Metroid Dread Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 7/24/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Metroid Dread

Developer: MercurySteam

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: Switch

Release Date: October 8, 2021

Ready for the second Metroid renaissance? I’m so excited that I can hardly contain myself. I never thought Nintendo’s seminal science-fiction IP would return again to grace the screens of modern gaming because the series received a serious beating for ten years up to the release of Metroid Dread in 2021. The third-person experiment that was Metroid: Other M resulted in the first dud of the Metroid franchise, embarrassing the fans enough to the point where they’ve concocted a series of loopholes to remove it from the series canon like its equivalent to the abhorrence of the Mario and Zelda titles on the CD-I. Metroid: Federation Force released soon after in 2016 was disjointed enough to the point where erasing it from the public consciousness was plausible, for a futuristic footy game where Samus wasn’t even present hardly resembled anything pertaining to Metroid in the slightest (damn you, Rocket League!). The widely anticipated fourth Metroid Prime game was unveiled at E3 in 2017, but the lack of tangible proof of production in what was essentially boiled down to a banner didn’t exactly inspire confidence that Metroid was undergoing a resurrection process. The deafening silence after this reveal (until only a month before writing this) dawned on fans that Nintendo had cruelly teased them and that Metroid was still lying in limbo with several of the company’s once prosperous, but now pruned and dormant IPs. The rocky recent history regarding Metroid is exactly why announcing Metroid Dread was a sonorous ring in the collective eardrums of every Metroid fan who had become accustomed to being fed disappointment for over a decade. We probably would’ve been content with any morsel of content to hold us over before our bated breath for the fourth Metroid Prime game totally turned sour, but Metroid Dread supersedes the initial novelty lark of a surprise comeback for the series.

So if we were to believe that a fourth Metroid Prime game was still a developing sunrise over yonder horizon, albeit peering over at a crushing snail’s pace, is Metroid Dread a prologue sampler? Does it establish the conflict of the fourth Prime game, taking the weight of the expositional load off to facilitate a smoother start for the main course? Despite Metroid Dread’s sudden existence in the midst of the Metroid Prime 4 enticement, it is not related to the Prime subseries in the slightest much less its understudy assistant. Longer deferred than a general Metroid title, on the whole, is an entry in the series from the 2D perspective, a distinction that was made when Metroid Fusion was released in tandem with the series’ 3D debut of Metroid Prime on the same exact day. Unlike the two sequels that stemmed from Metroid’s triumphant leap to polygons, Metroid Fusion was the last title to be rendered in the classic, claustrophobic X-axis, the two remakes of the first couple of Metroid games withstanding. Since the time in gaming when the third dimension was perceived as a binding feat of evolution during Metroid Fusion’s release date, 2D games became chic thanks to the burgeoning indie circle, and then this newfound admiration progressed to the point where they now share an equal billing as a legitimate way to develop a game in the modern landscape of the medium. 2D Metroid is back on the menu after getting the impression it was technically discontinued, and an original title with this classification is something the series desperately needed far more than another 3D Prime game.

Another 2D Metroid game connotes that Metroid Fusion is no longer as distinctive a Metroid title as it was for almost two decades, especially since the events of Metroid Dread take place in a sequential order to its immediate predecessors, unlike the Prime games that fractured the series order almost to the degree of Zelda’s asymmetrical timeline splicing. If one can recall from so long ago, Fusion introduced a terrifying new menace to Metroid’s galactic universe called the X: amorphous, floating jelly globs of varying colors that use their advantageous lack of a solid biological substratum to adulterate their prey’s biology and turn them into malevolent, zombified puppets. A distress signal conveys that X activity is rampant on the planet of ZDR, and a strange assailant duly bombards Samus upon arriving at the distant world’s surface. This hostile aggressor is particularly interesting because they seem to be a member of the ancient Chozo race, Samus’s surrogate parental guardians and teachers in the art of advanced physical dexterity to survive the harsh conditions of interplanetary traversal. This transgression is equally as puzzling as it is appalling for Samus, as the storied benevolence of these scientific space birds has lulled Samus into a profound trust that she never thought would be broken. As it is, the paralyzing light this rogue Chozo blasts Samus’s visor with incapacitates our hero, eventually stirring awake to find that this blinding beam is yet another casualty that strips her of her eclectic array of gizmos. The recovery plot catalyst is still a Metroid standby, but the mystery behind why this particular attacker chose to act uncharacteristically and slight Samus as they did adds a unique hint of intrigue that we are eager to unravel as she recovers her misplaced arsenal.

I think I’m going to stop dedicating a paragraph to the visuals of any triple-A game of the current console generation and most likely all future eras of gaming moving forward. It goes without saying that the medium has reached an impressive graphical proficiency that will at least ensure a standard of realistic competency expected in this comfortable day and age of gaming’s technical evolution. Yes, Metroid Dread looks as phenomenally clean as any of the games that share its release year, but I must dwell on the finer details of its visual sheen to compare it to all of its 2D predecessors. Actually, despite the 2D correlation Metroid Dread has with the earlier games of the franchise, this kinship only extends to the shared X-axis restriction. Metroid Dread’s graphics are just as rounded and polygonal as the ones seen from Samus’ first-person view in the 3D Metroid Prime titles, arguably even more so due to the superior, high-definition hardware compared to that of either the Gamecube or the Wii. Because pixels and the two-dimensional perspective are now interchangeable, Metroid Dread greatly surpasses the visuals of its spatially reserved peers on a purely objective scale. However, one can still debate whether or not Dread’s polish makes it definitively the most appealing, especially since we have the psychedelic-tinged blotchiness of Metroid Fusion as a direct comparison. I mentioned that Metroid Dread’s visuals had an efficient sense of cleanliness, but the extent of this hyper-modern gloss practically sterilizes the game like a surgeon washing his gloves before he makes his first incision on his patient lying unconscious on the operating table. This comparison isn’t an indictment of modern industry-standard graphics sucking the personality out of the graphics, for the sterility gives ZDR a cold uncanniness fitting for a series that thrives in uncomfortable settings. I still prefer the wild visual choices that Metroid Fusion made, however. Metroid Dread’s modernity also allows the game to be riddled with cutscenes, triggering to signify a significant moment occurring or to exposit long swathes of narrative information. I wish a cinematic scene didn’t commence at the rate of what feels like every other new door opening, but maybe the previous 2D Metroid games constantly stopped the gameplay at every slightly notable moment and the presentation was too primitive for me to notice.

For as eerily pristine as displayed by the graphics, ZDR is another Metroid world with a plethora of uncomfortably alien districts that are distinct from one another. In a twist of fate, the journey through ZDR is a reversal of the typical rabbit hole plunge that Samus always undergoes when exploring uncharted territory. The blackout she experienced has teleported her to the lowest trenches of ZDR’s crust, and another overarching objective intertwined in Metroid Dread’s narrative is reuniting with Samus’ trademark gunship that is idly sitting at the planet’s surface awaiting its pilot. As a result of flipping the progression, the most uninhabitable environments are ironically the most manageable from a difficulty standpoint. Whether it be the environments of the sunken laboratory submerged in the planet’s roaring, oceanic waters in Burenia or the molten, Norfair-esque lava currents of Cataris, the two polar areas could neither be found directly underneath the parking spot of Samus’ ship at the start of Super Metroid. As Samus ascends up ZDR’s crust, she’ll find herself in the lush, sunlit forest of Ghavoran, which is located adjacent to the now-vacant palace in the Ferenia district. The former area’s greenery connotes that surface light provides naturalistic nutrients to maintain its healthy glow, and the latter suggests that the geographical spot was ideal enough to support a living, breathing civilization. While these assumedly innocuous biomes should reasonably be the ones Samus begins her journey on, the developers realize the compromise of the natural difficulty curve and supplement it with a twist. On the compact wreckage of Elun, the X scourge is released onto the world, and the viral blobs are freed to drift around infecting the enemies near ZDR’s surface. Once an enemy's biology is adulterated by the parasite, it spontaneously evolves into something slightly more formidable. For example, the bulky reddish-pink enemy that resembles a quadrupedal crab enlarges and gains protective armor with the X’s biological enhancements. An enemy that can be subdued in a flash with proper timing suddenly transforms into the equivalent of fighting a hippopotamus coated in a shell. Remembering that the X is a relevant threat after jumping around the Metroid chronology like Dr. Who saves what could’ve been a sharp decline in the tension and danger achieved by descending a Metroid map in the normal, opposite direction.

Whether or not climbing to the surface of ZDR as opposed to digging deeper emulates the intended effect of…dare I say, “dread,” Metroid Dread intersperses some corridors detached from their surrounding areas that are sure to generate some seriously perturbing feelings relating to the titular sensation. In the majority of ZDR’s districts, Samus will encounter doors shrouded in a mess of gray, digital pixels that lead to the lair of the EMMI, aka the “Extraplanetary Multiform Mobile Identifiers”. These cybernetic androids were designed by the Galactic Federation as X hunters whose artificial biological constructs give them a defensive advantage over their prey’s organic-life-altering properties. Because their robotic anatomy was initially perceived as a surefire victory against the X, it's quite distressing that the Federation hasn’t heard sight nor sound of them since they traveled to ZDR to enact their annihilation mission. It's especially a cause for alarm when one of the EMMI hunts Samus with the murderous viciousness that was intended to be reserved for the X. Samus’ allies are now another deadly hazard to overcome in surviving ZDR’s uncaring alien world, and stepping into their domains en route to somewhere else on the map will put Samus at high risk of meeting her demise. Before an EMMI crawls its way over to Samus’ location, the insular domicile each EMMI resides in will still resonate strongly agitated and fearful emotions within the player. I cannot confirm whether these shiny automatons prefer cold environments to warm ones, especially since we can discern the game’s definition of frigid when Artaria freezes over later in the game. Still, the wispy mist permeating off the bleach-white hallways seen through a flickering graphical lens that looks like an old film reel is off-putting enough that the chilled sensation likely stems from that internal, psychological feeling where the hairs on one's neck stand up like radio antennae. When an Emmi signifies its presence with its chirping radar, Samus better run like the fucking wind if she’s caught in the radius of the EMMI’s scanning line of sight. If it catches up to her, the needle protruding from its ocular unit will impale Samus right through her heart, and it’s game over for our favorite female bounty hunter…literally. The Federation ostensibly prioritized the production of the EMMI as their highest budgetary expense for this fiscal year because these robots have been crafted with the most durable materials in the galaxy and therefore cannot be penetrated by any of Samus’ regular firepower. The only means of disposing of the Federation’s latest mistakes is to find the central unit in the EMMI domain that houses a giant, gooey eyeball, whose laser and fire ring defenses are reminiscent of another enlarged part of anatomy from the Metroid archives. Extracting the essence from the eyeball’s remains at its defeat will grant Samus the “omega blaster,” a transitory superweapon that gives Samus’ arm cannon enough power to shoot the EMMI dead in their tracks, provided she measures a safe distance between her and the oncoming EMMI to charge the blast and melt its headplate off with the burning succession of the omega short bursts. The periodic chase sequences with the SA-X in Metroid Fusion escalated the horror factor of the series with a more overt, harrowing thrill, and I’m glad that the EMMI conceptually continues these occurrences. They may not immediately elicit fear unlike the uncanniness of the SA-X, but the unnatural way they contort their dexterous bodies mixed with their menacing determinism to execute Samus like a bloodthirsty chupacabra kills a goat will make every player’s pulse pump like a rhythmic club beat.

The EMMI may also induce anxiety in the player because of the strict penalty of an automatic “game over” that occurs if they fail to elude them. To their relief, Samus spawns outside the entrance of the portal door instead of reverting back to the last save station in what I’d consider to be a quality-of-life enhancement. This convenience also extends to being defeated by a boss as well, so Metroid Dread is aware of every sizable challenge it offers and provides some unparalleled clemency fit for the modern gaming landscape. While the incidental checkpoint comes greatly appreciated, does this safety net extend to every other aspect of the game? Fusion’s practically mission-based progression where Samus returned to ADAM to be assigned a new objective was worryingly regimented for what is supposed to be a freeform maze of hinted progression points. Will the ever-present accessibility of the modern gaming climate render Metroid Dread as resolutely controlled as a mother holding their child’s hand to escort them to their first day of kindergarten? No, but it’s still unlikely that they’ll stumble and fall finding the way to their goal either, even if they’re not a Metroid veteran such as myself who expects hidden cracks in the walls and other classic hindrances of the sort. Metroid Dread’s level design is more akin to the non-linear progression of Super Metroid, or at least it is on paper. I’ve always stated that common sense is essential to navigating through a Metroid game, and Metroid Dread generously rewards the player with every hint of observational insight no matter how meager. Besides revisiting ground that was unreachable before, a spot to use the newly acquired power-up will often be present immediately outside the initial place where it was discovered, and blowing open the once-blocked avenue will directly lead the player to the next significant milestone without any real obtrusive roadblocks. While this often one-way progression trajectory dilutes the explorative sense of getting lost that previous 2D Metroid games exuded, I still commend this streamlined effort because it still exemplifies the Metroidvania design philosophy at its core. The only instances where this ease of progression is bothersome is when the game doesn’t trust the player to continue down the “correct” path, even if the diversion is due to the player wishing to collect upgrades instead of cluelessness. In one instance of this, why would debris be magically obstructing the previous teleportation vessel if it wasn’t a not-so-subtle, shoehorned suggestion from the developers to keep moving forward? Need I remind them what game this is?

The smooth zigzagging around ZDR is likely to be a constant in Metroid Dread because there are several of Samus’ upgrades to reobtain and immediately use to further her expedition through the planet. One admirable technical advancement that Fusion implemented was organizing Samus’ inventory which only grew more congested as the series kept integrating new tools. If merely shuffling a couple of times through Samus’ inventory to land on the right weapon was revolutionary, imagine my surprise when Metroid Dread requires zero back trigger button presses to access any of these abilities. Each beam upgrade replaces the weaker one, and the types of missiles are separated by different methods of pressing the same button. The standard missile (which permanently becomes the super missile with ice properties attached after a certain point) is engaged by a quick tap while holding down the same button will launch the ”storm missiles:” a barrage of rockets with precision targeting. The same one-button method is conducted in ball form to plop three types of explosives out of Samus’ rolled-up suit: the piddly little morph ball bombs to crack open eroded slabs of earth, the cross bomb to destroy a line of these blocks and propel Samus in ball form, and then the ultra-massive, screen-clearing explosion of the powerbomb triggered the same way as the storm missiles. The classic hook line grapple beam is a comfortable alternate button combination, and magnetizing Samus to specific walls with the “spider magnet” while she’s in her standard bipedal form makes her far less vulnerable. Other controller buttons on the Switch are dedicated to the slew of items newly introduced in Metroid Dread. A meter located below Samus’ collective energy tanks fosters the exhaustible use of both the phantom cloak and the flash shift boost. One shadows Samus to total invisibility, which is absolutely essential in thwarting the suspicions of the EMMI, while the other is a lightning-fast dash needed to pass through the closing doors with sensor detection. The parry move that Metroid II’s 3DS remake introduced should constitute a mechanic as fresh as the two listed directly before, for reworking its mechanics to improve the awkward, stationary swipe it was has produced something a thousand times more fluid and agreeable. The player hardly needs the extra health incentive to execute this swift, timely maneuver because accurately hitting the oncoming enemy and dazing it feels like its own reward.

The parry, along with the flash shift, is also crucial for Metroid Dread’s various boss encounters. While a checkpoint will be instituted to alleviate some of the stress in fighting these gargantuan extraterrestrials, the crop of bosses here has so many unexpected tactics up their proverbial sleeves that the player will likely be rewound back to the entrance numerous times. The grotesque, slug scorpion Corpius will attempt to skewer Samus with his hooked tail, and the aquatic behemoth Drogyga will similarly try to smack Samus with its thorny tentacles. The indescribably hideous creature that is draining the warmth from Artaria, aptly just referred to as the indeterminate “Experiment No. Z-57,” unleashes such a vast array of attacks that it's quite challenging to anticipate and evade. I’m not going to question why the bloated space demon Kraid returns as a titanic foe for Samus to conquer or how he situated himself in a commodious pool of lava on this planet because this two-phased encounter is the finest among all of the duels between these two persisting rivals. In fact, the exemplary quality of Kraid’s newest encounter extends to every other boss in the game because they all follow the same engaging sequence. Each boss features two or three phases that jumble up the attack variation. Learning how to expertly dodge everything they dish out fills me with a sense of pride, whereas the previous 2D Metroid games felt as if I was channeling a higher damage output than their input like a tug-of-war match. Adding to this gratification are the parry opportunities present during every boss, and meeting the fleeting glimmer icon at the exact moment will grant the player an advantage they can use to pump ammunition into the beast with cinematic invulnerability. Never has a Metroid game instilled such flowing confidence in my abilities, for I mastered every boss once I became affiliated with every trick they pulled through trial and error.

But only one of these monsters has any relevance to Metroid Dread’s narrative, and that’s the initial instigator Raven Beak, the leader of the Mawkin Chozo Tribe native to ZDR. We learn the identity of this belligerent Chozo executive from his fellow tribesman Quiet Robe, who informs Samus of Raven Beak’s genocidal history and his fascination with harnessing the power of the Metroids to bring the galaxy to its knees. Unfortunately for him, any trace of the bulbous parasites has been wiped clean, except for one valuable source that Raven Beak is simply aroused at the notion of it in his vicinity: Samus herself. We all remember that Samus was imbibed with Metroid DNA in Fusion after her nearly fatal collision with the noxious X pest, which allows her to absorb the X to survive their plague. One can imagine that adulterating one’s DNA with that of a horrific creature from outer space could have seriously grizzly consequences, and the gradual presence of the Metroid’s genetic code flowing through her veins now sees Samus erupting in furious, animalistic anger when provoked by an enemy. This process was seemingly expedited by ADAM, the Federation commander who affectionately calls her “lady.” His communication AI is still secured to Samus’ ship, so whose voice is behind the one Samus has been transporting to the futuristic speakers? Once Samus gets the impression that it's Raven Beak, she blasts the AI to reveal the whereabouts of the game’s main antagonist. Instead of “lady,” Raven Beak calls Samus “daughter” to arrogantly imply that he’s the reason for her extraordinary abilities. Metroid or not, Samus destroys this foul tyrant and barely makes it back to her ship where the real ADAM rejects her upon recognizing that she’s not the same as she once was. It takes the reanimated Quiet Robe to martyr himself somehow for the sake of Samus leaving ZDR’s atmosphere. Samus has escaped, but the knowledge of her full Metroid metamorphosis suppresses the exaltation of victory and leaves an air of fretful uncertainty. Uh, is this supposed transformation strictly in the academic sense? Something isn’t adding up. Is Samus forever changed by this process, and is it going to be a concrete piece of continuity for future Metroid titles? It leaves us with some interesting possibilities, but protagonists with cloudy moral characters aren't exactly Nintendo's specialty.

If the eight-year span of time was advantageous for Fusion to flourish, then more than double that amount was particularly grand for Metroid Dread. The series has now lept a great distance into a gaming landscape so unmistakably advanced that all previous 2D Metroid titles are incomparable. Metroid Dread is exactly what a modern Metroid game should be, for all of the positive and negative aspects that come with modernity. For all of the positive aspects like the exceptional boss battles, button-based inventory, and an ambitious story (that doesn’t hit all the right notes, admittedly), I’ve been floored like no other game in the franchise has floored me before. I’m eager to see where the series will soon tread using this as an example, but I fear that the new wave of Metroid’s relevance has peaked here.

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.

Metroid Prime 3: Corruption Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 9/23/2023)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Metroid Prime 3: Corruption

Developers: Retro Studios

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): First-person shooter, Action-Adventure

Platforms: Wii

Release Date: August 27, 2007

Normally, a trilogy of games would be confined to the same console. Keeping an IP to a confined minimum of three is a respectable decision based on maintaining conciseness with a three-act story arc or preserving the natural evolution of a series before it severely starts to lose its initial luster with subsequent entries. It also helps the general cohesion that all three games in a trilogy are rendered with the same game engine and are released around the same time. It worked for Mario on the NES, Donkey Kong Country on the SNES, both Crash Bandicoot and Spyro trilogies on the original PlayStation, etc. Did the Metroid Prime series on the Gamecube tightly wrap up the 3D Metroid subseries in a neat, little three-piece package on Nintendo’s sixth-generation system? Sadly, Retro Studios only managed to eke out two titles on the twee little lunchbox, putting every Metroid fan that purchased a Gamecube at an awkward place of irresolution. It’s not as if Retro Studios failed to meet their deadlines before the Gamecube’s demise, nor did the sixth generation of consoles deviate from this industry-practiced pattern of a well-rounded set of three consecutive mainline games per series. My insightful conspiratorial musing on why Retro Studios deferred the third Metroid Prime game after the Gamecube’s tenure is that a little birdy over at the Nintendo mothership in Japan flew all the way across the pond to inform Retro Studios that a revolution was coming: The Nintendo Revolution (later renamed the Nintendo Wii). Because they received this tidbit of crucial information, Retro Studios shifted their efforts to finishing their final rendering of the Metroid series on the Wii. What made the presence of a Metroid title on Nintendo’s new console so pertinent? In short, the motion controls. Because a large portion of Metroid Prime’s gameplay involves aiming and shooting, Nintendo would be foolish not to capitalize on the notion of a 3D Metroid game where the player can control Samus more intimately than ever before. As thrilling as the notion of waving Samus’s arm cannon around with newfound layers of kineticism is, the inherent novelty of motion controls will strike gamers with a familiar sense of dread. Does Metroid Prime 3: Corruption supersede the negative connotations associated with motion controls and provide us with an exemplary ending to the critically acclaimed 3D Metroid trilogy? Well…

Why does Retro Studios seemingly enjoy making the Metroid fanbase fretful? Gamers everywhere had to install pacemakers after their hearts couldn’t take the nerve-wracking thought of the highly anticipated next Metroid game being a first-person shooter after its prolonged absence. After being relieved at the result of Metroid Prime being a modern masterpiece and the second gaming carrying on the first game’s mantle splendidly, it was apparently time for another onslaught of anxiety-induced heart murmurs. Considering how astounding the finished product of Metroid Prime was, at least everyone could now trust Retro Studios' game developer acumen. Still, the new ideas on display here feel as if gamers are once again witnessing a pack of vultures circling around the Metroid series on the brink of death, praying to God that it will show signs of revitalized vigor so that they will leave and peck at Star Fox or something instead. If motion controls weren’t as maligned in the gaming community as they are, one might chide me for approaching what could be exciting feats of gaming innovation with such abject cynicism. Frankly, the stigma surrounding them is justifiable, which means the vultures can probably break out the fancy china and napkins for a freshly stinking feast. To assuage players of the mental burden revolving around Metroid Prime’s new peripheral, I’m glad to report that the motion controls in Metroid Prime 3 are perfectly competent (for the most part) and do not severely hamper the Metroid Prime experience. However, there is still plenty to find fault with Metroid Prime 3 which has little to nothing to do with the Wii’s primary control gimmick.

My primary gripe with Metroid Prime 3 is how it strips the essentials of Metroid’s rich, intuitive design down to a slurry of standard first-person shooter elements. I should’ve expected something like this considering the third entry to a series is always the point where streamlining occurs to make a series more accessible after the gameplay formula has been tweaked to refinement over the course of two entries. Even though Metroid Prime 3 submits to the third-entry pattern as usual, certain outliers exacerbate the extent of its accessibility. Historically, 2007, the year of Metroid Prime 3’s release, was when the first-person shooter genre hit its commercial stride and began its course as the dominating king of gaming for the duration of the seventh generation. At the same time, Nintendo was trailblazing new ground for widespread accessibility on the Wii to garner an audience totally unfamiliar with the gaming medium. Metroid Prime is both a first-person shooter and a Nintendo-produced title, so the two happenstance sums of its identity, unfortunately, make for a distressing equation in 2007. Both factors make their best efforts to subdue Metroid’s idiosyncrasies that have made the series one of Nintendo’s most influential and acclaimed properties for the sake of garnering a broader audience.

At face value, Metroid Prime 3’s introduction vaguely recalls the one from the first game. Samus arrives on an intergalactic tanker called the GFS Valhalla suspended somewhere in the vast reaches of the cosmos to discuss a matter of utmost importance with the vessel’s decorated commander Admiral Dane. Samus is tasked to cleanse the internal hard drives of a series of organic supercomputers called the “Aurora Units” located all around the galaxy that have been infected by a nasty virus. Apparently, the situation is so dire that it calls for enlisting three other bounty hunters to assist Samus on her mission: the “Silver Surfer on ice” Rundas, the phlegmatic, mech-powered Gohr, and the bouncy, flirty shapeshifter Gandrayda. Seeing Samus work alongside this motley of bounty hunters reminds me of the Superman joke from Seinfeld, stating that the practicality of the Justice League is superfluous because the Man of Steel would never require assistance for any act of heroism. Still, it’s relatively amusing seeing other figures in the Metroid universe of the bounty hunter vocation besides Samus. Despite the number of valiant warriors on deck, the GFS Valhalla still manages to be successfully infiltrated by a fleet of space pirate goons, causing the spaceship to sink into the gravity of a nearby planetoid as its remnants lie dormant forevermore like the frigate that opens the first game. The chaos during the introduction certainly upholds the Metroid standard of hooking the player with that ticking sense of tension.

Suspicions should rise from any Metroid veteran while witnessing Metroid Prime 3’s introduction sequence. I’m breathing a sigh of relief that the game doesn’t revert to modeling itself as a co-op shooter like Halo after seeing Samus fraternizing with the other bounty hunters during the expositional buildup in the GFS Valhalla. Still, where does the game get off uttering so much dialogue? Gamers often criticize 3D Nintendo titles for lacking spoken lines of dialogue, another smirch against the old fuddy-duddys at the company for rejecting gaming modernity. Even if Nintendo ever decides to inject enough voice acting in their IPs to fill a Tennessee Williams play, Metroid should still be the series with the lowest priority for this radical change. The last time I checked, isolation was a key component to Metroid’s tone and atmosphere, and conversing with NPCs on a regular basis is antithetical to conveying that crushing feeling of loneliness. Samus is still roaming around the map(s) without a bounty hunter peer or a diminutive sidekick to keep her company. Still, the former agents of the now-defunct GFS Valhalla insist on signaling in information on Samus’s objectives through some sort of earpiece in her power suit. Sure, transmitting current objectives to Samus and pinpointing them on a map with a question mark was present in the previous two Metroid Prime games, fueling the counterargument that 3D Samus had already tarnished that explorative Metroid meatiness. To think that the majority of Metroid fans hadn’t batted an eye until now! I, along with several other Metroid fans, interpreted the objective signaling from the first two games with a suspension of disbelief. We viewed the suggested trajectory as something for our eyes only, a videogamey attribute like a pause menu or the game over screen. When characters from the game are constantly voicing commands at Samus and directing their orders by uttering Samus’s name, the immersiveness of being surrounded by a looming air of alienation is heavily compromised. Even with streamlining the trajectory to completing an objective, one would think the process would be at least smoother, but I encountered far too many instances where the game would nail down an objective on the map just to send the player back to fetch an upgrade needed to progress that isn’t marked. This does not foster exploration through the player’s intuition, it’s just brazenly misleading.

A considerable aspect of Metroid’s intentional feeling of onset dread through sci-fi seclusion is also compromised with Metroid Prime 3’s environments not coalescing on one planet. As a landmark first for the series, Samus progresses through the game by traveling to and fro from five different planets and or smaller orbital bodies by flying to them with her ship. Did an unpaid intern at Retro Studios come up with this newfangled idea to “innovate” on Metroid’s gameplay and if so, why did the higher-ups listen? It is the dumbest change that Metroid Prime 3 implements by a fair margin, even among plenty of other questionable ones. If the state of abandonment in Metroid doesn’t send pangs of nervous uncertainty down the player’s spines, the flow of progression deeper into the catacombs of uncharted ground will. That is, it would trigger this feeling if Metroid Prime 3’s maps were constructed as a conglomerate of diverse environments connected by branching paths like every other Metroid game. Venturing from the tranquil origin point of her parked ship to an area comparatively harsher and deadlier through inquisitive excavation is a strong element of Metroid’s level progression. Encountering a number of dead ends after completing the assigned objective and resorting to tread back to the ship to change the course directive is as cheap and inorganic as a lawn flamingo. What is this? Ratchet & Clank? Actually, that comparison reminds me of something amusing. I adored Insomniac’s space-age 3D platformer series as a kid and was slightly disappointed while playing the first Metroid Prime that Samus wouldn’t be revving up her ship’s engines to blast off to multiple planets throughout the course of the game like the way that Ratchet & Clank organizes progression. Now that I grasp the slow burn, intricate direction of Metroid, a Metroid game that actually delivers on my initial expectations is a sacrilegious transgression equivalent to spitting in my face. On top of acting as a remote valet, Samus’s ship is also armed to the teeth with missiles and a grapple beam that lifts hefty objects airborne. All Samus’s ship did in every previous Metroid game was twiddle its proverbial thumbs waiting for Samus to finish her mission or to periodically save. Here, it’s Samus’s indentured servant, and calling it to bombard defensive systems with a load of firepower from the skies is another brassy scene in a series that relies on subtleties.

It could be possible that I’m acting a tad overdramatic. Splitting the notable districts of a Metroid Prime world could still function appropriately if the daunting sense of progression is still emulated on each individual planet. I’m sorry to say that Retro’s streamlining seeps deeply into the level design as the planets are divided by individual districts, signified on the map by the ability to dock Samus’s ship. The worst offender of the planetary parting is Bryyo, the first legitimate location in the game whose exploration isn’t halted entirely by the narrative. The first section of the world that Samus arrives at is a sweltering rock with the cosmos as a prominent backdrop. With the exception of the mechanical Chozo technology that intersects the branching paths, the unhinged alien fauna and the wild humidity exude a prehistoric atmosphere. Its beauty is arguable, but one cannot deny its curious aura. After completing the first objective on the planet, Samus scurries back to her ship with the coordinates to Bryyo’s Fiery Airdock, a smoldering furnace whose sulfurous claustrophobia rivals that of Magmoor Caverns with the manmade industrial sterility of the Metroid Laboratory on Phendrana. Remember when every player’s heart sank from the tonal whiplash of stumbling upon the Phendrana laboratory after an hour or two of plodding along the serene, snowy cliffside? That effective sensation could only be achieved through organic progression, and the fact that Bryyo could’ve offered the exact same reaction but ultimately couldn’t due to the artificial way Metroid Prime 3 approaches level progression is such a shame.

Elysia and the Pirate Homeworld aren’t as jaggedly orchestrated as Bryyo. There are plenty of free vacancies for Samus to park her ship on their surfaces, but she isn’t forced to hop between them via flight to visit each section. Elysia implements a tramway system to carry Samus across the various isles suspended in the sky. If you’re adept with your Greek mythology knowledge, I can affirm that Elysia is as immaculate as its name would suggest. The ancient Chozo creatures have crafted a scattered sky metropolis among the clouds, with glimmers of golden light shimmering among the clouds and cracks of lightning booming in the distance to signify the rapturous scope of the setting. Elysia is Cloud City from Star Wars as depicted in a glorious afterlife with sparse architecture. Yet, I believe that Elysia is a gas giant, so the hazy, ethereal effect is actually a noxious element wafting around, still exuding a sense of Metroid danger (literally) in the air. From a conceptual standpoint, Elysia is a highlight section of the game, and I might prefer its angelic serenity to the electric iridescence of the Sanctuary Fortress from the last game. However, Elysia is quite a pain to navigate due to the zigzagging arrays of skylines that Samus must grapple on and ride around. The Pirate Homeworld also affirms all connotations to its name. The place that the series mainstay menaces call home has a hostile glow surrounding it, signifying a prevailing threat of danger at every step. The underground metro transit system is a logical method of transportation for what we can infer is an active civilization, transporting Samus around the three prominent districts in what is the most organic example of traversal in the game. The only aspect about the Pirate Homeworld that bothers me is the escort mission that serves as the area’s climax. What irks me isn’t the AI of the soldiers charging headfirst to their deaths, but the fact that the corrosive acid rain that Samus spent at least three overarching objectives finding a means to become immune from doesn’t phase them in the slightest. So much for continuity? I’m not sure what to make of the base of the federation on Norion or the Metroid-infested remnants of the GFS Valhalla either. Transitory filler for a few story beats, perhaps?

While I explicitly stated at the beginning of this review that Metroid Prime 3’s motion controls weren’t a substantial detractor, their radical implementation after two Metroid Prime games played on a more traditional controller still makes them worth delving into. All in all, Metroid Prime 3’s control scheme isn’t much different than it was with a Gamecube controller. Shooting is still assigned to the primary A button while the B button usually used to execute action still makes Samus leap off the ground. Jumping manages to be smoother due to the player’s trigger finger fitting nicely on the back of the Wiimote. Analog control still fits on the left thumb even if the nub is separated by the additional nunchuck peripheral. The motion aspect is all in the aiming, which is highlighted by a more pronounced reticle. As one would probably guess, the accuracy of Samus’s shots coincides with the player’s ability to line them up with the reticle. Since Metroid Prime is a more combat-intensive Metroid experience, not automatically ensuring a dead-on hit with the targeting system like in the previous games makes the action more challenging and engaging. The grapple gameplay on the other hand, however, is a fickle affair. Swiping the nunchuck half of the controller when using the grapple beam will tear away enemy shields, machine sockets, and chunks of debris. When executed properly, it feels like the player is cracking a whip, but only when the game decides to register a grapple with the adhesive stick instead of a pathetic energy splash. The section on Bryyo where Samus must pull back three levers on a generator was the worst instance of their unresponsiveness, and I’m pretty sure the flying space pirates that were present were laughing at my struggle, which infuriated me to no end.

All other gameplay attributes in Metroid Prime 3 involve little to no motion control, and the total number of them has been reduced or slightly modified. The game forgoes the Super Missile upgrade that blasted the most microscopic of cracked barriers and stubbornly locked doors. The missiles themselves eventually are rendered in the ice variety after a certain point, and they’re mainly used for freezing makeshift ice platforms more than combat. Accumulating missile upgrades are mainly for the occasional door locked behind five or so targets that need to be hit all at once. The trusty scan visor is now accompanied by an X-ray visor and one that calls Samus’s ship for a variety of commands. Every beam Samus acquires replaces the old one as opposed to having it join her arsenal for specific elemental situations. It’s a shame the game can’t be bothered to mix and match the beams anymore, but I guess upgrading to a stronger beam every time makes sense. The modification that upsets me more is making Samus jump in morph ball form without the push of a bomb, for my proficiency with double jumping with bombs that I honed to expertise has been rendered obsolete. One Metroid tradition I’m actually glad that Metroid Prime 3 has forsaken is the need to recollect all of these gadgets and upgrades because it became a tiring tease.

Metroid Prime 3 forces all of Samus’s weapons and other abilities to take a backseat to Phazon: the mechanical and narrative weight of the entire game. Since its heavy lore implications and infamous mine on Tallon IV, the pernicious substance has been edging its way far too close to Samus for comfort. After materializing itself as Samus’s evil, neon blue doppelganger in the second game, Phazon’s growing evolution in the third game has critically struck the bounty hunter. After an encounter with Dark Samus on Norion in her attempt to obliterate the planet with a Phazon meteor called a “Leviathan Seed,” Samus recuperates from her strained victory with a nasty Phazon infection. It now runs rampant in Samus’s bloodstream, and she must release it from her system like any other bodily waste. Expunging the toxin comes in the form of a superweapon, an extension of Samus’s standard beam unleashed by holding down the start button. Samus’s visor becomes engulfed in a hazy static, and the frenzy ceases when the energy bar at the top of the visor is either entirely depleted or taps out by pressing the start button again. If Samus neglects to do either, the bar will turn red and force Samus to drain the Phazon or succumb to the corruption and die bleeding out into her suit. Considering using Phazon proves to be far more effective at dispatching enemies than any regular weapons, one would figure to abuse this mechanic without impunity. However, the caveat is that the Phazon energy coincides with Samus’s health, with a full bar equalling out to one whole energy tank. This balancing act is what makes the Phazon usage the most interesting new mechanic that Metroid Prime 3 offers. Unleashing the ineffable substance is contingent on whether the player can afford to drain their health for their own safety, a gamble based on the player’s defensive skills during combat.

Even though using Phazon comes with dire complications, it seems like the player will be obliged to take the gamble even if they feel tentative about it. Eventually, the enemies become so durable due to the prevailing corruption of Phazon, so the only effective means of wiping them out is to fight fire with fire. Despite the risk, Samus will end up flaunting her internal affliction. In the way Phazon is used, it seems like an illicit drug rather than space-age asbestos. Everyone, even the heroes, is imbibing the stuff to make themselves stronger at the cost of their physical and mental integrity. The most tragic examples of Phazon use are Samus’s bounty hunter chums, who fall the furthest from grace when they get a hint of it. Unlike Samus who can control her inner struggle, the other three bounty hunters go stark raving mad with drug-induced delusion and attempt to sabotage Samus’s mission. Because they are too far gone to save, Samus must euthanize them with the brute force of her arm cannon to prevent further harm to themselves or the fate of the galaxy. While their boss fights on each of the three significant areas all amount to the struggle of keeping the targets aligned with all of them moving erratically, the narrative depth behind these fights obviously bestows some emotional weight. Or, at least that’s what the game is trying to convey. I got the impression that the bounty hunters were the good guys in the introduction, but were these guys Samus’s bosom buddies? Is the fact that Gandrayda cheekily called Samus “Sammy” enough to signify a sense of a personal connection? We aren’t granted enough time to interact with them under normal circumstances to understand the gravity of the scenario. The main bosses that cap off an area’s completion at their Phazon cores prove to be much more of a challenge but did not feel the slightest bit of grief upon slaying these Phazon-riddled giants, so I suppose the emotional effect sort of worked. Ridley is one of these titans in his new “Omega” variant which seems to be the metallic “Meta” coat, but thicker because it’s now protecting a tender wound from when he plummeted down an elevator shaft with Samus on Norion. What exactly is Ridley’s stake in Dark Samus’s nefarious plans to flood the universe with Phazon? Is he simply acting as a cog in this wheel just to spite Samus? We weren’t bereft by Ridley’s absence in the second Metroid Prime, and his inclusion here just feels like an arbitrary lark.

After liberating each world of their Phazon problem, Samus and the federation troopers take the newly acquired Leviathan Battleship to penetrate the barrier surrounding the planet Phaaze: the source planet of the Phazon corruption. Once Samus makes the intrepid plunge downward to the point of no return, something unexpected occurs. You see, at this point in the game, the player shouldn’t fear the damaging effects of Phazon as they did when Samus’s health bar first turned red and the alert levels were critical. In fact, the player should be comfortable using it as an extra boost. Well, the game assumes the player has been fiending Phazon like a crippling addiction because Samus will be in an inescapable state of Phazon frenzy mode for the duration of the finale. From the trek to the center to the two boss fights with Dark Samus and the multi-phased Aurora Unit, the constant state of alert and the threat of that bar filling to its breaking point is genuinely hairraising, more so than any of the series' mainstay escape sequences. In the end, when the federation celebrates Samus’s conquering of Phazon and all it adulterates, the ending I received was one where she returns to Elysia and looks longingly out into the skyscape. I’m told that this scene is her lamenting the deaths of her fallen bounty hunter comrades, which overtly adds more weight to Samus’s grief. Still, I don’t know why it’s specifically where she fought Ghor. Maybe she’s showing some favoritism like Dorothy did for the Scarecrow. Despite all of the effective moments in Metroid Prime 3’s finale, the best part by a fair margin is how the game handles the obligatory fetch quest near the end. To usurp the Leviathan Battleship from the space pirates, Samus needs to recover a code located deep in the broken catacombs of the GFS Valhalla. Restoring the battleship to the state of traversability only requires five of the nine energy cells, and they can be plucked out of the walls at the first point Samus sees them. This is the only clear improvement that Metroid Prime 3 makes to what was already in place for the previous two games, and I am extremely grateful for not having to backtrack, especially in this divergent galaxy.

Upon playing Metroid Prime 3, I’ve concluded that the 3D trilogy should’ve been titled “Metroid Phazon.” Now that the third and final entry in the trilogy shares little in common with the previous two, Phazon is the one constant that unites all three games and gives them the sense of a cohesive trilogy arc. Everything else in Metroid Prime 3 is naturally hard to compare to the previous two Metroid Prime titles, and it’s not only because the player has to contend with flailing Samus’s arm cannon around with a detached, bulky wand to ensure accuracy. For the record, I much prefer how the first two Metroid Prime games approached exploration and level design because it was astounding that a 3D game could effectively emulate a design philosophy that seemed staunchly planted in the 2D space with no legroom to innovate. Metroid Prime 3 looks like a Metroid game but does not act or feel like one, sharing more in common with its first-person shooter contemporaries than any title of its own namesake. I cannot criticize Metroid Prime 3 for what it wasn’t trying to be, which was the first two games only with motion controls. As far as a more action-intensive, space opera Metroid goes, Metroid Prime 3 still succeeds thanks to the Phazon system, and the grapple beam utility to a lesser extent, for offering something interesting while raising Metroid Prime’s skill ceiling. My comparative distaste for Metroid Prime 3 compared to the other two ultimately comes down to a matter of taste. I much prefer Alien to Aliens because I prefer a rich, brooding atmosphere in my horror media, but I can still concede that the latter still achieves something substantial with its different intentions.

Metroid Prime 2: Echoes Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 5/14/2023)

[Image from wikipedia.org]

Metroid Prime 2: Echoes

Developer: Retro Studios

Publisher: Nintendo

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

Platforms: GCN

Release Date: November 15, 2004

Rejoice, fellow Metroid fans; for once Metroid Prime was released to mark Metroid’s debut in the third dimension, and the franchise didn’t crawl back under its dark, damp rock for another decade of hibernation. At least, this was the case for a while until Metroid once again upheld its reputation as the Snorlax of Nintendo’s franchises: massively conspicuous, yet disappointingly dormant. Nowadays, it’s uncertain whether or not Nintendo will follow up on Metroid’s third wind after another ten-year interval of silence, a worrisome state for Metroid fans everywhere. Back in the 2000s, however, it was a fantastic time to be a Metroid fan, as the tidal wave of Metroid Prime’s success reverberated for the duration of almost two whole gaming generations. Metroid Prime 2: Echoes was the direct successor to the first game’s newfound glory, and the game was released in the time of a standard sequel as opposed to a whole life’s worth of events passing by the time Samus reappears. Metroid Prime 2 was also as exemplary a 3D Metroid title as the first, advancing what is typically a 2D game one polygonal space beyond itself and doing so masterfully. Yet, Metroid Prime 2 wasn’t met with the same level of awe-stricken delight, as the public merely deduced it as a sequel that fulfilled all of the expectations that the first game established. I suppose Metroid Prime 2 had an inherent disadvantage. People were no longer catastrophizing over the troubling notion of Metroid Prime’s American developers and their ambitions murdering the franchise in cold blood, but anything in Metroid Prime 2 couldn’t have been as astonishing as the first game since we had seen the template the developer referenced to craft it. Also, this was the first Metroid sequel on the same console as its predecessor, so both look and feel wildly similar to one another. Still, Metroid Prime 2’s sequel status meant that the game could relax and use the comparatively less pressured development period to do what a sequel does best: grease the loose screws from the first game that are still wobbly.

Because Metroid Prime is a direct sequel to the first game, the game’s events take place after the final resolution of the first game instead of flirting with their sequential releases in a Zelda-esque nonlinear timeline as the first Prime title did. However, most people who played the first Metroid Prime wouldn’t be able to even guess the opening conflict of the second game, as the sequel’s main antagonist was only revealed to those who had meticulously taken the effort to scrounge up every missile upgrade and scan an encyclopedia’s worth of Tallon IV lore. For those of you who felt content facing the final boss with a marginally less capable Samus, a being formed from the dark antimatter Phazon called “Dark Samus” rises from the wreckage of Metroid Prime’s demise. This shadowy apparition isn’t only referred to as “Dark Samus” due to her (it’s?) uncanny resemblance to the bounty hunter and dark complexion. The Phazon-fueled phantom is malevolence incarnate, with a mission of desecrating all natural life and causing Samus a lot of grief in the process. Dark Samus plans to enact a terrible catastrophe on the distant planet Aether, a place where Samus must trace the signal of a distress call. Aether used to be the thriving civilization of the human-moth hybrid creatures called the Luminoth, but have suffered an apocalyptic fate similar to the crumbled society on Tallon IV. The noxious threat to Aether is the Ing, tar-black bullies with parasitic natures so pernicious that it spells doom for any planet they come across. If the harrowing sequence displaying the Ing slaughtering an entire fleet of space mercenaries is any indication, the threat that they pose is tremendous. The Ing have all but wiped out the Luminoth people, except for one of their spiritual leaders named U-Mos who resides at the helm of Aether’s Great Temple. He instructs Samus to connect the other energy controllers located across Aether’s three other districts, for this unification will restore the planet’s vital energy source. While the premise of Metroid Prime 2 is eerily similar to that of the first Prime game, the Ing are a more tangible presence that makes them a more interesting force of great evil.

In order to cross the four invigorating streams of light in Aether, Samus must first find three keys that open the door to the dark version of that area’s temple. The Ing have usurped the energy from these temples, and Samus must retrieve the energy to the light world counterpart to the rightful Luminoth owners. This consistent collection process is a perfect segway to discuss Metroid Prime 2’s main improvement over the previous game, and that’s its level design and sense of progression. Backtracking is often perceived as a negative aspect of the Metroidvania genre and in gaming in general. While I’m often a staunch defender of backtracking, especially in the Metroidvania genre due to its specific design philosophy, roaming around creation in the first Metroid Prime admittedly did become rather tedious. Objectives were jotted on the map via signal transmission, and they usually led to retrieving one of Samus’s misplaced suit upgrades. The player had the freedom to meet this objective at their own pace, but the game often inhibited other paths of progression until the main one was met. Traversing to this plotted point on the map would often force the player to take the Bataan death march across Tallon IV’s five districts just to immediately make the same grueling journey back to where they were when given this objective to use the new upgrade. This frequent escapade is why the area of Magmoor Caverns became especially tiresome, acting as Tallon IV’s molten mezzanine. In Metroid Prime 2, individual objectives are endemic to the current area Samus finds herself, whether they be obtaining a gadget or finding the three keys to unlock the door where the dark energy controller is located. This is the standard level progression for each area, and the comparatively contained design makes the pinnacle objective feel more climactic with a satisfying sense of completion. All the while, each area is stacked with those rich Metroidvania elements that make the genre so enticing. Aether’s world map is also constructed like a pyramid, which means that each area has an elevator that conveniently leads to the others in the rare instances of backtracking. Samus will still receive notifications to guide her on where the next point of progression is, but they happen much less frequently, only when the game feels as if the player is hopelessly lost after straying from the intended route for some time. No longer does it seem like Navi has intercepted a satellite transmission that beams into Samus’s suit.

In addition to triumphing over the first Metroid Prime’s areas in terms of progression and overall design, Aether’s districts are also superior in their aesthetic merits. Each area of Tallon IV was visually stunning, especially for being the first three-dimensional rendering of a Metroid world. However, anyone who played Super Metroid will notice some eerie similarities between Metroid Prime’s areas and those of the franchise's then-last 2D outing. The Tallon IV overworld was another watery grove as Crateria where Samus felt comfortable using the area as the docking bay for her ship in assuming that the only force of nature attacking the spacecraft is the inclement weather. Magmoor Caverns almost proves that Metroid cannot refrain from implementing a claustrophobic area revolving around dodging pools of lava similar to the classic example of Norfair. Metroid Prime 2 proves that the franchise isn’t a one-trick pony in crafting areas in outer space that are appropriately tense and imposing. Right off the bat, it’s difficult to describe the topographical layout of the Temple Grounds. The perimeter outside of the Great Temple that intersects every other area at different angles is an arid canyon composed of some borderline expressionist architecture caked in layers of insect webbing and eggs. The atmosphere the aesthetic conveys is not the same as the long period of decay since prosperity like in the Chozo Ruins. Rather, it feels like Samus has found herself in the beating heart of some extraterrestrial insect hive. It’s difficult to discern whether or not the area looks this way from the Luminoth’s initial design, or whether this is now the breeding grounds of the lesser creatures that inhabit the area because of how barren it has become. It’s a far cry from the placid wetlands where Samus usually keeps her vessel in and if I were her, I’d worry about returning to it entangled in a ball of web the size of a boulder.

The rate of deviation Temple Grounds makes from Metroid area tropes may seem compromised by the following Agon Wastes and Torvus Bog, seeing as they share strong similarities to the areas from the previous Metroid Prime. However, this is merely a surface-level observation. At first glance, Agon Wastes recalls the sandy remains of the Chozo Ruins, with Aether’s own new line of scavengers taking advantage of their desolate ecosystem. Torvus Bog is yet another Metroid wetland situated in the far west region of Aether, making us all wonder why Samus didn’t choose to rest her spacecraft here as usual. Upon exploring these districts of Aether, the initial comparisons stemming from their aesthetics will shift to comparing both of them to Phendrana Drifts. The snowy peak of Tallon IV showcased a particular design in which the frost that covered the organic, breathtaking outside contrasted with the hazardously dim corridors of the Space Pirate Laboratory, and both sections of the area were of relatively equal space. Entering Agon Wastes from the Temple Grounds presents the vast desert wasteland which seems even more sterile than the former Chozo metropolis. After excavating through the land’s rocky cliffs and strangely translucent, holographic foliage, the good ol’ Space Pirates have made their presence known by erecting another laboratory on Aether that houses the same breed of metroids found on Tallon IV. Persistent bastards, aren’t they? Agon Wastes chooses the best-designed area from the previous Prime title to introduce another dune-oriented district instead of replicating the one we were already acquainted with, along with improving on its inspiration by making the area more navigable with a more circular layout. That, and we can all be grateful that the laboratory here never loses its power source, so Samus doesn’t have to wander skittishly through the dark. Underneath the marshy surface of Torvus Bog is the area’s hydrochamber, a pumping station submerged almost entirely in the brackish backwash of the bog’s constant drizzle. While the parallels between how Torvus Bog borrows from Phendrana’s design are less obvious than Agon’s, the contained industrialized section of the hydrochamber still rivals the perimeter presence of the overworld. Also, the Grenchlers are more viscous versions of the Sheegoths in a temperate climate. The one area in Metroid Prime 2 that draws no direct comparisons is Sanctuary Fortress, and its sheer originality makes it the stand-out area of Aether. This cybernetic city in the sky is arguably the most futuristic section of any Metroid game. An electric, neon aura permeates through its abstract aesthetic, and its architecture with wide chasms and a series of elevators makes its overall design just as convoluted. Even though looking out on the lights below the area contradicts its placement with the rest of Aether, it only heightens its intended magnificence. Aether’s muted color tone also gives it more character and aids in the cohesiveness of the world as opposed to the varied level tropes seen across Tallon IV’s districts.

Of course, the most essential dichotomy illustrated in Metroid Prime 2 is the one between Aether’s light and the dark realms. Not since A Link to the Past has Nintendo implemented this dynamic as a method of dividing a game’s world and narrative with this classic contrast. Unlike A Link to the Past, Metroid Prime 2’s dark world does not comprise the harder second half of the game, and the surreal weight of this otherworldly dimension does not transform Samus into her fursona either. In fact, Samus must consistently work with both the light and dark realms in conjunction with one another after she finds the first portal in the Agon Wastes early in the game. Shifting the light and dark worlds throughout the game highlights a layered relationship between both realms. For example, a bridge in Torvus Bog is inconveniently facing the direction opposite the door needed to progress through the area. Only by warping over to the dark world and activating the switch with a power bomb will the bridge turn to the optimal direction. A similar progression sequence occurs in the hydrochamber when Samus must change the trajectory of a laser in the dark world to erode the earthy rock obscuring a passageway. Dead ends in the light world will often be exceeded via visiting the dark world and its slightly deviated map, and the dark world possesses just as many hidden items and upgrades with its indigo-hued map. The developers put in the extra effort to present a deeper connection with the two opposites of Aether besides lazily making the dark world an exact replica but with an aesthetic of being baked alive in an antimatter pressure cooker.

Given that the dark world connotes a sense of evil dissidence, it should be evident that Aether’s dark side is more difficult to traverse than its realistic counterpart. Retro Studios has paved Metroid Prime’s difficulty curve after the first title hit a gaping pothole in the Phazon Mines. Every subsequent area encountered in Aether is reasonably more challenging than the previous one, even if there are some interspersed sections that will still cause some ire. The dark world, on the other hand, manages to have a waning difficulty curve opposite of the standard one in the light. At first, the insalubrious air of the dark world will corrode Samus’s health as quickly as if she slipped and fell into the lava of Magmoor Caverns. Fortunately, the developers decided to aid the player in this brutal atmosphere by implementing domes of light that cover a limited radius of the ground that steadily restores Samus’s health. Whether or not the source of light is a fleeting burst or supported by a crystal with constant illumination, Samus will be forced to shelter herself from the elements of Aether’s bizarro realm in order to survive. While I appreciate the consideration of this safety net by the developers, I’m sure every player nursed the dark world’s health pools like charging a phone’s battery. If the opportunity to fully replenish one’s health is readily available, then I’m going to relish that advantage, even if I embarrassingly realized that the reason why I felt these spots of respite were tedious was because of my insistence on abusing them instead of any real gameplay fallacies. Still, the need to use these enclosed light bubbles as umbrellas become less necessary as the game progresses because adapting to the pernicious environment is often an automatic reward. Samus’s suit upgrades will grant her more durability, as her health will deplete at a more leisurely pace. At the end of the game, U-Mos will grant Samus total invulnerability to the dark world’s poisonous air quality, a satisfying conclusion to the game’s central difficulty arc. Still, couldn’t he have made Samus impenetrable at the beginning, which would’ve been more practical for his dire situation? Is that Glinda the Good Witch in a moth costume?

The dichotomy between light and dark in Metroid Prime 2 is such a pertinent theme that the game even weaponizes it. Gone are the elemental beams accompanying Samus’s standard blaster on the C-Stick from the first game. Instead, Samus uses two separate beams that expunge dark and light energy respectively, with the late game “annihilator beam” combining the two like a chocolate-vanilla swirl. As to be expected, the light beam is super effective against enemies that reside in the dark world, and the same goes for the dark beam in the light. These two beams aren't as balanced as they might seem, however. The primary reason for this is due to both beams having ammunition as opposed to the inexhaustible power of the beams in the previous Prime game. Replenishing ammo is made uncomplicated by simply using the opposite beam on an enemy or cache, but my main grievance with the new beams stems from their utility of them. Naturally, the light beam will be used in most circumstances in the dark world as the Ing’s kryptonite because these enemies here are far more formidable in an environment that is already draining Samus’s health just by standing around in it. In the light world where the enemies are less daunting and the base environment leaves Samus intact, why would anyone expend their dark beam ammo when the regular blaster works just fine? Using the dark beam only comes recommended in the tensest of circumstances. I can’t help but be amused at the irony of how unbalanced the intended yin-yang relationship is between these two beams. Later in the game, color-coordinated enemies are introduced to force the player to use the beams equally, but it feels very shoehorned. It’s also irritating that I’m forced to use ammo to open the light and dark blast doors. Again, ammo is plentiful, but I must gripe about the unfairness of it like an old man seeing a tax on his bills that wasn’t there before.

Fortunately, the alternate beams from the first Metroid Prime are the only weapons that have been replaced. Every one of Samus’s gadgets such as the missiles, power bombs, and grapple beam make their return after they proved to be functional in the third dimension. Showcasing all of Samus’s handy tools in the first Metroid Prime was rather impressive seeing them in a whole new dimension, but that initial wonder diminished upon seeing them again here. Lest we forget the tools in Samus’s inventory that were omitted in the first Prime game, for the developers figured they would’ve been too obtuse to translate. I’m happy to report that Retro Studios took another chance at those items and have now rendered them successfully. The most glaring omission from Metroid’s leap to 3D was the absence of the Screwattack, Samus’s end-game whirlwind weapon that weaponizes Samus’s somersaulting while defying the laws of gravity. This upgrade’s utility in Metroid Prime 2 is mostly used for traversal rather than combat, as the perspective shifts like it does when Samus is in ball form as Samus can glide for five energetic long jumps. While the Screwattack here does not make Samus into a force of pure destruction, soaring over chasms with some expertly timed jumps still exudes that feeling of power. The often wonky wall-jump mechanic coincides directly with the Screwattack as the same precision is needed to hop from side to side in only a couple of scenarios. I’m just happy that they managed to implement these competently to achieve the rounded Metroid experience in 3D.

Metroid Prime 2 also adds plenty of new items and upgrades besides the dueling beams. Samus’s missiles have always been able to be fired in bulk with the Super Missile, yet they’ve never had the rapid-fire power of Samus’s standard beam. That is, until Metroid Prime 2 introduced the Seeker Launcher, which uses the 3D targeting system to lock on up to five missiles at multiple targets. Because the action in Metroid Prime is quick, standing still in order to lock onto multiple enemies is completely impractical, so the Seeker Launcher is disappointingly intended mostly for opening a few special doors. The Gravity Boost upgrade that allows Samus to move flexibly underwater without the liquid weight now comes with the added perk of a jet pack of sorts that boosts Samus upward for a short time, something greatly appreciated in Torvus Bog’s hydrochamber. The Thermal Visor has been replaced with the Dark Visor which reveals hidden platforms and enemies. It’s quite nifty when dealing with the frequent encounters with the Dark Pirate Commandos, infected Space Pirates who serve as the equivalents to the Chozo Ghosts who are arguably more irritating due to their increased durability. The Echo Visor is interesting enough, but I still scratch my head at its contradictory simple, and complicated uses in unlocking doors. Metroid Prime 2’s upgrades are a mixed bag of improvements and odd implementations that should’ve been considered a bit better.

Whether or not the item at hand is old or new, they are all locked behind a boss battle. The full extent of the Ing’s thievery sets up this game’s premise of Samus suddenly being deprived of all her fancy gadgets, this time recollecting them with a vengeance. The developers evidently thought that even though they mitigated the backtracking from the first game, the player still had to earn these upgrades somehow while simultaneously compensating for the paltry number of bosses in the first Prime game. Unfortunately, the smattering of bosses on display here reinstates a warped difficulty curve that the levels managed to avoid and is the true source of frustration with Metroid Prime 2. The first egregiously stiff boss battle in the game is the Boost Guardian, a standard Ing enemy who uses Samus’s ball accelerator to erratically ricochet around the arena. The most challenging factor of this fight is that there are no light pools to heal Samus anywhere, leaving her uncomfortably vulnerable. The dominant Alpha Bogg at the core of the hydrochamber provides the slimmest window of opportunity to damage him, charging Samus with violent impact and punishing the player severely for trying to correct their mistakes by dodging. The Spider Guardian is a boss situated entirely in a series of ball-form tracks, and the unfair precision and time needed to zap the rolling bug are what makes this fight a fucking nightmare. I’d like to put the Spider Guardian in a tube and shove it up the ass of the developer responsible for this fuckness and see how he likes the boss battle playing out in his intestinal tract. It doesn’t help that failing on the two previously mentioned bosses sends Samus back to a save room miles away from the encounter to add insult to injury. Yet, The Power Bomb Guardian boss after the Spider Guardian is insultingly easy. The bosses that have snatched up Samus’s upgrades might be a sign that the quality bosses of the first game were more adequate than the quantity of them seen here. Fortunately, Metroid Prime 2 still provides top-notch bosses with the penultimate area bosses guarding the dark energy controllers, with the arachnid android Quadraxis providing an engaging level of deep circuity that makes his fight delightful.

Still, each boss in Metroid Prime 2 is inherently lower in precedence compared to Dark Samus. She’s a looming shadow over our protagonist in a deeper sense than just her supernatural state of existence, and the game conveys this throughout the game. Samus first fights her enigmatic doppelganger as early as Agon Wastes, where her stature is relatively equal to Samus with a few unique tricks to throw the player for a loop. At the Sanctuary Fortress, Dark Samus becomes more daunting as she’s much more difficult to take down. It’s interesting to see that Samus’s rival is gradually getting stronger in tandem with the player’s progression with Samus. Still, the slight unpredictability she puts on display in her encounters implies that Dark Samus still has one slight leg up on Samus, retaining that sense of dread with seeing her. After another tedious excursion of obtaining nine keys to open the door to the final boss in a quest that mirrors the one from the first game, Dark Samus even eclipses Emperor Ing as the game’s final challenge, and the grand poobah of the sludgy pests will make the player splurge all of their dark and light ammunition. Unlike the colored signals that signify Emperor Ing’s points of vulnerability, Dark Samus is so unpredictable that she’ll leave the player in a state of panic as her weapons do middling damage to her at best. That, and the classic Metroid escape timer has been reinstituted and is counting down rapidly during the fight, putting an insane amount of pressure on the player like no Metroid game has ever done before. Even when the player figures out how to damage Dark Samus, good luck trying to absorb all of her Phazon blasts without damaging Samus in the process. This frenzied fight is a perfect way to cap off the powerful rivalry between the two Samuses, and the only appropriately difficult final duel for the most difficult Metroid game.

My last statement might introduce a new argument to the table that needs addressing: is Metroid Prime 2 the hardest Metroid title. Was its elevated difficulty intentional on the part of the developers, and is that what gives it the clear advantage as the quintessential 3D Metroid game? I can’t definitely answer the first question, but I must state a clear nay to the latter. Metroid Prime 2: Echoes is on equal standing with the first game on its own merits, which stems from both positives and negatives. Retro Studios improved upon so much from the previous game but steered too far from a few aspects that were so strong in the first Metroid Prime. When I gripe about the world design and the steep arch that is the Phazon Mines, I start to commend the second game for making its world design more accessible and building a more accommodating difficulty curve around it. At the same time, being slaughtered by an unfair boss battle and using ammunition to open a door makes me yearn to return to the simpler times on Tallon IV. Debating whether or not Metroid Prime 2 surpasses its revolutionary predecessor always reaches an impasse. Still, the fact that Retro Studios could replicate their enormous achievement in gaming again while also making it indiscernible from their last game is extraordinary in itself.

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.