WANDERING AND WONDERING

The enduring thrill of getting lost inside 'Metroidvanias'

- LEWIS GORDON

A planet-size eyeball blinks in celestial light before the hero in Ultros awakens on a spaceship amid alien shrubbery the colour of an acid-dipped rainbow. Traipsing about winding, overgrown passageways, grand halls and resplendent stained-glass altars, it is easy to feel overwhelmed by this strange place.

Ultros belongs to the cryptically named genre of video games called Metroidvanias. The term had been slowly spreading across internet forums and chatrooms before its proliferation in video game magazines and websites. These games drop protagonists into unfamiliar locales and ask players to find their bearings. The genre revels in spatially disorienting the player. It is vital to feel lost, said Marten Bruggemann, Ultros' design director.

"The best Metroidvanias are not afraid of that emotion," he said.

As Metroidvanias evolved in the 21st century, it became clear that one of the genre's strengths was its flexibility. Metroid Prime (2002) turned discovery into a 3D experience; Cave Story (2004) leaned into 1980s nostalgia; and Shadow Complex (2009) explored an American dystopia.

Unlike their blockbuster counterparts, the Metroidvanias often created by boutique teams do not lean on whiz-bang graphics or unscrupulous economic tricks to keep players engaged.

The pure design wit of their makers has been breathing new life into an illustrious form for decades.

The Metroidvania progenitors — Metroid (1986) and Castlevania II: Simon's Quest (1987) — cultivated a sense of geographical bewilderment by letting players unfurl the secrets of their arcane worlds in any direction along the X and Y axes. Part of the charm is that the entirety of these expansive play spaces is not immediately accessible. Sections lie gated behind power-ups, like the Morph Ball and High Jump Boots in Metroid, and players are forced to rely on a labyrinthine map.