Welcome to the first post on this blog. Will it be any good? Will anybody care? Let’s do it anyway.
With recently adding CFW to my 3DS, I’ve found myself with access to a lot of old games that I never got to play back in the day, or that I couldn’t play now unless I went and shovelled out cash for the official hardware and cartridges/discs. Either way, it comes down to so many games, so little cash.
As an extension of this, I’ve realised just how many famed franchises I’ve never given the time of day. Metroid, The Legend of Zelda, Mega Man, most of Castlevania…there’s a host of iconic titles that, for one reason or another, I had to ignore.
Well, no longer! As part of exploring my ‘gaming history’, and as part of a multifaceted attempt to distract my steadily-ramping-up-anxiety brain, I thought I’d share my thoughts as a 30-year-old lifelong gamer coming to these titles for the first time.
First up:
Metroid
Released in 1986 for the Famicom in Japan, and ’87 and ’88 for NA and EU respectively on the NES.
I have to make a small confession before this one: I’m not totally out of the loop with Metroid. I played Samus Returns for the 3DS and that was truly my first encounter with the series, but this was my first playthrough of the original that started it all, and the game that had a hand in birthing an entire genre.
So, how did Metroid fare? Or, perhaps more appropriately, how did I, a modern gamer spoilt by modern game design, fare with Metroid?
Story
Well, there’s barely any to speak of. Wait! Before this angers anybody reading, yes, I know the story of the game itself. What I mean is that without the physical manual filled with delightful hand drawn artwork (and I do mean delightful), I’m not getting the story through the game. Samus Aran fades into view from the ever-present abyss behind her, and the game begins.
Playing the game on an emulator with none of the accompanying materials, my knowledge of the story as far as this specific game goes has been cobbled from internet research, which is fine, I’m not complaining. The fact that I can find out about it from the comfort of my sofa without having to go and source a 30+ year old manual that has survived to the present day is a blessing.
Honestly, I kind of like that the game just…begins. Metroid, limited though it was by the time in which it was made, sets a precedent in environmental storytelling. Your journey through the planet of Zebes starts off in mostly natural habitats. Caves hewn from rock, blocky stalactites, creatures that look and act like they could be little more than an alien planet’s equivalent of moles and bats all constitute your initial welcome to Zebes, and it’s an interesting offset to your robotic-looking hero and her high-tech arm cannon.
Over time you encounter metallic structures and the remnants of the Chozo, both through the upgrades you acquire (themselves often held by hauntingly reverent Chozo statues) and the increasingly complex areas built to mimic intelligent design. Metal pipes and pillars start occurring, you see things that appear to be buttons and control panels, even some enemies are enhanced with visible robotics.
I think it works. Sure, an engaging narrative is nice to have in a game that has the canvas to spread one out, but for this kind of game it’s not really essential. And it was the 80s, after all. You didn’t need a reason to shoot shit back then.
Sound
Surprisingly atmospheric. Even basic tracks like ‘Silence’, despite being iterated and improved upon in later titles, carry this ringing, lonely quality. A lot of restraint is shown with some of the background tracks, and it helps keep tension infused in an otherwise run-and-gun platforming affair.
Changes in music serve not only to signal your advancement into new areas (vital, given the frustrating absence of a map) but they also imply that you’re venturing deeper into the planet. Switching up the music can imply that you, the player, need to switch up your tactics.
Brinstar starts the game off lightly, promising action and heroism. It’s light, confident, almost somewhat bubbly and cheerful. Samus Aran is here to save the day and turn aliens into popcorn. They won’t know what hit them.
Norfair signals that things aren’t so simple. It’s slower, punctuated by bits of silence, and it carries an air of confusion. There’s much more to this mission, and things are going to get a lot harder before they get easier. You’re going deeper into Zebes. What will you find?
Almost none of the music struck me as repetitive noise just to fill the background. I genuinely enjoyed most of the arrangements and found them quite innovative in what they could create using the NES sound chip.
The sound effect themselves are the usual fare for NES games. Plinky-plonky shots, crunchy explosions when enemies die, the mandatory ‘whoup!’ noise when you jump, which seemed a little out of place but never mind.
Overall, not bad. Not bad at all.
Gameplay
This is where I have the most to say, predictably. But it’s also where I have to make a quick confession that I’m sure will reveal me as a phony to some people.
Having played this game on an emulator, I had access to save states and I used them to my advantage. What this means is that if I had just spent five minutes farming energy to full, only to die because I whiffed a jump and got stuck under a platform while a combination of lava and endlessly spawning alien bees fucked my energy up, you can bet I was loading back to my last save state.
I don’t think I should waste time defending it at length. The people that get it are nodding sagely, the people that don’t now irreversibly think I’m a coward and I’m never getting them back. Let’s move on.
The gameplay issues with Metroid are well documented.
Enemy hits knock you back a frustrating distance. Farming your energy (HP) takes a stupidly long time once you’re late game with several bars to fill, forcing you to stand at enemy spawn points and kill the same enemies over and over, hoping that they spawn an energy pickup.
There’s no map to help you navigate, and transitioning from one room to the next leaves you vulnerable whilst the shift happens, so leaving a room as a projectile travels towards you will still hurt you because it keeps travelling while the game processes your move.
And yet.
There’s something about Metroid that forced me to wrestle with myself and get better (save states notwithstanding). When I started it up for the first time, it roughed me up and quickly pissed me off.
I put it down.
Then I spoke with a friend who’s a Metroid fan. He told me, no, fuck the first game, play Zero Mission instead. ‘I’ve never played through M1,’ he told me.
Something about that triggered a sense of challenge that I couldn’t ignore. I had to really hit the game again and give it a proper go. Sure, Zero Mission is the same game with a coat or two of polish, but wasn’t the whole point that I’m exploring the old titles I never got to play? Something about playing a remake in lieu of THE Metroid felt wrong.
So I went again, and I persevered until I’d found something of a footing. I began to respect the game a bit more, though it rarely felt like it was respecting me back. Still, after an hour or so, I realised I was having fun.
Tedious fun, constantly pausing to refer to a map on my phone that some kind person had painstakingly drawn up, but fun nonetheless. I could put myself in the shoes of people who played this title back when it was new, and I got it.
Playing Metroid is a special experience in that it proves the nugget of fun that rests at the core of what became the metroidvania genre. Starting out with every basic enemy presenting a real threat and feeling underpowered is frustrating.
Coming back to those zones as a demigod who has clawed their way to the top of the food chain is exhilarating. The gap between these times and feelings, no matter how hard it was and no matter how many times you almost sent your console to the shadow realm, is characterised by perseverance.
You keep struggling until you get the extra energy tank. You throw yourself into an impossible boss until you download their movement and attack patterns then proceed to flatten them. You get by with a pea shooter until you can launch ballistic missiles with a flick of your wrist.
Metroid doesn’t exemplify this experience nearly as well as titles that have come since – it was at the forefront, after all – but it proves that even when you’re beset by jank and questionable game design, the core experience is what makes it fun and even teases out a kind of masochism in you. You’re ready for the next bullshit boss because you’ve climbed a mountain of bullshit bosses to get there.
Speaking of bullshit bosses, I do have to say that Mother Brain is designed to be frustrating and little else. The fight isn’t so much challenging as it is just spam missiles to get through the regenerating doors, then spam more missiles to take out Mother Brain herself (itself?) whilst praying that the Rinkas (little hurty rings) don’t get too bad of a volley going, because they all want to play damage knockback tennis and you don’t have a ton of room to navigate.
It's for this reason that I ultimately don’t feel any guilt for using save states and I think it’s pretty much the optimal way to play such a dated game. I also don’t feel that it took anything away from my experience, because I still felt a huge sense of achievement with every boss defeated and every powerup acquired.
Final thoughts
I struggle to call Metroid a good game, and while I wouldn’t argue with you for calling it a bad game, I can’t say I echo the opinion. There’s something about it that I can’t quite place.
It’s mean. It doesn’t like you very much and it doesn’t care to give you anything in the way of help. It’s not there for you when you’ve had a stressful day.
But much like the jaded old soul that tells you to toughen up whenever you’re struggling in life, it is trying to give you a sort of tough love, whether that lands or not. Its rewards truly are just that, and you have all the tools you need to fight back. You just need to bite and claw your way to them…and possess the patience of a saint.
Did I enjoy it?
Yes, but I’ll never return as long as I live. I’m glad to have played it.
I don’t know if anybody read this or indeed anybody will care to read another, but I enjoyed getting my thoughts out. Let me know if you agree, disagree, if you’d like to see me do the same for another game.
Cheers!
With recently adding CFW to my 3DS, I’ve found myself with access to a lot of old games that I never got to play back in the day, or that I couldn’t play now unless I went and shovelled out cash for the official hardware and cartridges/discs. Either way, it comes down to so many games, so little cash.
As an extension of this, I’ve realised just how many famed franchises I’ve never given the time of day. Metroid, The Legend of Zelda, Mega Man, most of Castlevania…there’s a host of iconic titles that, for one reason or another, I had to ignore.
Well, no longer! As part of exploring my ‘gaming history’, and as part of a multifaceted attempt to distract my steadily-ramping-up-anxiety brain, I thought I’d share my thoughts as a 30-year-old lifelong gamer coming to these titles for the first time.
First up:
Metroid
Released in 1986 for the Famicom in Japan, and ’87 and ’88 for NA and EU respectively on the NES.
I have to make a small confession before this one: I’m not totally out of the loop with Metroid. I played Samus Returns for the 3DS and that was truly my first encounter with the series, but this was my first playthrough of the original that started it all, and the game that had a hand in birthing an entire genre.
So, how did Metroid fare? Or, perhaps more appropriately, how did I, a modern gamer spoilt by modern game design, fare with Metroid?
Story
Well, there’s barely any to speak of. Wait! Before this angers anybody reading, yes, I know the story of the game itself. What I mean is that without the physical manual filled with delightful hand drawn artwork (and I do mean delightful), I’m not getting the story through the game. Samus Aran fades into view from the ever-present abyss behind her, and the game begins.
Playing the game on an emulator with none of the accompanying materials, my knowledge of the story as far as this specific game goes has been cobbled from internet research, which is fine, I’m not complaining. The fact that I can find out about it from the comfort of my sofa without having to go and source a 30+ year old manual that has survived to the present day is a blessing.
Honestly, I kind of like that the game just…begins. Metroid, limited though it was by the time in which it was made, sets a precedent in environmental storytelling. Your journey through the planet of Zebes starts off in mostly natural habitats. Caves hewn from rock, blocky stalactites, creatures that look and act like they could be little more than an alien planet’s equivalent of moles and bats all constitute your initial welcome to Zebes, and it’s an interesting offset to your robotic-looking hero and her high-tech arm cannon.
Over time you encounter metallic structures and the remnants of the Chozo, both through the upgrades you acquire (themselves often held by hauntingly reverent Chozo statues) and the increasingly complex areas built to mimic intelligent design. Metal pipes and pillars start occurring, you see things that appear to be buttons and control panels, even some enemies are enhanced with visible robotics.
I think it works. Sure, an engaging narrative is nice to have in a game that has the canvas to spread one out, but for this kind of game it’s not really essential. And it was the 80s, after all. You didn’t need a reason to shoot shit back then.
Sound
Surprisingly atmospheric. Even basic tracks like ‘Silence’, despite being iterated and improved upon in later titles, carry this ringing, lonely quality. A lot of restraint is shown with some of the background tracks, and it helps keep tension infused in an otherwise run-and-gun platforming affair.
Changes in music serve not only to signal your advancement into new areas (vital, given the frustrating absence of a map) but they also imply that you’re venturing deeper into the planet. Switching up the music can imply that you, the player, need to switch up your tactics.
Brinstar starts the game off lightly, promising action and heroism. It’s light, confident, almost somewhat bubbly and cheerful. Samus Aran is here to save the day and turn aliens into popcorn. They won’t know what hit them.
Norfair signals that things aren’t so simple. It’s slower, punctuated by bits of silence, and it carries an air of confusion. There’s much more to this mission, and things are going to get a lot harder before they get easier. You’re going deeper into Zebes. What will you find?
Almost none of the music struck me as repetitive noise just to fill the background. I genuinely enjoyed most of the arrangements and found them quite innovative in what they could create using the NES sound chip.
The sound effect themselves are the usual fare for NES games. Plinky-plonky shots, crunchy explosions when enemies die, the mandatory ‘whoup!’ noise when you jump, which seemed a little out of place but never mind.
Overall, not bad. Not bad at all.
Gameplay
This is where I have the most to say, predictably. But it’s also where I have to make a quick confession that I’m sure will reveal me as a phony to some people.
Having played this game on an emulator, I had access to save states and I used them to my advantage. What this means is that if I had just spent five minutes farming energy to full, only to die because I whiffed a jump and got stuck under a platform while a combination of lava and endlessly spawning alien bees fucked my energy up, you can bet I was loading back to my last save state.
I don’t think I should waste time defending it at length. The people that get it are nodding sagely, the people that don’t now irreversibly think I’m a coward and I’m never getting them back. Let’s move on.
The gameplay issues with Metroid are well documented.
Enemy hits knock you back a frustrating distance. Farming your energy (HP) takes a stupidly long time once you’re late game with several bars to fill, forcing you to stand at enemy spawn points and kill the same enemies over and over, hoping that they spawn an energy pickup.
There’s no map to help you navigate, and transitioning from one room to the next leaves you vulnerable whilst the shift happens, so leaving a room as a projectile travels towards you will still hurt you because it keeps travelling while the game processes your move.
And yet.
There’s something about Metroid that forced me to wrestle with myself and get better (save states notwithstanding). When I started it up for the first time, it roughed me up and quickly pissed me off.
I put it down.
Then I spoke with a friend who’s a Metroid fan. He told me, no, fuck the first game, play Zero Mission instead. ‘I’ve never played through M1,’ he told me.
Something about that triggered a sense of challenge that I couldn’t ignore. I had to really hit the game again and give it a proper go. Sure, Zero Mission is the same game with a coat or two of polish, but wasn’t the whole point that I’m exploring the old titles I never got to play? Something about playing a remake in lieu of THE Metroid felt wrong.
So I went again, and I persevered until I’d found something of a footing. I began to respect the game a bit more, though it rarely felt like it was respecting me back. Still, after an hour or so, I realised I was having fun.
Tedious fun, constantly pausing to refer to a map on my phone that some kind person had painstakingly drawn up, but fun nonetheless. I could put myself in the shoes of people who played this title back when it was new, and I got it.
Playing Metroid is a special experience in that it proves the nugget of fun that rests at the core of what became the metroidvania genre. Starting out with every basic enemy presenting a real threat and feeling underpowered is frustrating.
Coming back to those zones as a demigod who has clawed their way to the top of the food chain is exhilarating. The gap between these times and feelings, no matter how hard it was and no matter how many times you almost sent your console to the shadow realm, is characterised by perseverance.
You keep struggling until you get the extra energy tank. You throw yourself into an impossible boss until you download their movement and attack patterns then proceed to flatten them. You get by with a pea shooter until you can launch ballistic missiles with a flick of your wrist.
Metroid doesn’t exemplify this experience nearly as well as titles that have come since – it was at the forefront, after all – but it proves that even when you’re beset by jank and questionable game design, the core experience is what makes it fun and even teases out a kind of masochism in you. You’re ready for the next bullshit boss because you’ve climbed a mountain of bullshit bosses to get there.
Speaking of bullshit bosses, I do have to say that Mother Brain is designed to be frustrating and little else. The fight isn’t so much challenging as it is just spam missiles to get through the regenerating doors, then spam more missiles to take out Mother Brain herself (itself?) whilst praying that the Rinkas (little hurty rings) don’t get too bad of a volley going, because they all want to play damage knockback tennis and you don’t have a ton of room to navigate.
It's for this reason that I ultimately don’t feel any guilt for using save states and I think it’s pretty much the optimal way to play such a dated game. I also don’t feel that it took anything away from my experience, because I still felt a huge sense of achievement with every boss defeated and every powerup acquired.
Final thoughts
I struggle to call Metroid a good game, and while I wouldn’t argue with you for calling it a bad game, I can’t say I echo the opinion. There’s something about it that I can’t quite place.
It’s mean. It doesn’t like you very much and it doesn’t care to give you anything in the way of help. It’s not there for you when you’ve had a stressful day.
But much like the jaded old soul that tells you to toughen up whenever you’re struggling in life, it is trying to give you a sort of tough love, whether that lands or not. Its rewards truly are just that, and you have all the tools you need to fight back. You just need to bite and claw your way to them…and possess the patience of a saint.
Did I enjoy it?
Yes, but I’ll never return as long as I live. I’m glad to have played it.
I don’t know if anybody read this or indeed anybody will care to read another, but I enjoyed getting my thoughts out. Let me know if you agree, disagree, if you’d like to see me do the same for another game.
Cheers!
