people of all ages. However, I’d argue that the bands featured in their own Guitar Hero games fit more of the rhythm game demographic. FCing “Blackbird” on expert is less likely to impress your friends than, say, “Eruption” or “Master of Puppets.” Featuring The Beatles and their music might be quite the personal accomplishment for Harmonix, but how would their music stack up to the finger-tapping, face-melting shredders for challenging content? It turns out a Beatles game doesn’t have to. Harmonix revels in being permitted to license the Beatles' music and develops a game specifically for Beatles fans that tributes their unparalleled legacy.

The fab four was always a visually stimulating band, even if that’s not one of the most common attributes people give credence to. The Beatles were arguably the first music group marketed as a boy band. Three cute, seemingly inoffensive boys (and Ringo) playing pop music together on a stage was a stroke of marketing genius. Using this model has persisted to the same general effect in the pop music industry. Even if you were a heterosexual male that did not fit that demographic, one can’t deny the chemistry these four dudes had while playing music with one another. Every member played with each other with unbridled enthusiasm, and that “Beatles smile” is a mark of true physical charisma that no other band could match. Beatlemania wouldn’t have skyrocketed across the world if its appeal was niche. This time in the Beatles career is illustrated in the game’s introduction sequence, an animated segment meant to mirror the opening of the Beatles film “A Hard Day’s Night,” where the band is comically scurrying away from a roaring flood of ecstatic fans on the streets of London. The introduction then leads them to Shea Stadium playing “Paperback Writer.” After that, the band dons their Sgt. Pepper outfits as “Here Comes the Sun” and “I Am the Walrus” play while some vivid psychedelic imagery plays in the background, signifying the band’s critically acclaimed late period. The art style presented here is magnificent and carries over to the base game. The graphics pop with a vibrancy that matches the fab four perfectly. I’m glad the songs are easy enough to play because the visuals were often pleasantly distracting.

I wouldn’t talk about the introduction in such detail for most other games, but the one in The Beatles: Rock Band is indicative of what the game has to offer: an interactive Beatles experience that takes the player through the band’s history. The subtle story of every Guitar Hero/Rock Band game is a band’s ascension to superstardom. As prolific as The Beatles have always seemed, they had to climb the same rope and jump through the same proverbial hoops as any other band. The game will start the player at the dark, dingy clubs in Liverpool playing on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 to that rooftop event in 1969. Most of the late period between 1965-1968 takes place in the recording studios in Abbey Road, which featured eye-catching visuals that caused me to miss a few notes I previously mentioned. It’s as immersive as a Beatles documentary could be in the gaming medium. However, the game does gloss over some aspects, like the arrant stench of the piss from overly-excited girls of their early period, constant bickering over money, and being mean to Ringo of the late period. Curiously enough, if the player fails a song, a “failure” screen pops up with the option to replay the song. Normally, the band in the mainline Guitar Hero/Rock Band titles would get booed and heckled off stage and probably pelted with beer bottles. This would seem askew for The Beatles, so the developers prevented our good ol’ friend ludonarrative dissonance from adulterating the prime Beatles experience.

Because the game progresses with The Beatles' history as a band, the set list is also in chronological order and coincides with the Beatles era it was recorded in. For the most part, the setlist in the game is a diverse range of their most famous hits and a few selections from their albums that some may not recall as lucidly. The game couldn’t fit every Beatles song in the base game for brevity, so what didn’t comfortably fit was made available for DLC. One might state that relegating the rest of their music to the DLC shop is a greedy move by the publishers to squeeze more money out of players, but it’s the only tangible way to include the rest of their catalog in the game. However, the fact that Harmonix had the power to translate every conceivable Beatles song in the game and only took half-measures for a few more is a travesty. Why is the DLC selection so pitiful? I still lament that I cannot play “I’m Only Sleeping,” my favorite Beatles song, in any capacity. I suppose I should be grateful that I can play any of the Beatles' music as is.

Like the band the game is tributing, what can you say about The Beatles: Rock Band that isn’t blatantly obvious? Harmonix took Guitar Hero’s idea of theming a game on an iconic rock band and elevated it to new heights with the greatest rock band of all time. They made the premise less gimmicky by making the game a fully-fledged tribute to their history and beguiling aura that made them so alluring. The game most likely won’t please those looking to flex their button-pressing dexterity, but this game is a must for any Beatles fan.

...

Thank the lord that the developers put their foot down and stopped Yoko Ono from ruining the game with her fuckery. I fear the alternate timeline where she had her way and put her mitts on this game.

Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 10/25/2022)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night

Developer: Inti Creates, WayForward Technologies, Disruptive Games

Publisher: 505 Games

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: PS4, Xbox One, Switch, PC

Release Date: June 18, 2019

Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night was never supposed to be groundbreaking. Like its 8-bit predecessor, Curse of the Moon, its appeal was to bank on the whims of people who yearned for the bygone Castlevania franchise that Konami had forsaken and reap the benefits of nostalgia. This time, Bloodstained would attempt to replicate the magic of Symphony of the Night. This seminal Castlevania title ushered in a new era for the franchise and instituted the Metroidvania subgenre with Super Metroid. Even with the countless Metroidvania Castlevanias spawned from Symphony of the Night, none captured that game’s imposing spectacle. Hence, this creates an impetus for a spiritual successor like Ritual of the Night. However, we can’t expect eighth-generation audiences to be wowed by the same feats of excellence that marked the fifth generation. Gaming is a burgeoning industry whose trends and technology change and adapts as quickly as those of the fashion world. Considering all of this, why did director Koji Igarashi uphold Ritual of the Night as the second coming of Christ? I love Symphony of the Night, but treating it as a deified figure seems absurdly hyperbolic. Ritual of the Night’s preemptive press indicates Igarashi’s former rockstar status at Konami, touting his brilliance to reform his former glory. However, monumental hype for any release mixed with the ego of its creative director always results in a gigantic, disappointing flop. Just ask John Romero. Curse of the Moon exists because Igarashi was worried that fans would be so excited for Ritual of the Night that they would start foaming at the mouths with rabid anticipation if they weren’t given any material to hold them over in the meantime. We were led to believe that Ritual of the Night would not only fulfill our expectations as a spiritual successor to Symphony of the Night but transcend its source entirely.

I was a bit skeptical of how Ritual of the Night would compare with Symphony of the Night, much less overthrow it. How is Ritual of the Night to surpass its source when so much of its foundation was shamelessly copied from it? Using Ritual of the Night as the title of Symphony of the Night’s successor already signifies a sense of familiarity as if the word “Symphony” was crossed out with “Ritual” written underneath to fool us. None of us Castlevania fans minded that Ritual of the Night was a shameless clone of Symphony of the Night because we like Symphony of the Night. However, it’s not as if we fans don’t have access to Symphony of the Night, either the original or the bevy of modern consoles it’s been ported to. That, and Symphony of the Night has aged as well as a fine cabernet sauvignon, except for the sparse instances of questionable voice acting. Igarashi had plenty to cash on by putting his name on a new project that sparked a sense of conventionality, but Ritual of the Night’s existence didn’t seem to have any merit on an artistic scale. Taking the template of a flawed, rudimentary game on the NES and treating it with the sheen of modernity with Curse of the Moon was easy, but Symphony of the Night did not need a thorough refurbishment. However, with over two decades of hindsight since the release of Symphony of the Night, perhaps it’s best to give Ritual of the Night the benefit of the doubt.

A simple way to give Ritual of the Night some discernibility is a graphical rehaul. In this context, one couldn’t enhance the already spectacularly crisp pixel art of Symphony of the Night, and copying it would be too uncanny for comfort. Instead, Ritual adopts a rounded, cel-shaded 3D style. Using this visual aesthetic makes the Ritual of the Night graphics pop with the same sublime, effervescent glow of contrasting lights and darks that made the original Castlevania games so striking. All the while, the cel-shading isn’t so overwhelmingly cartoony as it tends to be in other games. Normally, I’d claim that emulating Castlevania with this kind of art style would be inappropriate, but everything from character models to backgrounds and foregrounds artfully balances the bright roundedness with that notable gothic mystique. It’s difficult to state whether or not Ritual looks better than Symphony because its graphics are so dissimilar, so the developers at least achieved a distinct style. Sadly, Ritual of the Night is not exemplary of modern 3D graphics. It seems that 3D games spurred by Kickstarter campaigns can’t hide some awkward, unrefined textures seen with various objects and character models. The Glutton Train boss looked so unprocessed that I questioned if it was finished. I noticed this while playing fellow crowdfunded 3D game A Hat in Time. I suppose this amateurish graphical quality can be expected of all Kickstarter video game projects with Ritual’s example. It is by no means jarring or unpleasant to look at, but Symphony bestowed the finest pixel art of any game at its time. You’d think offering better graphics would be the easiest aspect to improve in succeeding in a two-decade-old game.

Really, the appeal of the cel-shaded graphics is bringing the pixelated characters from Curse of the Moon to the rounded third dimension. Given that Curse of the Moon predates Ritual of the Night only by a year, it’s not as if we’ve yearned to see this visual upgrade for long, like other iconic characters jumping to 3D. Nevertheless, my piqued interest is a testament to the wonders of vague pixel art. All of the familiar characters we’ve come to know over the short course of a year all make their multi-polygonal leap into Ritual of the Night. One would expect that our favorite stony-faced demon hunter Zangetsu would resume his role as the frontman of this operation, but he’s relegated to a supporting position. Instead, the protagonist of Ritual of the Night is Miriam, the high-hopping whip-wielder who is the first member of Zangetsu’s party in Curse of the Moon. I guess Miriam serves as the prime emulatory character for the franchise, imitating the typical Belmont whip in a pixelated 2D Castlevania and taking the role of the more nuanced RPG character Alucard from Symphony of the Night. Wizard master Alfred plays a supporting role along with Richter, and Gebel has taken on an ambitious new stance as the game's main antagonist. Many bosses from Curse of the Moon return, like the twin dragon Andrealphus and the debonair poker king Valefar, and now the third dimension allows us to marvel at their massive, screen-spanning glory. A presentational addition that Symphony of the Night added was a textbox with an icon of the speaking character during dialogue, and Ritual of the Night amplifies this with fully-rendered character models conversing on opposite sides of the screen. These instances are the best way to get a glimpse of Bloodstained’s returning characters in their full 3D glory, As for the voice acting, the most painfully amateurish quality in Symphony of the Night has reached a point of adequacy. Even indie games whose budget consists primarily of crowdfunded donations offer better voice acting than the triple-A titles of yesteryears did, a prideful sign of how far we’ve come.

We can be thankful that the voice acting in Ritual is sufficient because Ritual is much more dialogue-intensive than Symphony ever was. None of Ritual’s dialogue is worthy of being preserved through tongue-in-cheek internet memes. Still, those celebrated quips from Symphony would become insufferably grating if they were as commonplace as Ritual's dialogue. More vocal lines are delivered in Ritual is due to the narrative having a weightier presence. Symphony’s story was yet another escapade in defeating Dracula like in the classic Castlevania games, but in a more roundabout trek to reach the peak of his castle. On the other hand, Ritual takes the basic lore and narrative of the Bloodstained world established plainly in Curse of the Moon and inflates it to the scope of an epic gothic tale. Bloodstained sets itself 2,500 kilometers away from the Carpathian terrain of Romania and takes residence in the Anglosphere of early industrial-era England in the late 1700s. The clergymen that dominated social and economic influence with the religious powers of the church for centuries expressed anxieties about the influx of capitalist ideas and practices running rampant throughout England, undoubtedly rooted in real-life parallels from this time in history. In a desperate attempt to retain their mighty, fearful eminence, the alchemists abduct two orphans and transform them into demonic mediums known as “shardbinders.” Miriam is one of these orphans whose transformation goes awry as she succumbs to a decade-long coma. Gebel’s ritual, on the other hand, proves to be successful as demons arise and destroy England to an apocalyptic degree. In the wake of the alchemist’s poorly conceived plan ten years later, Gebel plans on using his shardbinder powers to avenge the alchemists. Miriam arises from her slumber to prevent Gebel from making a fatal mistake. Curse of the Moon initially separated Bloodstained from its source material by explicitly branding its monsters as demons. That separation, coupled with the fleshed-out story Ritual provides, makes a substantial stride to branch itself off Castlevania. Just because Dracula is a public domain character doesn’t mean the developers of Ritual should liberally implement him as the backbone for another series.

What did the evil forces in Castlevania do to brandish their prominence over the realm they resided in? Like the Count always did as his first step in reinvigorating his prestige, the alchemists have erected a gigantic, ominous gothic castle. Presenting the monumental eyesore from its front view has always been a tried and true method of evoking a sense of sublime intimidation, and Ritual achieves this in theory. However, the threat that the view of the stupendous estate is intended to implicate feels a bit lacking because the direction of the sinister aura feels off-kilter. Besides Alfred and the uncharacteristically pleasant Johannes, the alchemists are an enigmatic group that we only hear of only when prompting the plot with lore. The peak of this nameless manor does not house a round table of bearded old men in robes that Miriam must defeat one by one. With all of the demons running amok through the castle and along its perimeter, the player gets the impression that the demon plague is a rampant disease that illustrates how badly the alchemist’s plan got out of control. A state of anarchy among the demons may signify the unclean, profane pandemonium surrounding the castle, but all of it has less weight when these creatures of the night are not housed by Dracula. I assumed that each enemy that resided in Dracula’s Castle in Symphony was one of Dracula’s underlings, his “children of the night,” so to speak. Without that governing force of Dracula serving as a looming, imposing threat, the demons feel nebulous. Gebel serves as a similar climatic figure, but his more complex villain role, as opposed to Dracula’s imposing, all-encompassing evil, doesn’t exude the same presence.

Perhaps it feels like this because Ritual can work outside the castle's confines. Other level themes often seen in Castlevania games, like cemeteries and forests, had to be scrapped in Symphony because offering levels that existed outside of the castle’s perimeter would compromise the integral design of the enclosed castle setting. Castle settings in Curse of the Moon didn’t seem too pertinent to Bloodstained’s identity, so the game could emphasize locations beyond an indoor setting. Ritual continues to provide a comparatively abundant level variety set by Curse of the Moon while using the same Metroidvania design philosophy set by Symphony. The different areas inside the colossal castle and its connecting mezzanines are situated in the center of the game’s world map, with many outside areas branching from the castle’s exterior. Ritual’s first level is on a galleon sailing out at sea, docking at the shores of the castle’s residence of Arvantville once the player defeats that area’s boss. While this area feels “completed” after arriving at the castle, they can still explore the decks of the ship whenever they please, as it is still connected with the rest of the map. However, this is only to a certain extent. The map of Ritual is a shameless copy of the map from Symphony, complete with the same rudimentary, rectangular blue grid with the usual red and green upsets that signify the locations of save and teleportation rooms. For some reason, to illustrate that areas like the galleon and other places like the train and the Sorcery Lab are removed from the castle, looking at any of these areas on the map are colored in with a deep, opaque indigo color. I was irked at the lack of areas outside of Dracula’s gothic estate in Symphony, but perhaps they got it right the first time. None of the areas outside the alchemist’s castle are lackluster or on their own merits. Still, their lack of connectedness indicates a lack of cohesive design presented in Ritual’s world. Many individual areas of Ritual’s map, like the sunken grotto of Forbidden Underground Waterway, the tall, winding Towers of Twin Dragons, and the cluttered bookshelves of Livre Ex Machina, are obvious which Symphony areas they mirror, and they reside in the same architectural space of the castle. As a whole, however, the more sprawling design of Ritual’s map is a little too immense as opposed to Symphony’s comparatively restrained architecture.

Ritual’s gameplay also treats Symphony’s gameplay with expansive, creative liberties. However, Ritual manages not to bloat Symphony’s template in this regard. Miriam, expectedly, is a gender-swapped version of Alucard, more so with the adaptable magical powers aspect and less of Alucard’s deep-seated daddy issues. Miriam is situated to be an RPG character, becoming more powerful through a combat-oriented RPG leveling system and accumulating more sustainable armor and weapons. One extra perk that overlaps with Miriam’s progression throughout the game is the collectible shards that give Miriam various abilities. While this mechanic was not present in Symphony, it is not a new idea the developers conjured up during Ritual’s development. The idea is taken from Aria of Sorrow, the other most critically acclaimed Metroidvania Castlevania title. On rare occurrences, defeating an enemy will cause a shard to erupt from their disintegrating bodies and rush through Miriam as she shrieks on its cathartic impact, like Link’s transformation sequences from Majora’s Mask. The enemy roster in Ritual is vast, and most enemies will drop a shard for Miriam to integrate into her combative prowess. Three of six types of shards will be assigned to three buttons/triggers on the controller, one will enhance a single statistic, one will summon one of six familiars, and the last one will unlock an innate ability used for the Metroidvania hindrances in the areas. The sheer volume of shards allows the player to mix and match various combinations. I recommend a defensive ranged shard mix due to the spry enemies causing too much contact damage. If this shard meld does not suit your needs, fortunately, there are many more to choose from. This mechanic may only serve as an additional perk to the gameplay, but it greatly impacts Ritual’s expansiveness.

Ritual’s imperative to ascend over Symphony is through expanding its RPG elements. Besides the shard system, Ritual also offers side quests, an RPG staple meant to prolong the experience. In the sanctuary hub of Arvantville, seen before the entrance to the castle, many refugees will congregate around a rustic bunker to shelter themselves from the demon scourge. Most of these survivors will offer extra objectives for Miriam to consider, which can either be completed at the same time or done consecutively. Lindsey is feeling quite vindictive and has Miriam play bounty hunter, avenging the deaths of the village’s fallen denizens by defeating a number of the same type of demon that slayed them. Abigail, located in the field, rather chooses to tribute the deceased with a commemorative item that Miriam has to retrieve. An old woman named Susie will have Miriam fetch an abundance of intricately-prepared foods. In any normal survival scenario, this feeble old bat would be expunged for being deadweight and taking advantage of the hustlers. Acting as this woman’s Uber Eats driver would have been more of a pain in the ass if not for Arvantville being the one-stop emporium for everything to do with the materials. Dominique and her little apprentice Anne sell any conceivable item, and Johannes is the man to seek for anything relating to crafting (weapons, armor, food, etc.). Unlike the Master Librarian in Symphony, the territorial nature of the merchants/quest givers is not a hassle because teleportation rooms are as common as safe rooms are in Ritual. A hub in Symphony could not be feasible because of both the enclosed design and the constant feeling of hostility within Dracula’s walls. Arvantville is the one area outside the castle that is a welcome addition to expanding Symphony’s map without adulterating its cohesive form.

Some could argue that it doesn’t matter that Ritual augments Symphony’s design without impunity because Ritual’s progression through the map is nothing like its source. The most impressive aspect of Symphony is how free the player was to explore the entirety of the castle with only a few roadblocks to uphold the Metroidvania gameplay. Ritual, however, presents so many snags in the road that it becomes obvious that there is a singular path that the game forces the player to adhere to. At every corner, it feels like Miriam has yet another shard ability to gain to hurdle over another obstacle, which becomes tiring. Of course, a bigger emphasis on linear progress is emblematic of modern Metroidvania game design. Still, considering Ritual is intended to be a nostalgic lark that unabashedly emulates Symphony of the Night, one would think this would’ve been another facet of recreating it. Ritual would have benefited from it greatly, but perhaps the developers felt that Symphony’s unrestrained nature was too antiquated for modern gamers. They’d be wrong. I would forgive Ritual’s prohibitory design if it didn’t lead me to failure. After following the game’s intended path, the player will come across an area called the Hall of Termination, positioned at the top of the map. The player might get the impression that the “final boss” is here, and they’d be correct. Gebel, this game’s Richter, is positioned at the castle's peak and is ready to duel Miriam despite his selective inhibitions about doing so. If the player defeats Gebel, they will be reprimanded with a game over. Sure, in Symphony, defeating Richter without the right circumstances will result in an inefficient ending, but at least the player won’t feel as if they failed. In my defense, the narrow trajectory of Ritual led me to believe that I had completed everything up to this point.

I also subscribed to this belief because of a lingering possibility that I kept considering: is the second half of Ritual going to be a reversed version of the castle like in Symphony? I wished the developers would scrap a flipped castle portion because it didn’t prove necessary in making Symphony feel whole, but rather an addendum to the normal castle. However, I still fully expected the developers to reinstate this, for a game that tributes Symphony wouldn’t feel complete without it. This is why I figured the second half of the map would be inverted, but all Ritual does is grant Miriam the ability to invert the map and walk on the ceilings on her own volition as a cheeky reference. It turns out that I should’ve been more observant, and the many sections I seemed to have missed are what I will refer to as “Ritual’s second half.” I’m delighted that the developers decided to expand the map with more areas on the upside world map (even if it further compromises the already questionable world cohesion) instead of retreading levels with a newfound sensation of vertigo to boot. The areas of the latter half have a peculiar Mario influence judging by the fire, desert, and ice level themes. If that’s not the case, explain Den of the Behemoths to me.

These areas also serve as the point where Ritual’s narrative loses itself. If one couldn’t tell from the misleading ending of failure, Gebel is but a red herring intended to distract Miriam from the real antagonist of Ritual. Of course, anyone who has played Symphony will know this by Richter’s example, and those who played Curse of the Moon know that Gebel is not a villain. The second half is dedicated to uncovering who among the characters should not hold the mythical text of the Liber Loagaeith. Miriam fights a revamped Zangetsu along with Alfred, who is the Micolash of Bloodstained bosses. Again, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that neither of these two is bad guys if they’ve played Curse of the Moon. Is Curse of the Moon not canon or something? Tracking down Curse of the Moon’s final boss, Gremory, becomes a prime objective, but she is only the Shaft of this operation. One should be suspicious of Dominique, the one new character we have no previous reference to and keeps hinting at signs of malevolence. She's the one who stole the Liber Loagaeith and plans to summon the grand demon Bael to enact an act of violent revenge against God for letting the demons kill so many people ten years prior. As grand as the duel fight against Dominique and Bael is, the narrative resolution is all too obvious to be as shocking as the developers intended. Symphony expanded on everything from the 2D Castlevanias except the simple story, and Ritual should’ve borrowed the same sentiment.

Five million Kickstarter donations later, Igarashi’s wish to follow up his magnum opus came to fruition and managed not to be a Mighty #9 caliber disaster. Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night fulfills its initial promise of quenching the thirsts of Symphony of the Night enthusiasts and reminds us all of Igarashi’s brilliance. That is, it reminds us of how brilliant Symphony of the Night was. Tracing one’s own work and rereleasing it can only result in so much exaltation, even when that same creator adds a few more slight changes to it in the hopes that he’ll distract our accusations of self-plagiarization. Ritual of the Night obviously couldn’t have been a carbon copy of Symphony of the Night, and all of the two decade-spanning advantages of hindsight and technical progress meant there should’ve been no excuses that it should be a shameless clone. Curse of the Moon proved to be the best case of a classic Castlevania game, so Ritual should've performed on the same measure. Ritual does expand on Symphony, but all of the augmentations result in the game over-performing. Any elements that Ritual improves upon aren’t substantial enough to transcend Symphony’s quality. Does this mean that Symphony of the Night is a masterpiece by definition: an exemplary work that can be imitated but never replicated or surpassed? Yes, it does. If Ritual of the Night’s intentions were to remind us how good Symphony of the Night is, it passes with flying colors. Keyword: if.