Metroid II: Return of Samus Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 3/22/2024)

[Image from igdb.com]

Metroid II: Return of Samus

Developer: Nintendo

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Action-Adventure

Platforms: Gameboy

Release Date: November 1, 1991

Metroid’s debut on the NES possessed plenty of unique and admirable elements, hence why it has influenced countless subsequent video games since its release. However, I grant the first Metroid game much less clemency than its fellow Nintendo icons during their freshmen years because navigating through the hostile hedge maze of an alien planet was too absurdly rigorous a task while being rendered in 8-bit graphics. It’s a brilliant idea whose execution in this vestigial era of gaming couldn’t possibly have been feasible, which is probably what inspired so many imitators to replicate its design philosophy when the gaming hardware could emulate it effectively. Because I’m already adamantly critical of a Metroid game on the NES, you can imagine why I’ve avoided its sequel on the original Gameboy like the plague. If Metroid on the NES is aggravatingly primitive as is, imagine how it would be downscaled on a handheld. It’s something I’ve shuttered to comprehend for some time now. However, Metroid II: Return of Samus on the original Gameboy is still an essential piece of the franchise’s evolutionary history, so I feel obligated not to eschew it from my gaming repertoire. Upon playing a game akin to eating my Brussels sprouts, I was surprised to find more positive aspects of Metroid II than I initially anticipated. Do these additions and rearrangements make Metroid II more pleasant than its console predecessor? Uh…

As detailed in the game’s manual, Metroid II is a direct sequel to the original Metroid in that its narrative follows the events of the first game when Samus defeated Mother Brain on Zebes. Now, the Galactic Federation is taking the fight to the metroid’s home planet of SR388 to exterminate the intergalactic parasites, ensuring that the dastardly Space Pirates will never harness their deadly biological properties ever again. However, upon storming the hive, an entire fleet of Federation mercenaries goes missing. Evidently, not even a gang of men can be relied on to do a woman’s job, so the Federation assigns Samus the intrepid mission of causing the metroid’s abrupt extinction. Future Metroid games would utilize the premise of invading an enemy hive as a climactic point, but Metroid II revels in the thrill of infiltration for the duration of the game. Because entering the heart of the threat is more of an intimate attack, Metroid II immediately raises the stakes of the narrative compared to the previous game.

The first Metroid certainly portrayed the dim nothingness of space effectively with its blank, black backgrounds setting the scene, whether it was an intentional artistic display from the developers or an inadvertent advantage of the NES’s primitiveness. At least the unseeable abyss of the backgrounds was contrasted with a pleasantly diverse color palette that gave the foregrounds their discernibility. Little known fact about the original Gameboy model, the handheld was so rudimentary that it could not support colors, so every game was rendered in stark black and white like the golden age of Hollywood. While the lack of colorization wouldn’t necessarily impact a Mario or Zelda game on the go, Metroid suffers completely. Contrasting a completely black background with white amongst grainy shades of more black turns any game into a graphical slurry thick as pea soup. Some later versions of Metroid II provide color where the foreground of SR388 is a cool blue, with Samus sporting her trademark red power suit with tinges of yellow. Still, the improved color scheme is only marginally less monochromatic than its original in black and white or the other version where it is shaded in a blanched, greenish-brown. To compensate for the lack of graphical discernibility, Metroid II’s camera perspective for the player is zoomed in to the point where it feels as if Samus’s body takes up half of the screen. I appreciate the consideration that Samus wouldn’t be sighted as easily from afar in black and white, but it’s a tad too close for my comfort threshold.

Considering that Metroid II couldn’t possibly stand up as a bonafide sequel to the NES Metroid with graphical enhancements, the developers sure did attempt to amend the awkward regression of hardware with several quality-of-life enhancements. Then again, the first Metroid was in desperate need of these enhancements anyway, so they were ultimately still a necessity even if Metroid’s sequel was on the same system. Firstly, the ability to aim Samus’s blaster in more directions than horizontally and vertically is a blessing. With a flexible dexterity that allows Samus to aim downward in the air, Samus is much less vulnerable and will take less unfair damage because the blind spot has been rectified. Acquiring energy tanks and missile upgrades will no longer involve borderline sequence breaking, although the paths to a number of them will sometimes be behind illusory walls like a number of upgrades throughout the games of this era. Most importantly, save stations are strewn aplenty as well as places to replenish health and missile ammunition, mitigating the need for an excruciating grinding session shooting at enemies to stave off dying and reverting all the way back to the beginning (which is now defined as where Samus parks her ship). If the Gameboy could implement a functional save feature, what’s the excuse for the NES rarely offering one? Outside of my general delight that all of these features heightened Metroid II’s accessibility, what surprised me was how many of Metroid’s power-ups made their debut here. The Spider Ball climbs up the coarse terrain of the metroid’s home planet as smoothly as seen in other Metroid iterations, and the same goes for the Spring Ball that jumpstarts Samus in ball form as sprightly as a reflex test. I had no idea that something as dangerous and erratic as the Screwattack could be implemented onto something as fragile and unsophisticated as the Gameboy but nevertheless, Samus is able to spin herself airborne with deadly energy to her heart’s content. The new spazer and plasma beams accompany the returning ice and wave beams, but Metroid II continues the problem from the previous game in that these beams cannot be alternated in an inventory of sorts.

You know what other feature Metroid II continues to omit? In all their wisdom and experience, Nintendo still did not find a map to be an indispensable facet of their exploration-intensive IP with cramped corridors galore and a smattering of secret upgrades. If I were on the decision board, I’d heavily protest. The visually muted depiction of this (literally) uncharted planet is really an insult to injury. Also, to compound how egregious this glaring oversight is, SR388’s world here is at least three times larger than Zebes. Have fun trying not to struggle at every waking moment trying to find your position in relation to where you’re intended to go. While the exclusion of a map is still just as unacceptable, at least SR388 is constructed a bit more prudently than the series of stairs and hallways that was Zebes. SB388 is organized incrementally, meaning that the entirety of one section has to be completed in order to proceed to the next one. Once everything is cleared out, the game gives them an indication to move onward: shaking the map like an earthquake, signifying that another section has been unearthed. Still, not providing a map for this instance renders this neat progression point moot because it’s incredibly unclear where the next area is.

Constantly scrambling to find the next area notwithstanding, how does one progress through the catacombs of the metroid’s home planet? When I stated that Samus’s mission was to eradicate all Metroids from the galaxy, this isn’t merely a narrative catalyst. Forty metroids have hatched from their cocoons like caterpillars and the overarching quest of Metroid II is to eliminate all of them. However, these are not the same jelly-headed brain suckers seen in the first game (and the ones we’ve become familiar with through subsequent titles). The homebound metroid resembles something of an intergalactic hornet, also buzzing around with the aggression of one once they encounter Samus. As Samus continually blasts them to bits, the genome of the metroid species is going to adapt to Samus’s opposition, scrolling down the letters of the Greek alphabet for categorization. The Zeta and Omega metroids that Samus will eventually be forced to contend with will look gnarlier, uncategorizable space monsters. However, their formidability will only prove to be an aesthetic evolution as a few missiles will still be the tried and true formula for this “superior” genetic line of metroids as it was for the Alpha and Gamma ones. Defeating them will always be a facile undertaking, but I cannot proclaim relief for the challenge of finding all of these bastards without a map. I can’t even begin to count how many times I’d scour the map frantically if I missed one. Anytime I eventually found the untouched metroid, I always felt my efforts were due to dumb luck.

It isn’t until the final boss against the Metroid Queen that Metroid II offers something on this planet that Samus won’t be able to gun down in a matter of seconds. This monstrous matriarch isn’t the overwhelming endurance test that Mother Brain proved to be, but its retractable head and screen-spanning spike balls it regurgitates is bound to graze many unknowing players. Instead of a spontaneous self-destruct sequence occurring as a falling action, Samus looks behind the remains of the final boss to find an egg on the verge of hatching. Suddenly, a little metroid hatchling in the classic model appears, but it does not approach Samus with the same hostility as the adult ones Samus has been laying waste to. Samus takes the little guy back to her ship at a leisurely pace, and the process of walking this unexpectedly cute and docile baby metroid like a pet is quite gleeful. It almost gives some perspective on how dangerous the metroids really are despite what the narrative has been feeding us. A nature versus nurture argument, or maybe it turns into a monster when its innocence is inevitably lost somehow.

Was it really necessary to put the sequel to Metroid on the Gameboy? Nintendo’s first console overstayed its welcome far past its commercial peak of the late 1980s well into the next generation, so why couldn’t Metroid II have joined its predecessor on the same system? Metroid II would have benefited greatly from being developed on a more reliable and stable piece of hardware because it should by all means be unequivocally better than the first game with all of its successful advancements. However, the opaque, black-and-white graphics, uncomfortable angle of sight, and no map to reference for progression yet again make Metroid II nauseating. At least some of these issues could've been remedied on a home console. The next game in the Metroid series was when the series definitively joined the primetime of gaming royalty, but it’s a shame to think that it potentially could’ve happened three years sooner if a mechanically inferior Nintendo product didn’t mar Metroid II.

Shadow of the Colossus Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 3/16/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Shadow of the Colossus

Developer: Japan Studio

Publisher: SCE

Genre(s): Action-Adventure

Platforms: PS2

Release Date: October 18, 2005

One popular topic of conversation usually reserved for a focus group or a conversational ice breaker is which of our artistic achievements we’d present to visiting or invading extraterrestrials if the opportunity arises. For this hypothetical scenario, we are the arbiters of refined culture, disregarding the adulation of works with several accolades under their belts and peerless acclaim that would objectively serve as representation. So really, the choices ultimately boil down to one’s own personal favorites. A small, but fervid, selection of one’s objective taste regarding this question is quite distressing if one ponders the implications of such a task, for the alien species might not perceive the works with the same level of enthusiasm and see an individual's preferences as indicative of the entirety of humankind. Or, they could just be unfeeling philistines ready to annihilate or enslave us at the pull of a laser gun trigger regardless of what we’ve accomplished in the realm of art and entertainment. For us gamers, the scope of this hypothetical scenario has to be scaled down, for we already have trouble convincing other human beings that video games are a legitimate art form as is. When Roger Ebert, arguably the most famed and respected critic across all mediums much less his signature forte of film, was still alive and active, gamers attempted to sway the dean of critique to a more favorable viewpoint on whether video games were a bonafide form of artistic expression by suggesting that he play Shadow of the Colossus. Of course, being an obstinate old man at the time, he refused to humor any inkling of expending any of his valuable time and energy on such a “trite” and “pedestrian” form of entertainment. In my perspective, I think Roger Ebert was afraid of being proven wrong and losing an iota of his credibility upon his eventual reflection. Not only would I suggest that the haughty figures of older generations seek out Shadow of the Colossus to change their viewpoint, but I’d confidently bestow the game to any race of hostile aliens as a surefire way to prompt them to lionize us as masters of the universe. You’ll be thanking me if this ever becomes a reality. Shadow of the Colossus is one of the essential artistic pillars in the timeline of gaming’s history, equivalent to James Joyce’s novel Ulysses or Francois Truffaut’s film The 400 Blows. All arguments debating the place of video games in the esteemed echelons of fine art alongside its fellow entertainment mediums should be thrown completely out of the window, for Shadow of the Colossus proves the elevated potential of the interactive medium more effectively than any other game before it.

Revealing that the developers behind Shadow of the Colossus are Team Ico might garner an initial understanding of how the game achieves its magnificent artistry. Using their debut project Ico as a reference, the mission of this maverick Japanese studio is to trim the fat of the typical video game to an almost monastic degree, a “subtraction design” philosophy as specifically coined by director Fumito Ueda. Admittedly, video games commonly feature HUDs that aid the player’s understanding of the game’s scrupulous details and character status through a perpetual visual reference. While the necessity of such implements is warranted for most games, they do arguably diminish the immersive elements of gaming with a layer of artificiality. Using the Legend of Zelda series as a primary influence, Team Ico sought to strip the action-adventure base of the series and thematic fantasy tropes down to the marrow. Without the display of a health bar, maps, or an arsenal of items in the menu, Ico acted as an emaciated version of Nintendo’s iconic franchise for every single contextual aspect of the game. Still, I’ll be damned if Ueda’s minimalist design ethos didn’t effectively render something engaging, ironically accentuating all of the puzzle and platforming attributes we know and love from a series such as The Legend of Zelda by diluting their apparentness. Like the project of Team Ico’s namesake, Shadow of the Colossus also strives to evoke an aura of epicness through a meticulous waning of gaming’s excessive elements. However, Shadow of the Colossus did not compromise on that bombastic video game flair as Ico did in some aspects. Somehow, despite its continued ascetic efforts, Shadow of the Colossus is one of the most epically awe-striking video games that I’ve ever played.

What better way to ignite the player’s intrigue initially than to present yet another opening sequence with implied high stakes shrouded in a veil of ambiguity? I would comment that this type of introduction is a standby method for Team Ico to engage the player by piquing their curiosity just like Ico, but the context behind Shadow of the Colossus’s plot is admittedly a smidge clearer. Between the immaculate cliffs of a nameless, naturalistic landscape, a young man, who we dub as “Wander,” rides a charcoal-black horse with a fierce sense of determination. Upon entering an ancient temple fit for a pharaoh's tomb, the young man dismounts his horse and unloads his cargo onto the main chamber’s altar. Unraveling the cloak reveals a girl whose lifeless mien and ghostly skin complexion signify that she is freshly deceased. After unsheathing a glowing sword to fend off the bothersome black spirits that strongly resemble those from Ico, a discarnate voice perks up and informs the boy that resurrecting the girl may be possible via the usage of his reflective blade. With the transportation aid of his loyal steed, Agro, Wander must scour the outer limits of the land to find sixteen Colossi and slay them all as a chivalrous knight does to a dragon. Only by undergoing this daunting escapade will Wander allegedly restore consciousness to whom he presumably loves dearly. How am I privy to all of this exposition you may ask? Because the introduction duly provides it. After Wander places the girl on the altar, a disembodied mask tells us that the setting is a sacred realm foretold to revive the dead, explaining Wander’s impassioned efforts to travel to this remote, abandoned sanctuary. Perhaps the developers couldn’t let the player rely on their likely preconceived notions that this effete guy wearing a hairband is far more sinister than he seems and is going to great lengths to dispose of the body of a girl he has murdered. Some players would find the whole premise too heinous to continue onward. Either or, Shadow of the Colossus promptly exposes its context compared to what little was provided for the beginning of Ico. Hell, the introduction here features more dialogue than the entirety of Ico. This might give the impression that Shadow of the Colossus isn’t as narratively obtuse as Ico, an unfortunate sign that the developers got cold feet and decided to appease the commercial masses. Still, the absurdly lofty overarching objective at hand here for a seemingly unfeasible reward that Wander accepts without expressing a hint of skepticism presents an air of disconnect between the player and the narrative’s intentions. In the grand scheme of things, the player is still kept in the dark about what is really occurring. Also, surely the premise of rescuing a princess who is already dead subverts the hero and damsel in distress roles more cleverly than Ico did. Ladies, get yourself a little Romeo like Wander, who will trudge through death-defying odds like conquering over a dozen different beasts as big as Beverly Hills mansions for you with no questions asked even if you cease to exist (actually, don’t; for I cannot live up to those standards).

If Ico served as a prolonged, squalid depiction of a typical Zelda dungeon, Shadow of the Colossus extends the radius of Zelda’s breadth to the franchise’s open-world aspects. Naturally, because Shadow of the Colossus is a 3D game whose setting consists of the same topography as Hyrule’s first polygonal rendering, I must compare this game’s world to Ocarina of Time as I tend to do with all obvious successors that use it as a template. Discussing similarities between Shadow of the Colossus’s forbidden realm and Hyrule Field is more apt than the usual comparisons, for the few Shadow of the Colossus detractors gripe that its world is far too “empty and stiff” to hold their interest. What amuses me is that this criticism is exactly what I’ve always applied to Hyrule Field from Ocarina of Time, even though I always consider some semblance of clemency for its pioneering primitiveness. While I can understand why these negative descriptors could be assigned to the world of Shadow of the Colossus, they fail to recognize the intended scope of this barren wasteland. You see, the forbidden lands and Hyrule Field present a contrast between empty and “empty,” and you’ll just have to follow along to grasp my point. If we use the example of Hyrule from A Link to the Past, the kingdom’s overworld should be a sprawling environment with diverse terrain and a point of interest around every corner whether it be in plain sight or “a secret to us all.” All that Hyrule Field in Ocarina of Time amounts to is a mossy vestibule stretched out to the appropriately spacious diameter of a hub. I stated that Ocarina of Time didn’t sacrifice much in translating all of its refined 2D elements, but the Hyrule overworld is the most apparent compromise Zelda had to make during the complicated transition to the third dimension. When the technology has progressed where rendering an empty hub world is an endeavor fueled by artistic vision as seen in Shadow of the Colossus, the minimalist imperative can produce something spectacular. Outside of the towering temple where Wander begins his quest, the surrounding perimeter is a green grassy knoll surrounded by a blockade of canyons and chasms. Finding a route around the inconvenient environment in opposite cardinal directions will lead Wander to rocky cliff sides that resemble the shores of Dover or a fallow desert area parched by the comparative lack of moisture. Lying between the two radically different environments are sections with lakes, ravines, groves, and dimly lit forested areas where traces of sunlight only peek through to the floor. While the overworld here certainly checks off more ecological boxes than the flat field in the center of Hyrule, the entire landscape is so bereft of any activity that the silence is disconcerting. Besides the clip-clopping of Agro’s hooves, only the wind is an instrument in this close to absolute zero decibel soundscape. The atmosphere is so desolate that it's as if Wander is the very first lifeform, much less a human being, to set foot on this untouched, pristine landscape like Neil Armstrong landing on the moon. Wander’s surroundings are so removed from all traces of civilization that it’s almost as if he’s fabricating them in a dream all to himself. It would explain the perpetually ominous clouds overhead that never crescendo into precipitating, something sublime that accentuates the breathtaking view. The meditative undercurrent of this uncanny world is quite refreshing considering that several other Hyrule Field followers congest their hub settings with a little TOO much hustle and bustle.

If you’re the jittery type who cannot stand to bask in the beguiling ambiance for longer than necessary, you should be relieved to know that Shadow of the Colossus will always present a set goal of finding one of the Colossi somewhere in the overworld. One would think the sheer size of these mobile mammoths or the thunderous echos of their footsteps in the still silence of the setting would make the process of sussing out their locations easier than finding VD on a dive bar’s toilet seat but never will Wander spot one of these beasts from his peripheral. To direct Wander towards the locale of the current colossus assigned by the detached voice that speaks backward from the temple’s sunroof, he must raise his sacred sword skyward and reflect the sun’s rays like a solar-powered compass. If the radiation resembles a straightforward beam as opposed to a scattered burst, then that indicates that the colossus can be found in that general direction. This adjunct appliance to the sword seems like it completely mitigates the searching section of the hunt, but this beacon is no GPS. The narrow, singular reflective ray does not account for the aforementioned arduously conspicuous and unwavering geomorphology. Circumnavigating around the terrain in an attempt to close in on a colossus will always prove to be a meandering charade. Good luck finding the equivalent of the sword’s “reception” if the route to a colossus includes traversing through a forest or a narrow section of a canyon. However, as diverse as the terrain is throughout this world, one convenient aspect of the map is that it is relatively compact. Traveling to either opposite of the ecological spectrum, whether or not Wander will find himself smack dab in a colossus’s domain, will never take more than approximately a few minutes. The player should be relieved considering that Wander will automatically be teleported back to the temple because the voice above has apparently declared it as the omphalos of the operation. The game’s progression is constructed as a rinse-and-repeat process, but at least the restrained spread of the forbidden lands has made arriving back to the general vicinity of the next colossus less tedious. Unfortunately, reflecting light off of Wander’s sword won’t double in aiding the search for the crystal-tailed salamanders and the hearty yellow fruit hanging from the trees, shooting them with Wander’s pink bow with a limitless supply of arrows and consuming them to increase his maximum stamina and health respectively. However, Wander is already compensated with these stat boosts for slaying a colossus, so the grueling trouble of finding these infinitesimal things across the map should be discouraged to even the most devout completionists.

While the aura of traversing through the world of Shadow of the Colossus is drenched in layers of lethargy and interminable tension, the path of conquest is always exciting because of what lies at the end of every route. Besides the notion of successfully maneuvering over the world’s formidable terrain, simply encountering any of the colossi in their earthly domicile is its own reward. Upon encroaching on the territory of a colossus, a cutscene will trigger that showcases the magnificent marvel of extreme biology in its full glory. The “shadow” portion of the game’s title is not a minor allusion to enliven potential buyers with mystique: the colossi are gargantuan enough to eclipse the sun from Wander’s view and even chill him with the shade emanating from their…well, colossal immensity. When in the vicinity of a colossus, the serene tone of the overworld staggeringly catapults immediately into adrenaline-pumping action as if an alarm clock abruptly awakened Wander. While the stark commonality between these beasts is their physical enormity, their environmental conditions have granted them all distinguishable physical adaptations. The first colossi, Valus, features the anatomy of a minotaur creature, standing on two legs to support his massive, lumberjack frame. Sharing his relatively humanoid posture are the column-wielding Gaius, the geezer with a white, ZZ Top beard Barba, and the gravely serious-looking Argus. Still, they all approach the uninvited guest that is Wander differently during battle. Quadrupedal colossi include the wooly Quadratus, the crudely shaped equine creature of Phaedra, and the tortoise-esque Basaran. Other colossi’s characteristics are defined more by their environments. The laser-tusked Pelagia, giant gull Avion, and the electric eel Hydrus all reside along the area of a watery channel or basin, integrating themselves with their aquatic surroundings in varying degrees, but each of them obviously resemble radically dissimilar species. The same dichotomy of colossi types is also found in the desert area of the map, with Dirge burrowing beneath the sand while the sand snake Phalanx (my favorite of the bunch) gracefully soars above it high up in the sky. Surprisingly enough, there is even a trio of miniature colossi with Kuromori, Celosia, and Cenobia. Despite their relative dwarfism compared to their towering colossi brethren, these three are still scaled to the sizes of rhinoceroses with the same level of aggression. The Colossi are a wonderfully assorted bunch of imposing creatures, and whatever common ancestor they all share that has passed down their glowing eyes and arcane armor has formulated sixteen of the most imaginative monsters ever seen in the gaming medium.

Essentially, Shadow of the Colossus is a glorified boss gauntlet with intermittent travel sequences in between each colossus that allows the player to simmer in their latest onerous accomplishment. To divulge the rich gameplay mechanics involved in taking all of these colossi down, I’d have to reveal their puzzle-oriented secrets, and spoiling them would be a disservice to any prospective players and the colossi themselves by sullying their intimidating allure. All the input I can communicate is to not fear using the superior speed of Agro during a few fights and not to underestimate the smaller colossi. One encompassing aspect of defeating the colossi is that all of them will require scaling their mountainous bodies to subdue them. This intimate aspect of the fights is the game’s defining idiosyncrasy, and the prospect of climbing a colossus and riding its backside like a flea on a mangy dog is as exhilarating and unnerving as it sounds. Finding an entry point to scaling their ginormous forms is where the puzzle aspects of the gameplay are relevant, and this may involve taunting them with the bow and arrow or outsmarting them into fracturing their armor. Still, I cannot say which colossi these methods apply to. Once Wander manages to exploit their vulnerability to ascend upward onto the colossi, he must raise his sword as he would to find these beasts in the overworld to expose the tender points of their body signified by a glowing sigil. I guess this modestly-sized blade rivals the might of Excalibur because thrusting it in the designated exterior parts of the colossi will make them groan in agony and gush blood like a sieve. Wander’s only concern at this point is continuing to balance himself on the colossi as it thrashes around trying to knock him off, for they are intelligent enough to register that this puny man is trying to murder them and are rightfully upset. Even though it's illogical from a biological standpoint regarding some of the aquatic colossi, each of their bodies will at least have a clump of fur to cling onto to retain Wander's advantageous position.

Converging a level dungeon and its boss into one fully-fledged experience? Team Ico’s rumhamming of video game attributes is pure, masterful brilliance. Still, the turbulent interactions with the colossi remind me of one prevalent complaint some players share regarding the game’s controls and presentation. Truthfully, Shadow of the Colossus is rather sluggish, operating on a framerate that makes the character movement seem as if it's running in slow motion. This becomes an issue whenever a colossus knocks down Wander and will take what seems like an eternity to recuperate. Sometimes, select colossi will take advantage of Wander’s vulnerability and beat him down until he has been eradicated. The camera also tends to have a hard time holding onto the colossi as Wander does, which can also cause him to make a fatal mistake. These hiccups would normally devastate a game’s overall quality, but I trust that a fraction of Shadow of the Colossus’s imperfections is a deliberate effort from Team Ico. Because the framerate is glacial, it allows the player to feel the full, intended impact of the colossi. Whenever one of these brutes slams its feet into the earth, the shattering of the frame rate that occurs makes defeating them seem like an insurmountable undertaking. Flopping about by the hem of a colossus’s wooly coat in a languid frame of motion effectively highlights how removed from the ground Wander is up top of a colossus like the steep altitude is making his oxygen dwindle as quickly as his stamina gauge. While the presentation is technically unacceptable, one can’t deny that the linear qualities of shoddier mechanical performance make the gameplay resonate with the player.

The immediate falling action of shedding a colossi’s mortal coil with too many critically deep sword plunges should also resonate with the player. After the expedition of locating the colossus and the mental strain involved in finding a way to extinguish it, one might think that executing the seemingly inexecutable would inspire victorious feelings of joy. Alas, the scene of the colossi’s eyes turning blank and its body collapsing into the earth evokes a potent melancholy. Sure, we accomplished the task at hand, but at what cost? The archetypal story of man conquering beast stems back to at least the Middle Ages to Beowulf and Grendel, and it’s deemed as one of the most courageous feats that defines a man as a hero. Can we really assign Wander to the same celebrated category of men? Sure, this is technically his role if we apply what little context we’re given to the heroic tropes we’re all familiar with. Still, one cannot earnestly follow along with narrative tradition when these docile colossi have inflicted no harm on any other living being or the environment before being provoked by an invasive pest. And was the effort truly worth it when every short-term reward is Wander being knocked unconscious by ghastly tendrils that violently penetrate his body? The brilliant aspect of conveying this is that the game never overtly tells the player that Wander is the real monster in a game filled with them like a contrived plot twist. Through subtle clues, Shadow of the Colossus flips the classic hero versus monster story on its head where the concentrated blood flow gives the conflict some well-considered clarity. When these beautiful, majestic colossi cease to exist at our hands, we all wonder if real-life poachers who kill animals on earth have souls.

In reality, Wander is too insignificant to be the hero. From the beginning, he’s been nothing but the subservient tool to the temple’s undetectable landlord who has been praying on Wander’s desperation. His hinting at how to handle all of the colossi at idle moments during their encounters shows he has too much invested interest in seeing all of them fall, which cannot be a good sign considering the unclear correlation between riding the world of the colossi and the resurrection of Wander’s girlfriend. After finally facing the last colossi, a vertical behemoth named Malus whose head practically brushes up against the clouds, Wander does not travel back to the temple to celebrate his achievement with champagne and ice cream. An even more subtle detail in highlighting that Wander’s actions are injurious is that they are having a toxic effect on his well-being. By the fifteenth colossi, Wander will be covered by so many blue lesions, you’d think he was zombified. When the final colossi has been conquered, Wander is no more. He is a vessel for the ancient demon Dormin, the identity of the voice whose soul had been fractured into sixteen pieces and kept in the colossi as a drastic measure to stave off his return. For the past few cutscenes in between colossi, a group of villagers have been slowly approaching the temple and have managed to cross the bridge by the final cutscene. They are aghast to see that Wander has fulfilled the endeavor of reviving Dormin, chiding the boy for his foolishness. When Dormin fully encapsulates Wander, the player gets the chance to play as a colossus and smash the group of men into a paste. However, the men are wise and know exactly what must be done in the case of Dormin’s return. By throwing Wander’s sacred sword into a pool of water, it creates a ravaging vortex that pulls Wander in, ending Dormin’s reign of mayhem before it had a chance to begin. The men hightail out of the temple, with the bridge eroding from the vortex’s ferocity as a positive sign that entering it and interacting with Dormin will be harder to perform.

Somehow, despite Dormin’s deceptive promises, the girl who has been comatose throughout this whole ordeal awakens from her slumber and finds an infant in the pool who is implied to be a reborn Wander. I’m quite puzzled at how the girl has regained sentience when it seemed proven that she would never see the light of day again because all evidence was leading to Wander running a fool’s errand. The fact that he persists onward just to fail miserably at the end and die is what makes the game’s resolution beautifully tragic. Then again, he admittedly did bring all of this misfortune on himself, for not even Orpheus was this much of a zealous romantic. Like Ico, the fatal blow that befalls the protagonist is treated to a hopeful epilogue to keep the player’s spirits up. I can handle tragedy well enough, but I can admit that plodding further allows the player to consider their experience more after they turn the game off. Really, Agro returning to the temple on a limp leg was all the levity this ending needed. Her fall off of a crumbling bridge before the final colossi is genuinely the most devastating scene of the game, and seeing that she (or at least I’m assuming it's a she considering there is no visible, foot-long horse genitalia protruding from its crotch) survived made me cheer delightfully.

Speechless. Utterly speechless. This was my stunned reaction to witnessing the falling action of Shadow of the Colossus and its resolution. In all honesty, my mouth was agape through most of the duration of Shadow of the Colossus because the game is nothing short of extraordinary. Team Ico’s austerity is still on display here as it was in Ico, as seen in the game’s open world and the liberal loosening of the game’s narrative leaving the context up to the player’s interpretations. Still, dialing back the strict abnegation of gaming’s frills and thrills for Shadow of the Colossus resulted in a game far more compelling than Ico, while still retaining plenty of artistic triumphs that I admired about the developer’s previous title. Shadow of the Colossus is beautiful in every sense of the word: from the captivating climate of its uninhabited, windswept world, the titans to topple, to its poignant liner notes that make the player ask questions when the protagonist doesn't bother to. At the helm of this emotional rollercoaster is a unique gameplay mechanic that I don’t feel is hyperbolic to call it a visionary feat of innovation. If your character ever finds themselves gripping to the body of a herculean foe to skewer their weak spots, it means that Team Ico is collecting royalties. Does Shadow of the Colossus need more convincing that it should be an essential game to play for gamers and non-gamers alike? I shouldn’t believe so.

Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 3/9/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow

Developer: Konami

Publisher: Konami

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: GBA

Release Date: May 6, 2003

After Circle of the Moon and Harmony of Dissonance, Castlevania on the Gameboy Advance was starting to resemble a bald eagle riding the subway. Sure, this winged bird can technically travel to his destination via this man-made transportation construct, but why should he be relegated to the circuitous technological traveling methods of the flying impaired? Shouldn’t this bird of prey be soaring through the skies above the ground of their free will? Seeing this majestic creature stoop to something beneath its full capabilities is a sad sight to behold. Castlevania’s full capabilities in this analogy is Symphony of the Night, the series Metroidvania debut on the first PlayStation console that all of its Nintendo handheld successors failed to meet at eye level. At this point, Circle of the Moon tried deviating away from Symphony to produce a high-quality product, and Harmony of Dissonance attempted to emulate a bevy of Symphony’s elements when Circle of the Moon didn’t appeal to those looking for a Symphony-esque experience. When Harmony of Dissonance didn’t resonate with players either, it seemed as if the GBA’s modest hardware inherently could never hope to match Symphony and its grandiose glory. Symphony fans would have to lower their standards to get their Metroidvania Castlevania fix from here on out. It's reasonably depressing considering Symphony was the franchise's debut in the Metroidvania subgenre. That is, until the third Castlevania game released for the GBA system, Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow, managed a miracle. Somehow, despite the unfortunate pattern that the previous two games were setting, Konami produced a Castlevania title on the GBA that received glowing praise from fans and critics alike. In fact, Aria of Sorrow’s legacy is defined as not only the first worthy successor to Symphony, but some believe it to be the best game in the entire franchise. While pitting this game against Symphony for the crown of supreme Castlevania title is up to debate, Aria of Sorrow is certainly better than the two GBA Castlevania games that preceded it because it achieves something they desperately lacked: balance.

The refined quality that molds Aria of Sorrow as an exemplary Castlevania title would not be easily assumed by its introductory attributes, for its premise is absolutely bonkers. We’ve accelerated far past the generations of the Belmont clan and their imitators across the second AD millennium to the 21st century. As confounding as a Castlevania game set in modern 2003 where the protagonist has the original Ipod model strapped to his waist, plus the eventual reveal that George W. Bush is a cleverly disguised Dracula stampeding American troops into the Iraq War for a fresh slew of human pain and misery could potentially be, Aria of Sorrow zooms even further into the (not-so-distant year as of writing this) future year of 2035. And we thought Bloodlines being set during WW1 was an instance of the franchise flying too close to the sun of modernity for the series to uphold its gothic, fantasy atmosphere. A rustic, old-world tone is one of Castlevania’s integral idiosyncrasies, and a game in the series taking place well into the information age seems ludicrous. To compound the premise’s insanity, Dracula’s castle emerged after the occurrence of a solar eclipse over Japan of all places. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think there are any vampires, much less Dracula, across the storied cultural mythos of Japan in the slightest. They say it's wise to build off what you know during the creative process (the developers are Japanese), but this is ridiculous. Despite how befuddling this premise sounds, I applaud Konami for subverting the series from the typical stomping grounds of Renaissance/Victorian-era Europe. It might have been a necessary shift considering the lengthy number of entries in the franchise at this point with that setting. Dracula has always been depicted as an omnipotent demon lord placed higher in the underworld hierarchy than Death himself in Castlevania, so placing his emblematic estate in the land of the rising sun beyond the eras of his lore extends the height of his imminence. However, for series purists who obdurately only play the classic 2D platformers, the drastic deviation in its time period and the setting is probably enough to make them turn as pale as Alucard (or Juste) and vomit profusely.

If Aria of Sorrow is set in the distant future where the Belmont clan’s relevancy has expired, who serves as the vehicle to uncover the strange phenomenon of Dracula’s castle appearing in the abrupt moonlight? Foreign tourist Soma Cruz is a Castlevania protagonist chosen by the circumstance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His surname might indicate that he’s a Spaniard, but his pale skin and towheaded hair probably indicate that he’s Argentinian. We don’t know for sure. He figured that a tour of the land of the rising sun accompanied by fellow student and Japanese native Mina Hakuba would be a life-affirming lark like any college student traveling abroad. Little did he anticipate, involuntarily teleporting to the vampiric lord’s domain will make his trip overseas more memorable than he ever expected. While he still resembles the androgynous, pretty-boy protagonist common among Castlevania’s main characters, Soma Cruz exudes the attitude and persona of a joe-schmoe who is facing something out of his element that he never asked for. His confusion and general aversion for his new surroundings is executed through the dialogue he parlays with the game’s secondary characters. Mr. Cruz stutters in the face of every stranger who talks to him, and the sentences he’s tentatively trying to utter are usually in the form of questions. I’ve heard a few Castlevania fans express that Soma Cruz isn’t up to par with the impassioned attitude of slaying Dracula expressed by the Belmonts before him. However, I think looking ghoulishly handsome with a glammed-out, David Bowie pomp is a textbook signifier of a Castlevania character. Soma Cruz feels more like an organic human being instead of a Van Helsing He-Man because the developers have managed to hone the narrative-intensive initiative they devised for every GBA Castlevania game. In fact, I can make discerning distinctions about individual characteristics regarding the rest of Aria of Sorrow’s limited cast, such as the virginal Mina, the devilish Graham, and the modest Hammer to name a few. Finally, the prerogative to enhance Castlevania’s narrative capabilities has reached a point of adequacy after two rough, lackluster attempts.

Because Soma Cruz never signed himself up for the onus of taking down The Count, his unpreparedness forces him to scrounge up any sharp or blunt object he can to defend himself from what resides in Dracula’s castle. In the greater context of what this means for the player, Aria of Sorrow reverts back to Symphony’s approach of equipping weapons uncovered by stumbling upon them around the castle grounds and in secret passageways as well as obtaining them from fallen enemies. Gone are the secondary weapons and the trusty “Vampire Killer” whip that persisted into the GBA titles, so the player cannot abuse the mighty cross boomerang. Instead, Soma Cruz is granted the privilege of swapping out a myriad of knives, broadswords, hammers, brass knuckles, a goddamn trident, and comically-sized greatswords to combat the creatures that wish him harm. Soma Cruz can even pop a cap in the monsters with a silver 9mm pistol, but this piece of 21st-century firepower isn’t as potent as one might think. Two camps could argue that implementing the array of equipable weapons as the primary method of combat is a digression. The developers have spent so much effort translating the classic peripheral tools from the traditional 2D platformers after Symphony omitted them entirely. I’m in the camp that it wouldn't make sense if Soma Cruz had the array of Belmont birthrights at his disposal, so mixing and matching a bevy of melee weapons is better suited for his character.

However, one might notice that the heart-shaped units of ammunition are still present whenever Soma Cruz whacks at the various candles strewn about the estate. Normally, they would replenish the usage of the holy water, ax, and cross roulette. In Aria of Sorrow, they restore the magic meter that coincides with the game’s bonafide point of innovation. Upon defeating an enemy, an orb of three different colors will sprout from their remains and rocket itself to Soma Cruz. Colliding with this eager, disembodied specter grants Soma Cruz the ability to use one of that enemy’s attributes. The “tactical soul” perk ranges from offensive abilities such as throwing boulders and skeleton bones, and stat increases, to the navigational abilities needed to traverse through the Metroidvania design impediments. Did the fairy from Pinocchio grant Kirby’s wish to become a real boy in the shape of an Argentinian guy more effeminate looking than the boy from Death in Venice with premature gray hair? An odd desire for sure, but what I’m ultimately alluding to is that harnessing an enemy’s properties and using them for yourselves mirrors the defining feature of Nintendo’s pink, stumpy blob from outer space. Aria of Sorrow’s mechanic also shares a similar sensation to swallowing powers as Kirby in that unlocking an enemy’s distinct ability is like putting a coin in a gashapon vendor. It’s anyone’s guess how Soma Cruz interprets these powers for himself, and the sheer abundance of enemies in the game ensures that the excitement of receiving a new power will not wane quickly. But these powers are not worn as an ephemeral skin that can be tossed aside or stripped away as a punitive measure for damage taken. The powers of Dracula’s children of the night are stored in Soma Cruz’s inventory, interwoven into the RPG mechanics as overtly as any of the armor or weapons he shuffles through regularly. Because there are an overwhelming amount of powers at hand with completely unique attributes, selecting a handful from the three categories to conquer other enemies and bosses functions almost like a puzzle. I’m slightly disappointed that there aren’t any Yokai roaming around the halls of Dracula’s spacious estate given the rich mythological folklore of the setting. Then again, I suppose it is more intriguing for fans of the series to grasp the powers of enemies that they’ve become so familiar with over the years, and utilizing their attributes is a more intimate way to engage with them. My only real issue regarding the enemy orbs is how disorganized they are in the menu. There is no clear distinction between optional moves and which abilities are needed to progress through the game, which is something even Circle of the Moon did neatly.

Despite the unorthodox real estate in a century beyond the rationale of a vampire’s presence, the interior design of Dracula’s iconic castle setting here is still a resplendent marvel of gothic, European architecture. From the first few steps into the foyer immediately after the winch that controls the gate welcomes the player, every veteran Castlevania player is sure to recognize the familiar aesthetic elements associated with The Count’s castle. The passing of several centuries hasn’t effaced the estate’s ornate splendor a bit, as it still upholds that aura of prestige. Some may argue that the dilapidated bits across the various sections of the castle diminish its spectacle a bit, but what do you expect from a place crowded with monsters galore? It wouldn’t emit as spooky of an atmosphere if the place was as pristine as the queen’s royal palace. More importantly, Aria of Sorrow’s most apparent balancing act is finding a graphical tone to render the cobweb-covered corridors of the manor, something that the previous two GBA games struggled with. The result of Aria of Sorrow’s visual refinement is that the nightside eclipse has shaded Dracula’s palace in a pleasant, dark blue nightshade. The glow reminds me of whenever a full moon illuminates the ground in a rural area unadulterated by artificial lighting. This deep, yet vibrant sheen is seen all over the map no matter where Soma Cruz finds himself. It's apparent from the opening vestibules, the courtyards constructed like warping through portals to escape a maze, to intramural areas such as the cascading caverns of the reservoir and the small, grizzly abattoir section in the Underground Cemetery. A hue of blue evoking the hour of the wolf is the most appropriate tone for a Castlevania game, wouldn’t you say? Also, fans of the franchise are more likely to find Aria of Sorrow’s moody tint to be perfectly agreeable as opposed to dampened visuals that made them squint at every step or the psychedelic onslaught that requires administering eye drops every half hour to withstand regarding both previous GBA Castlevania games respectively.

While Dracula’s castle is not situated in the dank pits surrounded by the crusty walls of the Earth like in Circle of the Moon, the towering architecture is rather compact in Aria of Sorrow. Immediately, most of the map is unveiled as soon as Soma Cruz steps foot into the castle, and the general layout should ring familiar to any veteran players when they open it and see the gray, unexplored areas. After initially glancing at the map, I was a bit concerned that the developers had trimmed the castle down a little too much to the point of reducing Dracula’s castle to a meager gothic-esque Tudor home. I assumed that surely the game’s length would be padded by offering an inverted parallel to the castle that comprised the game’s second half like Symphony. Alas, that theory went out the window as the completion percentage was nearing its maximum after exploring all of the original castle at hand. This review so far has been dedicated to comparing Aria of Sorrow to the previous two GBA games due to being developed on the same hardware. However, perhaps comparing Aria to Symphony should be considered, especially since Aria chooses not to extend itself to the length of Symphony by flipping the castle in some manner. While the second half on Symphony did satiate the lingering craving for more content I had, doubling the entire content proved to be an unnecessary overload. Admittedly, Aria of Sorrow is a bit short, but I respect the developer’s decision to only implement what was necessary. They didn’t trim the muscle of the map as I initially thought, but rather the fat of extensions. Aria of Sorrow practically exposes Symphony as being a bit bloated.

I suppose Aria of Sorrow’s length still felt satisfying because of its difficulty curve. Across the Metroidvania Castlevanias, this is the most divisive and erratic facet of the series, especially among the GBA titles which are situated on two opposite extremes of the spectrum. Arguably, what Aria of Sorrow achieves in this regard is the greatest contribution to balancing the series. Every effort to maintain a suitable difficulty curve in Aria of Sorrow is simply agreeable. From the reasonable number of enemies per room, the steady leveling system, to the placement of the save and teleportation rooms, I’d find it hard to believe that any fans of the franchise (or at least the Metroidvania games) would find fault with the general stability of everything intended to make a Metroidvania Castlevania manageable. Yet, all of the refined points of accessibility do not render the game as a brisk, lethargic excursion through Dracula’s castle as seen in Harmony of Dissonance. In most explorative scenarios, I never encountered anything steeped way beyond my element until I found myself face-to-face with a few of Aria of Sorrow’s bosses. Again, the swamp golem that spanned the vertical diameter of the room all the way to the roof and the chimera Manticore beast was met without much strain. I appreciated the limited weak points of the stocky Great Armor and the swift reaction time it takes to dodge his greatsword lunges, but the repeated process of hacking at his feet didn’t really upset my state of relative contentment. It wasn’t until I encountered this game’s version of Death that I was reminded of his noble worth and status as the grand inquisitor of all things mortal as I was in his first iteration far back on the NES. Death does not fuck around, as the case should naturally be for such an imposing mythical figure. After fighting the first major foe that caused me a considerable amount of strife, the consistency remained for the duration of the game. Another Legion fight requires monk-like patience, and the burly arms of a hulking troll named Balore were constantly shoving Soma Cruz aside like swatting a fly. His fight is even presented as a fake out, thinking that Soma Cruz would be facing another easy incarnation of the giant bat that was the series' first boss as he crushes the flying mammal into a bloody paste with his palms. While these fights are far tougher than anything presented in Harmony of Dissonance, they don’t quite match up to Circle of the Moon’s grueling duels. This is because Soma Cruz can use his gold currency to purchase potions and edible healing items at Hammer’s shop located in the hub at the entrance of the castle. There is also a warp gate close by, so returning to the gate at the start is fairly accessible in all reaches of the estate. My argument to combat the stance that this point of convenience makes the difficulty moot is that none of the bosses in Harmony required the use of a potion, and the paltry potion supply in Circle of the Moon meant that the player wouldn’t even have a healing item on them to aid them in the first place. I think the necessity for a potion in tandem with the sensible maximum number of them in the inventory is a perfect balancing act to deal with these bosses. The system ensures not to enable the player to depend on them like a crutch.

So does Dracula instill the same challenge as the other bosses of the later game as its final boss? Funny of you to assume this to be the case because the wildest revelation in Aria of Sorrow is that the vampiric lord that has haunted humanity throughout all eras of civilization is deceased. No, I am not bullshitting you and neither is the game. Julius Belmont, the current living descendant of the classic Castlevania protagonists, accomplished the unthinkable and surprisingly smote the Count permanently in 1999 at the turn of the millennium, lest he cause the harm of what Y2K was supposedly going to do, I guess. Dracula is finally dead in the ground rotting, but this doesn’t mean his influence is also atrophying. A prophecy states that an heir possessing Dracula’s immense power will take his throne once his castle reveals itself in the eclipse that shadowed it for so long. One wouldn’t think that hapless Soma Cruz could be Dracula’s successor by sheer circumstance, but a witch named Yoko claims that his soul-sucking aptitude is a vampiric inheritance indicating a dreadful correlation. However, Yoko states that even if Soma Cruz is destined to take Dracula’s throne, his destination ultimately depends on his conscious decisions which can still pave a path for good and righteousness. The real threat is Graham, another Dracula fanboy who is thrilled to unleash the full potential of Dracula’s power on the coincidental notion that he’s the heir apparent because he was born on the day that Dracula irrevocably bit the dust. Even though his enthusiasm implies that he’s confident his prophecy is correct, Soma Cruz’s ability to steal souls jabs at his insecurities. To his credit, Graham musters up some fairly impressive poser powers when Soma Cruz faces him. Once Soma Cruz sucks up Graham’s defeated soul, the Dracula within him starts bubbling up to the surface. The early signs of the transformation result in menacing red eyes and hair as frazzled as Meg Ryan’s after the diner scene in When Harry Met Sally. While things seem as if Dracula will be reincarnated, the true ending involves taking a combination of souls to the “chaotic realm,” a surreal section plastered in blindingly bright white light where time isn’t a relevant construct. At the core of this fractured place lies Soma Cruz’s spiritual core where he battles his literal inner demons infecting him with Dracula’s noxious influence, and it is indeed as difficult as the bosses that preceded him. Once he expunges the evil from his body, Soma Cruz returns to the land of the living with Mina, and they can continue sightseeing around Japan. The clear narrative construct of good versus evil portrayed in previous Castlevania games was always cut and dry, but Aria of Sorrow subverts everything pertaining to the concept. The debate of freedom versus fate based on one’s conditions was toyed with in Symphony relating to Alucard. Aria of Sorrow takes the concept into metaphysical territory, which is miles more ambitious than any Castlevania narrative before it. Dracula hardly even matters in the grand scheme of things, as Aria of Sorrow could simply serve as a character study of a humble, honest young man being corrupted by a monumental power as it perverts his moral compass. Considering Dracula is the sole recurring character across the whole series, scrapping him in favor of something far more ambitious and delivering it splendidly is exceptionally admirable.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Castlevania’s fans are Goldilocks from the classic fairy tale and the three Castlevania games developed for the GBA are the three bowls of porridge the bears left out on the counter. First, she slurps down Circle of the Moon and exclaims, “Ugh, this porridge is too grainy, flavorless, and hard to digest!” and pushes it aside. Next, she downs Harmony of Dissonance and revolts, “Yuck, this porridge’s texture is nauseating, and why is it so thick!?” while trying not to expel it from her body in disgust. Lastly, once she gets a taste of Aria of Sorrow, she breathes a sigh of relief. stating that it is “just right” while smacking her lips in pure satisfaction. Aria of Sorrow is a testament to the expression that the third time's the charm, and it achieves its success by finding a middle ground between the two radical interpretations of Symphony’s Metroidvania formula before it. With the fair difficulty curve, refined graphical lighting, perfect pacing, and a brilliant, fun new combat mechanic to play around with, it’s easy to see that Aria of Sorrow triumphs over the Castlevania titles on the same system. Really, Aria of Sorrow’s true competitor is Symphony of the Night and not the other GBA titles because Aria’s quality is exemplary to that extent. I still think Symphony can claim its title as the reigning champion of the franchise. Symphony is a higher-calorie meal, and it sometimes feels liberating to indulge in decadence even if it will give you a stomach ache. However, I admire Aria’s relatively restrained and intelligent approach to Symphony’s template, so I will not contest any opinions that favor it over the franchise's Metroidvania debut. Arguably, even debating that a handheld Castlevania game is on par with one on a console makes Aria of Sorrow the objective victor overall.

Mega Man X2 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 3/4/2024)

[Image from igdb.com]

Mega Man X2

Developer: Capcom

Publisher: Capcom

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: SNES

Release Date: December 16, 1994

Has Capcom ever heard the saying that too much of a good thing is a bad thing? Someone might think that I’m jumping the gun applying this adage to Mega Man X2 considering it’s merely one follow-up to the company’s advanced spin-off series that ushered in a new and improved era of Mega Man. However, anyone who is adept with the series and also possesses half a brain can already determine that releasing a sequel exactly one year after the first Mega Man X is a clear precedent that will follow the same long-winded trajectory as the classic Mega Man series. Five subsequent sequels to Mega Man X are going to render the blue bomber’s shiny, futuristic suit of cerulean armor as clanky and depleted as his 8-bit model through overuse, and it doesn’t take a soothsayer’s astronomical level of insight to come to the same conclusion. Also, a worrying aspect of the Mega Man X series compound its eventual fate is that the degradation process was liable to begin even sooner than its preceding series did because the first Mega Man X was such an exemplary entry. Mega Man X naturally dwarfed all of the older iterations on the NES thanks to the SNES’ superior hardware, so a case could definitely be made that it is objectively the blue bomber’s finest outing. How does one go about beating near perfection with a sequel? Well, perhaps I’m giving Capcom too much benefit of the doubt that their efforts stemmed from artistic inspiration as opposed to monetary gain, but the former is ideally what game companies should be striving for (in an ideal world where it rains beer and dogs live forever). As expected, Mega Man X2 is starkly similar to the first X game but proves to be much less impactful.

I guess one of the recurring attributes that a Mega Man X game will consistently implement is an introduction sequence that sets the scene of the game’s narrative. Destroying Sigma in the previous game wasn’t enough to dismantle the Mavericks, for he’s another example of a martyr whose ideas still persist long after his initial reign. However, X and his mentor Dr. Cain believe that they can extinguish the remainder of the Maverick forces that reside in an abandoned reploid factory and ransack the place hoping to finally oust the meddlesome resistance. After defeating a rotund robot boss with an endearingly primitive utilization of 3D graphics, the screen pans out to three figures named Serges, Violen, and Agile discussing how to eradicate the blue bomber who is projected as a running holographic still in their headquarters. Apparently, these new Maverick officials are cooking up a diabolical plan that is going to catch X by surprise, and the player has to wait for the events of this eventual disaster to unfold. Witnessing the game’s main villains plotting X’s demise is ominous, or at least it would be if the first moments in the opening didn’t inject a heaping load of exposition to set the scene. Removing context and simply catapulting the player into the game’s first level as the first game did and then filling the vagueness with the scene that follows would’ve been a more effective method of establishing the game’s narrative. Alas, this is the product of the earlier, pixelated era of gaming when narratives couldn’t have been presented with such liberal subversiveness, for the concept of gaming narrative was still in a vestigial state. However, the credit I will give this introduction is demonstrating that X is much stronger in will and mind than he was in the first game’s introduction, and his adept experience will avert the need for big brother Zero to rescue him.

As par for the course, Mega Man X2 follows the introduction with a menu that presents eight different Mavericks and their respective domains. One difference is that in the center of the two parallel grids of the Maverick’s headshots is a map of the island where all of the Maverick’s individual districts reside. When playing the classic Mega Man games on the NES, the thought had crossed my mind of where each robot master was located with the others in this hyper-futuristic world, so I suppose one gaming generation and one X game’s worth of hindsight now allows the player to use this neat little visual reference point. The compact space of Maverick Island should negate the eclecticism presented across all of Mega Man’s levels, but I suppose that all of the Maverick stages are artificial constructions built from the ground up with their design tropes in mind. As the eclectic definition would dictate, Mega Man X2’s stages are a diverse mishmash of elemental tropes as the series has always upheld. I guess if there was one elemental signifier that gives a few of the levels some kind of cohesion, it is...moisture? Bubble Crab’s deep, shaded reef is the only level where X is submerged underwater like Launch Octopuses stage, but we can infer that the Gemini Man-esque crystal caves and Wire Sponge’s humid, greenhouse conservatory are dripping with condensation. Infiltration is another relative theme across the levels. Wheel Gator’s stage sees X venturing through the interior of a flying battleship, and the security measures in Magna Centipede’s stage that activate when X triggers one of their alarms by barging into them convey that they’ve erected a solid fortress that has implemented extra precautions to make it harder to penetrate. Flame Stag’s volcanic cavern is turbulent, and Morph Moth’s junkyard has waste stacked up so high that it comes to life with the intermittent minibosses. Overall, the range of level themes is admirable as always, but none of them stand out as true cutting-edge examples of Mega Man’s evolution like the minecart rollercoaster ride that was Armored Armadillo’s domain. The closest Mega Man X2 comes to offering that same seamless exhilaration is riding X’s tricked-out motorbike across the dunes of Overdrive Ostrich’s stage, but the classic NES games already tried something similar with a jetski in Mega Man 5.

With this new gang of Mavericks comes a fresh batch of power-ups for X to absorb upon defeating them, a staple of the Mega Man franchise that should now go without saying. While the ability to charge up X’s blaster still decreases the motivation to use these power-ups in combat, particular instances on the field will at least warrant the shuffle process in X’s inventory. To reduce enemies to the stationary status of platforms, Crystal Snail’s glassy, freezing weapon will give X a makeshift boost when the roofs are too high. The Strike Chain stolen from Wire Sponge allows Mega Man to grapple to inclined surfaces and ceilings, as well as a trusty extended claw to reach for extra lives and energy capsules located in tight spaces. Bubble Splash brings bubbles upward to enemies at an elevated angle, as well as propelling X’s underwater jumps all the way up to the surface. Wheel Gator’s gigantic saw blades are the key to digging through the layers of specifically textured rows of rocks and blocks to gain items, and charging up the heat of Flame Stag’s weapon will transform X’s dash move into a projectile, flaming force of pure energy for a few seconds. The boss weapon gained from the Mavericks that I kept on my side as a secondary offensive tool from the charge blaster was Overdrive Ostrich’s Sonic Slicer, as the several spinning blades flying in all directions cutting down all enemies with little energy expended reminded me of the godly Metal Blade, touching a sentimental nerve in my brain. As lethal as the Sonic Slicer is, one interesting new entry to X’s arsenal is a special weapon where X unleashes a furious explosion that blows everything in the vicinity to smithereens. However, unlike the previous screen-clearing weapons from Mega Man games of yore, this uber tool of mass destruction depletes all of its energy upon using it, and it merely scratches every boss as if they anticipated it and wore reactive armor. Overall, Mega Man X2’s alternate weapons are satisfactorily beneficial and practical. Still, none of them are beating the convenience and inexhaustibility of the charged X-Blaster, which should be a disclaimer for every X game from here on out.

If there is one discerning factor between Mega Man X2 and its predecessor despite the striking similarities, it’s the swift increase in general difficulty. Somehow, all of the fanciful upgrades and quality-of-life enhancements that came with a successive gaming generation did not turn a series known for busting gamers’ balls into a cakewalk because its action-intensive 2D platformer gameplay with limited lives is inherently difficult. Still, the select choices in Mega Man X2 feel very deliberate to ensure that the player breaks out in a sweat. The falling two-ton bricks that slide around in Magna Centipede’s stage are too swift to anticipate and will kill X on impact like being crushed between any two surfaces. In the same stage, a target reticle that is inspecting the area will freezeframe X in place if it catches him, which is difficult to avoid due to the bulky clumps of clay(?) coming from the ceiling. The total number of snapshots the mysterious camera takes of X will influence how durable the proceeding miniboss will be, who is arguably a more formidable foe at his base than the power-up-sucking Maverick who commands the area. Quick ascension is also emphasized in several sections of the game where X must rush to the surface of a narrow climbing section, lest he suffers the scorching lava flow in Flame Stag’s stage or the crushing closing of the vertical surfaces in the first X-Hunter stage. A select few Mavericks have increased their defensive capabilities such as Crystal Snail blocking X’s firepower with his hardened backside, and Wheel Gator hiding in the rusty sludge of the boss arena’s foreground. I grew to detest the latter of these two bosses as he can seemingly submerge himself in the gunk forever and the moments where he jumps out of it to grab X out of the air and chomp on his armor like a seagull were randomly placed. Really, the most apparent case of Mega Man X2’s deliberate difficulty enhancement is seen in the placements of its upgrades. Finding these valuable assets that aid spectacularly during the game’s climax is no longer rewarded to especially observant players as quite a few of them are in plain sight. The catch to obtaining these items is the tight feats of skill needed to even come close to them, namely the two heart upgrades in Wheel Gator and Overdrive Ostrich’s stage whose integration with both the regular dash and Flame Stag’s fire boost felt like my fingers were playing Twister with the controller buttons. I knew from experience that obtaining all of the upgrades was paramount to success in the final series of stages leading up to the final boss from the first X game, so I had to stomach the pain of failure for several marginally imprecise attempts.

Despite my efforts to gather everything that makes X more powerful, something unknown to me prohibited my completionist reward of being able to execute Ryu’s deadly Shoryuken uppercut move for my troubles. Dr. Cain, who finally shows his face to the player here as opposed to acting as a lore figure, explains to X that the Mavericks have somehow disassembled Zero, and the three goons from the opening sequence are in possession of an individual piece of Zero’s body. To mend X’s red, ponytailed role model’s body, X has to hunt down the three fiends who are located in elusive corners at random in each of the levels. It turns out that the widescreen world map in the menu isn’t a lark, for it briefly indicates where Serges, Agile, and Violen are located. I caught onto that little hint quick enough, but what I didn’t understand is that once a certain number of Mavericks are defeated, it locks the player out of fighting the three core villains and Zero is forever lost. You see, when playing through the levels of an X game, I prefer to cruise through the levels at my own pace and only humor the collectibles if they happen to cross my path coincidentally. All of the other upgrades remain intact once the player revisits their respective sites, so I figured recovering Zero could wait as well. Permanently locking the player out of something valuable with unclear stipulations is the fault of the developers and not due to the player’s inattentiveness.

What occurs if the player fails to collect Zero’s parts beforehand feels like they’re being unfairly punished. Before facing another form of Sigma as the game’s final boss, the Maverick’s cold-hearted leader presents a renovated Zero by his side, and he is fucking PISSED. Zero saved X when his life was at stake in the first X game, and to think that X wouldn’t return the favor paints him as an ungrateful dickhead. Hey, I would’ve resuscitated Zero like an EMT if I had known the time to do so was fleeting. If the player fell victim to Capcom’s miscommunication as I did, a scorned Zero makes for what is easily the hardest boss in the game. Unlike the exploitable hound of Sigma that stalled his fight previously, Zero covers the ground and the air with an equal amount of ferocity and firepower. Because he’s a huge hindrance to finishing the game, it’s recommended to either reset the game or abuse its password system. “Wolverine Sigma” and the beta model computer head that follows are comparatively a joke, so dodging the Zero fight beforehand makes a world of difference. Leading up to this point, Mega Man X2’s ascension to Sigma’s base is a tad underwhelming. Vanquishing the three goons responsible for Zero’s incapacitation formally all makes for substantial bosses that will get every player’s pulse beating. Still, the run-up to all of them resembles ephemeral vestibules fit for the entrance of a final fight. I can’t believe I’m saying this given how it vexed me, but I wish the developers had constructed something like the first stage of the finale seen in the previous game.

Mega Man X2 is a loyal followup to the game that ushered in the new wave of Mega Man games to glowing, unprecedented praise. Because of its loyalty to the template established only a year prior, it really is as exemplary as the previous X game on a technical level. However, its inability to provide the player with anything of notable innovation for the sake of loyalty is what makes me leave Mega Man X2 a tad cold and unfulfilled. Simply because the developers compel the player to take greater risks in the game doesn’t mean they are risks on the part of the developers. Also, the Zero side quest was total bullshit. My report for Mega Man X2 is that for the most part, everything is fine and dandy. However, how long will it be before we’re discontented with being served the same meal every evening?

Axiom Verge Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 2/29/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Axiom Verge

Developer: Thomas Happ

Publisher: Thomas Happ

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: PC, PS4, Xbox One, PS Vita, Wii U

Release Date: March 31, 2015

The Metroidvania genre is not defined by Metroid’s thematic elements. It exists because Metroid’s unique and unmistakable design philosophy for a 2D platformer game resonated with a bounty of prospective video game IPs. Castlevania, a peer of Metroid’s on the NES, decided to channel Metroid’s idiosyncrasies with Symphony of the Night all while maintaining its core identity as a lavish, gothic experience. Symphony’s boldness and astute understanding of Metroid’s intricate interpretation of the 2D platformer opened the floodgates for several new IPs to follow in its example, and most of the notable ones understood the homework assignment like Symphony. However, perhaps many developers attribute Metroid’s impact to its science-fiction latent alien environment and its cold, hostile atmosphere. They’re not entirely wrong, but honing in on Metroid’s thematic elements and crafting a new IP using them as a muse may result in something a bit misguided. Axiom Verge, a prominent title in the new wave of indie Metroidvania games, is a game that presents an vital understanding of the Metroidvania genre’s design philosophy. However, I’ve never seen one of Metroid’s many children share such a strong genetic resemblance with one of its parents.

Evidently, Axiom Verge is an extravaganza of science fiction-oriented video game thematic properties as the game’s introduction where a fatal experimental accident occurs in a laboratory and blows the place to Kingdom Come is fairly reminiscent of Half-Life. The setting of this scene is even in New Mexico, for fucks sake. Actually, where the explosion blows our brainy protagonist, Trace, is to the odd, extraterrestrial world of Sudra where he now must contend with its abstract environment and the hostile creatures that inhabit it. Sound familiar already? Actually, besides the eerily similar setting to Metroid catalyzed by something that recalls Half-Life, the comparisons between Axiom Verge and Nintendo’s sci-fi series become alarmingly apparent through its aesthetics and general layout. If Lovecraftian is a legitimate term used to describe something akin to cosmic horror, then I propose categorizing something that resembles the artistic works of H.R. Giger as “Gigerian.” The Swiss artist who brought the Xenomorph to life for the first Alien film was a prominent artistic influence on Metroid’s fear factor and intergalactic coldness, but what happens when Axiom Verge follows up the chain of inspiration stemming from Metroid? Gigerian maximalism at its finest, even if I’m dubious if Axiom Verge is familiar with where Metroid’s iconography is rooted. Each area of Sudra is distinct from one another, but they all exhibit that sublime, industrially interstellar aesthetic. Eribu is a meaty, crimson red whose prominent foreground characteristic is these clumps of blood bubbles that regenerate when they’re popped. Zi exhibits a bevy of industrial activity juxtaposed with possibly the most vacant, dark backgrounds. Kur is an earthier realm on the eastern side of the map whose higher elevation will lead to a consistent snowstorm as the player climbs upward past all of the cryptic, primordial caves in between. The unnatural moody blue aura permeating through the night sky of Edin and Ukkin-Na is quite pleasant to the visual senses. Still, I emphasize the word unnatural to hone in on the extent of how alien everything is to a fault. Yes, I realize that an alien planet possibly existing in another dimension should look bizarre and otherworldly, but take a gander at the Elsenova machination that beckons the player toward her at the beginning of the game. If Gigerian was in the dictionary, a picture of Elsenova or her fellow Rusalki sisters would be displayed parallel to it on the page. Also, there are far too many narrow vertical sections where the formation of ascending platforms are literally crawling with insectoid enemies along the bars, which is Metroid level design 101.

At least Axiom Verge shows some restraint with its Metroid siphoning and doesn’t include a female protagonist at the helm of the adventurer role through Sudra’s alien planes. The man in question, however, doesn’t exactly exude the demeanor of an intrepid warrior like Samus Aran. I hate to be presumptuous, but Trace here gives me the impression that he’s a self-inserted character by the developers. I’d wonder which of them drew straws to implement themselves into the game, except that I can safely place the blame on Thomas Happ as Axiom Verge’s single developer a la Cave Story. Does Mr. Happ think that Trace is a badass, or is he an example of a character forced to grapple with a situation way out of his element? The latter of possibilities is plausible considering he’s an ineffectual, scientific type, but Trace consistently combats all of the crazy creatures on this planet with Joe-Schmoe stoicism as if he isn’t really affected. I think the real answer boils down to the fact that Trace has no charisma or personability. His character icon that pops up in dialogue boxes has a terrible resting bitch face and if Mario grew out sideburns like Trace has, it would be a PR disaster. Then again, progressing through Axiom Verge’s convoluted story reveals that Trace is the younger clone of the oppressive lord Athetos who rendered Sudra’s inhabitants as the malformed monsters that roam around the vicinity via the expulsion of a noxious pathogen. If Trace has the potency of a supreme dictator as another form of himself(?), then certainly the developer intended to create a badass rogue capable of grand destruction. Still, there are so many reasons why I’m not following Trace as this cool bad boy as intended. He’s perhaps one of the most indigestible gaming protagonists I’ve seen in a while.

An admirable emulation of Metroid’s formula that Axiom Verge exhibits is its sense of progression. One of the most effective aspects of Metroid was the lack of illumination of where Samus’s objectives were located, and I’m not only referring to the pitch-black hole of space displayed in every background. The first Metroid game on the NES was so cryptic that not having the Nintendo Power issue with the walkthrough at every player’s side was comparable to going spelunking without a flashlight. Axiom Verge does not mimic Metroid quite to that extent, but I appreciate the fact that Axiom Verge respects the intelligence of its players. Admittedly, too many modern Metroidvania games rely on icons to signify where the main objective is located, similar to an open-world game. These titles tend to forget that the modus operandi of the Metroidvania genre is exploration, which can only be facilitated through a vague sense of direction. Axiom Verge trusts that the player should think to check every unexplored spot on the map after they acquire a new power-up, which is a core strength of the design philosophy that attracts me to the Metroidvania genre. I especially enjoy accidentally stumbling upon the spots in Axiom Verge where Trace finds himself in a “secret area” where all of the topography is twisted into what can be described as a malfunctioning simulation, and I likely wouldn’t have known these existed if my main objective was concise. One modern aspect of Axiom Verge not present in Metroid or most Metroidvania titles is that upon dying, any new upgrades and uncovered land on the map will still be retained once the Nanogates flying inside of Trace send him back to the previous save station to preserve his mortality. An argument can be made that this is an example of the modern perks of gaming making Axiom Verge too accessible, but believe that this application mitigates some punitive tedium. Axiom Verge is plenty difficult as a test of endurance between the save stations, which are located with an appropriate amount of space between them.

I’m glad that Axiom Verge incentivizes blind exploration throughout because taking any of the various paths on a whim will almost always lead to a new secret. What lies behind the obscured crevices of Sudra could be a smattering of goodies. The gadgets needed to venture further through the game are usually rewarded on the beaten path after a turning point of progression, such as the drill that cracks the grainy rock formations and the remote drone that can dig through the tightest of corridors. I’ve been told that the grapple gadget used to swing from the roof is taken from Bionic Commando instead of Metroid’s grapple beam, but I’m not that gullible. The most interesting gadget found in Axiom Verge is the “address disruptor” that subverts the matter of enemies and certain obstacles into a pixelated frenzy. On top of the eclectic mix of gadgets, the range of offensive weapons in Axiom Verge is bound to make every gun nut salivate. With diligent searching, the player can collect a whopping total of twenty different weapons that all have unique attributes. My selection that got me through most of Axiom Verge’s obstacles were a roulette of the electric shotgun Kilver, the elongated Ion Beam, and a Lightning Gun that locks onto enemies from above for a connected stream of shocking energy. One also has to appreciate using the classic flamethrower to turn the field into a burning holocaust. The impressive arsenal in Axiom Verge is a blast to experiment with, even more so than in any Metroid game.

Because Axiom Verge offers a treasure trove of unique weapons, using the most suitable one to conquer the game’s bosses is like a glorified puzzle. All of Axiom Verge’s enemies are relatively equal to Trace’s human size, but every boss is appropriately the size of a behemoth to signify its greater significance. Their general intimidation is also intensified when they scream DEMON at Trace upon mistaking him for Athetos) when he enters their domain. Because their misplaced grudge against Trace fuels their fury, none of these boss fights are sitting down to die. From the scorpion Gir-Tab, and the stinging wasp Ukhu, to the sentinel first boss Xedur, all of Axiom Verge’s bosses are not to be taken lightly. Uruku is so astronomically massive that Trace is but a bouncing flea in his arena, which makes fighting him difficult on account of the player not being able to see Trace at all times. However, the one boss in the game that is unfortunately underwhelming is the main man Athetos. All that Trace has to do to defeat the vile version of himself is fire upward to destroy a vulnerable tab in the ceiling around four times, and the constantly spawning droids that shoot lasers are the more formidable foes. I expected this wizened ghoul to burst from his cryogenic fluid chamber into something awesomely beastly for a second phase and was disappointed that the game’s final boss simply amounted to the extent of the first one and nothing more.

Axiom Verge, or “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Metroid!” excels in understanding why Metroid’s gameplay and mechanics are effective. As far as a Metroidvania experience is concerned, Axiom Verge is a well-oiled machine. The extensive array of gameplay pertaining to its level design, fair difficulty, gadgets and weapons, and challenging bosses are more than enough to entice anyone who is a fan of the genre. However, all of the meritorious aspects of Axiom Verge are packaged in what appears to be a clear Metroid homage, judging from its uncanny artistic and thematic choices alone. Axiom Verge’s lack of discernible identity, unfortunately, leaves the whole experience as coming into one ear and immediately out of the other. All of its thematic and narrative elements amount to making the entire experience somewhat forgettable. It’s a shame considering the labor of love that was put into its gameplay attributes. A clearer vision would’ve drastically aided Axiom Verge.