SchlockyBalboa
Next up on the Metroid/Vania Marathon, it’s Castlevania II: Belmont’s Revenge for Nintendo Gameboy! This is not to be confused with Castlevania 2: Simon’s Quest for the Nintendo Entertainment System, of course. There’s a case to be made that the other two Gameboy ‘Vanias deserved a spot in the marathon as well, considering that they both represent technical innovations or thematic departures from series convention. Unfortunately, there is also an argument that they look really bad and I didn’t want to play them! But this one looked good, so I did play it.
Specifically, I played the obscure GBC port of Belmont’s Revenge from Konami’s GB Collection series. Not sure how close that port is to the original release (just looking at footage online, it seems the axe sub-weapon got replaced in favor of the boomerang cross) but I’m willing to ignore the purist within when the game looks this dang pretty. Seriously, what a stunner this is! I know that’s pretty standard for Castlevania at this point, but it’s always so impressive to me just how far ahead of the competition Konami was graphically back in the day. A track record to be proud of for sure!
Truthfully, I don’t have a ton to say about Belmont’s Revenge, but I guess sometimes no news is good news. This is just a very sturdy, bite-sized Castlevania with not much working against it. It’s very much Castlevania, but for the Gameboy. You move like a Belmont should move, whip how a Belmont should whip. You have sub-weapons, but only two this time, the cross and the holy water. Levels are tough but fair, with plenty of smart enemy placement and a bit more emphasis on platforming. There are some new ideas here too—like a flame whip upgrade, or the occasional branching path, or a Megaman-style stage select—but for the most part it’s what you’ve come to expect, just condensed and repackaged for a portable audience.
There are technical concessions of course, but I found most of them only added to the game’s unique flavor. Levels are less sprawling and more screen-based, you get mid-stage respawn points to accommodate shorter on-the-go play sessions, and stairs have been entirely axed in favor of the less spatially-demanding ropes. Those ropes are honestly my favorite aspect of Belmont’s Revenge, they’re so much more seamless to use than stairs ever were on the NES and they’re integrated really well into the level design. I wouldn’t mind seeing these make a return in later entries!
If I had any gripes with Belmont’s Revenge, it would be that it doesn’t exactly stick the landing. Castlevania has always been difficult, that’s part of the appeal, but it’s never felt cheap…. until the last two fights of Belmont’s Revenge. Yeah, these final bosses are just a pain, relying more on you being able to read the game’s mind than skillful maneuvering or pattern recognition. It’s a shame too, since the game leading up to that point was a very well-balanced experience, tough but fairly brisk, perfect for the kind of pick-up-and-play sessions handheld gaming excels at. With the advent of save states it’s hardly an insurmountable flaw, but it does sour things near the finish line to be sure.
All in all though, this was a whip-crackin’, Dracula-smackin’ good time. Perhaps not a mover or a shaker as far as these games go, but a very polished, very enjoyable ride all the same. If you plan on taking a long car ride in the year 1991, I highly recommend giving it a shot!
Specifically, I played the obscure GBC port of Belmont’s Revenge from Konami’s GB Collection series. Not sure how close that port is to the original release (just looking at footage online, it seems the axe sub-weapon got replaced in favor of the boomerang cross) but I’m willing to ignore the purist within when the game looks this dang pretty. Seriously, what a stunner this is! I know that’s pretty standard for Castlevania at this point, but it’s always so impressive to me just how far ahead of the competition Konami was graphically back in the day. A track record to be proud of for sure!
Truthfully, I don’t have a ton to say about Belmont’s Revenge, but I guess sometimes no news is good news. This is just a very sturdy, bite-sized Castlevania with not much working against it. It’s very much Castlevania, but for the Gameboy. You move like a Belmont should move, whip how a Belmont should whip. You have sub-weapons, but only two this time, the cross and the holy water. Levels are tough but fair, with plenty of smart enemy placement and a bit more emphasis on platforming. There are some new ideas here too—like a flame whip upgrade, or the occasional branching path, or a Megaman-style stage select—but for the most part it’s what you’ve come to expect, just condensed and repackaged for a portable audience.
There are technical concessions of course, but I found most of them only added to the game’s unique flavor. Levels are less sprawling and more screen-based, you get mid-stage respawn points to accommodate shorter on-the-go play sessions, and stairs have been entirely axed in favor of the less spatially-demanding ropes. Those ropes are honestly my favorite aspect of Belmont’s Revenge, they’re so much more seamless to use than stairs ever were on the NES and they’re integrated really well into the level design. I wouldn’t mind seeing these make a return in later entries!
If I had any gripes with Belmont’s Revenge, it would be that it doesn’t exactly stick the landing. Castlevania has always been difficult, that’s part of the appeal, but it’s never felt cheap…. until the last two fights of Belmont’s Revenge. Yeah, these final bosses are just a pain, relying more on you being able to read the game’s mind than skillful maneuvering or pattern recognition. It’s a shame too, since the game leading up to that point was a very well-balanced experience, tough but fairly brisk, perfect for the kind of pick-up-and-play sessions handheld gaming excels at. With the advent of save states it’s hardly an insurmountable flaw, but it does sour things near the finish line to be sure.
All in all though, this was a whip-crackin’, Dracula-smackin’ good time. Perhaps not a mover or a shaker as far as these games go, but a very polished, very enjoyable ride all the same. If you plan on taking a long car ride in the year 1991, I highly recommend giving it a shot!
This review contains spoilers
If the original Metroid wanted you to feel endangered, its sequel wants you to feel uncomfortable. Samus has indeed returned, and she’s not on the defensive. While the first game was a retaliatory mission to stop a band of space pirates, Metroid II is an all-out assault. Seeing the damage that the Metroids caused on Zebes, the Galactic Federation has sent their top bounty hunter (that’s you) to the Metroid homeworld, SR388. You’re not here to save anyone, or to prevent any great catastrophe. This isn’t about justice, but extinction. You’re here to kill all Metroids, plain and simple.
What really impressed me about Metroid II is how big a piece of shit it makes you feel for playing it. The game is structured around locating and defeating 40 Metroids, each boss fight spread out across the map. You plunge deeper and deeper into their home, checking each corner in search of your prey. If the first game was a riff on Alien, so is this, but with you as the hostile alien threat. The tight Gameboy screen closes in around you, obscuring your field of vision. You could be standing right in front of a Metroid, and you wouldn’t know it until it’s too late to prepare. When you finally find one, you’re not rewarded with a skillful, choreographed boss fight but an ugly, erratic affair. You fire missiles wildly in the hope they connect and inevitably, you win your war of attrition. It’s surprising and tense, but with Samus being so much stronger in this game you’re hardly ever at any real risk. Their deaths were ensured the moment you landed, these encounters nothing more than acts of futile, animalistic retaliation. The genocide counter in the corner ticks down, and your descent into hell continues.
It’s remarkable how well the Gameboy’s limitations are used to enhance the experience. The large sprites minimize the already-small screen, creating a pervasive sense of claustrophobia. Those crunchy square waves create some truly alien sounds, much more overtly dissonant than the previous game’s music. Even playing with GBC colorization like I did, the whole experience feels dimly-lit, an atmosphere built around simple tilesets and a lack of backgrounds. To facilitate playing in on-the-go sessions, the map is structured like a series of segmented chunks moving downward, a choice that makes navigation more intuitive while at the same time codifying your misguided progression: you can’t turn back now, you’ve gone too deep. It’s a really miraculous showcase of what you could do with this technology. Fuck man, this Gameboy game has jumpscares!
The ending really blew me away. It’s everyone’s favorite part of this game, and for good reason. An entire planet lying in ashes behind you, the only thing left standing in your way is one final Metroid egg. It hatches, and starts following you, thinking you’re its mother. After all the death and destruction, Samus can’t bring herself to pull the trigger. It’s the most devastating thing a killer can do: growing a conscience when it’s already too late. You make your way to the surface, climbing your way out of hell, the baby assisting you along the way. It’s a strangely relaxing trip, more relaxing than you know you deserve. You crawl into your ship, exhausted, and end your mission in willful failure. As the credits roll you can’t help but wonder what it was all for, the blood on your hands soaking the controller.
If you couldn’t tell, I think this game is really special. To me these first two primordial Metroids are characterized by ambition above all else, reaching for a type of gameplay the tech of the time just couldn’t quite achieve yet. Metroid II is flawed to be sure: it’s repetitive and janky and I still wasn’t able to beat it without looking up a map online. But when the rest of the experience is this powerfully affecting, it’s easy to sweat the details in the final analysis. I’m extremely curious to see what this team could accomplish with 16-bit hardware, but I’m really glad I played these first. In spite of, and often because of their limitations, they produced some truly unforgettable games.
Don’t skip this one. Play it, and play it with the lights off.
What really impressed me about Metroid II is how big a piece of shit it makes you feel for playing it. The game is structured around locating and defeating 40 Metroids, each boss fight spread out across the map. You plunge deeper and deeper into their home, checking each corner in search of your prey. If the first game was a riff on Alien, so is this, but with you as the hostile alien threat. The tight Gameboy screen closes in around you, obscuring your field of vision. You could be standing right in front of a Metroid, and you wouldn’t know it until it’s too late to prepare. When you finally find one, you’re not rewarded with a skillful, choreographed boss fight but an ugly, erratic affair. You fire missiles wildly in the hope they connect and inevitably, you win your war of attrition. It’s surprising and tense, but with Samus being so much stronger in this game you’re hardly ever at any real risk. Their deaths were ensured the moment you landed, these encounters nothing more than acts of futile, animalistic retaliation. The genocide counter in the corner ticks down, and your descent into hell continues.
It’s remarkable how well the Gameboy’s limitations are used to enhance the experience. The large sprites minimize the already-small screen, creating a pervasive sense of claustrophobia. Those crunchy square waves create some truly alien sounds, much more overtly dissonant than the previous game’s music. Even playing with GBC colorization like I did, the whole experience feels dimly-lit, an atmosphere built around simple tilesets and a lack of backgrounds. To facilitate playing in on-the-go sessions, the map is structured like a series of segmented chunks moving downward, a choice that makes navigation more intuitive while at the same time codifying your misguided progression: you can’t turn back now, you’ve gone too deep. It’s a really miraculous showcase of what you could do with this technology. Fuck man, this Gameboy game has jumpscares!
The ending really blew me away. It’s everyone’s favorite part of this game, and for good reason. An entire planet lying in ashes behind you, the only thing left standing in your way is one final Metroid egg. It hatches, and starts following you, thinking you’re its mother. After all the death and destruction, Samus can’t bring herself to pull the trigger. It’s the most devastating thing a killer can do: growing a conscience when it’s already too late. You make your way to the surface, climbing your way out of hell, the baby assisting you along the way. It’s a strangely relaxing trip, more relaxing than you know you deserve. You crawl into your ship, exhausted, and end your mission in willful failure. As the credits roll you can’t help but wonder what it was all for, the blood on your hands soaking the controller.
If you couldn’t tell, I think this game is really special. To me these first two primordial Metroids are characterized by ambition above all else, reaching for a type of gameplay the tech of the time just couldn’t quite achieve yet. Metroid II is flawed to be sure: it’s repetitive and janky and I still wasn’t able to beat it without looking up a map online. But when the rest of the experience is this powerfully affecting, it’s easy to sweat the details in the final analysis. I’m extremely curious to see what this team could accomplish with 16-bit hardware, but I’m really glad I played these first. In spite of, and often because of their limitations, they produced some truly unforgettable games.
Don’t skip this one. Play it, and play it with the lights off.
Not quite as decisive a statement as the original Castlevania nor as bold a shakeup as Simon’s Quest, but it gets by on the merits of just being a damn good one-of-these. You ever play Dracula’s Curse? It’s a damn good one-of-these! Konami went back to basics for round 3, ditching all the weird RPG bullshit of the previous entry and returning to the tough, side-scrolling action of the first game. It’s basically Castlevania I but with more levels, more options and more polish, and that ain’t a bad thing.
The big selling point this go-around is that you can take multiple different routes and multiple different characters on your way to Big Bad Vlad’s Magic Funhouse. There’s Trevor of course, our default hero and resident Belmont. There’s also Sypha Belnades, a magic user who dresses like Emperor Palpatine so kids in the 80s wouldn’t find out they’re playing as—GASP!—a girl! Alucard makes his first appearance, still a few centuries away from becoming an anime pretty boy and instead rockin’ a Spirit Halloween cloak and Wolverine hair (no notes, I love him). And last but CERTAINLY not least is Grant mothafuckin DaNasty, which is the character route I decided to go with.
Grant’s getting a whole paragraph because eat shit, it’s my Backloggd page. Grant fucking rocks, he’s like a pirate that Dracula turned into a monster for reasons that are never explained. Even after you free him of his Dracula’s Curse, he still walks like a hunched-over gremlin and clings to walls like Spider-Man, the little freak! He’s way faster and more maneuverable than Trevor and in the Famicom version (which is the one I played) he can even use throwing knives as his default attack. After 2 games of stiff Belmont controls you have NO IDEA how satisfying it was to be able to control my jump mid-air or use a projectile without worrying about heart consumption. My friends were disappointed that I didn’t pick Sypha but honestly, fuck ‘em! I know they’re probably reading this and I hope they do! I have no regrets, dudes rock!!! Grant rules and we should all be so lucky to have a DaNasty in our lives. Apparently he’s the only party member that didn’t make it into the Netflix adaptation, so I guess just add that to the already-extensive list of Warren Ellis’ crimes.
Levels are really good, for the most part. The stages are a lot more complex than Castlevania I, with more aggressive enemy placement and a greater emphasis on platforming setpieces. Crumbling bridges, swinging pendulums, vertical auto-scrolling sections, it’s cool shit. Level themes are also a lot of fun, with plenty of decaying churches and haunted pirate ships. Maybe the only thing I really didn’t like was the over-reliance on stairs as a stage hazard. They’re spaced out well enough that it never outright ruins a level, but I just can’t get used to the weird way stairs work in classicvanias. Every time I got to a section with lots of stairs, Trevor starts doing his best John Wick Chapter 4 reenactment and a-down into the abyss I go.
Stairs notwithstanding, I thought this was generally a much less difficult game than peak Castlevania I. It’s certainly not easy, but the addition of alternate characters to play as really evens the playing field, giving you lots of options for how you want to handle things. The difficulty just feels a lot more consistent, it’s a tough but very evenly-paced adventure. There is a trade-off though: that increased flexibility does come at the cost of some of that slow, deliberate gameplay that made the first game so methodically compelling. I pretty much always played as Grant once I got him, so there wasn’t a need to plan as precisely as I would with a Belmont. It’s not really a design choice I can fault, or even one I necessarily dislike, but it is one I noticed. They’re two very similar games, but I’m definitely getting very different things out of each. Ignore all of this if you played the US version, I hear your balls get ROCKED in that one lmao.
On a purely visual level, this is an unequivocal huge improvement. It honestly might be the prettiest game I’ve seen on the system?? I had to keep reminding myself that these graphics actually ran on real hardware and it isn’t like a Shovel Knight style approximation of NES/FDS aesthetics using modern tech. Each stage is so rich with color and detail, and the excitement to see what the next one might look like was a consistent motivator to keep me going. Just an absolutely stunning game.
The music on the other hand I’m…less enthusiastic about. The Famicom Disk System had an enhanced sound chip which is cool and all, but these tunes just aren’t that great imo. Aside from the returning Castlevania I tracks and maybe 1-2 others, I can’t say any of these songs stick out in my mind as particularly memorable. It’s a real shame, since the rockin’ jams have remained a key part of Castlevania’s identity as a series thus far, even in a black sheep like Simon’s Quest. I’m told this soundtrack is a fan-favorite, but I really just don’t hear it. It’s not a bad OST, but it is a really forgettable one. Kinda underwhelming, won’t lie.
Grievances aside, I did really like Dracula’s Curse. It’s admittedly not quite as exciting as its predecessors, but it’s hard to fault it for that. It could never be as elegantly simple as Castlevania nor as esoterically interesting as Simon’s Quest, and it’s not trying to be. What Dracula’s Curse does accomplish is being a very consistent, very fun, very polished game. It’s definitely the first one of these to feel like it’s playing it safe, but it’s also the first one of these to feel this great to play. It just might be the best of the NES trilogy, even if it’s also definitely the least interesting. Take from that what you will!
The big selling point this go-around is that you can take multiple different routes and multiple different characters on your way to Big Bad Vlad’s Magic Funhouse. There’s Trevor of course, our default hero and resident Belmont. There’s also Sypha Belnades, a magic user who dresses like Emperor Palpatine so kids in the 80s wouldn’t find out they’re playing as—GASP!—a girl! Alucard makes his first appearance, still a few centuries away from becoming an anime pretty boy and instead rockin’ a Spirit Halloween cloak and Wolverine hair (no notes, I love him). And last but CERTAINLY not least is Grant mothafuckin DaNasty, which is the character route I decided to go with.
Grant’s getting a whole paragraph because eat shit, it’s my Backloggd page. Grant fucking rocks, he’s like a pirate that Dracula turned into a monster for reasons that are never explained. Even after you free him of his Dracula’s Curse, he still walks like a hunched-over gremlin and clings to walls like Spider-Man, the little freak! He’s way faster and more maneuverable than Trevor and in the Famicom version (which is the one I played) he can even use throwing knives as his default attack. After 2 games of stiff Belmont controls you have NO IDEA how satisfying it was to be able to control my jump mid-air or use a projectile without worrying about heart consumption. My friends were disappointed that I didn’t pick Sypha but honestly, fuck ‘em! I know they’re probably reading this and I hope they do! I have no regrets, dudes rock!!! Grant rules and we should all be so lucky to have a DaNasty in our lives. Apparently he’s the only party member that didn’t make it into the Netflix adaptation, so I guess just add that to the already-extensive list of Warren Ellis’ crimes.
Levels are really good, for the most part. The stages are a lot more complex than Castlevania I, with more aggressive enemy placement and a greater emphasis on platforming setpieces. Crumbling bridges, swinging pendulums, vertical auto-scrolling sections, it’s cool shit. Level themes are also a lot of fun, with plenty of decaying churches and haunted pirate ships. Maybe the only thing I really didn’t like was the over-reliance on stairs as a stage hazard. They’re spaced out well enough that it never outright ruins a level, but I just can’t get used to the weird way stairs work in classicvanias. Every time I got to a section with lots of stairs, Trevor starts doing his best John Wick Chapter 4 reenactment and a-down into the abyss I go.
Stairs notwithstanding, I thought this was generally a much less difficult game than peak Castlevania I. It’s certainly not easy, but the addition of alternate characters to play as really evens the playing field, giving you lots of options for how you want to handle things. The difficulty just feels a lot more consistent, it’s a tough but very evenly-paced adventure. There is a trade-off though: that increased flexibility does come at the cost of some of that slow, deliberate gameplay that made the first game so methodically compelling. I pretty much always played as Grant once I got him, so there wasn’t a need to plan as precisely as I would with a Belmont. It’s not really a design choice I can fault, or even one I necessarily dislike, but it is one I noticed. They’re two very similar games, but I’m definitely getting very different things out of each. Ignore all of this if you played the US version, I hear your balls get ROCKED in that one lmao.
On a purely visual level, this is an unequivocal huge improvement. It honestly might be the prettiest game I’ve seen on the system?? I had to keep reminding myself that these graphics actually ran on real hardware and it isn’t like a Shovel Knight style approximation of NES/FDS aesthetics using modern tech. Each stage is so rich with color and detail, and the excitement to see what the next one might look like was a consistent motivator to keep me going. Just an absolutely stunning game.
The music on the other hand I’m…less enthusiastic about. The Famicom Disk System had an enhanced sound chip which is cool and all, but these tunes just aren’t that great imo. Aside from the returning Castlevania I tracks and maybe 1-2 others, I can’t say any of these songs stick out in my mind as particularly memorable. It’s a real shame, since the rockin’ jams have remained a key part of Castlevania’s identity as a series thus far, even in a black sheep like Simon’s Quest. I’m told this soundtrack is a fan-favorite, but I really just don’t hear it. It’s not a bad OST, but it is a really forgettable one. Kinda underwhelming, won’t lie.
Grievances aside, I did really like Dracula’s Curse. It’s admittedly not quite as exciting as its predecessors, but it’s hard to fault it for that. It could never be as elegantly simple as Castlevania nor as esoterically interesting as Simon’s Quest, and it’s not trying to be. What Dracula’s Curse does accomplish is being a very consistent, very fun, very polished game. It’s definitely the first one of these to feel like it’s playing it safe, but it’s also the first one of these to feel this great to play. It just might be the best of the NES trilogy, even if it’s also definitely the least interesting. Take from that what you will!
This review contains spoilers
What a horrible night to have a curse!
If you’ve been keeping up with these reviews so far, it should be well-documented that my tolerance for shitty gameplay is directly proportional to my ability to project thematic intent onto it. Simon’s Quest is basically the final boss of that ethos, at least as far as not-very-good-but-not-quite-bad janky old NES games go.
The story in this one is that our boy Belmont didn’t do a good enough job of killing Dracula the first time, and as a result your ass is cursed and the whole land is plagued by monsters. Now it’s your Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest to go collect all of the D-Man’s body parts so you can bring him back to life and kill him again (You know, for real this time). It’s a pretty bold move to start your sequel by totally invalidating everything your player accomplished in the previous game, but it’s one Simon’s Quest really commits to, for better or for worse.
What this setup mostly means for us is that we get to explore the land outside the titular castle for a change, and it’s… pretty fuckin’ bleak. The vibrant colors of Castlevania are gone, replaced with drab, muted tones. The whole world feels like it’s in a state of decay, even Simon’s new sprite looks feeble, totally drained of life. NES palette limitations make him out to look more like a vampire than a Belmont, his hair gone jet black and his skin a pale white. It’s a nonlinear adventure game, I guess, but set on one long horizontal map that’s a total chore to traverse. At one point near the end of my playthrough, I had to spend like a full hour backtracking and grinding for hearts just to get a whip upgrade I had missed before. I slogged my way through muddy, indistinct environments and near-identical towns, constantly harangued by swarms of monsters and an oppressive day/night cycle, only ever moving in one direction at a time yet never feeling any sense of momentum. Is this really it, Simon? Is this is the world you fought so hard to save?
Misdirection is really the main obstacle in Simon’s Quest. Enemies are a joke and death has little to no consequence, so the game’s only true challenge is in deciphering it’s bullshit. Figuring out where you are or where you’re going is a crapshoot, considering the lack of a map or any distinct landmarks. Progression is most often gated by obtuse puzzles, ones the game tends to mislead you on if it even tells you about them at all. There’s people here too, but you’re not going to get much out of them. When NPCs aren’t speaking in oblique, poorly-translated riddles, they’re usually berating Simon or just outright fucking lying to him. And why wouldn’t they? You’re not a returning hero, you’re a returning failure.
Once you do find a mansion (this game’s equivalent to dungeons) you’ll find they’re not much more intuitive than the outside. Layouts are these dense labyrinths without any clear markers, usually filled to the brim with illusory trick floors. There’s five mansions total, with only two of them ending in boss fights. Most of the time you clear a stage by walking up to an orb and putting a stake in it, collecting Dracula’s heart or eyeball or whatever, and then making the long trek all the way back to the entrance. On the rare occasion you do encounter a boss, they’re so pitifully easy that it still feels like an anticlimax. The game even lets you walk right past ‘em if you want, as if even Dracula’s closest minions have caught on to how obligatory this all feels.
Once you have all of Big D’s body parts, you can start making your way to his castle. It’s a pretty pathetic journey, a straight line through abandoned towns and the only paths in the game without any enemies. Castlevania lies in ruin, a big grey pile of rubble, unguarded and unloved. You descend into the wreckage and reanimate your sworn enemy, only to find him a weak shadow of his former self, just like his castle. Just like Simon. After another easy boss fight, the game ends. Assuming you didn’t beat the game in record time, you probably got the bad ending, in which Simon is consumed by his curse and dies. Congratulations, fuck you.
So, that’s Simon’s Quest. Not a hard game to beat, but a wholly unsatisfying one. While Castlevania was brutally challenging, its sequel is brutally tedious. Gone is the deliberate action of old, replaced with lots and lots of busywork. Everything about the experience feels like a dull formality, like Simon is just going through the motions until he can finally put Dracula—and by extension, himself—to rest. Your failure to defeat evil looms over the whole journey, this constant reminder that you aren’t the hero you thought you were. It’s not the quest Simon wanted, but maybe it’s the one he deserves. Is it a good game? I don’t know. Who gives a shit? It’s certainly a potent one, and maybe that’s all you need.
If you’ve been keeping up with these reviews so far, it should be well-documented that my tolerance for shitty gameplay is directly proportional to my ability to project thematic intent onto it. Simon’s Quest is basically the final boss of that ethos, at least as far as not-very-good-but-not-quite-bad janky old NES games go.
The story in this one is that our boy Belmont didn’t do a good enough job of killing Dracula the first time, and as a result your ass is cursed and the whole land is plagued by monsters. Now it’s your Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest to go collect all of the D-Man’s body parts so you can bring him back to life and kill him again (You know, for real this time). It’s a pretty bold move to start your sequel by totally invalidating everything your player accomplished in the previous game, but it’s one Simon’s Quest really commits to, for better or for worse.
What this setup mostly means for us is that we get to explore the land outside the titular castle for a change, and it’s… pretty fuckin’ bleak. The vibrant colors of Castlevania are gone, replaced with drab, muted tones. The whole world feels like it’s in a state of decay, even Simon’s new sprite looks feeble, totally drained of life. NES palette limitations make him out to look more like a vampire than a Belmont, his hair gone jet black and his skin a pale white. It’s a nonlinear adventure game, I guess, but set on one long horizontal map that’s a total chore to traverse. At one point near the end of my playthrough, I had to spend like a full hour backtracking and grinding for hearts just to get a whip upgrade I had missed before. I slogged my way through muddy, indistinct environments and near-identical towns, constantly harangued by swarms of monsters and an oppressive day/night cycle, only ever moving in one direction at a time yet never feeling any sense of momentum. Is this really it, Simon? Is this is the world you fought so hard to save?
Misdirection is really the main obstacle in Simon’s Quest. Enemies are a joke and death has little to no consequence, so the game’s only true challenge is in deciphering it’s bullshit. Figuring out where you are or where you’re going is a crapshoot, considering the lack of a map or any distinct landmarks. Progression is most often gated by obtuse puzzles, ones the game tends to mislead you on if it even tells you about them at all. There’s people here too, but you’re not going to get much out of them. When NPCs aren’t speaking in oblique, poorly-translated riddles, they’re usually berating Simon or just outright fucking lying to him. And why wouldn’t they? You’re not a returning hero, you’re a returning failure.
Once you do find a mansion (this game’s equivalent to dungeons) you’ll find they’re not much more intuitive than the outside. Layouts are these dense labyrinths without any clear markers, usually filled to the brim with illusory trick floors. There’s five mansions total, with only two of them ending in boss fights. Most of the time you clear a stage by walking up to an orb and putting a stake in it, collecting Dracula’s heart or eyeball or whatever, and then making the long trek all the way back to the entrance. On the rare occasion you do encounter a boss, they’re so pitifully easy that it still feels like an anticlimax. The game even lets you walk right past ‘em if you want, as if even Dracula’s closest minions have caught on to how obligatory this all feels.
Once you have all of Big D’s body parts, you can start making your way to his castle. It’s a pretty pathetic journey, a straight line through abandoned towns and the only paths in the game without any enemies. Castlevania lies in ruin, a big grey pile of rubble, unguarded and unloved. You descend into the wreckage and reanimate your sworn enemy, only to find him a weak shadow of his former self, just like his castle. Just like Simon. After another easy boss fight, the game ends. Assuming you didn’t beat the game in record time, you probably got the bad ending, in which Simon is consumed by his curse and dies. Congratulations, fuck you.
So, that’s Simon’s Quest. Not a hard game to beat, but a wholly unsatisfying one. While Castlevania was brutally challenging, its sequel is brutally tedious. Gone is the deliberate action of old, replaced with lots and lots of busywork. Everything about the experience feels like a dull formality, like Simon is just going through the motions until he can finally put Dracula—and by extension, himself—to rest. Your failure to defeat evil looms over the whole journey, this constant reminder that you aren’t the hero you thought you were. It’s not the quest Simon wanted, but maybe it’s the one he deserves. Is it a good game? I don’t know. Who gives a shit? It’s certainly a potent one, and maybe that’s all you need.
1986
Ernest Hemingway once said that, “the first draft of anything is shit.” But Ernest Hemingway was a homophobe who loved big game hunting almost as much as he loved infidelity, so maybe we don’t have to take his word on everything. Also, I’m pretty sure he never played Metroid, so I’m not sure why I brought him up in the first place. Anyway, video games!
I know a lot of people say to skip over this one when getting into Metroid, but I think that’s silly. If I’m immersing myself in a franchise, I’m invested in seeing how its mechanics evolve over time. Sure it might be jank, but I want to see how that jank informs the rest of the series. And hey, I get it—I’ve played Zero Mission, that’s a great game! But I feel like you’re missing the point if you think these two games are offering interchangeable experiences.
While Zero Mission is great at making you feel like the toughest bounty hunter in the galaxy, Metroid NES excels at making you feel truly out of your depth on a hostile alien world. The first hour or so of my playthrough felt almost comically unforgiving, constantly barraged by enemies I couldn’t reach, lava pits I couldn’t avoid and long, monotonous hallways I couldn’t wait to be done with. I honestly really respect it as a tone-setter: Samus is NOT welcome here, and you as the player feel that too.
I think the plain black backgrounds also do wonders for that unforgiving atmosphere. I adore Zero Mission’s vibrant backdrops, but something about the cold void of Metroid NES makes this Zebes feel so much more unknowable, like you don’t even get to see what lurks in the distance. These environments feel truly alien, and you only get a glimpse of them.
Of course, the game REALLY begins once you start exploring and unlocking upgrades and familiarizing yourself with that environment, and by then it’s… I mean, I guess it’s alright? While that first hour is brutally compelling, and the mid-game item hunt legitimately satisfying, once you start to get the hang of Metroid it becomes clear that there’s just not a ton of depth here. Rooms are pretty basic and repetitive without a lot to distinguish one from the other, and while the upgrades are a lot of fun to use, they do seriously trivialize combat. It feels unfair to fault a game for a lack of complexity when it’s the first of its kind, but it’s hard not to dwell on as you make your way through Zebes’ seemingly endless supply of identical vertical shafts.
While the first half of my playthrough was filled with frustration and intrigue and overcoming hardship, the second was mostly a lot of meandering zigzagging as I searched for new hordes of creepy crawlies to effortlessly dispatch. Not an altogether bad way to spend a Saturday, but not a remarkably engaging one either. For what it’s worth, the challenge does ramp up by the final boss, but that fight is so atrociously designed that I’m not going to dignify it with another sentence.
The bones of a great series and a great genre are here, and that IS worth seeing for yourself. Like I said, I’m glad I didn’t skip it. But truthfully, Metroid is more interesting in its atmosphere and ambition than as a cohesive, finished whole. As it stands, Metroid is too singular an experience to be outright dismissed, but too genuinely flawed to be truly great.
(Special thanks to Phil Summers and his excellent Hand-Drawn Game Guides, which I consulted throughout my playthrough. Yeah that’s right, I used a guide! Bite me! You can check out Phil’s beautiful Metroid guide for yourself here: https://sites.google.com/view/handdrawngameguides/free-guides/metroid-presented-by-hand-drawn-game-guides?authuser=0)
I know a lot of people say to skip over this one when getting into Metroid, but I think that’s silly. If I’m immersing myself in a franchise, I’m invested in seeing how its mechanics evolve over time. Sure it might be jank, but I want to see how that jank informs the rest of the series. And hey, I get it—I’ve played Zero Mission, that’s a great game! But I feel like you’re missing the point if you think these two games are offering interchangeable experiences.
While Zero Mission is great at making you feel like the toughest bounty hunter in the galaxy, Metroid NES excels at making you feel truly out of your depth on a hostile alien world. The first hour or so of my playthrough felt almost comically unforgiving, constantly barraged by enemies I couldn’t reach, lava pits I couldn’t avoid and long, monotonous hallways I couldn’t wait to be done with. I honestly really respect it as a tone-setter: Samus is NOT welcome here, and you as the player feel that too.
I think the plain black backgrounds also do wonders for that unforgiving atmosphere. I adore Zero Mission’s vibrant backdrops, but something about the cold void of Metroid NES makes this Zebes feel so much more unknowable, like you don’t even get to see what lurks in the distance. These environments feel truly alien, and you only get a glimpse of them.
Of course, the game REALLY begins once you start exploring and unlocking upgrades and familiarizing yourself with that environment, and by then it’s… I mean, I guess it’s alright? While that first hour is brutally compelling, and the mid-game item hunt legitimately satisfying, once you start to get the hang of Metroid it becomes clear that there’s just not a ton of depth here. Rooms are pretty basic and repetitive without a lot to distinguish one from the other, and while the upgrades are a lot of fun to use, they do seriously trivialize combat. It feels unfair to fault a game for a lack of complexity when it’s the first of its kind, but it’s hard not to dwell on as you make your way through Zebes’ seemingly endless supply of identical vertical shafts.
While the first half of my playthrough was filled with frustration and intrigue and overcoming hardship, the second was mostly a lot of meandering zigzagging as I searched for new hordes of creepy crawlies to effortlessly dispatch. Not an altogether bad way to spend a Saturday, but not a remarkably engaging one either. For what it’s worth, the challenge does ramp up by the final boss, but that fight is so atrociously designed that I’m not going to dignify it with another sentence.
The bones of a great series and a great genre are here, and that IS worth seeing for yourself. Like I said, I’m glad I didn’t skip it. But truthfully, Metroid is more interesting in its atmosphere and ambition than as a cohesive, finished whole. As it stands, Metroid is too singular an experience to be outright dismissed, but too genuinely flawed to be truly great.
(Special thanks to Phil Summers and his excellent Hand-Drawn Game Guides, which I consulted throughout my playthrough. Yeah that’s right, I used a guide! Bite me! You can check out Phil’s beautiful Metroid guide for yourself here: https://sites.google.com/view/handdrawngameguides/free-guides/metroid-presented-by-hand-drawn-game-guides?authuser=0)
1986
There’s a brief moment halfway through Castlevania where you’re scaling a crumbling castle wall. As you march forwards, you catch a glimpse of a tower in the background. The game doesn’t even really draw any attention to it, but any player who takes notice would immediately understand—that must be Dracula’s tower. In an instant you’re struck by how much progress you’ve made since first storming his gates, how expansive this castle truly is, and how much farther your enemy may still lie in wait. It’s this really remarkable moment of honest-to-god world building in an NES game, a testament to the unparalleled attention to detail that covers every corner of Castlevania.
And then, in all likelihood, you get hit by a fireball and fall to your death.
It’s always great when you can play a classic for the first time and discover that it still absolutely holds up. Everything about Castlevania is still just the absolute shit. This is a video game’s video game, through and through. Tight gameplay, killer presentation and a truly insane soundtrack. Seriously, there’s only like 30 minutes of music total and somehow every note is iconic. It’s a game that’s schlocky and thoughtful in equal measure—just the way I like ‘em. I really can’t believe it took me this long to finally give it a shot.
More than anything, I find myself completely obsessed with how Castlevania feels to control. Simon Belmont moves like a sack of bricks, whips like he’s shaking off carpal tunnel and jumps with all the flexibility of a steel beam. It’s stiff, incredibly stiff, but everything in the game is designed around it. You don’t have the mobility to brute force through stages like you can in comparable action platformers, and even if you could, the overbearing enemy placement would bite you in the ass. It forced me to play very deliberately, assessing each step carefully, while still being aggressive enough that I didn’t leave any openings for enemies. It’s a game that asks a lot of the player, but if you’re willing to rise to the challenge, I found it to be an incredibly rich, rewarding experience.
For what it’s worth, aside from allowing myself some practice runs on Death’s Hallway and circumventing grinding for hearts before each Dracula attempt, I beat this without the use of save states. And I’m really glad I did, as I don’t think this would have been nearly as captivating had I allowed myself to save after each tough section. The fun of Castlevania lies in the trial and error, in getting better with each attempt, figuring out the perfect route, building muscle memory, committing each stage to memory to the point it becomes second nature until finally, FINALLY you overcome a challenge that once seemed insurmountable. I can totally respect why that gameplay loop won’t connect with some, but personally, I loved it. The sheer thrill of shoving holy water so far up Dracula’s ass that it causes his entire infrastructure to crumble and finally seeing those goofy-ass credits roll is some of the most satisfied I’ve felt beating a game in my life. Man, what an adventure.
Recently, I’ve found myself in possession of a lot of free time and a brand-new Retroid Pocket 2S. I wanted a chance to test out some of the emulators, so I decided I’m gonna marathon some more classic Castlevania. But since I’m a sicko, I’m ALSO going to be marathoning some 2D Metroid. At the same time. I’ve got 14 more games to go across both franchises, so wish me luck. If this first step was any indication, I’m gonna need it.
And then, in all likelihood, you get hit by a fireball and fall to your death.
It’s always great when you can play a classic for the first time and discover that it still absolutely holds up. Everything about Castlevania is still just the absolute shit. This is a video game’s video game, through and through. Tight gameplay, killer presentation and a truly insane soundtrack. Seriously, there’s only like 30 minutes of music total and somehow every note is iconic. It’s a game that’s schlocky and thoughtful in equal measure—just the way I like ‘em. I really can’t believe it took me this long to finally give it a shot.
More than anything, I find myself completely obsessed with how Castlevania feels to control. Simon Belmont moves like a sack of bricks, whips like he’s shaking off carpal tunnel and jumps with all the flexibility of a steel beam. It’s stiff, incredibly stiff, but everything in the game is designed around it. You don’t have the mobility to brute force through stages like you can in comparable action platformers, and even if you could, the overbearing enemy placement would bite you in the ass. It forced me to play very deliberately, assessing each step carefully, while still being aggressive enough that I didn’t leave any openings for enemies. It’s a game that asks a lot of the player, but if you’re willing to rise to the challenge, I found it to be an incredibly rich, rewarding experience.
For what it’s worth, aside from allowing myself some practice runs on Death’s Hallway and circumventing grinding for hearts before each Dracula attempt, I beat this without the use of save states. And I’m really glad I did, as I don’t think this would have been nearly as captivating had I allowed myself to save after each tough section. The fun of Castlevania lies in the trial and error, in getting better with each attempt, figuring out the perfect route, building muscle memory, committing each stage to memory to the point it becomes second nature until finally, FINALLY you overcome a challenge that once seemed insurmountable. I can totally respect why that gameplay loop won’t connect with some, but personally, I loved it. The sheer thrill of shoving holy water so far up Dracula’s ass that it causes his entire infrastructure to crumble and finally seeing those goofy-ass credits roll is some of the most satisfied I’ve felt beating a game in my life. Man, what an adventure.
Recently, I’ve found myself in possession of a lot of free time and a brand-new Retroid Pocket 2S. I wanted a chance to test out some of the emulators, so I decided I’m gonna marathon some more classic Castlevania. But since I’m a sicko, I’m ALSO going to be marathoning some 2D Metroid. At the same time. I’ve got 14 more games to go across both franchises, so wish me luck. If this first step was any indication, I’m gonna need it.
2022
A fantastic game that by all accounts shouldn’t even be playable, much less this enjoyable. Signalis is an exercise in player torment. Every system is as cumbersome as possible. Movement is lethargic, aiming is clunky, ammo, health and save points are scarce and your inventory space is microscopic. It’s a game built around going in and out of doors and half of them are locked and the other half are difficult to even enter because you get caught on the surrounding geometry more often than not. It’s a mechanically hostile experience. And it’s fucking brilliant. In the absence of convenience emerges this incredible element of strategy. Every step I had to ask myself “If I get into combat will it be worth the resource cost?”, “If I try to run past enemies, am I just going to get myself hurt?”, “If I do get hurt, is it worth sparing the health pickup?” “Do I even have enough health pickups on me?”, “Was it smart to pack the flashlight or should I have risked leaving it behind?”, “Can I spare the inventory space to pick up this ammo?”, “How far is the next save room?”, and of course, “What in God’s name could be waiting for me around the corner?” Point blank: I’ve never played a game that forced me to engage with it in the way this one did. Signalis is 75% friction mechanics and 25% the coolest fucking art direction you’ve ever seen. Most people are probably going to hate it for that. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’d classify most of my playthrough as “fun” per se and there are certainly things about it I dislike (as much as I love the systemic jank, the puzzles are way too fucking obtuse for my tastes). But holy shit dude what a bold, confident and just visceral artistic statement this is. Nothing but respect.
Immediately going into rotation alongside Pikuniku and Donut County in my “sillycore games you can beat in an afternoon featuring charming low-detail graphics, simple gameplay and surprisingly leftist messaging”. It’s a niche genre but baby I’m the target demographic
Before the days of the Switch, the lines between console and handheld gaming were much more defined. Console games represented the cutting edge, they felt boundless and expansive. Handheld gaming on the other hand, was a medium defined by its restrictions. These games were small, both in terms of storage space and literal screen real size. They had to be designed to be compact, with shorter on-the-go play sessions in mind. As a kid, that didn’t really bother me. The convenience of being able to play video games in my bed trumped any interest in spectacle. But I think there’s also a real magic to handheld games, one that’s kind of been lost to time. There’s an intimacy to the experience, that tiny screen so close to your eyes, the speakers right next to your ears, the entirety of the system in your hands. It felt oddly personal, these miniature worlds you can fit in your pocket, seemingly crafted just for you.
I think about that a lot when replaying Minish Cap, a game that revels in its smallness. Its map is tiny but dense, inviting you to appreciate the nooks and crannies just as much as the larger picture. Thats where this iteration of Hyrule truly comes alive, a land that breathes in its smallest moments. The size-changing mechanic is more than just a gimmick, it’s a statement. This a game about appreciating scale, about minding the little details all around you. Behind every character, every wall, every tree stump could be a connection, a secret, an adventure, hidden in plain sight. While I’ve certainly explored bigger games, few are those I feel as close to as this one. Every pixel feels familiar, like I’ve traveled through it a million times before. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to travel through it a million times more.
I think about that a lot when replaying Minish Cap, a game that revels in its smallness. Its map is tiny but dense, inviting you to appreciate the nooks and crannies just as much as the larger picture. Thats where this iteration of Hyrule truly comes alive, a land that breathes in its smallest moments. The size-changing mechanic is more than just a gimmick, it’s a statement. This a game about appreciating scale, about minding the little details all around you. Behind every character, every wall, every tree stump could be a connection, a secret, an adventure, hidden in plain sight. While I’ve certainly explored bigger games, few are those I feel as close to as this one. Every pixel feels familiar, like I’ve traveled through it a million times before. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to travel through it a million times more.
It’s honestly not even that fundamentally different from your standard 2D Mario but as somebody who’s only ever seen permutations on the New Super formula in his lifetime the added emphasis on creative presentation and imaginative stage gimmicks really skyrockets this into the stratosphere for me. It just feels so alive in a way New Soup never could. A really brilliantly paced little adventure too, it feels like there‘s some new wacky idea hiding around every corner til the very end. I’ve logged an embarrassing amount of time into both Mario Makers so this type gameplay should feel endlessly repetitive yet somehow it does not! Haven’t fucked around with the postgame or the multiplayer quite yet but if it’s anything like the campaign I can’t wait