I have something of a confession to make: I never liked Metroid.
I don’t mean the series (I've outright adored many of the sequels). I mean the game itself. And I don't mean that I disliked it...just that I never actively liked it.
It was too confusing...or, rather, too vague. Confusion implies that I was processing information too tangled to understand. Instead, there was no information to process. I was alone. I had a gun, and there were enemies, but killing them didn't get me any further ahead and the screen scrolled without restriction in all directions. What, exactly, was I supposed to DO?
Metroid was more fun for me to watch than it was to play. I remember being young and watching a friend play the game in the late hours of the night. In a dark room with the sound turned up, it was very atmospheric. The similarity of the corridors and shafts didn't seem as frustrating when it wasn't you trying to navigate them...instead, it gave the game a sense of chilling hopelessness.
The music was brilliant, of course. The soundscapes and fanfares all embedded themselves in my young mind, and I've kept them with me, for whatever reason, ever since.
But I never actually LIKED it. It was good, obviously, and it spawned myriad great sequels (and immitators). But I never remembered the game as being much fun.
And so when I got Metroid Prime for the Gamecube, I didn't bother to unlock the original game.
And when I heard about Zero Mission, I passed on it.
And when I got a Wii, I didn't bother to download it from the Virtual Console.
But thanks to the Ambassador program, Nintendo gave it to me for free. After all this time...after so many rejected opportunities to replay, rediscover and re-evaluate a classic, I finally sat down with it to do so. Nintendo seems to have been asking me for years to play it again...but until they literally put it in my hands themselves, I hadn't done it.
And all I can say is that I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong on every count. Wrong. Metroid isn't just fun...it's a ****ing masterpiece.
I don't know why I had such trouble navigating its world as a child. Or, rather, I do know why. It's the same reason I had trouble navigating Zelda: I wasn't used to it, and the screens weren't always different enough from each other to help me along. The difference is that as I grew up I became more patient (and more competent) and I took the time to rediscover Zelda. I skipped Metroid, remembering it as dull, muddled and poorly designed...and being perfectly content to stick with that appraisal as an adult without questioning it.
This time I didn't just play it; I explored it. I had fun with it. The backtracking was almost never frustrating; it gave me a chance to fill up my energy tanks (which I was always happy to do) and to find additional passages along the way that I either missed or couldn't access the first time around. There might not have been a map or any guidance in the game, but did I really need either of those things? Sure, they would have made the game easier, but I doubt that they would have made it much more fun. The fun was the search. The thrill was the hunt. The goal was the adventure.
When I started playing it on the 3DS VC, I figured I would play it until I became frustrated, and then maybe--maybe--turn to the internet to get some guidance. I thought that would be about an hour or two into the game, when I was sick of walking in circles.
Instead, I never walked on circles. Or, rather, I walked in expanding, outward circles. I found more of the world every time I backtracked, and the same rooms gave up their previous secrets one by one. It wasn't dull...it was layered. Its outward simplicity masked a strange, disarming depth. The lack of guidance in itself was a kind of very specific guidance. When you're not told to do anything, you need to try EVERYTHING. (The old man in Legend of Zelda shouldn't have given clearer hints...he should have kept his mouth shut in the first place.)
I collected everything up to the Screw Attack (and however many missile tanks) before realizing that I was extremely further along in the game than I had ever gotten as a child, even with help from friends or Nintendo Power. I was finding things just fine. I may never have known where I was going, but I always got there, and that is the singular mark of great game design.
I eventually did resort to a map online...but only once, and that was because I had discovered Ripley before I was ready to fight him. (ie: I died before I realized how insanely easy he is.) So I went out, found some missiles and energy tanks, and couldn't find his lair again. It turns out I bombed a floor on my first pass and made it through that way...and the second time around I wasn't bombing floors. My own fault. Beyond that, I never needed a map once...and even then I could have solved it eventually. I just needed to give myself time...to let my mind reset to the "try everything" mentality. (The fact that the accessibility of gamefaqs.com nearly always prevents our minds from doing this anymore is a lament for another day, though I do feel that games and gaming have suffered immensely as a result.)
Before I knew it, I was in the final area. The metroids were there. They were terrifying. I was a child again. Everything was dark. The music gave me chills. It was legitimately scary, and actually quite thrilling. What if I died? I'd have to refill all those energy tanks again...I'd have to go all the way back through this...I'd have to start this trek again...(I'm resisting the urge to rant against save states or restore points right now, so bear with me).
When I beat Mother Brain--whom I had never even seen personally in this game--I had 3 energy left. 3. I had to make the climb out of her chamber with an incessant beeping in my ear reminding me just how close I was to death.
...and I wouldn't have changed it. Nothing makes a heart beat so savagely as one of those early near-death sounds from classic video games. Metroid, Zelda, even Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You hear it in your sleep. You hear it in your nightmares.
I had done it. I had finished the game. I had never even done much in the original game. How far did I get? A few missiles? The high-jump boots? I gave up on a game simply because it didn't welcome me with open arms.
It was my loss. The game offered me no guidance and no mercy, but who was I to demand them?
Metroid needs to be enjoyed on its own terms. It sets its rules, it sets its limitations, and you can take them or you can leave them.
I left them. For a long, long time, I left them.
And I missed out on one of the most rewarding experiences as a gamer that I've ever had: climbing out of Hell with 3 energy to my name and a lifetime's worth of adventure behind me.
I. Loved. This game.
