The original Metroid and Castlevania both turn 40 years old this fall. As the two series most responsible for creating the “metroidvania,” we’re taking this occasion to take a comprehensive view of the popular genre. This is Metroidvania Week.
When we talk about something, we should talk about it in ways people can understand. You have to be deep in the “gamer” weeds to have any idea what “Metroidvania” means, though. You have to be familiar with not one but two different decades-old game series, and not just familiar with their names or generally aware of their existence, but knowledgeable about how they’re designed and how they’re actually played.
And if you’re that well-versed in Metroid and Castlevania, you know enough to know that neither truly invented this type of action game. And you know that the Castlevania games, the first of which didn’t have any of the distinctive traits that define the genre that bears their name, didn’t even popularize it, as Metroid did. (Yes, Vampire Killer and Simon’s Quest both had Metroid-y elements, but the former wasn’t open-ended enough and the latter was too open-ended and obtuse; it wasn’t until Castlevania: Symphony of the Night, over a decade later, that Castlevania really jumped on board the ‘Troid train.)
So either you have no idea what “Metroidvania” means, or you know that it’s not even that accurate a term, and in either case, the solution is simple: Stop using it.
I didn’t have a lot of hard-and-fast rules during my 15 years editing the games section of a second-tier entertainment site that used to be a third-tier music magazine, but any of the dozens of writers who wrote for me knew of one big one: We tried as hard as possible to not use the word “metroidvania.” It was never an absolute ban, and I’m sure if you go search whatever URL those articles currently live at, you’ll find many pieces I edited that included it. But I definitely discouraged its use, because this kind of impenetrable jargon guarantees that games criticism will never be read by anybody except hardcore “gamers.” And although there’s definitely a place for games writing that’s directed exclusively at passionate experts who are deeply embedded in the scene, your typical consumer-facing game review isn’t that.
Games as a medium have a broader problem involving genre tags, one that isn’t as prevalent in other disciplines. It’s difficult to succinctly explain a game’s aesthetic and interactive elements with a short, pithy descriptor. Even other sub-optimal examples are far better than “metroidvania,” though. If you’re brand new to games and hear the word “platformer,” you might not know why these platforms exist and how you use them, but you can be pretty sure that there are some platforms in that game. “Shooter” and its various offshoots are a little clearer, although you need to add extra language to give a sense of how you’ll be shooting. (You still won’t know what you’re shooting or what you’re shooting at, or why, but hey, that’s what playing the game is for.) “Horror” might be the most coherent to non-“gamers,” but it’s so expansive that it doesn’t give any idea how you’ll experience or interact with that horror. There are no good answers here, but there are a few brain-meltingly bad ones, and “metroidvania” is at the top of that list.
Some try to justify the second half of the portmanteau by saying that a true “metroidvania” includes RPG-style stats, with experience points and leveling up underpinning the character’s progression, as found in 1997’s Symphony of the Night. That could be a marginally useful distinction if the term was used exclusively in that context. It isn’t. It’s used indiscriminately for any game where you have to backtrack to visit previously inaccessible areas, and where your character gradually discovers or unlocks new abilities and power-ups.
And even though the first-person Metroid Prime is almost 25 years old at this point, “metroidvania” still immediately draws forth images of two-dimensional platformers. The genre that shares part of its name remains tightly pegged to the flat side-scrolling found in Metroid and Super Metroid.
Even if the original Castlevania were structured exactly like Metroid, though, one simple fact remains: If you’re writing for the public, you should want the public to understand you. “Metroidvania” is an impediment to that understanding–and not particularly accurate to the history of these games, either.
Let’s call ’em something else. And no, I don’t have any suggestions.
