Metroid Prime Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 2/22/2023)

[Image from igdb.com]

Metroid Prime

Developer: Retro Studios

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): First-Person Shooter, Action-Adventure

Platforms: GCN

Release Date: November 17, 2002

Thank fucking God that there wasn’t a Metroid game on the N64. It might sound cruel and imperceptive to belittle the chronic anguish that Metroid fans felt during the franchise's eight-year hiatus after Super Metroid was released, for I don’t have a firsthand account of this period because I was born during the span of time. For those of you older than I who waited with a growing, uncomfortable anticipation just to be stood up by Nintendo, I sympathize with your grief. I must’ve felt like hell knowing that the ecstatic kid from that viral N64 video booted up Super Smash Bros. that Christmas Day and readily recognized every character in the starting roster from their individual N64 titles except for our beloved space-age heroine, and you couldn’t fault his ignorance. Despite the Metroid franchise taking a lap generation during such a crucial time in gaming history, I still defend my position that the near decade of inactivity proved to be for its benefit. Metroid’s gameplay is more difficult to translate to a 3D environment compared to Nintendo’s other properties. Castlevania defined Metroid’s idiosyncrasies with Symphony of the Night, giving credence to Metroid’s core design philosophy which is staunchly two-dimensional. Many transitions to 3D from franchises born in the pixelated era had to sacrifice a certain amount of detail in the environments in order to render the 3D competently. Compare the varied terrain and elaborate setpieces in A Link to the Past’s Hyrule Field to the echoey vacant one in Ocarina of Time. While subtracting the number of attributes in the foreground can still fundamentally work in Zelda, doing the same for Metroid would exponentially compromise its rich, intricate design to the point of total obliviation. If I had to guess, a 3D Metroid would be similar to the two 3D Castlevania games on the N64: 3D renderings that completely botched its 2D source material with awkward combat and a camera so wonky that it makes Super Mario 64’s Lakitu look like he has the cinematography prowess of an esteemed Hollywood director. To be fair, translating the Metroidvania genre in 3D is a tough task even in this day and age, with only a select few 3D games borrowing only a few assets without emulating the 2D genre to its full extent. Nintendo knew that Metroid was going to need a longer bout of consideration before they planted Samus in a 3D environment, and the eventual revelation came to fruition one generation later with the glorious Metroid Prime on the Gamecube.

Of course, we all know that Nintendo’s four-ported lunchbox was where all the 3D dreams went to die, or at least it was for all of those who were formally introduced to the dimension in the N64 era. After half a decade of buffing out the cracks of the three-dimensional realm, Nintendo decided to innovate even further in the second 3D generation with radical ideas that upset those who were used to the loyal 3D reimaginings of Nintendo’s staple series seen on the N64. Metroid’s major offense on the Gamecube was immediately absolved upon its release unlike the cases of The Wind Waker’s graphics or Super Mario Sunshine’s setting, but it did make many fans weary when it was announced. Nintendo’s heavily premeditated plan to efficiently translate Metroid into a 3D game was to develop it as a first-person shooter, something completely unorthodox that caught everyone off guard. Not only that but the game would be outsourced to an American developer called Retro Studios as their debut project. Considering the circumstances, the fans all figured that Nintendo should’ve released a shovel with Metroid Prime to bury Samus’s corpse alongside every fan’s collective hopes and wishes for their idealized first 3D Metroid experience. Such a grand responsibility in the hands of amateurs with an untested mechanic at the helm spelled emanate disaster for the Metroid franchise. Even though things looked bleak and uncertain, the finished product assuaged the skeptical fears of the masses. The modest group at Retro Studios executed Nintendo’s baffling ambitions for Metroid’s 3D debut extraordinarily without compromising on the traditional Metroid experience.

As I said before, my earliest gaming memories can only recall the successful impact that Metroid Prime had after it was released, and the recollections during the period of despair I only know from popular sentiments that have been chronicled for reference. As someone who wasn’t busy hyperventilating at the thought of Nintendo dooming the Metroid franchise at the time, I can express that Nintendo shipping the responsibility of developing Metroid Prime off to an American studio was always a brilliant idea. Think about it: every single notable first-person shooter before Metroid Prime’s creation (and to this very day) was developed and produced in the western world. For some reason, the immensely popular genre never made an impact on the industry titan that is Japan, making the first-person shooter as American as apple pie (with some examples from Europe as well). Truthfully, any renowned Japanese studio would’ve been as inexperienced in developing for the first-person shooter genre as Retro Studios was, so why not assign the duty to a group of Americans in which their second-amendment rights allow lead and gunpowder to flow through their bloodstreams? Perhaps people assumed that an American studio would bastardize Metroid by formulating the series as a crude, hyper-violent bloodbath where Samus wears nothing but a skimpy bikini, which I’m not sure is an unfair indictment of the FPS genre or American media as a whole. Fortunately, the game showcases the utmost respect the developers had for the source material and how they masterfully coalesced a 2D character into a 3D environment with FPS mechanics.

While Samus infiltrates the Space Pirate-operated Frigate Orpheon orbiting over the planet of Tallon IV, a series of force fields impede Samus from progressing any further past the outer gates of the facility. Four red buttons located on each corner of the force field’s boundaries imply that interacting with them will most likely manipulate the activeness of the shield, so shooting them with Samus’s distinctive blaster will switch them off. The ones at face level can be shot with a simple tap of the A button, while the two situated above Samus require more consideration from the player. By holding down the R trigger, the player can aim the blaster manually in a myriad of directions, and they’ll use this often to clear out overhead enemies that Samus will encounter throughout the game. However, it’s more likely that the player will embrace the option given to them on the opposing L trigger, which locks onto enemies and objects to ensure more accurate aiming. Holding down the L trigger will automatically lock onto anything significant in Samus’s peripheral range, which varies from enemies, objects, switches, and other points of interest. Deeper into the Frigate, the lock-on system is tested in combat with the defense turrets, a common enemy type in Metroid Prime whose stationary status makes for ideal practice fodder early on. The Parasite Queen, the game’s first boss, is the pinnacle of Metroid Prime’s test run with the combat as the player will shoot at the slimy beast through an exposed crevice as it’s suspended upward in its cylindrical chamber. Like Ocarina of Time before it, the lock-on mechanic is a helpful aid to ease the player into the transition between the familiar 2D combat and the radical shift of 3D.

For more robust enemies with legs and wings, the player will gain more perspective on Metroid Prime’s combat as soon as the surviving Space Pirates rear their ugly heads out of the shady corners of the station. Combat in Metroid Prime is ultimately more defense-oriented as the enemies are quick on their feet, and their rapid-fire projectiles will penetrate through Samus’s armor quickly until her energy tanks deplete and she screams in bloody terror upon dying, with her visor flashing off like an old television. Using the lock-on feature ensures that each shot from Samus’s blaster has an almost certain likelihood of hitting the enemies, so the player’s objective during combat is to dodge their array of firepower with the dash move. While locked on, the player can strafe from left to right with the swiftness of an intergalactic ninja, evading the barrage of energy bullets. Samus is more agile than the average FPS protagonist, compensating for the fact that the environment of a Metroid game doesn’t have as many foreground pieces to duck and cover behind. More so, Samus’s shrewd mobility can be attributed to the developers loyally translating Samus’s platforming origins in the FPS genre, as platformer characters tend to be more sprightly than the more action-oriented FPS protagonists, who usually only need to occasionally scale a more structured staircase while blowing away their enemies with shotgun blasts. Platforms are situated all around Tallon IV, with most of them fitting appropriately as an area’s rational architecture while others levitate over the ground with much less of a solid constructional bearing. Even when a certain section is littered with these types of platforms for convenient ascension, they never overstay their welcome and ruin the consistent overlay of the area. Overall, I’m glad that Tallon IV offers plenty of structures for Samus to jump onto because it’s a humbling reminder of the Metroid franchise's roots as a platformer. That shan’t be forgotten when translating Metroid’s gameplay despite the FPS frontier, and both elements complement each other superbly. The unlikely marriage of both here makes for something nuanced, efficiently streamlined, and as smooth as Samus’s legs right before she docks herself in her bulky space suit for the lengthy duration of a mission.

The FPS format does not forsake Samus’s gravity-defying jumping ability, but what about other aspects pertaining to Metroid’s identity? One of the core elements of Metroid often credited to its effectiveness is the franchise's atmosphere, the feeling of total isolation in a hostile habitat weighing down on the player to the point of palpable dread. As blazing fast as the pacing of many FPS games tends to be, the genre is not alien to titles with a more methodical direction that fosters something similar to Metroid’s oppressive ambiance. Half-Life and System Shock, the noteworthy FPS exceptions, probably owe their cold, pensive auras to the classic Metroids, and Metroid Prime dips back into this sphere of influence by borrowing the FPS mechanics of those games. It’s a wonder why the FPS genre isn’t characterized by deep immersion more often because the unique perspective it offers is incredibly intimate. Since its inception, gaming has made great strides in increasing its immersive elements, with several outlets such as character customizability and naming the protagonist as a few examples. Samus is already an established character with a canon name and backstory, so Metroid Prime cannot reduce her to a retrograde, faceless avatar to enhance the player’s immersion in this regard. The FPS vantage point rather allows us to better understand Samus’s surroundings by seeing them directly through the consciousness of the space-age bounty hunter.

As one would figure, Samus is a human being whose lungs cannot subsist off the oxygen-deprived extraterrestrial ecosystems she excavates, so her trusty space helmet provides both the protection and sustenance she needs. Thanks to the first-person view, we now see the game through Samus’s visor along with its various components. In each corner of the computerized interior details notable features such as Samus’s total health and number of energy tanks, the alternate visors in the bottom left corner, the various beams in the bottom right corner, the number of missiles at her disposal, a radar that signals if there are enemies in the vicinity, a danger meter, and a rudimentary outline of the location. Using Samus’s visor as an onscreen menu is a clever transitional aspect to the FPS genre that seems all too natural. In addition to the detail in the interior visor, the developers went the extra mile to showcase how external factors affect Samus’s visor as well. After the Frigate Orpheon in the introduction is demolished and crashes on the nearby planet of Tallon IV like a crude meteorite, Samus decides to follow suit, albeit with a more dignified entrance using her ship. She parks her vessel on a wetland area colloquially known as the “overworld” that shares the planet’s namesake. The constant rainfall endemic to this watery quagmire naturally cascades onto Samus, as not even the acuteness of the strafe move is swift enough to dodge the rain. The area’s ceaseless precipitation plinks and plops onto Samus’s visor like a car windshield and immerses the player in the scope of the environment. In Magmoor Caverns, burning steam jets out of the molten crust of the area, achieving the same effect as the Overworld’s rain even if its orange texture is reminiscent of Cheeto dust. Gunk spewed out from certain enemies will splatter on the visor, and the biting frost of Phendrana Drifts will obscure Samus’s vision like she’s been ensnared in a block of solid ice. The most impressive visual detail relating to the visor is that whenever the player shoots a burst of energy from Samus’s blaster at a wall, the reflecting light of the shot shows a flash of Samus’s baby-blue eyes from inside of the visor. The developers do their best to envelope the player as Samus and achieve this sensation with meticulous attention to detail.

Traditionally, the intended atmosphere conveyed in a Metroid game is exuded through the areas, either on their individual merits or as a collective. The feeling of discomforting dread is achieved through the game’s progression in that as the player digs deeper into the crevices of uncharted territory, curiosity will proverbially start to kill the cat that is Samus. Or, at least it will gradually dawn on her that her surroundings have become overwhelmingly perilous the further she strays away from her parked ship. In Super Metroid, scrolling down the two-dimensional map of Zebes from the zenith point of the ship almost simulates a literal descent into a harrowing rabbit hole with tinier swathes of respite as Samus continues to burrow. Progress in Metroid Prime couldn’t have been emulated the same way, as tunneling downward consistently in a 3D space would’ve oversimplified the area’s designs. Yet, Metroid Prime attempts to recreate something similar to Super Metroid’s sense of progression all the same, almost to an uncanny extent. Several parallels can be made between Crateria and the Tallon IV Overworld, as they’re both rainy groves marked as “safe zones'' due to their naturalistic environment and calming rate of enemy activity. The main difference is that the Overworld here is expanded to the scale of a fully-fledged area such as Brinstar or Maridia as opposed to the foyer with several branching staircases that was Crateria. Comparisons to Super Metroid’s levels are even clearer when Samus can access the flooded remains of the Frigate Orpheon, located conveniently along the path of the Overworld like the Wrecked Ship was in Crateria. I’m convinced that Magmoor Caverns exists to fill the lava pool level requisite in lieu of Norfair’s absence. Metroid Prime unintentionally flirts with 3D reboot territory by repeating a number of classic level tropes and broadening them to an admirable degree, but it might, unfortunately, indicate that Metroid might be a one-trick pony in how its areas are structured. However, the developers proved this to not be the case by integrating new areas with the traditional ones to still progress the game in a familiar manner.

Chozo Ruins is a sensible next step to the base of the Overworld because the increase in hostility is minuscule. Similarly to the Overworld, the Chozo Ruins are relatively sparse in enemy presence, but I wouldn’t describe the area as tranquil like the Overworld. The aura of stillness in the Chozo Ruins stems from the arid dearth of life in the sandy remnants of the once proud Chozo people. Overgrown, brambly vegetation covers the sublime architecture as scavengers roam the dunes looking for what little nourishment there still is. Chozo Ruins is the graveyard of a formally prosperous civilization and while the eeriness of the site might instill a sense of consternation, the dangers involved are appropriately tepid. Magmoor Caverns and Phendrana Drifts, the two following areas, showcase a particular relationship with each other relating to their elemental themes. As I expressed before, Magmoor Caverns is Tallon IV’s Norfair, only more linear and with a more literal sense of claustrophobia with its cramped corridors. The nearest elevator from the Chozo Ruins exit will take Samus to Phendrana, and the snow-covered winter wonderland seems like a stark contrast to the hellish cesspit of Magmoor where one misstep in the gushing flow of lava could fry Samus in seconds. At first glance, Phendrana seems as blissful as the Overworld, but the 3D space allows an area to district more distinct tropes into an area than seen in Super Metroid. The escalating sense of danger in Metroid Prime seems to be intertwined with the presence of the Space Pirates. Eventually, scrounging around Phendrana will lead Samus to the frigid laboratory where Metroids are housed for experimentation. The awe-inspiring atmosphere from outside drops like a rock as Samus plunges into a chilling facility swarming with Space Pirates. One could argue that the dread of this particular sector of Phendrana might stem from the pitch-black darkness of the second half, but I’d have to disagree using the last area of the game as evidence.

The Phazon Mines are the last area of Tallon IV that Samus encounters, and it’s the point of the game where the consistent difficulty curve rockets off to the moon. The challenge imbalance might be why this area feels so unnerving and if this is so, it’s because the Mines are the base of the Space Pirate’s operation and Samus has found herself in the heart of the hive. Every breed of Space Pirate is here to bushwhack Samus at every waking step, and the infamous trek from the crane site to the Power Bomb room is the epitome of an endurance test. Besides the rich Phazon material radiating in this area’s crust, the Mines are nothing but a barren crater. It’s unsettling how there is no organic life here, only the prevalent corruption of the Space Pirates. The Phazon Mines serve as the pinnacle of Samus’s journey to despair with the same creepy subtitles seen in Super Metroid.

Perhaps the most challenging task in orchestrating the intended progression is rendering the Metroidvania elements in this 3D environment. It’s hard to believe that there aren’t more translations of the traditional 2D Metroidvania tropes in more 3D games because Retro Studios makes the process look effortless. As layered and multifaceted as a Metroidvania’s design might seem, the specific crux of Metroid that cultivates the distinctive progression is simple: Samus gradually regains her misplaced powers. The introduction sequence teases the player with a select few of these powers before stripping them away when Samus is blown back by an explosion. Because the game gives the player a sample taste of Samus’s full capacity, retrieving the upgrades also serves as a great incentive to play through the game. Starting out on the field of Tallon IV, Samus’s arsenal is limited to her standard blaster and piddly single jump, so she is heavily restricted to a very finite range of ground. As par for the Metroidvania course, the few paths Samus can explore are illustrated clearly by the game, so the player shouldn’t find themselves hopelessly lost and confused. They can even use the 3D polygonal map of each area as a helpful reference. One complaint I often see regarding Metroid Prime’s treatment of the Metroidvania progression is that the game makes the objective too obvious by pinpointing it on the map. During the exploration process, a signal will beam onto Samus’s visor with a brief description of the objective and marking the area of interest with a question mark. While doing this might hold the player’s hand to some extent, I’ll excuse it because it ultimately doesn’t force the player to drop their freedom to explore and follow that particular path.

Once the player traverses through the mapped trajectory the game lays out for them, several returning items are translated to Metroid Prime for Samus’s further use in the new 3D environment. Missiles are now designated to their own button on the Gamecube’s controller and still serve as the best complimentary weapon to Samus’s blaster. The implementation of the other familiar power-ups seen in Metroid Prime are quite surprising in that the developers managed to implement them considering that they could’ve compromised on the FPS foundation. Samus’s inhuman flexibility returns with the Morph Ball and when Samus scrunches down to her supernatural fetal position, it’s the only instance where the player sees the game in third-person. Given that a first-person view of Samus rolling around would’ve made everyone bilious, the shift in perspective is reasonable and it manages to work harmoniously in contrast to the normal first-person viewpoint due to the limited array of Morph Ball functions. Morph Ball bombs and Power Bombs are still laid like chicken eggs to blow open cracked crevices, and the Grapple Beam is made possible via the trusty lock-on feature. Sadly, series staples like the Screwattack and the skill-based wall jump had to be scrapped, most likely because their utilization crossed the line of practicality that the others didn’t. Fortunately, the developers realized that Metroid’s 3D space allowed for newfound ingenuity with Samus’s abilities. Regarding the Morph Ball, it seems to be the upgrade most tinkered with for new methods of traversal. Jumping in Morph Ball mode with the spring is no longer an option, but the Morph Ball can boost with built-up inertia, which is mainly used in skill-intensive half-pipe sections to ascend Samus to heights incapable to reach even with the second rocket boot jump. The Spider Ball upgrade magnetizes Samus to a striped rail grid when she’s in the Morph Ball, which carries Samus along its track. Whether using these new upgrades in traversing the map or for retrieving health and missile expansions in obscure crevices, their implementations make for the most circuitous and engaging platform/puzzle sequences.

In previous Metroid titles, every subsequent beam upgrade Samus finds is intended to make the previous one obsolete. In Metroid Prime, the developers decided to incorporate every beam upgrade into a comprehensive arsenal of elements that Samus can alternate with the C-stick. Samus’s neutral Power Beam she begins her adventure with is not perceived as a puny little pea-shooter; rather, its quick release of energy bullet rounds is essential in dealing with groups of smaller enemies throughout the duration of the game. The energized Wave Beam stuns enemies and provides power to deprived energy circuits with a single blast. The fan-favorite Ice Beam returns as the optimal Metroid vanquisher, and the Plasma Beam disintegrates anything Samus shoots. Each beam, except for the Ice Beam, also has its distinctive Super Missile combination. The traditional one is used alongside the Power Beam while the Wavebuster operates as a destructive taser, and the Flamethrower power with the Plasma beam is pretty self-explanatory. The variety of the beams is also integrated into the Metroidvania progression with doors coinciding with a specific beam to shoot and enter. It adds a nifty layer of inhibiting progress, but I wish the door would revert to the standard blue color after being shot with the correlating beam once so I wouldn’t have to shuffle the beams constantly. Samus’s visors are also a vital aspect of Samus’s inventory as she acquires the heat-vision Thermal Visor that spots enemies in the dark and spotting terminals as well as the X-Ray Visor that unveils invisible platforms. The only upgrade that still stacks are the Power suits, as scrolling through multiple of these would be unnecessary. The question pertaining to Samus’s eclecticism here is if it’s an artistic direction from the developers or if 3D now allows for Samus’s tools to coexist. Either way, if the Metroid series insists on shuffling, it’s much less of a hassle here than in Super Metroid.

One alternate visor I glossed over has a particular use outside of traversal and or combat, and that’s the Scan Visor. On the left side of the D-Pad, a widescreen lens will come into view, and the scannable objects are represented by an orange indicator. Using this visor will list a bevy of information about whatever is scanned, which can include practically everything under Tallon IV’s sun. Samus can trace information about enemy properties, items, surfaces, etc. and compile encyclopedias worth of knowledge. The beauty of the Scan Visor is that besides the occasional elevator activation, using it to gather and store information is optional. This includes the nuggets of Chozo lore etched onto the walls of Tallon IV written in some sort of Sumerian-esque hieroglyphics that the Scan Visor automatically interprets upon scanning. The reason why learning about the world of Tallon IV and its history through the player’s wilful volition is that it allows the world-building through exploration to take center stage as it did in Super Metroid. 3D gaming allowed for more cinematic potential, but bloviating on the world’s context in Metroid Prime would’ve nauseatingly swelled the experience.

If one must know the central story of Metroid Prime that the game doesn’t overtly expound on, the Space Pirates have been adulterating the natural ecosystem of Tallon IV with their presence after the events of the first Metroid game. Yes, it appears that not only is Metroid Prime canon to the 2D games, but the series has also caught the timeline bug from The Legend of Zelda, so it’s even more relieving that the player isn’t forced to get caught up in the delirium with pointless exposition. They’ve been farming for a radioactive element called Phazon and using it to conduct madcap mutations on the wildlife of Tallon IV like a gang of Josef Mengeles, namely on the Metroids they fear. The Space Pirates' final goal is to unlock the eponymous Metroid Prime, the source of the toxic Phazon whose impact annihilated the Chozo people. However, it is locked behind twelve artifact keys located throughout Tallon IV, and Samus must retrieve them to destroy Metroid Prime before the Space Pirates get their grubby, maniacal mitts on it.

I’ll use this opportunity to segway into most people's biggest point of contention with Metroid Prime: constantly backtracking through the five areas of Tallon IV. Naturally, a genre that incentivizes exploration and unlocking paths that were once sealed up will involve a heavy roulette of revisitation, and it’s one of the many appeals of the Metroidvania genre. I don’t inherently find backtracking to be tedious but in the case of Metroid Prime’s final fetch quest, it exposes the design flaws of the game’s world. By this point in the game, Samus has acquired every upgrade possible, so she is free to traverse through any nook and cranny in Tallon IV. Ideally, having the ability to access anywhere on the map without complications should allow the player to breeze through sections with shortcuts, but this is seldom the case. It makes the player realize that Tallon IV is designed competently, but not conveniently. Artifacts are equally distributed in every area, including the far-off Phendrana Drifts. From a design standpoint, it makes sense to position this wintery cliff at the apex of the map. Still, the only connecting area on two stretches of the area is Magmoor Caverns, which seems to be the great median of Tallon IV due to having elevators to the three of four branching areas. The revelation that the hot, overlong hallway is a disappointing area started to dawn on me as well, as I intentionally walked through the lava out of impatience upon successive visitations. Also, revisiting Chozo Ruins is made infuriating by the constant goddamn ghost ambushes, so I recommend trekking through Chozo first to save yourself the migraine of their shrill shrieking. Overall, there are still silver linings to this last quest. The player can still sweep up any last expansions along the way. Compared to the appalling fetch quest from Wind Waker released the same year on the Gamecube which had zero redeeming qualities, the one presented here in Metroid Prime seems fine and dandy.

Besides the collecting of expansions throughout the game, the player should be well prepared to fight the title’s namesake at the core of the Impact Crater because the previous bosses have set a significant precedent. Bosses in Metroid Prime remind me less of the ones from Super Metroid and more from The Legend of Zelda because of the way they are dispatched like puzzles as opposed to inflicting rampant firepower on them. Samus’s eclectic arsenal somewhat mirrors Link’s inventory of items in that the intended method of destroying the titanic foes coincides with a specific upgrade that the player will have to solve and dig through their options to defeat the boss. Similarly to Zelda, the solution mostly relates to the recently obtained upgrades. Flaahgra, the direct source of the toxicity of the ruins, needs a combination of the Charge Shot and Morph Ball to defeat while multiple visors are needed for the rock monster Thardus and the burly Omega Pirate. After Ridley stalls Samus by flaunting his new metallic coat of armor, Samus finds herself at the Impact Crater, which strangely resembles the insides of a mouth from a creature so surreal that it’s indescribable. At the core of the crater lies Metroid Prime, and the two-phased boss fight will have Samus shuffling through her weapons and visors like a Las Vegas blackjack dealer. Unlike the Mother Brain fight in Super Metroid, there is no cinematics to bail out the player, as only a proficient understanding of the FPS mechanics and Samus’s arsenal will lead the player to victory. Once Samus conquers the beast’s vulnerable core, another point of innovation commences. Three possible endings will show, and they will depend on the player’s percentage rate of completion. Unfortunately, multiple endings do not work in a series with an overarching plot and protagonist. At least the game got the homage to the timed escape sequence out of the way at the beginning and decided not to use it again at the end, for it would become a tired cliche.

The initial anxieties revolving around Metroid’s launch into the third dimension were unfairly aggrandized to the point of cataclysmic hyperbole, even if some of Nintendo’s ambitions did sound outlandish. The funny thing is that the aspects of innovation planned for Metroid Prime were rightfully outlandish, yet Retro Studios managed to meet Nintendo’s standards and crafted something incredible. For the other 3D debuts in Nintendo’s library, certain restrictions were placed due to a lack of experience developing games in the realm of 3D to make the transitions feasible. Metroid Prime made no compromises and still delivered something beyond any 3D debut’s expectations. One would think there would understandably be cracks to fill for a first 3D outing, but the foundation of Metroid Prime is as solid as a steel skyscraper. Perhaps it’s a testament to the quality of the Gamecube compared to the N64. Still, the fact that Retro Studios crafted something of this caliber only using Super Metroid as a reference AND formulating it into an FPS game is bewildering. All the while, Retro Studios showcased an immense amount of respect for the series which translated into making the game feel as Metroidy as the previous titles. Retro Studios should be uttered in the breath as Orson Welles and Francis Ford Coppola, as they are examples of the rare, Haley's Comet occurrences of making a masterpiece on their first go-around.

Sonic Mania Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 2/12/2023)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Sonic Mania

Developer: Christian Whitehead, Headcannon, PagodaWest Games

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: PC, PS4, Xbox One, Switch

Release Date: August 15, 2017

I often imagine a scene in which a team of penguin-suited executives at Sega pace around a corporate office room, racking their brains on how to reinvigorate Sonic the Hedgehog’s status in the public eye. When the sun rises to signal the dawn of a new day, the exhausted executives decide in their haggard, caffeinated state to stick with the maligned 3D format, adding a new gimmick to the next game to discern it from the previous blunder that spurred this stress-inducing meeting in the first place. After playing a fair selection of games from Nintendo’s former industry rival, I’ve concluded that Sega’s failure can be attributed to an insistence on flaunting a shallow, superfluous style that negates a substance that allowed Nintendo’s titles to remain relevant past their initial buzz. I criticize Nintendo vociferously for their stringent 3D mandate during the N64 era, but Sega has become a worse offender in prolonging this charade. Sega never seems to realize that their insistence on rendering Sonic in the third dimension has further contributed to the mockery of their once beloved blue mascot, and this is coming from someone who would take a bullet to defend both Sonic Adventure titles. It’s simply a bad business decision to ignore that Sonic’s zealous fans all clamor for the classic 2D era that launched Sonic into superstardom, especially since 2D gaming has resurfaced in popularity for the modern gaming zeitgeist. Their dimensional hybrid anniversary title Sonic Generations, merely pussyfooted around the prospect of returning to Sonic’s roots, for 3D Sonic was still given more precedence over his older, quainter 2D counterpart instead of distributing an equal share of both eras. At this point, if Sega weren’t going to bless the deferred Sonic fans with another classic Sonic game, the solution was to make one themselves. Sonic Mania is the result of fans finally satiating their classic Sonic cravings, feeding themselves a lovely home-cooked meal after learning their mom’s old recipe instead of having food delivered.

To call Sonic Mania a long-awaited sequel to the classic Sonic titles is a bit of a misnomer. Instead of being a sequel in the traditional sense of the word, Sonic Mania is a remastered compilation of handpicked levels from the classic Sonic trilogy on the Genesis (plus Sonic CD, imprinting a mark the one Sega CD outlier has even deeper in the golden age of Sonic) with a fresh batch of original levels and composing them into a sequential narrative format that mirrors a concise Sonic title. Once the drooling mob of Sonic fans hears this, their panting anticipation may quickly shift to crestfallen disappointment. Sure, Sonic Mania is a loyal return to form, but to the extent where the game seems like a recycled mishmash of levels we’ve already played ad nauseam? What is Sega trying to pull here? Did they steal modded Sonic levels from the internet and hope their fans wouldn’t be the wiser of their acts of plagiarism? No, they didn’t. In fact, the Sonic origami that makes up Mania’s foundation is one of the most appealing aspects of the game. Christian Whitehead, the lead developer of Sonic Mania, is also notable for developing the mobile ports of the classic Sonic games, implementing the frills of gaming progress, such as save features and multiple characters for a modern audience. Whitehead’s initiative wasn’t only to expose a younger audience to the Sonic games that the older generations praise to the high heavens but to illustrate how simple it is to improve on these rusty relics just by adding the mechanisms these games were deprived of for a smoother experience. Once you research the main developer’s background and see his resume, you understand the mission of Sonic Mania. Perhaps instead of succeeding in the classic Sonic games, Mr. Whitehead is tasked to remedy the shortcomings of the entire era of classic Sonic as a condensed package, the ultimate refurbishing to convince the Sonic skeptics such as myself of his greatness. None of the golden era entries, despite the clear evolution with every subsequent game, ever fully won me over and made me renounce every Nintendo system I’ve ever owned. With the perk of decades worth of progress, maybe Sonic Mania will be the one to do the trick.

Rendering Sonic on the 2D axis once again, as seen in Sonic Generations, made for a satisfactory emulation of his bygone gameplay, but the graphics in 2D Sonic’s levels still shared the same polygonal textures as the Sonic modeled for the 3D environment. 2D Sonic’s graphics verged on the boundaries of the uncanny valley, so Sega’s attempt to recreate those 2D sensibilities never resonated with the classic Sonic fan. Everyone knows that classic Sonic was a pixelated mesh of blue and flesh-colored sprites, and Sonic Mania would be remiss if they adulterated the blue blur’s character design. Sonic looks precisely as he did long ago, and he’s adopted his brow-furrowing determined expression as opposed to the smarmy one from Sonic 3. When he spins dashes, Sonic still revs up and creates friction with his steady inertia, and when he reaches speeds that would make a velocity gun explode, his legs still oscillate wildly like he’s the Road Runner. The key difference in Sonia Mania is the heightened graphical sheen in the pixel art. Sonic, his friends, the levels, and the onscreen layouts, such as the ring and life counters, look so crisp that they make the player feel inclined to make that interjectional “aah” sound of refreshment. Another minute point of visual refinement is making Sonic more expressive. On top of his typical resting face and his shocked death animation we all know, Sonic’s range of gesticulation makes him seem as well animated as a cartoon character. Sonic looks up with more curiosity, he signals the need for speed by mimicking a gesture like he’s going to dart off in his idle animation, and the cutscene where Sonic shakes off a drop of chemical ooze seems like someone motion-captured their dog. The familiar pixelated aesthetic matched with this unfamiliar extent of motion reminds me of the various flash cartoons from Newgrounds, albeit with a much higher budget and without using the animation to make Sonic do and say dirty things.

It’s not only Sonic that looks more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but his friends as well. One of the tenants of renovation Whitehead consistently utilized in porting the classic Sonic games is retroactively adding Tails and Knuckles as playable characters, even if they didn’t exist when those games were published. Instead of hastily causing a severe rift in the Sonic timeline with blatant anachronisms, the impetus behind including Sonic’s oldest buddies in the fray for every port was to diversify the gameplay to achieve a different outcome. Like always, Tails can helicopter himself upwards with his twin back appendages, and Knuckles can glide and climb up walls along with other steep inclines. Tails can also regress back to his role as Sonic’s sycophantic sidekick that constantly drags behind him and mops up the bosses with invincible ease. Whether or not Sonic Mania features co-op and if they’ve granted the second player more of the spotlight with Tails has not been tested yet. On an individual basis, Sonic Mania designs each playable character’s campaign around their respective attributes instead of how the ports implemented them into levels designed for Sonic. Tails can still fly, but his rate of ascension has been reduced exponentially so as not to break the game for the more meager Sonic players to exploit. Knuckles' campaign exhibits slight differences in illustrating the story from his unique perspective, similar to how it was conveyed in Sonic & Knuckles. Alongside Sonic’s best buddies is a litany of forgotten figures from classic Sonic whose presence serves as tokens of fan service. During the boss encounters at the end of the second act of Mirage Saloon, Sonic faces off against a posse of characters that we haven’t seen since Sonic the Fighters in 1996. Sonic Mania’s DLC includes the ability to play as Mighty the Armadillo and Ray the Flying Squirrel, two characters from a ‘90s Sonic arcade game so obscure that only the most seasoned of Sonic nerds will recognize them. One might argue that including too many characters compromises the simplicity of classic Sonic, for adding too many friends to the guest list in Sonic’s later years became a bloated clusterfuck. I assert that if the characters predate the Dreamcast, their presence in a Sonic game that recalls his prime is welcome. This wouldn’t be the case if a fishing section with Big the Cat or Shadow showed up with a 16-bit scowl. As for Amy, who debuted in Sonic CD, her absence here as the green-bloused, bow-wearing classic form escapes me.

More important than anything else that has been overhauled in Sonic Mania are the returning levels. The batch that Whitehead & company have rebrewed for the game is an eclectic mix from the classic Sonic lineup, ranging from fan favorites like Green Hill and Chemical Plant to befuddling picks like Oil Ocean and Lava Reef. All of the classic games are represented here with a fair balance of equality, except for only Green Hill acting as the sole representative from Sonic’s debut. I’d argue that the levels from that game were in the direst need of reevaluating, but perhaps they’re too misshapen to even humor an operation. Hydrocity Zone from Sonic 3 returns to represent Labyrinth Zone in spirit, a revitalized version of the original attempt to make a functioning underwater level after Labyrinth butchered it from Sonic’s start. The polished graphics make each level look splendid, but the developers decided to offer more than the same levels with better visual fidelity. The classic Sonic levels possess the same visuals, platforming tropes, and enemies as they always have, but their layouts have been reconstructed from the ground floor. Cheap deaths from the unyielding days of austere game design are eradicated entirely. That is unless you factor in the strict hitboxes whenever Sonic gets squished between two surfaces, which is still something to be cautious of. While playing the returning levels and reflecting on their original iterations, all of them feel consistently smoother and fitting for a game revolving around the element of speed. Their collective presence in one game has coalesced them all into the most agreeable design philosophy seen across classic Sonic, no matter which game they originated from. Not only that, but the added level gimmicks like the buoyant chemicals in Chemical Plant and the plant platforms in Stardust Speedway fit into the preexisting levels splendidly, as if they were afterthoughts that Sega wished they would have reverted back and added since they were released.

New levels in Sonic Mania are the minority, with a mere four, for rekindling the older levels naturally took higher precedence in a game that harkens back to Sonic’s heyday. If Sonic Mania ever has a direct sequel, I want the developers to fill it to the brim with their own creations because the few here are excellent. Each of the four is beaming with style and deeply encompasses Sonic’s design philosophy. Studiopolis may have been crafted in the 21st century, but its flashy, paparazzi pizzazz screams Sega Genesis. Press Garden is my favorite of the newcomers for its gorgeous, zen forest background setting that looks like a pixelated Jidaigeki film. The oddly named Mirage Saloon is themed after the desert plains of the wild west and all of the culture associated with it. Steam trains, ale barrels, ragtime piano keys, and a pistol that shoots Sonic across the map after it rotates like a duel all make up the foreground of this arid canyon of cacti. Mirage Saloon’s first act even features Tails soaring through the sky on his red biplane with Sonic seated on the helm. Instead of having the player contend with a reimagining of one of the original game’s final levels, the developers inflict their own creation, Titanic Monarch, on the player as the game’s climactic climb. Normally, I’d lambaste this level for its extensive length, precision-based platforming, and obtuse, borderline surreal design in the second act. However, all of this being unique to the game’s final level is a perfect peak for the game’s difficulty curve. If I didn’t know better, I probably couldn’t distinguish the new levels from the old ones because the new ones exude the same amount of care and polish as the returnees, impressively so for their first outings.

Bosses have never been Sonic’s strong suit, and not even the most ardent Sonic fans will argue against this point. Robotnik attempts to destroy Sonic with a roulette of untested gimmicks that all literally blow up in his face. Sonic Mania’s bosses are no different on the Robotnik spectrum, except for that neat little nod to Dr. Robotnik’s Mean Bean Machine at the end of Chemical Plant. What interests me more than the bouts with the flying egg are the level-ending encounters with his robotic minions, for they are richer in variety. A cutscene in Green Hill Zone displays Sonic witnessing a meeting between Robotnik and his motley crew of colored robots, and each of these stocky androids serves as the mini-bosses in the first act of a level before Robotnik’s umpteenth attempt in the second act. One features Sonic running on a blue track at Mach speed, blowing back blue rockets at him while avoiding the red ones. Another is a samurai duel in the frosty woods of Press Garden and the magician robot veils himself as the aforementioned characters from Sonic’s past. The game also includes many creative boss fights that are not explicitly goons of Robotnik, such as the trash compactor and spring spider in Flying Battery and the leaping sandworm in Mirage Saloon. Some bosses are cheeky callbacks to classic Sonic bosses, such as the return of Metal Sonic and the Robotnik drill car and wrecking ball scaled down as toys for Chibi Sonic. My only complaint is that with the game’s more lenient ring collecting after being hit, the player can easily tank the damage the bosses dish out.

That being said, I’m not complaining that the game is too easy. I’ve suffered through so much unfairness in classic Sonic to do an ungrateful 180. A save feature is present and limitless continues, signifying that the Sega genie has granted all of my wishes for a less taxing, excruciating Sonic experience. The player doesn’t even need to partake in the special stages to earn extra lives and use Super Sonic as their inexhaustible juggernaut aid, or at least not in the traditional sense. The developers have evidently borrowed a bit from modern gaming tropes, as collecting all seven chaos emeralds will unlock the game’s final boss, the Egg Reverie. This revelatory completionist task incentivizes the player better than any classic Sonic game has, and even more surprisingly, the special stages are a joyous time. Finding the large golden rings in the levels will transport Sonic to a special stage that uses the UFO-catching template from Sonic CD and shifts it to a race. Sonic amplifies his speed with the blue orbs on the track and extends the time with rings. Not only are they fun, but they are the easiest to accomplish. I was prideful enough when the blue sphere stages netted me one Chaos Emerald in Sonic 3. This time, I am overjoyed to tell you that I collected all seven Chaos Emeralds in Sonic Mania. It’s an accomplishment I’ll print out and put next to my college degree.

By Jove, I think they’ve done it. I am in love with a classic Sonic game after the series has left me skeptical of its legacy. Am I now going to declare my newfound love for Sonic by sketching childish fanart of him and my own original hedgehog character, as well as sculpting plastic medallions of his visage? No, but now I can still appreciate and admire the depth and fluidity of classic Sonic’s level design more than I ever did. I now understand what the slightly older crowd, mostly my cousin, loved about classic Sonic, and those same people facilitated their love for it with this bundled tribute to the blue blur. With some love and polish, Sonic Mania has recreated what fans see behind their rose-tinted nostalgia glasses, validating their views and changing mine in the process.

Mega Man Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 2/8/2023)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Mega Man

Developer: Capcom

Publisher: Capcom

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: NES

Release Date: December 17, 1987

Mega Man is probably the most alluring video game character conceived on paper. Mario might be the undisputed king of the gaming medium, but can you imagine pitching the concept of Mario to a producer? Two Italian brothers stomp on walking mushrooms and turtles on a quest to save a princess from a spiky dinosaur, and who also moonlight as plumbers? The producers would accuse you of being on drugs and not jokingly like we’ve come to do with Mario’s content. They would kick you out onto the streets for wasting their time. The Legend of Zelda’s premise is more traditional, but the high fantasy realm might have alienated potential gamers that would stick their noses up at the “nerdy” tropes associated with that genre of fiction. Mega Man, on the other hand, has a broad appeal that entices the general demographic of gamers, especially in the 1980s. Mega Man is a science-fiction story that stars a plucky robot boy who shoots other robots with blasts of energy that jet out of his arm cannon. Which of these games sounds like the money maker? Capcom most likely greenlit Mega Man in a matter of seconds. In some alternate timeline, I’m certain that Mega Man reigns supreme over all of his contemporaries as the Mickey Mouse of the medium. Here, Nintendo beat him to the punch with Mario a few years prior. Admittedly, Mega Man’s 2D platformer foundation wouldn’t have been the same if it didn’t have Mario as a template to ape. Still, there was something fresh and invigorating about how Mega Man translated that template into a high-octane experience that oozed a level of adrenaline that Mario didn’t. As it stands in this timeline, it’s evident that I’m not the only person who sees something special in Mega Man, as Capcom’s boy wonder has spawned innumerable sequels and spin-offs that all capture that lightning-fueled action that initially made the blue bomber a smash success in the 8-bit era. If only Capcom had kept up that momentum, he’d still be a worthy contender today. Mega Man’s 1987 debut on the NES proved right out of the gate that Capcom had a bonafide hit on their hands, but it’s also apparent from his launch title that Capcom had a ways to go before their new IP could be confidently waved around as their flagship franchise.

On top of his gameplay radiating more pizzazz than Mario, Mega Man also matched him in mascot potential. There were other third-party 2D platformers on the NES revolving around fast-paced shooting gameplay, but the playable characters in these games lacked a certain charisma that conversely made a character like Mario stand out in the public consciousness of late 80’s gaming. Could anyone name the two dudes from Contra off the tops of their heads without racking their brains? Bionic Commando is a title, not the name of a character to get attached to. Fortunately for Capcom, Mega Man managed to be the best of both worlds. How ironic is it that a cyborg exudes the most personality from a design standpoint? His wide-eyed, Astro-Boy expression was the most detailed face on the NES in the late ’80s, and Mega Man even does an open-faced smile every time he jumps. At least, I believe he’s smiling. It’s still hard to tell with 8-bit graphics. All things considered, it’s still impressive that Capcom rendered a personable protagonist with rudimentary hardware, as every playable character beforehand required a heavy suspension of disbelief that they were even human.

Mega Man should be relieved that his design is rich in charm because his origin was rife with translation complications. If you think the silly typo that changed “Monkey Kong” to “Donkey Kong” was the most unfortunate instance of a character getting muddled during their trip overseas, Mega Man’s entire identity was shifted exponentially. For those who don’t know, Mega Man’s canon name in his native Japan is “Rockman,” which explains why his sister is named Roll to a confused Yankee such as myself. While the Japanese developers kept his original name, the English translators opted for the more alliterative Mega Man, which is what the Anglosphere has known him for decades. I’m not certain if it’s due to my familiarity as an American, but I much prefer the name Mega Man. The adjective “mega” carries a mighty ambiguity instead of chaining the blue bomber’s identity down to an arbitrary element/object.

I’m glad this translation snag has persisted, but I cannot say the same for the garbled mess that could’ve become Mega Man’s plot over here in the west. Mega Man’s story, like many of his NES contemporaries, is a narrative formula that has been exhausted over the course of a dozen subsequent entries. Mr. Light, Mega Man’s benevolent creator that looks like Santa Claus in a lab coat, has transformed the then futuristic 21st century into the idyllic society of robots performing 100% of the manual labor, a future that we are still striving for in 2023. Dr. Light’s maniacal colleague Dr. Wiley has exploited this burgeoning premise by turning six of Dr. Light’s robots into subservient minions that do his bidding to take over the world. To combat Wiley’s nefarious goals, Dr. Light transforms his domestic sweeping robot Rock into a soldier capable of defeating the madman, hence another reason why changing his name to Mega Man was a spectacular idea to highlight his transformation (but the same was not given to his sister Roll? Are we to infer that women are only built for the home by the sexist Dr. Light?). The American translators follow closely, only with their world being named “Monsteropolis” and having Dr. Wily as Light’s disgruntled lab assistant. Either way, the two iterations of the story don’t impact the game, for the exposition is only detailed in its manuals. The Japanese origin story and plot for the first game is now canon across every nation worldwide, ignoring the unnecessary nonsense we Americans added for no discernable reason. As for the American box art that depicts a disturbingly realistic Mega Man, I’d rather not dwell on something that gives me the creeps. It’s obvious that the Japanese one showcases an accurate illustration of Mega Man.

Another reason why Mega Man is a more suitable moniker for Capcom’s action hero is that “Rockman” could be a potential identity for a “robot master.” There are six rogue robots under Wily’s control, and are an eclectic bunch with their own elemental themes. The player must take note of these themes because it is a substantial aspect of any Mega Man game’s progression. A monumental stride in gaming innovation that Mega Man pioneered is the player’s ability to choose any of the six levels at will from the start menu instead of the linear level progression with an incremental difficulty curve seen across every other game at the time. Choosing any level from the get-go is a liberating prospect, but an underlying aspect to succeeding in Mega Man is the sufficient order to tackle the robot masters based on their elements. The game doesn’t direct the player on the breeziest path to defeating them all, nor does it explain why a contrived order is imperative. Once Mega Man defeats a robot master, he absorbs their power to use of his own volition, coinciding with the energy meter displayed alongside his health. That’s another mark of gaming ingenuity that Capcom devised before Nintendo did. Suck it, Kirby (no pun intended). Firstly, there is the matter of which robot master to encounter when all Mega Man has on his person is his piddly pea-shooter. Cut Man is a reasonable first foe because he takes the most damage with the standard blaster, but I always insist on pursuing Bomb Man first because of his spacious arena and simple attack patterns. The brilliance lies in the player having the flexibility to choose without a clear outline as long as they see the stark difference in damage using the correct special weapon on a specific robot master. As for the other robot masters, Elecman, Iceman, and Fireman, all have themes that the player can make an educated guess on their order based on elemental tropes. I guess Guts Man is the wild card of the bunch?

As for the levels leading up to the robot masters, they equally share the same amount of rough level obstacles in their own unique ways. Mega Man is a game that, by all means, should foster a more accessible experience compared to its contemporaries on the NES. Mega Man is responsive and can easily maintain a smooth momentum, his projectile blaster ensures a spatial divide between himself and his enemies, and he can be hit several times before dying, which can already be staved off by the number of health items found on the field and in pickups from enemies. While the game doesn’t offer a save system or even a password to recover their progress, it at least offers unlimited continues. However, for all of Mega Man's perks, it severely punishes the player for their mistakes. Enemy damage isn’t too much of a prime concern unless it accumulates. The game mostly penalizes the player with its array of spike pits and bottomless pits. Every other screen on Bomb Man’s stage features a sunken crater that could lead to Mega Man’s thorny demise. The start of Guts Man’s stage involves platforming on nothing but a series of pulleys that periodically collapse when it reaches a crack in the foundation. Climbing up the towering ladders in Elec Man’s stage can be halted by the parallel shockwave blasts of green, egg-shaped robots, and the Bunby Heli enemies of Cut Man’s stage have the unpredictable airborne trajectory of a pissed-off hornet. The reappearing block platforming challenges are another aspect of Mega Man’s gameplay that was cemented in the gaming lexicon for the duration of the pixelated 2D era. Their patterns in Iceman’s stage are incredibly obtuse and require steep precision.

I can’t fault the game too harshly for any of this, for none of this is more demanding than the typical 2D platformer on the NES. However, all of this culminates in an unfair level of bullshit in the latter half of the game. Once all six robot masters are defeated, an icon appears in the middle of the screen with Dr. Wily’s ugly mug on it. Selecting this new level takes Mega Man to the climactic point of facing Dr. Wily in his daunting fortress. The ascent up to the pinnacle of fighting Dr. Wily is divided into four sections. The first is a rampant spike in difficulty so severe that it’s fundamentally broken. Firstly, Mega Man will be greeted by those hopping juggernaut enemies that defend the entrances of each robot master’s lair. Considering that these enemies will stomp off a hefty fraction of Mega Man’s health and the screen will hastily respawn them, a logical solution is to freeze them with the Ice Slasher. Before the player has time to pride themselves on being so clever, the game punishes them with an obstacle that involves creating platforms by freezing wavering flame pillars. If the player can’t time a perfect shot with all three, the depletion of the Ice Slasher energy forces them to waste all of their lives to restore it. The following screens show a spring enemy guaranteed to hit Mega Man and knock him off the ladder he’s climbing. Given that Mega Man tumbles as hard as a fainting goat, the player will likely be killed by the pit of spikes below. Behind a series of chunky blocks in Elec Man’s stage that can be manipulated by Guts Man’s power is the Magnet Beam, the one extra weapon in the game. This weapon makes mitigating the grueling sections featuring the disappearing blocks and other finicky parts of the game a cinch, so it comes recommended. Despite the apparent appeal of this weapon, the game dupes the player into thinking it's optional. Unless Mega Man can spontaneously rocket himself upward like he isn’t subject to the weight of gravity in one particular room in Wily’s Castle, this item is required to finish the game. If it’s not in the player’s possession, they have to burn their lives and replay Elec Man’s stage. Harsh penalties are one thing, but the jagged game design that conflicts with the game’s liberal design is unforgivable.

Once the player survives the fractured fuckery, the dark arena at the end introduces the game’s final boss: The Yellow Devil. Obviously, he isn’t actually the game’s final boss as Wily is still the end target that ends the story. He’s figuratively the final boss because his fight is infamous for the shockingly brutal level of skill needed to defeat him. If Wily's domain is a club, then the Yellow Devil is the big bouncer with his arms crossed, ready to pounce on undesirables. The yellow mass of globular matter has a consistent pattern of physically composing himself and opening his menacing, singular eye for a measly laser shot. However, the speed at which he reforms his body is so swift that dodging it will make the player feel like they’re trying out for American Ninja Warrior, and the opening he grants the player is as brief as a blink. I’d instead plunge down into the seventh circle of hell to face the real biblical Devil wearing Sean Connery’s costume from Zardoz with nothing but a pair of nunchucks as my weapon than fight this bright abomination fairly. That’s the keyword: fairly. You see, the game offers two separate pause screens, one with the weapons menu and a more traditional still image. Millions of gamers found that exploiting the latter with Elec Man’s power decimates the Yellow Devil with some precise timing. Yes, I resorted to this infamous trick because I am a mere mortal man who should be excused for being unable to vanquish an otherworldly being like a Devil. Barely anything after the Yellow Devil is of consequence, not even Dr. Wily’s pathetic final fight. The Yellow Devil is the penultimate challenge in the first Mega Man title, exposing the faulty fabric of the game negatively and positively.

The first outing of Capcom’s blue boy generated a whirlwind of mixed emotions. On the one hand, the game introduced a bevy of stellar mechanics and gameplay attributes unseen across any other game on the NES that would greatly influence a vast number of new IPs, such as a non-linear level select option and the invigorating platform challenges. On the opposite side of the spectrum, all of these are implemented very shoddily by the developers, most likely a case of overstepping one's ambitions. I wouldn’t say that Mega Man 1 is unfinished or unplayable. All the game needs is a considerable polish job, and then Mega Man can shine at its full potential. Eating a fish raw is unpleasant, but it is a delectable feast once cooked and seasoned.

Kirby Super Star Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 2/5/2023)

[Image from igdb.com]

Kirby Super Star

Developer: Hal Laboratory

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: SNES

Release Date: March 21, 1996

Is ending a console’s life with a Kirby title considered an instance of “going out with a bang?” Similarly to Kirby’s Adventure on the NES, Kirby Super Star was released on the subsequent console, the SNES, at the tail end of that console's lifespan. Most likely, the pattern of releasing a mainline Kirby game in a console’s twilight years is like receiving ice cream after a hectic bout of surgery. In this context, the surgery is a torrent of pain and misery brought upon by the ruthless games of the pixelated eras of gaming. Only now, gamers were subjected to five(+) years of 16-bit agony with additional frills like the ubiquity of save files and relatively better game design. All things considered, this period proved to be much more lenient and understanding to a player’s personal welfare compared to the rudimentary rigidity of the previous generation. Still, the SNES library was filled with excruciating titles that made gamers thrash around in a blood-boiling rage and spew some unholy curses. Another Nintendo console was ready to wave bon voyage and roll out the red carpet for Nintendo’s next venture into the third dimension. Before this ambitious escapade, Nintendo once again needed to treat their wounded to the delightful dessert of a 16-bit Kirby to make them smile again. Naturally, Kirby Super Star would have to raise the stakes of how it patched up the SNES era. The lesions inflicted on gamers during this period weren’t as severe or consistant compared to the previous one. Still, fresh wounds that seem benign at first have the potential to become severe and shouldn't be brushed aside, and attending these wounds would be especially imperative on a new part of the body. Therefore, Kirby’s lightheartedness and breezy difficulty still had a place in the SNES library. Like every other next-generation Nintendo sequel from an IP that debuted on the NES, Kirby Super Star was yet another refurbished successor that built upon the NES title with the graphic fidelity doubled. Even with a game as gentle as Kirby’s Adventure, Kirby Super Star still needed to enhance the easy experience with the same level of polish and augmentation given to all of the other SNES sequels.

A logical first step, as always, in the advancement process when transferring over to a technically superior system is enhancing the graphics. Already, the graphics of Kirby’s Adventure were a console-grade enhancement to his black and white debut on the original Gameboy. The land of Dreamland looked depleted by the most primitive hardware ever produced by Nintendo. Translating it to the industry standard of a home console allowed it to flourish as an ethereal, candy-coated paradise in Kirby’s Adventure. Kirby Super Star is the third mark of Dreamland’s radical evolution in showcasing its visuals. With a 16-bit aesthetic in Kirby Super Star, Kirby’s fantastical homeland naturally looks spectacular on a technical level. The moderate sepia overtone from Kirby’s Adventure that I hadn’t even noticed until playing Kirby Super Star has been refined into an aesthetic that is as lurid as it is decadently charming. All the delectable elements that make up the foregrounds and backgrounds pop with striking color. It’s almost as if the developers saw that Kirby’s Adventure was covered in dust, blowing off the airy detritus for Kirby Super Star and revealing the full splendor of its majesty.

Kirby’s gameplay is still simple enough where a rehaul is unnecessary. Sure, it’s broken when considering the laws of physics that other platformer protagonists have to adhere to that Kirby doesn’t, but Kirby’s idiosyncratic capabilities are at least rendered competently. If they weren’t, the intended ease at which his games are to be played would be awkwardly compromised. The gluttonous gumball still moves from point A to B on the X-axis, keeping himself afloat by engorging himself with oxygen while flapping his piddly little protuberances on both sides. What Kirby Super Star decides to tackle in changing Kirby’s already solidified mechanics is quality of life improvements that flesh out the simplicities of the NES for a more capable generation. Kirby’s consistent six points of health that would deplete one at a time no matter what Kirby came in contact with have been shifted into a red health bar that decreases depending on the severity of the damage. If the player somehow tumbles off the map and dies, it's alarming how quickly Kirby’s health bar plummets. To accompany the more complex health system, the amount of food items that restore Kirby’s health has been increased to the size of a buffet. Alongside the fully restorative Maximum Tomatoes are delectable hamburgers, ice cream, fruit, and Japanese food items that all replenish a range of Kirby’s health. It’s a wonder how Kirby does not cramp up while flying on account of how many calories he can consume on the field. Overall, the health system is a minor change in Kirby’s evolution that most likely couldn’t have been implemented on the NES.

Of course, Kirby’s other ability better associated with his unique array of attributes is using his swirling black hole of a mouth to vacuum up unsuspecting victims and emulate their respective powers. Kirby Super Star would’ve faltered if it omitted what Kirby’s Adventure had introduced. Executing Kirby’s iconic offensive move is essentially the same as in the previous game. Still, the developers decided to alter a few aspects of his innate ability along with its usage of it. Surprisingly, the number of copy abilities in Kirby Super Star is less than in Kirby’s Adventure. While this prospect may seem underwhelming at first glance, the developers ultimately did this to trim the fat from the playing field. For instance, having both a “freeze” and “ice” ability with two separate enemies seemed redundant, so the developers converged the two into an ice ability that encompasses the elements of both that Kirby obtains after sucking up the enemy that looks like a snowman. Plenty of familiar powers from Kirby’s Adventure are also treated to a broader extent of practical uses, such as the hammer now having the ability to charge and a vertical swing move where Kirby spins it while running. New abilities include the swift Ninja, the reflective Mirror, the makeshift Jet that allows Kirby to zoom around like he’s using a jetpack, etc. It’s difficult to say if these moves were too advanced for Kirby’s Adventure to handle. Still, the fortunate aspect of debuting in Kirby Super Star means they are granted a multifaceted range of properties and uses from the start. The only confusing misfortune in Kirby Super Star is that the laser ability is gone, yet the enemies that harbored it in Kirby’s Adventure are still present. How else will Kirby bust a cap in his foes? Plus, Kirby now has a defensive blocking ability, but I never felt the need to use it because the copy abilities still act as offensive juggernauts.

The most essential quality of life addition in Kirby Super Star relating to his copy ability is that players can change which ability they use of their own volition. In Kirby’s Adventure, the only method of changing up Kirby’s ability was to receive damage, which would knock the ability out of Kirby and materialize into a star that would bounce around the room until the player decided to suck it back up and use the ability again. Given that there are a plethora of abilities to experiment with, I found it awkward and unfair for the player to harm themselves by shuffling the various properties that Kirby could receive. Fortunately, thanks to additional buttons on the SNES controller, Kirby can toss his current ability and neatly leave it as a hat on the ground for possible recovery. The game also allows Kirby to keep his current ability until he is hit multiple times instead of just once, so every little snag and inconvenience won’t eject an ability without haste. Once Kirby removes his current ability, the player is introduced to the game’s most radical feature: helpers. The enemy that coincides with Kirby's ability to fling off his person materializes as a CPU, following Kirby around and dealing damage to enemies with their innate abilities. The helpers almost seem grateful to be given a chance to be at Kirby’s side after he swallowed them out of existence, for the AI is especially aggressive towards enemies to the point of being careless. I guess this is why the enemies have pet-like names such as Sir Kibble, Rocky, and Bonkers, reflecting their subservient relationship to Kirby. The helpers get so gung-ho in aiding Kirby that their existence tends to be ephemeral, collapsing in a red, frantic frenzy before they poof into the ether. To (ideally) ensure that the partners stick around longer, another human player can pick up the controller and man the helper character. The cooperative play in Kirby Super Star falls on the spectrum of the first player as Kirby receives far more precedence, but not to the extent where the camera will forsake the second player like it does to Tails in a Sonic game. A human partner may not charge at the battalions of Dreamland’s creatures without care, but at least their caution will keep them alive for longer. If that fails, Kirby can replenish his helper’s health…by kissing them. I guess it’s only gay if you make it so...

All and all, Kirby Super Star sounds like the typical hard reboot that was commonplace across most SNES sequels to NES games, given all I’ve detailed. However, Kirby Super Star avoids the distinction of being a turbo remake with how the game is structured. On the game’s box, Nintendo places a banner below the logo exclaiming that Kirby Super Star is “8 games in one!,” creating a sense of dread for anyone who has even heard of Action 52. Fortunately, this is just a case of hyperbolic marketing on Nintendo’s part. Kirby Super Star is segmented into eight parts that act as an individual campaigns. It’s the most distinctive element of Kirby Super Star that separates it from Kirby’s Adventure from a narrative aspect, but it’s also the game’s most significant detriment.

The game’s main menu presents four main campaigns to the player once they begin, with two obscured campaigns on the menu that must be unlocked by finishing the others. Initially, the first campaign, “Spring Breeze,” in Kirby Super Star is a duplicate of the first world in Kirby’s Adventure, fighting that damn apple tree Wispy once again and finishing off King Dedede as soon as the first campaign. It’s a wonder why we give him the status of Kirby’s prime antagonist, considering how insignificant he seems to be across Kirby’s titles. “Dyna Blade” upholds the same Kirby traditions, only now with some narrative weight behind the encounter with the titular metallic bird as the campaign’s final boss and organizing each level with a Mario-esque world map. It isn’t until “The Great Cave Offensive” that the player is faced with a gameplay premise so unorthodox that I thought it was an optional mode like “Gourmet Race” and the two mini-games in smaller tabs at the bottom of the menu (why is Gourmet Race optional if it’s front and center with everything else?) Dear lord, I wish that it was. “The Great Cave Offensive” is a more patient trek through labyrinthian passageways, searching door by door for the eventual exit. The player also intends to collect treasure along the way, but doing so doesn’t seem to net them anything other than chuckle at some items acting as references to other Nintendo games with arbitrarily high monetary values. I don’t dislike “The Great Cave Offensive” because it’s easy to get lost, but because the methodical pacing in nothing but confined spaces is counterintuitive to Kirby’s free-flowing, liberal gameplay. Implementing these spaces among the vast, open plains of Dreamland shows nuance in the level design, but The Great Cave Offensive overstays with its ambition. It amounts to nothing but a tedious slog.

I’ve given up on ranting about how Kirby games are painfully easy, for I have realized that this is like complaining that water is wet. Considering the campaign format, I think the developers could’ve instilled one continue per campaign, forcing the player not to take the smattering of extra lives and items in Kirby for granted. Alas, my ideas in making Kirby more engaging would fall on deaf ears at Hal Laboratory, and the game still gives the player unlimited continues with checkpoints galore. However, I can still fault a Kirby game for misleading the player concerning its difficulty. Each campaign features a difficulty rating represented by stars on a maximum scale of five. “Spring Breeze” is a one out of five, “Dyna Blade” a three, and “The Great Cave Offensive” an asinine four. I was led to believe that the unlockable campaigns would be much more difficult, which was affirmed by the increased number of stars. In reality, the preemptive notions given by the game were misleading. “Revenge of Meta Knight '' shows the return of Kirby’s sword-wielding rival when Kirby arrives on his ship to take him down. As amusing as the agitated banter between Meta Knight’s crew is, as well as the epic scale of Kirby’s one-man army infiltration, I never had to worry about the consistently declining timer, not even during the escape sequence. The last level, “Milky Way Wishes,” is introduced with a disconcerting disclaimer that Kirby must complete the level without using special abilities. I thought the game was finally offering a climactic challenge that tested my skills, but the game didn’t disclose that Kirby would simply be unable to take enemies' properties by sucking them up. Instead, a series of powers would be secured for the campaign's duration after defeating the bosses. Somehow, picking and choosing the abilities in wheel roulette makes Kirby’s gameplay even easier. Five out of five stars, my ass. At least Marx, the game’s final boss, manages to be a formidable final foe, even with the array of abilities on hand. The only substantial challenge Kirby Super Star provides is a boss gauntlet after the game ends. Is this enough to quell my thirst for Kirby to kick my ass a little? The answer is reasonably so.

By all means, Kirby Super Star should be superior to Kirby’s Adventure. Like every other SNES sequel, it has no excuse not to be. Any game on the advanced hardware of the SNES inherently makes for a better experience, even if it’s not warranted by reflecting on a faulty gameplay template like with Kirby. All of the efforts that have gone into streamlining and expanding Kirby’s gameplay, as minimal as it may seem, are welcome additions that ultimately enhance Kirby. However, I still feel Kirby’s Adventure is a more concise Kirby game because it isn’t fractured into pieces like Kirby Super Star. The developers did this to discern it from its predecessor, but in execution, the player is given a more nebulous idea of what Kirby is. Ironically, Kirby Super Star is considered the pinnacle of the floating gumball's games. It still encompasses what makes Kirby fun for a mass audience, but how the game presents itself is still perplexing.