Metroid II: Return of Samus

Back in the days of Super Smash Bros. Melee when I'd browse its lauded collection of lovingly-crafted trophies, I couldn't help but foster a burgeoning affinity towards one particular replica: Samus's Starship, hailing from Game Boy's Metroid II: Return of Samus. Not because I was experiencing Metroid nostalgia, you understand -- I wasn't yet a fan by Melee's release -- but more so in cultivating a touch of personal pride via its accompanying origin date of 11/91; in other words, my birth date. How vindicating is that? I've always held warm feelings towards Super Nintendo for similar reasons -- perhaps that's why it's my favorite console -- but it surely can't top that. A wonder, then, that Metroid hasn't ousted EarthBound, Kirby, and Smash Bros. from their seats as my all-time favorite Nintendo franchises.

Alas, perhaps it's that the stars only aligned for coincidence as opposed to birthing an outright classic, for Metroid II: Return of Samus never enjoyed the accolades of its successors (Super Metroid, Metroid Prime) or even its own NES progenitor. This isn't due to any untoward experimentation so commonly found in retro sequelization -- if anything, its goals breed potential finally realized in its incredible 3DS remake: Metroid: Samus Returns -- but rather that the Game Boy is ill-equipped to handle such direction; in other words, we're dealing with a game featuring familiar genre pratfalls found in its heyday. As you've likely guessed, the absence of a map system and woefully obtuse level design do little favors for Samus's Metroid-hunting expedition, but I confess my main problem lies within a particularly clumsy bait-and-switch in its music score. I cannot emphasize enough how the opening Tunnel Theme -- one I've written in the past as being a damn good tune -- instills us with urgency and drive, headlining our mission of eliminating SR388's Metroid hives.

This lasts for all of five minutes, where then composer Ryoji Yoshitomi henceforth foregoes discernible melodies and devolves into bleeping, tone-deaf dissonance. It is not spooky, memorable ambiance like the original's Norfair or the elevator theme -- they gargle and burp, fluctuate in faint menace and wispy gloom before fading from memory. It's a rough first impression not only instantly dating the game, but a pale imitation of Hirokazu Tanaka's direction for the original: evoking a "living organism" bubbling beneath the surface, instilling dread for what possibly awaits around the corner. Even the scarce few attempts at distinguishable music simply cannot carry the rest of the game; specifically, the Chozo Ruin theme is a droning nasal whine, gradually grating on the nerves and never being very pleasant.

Consequently, this irritating dissonance further renders what's already an opaque maze as an impenetrable endeavor for modern players, even if that's not actually the case. Let's put it this way: Metroid II's objective of hunting down Metroids buried in sand pits or prowling lava-filled chambers is an engaging, heart-pounding process successfully channelling the original's test of endurance. The gradual Metroid evolutions from larvae to Omega, where they grow into fearsome monsters all too eager to eat away at your life meter, are efficiently scaled in difficulty and visual cues/scale -- when we witness a Metroid shed its shell, we steel ourselves knowing this form means business; when we unearth a predatory Metroid lurking beneath destructible terrain, we jump in freight. That familiar pressure of guarded apprehension, sneaking about with nary a hit point left is still intact, and so the game ultimately draws us in..

When Metroid II isn't doing these things, however, it's significantly less engaging, and that's to say nothing of its progression system: the earthquakes clearing acidic pool previously barring further spelunking. As there's no indication where this happened, we're left to fumble around entirely on memory and scope out which lava pool drained. It's tedious and frustrating, and when bound to the dreadful homogeneous scenery and endless bouts of cacophony drilling into our ears, I suspect many less patient than I dubbed Metroid II a hopeless relic. For the original NES game, any similar graphical homogeneity was offset by the inspired sci-fi aesthetic, a color scheme carefully balancing an all-absorbing black with bountiful colors, and a masterful score; be it Game Boy limitations or erroneous design decisions, Metroid II has no such safety net.

It's a shame this eclipses Metroid II's otherwise excellent sprite-work -- let's not forget this is the entry introducing Samus's rounded shoulder pads, which I'd like to think composes the final ingredient to the hulking, imposing badass we know and love. Research has also shown Nintendo made amends for Game Boy Color, which included a special chip just for Metroid II -- as seen above, it works beautifully, bring a world of appropriate color near mimicking Metroid's grim-dark atmosphere. Alas, I was unable to experience this, for my downloaded 3DS copy doesn't support such a feature. I would rant on Nintendo's flub-ups with their Virtual Console service, but more importantly, I imagine such visuals could significantly improve Metroid II. Should I ever experience the opportunity, expect changes to this space.

Really, I'm being harsher on Metroid II than it deserves; it's not as if the game doesn't forge concessions towards its limitations -- while the clingy Spider Ball's introduction and Screw Attack's infinite leaps don't eliminate the game's roundabout goose chase, they certainly make maneuvering more palatable. Again, Metroid II doesn't forego what made the original so absorbing -- every room, every chamber demands an obsessive comb-over for that ever-elusive Energy Tank, and the wall-clinging Spider Ball certainly picks up the slack. It's the one element where the game frames itself as a genuine evolution; portions of Metroid II's terrain may be far too large for its own good, but stealthily sliding across far-reaching ceilings is its world's most compelling case for immersion.

If nothing else, it bears repeating Metroid II's far fairer in its difficulty than the NES Metroid -- for all its traversal woes, it offers a proper save-system as a goodwill gesture. In preserving our hit points and missiles, we never fear of repetitive scavenging for supplies. Take heed of how it handles the excellent climax -- the final storm of Metroids guarding their tough cookie of a Queen sets the stage for an ordeal as arduous as Mother Brain's endless projectiles, but the entrance's supply of regenerative Energy/Missile Pods and the Ice Beam provides a handy sanctuary. (If not a faulty one -- still far too big, and one may wander into the final battle without properly securing their surroundings.) We grow frustrated from Metroid II's inability to telegraph as opposed to its actual mechanics, but it's in here we learn Nintendo R&D1's still molding the series' identity in good faith.

In a nutshell, Metroid II is still Metroid in its formative years -- another step into the stone-cold perfection revered by Nintendo faithful, and that's why I can't really dismiss it. The tediousness lingers, and it stumbles even outside its most-cited flaws, but there's no off-putting experimentation or anything to impede the series' future. Really, if its existence printed the blueprint reviving the series with an impeccable remake, I can't ask for a better welcome into the world.

(My goodness, what extraordinary amount of detail for a Game Boy game. Told ya this game's sprite-work was nothing to sneeze at.)

Screenshots courtesy of Metroid Recon.