Metroid II: Return of Samus — Dreadful Anticipation
A Quick Run to SR388, In and Out
I remember the night my brother beat Metroid II. All three of us (him, me, and our youngest brother) were in a church basement while our mom was in a meeting nearby. All of us had our Game Boys or entertainment to keep us busy, and that was the night. He showed me the credits as they rolled, and as Samus jumped off-frame and back in, victorious. Prior to that, I remember trying it, Fusion and Prime still so fresh on my mind. But it suffered the curse of Metroid before it: it lacked the tools and resources I’d grown accustomed to. I needed to make a map, or otherwise note differences on a return trip so I wouldn’t just go back and forth in the same route. There was no general direction to be pointed in, no indication of what the upgrades I stumbled into would do (or how to use them), and no idea what to do next.
This doesn’t bode well for my return trip.
“Just five more minutes.”
I love it when I’m wrong.
I sat down to slog through Metroid II and was pleasantly surprised when I wanted to revisit it again at the end of my first session. Wanting more information and insight led to wanting to see how much further I could go led to wanting to beat the game. I’m glad I did.
But all things in time. There were still a few things that frustrated me on my return trip. Bombs I planted would disappear and not detonate if I left the screen. Harmless water and dangerous acid looked the same, resulting in more than one instance of damage or confused wading around and wondering if my game was broken. And still, no map.
At this point, I genuinely chalk up these shortcomings to the hardware; the original Game Boy (even with color updates on my more modern Game Boy Advance SP) didn’t have the capabilities to differentiate between two different kinds of liquids. It didn’t have the memory to keep running bombs I planted off-screen when it was manifesting the world I could see. And unfortunately, the Game Boy just didn’t have the power to run and have a map available. This one, in particular, my most personal take. I enjoy exploring, but I hate being lost. When I’m playing a game, I want to be able to concentrate on the game, not chart out the world at the same time. In order to enjoy the Metroid II experience, I had a map open on my phone nearby for the latter 80% of the game. And it was still enjoyable! Having a sense of direction did not deter from Metroid II’s enjoyability and challenge.
Gameplay-wise, I was pleased to see my gripes against Metroid were no longer valid. I could crouch. Collecting upgrades told players what they were (problems of not having original instruction manuals way back when!). Gravity and physics felt more reasonable. Developers even tossed in a nice little “recovery jump” after taking damage, giving Samus a chance to launch out of harm’s way instead of being caught in an endless cycle of damage. Plus, the sense of Metroid-style progression started to take root: the upgrades Samus could collect were not just helpful, but necessary to seek out the Metroids on SR388. Running into obstacles or barriers to reach certain rooms, you needed certain items to continue: a form of soft-gatekeeping that traditional players would run into in future installments (speedrunners need not apply). Despite the lack of map and direction, it still felt more progressive than Metroid’s scattered, wandering layout.
As always, the music is a high point, now even more so after my first full run. I never realized that the title screen actually had music. I only ever associated it with the high-pitched “SKREEEE….SKREEE” that played before starting on my selected file. But I’ll be darned, there’s actually some beautiful Game Boy-era tunes waiting a minute or so in. Similarly, listening to the limited audio of the hardware marry the (progressive) low-energy warning with the background music or ambience was a pleasant surprise. Like, the music never faded completely, but it did get harder to hear, as though the game (or Samus’s power suit) was telling me to concentrate and keep it together, lest we fall. And in terms of general sound design, the satisfaction that comes with the earthquake noises after defeating an area’s Metroids is fantastic. Such a small element, and a simple noise, but with such positive connotations. It’s an audio-based spike of dopamine every time it sounds off.
The soundtrack relies heavily on a series of repeating tracks, playing throughout the game and reappearing at different points. What stuck out to me most, as I continued to lament my lack of map, was that the music served as a guidepost when I wasn’t looking at a map. The main theme, for the most part, lines the main pathway further and further into the caverns of SR388. Spelunking into its various offshoot areas will trigger one of several Cavern themes, or a Ruins theme, signaling that you are off the main path. While you might get turned around in the separate areas, you could at least rely on the main theme to let you know you were back on the main path. However, I remember hitting a point fairly late in the game where the music stopped serving as that guidepost, and before hitting the railroaded endgame paths. A small gripe that only comes in during the last leg, but it was disappointing that it stumbled so close to the end.
But speaking of the end, Metroid II excels in the specific tracks. Entering a penultimate area where powerful enemies lie in wait, the road towards the final boss, the shift in that road-theme as Samus is slapped with a major shift in her objective, the final boss itself, and the subsequent return to Samus’s ship…those one-off tracks occupy a much more specific place in my new memories of the game. It’s not a blanket-vibe that the area themes give off, but a specific spike in the narrative and experience.
I was filled with dread throughout, knowing that as the number in the corner of my screen decreased, that it only made room for more powerful foes. That realizing a lack of enemies was not a reprieve, but a reminder that something far more dangerous has probably eradicated them. That even though I was the one venturing into these caverns, I was on the defensive from the word “go.” It packs an entire Metroid experience into a portable machine, long before Fusion came along with its more guided and narrative-heavy tale. Without a single word, spoken or written, Metroid II earns its place as part of the established Metroid chronology with its combination of empowerment, foreboding, and, eventually, catharsis. Metroid II is, I am glad to say, far greater than my own memories would have had me believe.
